Marianne, you're no Martha Stewart

Tomorrow starts the Christmas craft sales for Mother and me. We do this every year. I, with my books; she, with her Western cards and matted prints. We load up our stuff in the car, head off to the mall, or, in tomorrow's case, the Bonner County Fairgrounds main exhibit hall. Then, we set up shop with all the other hopeful crafters, sit down in our folding chairs--- and hope.

Some days are diamonds; some days are dust, but we do know how to entertain ourselves. If nothing else, people watching is good. I consider these days as precious gems, no matter what, because my mother is 84, and the good times we have while sitting there together make every minute worth it.

During Christmas season, little sis, Laurie, also joins our craft-sale sisterhood with her cool key chains, made by reducing more than a dozen of Mother's Western pen and ink watercolors of horses and barns down to a size where they'll fit a nice little piece of wood. Then, she shellacks the images on to the wood and attaches a chain. They're a unique little item, which work well for stocking stuffers, because of size and price.

Last year, at the fairgrounds craft sale, I decided to add a touch of my domestic side to our selection of homemade merchandise. Annie had come home from New Zealand the year before with a recipe for ANZAC cookies (Australia New Zealand Army Corps).

Since they were different and we all thought they were mighty yum, yum, I figured I'd introduce individually-packaged ANZAC cookies to Bonner County shoppers. So, I fixed up nice labels, along with a history of the cookies to display alongside the offerings. Even cut up some samples.

When the day had ended, the samples were gone, and I'd sold two cookies for a dollar apiece. We actually ate more that day than we sold. I also had a lot of extra cookies for Bill to take in his lunch. I think I lost about $8 and several hours of work on the deal. You'd think I'd learn. Well, I have. I won't be selling ANZAC cookies tomorrow.

I will be selling Christmas wreaths, I think. For some reason, when the snow begins to fly and my other work's all done (a rarity), my yearning for doing something creative takes over. I made wreaths for the family a couple of years ago. For ol' Fumble Fingers Love, they actually looked pretty good. Even my sisters said so.

So, it seemed like a good idea to rejuvenate that project and whip up a few for tomorrow's sale. The wreath-making project started Tuesday afternoon with some shopping and snipping. The greenery has been free, since the Colburn ranch offers an endless supply of cedar and fir boughs.

So far, I've spent $35 for materials and will have spent three days developing prototypes. When Mother asked me earlier this week if I had wreath-making wire, I said I did, being careful not to add that my wreath-making wire comes directly off the electric fence spool.

By Wednesday morning, I was ready to start with the actual process. So, I took all my materials to the bunkhouse where Bill has a work bench. He has heaters in there, but he's never told me how to turn them on. I think it has something to do with pyrophobia (not mine but Bill's). So, I worked away in the brisk November air, imagining myself as Martha while igniting my creative desires in motion.

Two hours later, I finished the first wreath. This was after returning to the house and dialing up the Internet twice to review the wreath-making instruction guide. Somehow, having to use the snippers to shape the damn thing from start to finish didn't seem quite right. And, working with that electric-fence wire did a number on my frozen fingers. It just wasn't very pliant. I swore a lot as cedar bows continued to escape my grasp and fall off the wreath.

I also swore at those dogs who have ten acres of farmland in which to play. On Wednesday and Thursday, however, Annie Dog and Kiwi's chosen territory has extended to almost three feet away from where I stand, working. During most of this time, they've been very busy, growling and engaging in ambitious canine wrestling matches. Occasionally, I've been their victim.

A trip to Wal Mart late Wednesday afternoon to purchase floral wire has made all the difference. And, with prototypes finally completed and hung on doors at the Colburn ranch, I've finally developed a routine that seems to work. This morning, I've got five wreaths complete and one more day to work. If luck holds, maybe I'll have a dozen of my Western-style wreaths, complete with mini-lariats to offer at tomorrow's craft sale.

Maybe I'll make a little extra money. Maybe, I won't. If not, there'll be at least a dozen unsuspecting souls in Sandpoint who can expect some of Martha----oops----Marianne's custom-made wreaths as their holiday surprise. And, maybe I'll decide next year to just stick with the books.