In which I become my mother

On Saturday I went to not one but TWO craft market show bazaar thingies.

I know.


But the first one was the Beehive Bazaar in Provo, which was all kinds of hipancool. I would have wandered in there for hours, but

1) they were crammed into a really really small space (I hope they can get a bigger room next time!)

and

2) Jenny and I had Savvy with us. Even though she was very good, we knew we had a only very brief window before she would give in to her heart's desire and start making out with a gingerbread castle.

There were so many funky and gorgeous things there. These prints by Sarah Jane Studios made my ovaries seize up.



So yeah, I definitely want to go back the next time they do one of these. The ladies in charge were great and seemed to deal just fine with the huge snowstorm that hit and the huge parade that blocked off all of Center street for a good chunk of the morning.

Then I drove home to L**** and made Spitfire come with me to Cache Valley's Winter Market (held inside, I was grateful to learn). This was when I felt the mantle of my mother descend upon me. Because here I was dragging resisting people through the snow to go look at crafts. It was a little scary, and made me wonder if I'm going to suddenly start making tiny quilts to hang on walls.

Spitfire did come along like the good sport that she is. But when we both turned up sick the next morning she blamed those MILES that we walked in the snow. The Winter Market was . . . not the same as the Beehive Bazaar. It was a completely different crowd, but it was fun. And they had a string quartet playing Christmas music, which I feel elevates any gathering. I didn't buy anything, but had fun admiring.

"Oh, so you make that yarn from your own goats, huh? Wow."

Posted in: Utah