Friday, July 20, 2012

If you don't like something change it; if you can't change it, change the way you think about it.


My house smells like a spice factory.  Or what I romantically imagine the Spanish galleons of old must have smelled like, heavily laden with riches.  Ponderous and wallowing things filled with cargoes  of spices, timbers, silks and other luxuries from the orient.  Enough to make you sneeze. 

Before I left adventuring in the land beyond laundry, I concocted a set of spice packets which I delivered for sale at the Ice House Gallery where I sell my art work.   Little envelopes designed  as glorified postcards, a place for a message, a stamp and an address, covered in my art work, and containing spices and associated recipes for Rockfish Chowder, Savoury Salmon Spice Rub, Halibut Chermoula and Kickin’ Crab Cakes.  A fun little addition to my more staid and traditional series of prints and cards. 

When I got home from camping... there were no less than four messages on my machine...
1.  I’m just not sure about these spices you’ve brought in.... please call me.
2.      I’m not sure we can accept these packets – they aren’t part of your original application describing the products you planned to sell
3.       I’m not sure we can sell these – the spices included are not grown locally and as you know we only sell locally made items and art work.
4.      Could you please bring some more spice packets down  as we have sold out of all of them.
Change is such a difficult thing.

So I spent an entire day mixing spices and loading envelopes to satisfy the demand of a new product in a small town.  

It was, in the end, no hardship to spend the day indoors, as I found much to my chagrin, the temperatures had plummeted, and I was dressed (in mid-july may I remind you!) in woollen slippers, long pants, long sleeves and a few extra layers looking out at the downpour wondering why I continue to live in this cold and dismal climate. 

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