"She's all, 'Etsy?' and I'm all, 'Etsy!' "

I made my first sale! Yes, it was to my father-in-law for his wife (don't tell her). And I don't have to pay shipping because he'll pick it up when they visit in a few weeks.

But it still counts, because it's money I didn't have in my pocket yesterday.

I spent some time browsing the Etsy forums and other pages, and ran across some of the marketing tips they offered for the "Buy Handmade" pledge campaign. I didn't do so well -- I bought only one item, earrings for my sister-in-law in Ireland.

But she adores them -- which is the main point -- I could afford them, and I supported Deryn's art habit as well. Coulda been worse.

This one's for The Husband

If you love author Terry Pratchett, you'll love this quiz. I'm Nanny Ogg. I'm slightly less likely to be Greebo, Lord Vetinari or Death.

It makes a lot more sense if you read Pratchett.

Good Christmas

This year was a lot more fun for The Husband and me too, because The Boy was old enough to tear into his presents himself. Here, he's pulling one of the characters from the movie "Cars" out of the gift bag, one of four he received. (Mommy is lazy. Plus, she buys good wrapping paper and uses it to make art.)

The Husband made Christmas dinner, with our personal cultural references: collard greens with kale, sweet potato latkes (with potato starch as a binder instead of egg, in deference to The Boy's allergy), homemade brown sugar applesauce, and pot roast. Oooh, you should've just been there for the smells...

I also made the long-distance calls to relatives and said hey. My mother's sister, who's the nexus of many genealogy contacts and provided many of the stories I've learned, remembered another tidbit that day. Apparently her favorite aunt ran what you might call a speakeasy or private club, out of her apartment! (The Husband makes an excellent point that the rebellious aunts are usually the favorites.)

My aunt remembers going to see Aunt D on Easter Sunday as a child, with my grandparents and mother. Apparently Easter was a busy time for Aunt D, so my grandfather went to her door and brought her out of the apartment to see the kids. (See, carefully avoiding any corrupting influences.) Aunt D oohed and ahhh'd over their dresses, spent some time chitchatting, and then went back inside. Aunt D never married, but I'm thinking that might've been because she couldn't be bothered. She lived to a ripe old age, though -- 87, the same year my grandfather died at age 95.