Posts for category ‘DIY’

Stumble, Tweet, “share”, “like”? Do you use Tumbler or other social networking sites? Do you play games there, comment and post interesting bits of news and current events? Do you use them to promote your business? Thornie wants to know.

Here’s the deal, oh Constant Reader. You all know by now that I live the hella out in BFE. And you know from my Desert Gardening and Anti-Pioneer Woman posts (among others), that’s it’s a pretty rough life out here in the desert, and that your ever-lovin’ Thornie pretty much works her ass off just to have a reasonable amount of comfort here in this 1800′s built home on the range.

What you don’t know, is that I’m doin’ it pretty much all on my own these days. The GirlyBoi and I have, shall we say, ceased to cohabit. Don’t cry for us, lovelies. We’re still BFF’s and we still love- in fact, we have simply (in her usual short but sweet words) “broken up to stay together”.

But what that means to Thornie is that it is all on me. The firewood (post on that anti-pioneer woman adventure upcoming soon). The home repairs, the frozen pipes, Mom, dump runs, the garden, the bills, the birds… all of it. ( I needz a Cabana Boi! Bwahahahahaha Please apply using the contact form- Thornie is an equal opportunity employer-gender is not an issue.)

Shit. Rain and there are clothes on the line. Be right back. (Talk among yourselves… Hahahahaha)

Just so we’re clear- I’m not whining. It’s hard, and it’s a lot of work, but I’m up to it. And I love my desert. I wouldn’t leave it for greener pastures.

BUT.

But- there are no jobs out here (even were I so inclined and even were taking care of my Mom and this place NOT a full time job in itself), so I’m once again bustin’ out the artwork and craftin’ my hiney off to try to make enough money to support myself and my rescued critters.

I’m trying to stay upbeat and positive and manifest that prosperity and I’m squeakin’ along… but.

Here’s where you come in, oh most awesome Constant Reader. Share me. Tweet me. Stumble me, like me… promote me, please!! If you see anything you like, please shop with me. If you have something in mind in stained glass or ceramic tile mosaic; a photo or image collage or custom curio box; sewn items like purses, totes and quilts or crochet items and you don’t see it in my stock, please message me. I specialize in unique custom orders of all sorts and frankly it is where I am at my best- designing especially for someone. My Etsy Store is just a click away from here in this post or always on my sidebar.

Like and Share my Thorne’s World Vintage Arts and Treasures page on FB, please. Take a moment to click the little invite friends link on the left sidebar and invite any of your friends and family who you think might like the things I make. Then ask your friends to do the same. Twitter? Please retweet. I’m Thornesworld. StumbleUpon? Thornesworld. Tumbler? Thorne’s World. Kaboodle? thornesworld. (Are you sensing a trend here? hahahaha.)

If any of you can help me better understand how to promote my business online- have tips or tricks to help me get out there, please comment! I can do this- but I can’t do it alone. I need your help, lovelies.

New Hand Made Tapestry Clutch on Etsy

I won’t ask you to donate to help with my bloggy and domain expenses, but I will ask you to click my donate button to help me feed my birds, if you have a spare buck here n there. These six big birds eat a lot!

So that’s it from Thornie today. I have a tote on the sewing table and some magick pine cone fire starters in the kitchen today. (And I will be posting a How-To with images on those. I think you’ll like making them if you don’t just buy some from me!)

Peace, out!

It’s a beginning.

This room, the room that we use as the master bedroom, is a work in process. It was an addition to the original house; I’m not sure when it was added but it has a concrete floor, unlike the rest of the house which is hardwood (in desperate need of sanding and refinishing). I’m afraid the whole place is a work in process just to keep it standing. Our home was built, as near as I can tell, some time in the mid to late 1800′s, of native stone and wood. There’s no foundation as we know it today- it was built on stone footings that rest right on the earth. Seriously. I shit you, not. (I almost knocked my front porch down by double digging flower beds in front of it- but that’s a story for another day).

This room had been used for storage for as long as I can remember. Sometime in the ’90′s, unbeknown to me, a flock of pigeons had managed to get in through a hole in the eaves and roosted back here. By the time my Grama moved in with me in ’98 and we discovered the wreck back here, everything in the room was pretty much ruined and the pigeon guano was so strong it burned the eyes and we had to wear respirators to breathe safely while we gutted the room.

Two of the exterior walls are stone and one is wood siding on the outside. There was no insulation (which makes me think that it’s likely that the rest of the house isn’t insulated, either) when we tore the old lathe and plaster wallboard out, and once we had it bare to the framing we sprayed it down with contractor grade chlorine bleach to kill any molds, mildews and bacteria left by the pigeon poop.

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Hmm.  A bit of unintended  double entendre there, methinks.  Didn’t notice until I read the title as I typed it.  My meaning was that my nicotine addiction requires a certain amount of dedication these days.  Then when I read the title it appeared to be a dedication post as in “Ode to my addictions”.  LOL

So if you feel like it, let me know in comments what your take on it was upon first reading the title.

I’ve been thinking a lot about addictions lately.  Not only because of the recent award in which I was requested to name 5 of them, but also because my sobriety anniversary approaches, and because of the high cost of my last true remaining addictions. (Nicotine and coffee).

I got clean and sober back in ’88.  February 22, 1988.  That’s coming up on 21 years.  Trip on that.  I don’t write about recovery of sobriety much because it’s such an integral part of me- such a way of life; that I don’t really give it much conscious thought. Some of you (Matt) might guess that my drug of choice was speed, and I was a periodic alcoholic, too.  I really only got carried away by my disease for about 2 years, and I admit that by the grace of the Gods I never had my addictions take me to the places that so many I’ve met in and out of 12 Step programs have gone, but I hit my own personal bottom and that was good enough for me.

But recently, over the last few months, I have discovered a whole new level of powerlessness regarding addiction.

Over the last 20 years I’ve made a number of attempts to quit smoking.

I still smoke.

Many of my attempts were characterized by fits of uncontrollable weeping, bitching, or raging.  Probably my most successful attempt was back in ’97, when I quit for 4 months with a little help from acupuncture.  I started again, I remember, in October.  My late husband (my soulmale), was dying, (although we didn’t know it) inconstant pain and medical mysteries, surgeries and trips to the ER and I began weeping a lot. Daily.  But being the caregiver- the doer- the go-getter; the weeping didn’t work for me.  I made a conscious decision to stuff my emotions with the ciggs.  When he died in January of ’98 I remember being grateful that I had picked up smoking again.  It beat any other drug I may have picked up to ease my grief, that was for sure.

My least successful attempt to quit was the one in which I decided to try hypnosis.  It was a supposed “money back guarantee”, I couldn’t lose.  Although I am susceptible to hypnosis, I’m also very aware of my subconscious, since as a practicing witch I am fairly competent at lucid dreaming, astral projection and paying attention to the images and visions that my higher self sends via the subconscious.  I made it clear to the hypnotist that I didn’t want any aversion techniques used.  Don’t put any negative crap into my head- eh?  He assured me that no aversion would be used and we went to it.

For 3 days I awakened crying.  I had nightmares of little white caged rabbits running in circles screaming as if they were on fire, and knowing that it was my fault.  I began obsessively humming the Elmer Fudd song (from the old Bugs Bunny cartoons) “Kill da wabbit, kill da wabbit…”

On the 4th day I called that son of a bitch and screamed “What kind of crap did you stick in my head you lying cocksucker?!”

So I went into his office for another session in which I was allowed to remove the white bunnies (that I had evidently in our previous session covered with black poisonous nicotene) from their cages and bathe them to remove the poison and make sure they were all healthy and happy bunnies. Whew!  I felt better, let me tell you!

I walked straight from that asshole’s office to a liquor store and bough a pack of smokes.  (Showed him, didn’t I.  Hahahaha!!)  The fucker wouldn’t give me my money back, either.

I quit again not long after that.  It lasted for a couple months until I decided that an occasional clove would do me no harm.  I learned the hard way that what they say in AA is the truth “One is too many and a thousand is never enough” and “It’s the first one that gets ya”.  That was in 2002 and I haven’t even tried to quit since then.  Probably the worst thing too is that when I picked up that Djarum Black clove cigarette, it became my brand of choice.  Probably the most fucking expensive smoke one can smoke.

Yummy Blacks. 40% Cloves by weight

That really wasn’t an issue until recently.  I accepted the cost of my addiction as a price I was willing to pay.  Then the economy fell apart, business went to shit, the GirlyBoi’s hours and pay took a serious cut and our income was cut significantly when Grama died.

All of a sudden, $55 a carton, at about a carton a week, was a significant hit to the budget.

I don’t do guilt.  Usually.  But this really began messing with me when I was late on the mortgage for the first time a few months ago.  Every time I lighted a smoke I’d think “I could have paid the mortgage on time with the $200 I’ve spent on smokes.”

But, for the first time in my life, I have found a drug that I simply cannot kick.  Praying doesn’t work, meditation doesn’t work, will-power is a freaking joke.  When I was doing speed, coke, drinking… my bills were all paid, and mostly on time.  When I got clean I never could really wrap my head around people with families who allowed their addictions to drag them to joblessness and homelessness.  For the first time I think I understand.

Okay.  Enough of the heavy shit.  Here’s the deal.  I have discovered a way (thanks to my good friend, B.) to continue my addiction at a fraction of the cost.  Because I’m a smoke snob, it is a rather involved process. This is where we get to the dedication part.

I have mentioned cloves?  Hehe. So to make a smoke that is as yummy and smooth as a Djarum Black one must start with rum (I’m using Captain Morgan’s because it’s a bit sweet) and oil of cloves. e buy this from a wholesaler, so it’s pretty cheap. Mix, mist the tobacco put it away to cure for a few days.

The clove oil doesn’t quite do it so:

Bulk Whole Cloves, then:

Mortor and Pestle Time

Well, I’m using a coffee grinder now, but the image is so sexy; that lovely phallic pestle nestled in that sleekly vulval mortar. It rocks, doesn’t it?  Hee hee!

So it’s not really rolling smokes.  It’s err… stuffing them.  The tubes with filters come in boxes of 200, and fit right on the end of the lil machine.  My cloves require a lil more processs, since I have to sprinkle a bit of the crushed herb into each smoke.  I also drop a taste of brandy mixed with clove oil and honey into the end of the filter for the hint of sweetness it leaves on my lips. (We Taureans are such sensual addicts).

Again with the time thing, but the half hour a day I spend making my (and the GirlyBoi’s) smokes saves us about $45 a week.

Wow.  Mine run about $11 per carton and hers are $9.

Someday I may quit smoking.  I haven’t ruled it out.  In the meantime, I don’t have to feel like slitting my wrists every time I light up.

Peace, Out!