What follows is a perfect plethora of profoundly poignant and private pictures of my peculiar and professional producers of pointillist products (presented and performed in positively no particular order, but perhaps they should have been) (And T. is personally to blame for the preponderance of P's in the previous proclamations):
Rachel and T, squaring off over who gets to tape the next box:
They packed for most of the 92 degree day, so some odd fashion sense should be excused, no?
I really think I deserve better drugs in order to actually live in such disarray. At least there is gin!
I've been bragging about my gaspacho for so long it was a little unnerving to finally present it, but everyone agreed it's the bomb:
It's hot for us these days here in Seattle. And we are all middle aged women. Do the math. I have 6 fans in my living room/factory. And my personal fan (that gets turned on and off at odd moments throughout days even when it is cold) was adorned (by Rachel, the minx) such that it sticks it's tongue out at me on a regular basis. Do you think that means something?
We have to get a large piece ready for the auction at the Tacoma Glass Museum. After a full day of packing Rachel told T. to get it away from her as she couldn't be trusted not to throw it inadvertently to the floor. So T. complied:
After a full (hot) day of packing and shipping and painting and dotting and taping and polishing and being served GASPACHO and DRINKS by the BOSS we had a little toast of cukukuktinis. Hey, the job might not pay a lot, but I don't think anyone can complain about the perks!
On one of the liquor boxes we packed glass in for shipping today the following was printed. I'm thinking I should display it in my booth, eh?