I am busy getting ready for next weekend - a steampunk convention. It's a small, local one and will be the debut for my "mash-up" business: MoonTea's Mysteries. The persona I have for this steampunk business is Ms. Cordelia MoonTea, a monstrumologist by way of alchemy, apothecary, Tea, spirituality/theosophy, scultpting, authorship, and now, apparently, seamstressing. The business sells such things as Arthropod Annulling Spray, Cephalopod Repellant, Ocotpodiform Impedimentation Spray, Chthuloid Deterrent, mustache wax (summer formula), smelling salts, perfume lockets, A Most Efficacious Ointment for the Relief of Bruises, terrarium globes, fragrant sachets, and a book on Steampunk Tea.
The newest "skill" is sewing a bespoke gown for a friend - a tailed jacket (with pockets), a pleat-trimmed skirt, a bustier to go under the jacket, and the chemise and bloomers worn beneath it all.
This all means one thing to Itzl:
He must work harder to get my attention. When the noon sirens went off, he was frantic that I pay attention. I assured him I noticed his alert, praised him, gave him a treat, and went back to stitching on the pleated trim for the skirt.
"Not enough!" he declared, and pounced on me again.
"I saw your alert, Itzl, and I thank you for telling me the noon sirens went off. It's good that you alert even on the sounds that are meaningless. Thank you. Good boy!"
"No!" he said with every hair of his little body, "You're not listening to me."
"OK, Itzl, what am I missing?"
He leads me to the kitchen and to the refrigerator, then dashes to the stove and looks at me expectantly. He's joined by Xoco, who gets very excited and stands up on her hind legs to peer up at the stove top, her nose working furiously.
"Ah!" I say. "The noon siren means lunchtime?"
As soon as I said "lunchtime" both dogs went ballistic.
"Y'all aren't starving. There's kibble in your bowls and I put down an extra bowl of water because it's warm today. I even set water outside for you so you wouldn't have to come in for a sip."
Itzl widened his eyes and looked at the refrigerator, then the stove, clearly telling me "Kibble is not Lunch. We want Lunch."
So I took some Hebrew Nationals out of the fridge and fired up the stove (we're under a fire ban, so no grilling). The little ones shared a hot dog, the little cannibals, and enjoyed a spoon of beans.
And now that they've had their lunch, it's back to the machines for me.
This is what I'm doing:
To this I will add a tailed jacket, then the buttons and it's done.
Sachets:
My Steampunk Tea book:
A Most Efficacious Ointment: