Semi-Daily Scribbles

The season was upon her, and Darla Varney was ready. She worked year-round to deliver the goods to her patrons. Plus, Darla had a reputation to maintain. A patroness of the arts herself, Darla was a maverick among fellow crafters/hobbyists who worked the circuit alongside her. Darla wasn't afraid to mix media, let's just say, and was pleased with her recently completed Tank Series: plastic models she'd assembled and customized to represent scenes from works of literature. For example, a Churchill Mk. VII designed to look like the Peqoud, or Anna Karenina's date with a train with the train being a T-72 M1. One guy, not a regular, who stopped by the booth last year even placed a special order–a Ford 3-Ton M1918–reimagined as a Hobbit Hole. The name on the bill of sale was Morton Abernathy but he told her to call him Ort. He mentioned his interest in historical dioramas and that made Darla's heart flutter. Or maybe the palpitation had more to do with Ort's passable resemblance to Darla's father, Bertram. She missed him. Her dad had been the one responsible for getting Darla hooked on model building. The boys were really good builders, too, but they were more interested in ripping things apart. Everything put back together again, of course. Sometimes even better than before. That was Teddy and Toby's gift, to set things aright. Darla felt the trickle of sweat graze her left eyebrow. She had no time for sickness, not with the marketplace back in business. Darla dabbed at her forehead, grabbed the extra saw horse propped against the couch, and walked out to meet her loaded down pickup. No germs or unpleasant memories were going to waylay Darla Varney on the first day of swap meet season.