Wrap-up

The cloth from the Under the Influence dyefest has been a rousing success because I remembered and stuck to the rule of No Machine washing. Everything had to be hand-washed. Small batches of like colors. 

Most of this has been cut up into hand-sized pieces and blended into the scrap basket. 

I may have to rethink pricing or get out the old postal scale. A bundle that went out yesterday weighed 6.2 ounces and cost $7.45 for first-class postage. 

I'll see how this feels with just keys, cell, ID, and some cash today. Not sure that I can travel that light.

 

My actual triumph? Recreating her Baby. 

A bit of fluff, felt, and feathers that came in a bag of cheap cat toys. One that she singled out and has been carrying around in her teeth. Fetching it back when thrown. Coveting it when one of the other cats comes near. And misplacing the original somewhere upstairs.  She's a toddler after all. 

Now there are three of them, and she's good with them all. 

Kinky rayon

 

Ah, that weird rayon thread.

I wish I'd given it the attention that I gave the cotton when it comes to the range of colors. Each change was an afterthought.

My attempt at black and white didn't work out as planned because the thread had an affinity for Dragonblood. I don't want to call it contamination. It blushed💗.

When wet with soda ash solution the skeins are as slimy as pieces of raw chicken in olive oil. With gloves, it felt like they were trying to escape.

Washout was a little better this time because I double-tied each skein.

And the way a double strand works up into a nice bold line has grown on me. I'll be keeping a few for myself. 

Let me know if you would like to try it.

Harvest

 
Under the Influence 

Getting all the cloth washed out is going to be a challenge. No more marathons - of anything manual. 

But it's mostly about the threads. The light is beautiful this morning, so I started making sets and posting them. The names are hard coming. 

Mostly with the objective of getting away from the house. 

Just being anywhere with the internet available feels claustophobic, threatening. Sick making. 

This is one of my favorites. A huck tea towel, good sized. At first I thought that monogram was a D. Now, I'm not so sure. 

I laid out all the cotton thread - the rayon skeins were still damp. For all the richness of this towel, the threads in blue came up short. Lots of mutts. 

I remind myself that something that does nothing for me may make someone else gasp. 

 

Season's end

The stuff that I walked away from to go to the sea. The time away did us good.

I spent most of yesterday handwashing skeins of thread and pieces of cloth. Washing and rinsing skeins of DMC is like petting tiny mermaids or handling cooked lasagna noodles.

Small batches of like colors, mostly because I'm superstitious. At this stage, the dye is dead, but if any Demon Fuschcia snuck into the mix, there could be contamination. It happened to some of the rayon hanks. Live and keep learning.

Put on the music!

Soak for a while. 15, 20 minutes. Soap (Synthrapol or Dawn) in cold water. Rinse in hot. Repeat as needed. Don't let any of the skeins go down the drain. 

(I work directly in the bathroom sink. Between steps, I stretch my back and walk around. Do chores.)

Underwater, the tie-off presents itself. I grasp it gently and swish slowly. Imagine how long hair behaves under water. This action reorders any loops that may have twisted or tangled. Preens them. 

I really should take a video of this step.

 

This is about a tenth of the skeins. It's going to be a while before I start building sets and posting them for sale. I won't rule out overdyeing if the weather permits. The cloth is spectacular.

For now, I'm taking the steps slowly and keeping notes. 

The blessing

Oak Island, North Carolina

the pre-dawn view from the front porch. I spent a lot of time out there. The Intracoastal Waterway is just beyond those lights. You can see the tops of boats go by. 

I forgot my bathing suit because I never had any intention of swimming. 

Something skittered away from my steps. Lots of them. And what was I going to do with it if I caught it? I'm like a witless kitten on the shoreline chasing whatever moves. We sat just about the highwater mark and watched ghost crabs watching us from a few feet away. 

It was hot, humid, and mercifully overcast, but for a few minutes of blazing blue sky sun here and there while we were on the beach. 

I was glad to have a good book to read and an idea or two about a new writing project. 

Even though we went to the grocery store, my sisters wanted to eat out for every meal. For a seaside resort area, most of the food was just okay. I imagine most of the first-line kitchen staff take a vacation after Labor Day. 

Leaving my car with a friend who then drove me from her place to the airport was a great stress reliever. Still, I landed at 3:40 and didn't get home until 6:30pm with traffic. 

Every single person I encountered during travel was delightful. Two infants on the flight, and we didn't even know until they were carried off the plane. Kindness was abundant. On the homebound landing, the pilot brought us in HOT with one big bounce and a swooping curve that did not feel intentional.  When I got off the plane, I thanked him for the entertainment.

Under the Spell

 

...of knowing this is the last dyefest of the year. The need to go big and make it count. Thread, cloth, overdyes, anything that didn't run away when I grabbed at it.

On Tuesday, I went to the store for something and thought to ask at the pharmacy for flu/covid shot since I'm flying on Sunday. Sorry, no current Covid, but sit right here. She was just about to give me the flu shot, touched my neck and checked my temperature. No shot for you, wretch. Go home with your mild fever. Okay. 

Within a half hour of being home, I came down with a 5 alarm headcold, sore throat, violent sneezing and a headache. Fuck me! Again? Covid crashed my trip last year. I had to know. 

The next morning, I had my first experience with urgent care. After two hours of idiocy at the front end, the techs and doctor behind the doors were wonderful. He gave me Rx2 and said I could go home and wait for the test results. Negative for everything. Flu, Covid, Strep...but he gave me one of those 6-day rocket fuel prednisone courses to help with the symptoms.

I had forgotten how high-test this shit is! By 9 this morning, coffee was over, the kitchen was clean, and chicken cutlets were frying in the pan.

Only then did I turn my mind to color, starting with this hopeful stab at teal. I was heavy-handed with the dyes. No point in letting everything get a year older, unused.

Yes, that's a lot to process, and I also need to do laundry and pack for my trip tomorrow. Change the bedding, vacuum. 

Compromises will be made. 

I may just bring it all in and leave it in the bathtub until I get back from the beach. Load all the threads on a tray and lock it in my closet.

I feel better about it already. The hard part is over. 

It was hot out there, and I had some notion that I needed to cover up from the sun on those meds. Who needs a sunburn on top of the dregs of a shitty cold?

(Which Jake and I traced to our favorite little booger farmer, Charlie) 

I don't know what that golden glow is coming from. But I hope it sticks with that linen tablemopper holding every up today. The cloths I just tossed down on the boards. That red crocheted bag on the right is going to be spectacular.

Old rules were broken today. I don't usually mix green but this acid green looked promising. We'll see.

A pretty even mix of hots and cools. There were twenty or so overdyes from the last run. It's been a long while since trying that. 

I hope it was hot enough to keep King Turquoise happy. 

Making ready

 Dreaming in color. What colors do you dream of? I'm still chasing that Teal. Let me know.

Update: 90 degrees tomorrow. It's a go. 

Scandal

Last Thursday

 

I've been to the movies alone before. The fact that I can't remember which movies tells me something. 

Thursday afternoon, I was bored, cranky, and looking for trouble that didn't involve a keyboard. Ads for this movie had been drifting into my feed like a freak snowstorm. Without much hope, I went looking for a showtime somewhere not in Atlanta proper. I would not drive into the city to see Jesus do the Raise the Dead trick. 

Lo, there was a listing for Caught Stealing at a new theater not ten minutes from my house that was showing the movie at 4:40pm. I had an hour to grab a snack, spend another infuriating few minutes listening to the news before the show, and do a little more scrolling, but scrupulously avoided any movie trailers. 

Something possessed me when I walked through the doors. I went up to the man at the ticket counter and said, "I'm here to see Austin Butler in his underwear." I got four blinks and a senior discount. I will be remembered.

There was no one else there for the very first showing but me. I took a comfy recliner front and center, busted open my roll of Sweet Tarts, and got completely lost in Aronofsky's adventure for the next hour and 47 minutes. Holy crap! An original story.

I confess that for the most part, I missed most of the 80's and 90's, culturally. I had a husband, two kids, a house, and a full-time job. And from what little leaked into cable news, there was little charm there. Caught Stealing is fully steeped in the era and New York City at its seediest. The supporting cast was amazing. The soundtrack was a character unto itself. Fortunately, the theater sound did not try to blast us out of our seats and for me was easy enough to ignore for the most part. 

The story itself is woven around the arm's-length innocence of two stars--the guy who you will no doubt be sick to death of seeing, and a magnificent cat named Tonic. Good cat daddies are everything.  I hated Butler's Elvis, but he has been redeemed. I don't know about Best Picture of the Year, but best entertainment in a long time for yours truly. 

                            No spoilers from me. A good time was had by all.

The shift

In two short weeks, I've watched her go from a needy ball of fluff to an elegant huntress. When we were first thinking of names out loud, Long Tall Sally from the Alley popped into my head. Prophetic.

The favorite toy is a tiny mouse-shaped ball of cloth with a few fluffs of feathers sticking out of it. Almost all of the feathers are gone. She finds it and fetches it to me to be stolen from her and tossed, and she starts all over again.

There will be a well check at the vet this morning, and as soon as someone finds the baby gate and installs it at the top of the stairs, we'll give her the run of the third level. 

As much as her antics entertain, I look forward to some calm camaraderie. Play, even. The brief introductions have been as expected; expressions of disgust, but no overt hostility. 

Bailey and Salem will be reaping the benefits of her room with a view once everyone can come and go as they like - indoors.

                                        ~⚓~

A scene I've been working on got (and remains) bogged down. For inspiration on the power of pacing, I returned to this book. Only a few chapters in, and I read the news that the movie has been made. I sure hope they haven't messed it up. 

I am reminded of how the score of "Shakespeare in Love" moved the story along like a leaf on a brook that fed a stream that fed into a mighty river. 

I hope the makers of Hamnet remembered that as well. A writer has to make music with their words. No small task

It's hard to believe that I may have already seen the best pool days this year. Even though the sun is strong, it's suddenly dipping into the sixties at night, and that chill lingers in the water. 

 

Good drugs

...the legal sort. Whatever brain chemistry is happening when I find the groove. Mornings now are for writing. Coffee to noon, give or take, 800 to 1500 words. Some will be pruned away. Sometimes a fragment births a paragraph. I'll get wordy on you in a heartbeat. 

Today was the first pool day in too long. The first hour was skimming, brushing, and hand vacuuming the fine stuff. Then an hour of mixed dog paddling and drifting around cloud watching. I had to stay off the float because the skeeters were wild for my O+ today. 

After a shower, collapse. This drug, a powerful sleeping potion, comes wrapped in fur and purr.

Most of the morning, while I was in the studio, she was zooming around in her suite, fetching and mauling her feathered friends. We could hear her thumping around in and out of her boxes. Rumpus. Such a joy to see after watching her struggling to breathe.