disconnecting

 

When I updated the Dirty Thread store I forgot to include a way to reach me. Fixed now.

I'm getting ready for a short visit to my short guy in the country. Apart from music, I will make a mighty effort to disengage electronically for the duration. 

Without using any kind of app to track it, I recognize that I spend way too much time looking at the world through my phone, like most of us,  looking for hope. Not putting my head in the sand, just breaking a bad habit while I do what I can to change things.

And Holy Smoke! A Woke Pope!

I wrote an epilogue for Prophets Tango that included Anna and Jack having a private audience with an unnamed pope at the Vatican. The story veered away from it thematically, so I didn't include it, but it's quite juicy. I'll dig it up and post it on the writing page when I get back. 

This is my WIP tower just to the right of my stitching chair. I worry that it, like the deck, might be groaning under the load. I'll see to that on Sunday too.

To my left is the desk, also groaning under a load of serious to-do paperwork. Nice to have everything where I can give it all the finger occasionally. 

Enjoy your weekend!

turning the day around

Colin was standing out on the main deck (where I do all the dye stuff) when the boards settled under his feet just a bit, but suddenly. Alarmingly. This is a second-story deck. You've seen dozens of pictures. 

He went underneath and found this. This metal support post was part of the original deck, only six feet from the door. The house was built in 1971 by a penny-pinching contractor. 

We think this corrosion is due, in part, to my work with salt and chemicals spilling on the boards and below through the years. I haven't looked at the other posts yet, but when Jim enlarged the deck in 1998, when we got the pool, he used massive wooden supports. 

The deck is safe, but I'm uncomfortable working out there until the support is replaced and a good portion of the deck garden is relocated. The big, heavy table Jim built 30 years ago has given me its all, too. 

So, I wandered around Lowe's for an hour looking for lally columns, jack posts, and structural beams. I like lumberyards and hardware stores the way some women like shoe stores. Soul catnip. All I found was a plastic, 5-gallon pail to transport the frogs from the pool to the creek. 

And this - In a crowd of Brads, Liams, and Olivers, it was staring at me out of the cooler at checkout. After an hour of hot, fruitless shopping. 

Terrible for me. Wonderful. Yes.

Before Lowe's, I went to Van Adams Jewelers in Snellville and was delighted by the care and attention from the staff. All I wanted was to resurrect this watch. Jim gave it to me for Christmas sometime in the 90s, and I didn't have the heart to tell him he got me the men's and not the women's version. I got used to it. The strap broke ages ago, and I feared the battery might have leaked and ruined the works, which was the death of the Mickey Mouse watch I was planning to give Charlie. 

In short order, the young lady brought it back from the bench, working! She helped me pick out a band and put it on. I was set on matching the old brown leather one, but this grey nylon is a great match to the watch. 

The overall feeling of the day was one of closeness to Jim. They never leave us in spirit. 

The frosting on the cake of my day was cleaning out my threadnest and deciding which colors to keep for myself. 

I'm still looking for teal, rust, more golds, some deep leafy green, and a darker turn of the moon threads.

 

an inward curl

I've made a few additions to the dirty thread store. As time and daylight permit, there will be more.

Nope, these are mine. 

I have a project in mind that's going to call for a lot of colors and textures. And lots of time.

This drawing still intrigues me. I'll pull out the stitched ones and see if another is really needed. 

Or maybe just draw a fresh perspective. What would this look like if I made it in clay and flipped it over? What creatures might scurry away in the light?

A while ago, more than one of you asked about the AZZBAG pattern I used to sell back when you had to send me a stamped, self-addressed envelope. No kidding! Copyright 1988. I did the thing!

I found all the files. Have at it. 

More pictures... It's fun to personalize them.
 

A Beltane reading

     

We've been living on pause for a while. It's time we tested our luck and were more generous with our gifts, including better responses to righteous fury.  This Empress, this softening, is the spirit of Beltane. Fecundity in all its forms. We are Makers. We create. We manifest miracles from nothing. Time to share the wealth. 

                                                                ~O~

A pair of adorable young men tapped on the door today. One of them had a great opener. He admired the bumper sticker collection on Colin's car. That was mildly disturbing because most of them are obscure references to metal bands or cult horror films. 

They reminded me of my own dance with the missionaries, so long ago.

    I put on my "What are you selling?" face, and tall cutie replied, "We're missionaries."

Younger, short, brown-eyed cutie clutched a very fat bible like a good luck charm. 

    I gave them a big smile and said, "Well, Happy Beltane, boys!" 

    Their looks of complete bewilderment were priceless. Neither had ever heard the word, so I enlightened them and went on to explain why pagans and witches have a lot of problems with their point of view, including that book they are so fond of, commissioned by the rich patriarchy of the day.

    I went on to ask if they knew about the Gnostics and why those books were not included in the bible. The were again, clueless. More education.

    They declined the water I offered. Sweet boys. If I had been dressed, I would have invited them into the kitchen for potato salad, lemonade, and my famous Evolution lecture. I can't mock them or get angry. It takes a lot of courage to do what they do. I just wish their energy and effort weren't so wasted.

Stitching these letters into place, building them from scraps, was so satisfying. I'm still working on forgiving myself for not taking them out in public somewhere. I was still aching and stiff from the back thing, and the plastic Adirondack lawn chairs are notorious back killers. I love sinking into them, but after 15 minutes, I'm really sorry that I did. 

I might go across the street and steal a better chair from the dead. Joyce won't mind. I'm also going to turn her flag upside down. 

Bailey still sneaks up on me for cuddles when Salem isn't looking. 

The only time I'm interested in cooking is when I have a woo-lee for something. 

I had no idea how to spell the word my mother always used for a craving. A quick search returned "voglia" which is Italian for "a need". 

A few days ago, the voglia was for my own potato salad. I would not eat any other potato salad even at gunpoint. Who knows wtf they put in there?

 

I only recently started leaving the red skins on the potatoes. Boil, cool. Add a little Hellmann's mayo, a splash of red wine vinegar, a half sweet onion. well diced. Black pepper, salt, and a pinch of oregano. I used to like to stir in a fat handful of Cajun peanuts, but they've gotten hard to find. It paired so well with a hacked-up apple-bourbon pork loin and caramelized onions.

                                                        ~O~

Sorry, AP for stealing this picture. Israel is burning, and they are asking for help.

I have a lot of thoughts about that, but what a striking photo. 

In the deepest contrast, my spirit animal prepares for the upcoming season of competition in an astoundingly frivolous sport.

 

And, best of all, Home, complete with devil chairs.

I wanted to light the fire pit last night for Beltane, but it was breezy and I need to empty it out to be sure nothing has nested in there. It's been a while since the last burn.

Ace of Wands day

 The back treatment (rfa ablation) went as expected with a lot of hurry up and wait. It was a good thing to relieve the monotony backstage. A little stand up routine for the staff. ONE 5mg Valium was plenty. 

Got home. Had some leftovers and crashed for a short while.  Then I got to work.

The base is one half of one of those cuddledown linen sheets that just did time as a table mopper.

The letters were the carrier scraps under the first batch of Dirty Threads. 

I should have remembered to check the calendar.

 

This next batch, including the blues I finished today, will be the Beltanes. 

(The lump is Camilla.)

Quick & Dirty gets the job done. 

One of the reasons I wanted to go to art school was I liked making posters. 

Milton Glaser's Dylan poster was everywhere in 1966 -- the year I had to make a half-assed stab at a life trajectory. 

For me, art felt like a lame fallback position.  I had no expectations of making a living from something I loved and was confident about doing. I was lazy. 

After the drugs wore off, I decided I needed another sign and went at it, hammer and tongs. 

Tomorrow is Mayday. Mayday. Mayday! We have to save ourselves. 

Just confirmed that Milton Glaser was a teacher at the School of Visual Arts during my time there. A class I should have taken no doubt. 

The 50501s teaser

The rain and clouds never lifted until a brief moment on Friday morning. This was the first time I had a good look at them, and I was pleasantly surprised. 

The extra steps I took in layering the colors paid off unexpectedly.

The entire range of blues turned out to be anemic at best and will be a focus for the next dyefest. There's a workaround that involves batching the blues under a black plastic bag out in the full sun. Poaching is more like it. 

I'll be making more of the B&W, too. 

It's going to be a very busy week for me, so I probably won't get around to posting these until the coming weekend. 

 

When was the last time...

 

...has anyone had the deep need to escape the moment? Apparently, a lot of people!

I'm running a sort of crack dealer sale on my three-book serial, "Prophets Tango". Book one, "Out of Step," is free to download from 'Zon until 4/29.

Over a thousand people have done just that! 

Of course, if they like it and want to find out where the story is headed, they'll just have to fork over a few bucks for "Dancing in the Dark" and "The Light Fantastic".

If you want to know more before you take a bite, here's a fat synopsis that Amazon wouldn't let me use. 

All of this is a great spur to get me back on the path of my favorite cheap thrill, writing. I have two books in the works, both of them far from FIN. 

How cloth feeds memory

 

Forgive the overload of images. It just pleases my eye like a flashy sunrise.

I dragged my heels finishing this bag. Finding just the right shade and texture of denim to make the strap, I cannibalized a never-worn denim jacket. The sleeves never fit me right, but now it's an amazing vest with great pockets outside and in. It will get some interesting embroidery in the future.

This is the right hip, including the front and back pockets - all that was left of Jimmy's jeans. Finishing had a sad finality, but I took my time and chose each element for its capacity to delight me. And I am delighted. 

It's just the right size to hold my Tarot, wallet, a small pad, and a pen. The pockets are deep for keys, change, and a cell. The back pocket will carry and receive messages.

I love that I can look at each scrap and know the provenance. That fish came from a dress that I wore (without a bra!) in the 70s. Those valiant fish.

The feathers were inspired by Jude's Magic Feather project on a piece from an Italian trousseau circa 1940s. I knew the owner of the tablecloth, Ginny A. These things came to me after she died, and her family left so many of her things to be trashed. Boxes of cloth and her memories.

We bought a terrific, gas-guzzling Oldsmobile Vista Cruiser station wagon off her. "Bluebird" was our tanklike kid-hauler for many years. We would be at the A&P at the same time, she driving her brand new wagon and hating it, and offering to swap to get the Olds back. 

Bluebird had the good grace to finally croak just about when gas prices had everyone scrambling for foreign cars with less greedy engines, which led me to my first Honda. No turning back. 

The gold critters on the teal background were saved from "Firmament," which I sometimes worked on during Jim's chemo.

The blue cloth came from a beach find on a long-ago OG family vacation near Newport.

It was so ugly when I found it. The babies mentioned in that post are almost 21. One of the twins is nearing the end of his struggle with brain cancer. The family turmoil up there continues.

Real tools hung from that loop sometimes.

I used to come up behind him when he was cooking and slip my hand into that front pocket, and he would say, "Is there something I can help you find, young lady?"

This embellishment came from a dress that I bought at GW back when anything white and tagged 100% cotton came home with me on senior discount day. Most of it went out in scrap bundles. Many of you may even have bits of it. Gauze is so nice to needle. You can push it around like clay. And those tassels!

This was one of the first wild hearts that I embroidered like potato chips in recent history. I still have a clutch of them. 

That glass cross? Acquired at a bead show attended with my friend Jan back when we were still making jewelry. I used to bring my purchases home and dump them into a tub. My bead soup drove some people crazy.

My intention is to load up the Tarot and give readings under my Mayday banners. Still researching for a suitable street corner.

 Tomorrow, I'm making a big banner:

                IMPEACH NOW!

And some day, this little bag will make a perfectly acceptable urn for our ashes to be buried somewhere under a sapling. 

Cast a dark eye

 Another of Colin's shots from the ramp at Briscoe Field. I thought to correct the color for a moment, but decided to leave it as he shot it. It perfectly captures my mood for the entire day. Flexing between fear, not for myself, but for others, and the rage of the impotence of age. 

When I read about the Worm's quest to establish a federal registry for autistic people I took up a search for "nazi doctor atrocities". Not a great thing to do before coffee.

In seconds, the most comprehensive result came from Wikipedia. Aktion T4 is what this entire administration, his entire cult, wants. If you are in any way not their ideal, you should be deleted. Please spread that link far and wide. I am nobody.

Autism is his smokescreen. Down syndrome, any mental illness, or any chronic illness. Let's not forget biological ancestry. He proposes accessing personal medical records for the betterment of the human race. Look up eugenics while you're at it. 

I'm going to be on a street somewhere on May 1.  And if you support the trump regime in any way, fuck off and die.

After the weather passed, the linen tablemoppers had a lot to say.

The threads are a mixed lot, as always. I was disappointed in the turquoise and will have to do some research as this has become a pattern. It's not the dye, I hope.

I think it's more about the ambient temperatures. 

It might have been hot out there for me, but not for the blues, so there will be some over dying before I let any of them go.

I love the unironed texture and drape of these linens. It might be that the model for the Statue of Liberty was wearing a linen gown. A cloth of substance.

The colors were as expected, a byproduct of the thread dyeing process. Haphazard and random, both pieces have lots of white space still. Room to glow.

 

I'm going to get Charlie from school tomorrow. First stop, La Michoacana for ice cream. I will try very hard to keep this ugliness away from both of us. I'm grateful to Jake and Missy for keeping the news out of their family life. For twenty-four hours, I will listen to music, check on the potato plants, and bird nests on the porch. I will also be filled in on the latest from Hogwarts.

naming a dyefest

 

I'm fresh out of clever.  The 50501 threads will do well enough. 

Today, I'm tired and a little sad about Pope Francis. There's a tough job nobody wants. I've watched the film "The Two Popes" several times, and more recently, "Conclave". Both fascinate me. The only Catholics I know are ex-Catholics, except for the lunatic trumper down the block. 

Jim saw the Church from the inside out and shed it like a badly fitting skin long before we met. Still, his dog tags read Catholic, and I made sure he had legit last rites. He lived a more righteous life than most. 

When I was young, I thought corrupting nice Catholic boys was a lark. Back then, I didn't know how corrupt they already were. 

 I'm convinced that, after meeting with Vance and knowing him for the hypocritical liar that he is, Francis may have decided that he could do more for humanity from the other side with a little judiciously applied Karma. India is rife with fanatics of every stripe. Go Kali!

It's turned gray and cold here. I keep thinking it's Sunday.

The threads are in. Hand washing, rinsing, and drying will take days. I'll update the store over the weekend. Maybe.

I'm leaving the table moppers and carrier cloths outside in the rain for a few days. Taking the cure, they will.

It's finally raining.

I brought these in last night. 

Washed and dried, they are beautiful with those tiny flashes of color here and there. 

There are only eight, but I think I'll make more with an eye toward a lighter touch.