someday, shopping

FaceBook kept putting ads for French Market bags on my feed. Some nice to look at, but who knows made of what. A few touted they were made of recycled fishing nets. And the prices!

Anyway, things have been slow at the night job. The flow of calls had all but dried up. Idle hands and all that. So I looked closely at the pictures. I found a basket with cones of cotton string and a rayon/bamboo blend, my J hook and I got busy making it up as I went. Did I mention that I don't really know how to crochet? That is, I don't know what these stitches are called and have no idea how to follow a pattern. Taking something as one dimensional as a piece of string and building something useful with it has always intrigued me.

There was a little trial and error. Some ripping out and starting over ,and unexpected assistance from three cats who I thought were well past the kitten-with-string stage of life. Silly me.

So this came to be during a George Clooney kick. Over two nights, "Descendents" and "Michael Clayton". George demands perfection although I may go back in and do some strategic reinforcement at what might be stress points.

There's string enough for just one more. I think.

Someday, some shopping.

after the storm

Which didn't really even affect us...much. People lost their homes, lives even, in other parts of the state. I heard a crack, thud and splash around 9. It happens in heavy weather, the trees have grown close, crowding in.

Around midnight there was a roll of thunder so deep and wide, so long the house was vibrating. I started wondering about other possibilities. A train was derailing nearby, a jet was coming in for a crash landing on the roof. Fun stuff. Nearing midnight, my phone kept waking me with tornado warnings, but when I looked at the radar map, we were on the edge of impending doom and only getting licks of mayhem. I fell asleep and slept soundly through whatever happened between midnight and 6:30. Then I got up to make coffee, never really thinking I needed to do a damage assessment.

I've been writing here since 2005 so I'm pretty sure most readers are sick to death or at least overly familiar with pictures of my swimming pool. My blue heaven.

Jim came into a small insurance settlement the year after we moved into this house. He was injured on the job and as a result, had to make a big change in how he made a living. I know a lot of men would have made self-pity purchases with that kind of money, trucks motorcycles and the like. Jim bought me, us, the family this pool.

He built all the decking around it that makes it look in-ground.  It has had the same liner since the day it was set up in 1999.  All props to a company that probably struggles because their product is so awesome. Thanks for all the years, Splash.

It's too soon to tell, but we've patched a few small cuts in the liner in the past. Tomorrow, the pool guy, Colin, will get in, clear away the debris and we'll make an assessment. We just joked, at least we got ahead of the fornicating tree frogs this year.

Spirits linger

Make what you will of the imagery. I believe in Spirit.

I woke up to a wash of bright sun and knew it was not going to last. Took this quick and dirty picture just before the cloud cover slammed shut and a quiet rain began. No chance for a better shot.  I'll pin him up on the board with the other Littles for now. It was all about saving that one scrap.

For unknown reasons, Easter in our non-religious family evolved into a mini-Christmas where the boys were more excited by one or two small, but coveted toys than they were about the candy. Coloring (and eating) the hardboiled eggs was all me. In that spirit, Colin shopped for a small pail of treats and toys and left them at Charlie's doorstep on his way home from working the overnight shift.

While we were still in New York, visiting and feasting with family was a given. Someone always made a ham, something I never cooked. Get dressed up? Not that I can recall. Church? Never.

It's very disturbing that in the name of religion, people will be defying local ordinances and going to Church there to further propagate this pandemic. Probably a lot of people who ONLY go to church on Easter and Christmas while decent people stay at home and practice loneliness to keep families and unknown healthcare professionals safe. These selfish fools will be clogging up the hospitals and morgues in two or three weeks. Damn them all to hell, if you believe in that shit. Think I'm biased against the biggest racket ever created by man? You betcha.

Although neither were affiliated or practiced any religion, my parents tried foisting church hypocrisy on us before we were old enough to call it out for the bullshit it was, hauling us somewhere vaguely protestant where I'm sure my Dad sat in the car and smoked

New shoes (and clothing) for Easter was a common financial burden for so many parents back then. All I wanted was a new pair of sneakers, not another pair of patent leather flats that I might only wear that one Sunday and wouldn't even fit come September when school started. I used to daydream about painting my feet black with my Dad's shoe polish just to see if anyone would notice.

Appropriately, weather from hell, aka Alabama, is bearing down on us, the worst coming after dark tonight. I am settling in with things to occupy my mind and my hands. An image of a French Market bag floated by on the web. I blinked and said, I can do that. Why didn't figure in.

a day on the cusp

Here's that culinary industry from the day before. I'll eat the leftovers at every meal until they are gone.
~What to eat when~ has never made sense to me. Unsupervised, I served my kids grilled cheese and chicken noodle soup for breakfast and Cheerios for dinner. Whatever, whenever. We are true omnivores.




Yesterday, it was so cold in the morning I really didn't want to get out of bed. The furnace was turned off and I had left all the doors and windows wide open. The down comforter and duvet were all aired as well. Bed never felt so safe and comfy, but 930 was the limit.
I find the longer I lay in bed, the more miserable my bones feel. I miss the anti-gravity of being in the water but the pool is in a terrible state and weeks away from spring cleaning.

 Today, it bounced back to 70 and sunny and demanded attention. My mailbox garden is overrun with those irises and a gardenia bush that had better give me some blooms this year. The peonies are puny looking but there were buds. I put all these anomalies down to my poor stewardship and climate change.

The lawn is scrubby but thick. A shock because we never really got the leaves off it in the fall, just mowed them to shreds and let them fall.

This is the grove. The four crape myrtles set to the points of the compass. Still recovering from the chain saw butchery inflicted on them two years ago. I think they might bloom this year.

I sat on the lawn behind the mailbox, pulling weeds and hacking out tubers of iris. Baily and Salem inspected the work then scampered across the street to visit my neighbor's daffodils. They both seem to understand the need to look both ways even on our quiet straightaway.

I scratched up enough bare dirt to hide some sunflower and morning glory seeds to go with the zinnias that self-seed so well each year. I miss planting marigolds and such, but I won't go shopping. I may never go retailing again. It's been thirty days since I last went into a store and I don't miss it, much, but if Colin wasn't doing all the necessary provisioning, I'm sure I'd be singing another tune.

The weatherman promises that the South is going to hell in it's Easter basket tomorrow with "tornados" being the lead word in all the forecasts. Timing is everything.

a looking day

But I got a lot of things done. Overdue stuff, like vacuuming. Dish doing. Cooking even. We had spaghetti with meat sauce last night on a night where I would typically rather not cook and call for Chinese. It seems like our favorite place is closed for the duration.

My Croc ballet slippers rescued from the depths of the Closet from Hell. I wore them to Jake's wedding and nobody noticed. I never had to take them off because they hurt my feet. Brushed off and brushed out (I thought about scorpions) I will try to get back into the habit of wearing something on my feet.

The deck pots and planters got a little love. Old, tired dirt dumped over the side and new soil added. I need to go out and round up a large team of worms.




I'm not so certain this angel needs a head.

I got sidetracked playing with the resident Legos - the ones that never go home with Charlie so whoever needs them always has them.

Facebook memories usually sticks to pictures of people. Today it just brought some lovely things to look at.


Home. The view I grew up with.  The still water so rich with life.

And an in-progress shot of Demons Dance

Some dyed cloth from years ago. Great inspiration for upcoming dyefests.

I remember the steps needed for all that texture!

stitching protection

What started out as a small mission to save a scrap of cloth has turned into a small project (for now). A badge (remember them?) of protection.  A cloth angel.

 I'm going to linger with this one a while.  A great relief from mask making and we all need to give ourselves whatever small relief we can find these days.

Thank you, Jude, for the shout out. Your work, your philosophy, means so much to so many. 

For now, I'm taking reservations for Dirty Thread. I'm investigating Stamps.com in order to bypass the pest hole, I mean post office, and for the next dyefest, I will have a Mystery Apprentice! Stand by for clues.

Although we are only across town, it's been a great relief to be able to send fun and useful stuff through the mail to Charlie. I deliberately ordered 11x17 sheets of good paper to go along with a set of watercolors, big bright pans of fun.

The only advice I had for him was "own the page!". It looks like he understands damn the white space and go wild. I see a budding Kandinsky or Frankenthaler!

The paper is heavy enough to take acrylic paint so when the watercolors run out, we'll move on to the hard stuff!!

Sunday catch up

Breaking self-regulation here. I guess you can't call it a rule if you only have the vaguest intention of it being enforceable.  There were to be no distractions from writing.

right. as if.

I uncovered this scrap again to find it unraveling dangerously and decided that it needed saving. Of course, this will grow. The way a common word becomes uncommon when paired with another. Then the phrases grow legs and gather in bunches, restive. Then the whole herd of those wild phrases takes off for parts unknown. Story!

I'm supposed to be somewhere and have one minute to figure out how to get there. I'll be back. Sorry, K. I didn't have Zoom configured on my phone. I'll try again.

Bailey (aka Killah) is annoyed when I encroach on his corner of the bed. "Bitch, this IS a Cali-king. Do you mind?"

He has been wreaking havoc on the lizard population of the deck.

Movie recommendations! "Hidalgo" with Viggo Mortenson is showing on Roku. Good even with commercials. "The Road to Perdition" with Tom Hanks on Netflix and, yes it goes this low..."Deuce Bigelow, Male Gigolo" again on Roku.

These arrived yesterday and HOLY SHIT! In what universe have I ever paid 12$ a bar for soap? This one and forever forward. The bars are big and fat- if you drop one on your foot in the shower it is going to hurt! The fragrances are intensely intoxicating and you'd better like whichever you choose because it lingers even after thorough rinsing. Lather? So rich, so gooey...closest comparison? Fresh cum.
💋💋💫

Addendum. Although I couldn't figure out the Zoom call, I was able to sit in on my first live livingroom concert that musicians are giving. Dayna Kurtz is an amazing singer/songwriter and just minutes before I had to log in to the day job, she had me in tears with "You'll Always Live in My Heart" then finished with this gem.

production

   

I'm not fond of production work. So many times in the past, I've started a pieced quilt, only to abandon the project out of boredom. My response is to not measure - free piecing and winging it, results being "eclectic" and "unique". Nice ways of saying "she has the attention span of a chipmunk". Truth.

The pattern used to make this mask must be adhered to, even as the curved piecing involved does bad things to my brain.

 I have thread. I have cloth. What I don't have is the stamina to sit in that chair for hours on end. I can feel my spine collapsing on itself, moment by moment, then I stagger to the bed and lay on my back for a nearly equal measure of time. Not good.

With no elastic (which I wouldn't wear anyway) I've resorted to cutting strips of jersey and making bias fold style ties. The cloth? I kept a few of Jim's heavyweight t-shirts. The cloth curls on itself so sweetly, so obligingly, making the ties is a pleasure. The lavender ties are from a wishful-thinking tank top of mine that's hung in the closet for at least ten years, never worn. Who knew it would ever see noble service.

I miss buying marked-down flowers from Kroger and Publix. I don't even know if they have floral departments anymore. I haven't been in a store since the 11th.  I'm also not going to any of the big box stores for the purpose of buying flats of annuals. I have seeds to go through and start.

Oh, there are new threads in the store. Reservations only for now.

time traveling

One of the things I like best about Facebook is the way it dishes up random memories.  Colin was playing crack, er, technology dealer one rainy afternoon exposing Charlie to the devil in the box. Charlie was still doubtful.


We remain well and safe. For the first time in memory, pollen levels in excess of 8000 have made me think I have a summer cold with the eye-watering and sneezing.

My day job continues, although they are beginning to offer days off because there is so little traffic. I anticipate layoffs unless the sales team has shifted its attention away from the hospitality sector.

Anyone else succumbing to Sloth in a big way?  The shower and hair wash was a delicious treat this morning. Way overdue. 

I was also mean to an online acquaintance last night. He posted a  challenge. List six concerts you've been to, one being a lie.  His list was such that I asked if he was Amish? Really, Pat Boone? The BeeGees. Harry Chapin?  Then I couldn't stop laughing at my own mean joke until I peed myself. 

I was going to start a new stitch adventure this morning but Bailey, aka Killah, wouldn't give up the chair. If you pick him up to move him, he will be back in the chair before you can turn around and plant your ass.

The sun holds on, but it's a bit brisk to go out with wet hair and the sniffles.

All that and I've lucked into a crackerjack beta-reader with a wicked eye and a sharp red pen who has confirmed that Prophets Tango is NOT ready for publication yet. Editing - the ever-shitting, I mean shifting tide of opinion and facts, flows on. and on.....sigh.

fun & filth

For all of you who do NOT waste your lives and time over at that post hole called FaceBook, I'm gleaning only the best on the days that not much is happening around here.
______________________________________________

A car full of Irish nuns is sitting at a traffic light in downtown Dublin when a bunch of rowdy drunks pulls up alongside them.

"Hey, show us yer tits, ya bloody penguins!" shouts one of the drunks.
Quite shocked, Mother Superior turns to Sister Mary Immaculata and says, "I don't think they know who we are; show them your cross."

Sister Mary Immaculata rolls down her window and shouts, "Piss off, ya fookin' little wankers, before I come over there and rip yer balls off!"

Sister Mary Immaculata then rolls up her window, looks back at Mother Superior, quite innocently, and asks, "Did that sound cross enough?
__________________________________________

In other news. I made a soap sack to put bits and slivers into for my shower. I have a vast collection of those little soap pills they give out at hotels. Some smell quite nice. They are all in the bag now. And speaking of hot showers.

 After a string of days in the Georgia pollen shitstorm (over 8000 today), I took Jack Flash to the DONT TOUCH ME OR SPEAK TO ME car wash. You know the kind. Wave your card, they wave you through. Spanking clean and shiny, I cranked up the rock and took the long straightaway home, heavy on the gas. 

On FB I wanted to say "This was more fun than a fast fuck in a hot shower" #veryeasilyamused.  But I censored myself. You, my friends, get me full blast.

something for everyone

Spent the whole afternoon yesterday, winding in a trance while I watched a poor choice of entertainment. The Netflix series "Ozark" examines the predicament of a seemingly ordinary family enmeshed in the workings of a drug cartel. It just keeps getting deeper and darker. I bailed.

Of course, I couldn't find the imaginary stash of cardboard spools so I used the last of my business cards. Put to good use, finally.

the Cone set

It will be a few days before I sort these out, curate some new sets, and get them posted for sale.

We are under a county mandated lockdown. I haven't been inside any retail establishment since 3/11 so it remains to be seen when I'll be able to ship these. But if anything grabs your fancy, I will be taking reservations against the better times the near future will bring us, if we all take good care.

And this for some solid hilarity 

The world has caught a virus so I’ve written you a poem We need your help to cure it, so stay the fuck at home. And if you have got twelve kids or you’re living on your own, Lock it down and isolate, and stay the fuck at home. If you think you’re not at risk here, you’re living in a dome, It spreads faster than a hookers legs, so stay the fuck at home. I need the gym, I need the beach, I hear you bitch and moan. You need to grow a brain cell and stay the fuck at home. But I feel fine, I don’t feel sick. I’ll go out on my own. How thick are you, you selfish prick. Please, just stay the fuck at home. From LA through to Berlin, and Wuhan through to Rome, There’s people dying every day, so stay the fuck at home. If you need to contact family, use Facebook, Skype, or phone, We’ve got the fucking internet, so stay the fuck at home. The only way to slow it down is isolate, not roam. Please help the world get back on track and stay the fuck at home. Stay the fuck at home, stay the fuck at home. Don’t you be a fucking dick, please stay the fuck at home.

Come on, sunshine.

75 and climbing

By the time I finished spooling up all the DMC I had, it was in the mid 80's and blazing bright. I really will have to speak to the management about putting up the new tent back there.

Your eyes do not deceive you. That drift of white laid out on the table is a vintage, damask tablecloth. It has a slight scorch mark and so went unloved a long time on eBay until I snatched it up for a song.

Today, it makes its debut as the 2020 dye season Table Mopper. The ground cloth for whatever dye fests may occur at the Lawrenceville Frankenstein Dyeworx in the coming months. At the end of the season, the cloth may become the centerpiece of a larger work, or I might hack it up and sent the bits 'round the world.

Here the innocent spools shiver in the secret sauce, waiting their turn on the table.

Joining them, a handful of strips of muslin from a long-abandoned log cabin project. Color wouldn't hurt. The carrier this time? A box of buggy oatmeal from deep in the pantry. Expiration date? I didn't look.

The victims, born again, all crusty with salt, sugar, dye, oatmeal. The cone carried the last yards into battle because I ran out of winding cards. The color, on the bottom, will be a surprise.

They are out there now, under the stars and a bare sliver of moon, owls serenading.

I'll wash, rinse and dry them tomorrow.

for now, I'm so done.

the fineness of the day

Wild violets, I think. They are everywhere in the upper reaches of the lawn where there is sunshine. I never noticed them before.

Got out for a quick drive to drop off some things to a friend who shouldn't go out for a while.

The action in the parking lot reminded me of  "Let's Sell/Buy Drugs" from way back in the day.  Two cars parked ten feet apart, facing in opposite directions. Drivers at the wheel. The principals get out, each proceeds to the opposite vehicle's trunk, keys handed over by the respective drivers. Goods and cash inspected and approved. Transfers made, keys returned and off we go, whistling.

I've been cranking out kitchen stuff between calls, using up the odds and ends of cotton string. They make good potholders, placemats, dish scrubbers - whatever.

How wonderful to be so plain, so solid, so useful.

I settled in to do some stitching, watch a little TV. Sweetie jumped up on the bed, turned over the little river basket and proceeded to examine the contents.
She has a seething resentment over her lack of thumbs.

Sweetie joined us in 2009 and is enjoying her status as Dowager Queen of the household. We indulge her every whim.

The coyotes are barking out in the woods behind the house and all three cats hover nearby, pretending to sleep, one eye open.

Makers make

Charlie did this drawing over a year ago. It's been hanging on the refrigerator all that time. In crayon, I tried ironing it onto the fabric but nothing transferred, so I'm stitching right through the paper with the idea that I'll be able to pick or wash it away when I'm done.

Bad idea? Hasty? Just a few small rebellions when you're stuck in the house and time seems both short and long.

I don't know why I was being coy about where and how much purple to use. Now that I think about it, if I wind up in the pest house at least they will remember the lady with purple hair if they can't remember or manage my name.

The whole time my husband was in treatment for cancer and when he was here at home, I was with him. More often than not, holding his hand to the last moments and beyond. The thought of someone I love and care about having to be in the hospital alone is more than I can bear to think about. Any and all distractions are welcome.

And to the point of being out of time or coy, I give you this.

the hardest part

It's been twelve days since I spent the day with Charlie. He was sick with a small fever a week ago Monday - back before a fever was terrifying. It was gone Tuesday morning, and he was fine and has been fine, but by the school rules, he had to stay home so I spent the day with him. It was the first day that he's missed school all term.

I didn't know then it would be the last visit we'd have for a while since we've all agreed that it's safest for everyone to limit our circles of contact.

We facetime, but I get the feeling that young children expect more from an electronic device than facetime with Nana can give. There are no big hugs, no silly business or fart noises. I miss him terribly. There is so much I still have to teach him. Learn from him.

I'm having a good cry along with "Yentl". Each and every time I watch it.