refuge

my sandbox

"We takes it where we can gets it." I might be quoting some hobbit. Not sure.

These days comfort comes from stitching, music, movies, and small acts of domesticity and neighborliness. The lure of putting words on paper is right at the edge of all this. Close, just out of reach. 

The best way to describe writing fiction to non-writers is to imagine a thousand-piece jig-saw puzzle in your head with images that keep changing as you try to organize them. When the pieces fall into place and fit. Zing!

Last night, I could write a book about the pleasure of fresh sheets, but I fell asleep. Long luxurious showers are on hold. Our hot water heater is being temperamental and rather than pay a pro to come in and give me bad news, the rule is "Get in, get clean, get out". 

The monthly discretionary fund was supposed to go for a vet visit for Ms. Salem but when the time came to load her into the new carrier, she chose some astounding violence. We backed off and she took refuge under my stitching chair for most of the day. I left the open carried on the floor in the bedroom last night with cat cookies tucked in the back. Each one, even Salem, took turns investigating. 

 

Ways of seeing ~ moonlight

 

We are a family of night creatures. Jake took this shot by moonlight while he was on his daily walk. His first miles come before the sun is even up.

I am still learning what the new phone/camera is capable of.  

The full moon woke me blazing through the windows. It's been a while so I spread my Tarot out for a blessing. 

Bailey remains unaffiliated.

It's a good thing the neighborhood doesn't really blaze this bright, but this is how the camera saw it. Just to the left of the streetlight, the moon was just coming through the trees. Looking down on the scene, lordly Jupiter. 

The solar Christmas light wrapped through the gardenia will stay until warmer weather. The plan is to prune it back harshly and substitute some other kind of solar lighting that's not so firmly seasonal. Maybe by then Colin will have taken the skeletons off the crape myrtles. We still haven't undressed our Christmas tree. 

A lick of Winter

 

These few brushes with snow make me so nostalgic for the Hudson Valley where I grew up. When I was a kid, I lived in my snowsuit, mittens, and boots imagining life as an Eskimo.

The quality of sound in the winter was so different. Everyone notices the quiet. I listened to the sounds that different kinds of snow made as it fell. The rumble and chain jingling of the town trucks coming through after midnight to plow. An elderly neighbor who pushed himself to ski cross-country blowing and muttering. How my big outdoor voice fell at my feet. I could sing outside and not fear anyone hearing me.

 

 This morning I wanted to go outside so I could hear the snow falling, but it was bitter cold and I'm fairly certain that hearing acuity is long gone. Next time there is snow, I'll stick in the hearing aids and forgo the down comforters. 

He said he missed shoveling snow but did the whole driveway because he had to go to work. 

This was Camilla's first snow. She was not favorably impressed. Even though she had the densest coat I've ever seen on a cat, she's been spending her time hanging out on the heat registers.

I like big butts..

..because they make big bags. 

I removed the GO'keefe bag from dye storage duty for some daily use. Gave it a good wash and dry and spent a morning giving it some personality. It bothered me that it was so plainly repurposed jeans, no matter how well done. 

I like that it's big enough to haul my Chromebook, Tarot cards, paperbacks, notebook, and a change of clothes. 

The front pockets are deep and cushy for my phone on one side and keys on the other, just as if I were wearing them. All the pockets work even the tiny watch pocket. 

One thing is needed. A couple of good-sized magnetic closures for the top. Crap tends to spill out when I toss it in a chair instead of finding a way to hang it up.

Head on!

 That's how I'm taking 2025.

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