end it with laughter

With pictures, it's hard to tell a sunrise from a sunset. At this moment, I'm focusing on the time that passes between them. 

Yesterday marked eleven years since Jimmy died. With this hopeful sunrise taken by my son at work, I did not want to choose the option of melancholy. Reflection on all the good that came from being with him was what I needed.

 

The day promised to be clear and warm. I got some sucky admin stuff done early (never mind shopping for cheaper car insurance, just pay the damn bill...for now). There was food in the fridge, new books from the library, and Thriftbooks, and all cats were present and accounted for. A huge personal grievance resolved itself. 

Much to be grateful for. 

I sat outside in the weakening sunshine and worked on the book for almost two hours and never once cared that the lawn needed attention. 

After dark, Colin put the Saturday Night Live movie on TV for me. I haven't laughed (and cried) over a movie in many years. I imagine its appeal will be limited to the lucky ones who experienced the show

when it was "Live, from New York!" or younger cinephiles like my son who appreciated how well the movie was written and cast. How well it reflected the original show. 

Watching (the first season return from hiatus) SNL together was one of the first sort-of date-type things my husband and I did together.  We made it a sacrament. 

The movie brought it all joyfully back and the slice of pizza was delicious communion. 

 

A twist of blue

 

how will we know one another, sister?

a twist of color in our hair?

how will we find one another?

what's the code? 

mismatched earrings or socks?

~o~

were you afraid?

uninformed? 

lied to?

coerced? threatened? 

did he hold your baby in one arm and your toddler's hand in the other as he stood behind you in the voting booth? 

did you think you didn't matter?

were you stupid in your arrogance?

were you looking to please some long-dead daddy who paid you the wrong kind of attention or none at all?

or did you just not care enough to bother?

~o~

none of the reasons matter anymore. 

murderers tattoo blue tears on their faces.

look for a ribbon in her hair. 

Life, condensed

 

All summer, nothing. 

They waited until now to cheer me up. Makes me kind of sad that there's nothing I can do to protect them come first frost. The Swedish Ivy needs to have a haircut and be brought inside. More tiny world gardening today. Focusing on what I can control is helpful. 

And no matter what's going on in the world, there are those waiting for the magic morning word "Eatzees!"

Breakfast of Champions for me. Leftover Publix sandwich from yesterday. Juice just begging for vodka (Cheers, Poppy!) and a very ugly mug of coffee because it holds the most.

.

My toe feels mostly healed. I still tape it up before going out. Stupid since I hurt it barefooted in my own bedroom. Still need to buy a hollow pool noodle (thanks for the idea, Jake) to cut and fit around the steel legs of the bed. 

I've started this embroidery directly on a Levi's vest, size medium. It will be for sale eventually. 

Small worlds.

 Somehow, I have the notion that moss is indestructible.  Now, I'm hoping I haven't murdered it with neglect. Forgotten in its plastic bag for a week and then tucked around some seriously depleted dirt on a diffenbachia that I plan to repot. Stopgap stuff.

I plucked the moss from the woods on the mountain behind our family home in North Salem, NY. I've always thought of the house I grew up in--a modest pre-fab ranch--in relationship to the small lake it crouched beside. My brother was more in tune with the hills behind the house. I knew every cove and fishing spot of the water and never went up the hill that might be a mountain. Who measures these things?

    A very mysterious place, this mountain. We climbed hunting trails in a seemingly invincible golf cart on steroids. It inspired confidence that it didn't seem to notice the weight of two good-sized adults.

Alien meteorite unless someone tells me otherwise.

The Kubota could drag its own weight over obstacles and out of ditches in slow motion. We stopped to inspect some out-of-place boulders, some with carved initials and dates. One of the things I love about New England is that it's old as dirt.

And the elders left a lot of ambiguous information.

Strange things in the middle of nowhere. And now, hitchhiker. If he doesn't leave on his own, I will evict him so he can winter someplace appropriate. 

Saturday raft, updated.

As ever, I've got mine, but this time, only tentatively. I need to go through my thread box and evict some non-starters who are taking up space. Or maybe think about a secondary thread box? No. I need boundaries and that seems like a good place to start. Out with the old, in with a few new.

The four table moppers were out in the elements for a whole week. It was a very soft, worn damask tablecloth that I cut into quarters to cover the table with nothing hanging over the edges. They have me thinking about flags.

It's been warm. Anything that loves the sun is taking full advantage. There's a box of dirt out there that's bursting with nasturtiums. All summer I couldn't get any to grow. Late bloomers reaching for life.

I'm a little sad right now. Jim's truck is on its way to its next life. I put the story here.