Putting out poison hex nuts

 

That was a device in a science fiction story I read long ago. Robots had become a dangerous menace marauding far and wide for the parts they needed to maintain themselves. The hero figured out a way of making their most sought-after prize toxic to them. 

Yay for the humans. 

 I took a few days to let the cobwebs clear and remind myself that I can do many things that I had no formal instruction in. Taming data scrapers was the task.

Most often, it's a matter of knowing the right questions to ask and in the proper order. It's interesting that this time I enlisted the computer to the task of confounding itself.

Still, it remains to be seen if the fix worked. 

Other tasks lined up on my runway: replacing the agitator feed dogs in the washing machine. It's nice to know that I wasn't crazy imagining that the whites weren't coming out clean. 

Not so much fun will be spending hours (and a lot of steps this body is not used to taking) at the county offices changing the deed to my house. I have to file an affidavit saying that as my husband passed away thirteen years ago, I am the sole owner of the property. I haven't found the deed, but I had to spend long minutes at the glass partition with nothing to look at but his death certificate while the clerk rummaged up a dummy document for me to alter, then file. 

Until then, here's Sophie keeping my ass out of the stitching chair and Colin busy at the airport herding one of his metal sheep to safety. 

A weeks worth

I will never care enough to pay attention to how blogger decides to stack and apply images. It's practically organic in how it keeps changing.  I've always just worked around this capriciousness. Fitting in the words when I can find them.

And that is something that needs working on. 

I've read where some people do not visualize anything when they read or think about a word. What a strange void in those heads!

 For me, I usually get a full-color image, sometimes a movie with sound when I try to dredge up a person's name. That grubbing about, the searching has become an annoyance.

 I can run scenes from all the films he's been in, I just can't come up with the actor's name. This is not new. Still, the implications of long spaces between words as one ages gives one pause. 

The passing of Peter Max did not go unnoticed. He colored my life back when I thought that Art would be the easy way to go, educational and career-wise. All of his work looked delightfully lazy and carefree. Like me.

After a week of difficult and fruitless adulting, Colin brought a fine treat home. Especially noted because his week has been tough too. Double shifts and dental appointments. 

This morning I only want to report good things. The world will find its way into Hell's handbasket without my help for a day or two while I regroup. 

thanks, Nancy

My Waterman continues as champion. 

I should pick race horses as well. Do NOT give me hints or pointers towards Kalshi. I've only just now deleted the Georgia Lottery app from my phone.

I have been judged and found wanting.

That adulting thing had me combing through boxes labeled "IMPORTANT" for my house deed, only to find packets of photos from my mother's horde sent by my sisters. I don't know where this Polaroid came from, but they seem to hold up better than regular prints. 

A house party, 1965 or '66. I made the dress. A Simplicity pattern that was chimp simple once I figured out how to thread flat elastic through a channel using safety pin. 

Peau de soie silk was a thing back then. I lucked into about three yards of it at a yard sale, a dull, nubby gold, but the price was right. One dollar. My mother's necklace studded with big fake topaz. I clearly remember being disappointed with the tenth grade boys in attendance. 

The practice

From a playful sketch to a rainbow heart over a rainy weekend. Trimming, turning, and stitching are next. Another patch. 

Somehow, these have to be distributed. Maybe I'll have people meet me at the library with their denim and I'll stitch the hearts to them. Illicit a story or a promise. 

 The last of the Dirty Thread inventory has been posted.  

I'm hoping there will be enough warm weather left in September and October for one more dyefest this year.