Something new.

The words are stuck.

A few actions will unstick them: driving, walking, or stitching. Somehow the last one seems out of place, but it's the only practical thing at the moment.

Until I get my back issues sorted out, driving or walking for any duration or distance, are not options. But I think I just challenged myself there.

In the meantime, there's a basket of talent waiting to be discovered. Glyphs are planned. Alien poetry waiting in the wings.

Merry Christmas

the weekend

While running like Sonic the Hedgehog, Charlie tripped and did a face plant in the gravel at aftercare. His glasses probably saved his eye from worse injury, but they didn't survive.

When I asked him if it hurt, he said, "Only when people look at me like it does." So I gave him my biggest sunglasses for when we went into Publix and told him to say "NOT a barfight."

After shopping for all manner of snacks, we sat at the kitchen table and sorted through a large tub of Legos I've hung on to since Jake and Colin were kids. There was a lot of trash in the tub and everything we saved had to be sanitized.

He told me all about the other happy holidays all going on at the same time. Kwanza, Hanukka, and Santa Lucia which I learned (from a five-year-old) is a Swedish holiday. I explained Solstice. We feasted and had a lovely visit while Jake installed a replacement interior in Jim's old pickup, seats, flooring, seatbelts and all. I wish we'd taken some 'before' pictures. Its a miracle.

Since that last sampler, I've been avoiding the stitching chair in the morning. Too many other things need attention like those spider webs that are somehow between the screen and the glass. The lights are up year-round.

Once I get all my holiday packages shipped, I kind of collapse when it comes to decorating. There's a sweet little tree downstairs waiting for its decorations. In good time.











The new family members continue to find their place in our routines. Sweetie has been very tolerant of both of them. There's more contention between the newcomers than I realized. Bailey is full of teenaged energy and mischief. Salem is a lady and not please with his rambunctiousness and will disappear at the slightest disturbance.

done here

but truly, for the pure pleasure of Stitching.

Insane, I'm told, I freehand the lettering directly to the cloth with a silver quilt marking pencil that traveled with Noah on the Ark, its so old.

Quite in love with my made-up font, there will most certainly be more, but for now, this one helped me clarify a scene that needed to die and crystallized the one that will take its place. Imagine a bad carnival ride replaced with a crystal ball.

The only thought that went into selecting colors was to choose lighter colors for 'fade' and 'away'. I was going to do some organic white on white shadowing some of the more prominent motifs in the damask, but my effort paled beside the real thing so I picked it out. A rinse and press should help call this finished. Eventually.

Salem

 Has decided she'll grace us with her presence.

At some point in the evening, all three of them were in the bedroom. Peacefully.

No one has expressed any further interest in cloth, or thread.

last shopkeeping of 2019

I guess I can thank Mr. Bad Boy Bailey for this. Also grateful that he didn't decide to sleep on them!



There was just enough good, natural light in the studio to get most of the way through the alphabet: selecting sets, photographing and naming them on the fly. Don't read too much into the names. I was listening to music, snatching words out thin air.

Antic through Scandal are live at Dirty Threads.





Bailey doing his best to look innocent.

taking a break, but...

...not really. I just needed to remind myself about the peace of the flowing needle and thread.

The full sentiment will read "For the pure pleasure of words on a page that will not fade away." More properly subtitled, "Draft in haste and repent in the Hell of everlasting editing"

I've gone back to page one of (yikes) 800+ pages to dig out the ticks and cooties. Sometimes I think, "Who wrote this shit?" and sometimes I say it in wonder and delight, "Who wrote this marvelous shit!"

a shakeup

NOW I'm in for some fun. I keep the dirty thread on covered plastic trays on a high shelf, out of reach of five-year-old fingers and feline paws.

I thought.

Last night, Baily, aka Mr.Big, managed to pull them down onto the work table into this stew of color.

Rather than try putting them back into the old collections, I'm going to first put together some rainbows (thanks for the idea, Liz) and post those.

It's gray and rainy here. First sunny day - Sunday, I think I read- I start taking good photos and posting them to the store.

Guilty as charged.

time

Nothing lasts forever.

Many things try. This little bear had already been around awhile when I put it on the stem of the rearview mirror of the year-old Civic I bought in 2002. Its owner was in the Navy Reserve and was unexpectedly called to active duty and needed to sell it quickly, made me great deal.

The beads were a gift from a boy I liked in 1969 when I spent time on Cape Cod. Who strings beads on thread? Boys in love, I guess.

Little Bear saw every one of the 300k+ miles put on that car between myself and my son. It still runs, just passed inspection, but I doubt it will serve as transportation again. The next owner is most likely to part it out. It served us well.


These came in the mail yesterday. I have no way to know how old they are. Twenty? Fifty years. Come dye season, they'll be born again, this time in service to art.

And yesterday, after five years, give or take, I typed ~fin~  on Prophets Tango.

notes from an armed camp

I wish I had something else to post, but it's been a long time since we've welcomed family members into the household. Sweetie should be more gracious as she was the last to join the tribe, but truly, she never got along with Karma or Voodoo. There was always the possibility of a scrape, but the house is big enough for everyone to have their territory. Eventually.

Bailey is young, a teenager. Won't be two until sometime late next April. A bottle baby. He seeks to insinuate himself everywhere.

Salem, the black and white female, is more elusive, but beginning to show herself for moments at a time. That business of her climbing onto my bed...I think she might have forgotten where she was. Do cats sleepwalk? She hasn't appeared upstairs since.

Sweetie continues to moan and sulk.

I am absorbed by the impeachment hearings on TV. I would much prefer the earth open a firey mouth and just swallow him up, but I'll settle for the law taking him down, lawfully.

I'd really love comments from some of my international readers regarding this.