Contracting

 

These past few days s have taken a toll on all decent people. 

Myself, swinging between the horror show of the less than supreme court trying to shove us all back to Mayberry and the vengeful glee of watching the Jan.6 hearings has me so outside of myself. As it should be. These matters concern all of us. Fuck anyone who would put their heads in the sand.

So, some large batches of self-care and a contracting of concerns for me. 

Readying unfinished pieces for possible inclusion in a gallery show in August had me digging through the closet. Missing tools and materials were found. A degree of order was restored. 

The River Basket purged of wishful thinking and stocked with real work. 

Finding works so disconnected from my psyche that I left them untitled.  What was going on in my head?

I'll have to dig into the archives and figure that one out.

"Night Gardener" is so close to my heart that, if it's chosen,  I am going to put a ridiculous price on it. It wants a sleeve and signature.

That kind of handwork is good for me.

And first thing this morning, a trip to day surgery for injections in my back that I hope will put me back upright and on two feet. Nightwalking would be so sweet.

Starting tomorrow, ferrying Charlie to day camp. A little time together that I've missed. 

Valium is everything I remembered it to be and wrote for Anna in Prophets Tango.  

A downy cradle. A softening of all sharp edges. A sweetener of anything delightful. Protection. 

I also know it to be a deceiver.

My firstborn will be 42 tomorrow. It was 100 degrees daily when he finally arrived three weeks late. A Cancer rather than the Gemini I plotted. Ever and eternally the tenderhearted contrarian. I'm so grateful for his good humor, decency and artist's heart.

 

Thank you, Colin, for everything.

Finding a gear

 

The grove is in bloom. They are cinnamon bark crape myrtles. Planted on the four points of the compass, white North has always been the most vigorous, pushy member of the group. We haven't topped them in three years, but come January, it's going to get a serious pruning in hopes of giving the other three a chance to catch up. 

I have resolved to stop taking poison, knowing how I plan to help those who need camping gear or assistance. 

Also, I've been invited to participate in a local gallery event! Time to see what's still in the closet.

Charlie is home! And I swear he grew two inches in two weeks. While he was away, his Mom and Dad spent every free moment redoing his room from ceiling fan to flooring. This room had the dark green walls and carpet that Jake chose as a teenager. Change was past due.

He's a bit overwhelmed.

the decision

I have been mostly lost for words this past twenty-four hours. Lots of cursing. A fury that would frighten civilized people if I were to describe the details. My right hand has been aching; the two knuckles that I broke on a man’s forehead when he put his hand up under my dress as I climbed the stairs in the subway. There are other things I can’t speak of. Statute of limitations stuff.

 I have ongoing heartburn, headaches, and something I can only describe as the ghost of monthly cramps. But underlying all of these is anxiety. Dread. A feeling of being penned in with a clock ticking in the background. The fear peaks, the fury returns, I want to break things, and again, I remind myself that the Buddha said holding on to hate is like taking poison and expecting the other person to die.

All of this adds up to what I suspect is a kind of PTSD that women who have had abortions might be experiencing now in light of what that orange shitbag has bought and paid for - “his” puppet supreme court judges. He’ll be bragging about it any second now. 

It was hard enough to make those choices so many years ago when it was legal.

Now, all I can do is vote the bastards out and drive. I will drive Georgia campers to the nearest camping-friendly state. No praying. I’ve never been more sure that there is no god running things. The only godlike thing there is  - is the energy, the fire we have inside to make sure this gets corrected. That women have autonomy over their bodies and their health. 

Solstice

 

Until now, summer has been moderate, kind even, for Georgia. So many other places have been scorched, drenched, or parched. I promised I'll never bitch again about the weather here being dull.  

Of course, the green folk are loving it. Everything growing on the dye deck is lush, as long as I'm bringing water.

The Old Mother Thyme (or is it Rosemary?) gets a whack whenever I get close just for the spice of she flings into the air.  This year she's sharing her pot with some morning glories, nasturtiums, and a stray sunflower.

For the first time, I've successfully gotten some hollyhocks past the seed stage. I'll keep them here and bring them in come winter. The plan is to get them out between the new blueberry bushes under the kitchen windows. First-year and there are berries! I'm leaving them for Charlie to pick when he gets home on Saturday.  He has been dearly missed.

Big changes are on the horizon. 

Dirty threads

 

I was starting to cast my magpie eye on the collection so I put together some sets for other stitchers.

Starting to round up posts for the book.

Milly in the curtains

 I was finding this new linen curtain to be impossible to photograph. Thin cloth that lets the light through seems to be hard for the camera to pick up. 

Then, our Christmas rescue, Camilla, decided she wanted to spy on the new neighbors moving in next door.

Found!

 a clutch of new threads. Up in the closet with several yards of linen still waiting for color. The ones that I wound up on cardboard bobbins before I threw in the towel on that. I'm still sending the bobbins along with the skeins. This time, you get to see the magic when the threads reorganize. 

As you can see, there is plenty to go around. Cloth too. 

As much as I whine here about the temps being just right for dyeing, there are limits. It's supposed to be 102 by noon today.  You'll know where to find me.

My copirate

 

...is away on an adventure one state away. He's visiting with friends of the family for two weeks. Catching up with his best bud since pre-K. 

I sent along some stamped, self-addressed envelopes and told him we would love to get letters. I'm not all that hopeful. Multiplication table practice was also suspended, but I suspect that might be something Maddie might push him on. Make a competition of it.

The quiet and solitude are shocking. The cat crew looks at me with pity as I talk to them. But, alone in the pool today? Heavenly.

Looking forward to driving with the devil and the rock&roll turned up LOUD tomorrow.

Time compressed like a spine

 

It's been a strange and revelatory week. 

Monday thunder sputtered in muggy skies. Everyone, even the cats, was bored, unsettled, and mildly cranky. An outing to the park and library fell through due to the building heat and disinterest. We got home and the heavens opened to bright blue skies. Two solid hours of sunbaked pool time restored us before the rain closed in, cool and soothing. I imagined this was the first day of my retirement. (more about that soon.)

Naps, snacks, and some reading wove the day back together. Charlie read to me from a graphic novel called "Dogman: A Tale of Two Kitties". He gleaned the meaning of words like "intrepid", "specific", "cowardice" and "melancholy" from the visuals and the context. As silly and funny as the story was, it was magical to watch him sink into it sometimes forgetting to read aloud until I said, "And?" 

Then I read a line from my book to him. "Because freedom, I am told, is nothing but the distance between the hunter and its prey." from "On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous" by Ocean Vuong.  

He said, "That's too much for me. Can I go watch some cartoons?" He was right, of course.

Each day, we have leftover dinner for breakfast, Sonic for lunch, and time spent with Legos, stitching, multiplication drills, and swimming. But the days are cramped and restricted by my inability to walk any distance, carry anything significant, or lift anything because of the pain in my back. I am constantly tired because I cannot sleep at night.

At Dee's prompting, I made The Call and lucked into a cancellation appointment with the bone doctor early Thursday morning. Physical therapy was ruled out and we went straight to drugs. Oral steroids, narcotics, and Ibuprophen, with spinal injections coming up soon. Relief was almost immediate.

By noon I was fresh out of flying fucks and feeling no pain. Bless Colin for being on hand for Charlie. Bless them both for giving me the time, space, and peace I needed to reach equilibrium in time to get back in the water, relax and soak up some sun with the Beach Boys serenading us. 

My evening was capped off by the remarkable broadcast of the Jan.6 opening hearing. Anyone who watched has to know that they have been eyewitnesses to history and that what will unfold in the coming days of testimony will be riveting. 

These two pictures were taken just a few minutes apart. Great changes can happen in a very short period of time. Momentous changes.

June 4

 

Today, I put the story here