Maybe using up all the thread in my stash will be the spur for an indoor dye fest.
I have to do some digging in history to find when and if I tried dyeing thread in my kitchen in the past. The memories are not good ones. Weak colors. Skips and misses. Tangles? A mason jar half full of turquoise sprung a mysterious hole. There was blue and blood everywhere and I never found out why.
There will be research.
In the meantime.
I may be one of the few people you know who does NOT have a tattoo. I wouldn't put anyone's art on my skin permanently. But this star fell a bit off-center and needs to be balanced with something. Then something else. And more. I could have a full sleeve, but I'm pretty sure that's going to involve opening the seam to have room to work.
It was 75 degrees by noon.
I put some of the houseplants back outside. We'll chance a few more days of moderate temps.
On Friday, Jake met Charlie at the bus stop after school. They packed for the weekend and drove to their new home. Missy met them there and they spent the whole weekend painting and whatever else a house needs to start looking like home before the stuff arrives. Smart.
The official moving day is still in flux. Fortunately, their furniture is in storage with family only fifteen minutes from the new place. More importantly Granny, Aunt, Uncle, and little cousins are also that close. That is an immense comfort to me.
It was quiet around here. Colin was at work and I was left with four felines who couldn't seem to settle anywhere, hunting from room to room for their housemates. In and out the cat door, fussing over previously shared territories.
I will learn how to be alone again. It's only an hour and ten minutes' drive to visit and you know how I love to drive.
Some people journal. Looks like this is where I'm going to spend the early morning light. Gathering thoughts, ordering them, organizing the day. Priorities.
Remember the Magic InvisibiIity Cloak? It's long past wearable, gathering dust on the back of my office chair. I remembered how I rushed it into existence. Paving it over with whatever shouted the loudest from the River Basket. I'll be salvaging the tasty bits that stayed strong.
I'm not going to rush this new one. A stitch here, a stitch there, as time allows. Images that resonate, colors that thrill me. And never shying away from picking out a bad or thoughtless passage of stitching.