The bonus and the dropped card

 I was gathering stuff in preparation for the next dyefest. There was a yardstick on the freshly cleared sewing table so I thought I'd double-check on the measure of the hanks.

At some point, I decided that forty turns around one of my heavy, blue "holds a full can of Coke" glasses was the ten yards I'd been advertising. I used to do this part while I was on the clock at the whine mine. Keeping the count true is important so it's not the mindless task you might think.

 Turns out forty wraps equal *12 *yards, so bonus to the buyers and I'm not going to change the process. Twelve it is.

  I'm winging a tutorial in my head. Don't know what to tell you about these glasses. My left fist fits in one perfectly. I've had them forever and don't remember the source. They have the number 500 embossed on the bottom. I dropped one on my foot once. They are mighty. 

A word about this bit of devil skin. First, it was on the floor in the kitchen and went into my pocket. Then it was on the floor in my bedroom. Finally, I caught Camilla (the snake charmer) mauling it in the studio. I took it from her and washed off the dust and cat cooties. Now it's in the river basket waiting. 

More than once a persistent little rag has had something important to say given half a chance. Like a dropped Tarot card, it needs to be heard.

    

"Anna didn’t answer but picked up the Moon card again. “We’re blinded to danger by distraction and dreams. Up is down and blood looks black.” As she put the card back on the table, her sleeve brushed the deck and a card fell to the floor between their feet, face down. Reflexively, Violet reached to retrieve it, but Anna said sharply, “Don’t touch it. That will be the last. The dropped card must be heard.”

   She turned another card and spread her fingers wide, touching all three at once. “Damn. Seven of Cups. More temptations and distractions.” She reached down for the card on the floor and put it face-up on the table. Death on his white horse.

Violet hushed a hiss.

Eyes closed, head down, her voice soft, distant, Anna said, “Don’ you fear Death. Respect him. He walk among us every day, unseen. He about change, not endings. Change as sure as sunrise, fulla promise. He the one thing we can all count on. Change. Whatever was, is ‘bout to be something else.” 

(Prophets Tango~Dancing in the Dark)