Samhain

 

I love these little ghosts, but more often than not these impressions get swallowed up by the rest of the process. One of these days I'll remember to pick a wet one up and set it aside to perk. All the small cloths -- and they were mostly small -- are in a damp ball in the tub. I washed and rinsed them by hand and tomorrow I'll put them out in the weed dryer.

I had intended to lean as blue as I could, but when faced with the rainbow, I just had to grab onto both ends.

It was so fine out today. Just warm enough to call up a little humidity. I have no science around this but I think it helps the dye dust cling to the salt crystals. Makes for less dye wasted and better distribution when mixing colors. 

I have been doing this for a long time and there are still ways to screw up, but, knock wood this looks like an outstanding batch.

The only variable I didn't have control over was the temperature which was just enough for me to break a sweat.

I had good music on the box. A trio of hairy assistants patrolling the perimeter of the deck.

Soft breezes with the barred owls down in the woods warming up. All in all, a very fine way to spend my time.

I kept stopping to look around and take it all in. I do that a lot lately.

--A green tree frog jumped out from under the canvas lawn chair. I hurried to douse him with fresh water in case he'd picked up some salt from my mess. He hid in the Swedish ivy which, any day now, needs to come in before the first frost.

Even at noon, the sun was so slant, so sly, peeking through the lattice.

The bundles are all linen or damask. Most of it was so worn that when I tried to rip it, it shredded.

Each bundle carries a dozen or so threads. This different handling yields more blended colors. Less heathering. 

I soak this all up the way the cloth soaks up the dye.

Since it began, this my diamond year, I've been looking at things and thinking, "this might be the last time I ..." 

So, rather than just hit "record", I give things my full attention. 

I don't see this as morbid, just mindful. If I'm the least bit careful, I have a good ten years. I plan to live acutely. Make every moment a diamond.

And this piece. I really hope the colors hold, but this cloth is more about the weight and weave.

 It's another of those perfect, lightweight linen tablecloths. I plan on making a winter version of this. Maybe a little longer with some kind of sleeves. I'll wing it with care. This is lifetime cloth.

It was a big, glory filled day. We are tired and will hide from the candy goblins come dark.

My October surprise

 

Tomorrow promises 80 degrees. I'll be spending today prepping for a first. A Halloween dyefest. 

In real life

  New day, real stuff to do. Yesterday, I entrusted a handful of thread orders to the postal service. Hope that wasn't a fool's errand.  Joe just received a fabric bundle that was mailed six weeks ago!

I've been working on a short story for way too long because I know it's really a bridge to the next book. A juicy chunk of that story revealed itself last night. 

I burrowed around in the cloth closet and pulled this UFO out for consideration. 

Nothing is more satisfying than turned-edge applique with two layers of vintage, hand-dyed damask. In the beginning, I stabbed myself a couple of times because there was little to no resistance to the needle. 

This, and a handful of others, is destined to become part of the first bedware I have made in years. 

That furred gladiator in repose freaked us out last night. Bailey met Colin in the driveway, jumped into his lap before he could get out of the car, and followed him inside to reveal that he was covered in gore. Blood all over his white bib, face, and forelegs. After a hasty and ill-received examination--he growled and hissed and lashed his tail--I could find no obvious injuries. This morning, he had cleaned himself thoroughly and it was eatzees as usual followed by a quick dash for the door. We will watch and wait.

Jumping Jack Flash got another bath (I made the mistake of leaving him parked underneath the power line) and later, I'll clean the inside - again. There will be road trips. 
 
A good chunk of Prophets Tango was written while I was driving to and from caring for Charlie when he was very little. Notes jotted down at stoplights. Whole conversations between characters while I kept my hands on the wheel and dictated the gist of those dialogues into my phone. It's a time machine. 

And the other day, Charlie told me I was a time traveler. He often asks me about how it was when I was his age. 

Here, the well-rehearsed and researched preparations for transforming Charlie into Fry from Futurama. 

And a damn fine job.

 Missy felt teary over some of these pictures. She could see his teen years coming. Me too.

~done~

 

                                                  I voted today. I'm done.

A special thanks to Dee Mallon for this excellent post on coping, especially the link to James Carville's article on why Kamala Harris will win.   Take heart.

                                  

Adventures awry

 The day after I got back from New York, there was an email invitation to the Kamala Harris rally in Atlanta. Harris, Obama, Springsteen? Are you kidding me? I spent a half hour checking to see it was a scam. I pounced and rsvp'd. 

After several email exchanges, I almost felt the FBI rifling through my file. Then I got the exact address and the logistics for attending. It was on! Lots of rules including NO bags of any kind. No food or water. Here's me assuming we'd be provided for. A whole separate location for ADA pickup and entry. My walking stick was approved. It was a go! 

I left my car at a MARTA station and joined a long queue waiting for the buses to take us to the venue. The excitement, the solidarity was joyfully palpable. I was about to start meeting the angels.

Angel number One, so appropriately named Angela, my seatmate. Both of us have seen the campaigns of life. Both of us on sticks, our back, and hips trying their best to behave and let us have this day.

The weather was perfect. Small mercy. The bus let us off at the ADA entrance. We stood in another line that moved slower and slower. A staffer made her way down the line to warn us to take everything out of our pockets. It was slowing down security. With no bags, what else was there?  I had my car keys and my ID stashed in my bra. 

Samuel Jackson's limo rolled up and he poked his head out to say hey. 

Then things went sideways. Another staffer made her way back along the line to advise that the west side of the venue was full and the entrance would be closing. Hundreds of people were still in line. Crutches, canes, wheelchairs and caretakers. It looked like a pilgrimage to Lourdes. The only option was to walk back down to the road and hike about a half-mile back to the main gate where we, the halt, lame, and deranged, would be granted special access ahead of the hoi polloi. 

I was already low on gas, but Angela took my arm and said, "We got this." The woman literally saved my life, counting off a dozen steps at a time and then stopping for a breather. If it hadn't been for Angela, I would have lay down in the weeds and watched as the parade went by without me. 

True to the word passed, a young man met us at the gate and shepherded us to the last security checkpoint, airport style, wands and all. Secret service was serious. At this point, I was having trouble getting enough air and my legs were shaking. Another slow line and my vision started darkening around the edges. We were at the last set of stairs. Angela grabbed a cop, who called for EMS and I told her I was in the right hands and to go on without me. She was reluctant, but she pressed on.

I was quickly treated to Fulton County's finest care. EMTs did their thing. Gave me a big blue Gatorade to finish. I was dehydrated. My bad.  I left the house on only a cup of coffee and half a sandwich worried about if and when I'd have access to a bathroom. An EMT said he heard that all the time. Not an unreasonable concern.

I spent the next hour in a Cooling Station, a converted command vehicle. I could hear everything, but I wasn't really taking it in.

Then the second angel, the same young male staffer who got us through security came back to me and told me that the buses would be coming soon. 

I sat outside the cooler and watched the human parade oddly detached from the whole point of being there. There were hundreds of people just milling around outside. Apparently fire marshall put a cap on how many people could actually be admitted to the stadium which holds fifteen thousand. I was surprised to find that most of the people outside hadn't bothered to register. 

Young angel returned, took me by the arm, and whispered, "Let's get you a ride." He walked me down to the road where the buses were lumbering like elephants in a circus parade, pounded on the door of the first one sporting a Kensington Station sign, and asked the driver to let me board there instead of a half-mile down the road.  Goodbye, young angel. Thank you.

I climbed aboard and settled in for the long slow ride back to the station. Traffic was nearly frozen, blue lights strobing everywhere just to keep order. Another angel, our bus driver, cruised a full-sized school bus through a crowded parking lot dropping us off at our cars, one by one. 

A good time was had by all and I am a bit more cognizant of my limitations. 

Good to be home from home

This trip to NY was all about family. My brother should open a bed and breakfast—the kind where you feed yourself or go out and sleep as late as you want. I have to buy him a Mr.Coffee to tuck in the pantry for my next visit, but the little delis in the area are superb. 

The Bitches took their road trip to eat seafood seaside. Georges of Galilee did not disappoint. The weather was perfect, the beach was still crowded with people. Salt air and sunshine. 


We took in a frosty soccer game to watch my nephew play.

My turn to wander

 

Away awhile 

Ah, Friday.

 

This has been a hectic week that had a very sweet finish.

Before any of that, I'll be out of town next week. If you want threads or cloth and let me know ASAP, Monday will be my last crack at the post office until I get back.

It's been so long since I've traveled by plane that I've forgotten how to pack. New York in October can be boots or sandals and damned if I can decide. 

That sweetness? I picked Charlie up from school midday on Thursday and we had all day Friday together. I took him to math tutoring right after school and later that evening we spent an hour reading side by side, each of us lost in our own books. Reading aloud may have

slipped away with babyhood.

Friday morning, I introduced him to acrylic paints. Just playing with the medium and noticing how it's different than Crayola watercolors. What gesso and underpainting are about. How gel medium can change everything. Green and red still make mud. Talk about building your own canvases. Art school stuff.

He wanted to paint what jazz makes him feel. All morning. Then outside for the rest of the day because the weather is so perfect that the

mosquitos moved to Alabama.

A while back, I gave him my old Ipod, still loaded with "my" music. Everything from Little Anthony & the Imperials  the Eagles.  He found the missing charger and earbuds that worked I set the volume limiter. Such a clever little thing.

  All this while I struggled to get used to hearing aids. Finally.

Exuberance

 

   Each day starts with breathwork and meditation. Then I light up my phone to see if anyone has hurked on the carpet between my bed and the bathroom. No? Boo-yah! 

Stretching before walking. Resisting the temptation to burrow back into my bed. Someone tramples over my face in the dark. Get up. Eatzees. Now!

The miracle of coffee. Maybe a leftover slice of pizza. Food. 

While Florida comes under the hammer, and North Carolina is still reeling, we are having a spell of magical weather. I even ran all the dye tools through the dishwasher.  

A hangover from childhood. Being inside on a day like today was a sin. But since Camilla can't go out yet, we take what we can get. Soon. 

Instead of rebuilding the old railing on this deck. I'm researching Catios. With a cat-safe jungle and seating for me. That fake grass will have to go!

Charlie Monday

 

"Charlie Monday" used to be a regular feature on my FB feed but I've decided to keep it here, among family and friends. 

This was the day after the storm passed. I wish that perfect days like this had names. 

You could still smell the ocean in the air. 

Charlie was picking up windfall sticks in the backyard when I noticed they had a sweetgum tree with its miserable spikey seedpod balls everywhere. 

I showed him how the leaves smelled like candy when you mashed them up with your hands. I did not recommend eating them though. He's learning wood ways from his Dad. Camping, hiking, fishing, and such.

I'm bribing him to learn cursive. There was much moaning and groaning when we started with a lovely worksheet that the school sent home last summer. Just his first and last name. By the eighth repetition, he was getting into the groove of it. I ordered a workbook and offered to pay a dollar a page for well-completed work. When I go up on Thursday--they have early release for a short Fall Break--I'm bringing a fist full of singles. 

Anchors

I started this on Friday morning, the sixth day of Camilla's disappearance. I was going to use one of the pale stone threads. Keep it all in white, silver, and black. A memorial. 

Then I dug through my threads. No stone colors in the box. I jumped directly to the color of hope without any context. I had become numb and was looking forward to getting away. I picked Charlie up at school and spent the night with them.  

I blew through Costco on the way home. After a week of impotent anxiety and sleeplessness, it felt good to do something purposeful. Power shopping, not retail therapy. Less than a hundred bucks in less than twenty minutes. There's a win.

I was tired when I got home midday on Saturday. Lolled about. Fed my face. Camped in bed to just make the minutes pass with some mindless TV.  Waiting had become a hideous habit.

That's when Camilla appeared at the dish on the floor under the screen. Her back is dark grey, the carpeting dark blue, and the light was afternoon soft. I stared hard to feel what I was seeing and believe it.

 It's been a long time since this old body&soul felt such an unbidden thrill. I've banked it hard and now I need to take some time to review. I know there are more moments like this to haul out, dust off and experience again. 

I picked the stitching up this morning and the familiar moves brought a measure of comfort. I still didn't sleep well even though Camilla was on the bed with me, by my feet while Salem held down her IKEA pillow at the head of the bed to my right. Sometimes I miss the old California King.

Not everyone is thrilled about her being home. Salem clings and grumbles if Camilla camps too close to me. 

Maybe they adapt to change quicker, without the emotional baggage that we carry. 

I have been working my way through a long list of Things Adults Must Do. It sucks, but each accomplishment feels like a door opening to something new and good. 

I'm making room--headspace--to write. 

Goals are good.

Camilla is home!

 

There was a much needed washcloth bath, and a nap in the last sun of the day.

I have a lot to say about this. Maybe tomorrow. Right now? We eat joy.

Keep on trying - updated

 I have to work very hard at this. 

Astonished to find it right there, on the design wall with the spell. 

Can't take the cat hair off it right now.

Liz has generously shared her how-to: