A week away

 

A week inside with rain every day has been a test. There are math practices and the latest CD of the Harry Potter saga. I've also introduced him to the Star Trek movie series. The first two were slow as dirt and haven't held up. We learned the expression "curtain chewing" as it applies to the art of acting.

Ms. Nibbler has recovered nicely from her spaying, and events at my house have confirmed that she will always be an indoors cat. Plans for a cat gym and some window ledges are on Charlie's drawing board.

He will be a middle schooler next year. We are both working on making math as fluid and painless as the other subjects he excels at. 

I'm heartbroken to report that there has been no news of Camilla.

I fear the worst and pray that nature was swift and merciful, releasing her gentle soul back into the sea of consciousness.

Thank you all for the love.

Mourning

 They mourn. Especially Bailey.  I'm glad and sad to be away for a while. 

summer moves on

 

Sometime in the past few days, the mailbox garden gardenia has exploded into bloom. In tribute? In memoriam? No, just nature doing its very best to persist. 

I had given up expecting any flowers at all. There were no buds in evidence. My eyes have been tired of looking for flashes of white in the distance. 

 This is the same bush still strung with solar Christmas lights, which cycle in a gentle fade from cool greens and blues to warm yellows and reds. Taking them down seems sacrilegious. 

Another perfect day is in the offing. Climate change may be dishing out mayhem in other places, but Georgia feels like some kind of ill-deserved Eden these days. I am grateful.

The green and quiet is good for me, so I'll take a chunk of that later. Pack my writer's bag as if I were heading for the high sierras. 

I've come to realize that just stitching is not enough for me right now. Attention to life- the doings- lifts my board and moves me forward. 

Self-care, cleaning, cooking, reading, writing, even organizing all the tax shit has been helpful. Finding a new primary care provider remains a quest. Having UHC feels like having an std. 

Years ago, I bought a beautiful cotton shirt on eBay. It was such a deal, such good quality, that I returned to the same seller and bought two more. White, navy, and Caribbean blue. 

They have been hanging in my closet for years, barely worn because the long sleeves rolled up to be secured by a clever tab and button that was uncomfortably bulky. 

Last night I lopped off a third of the sleeves, hemmed the raw edges with a nun's precision, then ran a row of stitches under each button placket to thwart gaping.  A whole new wardrobe. Time well spent.

Sometimes we ask too much of cloth and thread. 

somber days

Another day stretches out as I move from one view to the next, window to window, watching for Camilla. If I call her (Milla, milla) outside, I start to cry. This has happened on my watch. 

Salem joined me in the front yard yesterday. A perfect day, breezy, high 70s in the shade. A new bug repellent is working well, and a good book to take me away from the moment. Crook Manifesto by Colson Whitehead.

I did the math, and Salem is about fifteen and Bailey, ten. They still spar as they have always done, but they miss Camilla who is only three. Bailey's playmate, Salem's idiot child.  

Salem insists on being on the high deck even when it's too damn hot. She can see the whole backyard from there. Bailey patrols when he is not sleeping, more than usual. Me too.  I have to go to the vet today to get the monthly flea pills, and I know I will cry some more when I tell them that I will only need two doses instead of three.

This is the last photo I have of all three. It rained all weekend, and Camilla was bored and sick of being inside. Here she's making a pile of pies just before the weather broke, and she ducked out the cat door for some fresh air and freedom a week ago, Monday, around sunset. 

Apart from this sadness at home, I'm gearing up to spend some time with Charlie. As of today, he's done with 5th grade and I will be needed in the summer weeks to come. 

Of my three, Camilla is his favorite. I'm just not going to tell him anything for now. 

I would rather cling to hope than mourn.

Vigil

 

First light. Both Salem and Baily have been looking for Camilla. As long as he's been with us, I've never seen this behavior.  She's out there somewhere. 

Some of us would like to sleep through our heartache. 

Mind less ness

 

That's what I'm striving for. Hemming this large piece of new linen because I don't have enough pins. 1/4 inch all the way around in color then, fold that over another 1/4 and finish with a white hem stitch. No plans for it yet, but it's prone to unraveling. 

I also have a flight line of UFOs that need backs or sleeves. To-dos. Like vacuuming. While we wait. 

There was a 4.something earthquake last Friday evening while I was at Jake's place. None of us felt it, but the cats were berserk when I got home Saturday afternoon. 

The local wildlife was also unsettled.

This monster climbed onto the lower deck and fell into the pool sometime in the night. I would say a foot across, a foot and a half long. Colin said "twenty pounds". He got in and lifted it out onto the boards. It did NOT go quietly. 

Rather than risk his hands again, he used a snow shovel to carry it back down into the woods towards the creek. In all the years we've had the pool, there have never been turtles, least of all monster snappers.

Thunderstorms persisted all weekend, and the cat posse was highly incensed. 

Monday just around sunset, the clouds parted and Camilla dipped out for a little adventure. She hasn't been home as of this writing. She did this last October. We spent a solid week of frantic searching overlain with heartache. Of the three, she is the sweetheart, the most vulnerable. 

She's also young, strong, well-padded, and a veteran of the walkabout. Moment to moment, I remind myself of these things.

Poor Colin had just taken on the fierce challenge of quitting smoking. That will be on hold until she comes home. Camilla is his baby.

disconnecting

 

When I updated the Dirty Thread store I forgot to include a way to reach me. Fixed now.

I'm getting ready for a short visit to my short guy in the country. Apart from music, I will make a mighty effort to disengage electronically for the duration. 

Without using any kind of app to track it, I recognize that I spend way too much time looking at the world through my phone, like most of us,  looking for hope. Not putting my head in the sand, just breaking a bad habit while I do what I can to change things.

And Holy Smoke! A Woke Pope!

I wrote an epilogue for Prophets Tango that included Anna and Jack having a private audience with an unnamed pope at the Vatican. The story veered away from it thematically, so I didn't include it, but it's quite juicy. I'll dig it up and post it on the writing page when I get back. 

This is my WIP tower just to the right of my stitching chair. I worry that it, like the deck, might be groaning under the load. I'll see to that on Sunday too.

To my left is the desk, also groaning under a load of serious to-do paperwork. Nice to have everything where I can give it all the finger occasionally. 

Enjoy your weekend!

turning the day around

Colin was standing out on the main deck (where I do all the dye stuff) when the boards settled under his feet just a bit, but suddenly. Alarmingly. This is a second-story deck. You've seen dozens of pictures. 

He went underneath and found this. This metal support post was part of the original deck, only six feet from the door. The house was built in 1971 by a penny-pinching contractor. 

We think this corrosion is due, in part, to my work with salt and chemicals spilling on the boards and below through the years. I haven't looked at the other posts yet, but when Jim enlarged the deck in 1998, when we got the pool, he used massive wooden supports. 

The deck is safe, but I'm uncomfortable working out there until the support is replaced and a good portion of the deck garden is relocated. The big, heavy table Jim built 30 years ago has given me its all, too. 

So, I wandered around Lowe's for an hour looking for lally columns, jack posts, and structural beams. I like lumberyards and hardware stores the way some women like shoe stores. Soul catnip. All I found was a plastic, 5-gallon pail to transport the frogs from the pool to the creek. 

And this - In a crowd of Brads, Liams, and Olivers, it was staring at me out of the cooler at checkout. After an hour of hot, fruitless shopping. 

Terrible for me. Wonderful. Yes.

Before Lowe's, I went to Van Adams Jewelers in Snellville and was delighted by the care and attention from the staff. All I wanted was to resurrect this watch. Jim gave it to me for Christmas sometime in the 90s, and I didn't have the heart to tell him he got me the men's and not the women's version. I got used to it. The strap broke ages ago, and I feared the battery might have leaked and ruined the works, which was the death of the Mickey Mouse watch I was planning to give Charlie. 

In short order, the young lady brought it back from the bench, working! She helped me pick out a band and put it on. I was set on matching the old brown leather one, but this grey nylon is a great match to the watch. 

The overall feeling of the day was one of closeness to Jim. They never leave us in spirit. 

The frosting on the cake of my day was cleaning out my threadnest and deciding which colors to keep for myself. 

I'm still looking for teal, rust, more golds, some deep leafy green, and a darker turn of the moon threads.

 

an inward curl

I've made a few additions to the dirty thread store. As time and daylight permit, there will be more.

Nope, these are mine. 

I have a project in mind that's going to call for a lot of colors and textures. And lots of time.

This drawing still intrigues me. I'll pull out the stitched ones and see if another is really needed. 

Or maybe just draw a fresh perspective. What would this look like if I made it in clay and flipped it over? What creatures might scurry away in the light?

A while ago, more than one of you asked about the AZZBAG pattern I used to sell back when you had to send me a stamped, self-addressed envelope. No kidding! Copyright 1988. I did the thing!

I found all the files. Have at it. 

More pictures... It's fun to personalize them.
 

A Beltane reading

     

We've been living on pause for a while. It's time we tested our luck and were more generous with our gifts, including better responses to righteous fury.  This Empress, this softening, is the spirit of Beltane. Fecundity in all its forms. We are Makers. We create. We manifest miracles from nothing. Time to share the wealth. 

                                                                ~O~

A pair of adorable young men tapped on the door today. One of them had a great opener. He admired the bumper sticker collection on Colin's car. That was mildly disturbing because most of them are obscure references to metal bands or cult horror films. 

They reminded me of my own dance with the missionaries, so long ago.

    I put on my "What are you selling?" face, and tall cutie replied, "We're missionaries."

Younger, short, brown-eyed cutie clutched a very fat bible like a good luck charm. 

    I gave them a big smile and said, "Well, Happy Beltane, boys!" 

    Their looks of complete bewilderment were priceless. Neither had ever heard the word, so I enlightened them and went on to explain why pagans and witches have a lot of problems with their point of view, including that book they are so fond of, commissioned by the rich patriarchy of the day.

    I went on to ask if they knew about the Gnostics and why those books were not included in the bible. The were again, clueless. More education.

    They declined the water I offered. Sweet boys. If I had been dressed, I would have invited them into the kitchen for potato salad, lemonade, and my famous Evolution lecture. I can't mock them or get angry. It takes a lot of courage to do what they do. I just wish their energy and effort weren't so wasted.

Stitching these letters into place, building them from scraps, was so satisfying. I'm still working on forgiving myself for not taking them out in public somewhere. I was still aching and stiff from the back thing, and the plastic Adirondack lawn chairs are notorious back killers. I love sinking into them, but after 15 minutes, I'm really sorry that I did. 

I might go across the street and steal a better chair from the dead. Joyce won't mind. I'm also going to turn her flag upside down. 

Bailey still sneaks up on me for cuddles when Salem isn't looking. 

The only time I'm interested in cooking is when I have a woo-lee for something. 

I had no idea how to spell the word my mother always used for a craving. A quick search returned "voglia" which is Italian for "a need". 

A few days ago, the voglia was for my own potato salad. I would not eat any other potato salad even at gunpoint. Who knows wtf they put in there?

 

I only recently started leaving the red skins on the potatoes. Boil, cool. Add a little Hellmann's mayo, a splash of red wine vinegar, a half sweet onion. well diced. Black pepper, salt, and a pinch of oregano. I used to like to stir in a fat handful of Cajun peanuts, but they've gotten hard to find. It paired so well with a hacked-up apple-bourbon pork loin and caramelized onions.

                                                        ~O~

Sorry, AP for stealing this picture. Israel is burning, and they are asking for help.

I have a lot of thoughts about that, but what a striking photo. 

In the deepest contrast, my spirit animal prepares for the upcoming season of competition in an astoundingly frivolous sport.

 

And, best of all, Home, complete with devil chairs.

I wanted to light the fire pit last night for Beltane, but it was breezy and I need to empty it out to be sure nothing has nested in there. It's been a while since the last burn.