A shift in time

 

This may be one of the best pictures I've taken. I was sitting in the kitchen sulking because there were no cookies. The overhead lights were off. I just stood up, pulled the sliding window open and popped off a few shots. 

This was the only one that included my neighbors new garage door. At a recent social occasion, I decided not to mention her paint choice. She is one of the delusional group who thinks that the Shitweasel is anointed by her (catholic) God. 

She was driving us home one night and a remark I made launched her into a maga diatribe that left me speechless and praying to get home alive because she was shouting and driving erratically. 

I will invite her to the block party on that great day.

Here is the body language of DANGER

We are deep in pollen season and once again I am grateful to not be among the afflicted who must turn their lives over to medication for a month. Waking up with my eyes stuck shut is not a big deal. 

We are writing again. There are enough responsible adults in the room that I can relinquish control for a few hours a day and go back to indulging in fantasy.

How are you all keeping sane? I have finished that quilt repair and don't want to start a new project. The NO KINGS banner is folded away in the trunk of my car for the next time. 

  

It was good to have a group of friends on hand. 

As this small band of maggots first arrived and passed close to us, we put our fists in the air and yelled "FIRST AMENDMENT, BABY."  Someone added "You guy isn't for that." But they were not paying any attention to us. They were seeking oxygen from the crowd but little to none was given. This is them leaving the way they came after less than an hour of strutting around. 

male, white, 50+, big bellies, ball caps and a brittle arrogance.

And last, but not least, a prescient quote from her book that Dee posted. The staggering loss of her youngest son, Danny, has rocked me. 

If a decade can be considered "arm's length" I am that far from my own losses. All of mine--kitty Karma, my Mom, my Dad, and my dear husband, Jimmy--happened within a year and a half. All of these passings were expected--long lives and fatal illnesses gave me a moment to see Death as a stop on the wheel of Life.

Danny's choice of leaving is something I can't look too closely at because I can only see his mother's pain and feel it from afar. 

No Kings

 

First 

Some driving music from the ride home from the NoKings rally in Suwannee, GA. 

After a near perfect day, the drive home became a magic carpet ride. All the roads I chose were newly blacktopped and virtually empty. Forty-five mph was the agreed upon pace and we winged it home. 

A big part of the day's feel good was the righteous calm of the people. There were trepidations back in October. Not so much of that today, for me, at least. Safety in numbers is real. Heresay numbered us    3500 +/-.

Having the strength to do my own logistics was good. Parking was a challenge but a spot right where I needed to be called for parallel parking. Quickly realized I was not going to risk it and crabbed into the spot sideways, the hard way.

It's a coupe with a giant sloping rear window presently opaque yellow with pollen. 

I'm gathering pictures from my friends and will update here. 

This also made my day before coffee:

Dawn Hikers

Spooky story refurb

I was going to take this with me and gift it to Charlie, but a quick inspection revealed that it needed attention.

I don't know what the actual phenomenon is. Vintage damasks seem to evaporate over time. A machine applique on a velvet shawl was the first time I noticed it.

It looks like what happens to cotton undies if you bleach them every time they get washed. This is not a matter of wear and tear or laundering. In its lifetime I only washed this quilt once and that was a front load commercial machine that I set up for "delicates". Now I'm wondering if it's somehow connected to certain colors.

This is a mystery that I'm not in a hurry to solve. Nothing lasts forever. Especially beauty.

I'll be digging through the River Basket for cloth to make the repairs. 

Outdoors mayber later today. as the body and the pollen permits. It's our yellow season and I give thanks that I don't have any pollen allergies, but it's messy and I really don't want to have to wash this quilt again any time soon.

Comfort-updated

 

My go-to comfort movie is just about anything with Tom Hanks, but "You've Got Mail" will always be in the top three.

Just the opening scenes, Autumn in New York City, are sometimes enough even though I can't remember ever feeling at home there. Always a visitor, even when I lived on Bank Street. 

The story is so familiar, I can just let it run in the background. Until the end of course, to have a good weep. 

There are books here waiting for me to open them, some for the first time. And a pile of clean laundry that should go into the closet, but the body wants what it needs. 

Right now, the heating pad and a trial run of a different type of nsaid. 

There was a fresh set of xrays. Indicators of new patches of arthritis (who knew it spreads like fungus?) and an interesting discussion about the scoliosis that I was born with. Huh? 

I knew that my spine wanders like the Blue Dragon River in Portugal, but I've always thought my wandering superstructure was a feature of age and I said so.

My orthopedist is a delightful woman who is head shorter that me, round and bustling. "No. You were born this way. Big feet, thick hair, and a free-spirited spinal column." I think she's had a lot of practice saying that last part. Her diagnosis: No new structural damage. Just a sprain that makes the biggest muscle in my back curl up like a slug under salt if I make a wrong move.  

Ugh. I hate kvetching. 

All that said, there's nothing to be done for it other than see to the symptoms. No more pretending I can handle the heavy lifting. Two new and different meds and, your favorite and mine, aqua therapy. I have until 4/10 to decide if I want to do another round of nerve ablation. 

In the meantime, the comfort of good company who likes the heating pad as much as I do.

There was a thunderstorm before dawn this morning and now the temperature is dropping like a rock. (Colin dragged my houseplants back inside for me.

As soon as the sticks in the fire pit dry out, I'm going to feed this into the fire.

And that is all the head space he's getting from me for the rest of this day. 

Shhh. I hear Brinkley barking.

Don't cry, Shopgirl.

                               

She (who wouldn't piss on you if you were burning) is smiling!

More from the Chaos Closet

 Sisters. 

Fire, Wind, Water and Earth

In all your names and guises

Light the watch towers

Hold back the night

I ask cover from all quarters

Bless this Circle and 

We within.

Sometimes, all you can do is stitch until you glitch.

When I get stuck for words (any writer who says it doesn't happen is lying) I pick up needle and thread. This time, I took up stitching the text with no thought to design or readability. 

 Just scribbling. I should probably consign thus to the flames. (The spell made it to the printed page.)

Inventory

This is "Pastorale" 2013.   25x13

I was so ambitious . It makes me smile to reflect that every day was and is, worth showing up for.

Needleturned, hand dyed vintage cloth.

Ready to go.
 

~

 

🌙 The day has walked its final mile,

Let the heart be still a while,

Breathe out the weight of all you’ve known,

And touch the peace you call your own.

(from the Monks)

Hemming

 

Does anyone else love the mindless, yet productive activity of hemming?  A true hem stitch is almost invisible from the outside. It was the one really useful skill I remember from Home Ec. We used a fine silk ribbon to finish the edge of the cloth before the actual turning and stitching. 

This is where I stop and wonder if I've told this story.

We were supposed to make a simple skirt with a zipper. Waistband, darts, plackets - all of it. I had a scant yard and a quarter of a fine, forest green wool. Leftovers from my Mom's wedding suit. She could have used a little help fitting the jacket. 

She kept the scraps like a true daughter of the Depression and was happy to give them to me.

There was just enough cloth to lay out and cut an straight skirt like this one, only well above the knee as it was the sixties and not the forties.

It came out perfect. Cute little matching green zipper under a placket, button and buttonhole, and a kick pleat and that fancy hemming.  

It looked like a lampshade because I made it in a size 4. It would have fit my Mom, but I was a size 14. 

The teacher didn't know whether to shit or go blind. She couldn't fault my workmanship, so she gave me a C for being a smartass.

She didn't think I would actually wear a skirt, did she? 

Anyway~

I pulled this piece of linen out of the wicker closet without a lot of intention. Then I looked at the date. March 28th, the next NoKings action will be on me before I know it. I need a new, vibrant banner and this cloth as background will be perfect.

Before anything else, I need to give it a quarter-inch hem on all four sides. This linen frays like it's fun.

The symbols might just come down to white, reflective paint if I can't find cloth with enough contrast. I'm thinking it through as I type this. (A white, rayon table cloth. Cut two and applique them on both sides?)

After a little futzing around and this cloth demanded PINS. The nerve that it would not just lay down and behave to my finger pressing. It's 36x60 and 192 inches of holy rolling nun's work lost its appeal, but a nice tight running stitch with King Tut cotton thread went like butter. 

Strange keepsakes we'll be leaving our grandchildren. 

A

She looked on

At the end of a strange day. Dusk falling, a deep peace in a very small cocoon. 

I had a follow-up today with the PC. I did myself an injury last week thinking I could hoist 20lb bags of birdseed and cat litter as if I was still twenty. 

The next day, all I could do was lay on the heating pad and find something to watch that would not provoke screaming, sneezing or laughter. All of those hurt too much. Morgan Freeman narrating Dinosaurs worked for me and Sophie. I read that cats see blue and yellow. This creature also made a gutteral mewing sound. She was spellbound. 

The doctor assessed a muscle sprain and made sad faces when I asked about heroin. She gave me a shot of Tordal, a powerful nsaid, and when I got home I slept the afternoon away. When I woke, I had no pain and went about my business. The conclusion of the long day had me just soaking up the unseasonable warmth outside until it was dark enough to bring Bailey inside. 
 

Moomba Masters broadcast live from Australia was a glitchy mess, but JP did well. Waterskiing on a river seems to be a different beast. He still revels in what he does.

While searching for the Bad Smell that usually means there's something DEAD in here, another box of pictures demanded attention.  

I might be ten or eleven. My sisters and brother in flannel, footed pj's and me still running the summer baby doll. This picture makes me want to cut my hair. 

The smell? A half cup of milk I had left on the desk beside the stitching chair. Second only to dead frogs.

The Shadow knows....

Colin continues his calling as Nature nurturer. No pictures, but yesterday,  I rousted him from a deep sleep because a squirrel had fallen into our pool and was unable to climb out. Rescue accomplished.

Then, while he was at work, this cardinal bonked her head on one of the big windows. He warmed and protected it for a bit, then watched it flit away.

Goodbyes

We took the show down yesterday morning. These pieces didn't come home with me.

Isn't that the goal of making art that you're willing to display? I feel like I've misplaced something important.

"As Yet Unbaptized" with its new owners. 

The All-Seeing Eye has a new home.

     

And the surprise, out of left field, 

"Night Gardener", was sold. This one really wrenches. When I look at the detail shots, I can remember laboring over each choice. Thinking through the story it was setting the scene for.

I had a hard time choosing which pieces to include in this show. After the fact, I realize that I based my choices on how deeply the work resonated with me. 

No thought at all that they might resonate with others.

Voicing these feelings. Even thinking about making art again, feels vapid and self-serving when half-way around the world, the US military is murdering children so we won't talk  about the fact that Trump is a treasonous, degenerate pedophile and is terrified of being exposed.

It' not working Shitweasel. 

Solutions

 It was bound to happen. I left the room and came back to the thread stash overturned. The mess was not photogenic so I sorted them. There was no way these were all going back in that box.

A solution.

I picked all the fat ones and set them aside. For whatever reason, my color eye just never chose them. 

The skinny skeins left in the box? Much loved favorites, some with only a yard or two left.  Summer will come.

In the meantime, these colors will be looking for a new home.