Weekends

It was a glorious weekend, Hallmark holiday aside. 

Once the sun is up over the big tree, the whole yard is in deep shade until a slice of sun blasts those chair for two hours as it sinks behind the house. Just enough time to soak up some vitamin D. 

So far, no mosquitios. One or two ant bites. I need some fresh insect repellent. They expire.

Jake and Charlie stopped by for a nice visit on Saturday. 

Something clicked because, afte they left, I opened the raw writing space* and finally banged out the scene that I have been avoiding for a couple of months. The penultimate action sequence - necessarily horrific. 

Convincing my ancient laserjet printer that it had better do it's work (because boat anchors are in demand this time of year) went smoothly. Years ago, I was finished buying color printers that came with built-in crack habits. The color cartridges for the last one cost more than the little Canon I bought from somewhere off the internet. Are you kidding? $69.00 plus shipping? 

Of course it was cheap. It's been deliberately hamstrung with no software/firmware upgrades available. Wireless? It worked for the old Windows 7 laptop, but now I have to scoot the big Acer over there and cable up and it works like a charm. Bonus? I have never replaced the cartridge or whatever voodoo it is that makes little black marks on white paper. For all I know it's a tribe of tiny, naked scribes waiting to open their veins at my behest. Now I've probably jinxed the little bugger.  

Insert obeisance to the Inksters (tribe Canon)

A repeat, with a light breeze upgrade for Sunday. I set up my camp out there with my watchers. Made a handful of phone calls and took the printed pages out for a spin. Reading aloud to cats, editing on the fly. It was a good piece of work for an afternoon. 

I long for a little campfire after dark but the county has prohibited all outdoor burning for now.

fom an old post: 

I've been spending an hour or more each morning writing and it feels as if  I have been working my way down inside a nautilus shell, almost claustrophobic with the isolation of the activity. Writers  really can't just hang a work in progress on the design wall for all to have a look at; editing and rewriting are essential steps. It looks like you have to be a little bit crazy to be a writer and if you're not when you start, you probably will be once you get into it. Today I will get out of my own head for a while.

*https://internettypewriter.com/welcome   

Unresolved

 

This is a section of that linen sheet that I covered the table with for the first dyefest. The table mopper.

In the past, I used smaller, overlapping pieces balling them up with leftover dyes at the end of the days session. Leaving them to poach on the deck, days sometimes. After a thorough wash, they were chopped, cut and torn into scraps. Of course I saved juicy bits for myself. The River Basket overfloweth sometimes. 

Because the cloth is so Good & True, I'm going to use this one all summer, then make myself a coat. That gives me all summer to find a pattern that I can follow. 

Before the next dyefest (coming as soon as the sun comes back to town) I'm going to use soywax to protect interesting elements like this. It will be a work in progress. Just like the rest of us.

A work in progress myself, today recovering from the prescribed excess of 20mg of Valium dished out before the most recent lumbar nerve ablation. They are pleasant company if not very good nurses.

Remembering nurse kitty Karma who only got on any of us voluntarily if that person was sick. "Tut tut, my dear. All will be well." 

This bunch? "Turn around and get the cat cookies from the cubby. You can DO IT. REACH!"