Sunday, June 26, 2022

Finding a gear


The grove is in bloom. They are cinnamon bark crape myrtles. Planted on the four points of the compass, white North has always been the most vigorous, pushy member of the group. We haven't topped them in three years, but come January, it's going to get a serious pruning in hopes of giving the other three a chance to catch up. 

I have resolved to stop taking poison, knowing how I plan to help those who need camping gear or assistance. 

Also, I've been invited to participate in a local gallery event! Time to see what's still in the closet.

Charlie is home! And I swear he grew two inches in two weeks. While he was away, his Mom and Dad spent every free moment redoing his room from ceiling fan to flooring. This room had the dark green walls and carpet that Jake chose as a teenager. Change was past due.

He's a bit overwhelmed.

Saturday, June 25, 2022

the decision

I have been mostly lost for words this past twenty-four hours. Lots of cursing. A fury that would frighten civilized people if I were to describe the details. My right hand has been aching; the two knuckles that I broke on a man’s forehead when he put his hand up under my dress as I climbed the stairs in the subway. There are other things I can’t speak of. Statute of limitations stuff.

 I have ongoing heartburn, headaches, and something I can only describe as the ghost of monthly cramps. But underlying all of these is anxiety. Dread. A feeling of being penned in with a clock ticking in the background. The fear peaks, the fury returns, I want to break things, and again, I remind myself that the Buddha said holding on to hate is like taking poison and expecting the other person to die.

All of this adds up to what I suspect is a kind of PTSD that women who have had abortions might be experiencing now in light of what that orange shitbag has bought and paid for - “his” puppet supreme court judges. He’ll be bragging about it any second now. 

It was hard enough to make those choices so many years ago when it was legal.

Now, all I can do is vote the bastards out and drive. I will drive Georgia campers to the nearest camping-friendly state. No praying. I’ve never been more sure that there is no god running things. The only godlike thing there is  - is the energy, the fire we have inside to make sure this gets corrected. That women have autonomy over their bodies and their health. 

Wednesday, June 22, 2022



Until now, summer has been moderate, kind even, for Georgia. So many other places have been scorched, drenched, or parched. I promised I'll never bitch again about the weather here being dull.  

Of course, the green folk are loving it. Everything growing on the dye deck is lush, as long as I'm bringing water.
The Old Mother Thyme (or is it Rosemary?) gets a whack whenever I get close just for the spice of she flings into the air.  This year she's sharing her pot with some morning glories, nasturtiums, and a stray sunflower.

For the first time, I've successfully gotten some hollyhocks past the seed stage. I'll keep them here and bring them in come winter. The plan is to get them out between the new blueberry bushes under the kitchen windows. First-year and there are berries! I'm leaving them for Charlie to pick when he gets home on Saturday.  He has been dearly missed.

Big changes are on the horizon. 

Saturday, June 18, 2022

Dirty threads


I was starting to cast my magpie eye on the collection so I put together some sets for other stitchers.

Starting to round up posts for the book.

Friday, June 17, 2022

Milly in the curtains

 I was finding this new linen curtain to be impossible to photograph. Thin cloth that lets the light through seems to be hard for the camera to pick up. 

Then, our Christmas rescue, Camilla, decided she wanted to spy on the new neighbors moving in next door.