I invited three large damask tablecloths to the party. Two became primary and secondary table moppers, work surfaces that picked up the scatter from the thread dyeing process.
I almost forgot to fix both of them with soda ash.
I'm debating how to cut them up. Add them to the available scraps.
I'm going to start with fairly larges pieces, say 24" square, give or take. I'll iron them too. See the shine.
Here's a close-up of this one. The black didn't hold as well as I'd hoped.
It's been a long time since I've been so pleased with the fruits of a dyefest.
Keys to remember. Patience & Pacing. It's a lot of physical work in hot and sweaty conditions. Prep everything in the days before. Mix colors fresh, right after coffee. Label your colors! Good to know what works and what doesn't so there's no waste in the next go-round. Measure if that's the way your soul pinches you. I don't.
Wait until after midday to begin. Tent or hat a must.
Music!
I put two large damask tablecloths down on the work surface. They are informed by spills and scatter.
They will need a splash of soda ash water if you want to keep the color. Or not, they can come to the next dyefest for a rematch.
The new colors made a big difference. Cotton Candy and Hot Pink jumped right in and set things afire!
The blues ran true. Lapis a strong player. I never buy green. Greens are born.
So all of this, cloth and thread, sat under the rising Strawberry moon until a thunderstorm swallowed it whole. They rinsed in the rain, then baked in the humidity the next day. More rain, all the while steeping in the scent of my neighbor's magnolias.
I'm still deciding what to call this batch. It will come to me while I'm winding them off.
Right after this sunset, the pink moon peeked over the opposite horizon for a few minutes before it was swallowed whole by a thunderstorm. Cloth and thread remain out in the elements until tomorrow. A very special batch.
I'm planning a big dye day tomorrow, pacing myself. Lots of thread and cloth are already prepped and waiting. These are new colors. I will be using some of the old as well and blends, of course. I rarely use colors "straight out of the can".
I will be dyeing about a dozen skeins of that cotton/silk twist.
There will be black and white, like bakery thread, a range of pinks and greens (missing from my personal stash).
Are there colors/blends you've been wanting to see? Leave your suggestions in the comments.
A morning spent waiting for something else has produced this. Lighter and bigger than I thought while working at the machine.
I may slice and splice once or twice. There's another quarter with a few more dashes of color, but I don't think I'll have enough to do both sides this way. Some other cloth and manner will step in.
When both sides are done, I'm thinking I may overdye them. One in saffron the other turquoise. Cohesion.
No batting, just front, and back that will be stitched together with my running quarter that never, ever goes in a straight line. Think of spaghetti. But not with the Dirty Threads. I have spools of 12 weight Sulky cotton that flies through the cloth with a slash of Thread Heaven aboard. It stands up to use and laundering best.
...is getting an upgrade. (In case you don't know, my Dixie Mink is an oversized, denim workshirt.)
Salem has taken to hiding in my cloth closet, nesting up in a small basket that held a few almost finished badges. I took them out, taped off the cat hair (she's a first-class shedder) and I'm in the process of stitching my own gang colors on each sleeve.
For the moment, I've abandoned the robe notion. All these weeks of isolation, I've been wearing a few long, sleeveless gowns that I cobbled together from scraps. That wonderful, soft Provence cotton. The last thing I need is another "my eyes only" garment.
If I'm to keep living I want to declare a few things in public. Still contemplating what to put on the center back.
I live in a suburb of Atlanta, which I'm sure you know is in turmoil, along with other American cities, in response to the murders of Ahmaud Arbery, Breonna Taylor, and George Floyd.
Wearing " I Can't Breathe" is what I feel, but do I have the right?
The only thing that gives me any hope is VOTE.
We ventured out yesterday. Charlie has a pretty good grasp of what's going on and was eager to be my masked Ninja. He's really too big to be riding in the cart, but for both of us, it's safest. Inside the front entrance of every Publix, there is a bench that he climbs to get in and out of the buggy because I can no longer lift him.
This reaction came when a man who was not wearing a mask, cut in front of us as we observed the Please Stand Here tapes on the floor. Charlie is still five and he gets it.
The woman waiting on us in the deli knows us well enough that she doesn't have to ask what we want. We all watched the man as he walked off. She shook her head. I said it for her, not quite loud enough for the man to hear because I was with Charlie.
"Asshole".
Saving this one for later. I start a new shift today. 5pm to 1:30am. The sweet spot of the night. Most of my adult life, I've chosen to work lates. That's when interesting things and people are happening. I don't know how nine to fivers can stand the boredom.
BUT, at the moment, there has been an influx of calls from the most selfish, entitled and rude people I've had to interact with since I was a telephone operator for AT&T. It's been a long time since anyone has opened a conversation with "Listen, bitch." My easiest reply is no reply at all. A supervisor once called my silences "New York Deadly". Sometimes I remind people that they are being recorded. That gets me a hasty hangup or both verbal barrels in a new volley of abuse. Either way, I win.
I'm always grateful that I don't have to go home to that person whose life is in the shitter because their gym is still closed and I can't tell them when it will reopen.
On balance, many people ask how I am faring. They are glad to hear that I work from home, and generally want to engage in any kind of conversation beyond the business at hand. We laugh to hear each other's cats or dogs demanding attention. We aren't supposed to, but I do. It's the night, after all.
