Slava Ukraini

 

A fruitful friday

 

Nothing like a little wet thread porn to brighten up a blog, right?  I was a little heavier-handed with the dyes this time, but I'll know better tomorrow. 

I only hatched out these two because it was an overfull day.

I did an unknown something to my left knee on Sunday so there has been a lot of hobbling around. Pain is tedious and exhausting. 

 First things were first. The blueberry bushes I bought last week HAD to get in the ground. With no way to operate a shovel, I sat in the dirt and bored into the miserable Georgia clay with a nice sharp hand trowel. I made the holes big enough to add some decent topsoil back in with the plants. I hope I wasn't digging three graves. They already have berries on them!

I have since learned that I need to buy a few more of a different breed of blueberry for some plant sex reason. I won't pry. But I am going to task one of the menfolk here with digging any future holes.

Baby hollyhocks had to come outside because Milly ate a few. I hope to establish these as perennials but I've had no luck in years past. One came up every year in the mailbox garden but every year succumbed to some kind of leaf rust.

Hopefully, some of these new ones are hardier.

When words fail...pictures.

Spring is finally on us. Even though I woke to see frost on the cars the other morning,  the two cherry and grape tomato plants I put up against the chain-link fence didn't seem bothered. Dropped a handful of hyacinth bean vine seeds along that same fence today. There might be blueberries.

The house on the other side of the fence has been empty since late summer last year. The bank that owns it spent a lot of money putting lipstick on a pig and I'll tell anyone who comes to look at it, buyer beware. But the new concrete section of the driveway should warn them that there is a drainage problem. Still, I'm going to plant a row of sunflowers along the garage wall that faces my bedroom window so I can enjoy the view.  

The worst of the pollen has passed which means it's time to drain and refill the pool! 

We thrive.

Damn little creative stuff going on, but Spoonflower is devilling me hard!

I killed a scene the other day. After fighting with it for more than a week, I realized that it was never going to do what I needed it to do. Even worse, my need was mistaken for something that mattered. It was a relief!

As of today, I've given up herding half-baked rabbits--trying to order up scenes that aren't even written, just a fragment on an index card for some. The whole outline thing feels more like a wool suit with no underwear so, screw all that. It's been keeping me away from actually writing anything. I can't blame the lack of progress on not having time. I'll never be able to play that card because I know how the last six years have been. Full! Busy and productive, so, no excuses. I'm grinning just writing this.  

Cute overload

 Camilla doing her best pole dancing but Bailey ain't impressed.

His attitude has moved from pissed off to grudging acceptance.

Spring Break

I will always be grateful for the amazing parks in Gwinnett County.  Some days, the hardest part is deciding which one.  Ten minutes from home, this is our favorite until the weather turns hot. If ever a park needed some mature trees, shade shelters or (gasp) a splash pad or two, this would be the place. 

It was windy as hell, but I made do at a picnic table where I could keep one eye on Sonic the Hedgehog and his artmaking when he wasn't hanging from something or swinging on something.

There was a short spell of cold rain that called for gentle indoor stuff while the family went to the movies.

Yesterday they visited Space Camp in Alabama. I love this picture and hate it at the same time. I am severely claustrophobic, and I can also imagine that by the time Charlie is grown, he could just as easily be dressed for work in this picture.

the long, slow rain

After a string of cool breezy brightness, we are having the Georgia Monsoon complete with thunder and lightning. The kind of day that is good for slow, quiet stuff, like napping.

Overnight, there will be a green explosion. I gave in to the temptation of planting early. Tomatoes along the chain link fence will be guarded by sunflowers and anything that I can get to climb, most likely morning glories. 

I liberated a hibiscus from the trash at the big box store. It looked so dead that you couldn't tell what color the blooms were, but the woody stems were still flexible and green. That's joined the perennials up at the mailbox garden. I'm going to put up a three-legged support for climbers as soon as I can find some really tall bamboo. 

For the first time, ever I'll have a full sun garden under the kitchen windows. More sunflowers most likely and blueberry bushes. 

Don't know (or care) what the neighbors think, but we are enjoying the firepit in the front yard, sticks with marshmallows always on hand. I've heard that if someone calls the fire department on you, they are cool if you are having some kind of cookout. I personally think smores are gross, but always volunteer to eat the burned-up marshmallow skins.

A Sunday night routine is settling in. The front yard gets gleaned for deadfall. Jake gets the fire going. Charlie told us the funniest spooky story I've heard in ages. No matter that he cribbed it exactly from a cartoon show. His delivery and timing were masterful. No one had anything to top it. 

1st dyefest of '22

I was prepared for a day of blazing sunshine with temps reaching 80 degrees, but the day dawned heavily overcast, chilly, and damp. Scaling back was easy enough.  Tangible and intangible results were affirming. 

Small batches take much less time than dye extravaganzas of previous seasons leaving yours truly with enough "spoons" left to carry on the rest of my life rather than draped over a fainting couch for a day of recovery. 

Only six colors mixed for small batches will lead to a wider range of colors over all.

All in all, I'm pleased with the outcome. 

Now to adjust everyone's expectations with regard to marketing. 

I'm not going to be offering these for sale until I've had a few more sessions. Build a little inventory and consolidate packaging and shipping operations. 

I have a lot going on in my life, good stuff. And like anything good, stuff demanding of my time and attention. Dirty Threads will remain a side gig for the time being. 

 

Art wilding

 

I freed another largeish quilt yesterday. Some ancient history, "Clubbin' 2007". Even though this piece has never spent any time exposed to the light, there has been significant fading.

Black has always been the most difficult color to brew with MX dyes. This is a picture when it was new.

Not much to look at anymore, but it will make a nice yoga mat, picnic blanket, or car seat cover. Function over everything else.  The hard part is waiting until there is no one around to say "Hey, you forgot something!". The note reads "finders keepers. a gift from the artist." Then I scuttled off back to my car. I really wanted to hang out to see if anyone picked it up, but no. There's the challenge. I removed the label and brought home. Record of release.
 

Waiting on the Sun

A surprise visitor in the studio this morning. Sweetie rarely ventures the stairs these days, but the temporary configuration of two refrigerators in the kitchen has been blocking her morning sunning.

Spring chill hangs on here, but my weatherbug son just told me Wednesday could bring 80 degrees. The first dyefest of the 2022 season looms. I know I won't get excited until I pull the dyes out of the cupboard and start mixing.

The week that's raced by since the last post? Writing in fits and starts, but mostly reading. 

           One of my crit partners and your ragmates, Dee Mallon, has written an astonishing novel. We have been trading pages and critiques for years and she's finally flung herself across the finish line. As the traditional publishing process goes, her story is a long way from getting into the reader's hands, but if there's any truth at all about the cream rising to the top, this book will be a bestseller. Congratulations, my friend!

 

giving grace all 'round

 

I had to look it up to be sure. People toss that expression around carelessly. Words matter. 

So I can say with confidence that I am allowing grace for this piece, my writing. and myself. Stop judging this piece which is so far from done.

It's for me to stop sulking because my work doesn't know where it's going or what it will be. Yet. Accepting that this is how I work and trying to change that now is a mistake. 

Drawings and plans for stitched pieces always die on the page. A few notebooks are full of the corpses of things that never inspired me enough to create them in cloth.

Outlining a book has proven to be a steel cage.  I sketched the first one: two parallel lines that crossed, curved back, crossed again, then fell into a spiraling widening helix. 

The next book isn't even ready for a sketch yet. The big picture, as yet unrevealed by the details that I have been accumulating. Notes, paragraphs, scenes - lots of them.  

                                                        Details like this. 

or,

"She hates himself," Bea told Tam.

"Sad. sad, but true. We all have little a both in us." She grinned into her hand and laughed. "One of Murph's buddies told him I was too mannish. Murph punched his lights out. Men who talk like that are 'fraid of women. What do you make of Teddy down at the flower shop?" 

 "He's got a lot of girl in him?" 

"So you understand. It's not easy being different like that." 

Annabea was learning hard lessons about being different every day in school."But Lady G is different. Like she's two people at once and boy is she hard on that other guy."

"Hush now and learn this. Ain't nothing more private than how people think about themselves." 

The details will gather. I will make order, sense, and purpose and the story will reveal itself.  I need to not be in such a damn hurry.