open heart

 

The shape is ubiquitous, but I never cared for the flat, two-dimensional version. The shape inside the stamped paper lace cut-outs. 

The engine of life is so much more complex. The actual, fist-shaped, meat version is unpretty. Brutal looking. 

I shouldn't have even started this one, but there's the nature of compulsion. 

Some over-use/abuse of my right shoulder (probably pool cleaning related) is causing a distracting level of pain in my right shoulder to fingertips. Stitching, even a few minutes at a time is suspended.

I can talk my keyboard through the motions of getting words on paper. There's that for now.

It's Father's Day. My sons learned from the best. 

A very fine friday

 Except for the nasturtium seeds, everything here came from the big box dead wagon or trash can (I can't dumpster dive anymore. It requires a partner and I don't know anyone willing to do time for stealing dead geraniums.) But if you become a regular, even a browser, the cashier is more likely to cut a deal with you rather than see plants with a little hope thrown in the garbage. 

Sometimes, if I'm real quiet, I hear them humming. and grunting. and complaining. 

During odd hours this week, this audacious little heart demanded to be manifest. I obliged and immediately put it to work on the side of the writing tote that I drag around. Usually, it's Just In Case (a spirit moves me). 

Over these last few days a large chunk of the work in progress, book four, fell into place. I wrote out notecards for all the scenes I have that are half-baked. gooey still and flexible.

Being able to put them in some kind of order gives the book a beating heart. It's quite thrilling when the smoke clears.

I'm also seeing a way forward for another book that's been on the back burner for several years. 

And today I got my happy place back. Thirty minutes of work brushing and siphoning, then an hour surveying my domain from the floaty. (Deep gratitude for Samantha providing an electric air pump) . We have a few anoles, I hear the tree frogs at night. Dragonflies came in low and slow to inspect me then flitted off for discussions. 

Scrap refresh

 

I've been making up orders (bless you all) and felt that the scrap basket could use some pizzazz. 

Actually, the giant tote that I keep my personal stash in fell off the third closet shell while I was shoving things around looking for What Was It?

I went down the rabbit hole poking around in it. Some things still dazzled others made me wonder what I was thinking or smoking that day. 

I won't call it death cleaning. Just the realization that my "somedays" are much more likely to have been promised to other activities or people. Things that will give me a lot more satisfaction than completing another stitched Whatsis that will be lucky if it becomes a potholder or a placemat. 

There was a big stack of those in another tote. Stuff that's mostly finished. As in Now What?

At least a well-made quilt gets to be useful so I'm thinking that if one of those "somedays" turns up a little empty, I'm going to whip all of those little projects together with the sewing machine, break out that double-sized Warm&Natural batt that's been roosting on a high shelf, find or cobble together a backside and create something useful out of all that wishful thinking.

 

So, now there are bits and pieces of my cloth history going back ten, fifteen years in the scrap bin. 

I have a lot of commercial prints that I've hoarded, too, but didn't add them in. Quilt backs eventually, I guess.

Salem and Bailey doing their best to keep me indolent on a rainy day.  Yesterday, I got thirty minutes in the very cold pool doing cleanup work before the skies opened up. I would have stayed, but never with thunder.

And from Colin at the airport last night, this miracle. The weather flexed from nasty to glorious three times yesterday making the day seem eternal. It was disorienting. This sunset promised a beauty today, but I'll wait and see what the weather gods have up their sleeves.  

I could use a Sweetie or two.

First dibs

 

I got mine!

(As she congratulates herself on her restraint)

Now to make room in my threadbox. And pesky? I gave away all those cardboard bobbins. 

Distant thunder just now. With it, the first rain in weeks! The gardenias have been blooming and dying in one day. I have been carrying gallons to the pumpkins out front and the deck plants. Amen.

 I can feel the plants and animals unfurling. Opening. Drinking it in. 

Thunder answers. You're welcome.

Home

 

It got hot here. Not as much humidity as we have near my swamp, but the cicadas told the tale. Jake and Charlie have a great workaround.

That bird was a female Baltimore oriole. 

It's good to be home.

The cloth and thread that I left to dry on Sunday have held the "wet" promise. Vivid and varied. 

Now, sorting, photographing, uploading....all that tedious stuff as I can make time for. Life. 

     Until I can get all of these into the store, if you trust me to choose four thread colors for you, I will add them to a full baggie of scraps for you. Email me for details.

Workspace away

This is my workspace for this week.  It faces west so later in the day, retreat to indoors is necessary. 

There is just enough breeze to evaporate your sweat and cool your skin. The wind chimes on the far end of the porch barely whisper.

It's tranquil here. A distant rooster or cow now and then. Mourning doves and other songbirds, but mostly deep stillness. 

Now I know what the real cure for tinnitus is. Quiet, dressed in quiet, and carrying a bouquet of quiet.

A bird I've never seen, pale orange with dark tail tips just flashed by. No clue and no inclination to find out. He lives around here. I'm only visiting.

Charlie is in a very brief summer school program. I drop him off at nine and retrieve him at noon. Then we hang out. I'm soaking it up because, after this week, I'll have to schedule time around camp to see him.

 

The words are like stitches. One by one, they add up to a sentence, a passage, or a scene. The overall picture is still forming, but the groundwork has been laid. 

Starting from scratch

 

The day rolled up hot and loud shouting, "Don't waste me!"

There were some threads measured, waiting. A few linen garments dismembered earlier. A fat handful of old damask napkins. Shockingly large when I shook out the ironing. A sad khaki hobo bag that I bought a few years ago. A fat hank of 70/30 silk/cotton, all waiting.

The colors? I didn't know what I wanted. I sorted all the dyes into primary groups, turned the labels away from me, and went from there, again holding back the Raven. 

We need rain, but it won't come tonight so I'll be hand rinsing all of this early tomorrow. Then packing for a week away. 

If you've placed a request recently, forgive my poor follow-thru. Life and family had to come first. I will hold your place in line and the store will be replenished for you to take a second look.

The dyedeck gardens have run wild. Sacrifices may have to be made. Why do I keep growing mammoth sunflowers in pots? 

The linen table moppers are going to be fabulous by the end of the season. There will be discharging and soy wax work along the way, otherwise it will all become mud.

I rolled some of the threads into linen bundles to see how wet batching works as opposed to leaving the hanks in the sun to poach fast.

The thread ran out pretty quickly so I  turned to some old-school techniques for the remainder of the cloth. The mason jars were ecstatic.

Buttons will be salvaged. Seams will be picked. I'll have some time on my hands in the upcoming week. Not here, but I love how cloth is so portable.

The neighbor's magnolia trees are in full bloom. The scent stops my train of thought, but it brought a memory. Tomorrow is my wedding anniversary. Jimmy would sit on the couch in the living room where he could see me working on the deck. Sometimes he would step outside and say "What you were grinning over. Which one? Yes!" 

They rest

 

Karma, Voodoo, Orion, and Sweetie.

~Sweetie

 She snuck into our lives fourteen years ago.  Sly little minx flying a false flag of Sweetness. It was a ruse!

She put on her lipstick and falsies and charmed her way into our hearts.  After she made us her own, she asserted her true Tribe of Tiger self.  Large and in charge.

Always watchful and ready to take up arms. She never bothered to learn "soft paws" and spent a lot of time sharpening her tools and drew blood casually. She and Voodoo were a fierce team of hunters; the Ghost and the Darkness.

Meow was beneath her dignity. Some cat owners will understand "Blurpt? which could mean, "Where have you been?" "When is dinner?" or just "Hey, Mom." She also had a big block purring engine and loved a good scratch as long as you didn't get too personal.

She was also my closest companion after Jim passed. She heard it all. Sorrows and joys, first drafts and confessions. Little Priestess between me and my coffee cup right up until her last day.

Last week I wrote a post bitching about the cool and damp. The same day I granted her a reprieve. From that day until her last, on the 30th, we had a string of days with the most perfect weather and I spent them outside with her doing our version of metta, open to the universe and the truths. 70 degrees, blue skies with just enough puffy clouds to keep the temperatures windows wide open. No AC. Low humidity and gentle breezes carried the scents of magnolia, gardenia, and jasmine. Moving slowly as comfort required between the warmth of the sun or a patch of shade.

At day's end, I would carry her up to my room to watch fireflies from the high deck and listen to frogs and owls signaling after sunset then sleep beside me. One perfect day after the next. Days so fine and rare in this hot and humid state they should be named like hurricanes. 

From now on, I will call such days Sweeties. 

With littles

 

I had the pleasure of picking Charlie up from the last of third grade. The next morning, he was disoriented about what day of the week it was. No school, the first day of Summer vacation came as a shock to him.  Me too.

 

There will be a little summer school, a few weeks of day camp, and one away trip. I'll have his company scattered here and there. 

On the way to my house the next day we had to make an emergency stop at a tire place to have a repair made. Such luck that I scanned the dash and saw the warning light and the Tires Plus in Bogart was just minutes off the highway.

They squeezed us in and squeezed us out in about two hours. The errant screw was removed from the tire, 21.50 thank you very much. Nice, clean waiting space.

During the waiting, we had long and looping conversations. He had a device but seemed to play the game with a different part of the brain and was fully present to interact with me. I made an effort to not pick up my phone because Now is ever more important. 

  Before we got back to my house there was some discussion about Sweetie's state of being. The flux of her life. He wanted to react with a learned sadness, but I wouldn't let it stand. We talked about the quality of life and how (as far as we know) animals don't have a fear of whatever comes next. How if all their needs are met - food, water, shelter, comfort of companionship - they are satisfied. At ease. So she seems. 

    Charlie and Sweetie have always had a guarded relationship. He was a toddler when he accidentally stepped on her tail and at some point she gave him a warning scratch. I assured him that she wouldn't remember any of that, but she would remember cat cookies and soft touches.

We stayed outside in the fresh air and sunshine for a big chunk of the day. So many deep questions bubble up at this age. God, or not. Cultural norms that have been informed by cartoons. Heaven or hell. Reincarnation. A cartoon character who has two Dads. Question. Questions. 

He loves a good political discussion. Something we keep under our hat. I assure him that grown-ups who know right from wrong have most of this stuff under control. His only obligation is to learn from history and when he is old enough, to vote or to even run for office to make things right for the most people. He has a deep social consciousness and a prosecutor's heart.  

I have explained to him that I am a time traveler obligated to share the ancient wisdom. Like how pay phones worked. How to find north. How to put stuff in the same place all the time so you can find it again. Old people tricks. Questions lead to more answers. 

We are working on cultural exchanges. I watched the Super Mario movie with him, actively. I was pleasantly surprised. Soon, he promised he will watch Star Wars with me. More history lessons. More questions. 

The crown of the day was when he decided that I must be a witch because I always seemed to know what to do. Like Bactine for a mosquito bite. Ginger ale for a belly ache. Applesauce to make you poop. I gave him a little history of witches including the downside of people being persecuted by the ignorant. How it pays to NOT be ignorant. Educate yourself every day, all day. Listen. Watch. Learn.