Chair again

Madame Salem is extremely happy about things returning to normal.

Not that I could tell, but the grey chair had been visited by large dogs. The cats knew and disapproved.

connected somehow

*While I was looking for something else* should be a book title...

 I came across a pale pencil outline in the sketchbook and I remembered what it was about and why I had started it. I was stalling going to sleep, but I broke out my little set of Inktense pencils and started layering on color that I couldn't even see correctly, the reading lamp was too dim, but the pencils were factory sharp. 

I was listening to the fabulous dialogue of Deadwood, and thinking about why salamanders in the Tarot are considered creatures of fire. Most likely by someone who had never held one in their hand. 

They were under every damp log where I grew up and they were cold and wet and never happy to be handled. 

I'm afraid to take a wet brush to this image. As much as I like blending these with water, somehow, this one will get screwed up and then I'll have to burn it. 

This book has been unraveling me in necessary ways. Each time I start reading, the trajectory of the story I'm working on is yanked hard in another correction. 

The biggest issue is I do not know the end of the story yet which makes getting from now to there impossible without a lot of aimless wandering. Lots of darlings to kill eventually. 

The Birthday Chair is back in place. Gave it a deep vacuuming, added some padding to the seat cushion, and added a lumbar cushion. If I keep holy with the thirty-minute timer, all should be well.

There's a full moon tonight. If there are no breezes, I'm going outside and light the firepit. 

I've added another handful of sets to the inventory, but there's a serious shortage of blues. I'll be having another dyefest in May.

Fresh starts

 

The new chair is not ever going to be ass/back-friendly and I'm a little sad about it. On the very first test sit there was a statement. I leaned down and left to retrieve something from the floor and a cheaply mounted legs slowly folded under the chair. Glad to have not been spilled out with the embroidery scissors in my lap. 

So, for now, no more entire mornings given over to stitching or reading in the first light of day. The Birthday chair is downstairs and I'm going to give it a close look to see if there is something to be done to restore it. 

On the upside, I'm sitting in the old office chair typing this. Words will flow. Necessary admin stuff will happen. 

One word at a time...

 ...is how the story gets told.

Loose. Easy.

Slow and focused. 

These damask shreds will be a part of it.

Satisfaction guaranteed.

Refit

 

"There Goes My Heart" by the Mavericks

For the very first time  I have a desk dedicated to writing. That sounds so odd. The old work chair still knows my ass. I need a cool lamp. Something lurking in a thrift shop somewhere. Dragons and brass. It'll turn up. Maybe a riser to keep the laptop cool. A desk calendar. 

What is this about? Wanting this change. 

Unsettled

 Deliberately. The beloved stitching chair has served well past its retirement. Or maybe my spine has just thrown another facet.

Likely, a sad combination of the two. I haven't been able to sit there for much more than a half hour without pain that stays even when I get up. It's down in the living room now serving as a spare. 

 The replacement has come, free, from a corporate reshuffle. Firm, upright, tight and gray, a recliner that never will. THAT lack of personality will be addressed soon. 

Show me your Dirty Threads...

 ...and I'll show everyone what great taste you have. Send me pictures of your stash and I'll add them to this post.

                        I've given this post its own page - Thread Nests

Lori's Dirty Threads need their own zip code.

Jennifer's dirty threads

My monster lunchbox stash 

Hazel's horde of Dirty Threads 

Dee's Dirty Threads 

Tina's Dirty Threads nesting

Liz's so tidy Dirty Thread stash

Nancy's threads sneaking out.

Catherine's thread nest

Jude's thread nest

the Dirty Thread nest of Grace of the West

Here is Joann's disgustingly orderly hoard of Dirty Threads. 

A worky Saturday

 

The scrap basket is chock full!

The trouble is each time I dip into it, I sneak another piece of cloth into my stash. 

Charlie has discovered the funny pages and he is fascinated. Some of the strips are a bit obtuse for a nine-year-old but we read every single one. Talked about religions, meaning, sarcasm, and the sad fact that there were only six pages of funnies. 

Oddly, he particularly liked the ones that were part of a serial even though we came in on the middle of the story.  To be continued. I'm sure.

A wild leap

 

Remember this from last September? 

I set the cloth aside because I was engrossed with Dee's book, "The Weight of Cloth".

The new threads put a fire under the ongoing stitched Spell project but I'm still not happy with the thread colors so I'm parking that one for a while. There was a serious shortage of blues. It took me all morning to decide which side of the cloth to use and which end up. Now I'm committed.

For this one, I'm using the same text, and still digging things out of my thread stash.

BUT (and it's a big one, folks) I'm not laying out the lettering. With nothing more than base guidelines that I first ironed in and then basted, I'm winging the lettering a word at a time. It feels like too much control is wrong for a spell of any kind. 

It's going to call for the kind of focus I have lost recently from spending too much time escaping life into the glowing screens. Writing requires the same focus and I've been groping in the dark on that account lately, too. An electronic fast is in order. 

Grateful

 

I could not ask for a more perfect coda to a dyefest than an all-day rain. Lightning just flashed and thunder rolled in from far off. The light is pinking up.

 I was exhausted by the time I finished the last of the threads. The break for watching the eclipse was enough to get me through basic cleanup. 

By evening the certainty of today's rain pushed me to spend the early evening finishing the threads in the kitchen while I listened to a ballgame on the radio. I'm grateful that I did. The cloth I left for the rain to handle.

Speaking of gratitude, this post set the tone for my day. Thanks, Dee. 

As intended, there's a delicacy, an understatement to the color of this lot of thread. Some of the subtly was intentional, some not. The blues lost some ground because it was just not hot enough for them even in the sun. Time has proven that turquoise and his cousins need 80 degrees to come through strong.

It's going to be a few days before I start posting these for sale.

image by Diana Taylor. "All Night Rain" by the Atlanta Rhythm Section