Sports

 

"An animal or plant showing abnormal or striking variation from the parent type, especially in form or colour, as a result of spontaneous mutation."

I first read this usage of the word "sport" many years ago in a post apocalyptic novel called "A Canticle for Leibowitz" by Walter Miller. 

Seems like I've hatched out a batch of sports in this impromptu dyefest.

There is no telling what these are going to look like once I start stitching. It's a little spooky.

I'm letting them air dry for a while. They felt cool this morning when I unwrapped them- always a sign of a small bit of damp. Besides I'm going to take some time pondering what colors are going to go where. If I'm even going to outline the shapes this time. I don't think so. Will I need to actually buy a skein or two of black?

And speaking of sports. I'm not entirely unhappy with the results. It would have been good to look in the mirror while I was slapping the stuff around. I left the house while it was still wet and did not know I had a huge purple hickey on my neck. Next time there will be a layer of chrome yellow.

Summer

 

Every time I unrolled the bundle hiding these skeins, I sighed and hid them away again. Not today.

What else to do with an overheated day and an excess of ennui? Get over yourself and get busy. 

Overdying calls for restraint. Good thing I had a little left and watered down some of these colors before plunging in.

The skeins have been through a lot of handling and these won't turn out with the usual color shifts. That's okay. Most of them are for me. I'm warming up to do another Worm Work. 

Our mail delivery person is driving under the influence of a major gardenia overdose. I watch the dog walkers pause and close their eyes while the dogs deliver what the plant seems to thrive on. (I did give the whole garden a bag of Black Cow)

Around the corner, a neighbor has a complete hedge of gardenia. I used to roll down the window and drive creepy slow. Now all I have to do is take my time collecting the mail. 

The place and work that waits patiently. No judgment. Just be sure to put something under the laptop so its fan can keep it cool. I keep getting the Windows 10 is dying warning and this older Acer cannot be upgraded. I dread any of that nonsense anymore. 

I used to be such a geek comparing specs and prices. Trying to decide if a hardware upgrade was worth the software (and wallet) headache. No more. This little Chromebook I'm using in my lap does almost everything that matters. 

Colin handled the annual pool rescue heroically this year replacing a factory-issued support strut and a last-second hose replacement like it was no big thing. 

Of course, today, Memorial Day, Summer's shown her other side. I'll be traveling later in the day than usual. 

And these will hang out in the studio to take all the time they need to dry indoors instead of under the sun. 

Mending bad choices

 

The fact that I doubled that yellow cotton in the first place is telling. I knew the cloth was thin and not up to the wear and tear of bedware. I let the color grab me. Now I'm paying for that mistake.

There are a half dozen places on this fling where the yellow has just given up the ghost so I dug in the closet and came up with a handful of sturdy old cotton prints. I only saved my favorites.

Because the front and back aren't stitched together, I had to open a side seam to inset the repairs. A few of those seams needed repairing too.

I had a moment or two of thinking "I should hand quilt the front and back together." 

Madness.

 

And joyful things too.

Still standing

After a few weeks of imagining Summer, the weather took a left turn and I had to dig warm stuff out of the closet. Socks and boots even. I refuse to turn the heat or AC back on. The utility bills have been ghastly.  

Have no idea where or when this denim shirt came from. Tags still on it. I officially have more clothes than I need. Here I am, yes, leaning on the table to stay as upright as possible. I don't like to think about the progression of this, but it's as real as my reflection.

We got these big heavy mirrors from some renovation Jim did years ago. I love the way they catch the light and open a small room wide. There was one mounted at the bottom of the stairs so you could check yourself before you went out in public with buttons awry or flies unzipped. Recently, for no apparent reason, it cracked and broke. A third of it is still hanging there, but it's got to go. 

Its twin hangs here in the studio. Once in a while, we have to remind ourselves that we are here. 

Spells

 

I was going to darken the lettering with an additional line of stitching, but Colin pointed out that the message is better whispered than shouted.

Rescued

 

This was all. There might be more buds hiding. The foliage was dark and strong this year. Something must have died out there enriching the soil. 

But as ever, this horticultural freak is not made to withstand adversity. Or is twenty-four hours of glory enough? 

A thunderstorm was coming so I brought them knowing they'd be blasted apart if I didn't. Here, for another few hours, they can delight eyes. Irritate my nose. And yes, there are bewildered ants trekking about my kitchen table.

I was in the bedroom reading and listening to a ballgame on the radio - an AM station live on YouTube. A change in light at the doorway and I looked up from the page. 

A little face peered up at me. Black as pitch, long-haired standing in a dark halo around his head, round yellow eyes so unafraid even though he'd snuck in the house and come upstairs. I blinked and said, "Hello." and he was gone back the way he came in. Cat doors, portals to mayhem.

I suspect he's been hanging out in the living room, each of my cats taking turns keeping him occupied, and getting to know one another. If he makes bold like that again, I'm going to trap him and have him neutered. 

Then we'll see how he likes me. 

Right up to the edge and

flap your wings.

 It was that simple. A little fresh perspective from an author I never met, some from my first crit partner and editor, and a question posed on a writing site that I check out from time to time.

I've given myself a divorce from the draft I've been wrestling with. There will be no babies tossed, but plenty of bath water. 

A clean slate.

If only I could cast this circle of protection wide enough for everyone. 

 

Biting bullets

 

Now that the deadline is safely passed, I spent the morning locating all the necessary paperwork for doing taxes going back to Covid. That's my excuse and I'm sticking to it. Putting hands on everything, and printing it all out is huge. 

The lid is off this basket of snakes and I remember that I don't mind them, taken one at a time. Have actually had them as pets. Fed the one devil whole eggs because I couldn't deal with the idea of giving it live prey. One week of snake parenting was enough. 

I'll get through this just like I did the last time - one arithmetic function after the next. 

Moving a mountain with a teaspoon, one spoonful at a time. 

It feels good, to wield this power. 

I may still enlist a professional. What's one more write-off, eh?

Digging the work table out from under everything was rewarding: space to work on bigger things appeared. Important stuff was shuffled in with memorabilia, junk mail, and wonderful gifts that I shouldn't been more careful of in the first place. But it's planting time so, good timing.

~this gift of indigo seeds 

~a vehicle title

~ school transcripts

~some Lego

~a death certificate

~crayon drawings of crab monsters

~that missing spool of gold metallic thread

~staples, pens, other office stuff 

She dashed through the front yard alone today. Somehow she gave the slip to her two yearlings, all grown up now. Later I heard her hard feet on the back deck. She was munching weeds in the side yard when I opened the slider to get a picture. The arrogance!

No fear or alarm, just strolled off into the woods stopping long enough to pose, showing off her belly. She's getting old. I hope she tucks the babies in the front garden again this year.

Hopefully, we'll be draining the pool soon. It's a happy biome that needs relocating to the creek just behind where she is standing. 

Rituals

I've let the Must Nap ritual go now that I don't have a work schedule to adhere to. At the end of August it will be two years since I quit the day job, but my whole working life, the Schedule ruled everything. 

When I worked for Ma Bell and later for AT&T clocking in late was just not an option. I lived in terror of losing those jobs and planned my days around getting there on time with a little breathing room as a priority. And opting for late or night shifts made getting a nap crucial. 

I still have to remind myself that if I want to stay up until I fall over I can. But a cloudy, cool Sunday afternoon is made for a quick nap. Mostly, I lay there to reorganize my vertebrae, wait for the Ibuprofen to kick in, and brush out my knots. 

Lately, one or more of the cat posse has decided I need an assistant. 

At first, he stretched and his foot was soft and warm. I closed my eyes and drifted off. Next thing I know, he's kicking me in his sleep like I'm encroaching on his space. Never mind I was here first.

With the Stitching chair back in place, the morning stitch has resumed but I'm afraid my freestyle font Ampersand has devolved into a treble clef and now I get to do them all over. How glad am I that I changed colors for each so none are connected on the backside to any of the words? I may opt for a medieval plus sign. There are five of them. What do you think?

what you know

I've been admiring people sharing their skills, knowledge, and experience online. The only word I have to describe it is "grace". The giving and the receiving of it.

 It doesn't matter what medium or technique, someone, somewhere is sharing what they know. Oh, I know some people make a living at it. And well they should. And some people are just talking through their hat and it's up to the viewer to sort it all out. Another layer of life.

I've found myself in a textile rut that I need to work at smoothing out. There will be more sharing as that proceeds. I might take a stab at making videos, but I'm not sure I can stand the sound of my own voice. We discussed this very thing over tea this morning. 

    C: I don't like the way my voice sounds. It's so different from inside my head. 

    N: Everybody says that. To me, you sound like You. I think I sound like a witch.

    C: I thought you were a witch.

    N: Yeah. There's that. 

We watched a video on how to make calzones. We both said, "What's the big deal?" Next Friday, we'll find out. 

I'm not much of a gardener. I have my specialties. But I come from the black dirt Hudson Valley. You do not have to break a sweat or fool with chemicals to grow anything there. Here in Georgia, not so much. 

This red clay really needs help if you want any serious veggie production, and so, this lazy bones has always focused on small flower gardens. Stuff climbing deck trellises. I'm very good at herbs. I'm good with stuff that doesn't need much help, especially if it's in a container. 

This is a two-year-old hollyhock that I've been raising indoors. Every time I get one this far, and then put it out in the garden, it dies from some kind of rusty mildew. I also have a half dozen peonies in containers that I have no room for on the grounds.  So, I'm going to haul them up to Jake's next weekend to see where they want to put some perennials. 

Charlie stabbed a pencil in the dirt for almost an hour, getting some nasturtiums and morning glory seeds going. Easy stuff is good for beginners. I'll teach him what little I know and point him to wider resources should the interest take hold.