Anchors

I started this on Friday morning, the sixth day of Camilla's disappearance. I was going to use one of the pale stone threads. Keep it all in white, silver, and black. A memorial. 

Then I dug through my threads. No stone colors in the box. I jumped directly to the color of hope without any context. I had become numb and was looking forward to getting away. I picked Charlie up at school and spent the night with them.  

I blew through Costco on the way home. After a week of impotent anxiety and sleeplessness, it felt good to do something purposeful. Power shopping, not retail therapy. Less than a hundred bucks in less than twenty minutes. There's a win.

I was tired when I got home midday on Saturday. Lolled about. Fed my face. Camped in bed to just make the minutes pass with some mindless TV.  Waiting had become a hideous habit.

That's when Camilla appeared at the dish on the floor under the screen. Her back is dark grey, the carpeting dark blue, and the light was afternoon soft. I stared hard to feel what I was seeing and believe it.

 It's been a long time since this old body&soul felt such an unbidden thrill. I've banked it hard and now I need to take some time to review. I know there are more moments like this to haul out, dust off and experience again. 

I picked the stitching up this morning and the familiar moves brought a measure of comfort. I still didn't sleep well even though Camilla was on the bed with me, by my feet while Salem held down her IKEA pillow at the head of the bed to my right. Sometimes I miss the old California King.

Not everyone is thrilled about her being home. Salem clings and grumbles if Camilla camps too close to me. 

Maybe they adapt to change quicker, without the emotional baggage that we carry. 

I have been working my way through a long list of Things Adults Must Do. It sucks, but each accomplishment feels like a door opening to something new and good. 

I'm making room--headspace--to write. 

Goals are good.

Camilla is home!

 

There was a much needed washcloth bath, and a nap in the last sun of the day.

I have a lot to say about this. Maybe tomorrow. Right now? We eat joy.

Keep on trying - updated

 I have to work very hard at this. 

Astonished to find it right there, on the design wall with the spell. 

Can't take the cat hair off it right now.

Liz has generously shared her how-to:

the mood is dark

 

There are toxic vibrations here. 

A pool chemical plant thirty miles south of us burned. I smelled chlorine the minute I stepped outside, but I didn't realize how bad it was until I got out on the highway. 

"The EPA is monitoring air quality for chlorine and related compounds. Chemical levels are unlikely to cause harm to most people."I can't swim in public pools without risking pneumonia. I was leaving a law firm to drive home through this when a juicy migraine settled in.

I hurt my back the other day making a badly aimed sit. You've done it. Seat lower or softer than anticipated. I heard bones crunch and, unless I'm laying flat on my back, hard drugs are looking good. 

All this mess on top of the heartache. I drove and tramped the property Saturday and Sunday, as I could. Now I go from window to window, viewing all the places I normally see her. And here, right next to my stitching chair is where she spent most of her time. 

Camilla

 

We haven't seen her since early Saturday. A large chunk of our hearts is not where she's supposed to be. 

The Fart in a Mitten

 Early this morning Helene finally dragged her damp skirts over us.

I know there were tragic outcomes for some, but by the time the storm got here...the post title was my late Dad talking. 

I was up all night worrying mostly about falling trees, here in Danielsville and sixty miles southwest at home. Who's to say if worrying works? Being prepared is less wear and tear, but little of that is on me. 

By this afternoon, it was delightful out. You could still smell the ocean. 

Thanks everyone for the concern. All's well.

Waiting

 So far, it looks like we will be in the direct path of the hurricane. I've learned that there's no telling how much juice the storm will still have after it makes landfall and scrapes its way up the length of the state. 340 miles, give or take. Georgia is big. 

For my New York family, that's the same distance from the tip of Manhattan all the way up to the backside of Plattsburg. Spitting distance to Canada. 

All of this is an appeal to the 'verse that Helene blows herself out well before she gets to my neck of the woods. Gutter guards are in place, mostly. Hatches battened. 

Update: 

An early band of thunderstorms started right after lunch. This cat takes a perverse delight in going out, getting wet, then jumping into my bed to snuggle. 

 Madison County schools are closing early tomorrow and will not open on Friday. I'll be saddling up early tomorrow.

Subterfuge

Have you figured out yet that I am a most unreliable narrator? Shifty. Whim prone.

Ahead of the storm coming, I brought the dye shakers in for run through the dishwasher and just ordered a shitpot of yellow from ProChem. 

It could happen.

All these men in my life.  'Nuff said. 

Yesterday I had the rare privilege of bearing witness to talent. Can't help that it's Charlie. 

We were free-forming with a pile of Lego pieces drawn from the giant box with half a cubic yard of Lego in it, some of them were Colin and Jakes. 

I spoke to the computer and asked for some music. It gave up Paul Simon. Charlie was immediately attentive because he likes story songs and Paul Simon articulates his poetry. 

The kid started singing along to a song I'm pretty sure he's never heard. I'm just listening. We get to the verse:

“Sail on, silvergirl, sail on by, your time has come to shine, all your dreams are on their way”

And I get goosebumps because he's taken to the lower register of the harmony and was faking the words precisely in tune for the whole song. 

He's become involved in the chorus at school, so I said, "You know, the chorus teacher might ask you to sing alone in front of the class one day." If you've had the experience, you know how impactful it is. 

"So?" He shrugged and continued working on a croc-ship. The soul of blase. 

Next time I'll ask Alexa to play some Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, and Nate King Cole. Maybe he'll be ready by the time Michael Buble retires. 

I specialize in party boats and parade floats.

In the wind

 

~truth~

 This bundle arrived late yesterday. Thank you A!

I waited until first light to open it. Each piece is a treasure. There's even a huck towel. Those are always problematic because I love them so much that I have trouble using them once the colors come alive.

But this one and only shot made me face the fact that there won't be another dyefest this year. I ran out of summer. The itch has gone into hibernation. 

There were lots of wild boasts and good intentions. I even bought a new tub of soda ash the other day. There's a two thousand-yard cone of white DMC cotton safe in its plastic shroud. I know there's a shortfall in the dye inventory. I'm just not moved to dig in and make a list. The biggest, most important lack is the will to do it. 

My comfort cushion is that I have all the raw materials I need to make a thing, should that spirit move me. 

And there's plenty to go around.