an expansive day

Woken from deep sleep by the kind of dream that makes you say, "Where did that come from?" and grin. 

Peel off my spirit and dance around waving in the air overhead because I found out that I have until 5/1 to file the taxes. Hozzanuh!

I'll get on it tomorrow. 

Task-wise, I've been creeping up on it, removing clutter from the desk where I know I left all the necessary paperwork. 

Finishing up from yesterday, I rescued this piece from wandering around loose in the trunk of my car. It smelled. There were stains of unknown origin, so I tossed it into the washer with the rest of the weird stuff: cloth shopping totes, crocheted potholders, kitchen towels. You know - not clothes. 

It came out fine. I'll look again closely when it's fully dry. 

I missed the good shot. The soapy spew in the carwash started out looking like I lost an eggfight with the east bunny. I spent a sunny hour vacuuming and window washing. Jack Flash hasn't been this clean since I got him. 

The carpet got some long overdue suckage. pollen and cathair galore! There was regular laundry. 

What's provoked this burst of energy? The final wrap-up of the worst of this cold. It's dragging its feet, but I'm feeling much better.

After some very strange retail therapy. 

(More on that, if anything comes of it.) and indulging in a bowl of ziti and meatballs awash in my homegrown sauce. 

Homegrown. That's gonna resonate.

    I'm Garcia Spartacus, motherfucker. Not this time.

And digging deeply into the threadbox. Splitting six to two. 

Where to go and when to stop.

It's a very different emotional return than I'm accustomed to with line and fills. Rocks between "Ick" and "Oooo"

If you have access to Kanopy and a library card, look for a documentary called

"John Singer Sargent: Fashion & Swagger"

 

The basics and planning

Last year, it was off-the-wall weird stuff. There's plenty of that left to mess around with. This year, I restocked the basics plus a few new things. 

That Admiral Blue needs help. I will fiddle with it. It was on sale.

The Bronze seems to have been reformulated, and I'm excited about it. 

The unfortunately named Tie Dye Black appears (on paper) remarkably neutral with neither a green nor blueish cast.

There's a two-pound bag of soy-wax pellets in the box, and I have to think about why I ordered them. 

There'll be no new table top as we no longer have a truck. I stood there in the lumber section trying to figure out how an entire sheet of half-inch plywood could be sectioned to fit into the trunk of my Honda Accord. Not and have any structural integrity. Instead, I bought a heavy vinyl cover to staple over the old, deteriorated wood. 

The tent will go up only for the duration of the event. Don't want to lose this one to any pop-up thunderstorms. 

I'll have running water on the deck for the first time in ages! Since the main water pressure valve was replaced, I can run a garden hose without fear of it exploding. The showers are meh now, but the hot water heater may last a few more years. 

NO CLOTH goes in the washer or dryer ever again. It's all hand and foot work. A sight to behold. And this year, I'm going to have both feet in technicolor and will be selling glimpses on that foot-porn website. Just kidding...maybe.

A return

 

It's good to be home. As much as I love spending time with Charlie, time away from my life reminds me that I've got shit going on that needs attention.

It's very chilly here, but the promise is a return to the 80's for the coming weekend. 

Prep for the first dyefest of the season is ON. 

~~What colors are you feeling? 

I need some strong, emphatic color statements right now. My thread box is looking anemic.

Yes, Dee, rust, burgundy, and teal. And there will be more b&w textures. 

Suggestions are always welcome.

The cat posse is working hard to forgive my absence. Everyone wants to smell the baby cat. Somebody peed on my sandals last night. I have my suspicions. 

And will you look at that wrinkled paw!

 

I knew that I wouldn't be using stitched lines with this piece. There is too much going on, and the fabric itself is fragile. 

This "seeding" seems to be the answer to securing and enhancing the elements of the design. 

This piece has the tenuous feel of works that have, in the past, teetered on the brink of failure or success. Only time will tell, and I'm in no hurry to find out. 

Composing

 

This is the part I like the best. Round up a bundle of likely suspects. There will be a commonality I can't quite put my finger on while snatching them out of the baskets and boxes. 

Then I'll take them someplace out of character - out of the studio is a biggie. Different place, different light, different eyes.

Then the interviews begin. Shapes, colors, textures. Things that cozy up. Others rebel. 

I start to lay things out on a base without knowing why. Flying blind and under the influence.

I had an hour to pass while Charlie had math tutoring.

A shady, quiet corner of the parking lot. Good music on the box.

Things fell or were pushed into place. Moved, torn, divided, and replaced.

There were pins. Many pins.

My pins are loud, yellow-headed devils that are very distracting. 

Then comes the hopscotch basting. Half-inch stitches with a single strand of turquoise rayon. Easy to snip and replace if needed.

This was presented with coffee.

There were onlookers galore.

And once the day warmed up (it only scratched the mid sixties here today) I took the project outside.

Neighbors came to gawk.

Not the finale. Tomorrow, I'll take it all back outside. There will be changes.

Spring break in the country

I was restive and grumpy about being unable to actively participate in the Saturday protests. The Hands Off actions were well represented in this shithole state while I and one other person sat at a picnic table in a sunny, nearly deserted park and aired our mutual grievances. Inside, I still want to run through the oval with a flamethrower and damn the furniture.

Sunday, I got out ahead of the storms and landed here in the country to spend Spring break with Charlie. Forty-eight hours of rain and personally, twenty-four with some kind of upper respiratory nonsense. 

The sun is out now, the too-early heat and humidity gone with the storm, and I'm on the upside. The kid and the kitten are working their magic.

Speaking of same, this morning's cards. One on the draw and one that snuck out with her. A message that I need to get back to the book. My characters are bored with my foot dragging. 

Ms. Nibbler is still the tiniest fur-snake I've experienced. As bold and aggressive as a leopard and this one WILL eat your face. 

Mr. Smooth. 

One moment, wise beyond his years, the next an ordinary ten with his fears.

I'm not sharing much with him about current events these days. Adults who know right from wrong in positions of trust and accountability seem to be at a loss for dealing with the moment-to-moment insanity of the current regime. 

Who am I to sanitize or summarize for a child I love? He's only just fastened on to Harry Potter.

Where's a real wand when you need one?
 

Telltale

 I was tired before I drew them.

 It's good to have a green light. The path has been there all along. 

Sleep, now.

I will yield for a question...

 

...while retaining the floor.

He's still standing. There's been help. It's been eloquent and emotional. 

Since it's not his style, I did a lot of cursing for him as I listened and watched more on than off since before sunrise. 

I listened while I made my very first General Tso's from an actual recipe. Almost delicious.

Listened in the car when I went to the post office. Reported to the counter people, "He's still talking."

It was good to witness some uplifting history being made instead of the appalling shit that's been the daily fare for 72 damn days. 

This is the nursery pot where I plant the "nearly dead" I get from the big box store half-price racks. The poppys are a first. A little lavender, a strawberry plant, those pansies. All of them were in rough shape. Then we had a nice 24 hour rain and cloud cover. 

All will be well.

The second needle party for my back is early tomorrow. I am not looking forward to it. 

This needling is a pleasant distraction.

A singular day

At some point in the night all three cats are on my bed. 

Some web thing said they were gathering my negative energy.
Poor bastards!
And thanks.



No surprise that the never-clearly understood nuances of using blogger are eluding me tonight. I've hit upon the right order of pill-taking to make the overlap useful. Anyone who's ever been prescribed a steroid pack, six day course of prednisone will attest that they usually kick in by the middle of the first day. For me, it's day three.


A deep change of input also lifted this day out of the tedium of convalecsing.

This felt like a terrible waste of energy, but after three starts, I finally got the letters right. Twice I scrawled out ftd, which has a nice flow, letter-form wise. 

Third time's a charm, but I kept my distance from the intention. I'm gonna need some signage for my 4/5 picnic. If you're in the neighborhood, please join me. I'm going to get a picnic table at a park close to home. About 1230. I'll bring snacks to share. Lunch for me. Bring my stitching, my music, some 50501 signs. My big mouth. Join me. I'm working on a stand-up routine that would probably put me in facebook jail. but fuck 'em. Email me for details. 

He should be denied memory of any pleasure, past, present, or future.

I spent some time in the studio. The morning light is irresistible. Fierce. The big tree hasn't leafed out yet and I get the full blast from the east from 8 to ten or eleven. It makes it hard to focus on any one thing. All is illuminated. There's the tower of UFO and the Basket of Almosts. The desk piled with tax papers and three books bristling with sticky tabs of editing.

There are still pages of handwritten notions to commit to the computer. Tomorrow I'll dictate a few. Can't make a whole without the parts.

Midmorning, I spent two hours actively watching and listening to A Complete Unknown. Quite the trip getting sucked back to high school and the certain knowledge that one had to take a stand. Viet Nam, Civil Rights, clashes of culture. I weaned off the Beatles to the Stones--from sweet to nasty. But threaded through it all, Bobby was my first poet. Even before Paul Simon. 

I shied away from folk music because my parents, a lot of parents, co-opted it rather blindly. Puff the Magic Dragon still makes me gag. '

Dylan's music was my secret. Highway 61, Blonde on Blonde, and Nashville Skyline--If it wasn't for Planned Parenthood, "Lay Lady Lay" would have started more surprise lives than Nat King Cole and Frank Sinatra together. 

 I would hear a song on the radio. Take notes. Go to the record store, read all the lyrics and NOT buy the record. I needed to have his music foisted on me by one radio station or another so I would pay attention. Anyway, the movie is well worth your time if it was your time, or you're curious about how some of the world once was.

Meanwhile, people were getting real work done. I was happy to know that this mower made it through another hard year of work and a winter of terrible neglect.

I'm looking to reimagine this in cloth to work on at my picnic. I have the red and white part already. I'll have to cook up a dyfest for the right blue. a few of them. on light linen. The text must be true, but that lettering needs help. 

Finishing off the day with a good reread. It's been too long since I've cracked any kind of craft/tool book.  Wtf do I think I am?

Have a great weekend. 

Good company

It was glorious out yesterday. Today too. Brisk and breezy, so I'm enjoying the sunny patch on the rug like one of the cat posse. 

Yesterday, I was relieved to see he spent a minute grooming and then curled into a loose ball for a nap right in the black dirt. I want to grow something in that fiber container this season. I may have to make him another one, a cat lounger. 

I also want a laundry basket potato tower. One of those tall ones with the egg-shaped holes. Straw, dirt, taters...repeat. 

I don't think I'm going to grow any herbs beyond Mother lavender behind Mr.B.   Mother Thyme is just out of frame. Not as vigorous as the lavender. It may need a bigger container. Research. 

Other things require a lot of physical work that I can't promise myself.

 And pool cleaning time will be on Colin soon. 

I have some gathering to do before the first dyefest of the year. Considering a name.

I find myself unfit for most human company lately. Growling and snarking. If I have offended, neglected or told someone to fuck off, forgive me. 

Spells are hard work.

The visitor is Jucifer. I'm not thrilled that I can't leave the doors open downstairs. He comes in the cat door, feeds his face, and strolls out onto the dyedeck to chill. He skulked off, and we took the deck back for a while, but I was overdressed and barefooted. An hour of vitamin D was enough. 

owls around

 
 This scrap has been following me around for some time. I found it tucked into a summer shirt pocket from the back of the closet. 

I've been contemplating killing off one of the characters in my story by having him blunder into a live wire. 

We saw this happen once.  A great blue heron crossed the road up ahead, high enough and far enough away for my son and I to track its majestic progress and be awed.

That awe turned to staggering horror as it came into contact with a power line. That grandeur became a lifeless bundle of bones and feathers that dropped from the sky into a deep ravine on the far side of the road. I have trouble revisiting the memory.

This shape, this iteration of spirit, came about very spontaneously. 

Message received.