Salem

 Has decided she'll grace us with her presence.

At some point in the evening, all three of them were in the bedroom. Peacefully.

No one has expressed any further interest in cloth, or thread.

last shopkeeping of 2019

I guess I can thank Mr. Bad Boy Bailey for this. Also grateful that he didn't decide to sleep on them!



There was just enough good, natural light in the studio to get most of the way through the alphabet: selecting sets, photographing and naming them on the fly. Don't read too much into the names. I was listening to music, snatching words out thin air.

Antic through Scandal are live at Dirty Threads.





Bailey doing his best to look innocent.

taking a break, but...

...not really. I just needed to remind myself about the peace of the flowing needle and thread.

The full sentiment will read "For the pure pleasure of words on a page that will not fade away." More properly subtitled, "Draft in haste and repent in the Hell of everlasting editing"

I've gone back to page one of (yikes) 800+ pages to dig out the ticks and cooties. Sometimes I think, "Who wrote this shit?" and sometimes I say it in wonder and delight, "Who wrote this marvelous shit!"

a shakeup

NOW I'm in for some fun. I keep the dirty thread on covered plastic trays on a high shelf, out of reach of five-year-old fingers and feline paws.

I thought.

Last night, Baily, aka Mr.Big, managed to pull them down onto the work table into this stew of color.

Rather than try putting them back into the old collections, I'm going to first put together some rainbows (thanks for the idea, Liz) and post those.

It's gray and rainy here. First sunny day - Sunday, I think I read- I start taking good photos and posting them to the store.

Guilty as charged.

time

Nothing lasts forever.

Many things try. This little bear had already been around awhile when I put it on the stem of the rearview mirror of the year-old Civic I bought in 2002. Its owner was in the Navy Reserve and was unexpectedly called to active duty and needed to sell it quickly, made me great deal.

The beads were a gift from a boy I liked in 1969 when I spent time on Cape Cod. Who strings beads on thread? Boys in love, I guess.

Little Bear saw every one of the 300k+ miles put on that car between myself and my son. It still runs, just passed inspection, but I doubt it will serve as transportation again. The next owner is most likely to part it out. It served us well.


These came in the mail yesterday. I have no way to know how old they are. Twenty? Fifty years. Come dye season, they'll be born again, this time in service to art.

And yesterday, after five years, give or take, I typed ~fin~  on Prophets Tango.

notes from an armed camp

I wish I had something else to post, but it's been a long time since we've welcomed family members into the household. Sweetie should be more gracious as she was the last to join the tribe, but truly, she never got along with Karma or Voodoo. There was always the possibility of a scrape, but the house is big enough for everyone to have their territory. Eventually.

Bailey is young, a teenager. Won't be two until sometime late next April. A bottle baby. He seeks to insinuate himself everywhere.

Salem, the black and white female, is more elusive, but beginning to show herself for moments at a time. That business of her climbing onto my bed...I think she might have forgotten where she was. Do cats sleepwalk? She hasn't appeared upstairs since.

Sweetie continues to moan and sulk.

I am absorbed by the impeachment hearings on TV. I would much prefer the earth open a firey mouth and just swallow him up, but I'll settle for the law taking him down, lawfully.

I'd really love comments from some of my international readers regarding this.

Thanksgiving

It was enjoyable. I was too busy to bother taking any pictures. Taught Jake how to make stuffing over the phone and it was perfect, as was the turkey. I got there in time to demonstrate how to wring rich, brown gravy from whatever comes out of the oven. Missy's broccoli casserole stole the show, in my opinion. Charlie declared saying Grace to be boring..my little heathen, but really, he'd already led a spirited discussion on what to be grateful for. He understands the concept.

The Strange and wonderful: Just before dinner, Missy got a message from a local friend. Immediate help was needed for some beings who were about to lose their lifelong home and family.

I didn't think about it. I said 'yes'.

Better pictures once they both come out from hiding, but this guy, Bailey, is personable and sweet. 

Sweetie disapproves highly, but I will spoil her extra until she re-finds the rhythm of living in the company of her kind.

ps. Look who just strolled in and climbed onto the bed. Her name is Salem.

Saturday rescued

5th Ave at Twilight 1910  LB Harrison

November is the month that Georgia weather can't make up its mind.

Thursday afternoon, I gathered with friends on the clubhouse patio for a small birthday party. Mid-sixties, bright sunshine. We kept looking around going "Wow."

Saturday morning was as rainy, dark and dreary as they come. Days like this always bring back the day Jim died. All too easy to slip into sorrow unless plans are afoot and they were.

Charlie showed up and we spent the morning in the kitchen listening to music, doing Lego, making Rice Krispy treats, working in his scrapbook. He talked. I listened.

Jake arrived midday to collect him and brought in a wet package the postman left on the doorstep. A large box. My sister sent my mother's vast collection of costume jewelry and what-nots. In the box, a small American flag.

Jake unfolded it and held it up and Charlie said, "Oh. I have to do the Pledge!" Jake doffed his cap and I sat, wide-eyed. In a very quiet, solemn voice, Charlie recited the Pledge of Allegiance without a flaw. "...with Liberty and Justice for all."

It was so touching. We applauded and with pride, his father said, "My little American!"

 Please, America. Get your shit together for the sake of these children.

tools

My Goodman

Couldn't let this day slip away without acknowledging that it's been six years since we lost Jimmy.

He was a wonderful father and husband. My very best friend and we all miss him every minute of the day.

What I've missed most about him today was his boundless sense of good humor. I've needed a good laugh and going through the many wonderful photos I have of him was tonic. Nobody made me laugh the way Jimmy did.

Interrogating the baby shower gift.

"This child just loaded his diaper in my ear."

Mugging with Atlanta's Ambassador of Mirth, Baton Bob.

boy with bubble wrap

Saturdays will be ours, now.

Looks like a classic ballet move, right? The camera will fool us all.

This was a post dash across the room, mid-dervish twirl. He spun around in a circle a few times and I howled that he was going to make me throw up! He dashed into the bathroom and came out with a worried look on his face and the trash can.

I made that hat many years ago from sari silk yarn. Just a crocheted cap, but I'd never worked with that fiber before. In its raw state, it's awful. Coarse, tough almost like jute.

 I washed it for some reason and it came out all stretched and soft. I braided and beaded a dozen braids into the crown so they hang down like dreads.

The hem is tight, inflexible and never fit me. A hat without a home has found one nearly thirteen years later.

here's a better look at the headwear. makes me want to buy more of that yarn.