Monday derailed

There was no school for MLK day, so Charlie and I made plans.

Plans that were quickly derailed when I heard a funny noise as we pulled away from McD's with breakfast. Fortunately, the flat tire found us in the parking lot and not whizzing down the highway.

Clear and cold outside, I felt full of myself and decided I could still change a tire. What did I tell you, Grace? Get them to manually tighten the lug nuts? Did I follow my own advice? NOT. 
With all of my might, I could not crack any of them. We called Jake, he came and rescued us, and Charlie got a lesson from the guy who matters most.

While we waited for his dad to arrive, Charlie worked on his backseat journal, asking me how to spell this and that. FACTORY.  He printed the letters, frowned, and said, "That can't be right. Are you sure?"

wheels work

And so today, I presented Jumping Jack Flash at Discount tire. Made myself comfy in their immaculate waiting area. Sunlight streaming in. I was ready for a long wait. Blessed silence! For once a public waiting area with no TV.

Several men wandering around, too engrossed in their phones to sit. They looked at what I was doing like it was somehow suspect, not approaching, but obliquely curious. Time flew and the work was done.  I was off to an oil change, then shopping. By the time I got home, all I wanted was a solid nap.

Someone else decided that twenty minutes was plenty.

I love Fridays

It's been a day of lessons and indulgence.

I don't have to work tonight. After a busy morning and a solid nap, I came back to the sewing seat in the studio, turned on the task lamp and the music and stitched until full dark. It was a really nice piece of time.

In case you wonder about the mismatched socks, my feet are blind. It's a small part of my lifelong quest to Not Give a Flying Fuck about a lot of things that other people seem to go nuts over. Matching socks.


After weeks of freakish warmth, it's going to get cold again. I don't know how these will fare. This display strikes me as desperate with no pollinators around. I have to assume plants know what they are doing so I'm not going to cut them and bring them just in because they please my eyes.

Once the blooms die back and it warms up, I'm going to be thinning this bed. If anyone in the US wants some iris tubers, that originally came to me from NM, let me know.

These will serve that purpose. Someone else disconnected them from the earth. I'll pay for the privilege of just looking on their dying days.

Stitching stories

One book written, but a long way from done.

The second book in bits and pieces, scraps and dreams, but the seeds are planted.

Magic and miracles in the highest branches. Down in the grass, it's cloth, stitch, mayhem, and justice.

gifts

Look what the mailperson brought! Derwent watercolor pencils. And with no card or note from the giver.

Did someone think I needed another media to procrastinate with? As if stitch wasn't enough.

amending

It's after nine in the morning and so dark and dreary I'd go back to bed except that I've already had a solid six or seven hours. Too much lying abed and my back sends me nastygrams "Get up, you lazy bitch!"

So I'm here in the studio, with not enough light coming in the east window to stitch by. The rain has quit for the moment, but the forecast says, "Jammies will do today."

2019  Night Gardener  36x24 

Yesterday, I took the long-put off step of correcting the top line of "Night Gardener". I can't even remember what I was thinking about when I did this. Not good design, for sure.

It's been annoying me from the wall for months now and it was time. I posted a few detail posts to two new FB groups I joined just to see what was out there these days. I've gotten a bit disconnected from the stitch community.

Those detail shots garnered a lot of attention, then someone asked for an image of the full piece and I realized how botheringly quirky it is, so...

I fiddlefucked with the stitch ripper on invisible nylon machine stitching sunk deep between the backing - thick, cushy something that's cotton twill with a dose of something synthetic that has a good bit of stretch to it and took the dye in a smoky wonderful way AND

the base of the piece which is a yard of 100% wool suiting that is, at minimum, over fifty years old. I knew the owner and she never bought cheap goods.

The weave has dried a bit with age and once cut, unravels alarmingly fast. I need to set up the sewing machine and get this nailed back together properly soon, or I'm going to piecing in a repair. The wool is black as midnight in a mine and will be hard to replicate.

the threads

Here's my stash of Dirty Thread and the few tools it takes.

Thanks to everyone who bought sets over the weekend. I'll be off to the post office tomorrow.
If the light is right when I get back, I'll make up a few new sets with what's left of the inventory and post them.

Yes, new sets are up.

It's only January. Four months before I can make any more. I may take up the banjo. Or Portuguese. Clean out my closet so I can list it with Air BnB? Dispose of the hoarded crap that has taken over a fourth of our living space? Train the cats to do dishes and laundry?

Or publish one book and get the next one underway?
 Let me know if you'd like to be notified when Prophets Tango goes live. I promise to hoard your email like the rest of my stuff.

It could all happen, but guess which has priority.

Sunday catch-up

I've just logged into the day job for the first time since forever. I've only worked Christmas and New Years' days in the past two weeks.

Saving up vacation time to coincide with the school calendar is something I'm out of practice with, but was delighted to do. I don't see nearly as much of him as I'd like now that he's in school and we had a great time. There hasn't been much time for stitching and that was fine.

Charlie got to meet and interact with the new cats but played favorites with Sweetie who remains dubious but patient with short people.

He didn't know it but on one sleepover, there were five of us in the bed - three growling or purring, one snoring, and me not getting much sleep that night.

Something new.

The words are stuck.

A few actions will unstick them: driving, walking, or stitching. Somehow the last one seems out of place, but it's the only practical thing at the moment.

Until I get my back issues sorted out, driving or walking for any duration or distance, are not options. But I think I just challenged myself there.

In the meantime, there's a basket of talent waiting to be discovered. Glyphs are planned. Alien poetry waiting in the wings.

Merry Christmas

the weekend

While running like Sonic the Hedgehog, Charlie tripped and did a face plant in the gravel at aftercare. His glasses probably saved his eye from worse injury, but they didn't survive.

When I asked him if it hurt, he said, "Only when people look at me like it does." So I gave him my biggest sunglasses for when we went into Publix and told him to say "NOT a barfight."

After shopping for all manner of snacks, we sat at the kitchen table and sorted through a large tub of Legos I've hung on to since Jake and Colin were kids. There was a lot of trash in the tub and everything we saved had to be sanitized.

He told me all about the other happy holidays all going on at the same time. Kwanza, Hanukka, and Santa Lucia which I learned (from a five-year-old) is a Swedish holiday. I explained Solstice. We feasted and had a lovely visit while Jake installed a replacement interior in Jim's old pickup, seats, flooring, seatbelts and all. I wish we'd taken some 'before' pictures. Its a miracle.

Since that last sampler, I've been avoiding the stitching chair in the morning. Too many other things need attention like those spider webs that are somehow between the screen and the glass. The lights are up year-round.

Once I get all my holiday packages shipped, I kind of collapse when it comes to decorating. There's a sweet little tree downstairs waiting for its decorations. In good time.











The new family members continue to find their place in our routines. Sweetie has been very tolerant of both of them. There's more contention between the newcomers than I realized. Bailey is full of teenaged energy and mischief. Salem is a lady and not please with his rambunctiousness and will disappear at the slightest disturbance.

done here

but truly, for the pure pleasure of Stitching.

Insane, I'm told, I freehand the lettering directly to the cloth with a silver quilt marking pencil that traveled with Noah on the Ark, its so old.

Quite in love with my made-up font, there will most certainly be more, but for now, this one helped me clarify a scene that needed to die and crystallized the one that will take its place. Imagine a bad carnival ride replaced with a crystal ball.

The only thought that went into selecting colors was to choose lighter colors for 'fade' and 'away'. I was going to do some organic white on white shadowing some of the more prominent motifs in the damask, but my effort paled beside the real thing so I picked it out. A rinse and press should help call this finished. Eventually.

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.