the blues came on strong

Sunday morning started out with two tired old crones bemoaning what looked like a shitty weather day while waiting for the coffee to come down.  

Then, the sun broke through the gloom and an impromptu dyefest took off. I wasn't ready. Stuff was scattered all over. Colors chosen with squinted eyes from a low inventory. It got hotter and brighter by the minute. By the time I hit the deck, it was 94 and my hat for shade was a joke.

Still, I didn't hurry. I did have to stop and come inside for a cool down and waited for the sun to go over the trees before finishing. Clean up? Not likely.  

It's going to be days before any of this dries out.

I've been missing blue.

the Traveler

 I'm just so glad that it wasn't lost. Two round trips from GA to CA later, the Traveler is home.

Blue Wave

 

What else could I call it? Never intentional, but now, inescapeable. It doesn't even matter which way you turn it. Still a work in progress.

Perle investigations and shopkeeping

I'm not thrilled so far.

The white, plucked straight from the hank, has a glaze or sizing on it that tends to make it grabby, catching on itself and being snarlish.

Did you know it can be untwisted down to four single strands? Why would anyone do that when there's DMC? Just being nosy.

Next pass, I'll use the natural but I'll give it a stroke of Thread Heaven to grease the way. It's what friends do, right? 

I'm thinking that the coating is a lot about how Perle cotton is intended to be used - tatting, crocheting - those sorts of three-dimensional manipulations and not the tortures of the damned that stitchers are likely to put it through.

 Still, it works up fast and fat if you need to make a loud embroidered statement. Looking forward to running a few lines with the blue. I had to bring the hank inside for drying. Might be a day or so.

 

And speaking of thread, Friday is shipping day. If you've ordered Dirty Threads and/or Fat Baggies they will be heading out before noon on Friday. 

Please email me when they arrive. We have to keep our eye on these bastards.

blues investigations

 

Looking like turquoise, peacock and robin's egg are going to be up first. I used too much of the others to be sure.  Reruns are fun too.

the Blues

 

Not that kind, although it would be easy enough to assume.

I have a couple of thread commissions to get to. 

Blues and their close cousins. Swinging in blues country, border to border. From the cool sky seen through the treetops to the purple down a morning glory's throat.

Tomorrow, I'll get out all the blues I have and make some test stains on this, that, and some thread, some of that Perle cotton I've never dyed before. 

If all goes well, everything will get rain rinsed. With the skirts of two hurricanes dragging over us, it's going to be a while before we catch another sunny day. Still warm enough to get the job done.

Don't tell the other colors, but blue is my favorite...today.

 It's a lot like garlic. A little can go a long way. 

.

But every so often, I go off the very deep end with it. Freefalling.

How could we not? It's everywhere we look, if we just open our eyes.

 How blue are you?

addendum

The streetlights and the traffic light over the intersection stuttered once and failed when the truck glanced off the power pole at the crest of Main Street at the top of the quarter-mile glide down into town.

Engine dead, headlights blind, inertia carried it forward and gravity gave it wings. 

The sky's blue hour pulled the last purple edge behind it and, with the glare of the streetlights gone, Bea looked up at the sweeping arc of stars aligned in the blackness over her head. 

In the moments after the lights went out, there was a three-count before the fireflies and crickets struck up a round of applause and then fell back to the serious business of finding husbands and wives before dawn.

from "The Monkeytown Murders"

the silent roar of chaos

 

.

I can't think of the expression, something about the hubris of making plans, having some kind of order to build one's life around. 

There was a time when we could count on the seasons, man-made holidays and traditions to set our thinking on an orderly path. Now we wander.

I have piles of potential on the floor around the stitching chair as if keeping it all in view will have some effect on my mood. It has not. Shortly, I'm going to scoop it all up and shove it onto a shelf in the closet. 

Worry is a pest. I only worry about things I can't control. Did I really write the word "only"??

And worry is as much a waste of emotional energy as guilt, giving or taking. Which path to follow?

Thinking about my friends in Florida. Elders that I'm too chicken to call because each time, my "How are you?" is answered by a 45-minute litany of medical gyrations. 

Thinking of a dear friend battling cancer, Distant friends in fire danger's path. In the path of dementia, vile beast. 

And my biggest fail. The past week has proven to me that I cannot do both. Work full time at night and be Charlie's copilot in virtual first grade by day. But that will be out of my hands shortly. His school opens on Wednesday.

 I stand down. 

Until I'm needed again.

Within an hour

 She's trying to tell us something.

the way it is now

 

Just a few minutes for stitching because that's all there is now. Life returning to one of purpose outside of self. I'd gotten pretty spoiled and don't want to dwell on how much time I wasted. 

I have to manage my rest again. No more "nap when you feel like it". Back to the guided meditations that knocked me cold for whatever fifteen minutes I have to use.

Proctoring virtual first grade is a lot easier than the endless cycles of feeding, burping, changing, and napping from when he was tiny. Interesting and challenging for both of us. After a brief homeroom zoom, we have Music. 

caesura

 I've just finished taking pictures of the new sets of threads and need to rest my eyes. 

Looking at Salem is always a relief from too much color. A pause.

It's only August but Summer seems to be holding her breath. What next? Fresh Hell? Mayhem or...

Sweet peace, gentle water, cloth, thread, children laughing, good music. 

A nice buzz, cold lemonade, a good read. A good night's sleep on cool sheets.

 I hope you can get some of what you need, wherever you are in this world. Peace and out for a while. Stay safe and strong.

watching

THEY are watching Perry Mason while I work.

No spoilers! I'll watch it after my shift.

   Today, I watched string dry. I like the way they are in little conversational pods. Huddling. I kept rearranging the groups. Twice herded everyone inside because the skies got gloomy. Some of these got a little carried away with color. No matter, they'll find good homes.

saving the day. saving myself.

I'm not normally prone to insomnia. Of course, my rhythms get thrown off when Charlie spends time here. Friday night was recovery night, but waking at 3:30am? I should have known better than to pick up my phone. If I'd turned the pillows over for a cool spot and nudged a cat away for room to stretch, I would have fallen back to sleep.

Instead, I opened an email and was ready to dress head to toe in black wrappings, find my rusty machete, and head out into the night looking for someone deserving to slay. Let's just say it's a long skulk to Washington. I'm beginning to understand the rash of seemingly unprovoked violence going around like a certain virus. People are stressed to the max and snapping.

Me? I was disproportionately enraged that a package sent out west and received at the post office was, without notice, sent back to me because the recipient hadn't picked it up. The rules say 30 days if you notify them of a hold being needed. This was barely two weeks. Hopefully, it will come back to my doorstep, but that will not be the end of the issue. Asses will fry.

My mother worked in a first-class post office for twenty-five years. I know how bullshit flows downstream onto the front line workers who are not to be blamed. This is another wave of Trumpfuckery that should really have people completely freaked out. Raise hell, people.

So, no, I did not get up from my nest and murder anyone. I got up in the dark burned a bagel and drank some lemonade. Went back to bed and slept until 9:30. Gave the day over to a short burst of housekeeping,  some hasty color, then a long swim.
There is still danger in the air.

Changes

 We moved to Georgia from New York in '94. The boys were in elementary and middle school. In all those years, I've never gotten used to the bizarre shift in the school calendar. School ends in May and reconvenes in August. What savages! 

This was Charlie's last week of vacation. Virtual school starts next wednesday. At first this county was going to start school like nothing had changed. As the COVID numbers climbed unchecked, they switched to virtual classes. Now, knuckling under to political pressure, in-person classes will start later this month.

 I'm about to find out what I am really made of.

Shop keeping

The Dirty Thread store is on hiatus for an inventory update. 

frayed

Both cloth and personal sensibilities.

Rewatching "Hamilton" last night was probably not a good choice.

Eliza's final monologue turned me inside out. 

 Today, my copirate is six.

Harvest time

It's been a while since I was excited by first peeks at a thread batch. Over the past months, I've caught myself thinking "Overdye for this bunch" or "just because I don't love you...."  and hoping for the best.

This time, I'm thinking about dumping out my own stash so I can start fresh with 20 or 30 from this lot. But I won't. I have too much else to do now and soon, those responsibilities will double. 

Now comes the hard part. Cleanup and processing. When I call these Hand Dyed Threads I'm not kidding.  There is no part of this that can be automated. Each skein goes through about a dozen steps between the first measure&wind, to the final wind off. 

Then, since I'm selling most of these, there's photograpy, posting, and processing orders. Now, the added terrors of the post office. I'm still sad about the fact that International Shipping is so out of reach. 

I've washed and rinsed two groups, laid out on the deck rails here in hopes of some sun, but it's looking pretty shitty out.  

I've been thinking about writing a DIY book - "Doing the Dirty Thread Boogie". I can teach you the steps, but I cannot teach color sense which is the magic at the heart of this process. Something I can't even explain to myself.

What do you think? 

Color in cold blood

I have the time and the weather is with me, but I confided in a friend that, although everything was ready and right, I had no feel for color today. Vacuuming floated to the top of my to-do list. A very deep level of ennui.

Instead, I downshifted, no clutch, and found a place of hard, scientific analysis. Instead of frenzy, I measured. Wiped up spills, protected myself, gloves and masks, indoors.


Then I remembered...
All in all, the dyes don't care.

It was overcast and mid-80s when I was setting up. The moment I sat down, the clouds parted and the sun got really harsh. Right after he took this, Colin brought my hat down. 

At this point in the process, I worked the way I always have. I got a chip of kosher salt in my eye. That kind of slowed me down.

There was a lot of thread prepped to dye. A LOT. More than a hundred skeins. I lost count.

At the same time, some smaller pieces of cloth joined the fray. 

The colors evolved as I worked. Looking over the results, I can't see a trend. But I was too tired and overheated to do any peeking.  Everything is out there, cooking in the heat. 

I'm hoping it will rain tonight and save me a lot of rinsing. 

As soon as the last piece of cloth hit the deck, I jumped in for some emergency cooling. I'm really looking forward to seeing what comes from this batch.