Dirty Threads

The Floridians are ready to leave the nest. 

more....

the compulsion

Also home with me from Florida, a butt load of cotton print scraps. Just what I need, right?! A full washing machine load of these little darlings. As you can see by the pink roses on the black background of my pjs, I have a tiny print fetish.

When I first saw them piled on the help-yourself table, I thought they were dismembered hospital gowns, but no, the hand is soft and the selvage reads "Made in France 100% cotton". Most of the pieces are less than a fat quarter and way wonkier.

If I sew them all together I might have enough to make myself a djellaba or a mumu or something soft and flowy and not for public display. More pajamas!

home

I left Florida at 8:15. We were supposed to meet at a local eatery at 10 for a farewell breakfast but I was anxious to get on the road.

With some lollygagging and disrespecting the navigator in my phone, I was fed, relaxed and the car was gassed up when I pulled in to my driveway about 5.  I just had to get off the freeway!

Before I did, I passed a huge tractor trailer all done up in a magnificent graphics wrap. I didn't have the wits to drive and snap a picture. It was the equipment transporter for the Stoneman Douglas Band - the Eagle Regiment.

As I passed it, I stuck my fist through the moonroof in solidarity and the driver acknowledged with a blast of the air horn. I was filled with an as-yet-unnamed feeling. I'm sure the French have one perfect word. It lifted me up, away from myself for a while, but then I couldn't help but think about the families, the loved ones left behind.

Then came the tristesse. I rolled with that one and let it take me to tears. Everytime I travel, I have the sudden realization that Jimmy will not be waiting for me when I get home. That's a facet of myself as real and permanent as a tattoo.