supermac

If you live in the Southern US and you are from the NE you know how hard it is to find a really good Macintosh apple. The produce man tells me that they just don't travel all that well and, in fact, you rarely find them in the stores.

I took a chance on just one from Publix this morning. More often than not they are mealy, blah and disappointing.

Today I hit the crisp sweet/sour jackpot and sat in the car and ate that apple like it was my last damned meal. Actually it was my breakfast and the first apple in way too long, I'm on a carb restricted diet and less than terrific apples were not on the list of things that I missed.

This had to be one of the apples that the wicked witch gave Snow White because as soon as I got home I needed a serious nap. Such has been the highpoint of my day....

post redux - In writing (11.18.09)

Thanks for all the wonderful points of view regarding the use of written dialogue stitched into art. It's good to know what other people think both about doing it and seeing it. For now I have decided against any messages or even letter forms.

I find that when I begin using letter forms I can't help but want to convey something snarky or entertaining. In fact, I find that when I work literally or do something representational you can pretty much bet on something weird, shocking or downright wrong going on. You'll laugh too if you don't run out of the room.

rituals & tradition

I have a new ritual these days. Some might have noticed that it's eating into my blogging frequency. Probably.

I get up as soon as Jim and Colin leave for work, go downstairs and push the button on the coffeemaker that Jim has blessedly prepared for me.

By the time I've finished dishing out three different kinds of cat food and refereeing the jostling hordes (really, there are only four) the coffee is ready. I take it back upstairs, set it on the nightstand and get the laptop from the studio. It's still dark out as I transcribe whatever scribbles appeared in the notebook from the day before and fatten them as I go. An hour or three will go by before I notice.

If I get bogged down, I will take a new page and devote it to just focusing on a very small detail - Annie Lamott's "square inch picture frame" trick that she would use to keep up the writing momentum.

This morning I went after the day my father's mother taught me to cross stitch and why. The embroidery hoop in the picture is one of a pair that I still have that belonged to  Nell. This is the smaller of the pair and the same ones that I used that first time 58 years ago.

She showed me just how to set the hem of the cotton pillowcase between the hoops and watched over my shoulder as I constructed a little march of tiny green DMC  Xs along the hemline. I spent a lot of time looking at the backside and trying to make it as neat as the front, no mean trick for a four year old. My real objective was to be as stingy as possible with the thread because Nell told me that after I had used up the three hanks she had given me I would have to buy my own thread. She would be giving me twenty-five cents a week for helping her in the kitchen. Twenty-five cents a week equaled five new colors from the stationary store down the block from our house. I couldn't wait!

The "why" of the lesson you ask? Well, that's pages away.

expanses

Like the new header? I needed a change of scenery to go with the change of seasons.

It's a section of my personal "Beach" from back in May 2010. I was rooting around looking for more formal images and there are none. I could dig it out and reshoot it but this snip will do for now. It reminded me of the pleasure of arms wide, eyes afar designing and building a piece that was intended to be used and not just displayed.

Come to think of it, I know  this piece has no sleeve for hanging which is why it never got properly photographed.  More along the lines of this one gives me a lot to look forward to, fiberwise. It's time to climb out of winter's comfy, cozy closeness and aim far and wide.

before the rain comes

It's warm for February, the jasmine on the mailbox has started blooming reminding me I need to cut the crape myrtles back very soon. Like tomorrow.

I've been spending time working on this one with my hands while I work on the writing with my brain; the other part of the brain that wanders all walleyed when you are stitching.

Each element is like a sentence or paragraph in a story that needs to be complete unto itself yet, for the story to be successful, they have to relate to each other in an engaging way.


I've had to completely remove a couple of pieces and start over in the spaces left behind. Brutal editing.

If you notice something odd about the scale of these creatures, good eye!. They are sitting about ten feet apart, acceptable distance per Karma in the foreground.

Juicy (stretching it out in the background) was closing in on twenty pounds the last time he was to the vets over a year ago. Madame K, on the other hand, might be seven pounds soaking wet.

She's been doing better, thanks.