truce

Heather at True Stitches wrote a post yesterday that got my attention. Greedy me, my take-away from a courageous and self revelatory post was

"...But the pleasure and solace of stitching endured, and nurtured my soul, and grew to become something where I could lose myself and find myself again."

 .... losing oneself to the cloth. It's not exactly what I'm looking for but I have to find a balance for my creative energy.

Writing fiction, the way I do it anyway, will turn you into a full blown zombie.
 I have to go there and be with these people, and live in their world in order to bring the words back alive.  It becomes all consuming and probably not healthy.

 The pleasure of tramping the park trails is not about the benefits of the physical activity. It's nice, but it's getting awful damn hot in Georgia for this Yankee. My real payoff is the fistful of notes that I come back with each time I go out, deliberately with a blank slate for a brain.

I was only half mile out on the Spur today,  leaning on a railing and scribbling on a piece of paper when this Lycra clad hussy blew by me in a cloud of something eye-wateringly sweet and said over her shoulder "That's not burning any calories, hon."

All I can say is that it's a good fucking thing she wasn't on a loop to pass me coming back the other way. I'm not usually lost for words, unless I'm lost in them, otherwise I'd be writing you from the back of a patrol car.

 As soon as I can, I'm going to make some order into the studio and turn my attention to the larger unfinished pieces, Blue Horse here pinned up over Fierce. For now,  I'll let them watch me.

In the Clutch

For those who knew us...this is Wedding, Day Two.  No kidding!
Maybe that's what it really takes to get a good long run.

All the kindness that flowed from all over the world yesterday was deeply appreciated. How does one not celebrate? I even bought myself marked down flowers from the grocery store. Jimmy would have been proud of the deal I got on a dozen perfectly matured roses and a mixed bouquet. I had flowers all the time. I will continue having flowers.

No eye candy today - we at House of Lacativa are officially under the gun with one week to go before welcoming out of town guests. Where is Martha Stewart when you need her?

Since last December it's gone from bad to worse around here. There's no denying that Jim was a pack rat and a collector, Colin remains an outright hoarder and I simply acquire raw materials.  Those are hard things to change overnight, but the delivery of a 12 yard Dumpster the other day will be a big step.

I'll be missing from here until the 15th if I'm smart.

I know that having company is good and partying is even better, but it's HELLA stressful.  I miss my chef and master party planner.

June 4, 1977

Okay, after this, can we send them all home?

and this too

June (sigh)

...and so begins our celebration month, forever changed.

Today is Jake's birthday. In a few more days,  what would have been our thirty-eighth wedding anniversary, then  Jim's birthday, Father's Day and Colin's birthday at the end of the month.  I'm gonna have to work hard at this one. One day at a time.

Jimmy would be particularly proud of how Jake has stepped up to being a good man, a good husband, and soon, a good father.

off roading

I got a little bored with my trek yesterday morning and took an unmarked cutoff through the woods. (cue the scary music)

after a quarter mile or so, what I had hoped was the rough sketch for a new trail back to the park turned into what could easily be the setting for any Zombie movie.

I was well into this zone before I realized that I was alone on the darkside of the moon. I didn't investigate anything here more closely: I didn't really want to know what might be lurking so I pressed on,  picked up the raw trail on the other side of the desolation zone and made my way back to the park only mildly freaked out. Next time, I'll bring a film crew.