If you need me, you know how to reach me.

Time Machine

..or as close as you will ever get to one! I was feeling the need to do a little cultural research for my book and scored these mid-seventies issues for pennies on Ebay. They were waiting on the doorstep (half in the rain, thanks, idiot postie) when I got home from Charlie's place.  I didn't really have time to dip into them until yesterday morning.

Fuhgeddaboutit CBS Sunday Morning! My coffee got cold as I leafed through the fragile, browning paper. Not digging into any articles just yet, but remembering how life was before the Internet, cell phones, cable TV - all the mostly irrelevant crap available at a touch, most of it free.

If you wanted to know something about anything, you had to work hard at it. Libraries were sacred temples. Pay telephones were everywhere and you better have change. Need to get in touch? You wrote letters! Paper, pens, stamps and greeting cards, even telegrams. Note to a lover? Hastily scrawled, unsigned and left in an agreed-upon location or slipped into their back pocket. Stop and think about all that has been lost.

Rolling Stone - on newsprint back in the day - first hit the newsstands in November, 1967.  I had just started my first year at SVA and  was still commuting into Manhatten from Goldens Bridge.  I was killing time in Grand Central Station when this caught my eye.  It wasn't John Lennon's picture that grabbed me. It was the typeface that pulled me in, promising rock music, drugs and sex. I had seen similar fonts used in concert ads slapped on most any available surface in my wanderings around New York City. It's a wonder I got through that first year alive; I was as green as a Granny Smith apple.

I read lots of other newspapers, whatever I could pick up for free on the train left behind by my fellow commuters- the Times, Post, News, Reporters Dispatch, Amsterdam  News, and oddly enough - Playboy. I guess fellow traveler bought it in the city but was afraid to bring it home. Remember, these were the Madmen years. Double lives were almost the standard of the day! The real bitch was I couldn't actually read anything on the moving train, getting  instantly nauseous if I tried. So everything came home with me.

As a commercial art student, there was not a lot of required reading involved and I didn't have time for novels. RS became my primary source for (my) culturally relevant information and I wallowed in it! Dipping into these, I can almost smell the Maryjane!

Catch up

Oh, my friends! Missing I've been. Not!

Missing leisure time for mental clarity to spare? Some.

Where was I? Paris, checking out April, Rome? Lunching with the Pope? Undercover in prison? I'll never tell. Yet.

Things are, pretty much as they were. Some background machinations grind forward (can you hear it?) and the day-to- day, a lot of them 18 hours long, roll on.

Charlie grows overnight. He has three four teeth now and teething has been hard on the little guy who, in innocent turn, makes it hard on his family. Missy told me that for the first time in ages he slept through the night. The look on her face was as if she had been drifting at sea for a week and was watching the Coast Guard Rescue Helicopter descend, basket at the ready. What was the magic formula, the combination of feeding, napping, and fresh air? Don't bother to write it down because it will be gone by tomorrow.

He's a free range baby and, as such, I like to sit on the floor with him, occupy and protect. Getting up from the floor ten or twelve times a day, lifting a 22 pound human gyroscope, and rasslin' a baby alligator for a diaper change, 8-10 times a day has been physically challenging. I misjudged a balance point day before yesterday and wrenched both my right knee and hip. Not to worry. A day later and things seem stable and the pain has diminished a great deal, but I have been warned.

It scared the shit out of me. From ninth grade through my first year in college I was on and off crutches six or eight times due to knee injuries of the football type. I had to pretty much give up being athletic, including ice skating, which really broke my heart a bit. I went from being a star doer to being a sullen and jealous watcher.

And now, in the last fifth of my time, I'm terrified of losing my mobility and not being able to carry out my primary mission - taking care of my grandson. Serious lifestyle challenges call for serious responses.

Such is my preoccupation.

Stitching? Not so much. 

I have three commissions and the dye season, optimal temperature and humidity, is just weeks away.

The miracle garden is well underway. I'm going to look at a replacement of the  Joseph's Coat rosebush later. 

My main characters have been telling me their stories while I sleep and, working from nightstand notes, I will be capturing them and roping the action into my first rough draft.

And the  cream cheese frosting on my red velvet cupcake (in my dreams of course) is that baseball is back!!

The Braves, although radically transformed, are 4 and 0. Beating the Mets in the home opener last night was bittersweet. I used to share special games with my Dad long distance. Now I've transferred my gloating or moaning to my brother, who puts up with me.

Trade Craig Kimbrel away?? It's OK, I'm over it. We got Grilli.  

New tradition

We haven't done Easter since the boys were old enough to realize that too much chocolate was bad for their skin.

Prior to that, it was a combination of Christmas and Halloween with a few much-coveted, basket sized  toys, colored hardboiled eggs that only Jim and I ate until we were sick of them and the aforementioned candy. It was a completely secular and commercial celebration that I was happy to see the backside of.

There were always gatherings at either or both of our parents homes.
Those  I miss.

Going forward, I'll use the date to test drive the seasons dye colors. The ones above are only the new ones. I have at least this many leftover from last years. Add starting the pool cleanup and maybe some gardening to this and we have a weekend of useful stuff to do that's not drenched in calories or hypocrisy.

Plotting.the moves

..but like a lot these days, it's all about the weather. It will probably be mid-May before it's really warm enough for best results.

These are the last of my own hand dyed DMC floss...Of course, I'm out of the color I was looking for. I'll be putting up 13 yrd. lots again.
Eight yards are just not enough.

When I get home today, I'm finally going to open that case from Prochem so I can start charting the colors of the '15 season. Charging through the spectrum for my patented (not really)  Monkey's Blood, then Aubergine, Ochre-ish, Ghost Copper, Torch Light, Old Canary, Grasshoppers Heart, Bell Green, Anchor, Lush Life...I could go on, but you get the picture.