cloth identity help - updated

Thanks for all the help. The likely answer is Kona, but I'm not even going to run to HoAnne's to confirm it. I couldn't afford it in the first place and happily I just found a good two yards of undyed cotton that will do very nicely, a bit softer hand, but that's a good thing since it's going to be bedware. When I can get around to it. More about that in the next post.

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I've come up with a plan for this cloth, but I have a problem. I need more of the same fabric and, although it's a type of high-end cotton used by dyers, I cannot remember what the brand might be.

So, I'm asking all the fiber folk who may be reading to see if you can name what I will describe.

It's 100% cotton, very fine threads, tightly woven,  with a smooth hand - if a little "hard". Even after dyeing and several washer/dryer trips it's still crisp and has held the dye like Alcatraz. It cracks when you snap it and will probably be hell to hand quilt, hence my decision to use it in a machine pieced design.

A long time ago I bought a few yards from TestFabric, but I don't recall the hand of that cloth being this fine. Any guesses?

How does the Universe speak to you?

 The day before yesterday, I posted on facebook about Voodoo pissing in my private stash basket. I was able to wash everything and the basket immediately and I'm completely satisfied that everything was saved. this satisfied.

For some reason, my dryer has a habit of tangling these scraps mercilessly. As I sat clipping loose threads and freeing each piece from the Maytag Gyre, I took the opportunity to appreciate each one and try to remember what it was that got them into that "can't touch this" basket in the first place. I sorted them into piles, some to stay and some to go on to friends in far places.

I also spent a good bit of time contemplating what Voodoo's out of character behaviour portends. There was a late night conversation with Jimmy about where we would bury him the day the poor cat had some sort of stroke and appeared to be on death's doorstep for about twelve hours before he got up, shook himself good and went about his cat business. And how, in the final weeks and hours of Jim's passing, Voodoo never left his side until the moments just before dawn when he got up, stretched and made his way to my lap as Jimmy let go of my hand. 

All these thoughts on my mind when I went to sleep last night. It's no secret or surprise that I have been in a fog of depression and anxiety lately, wondering what made me think I ever had a creative bone in my body. It's like being wrapped in wet wool. There's no way to lay that doesn't smell bad or itch. An ongoing sense of claustrophobia. Just enough from keeping one from seeing/feeling beyond one's own mild misery.

Sometime in the night, the flock of bats that has been roosting and rustling in my head opened up their technicolor wings, circled a bit and vacated the premises.

I'm watching Charlie today so Jake can replace the starter on Jim's truck so Colin can drive it again.  On the drive over there, the two main characters of my book (they have not been speaking to me or each other for a while) struck up a brief conversation and an entire, needful scene rolled out right before my eyes, clear and real enough that I didn't even need to stop and take notes.

As I approached the entrance to their apartment, I saw that Jake had opened the door and was holding Charlie up so all I could see was his little face peeking around the door, head high. He was so happy to see me and even happier to help me take a deeper look at these fabrics to see what use might be found for them. 

The Universe spoke to me through cat piss.

Got health?

I met with a neurologist on Monday. He spent a long time going over all the test results and scans from my hospital stay before coming into the treatment room to actually have a look at me.

A little Yoda kinda guy. Went over all the paperwork with me and then told me he had a hard time connecting all the hard copy with the living person sitting in front of him. A good thing.

He put me through a bunch of hoops, you know, touch your finger to your nose, eyes closed. Tiptoe across the room (?) which must have been a spectacle cause he giggled.  Summation? He wants a repeat of the MRI so he can compare then and now. For some serious stuff going on in the scans, I was looking pretty healthy. No drilling for the moment. As you were.

finding footing

Robbie, me and Kitty

This was the first time I've been back to New York when it was not the dead of winter that I can remember. The weather was spectacular with just one day of all day rain just to prove it was real.

My nephews are having the kind of childhood that I remember - spending most of their time outdoors, in or around the lake and woods. The community I grew up in is little changed, still idyllic.

Patty and me at Misquamicutt Beach. RI

Poor Patty was in the middle of some viral misery, but a perfect day at the beach went a long way towards making her feel better. We found a brand new favorite beach about two hours from her house.

The visit home was complete with a visitation from my parents' spirits, still at war. Unsettling, but not all that surprising.
There was no reading, writing or stitching while I was there. It was all about observing, appreciating and remembering. Lots of remembering.

just breathe