yakkety yak

Charlie and I hike up to the tennis courts they have where he lives. I've never seen anyone playing tennis so I'm sure they won't mind us taking advantage of clean surface and sturdy fences.

He's got language by the tail with a non-stop patois of gibberish that leaves this mere mortal clueless. He gestures, uses inflection and clearly wants to have a say.  There's also a strong note of pity for his witless audience especially if I try to imitate him. The arched eyebrow glare is priceless.

stitching on the clock

While I was composing this last night, I was trying to recognize how the activity related to writing. It doesn't.
It's much more gut reaction to the materials.

Every move I make with cloth is a yes/no proposition - unless I get carried away and stitch a bunch of crap that gets ripped out when the smoke clears - it happens.


 I'm not in any kind of rush here so each yes/no is going to be considered and seconded. I've set everything here in the studio/office so I can stitch between the Tales of Woe that I listen to every night. There's a story in that crap, lemme tell you, but you'd die of boredom before midnight.

Studio update

The rain and then the chill and I realize I'm weeks behind getting the studio ready for winter. Now that I've moved the day job computer back in here, it won't be long before I trundle the little heater out of the closet. The studio will be cozy and it looks like there will be stitching.

I pulled the birthday chair out into the room and gave it a thorough going over with the vacuum and reinstalled the sliders under its feet. Sucked up every speck of spider crap and web in that corner of the room and put up new Festivus lights.  That's two corners of the room deep cleaned and re-ordered.

To crown the process, I dug into the river basket, weeded out a lot excess and dug up a handful of UFOs that aren't beyond hope or help. I have discovered that 1.75 cheaters are not going to be sufficient. Time to bump up to 2s and shorting stitching time accordingly.

I have to go to the DMV to take an eye exam on Tuesday. I may lay off any further eye torture until then.

-

"Your eyes will lie to you first, but you can trust your other senses," he said. "Close 'em. Go on." He waited.

"Now hold this. Bring it up to your face. Breathe it in. You can feel the truth of it. Be still and find it in memory; what it's here for. Touch finds the truth every time."

beginnings

This is where it begins. A scrap in the sunlight or fire light will catch my eye and beg me to touch it, pick it up, consider it's provenance and how far it's come. It was something else, long ago and now it's waiting.

"What's next for me?" it whispers.

"Find me a partner. Several. Let's dance. Let's become a part of a great whole, something to behold.
Something to hold. Something to cling to. Something that will serve. Let me last beyond myself.
Make me."






Sometimes we all need a guide, a waymaker.