Scary, isn't it.

Nothing like yesterday, though.

While I was at the park yesterday I scored a few good books from the Little Free Libray on a stick. I owe them a bunch, now that I think about it. Morbid has been the flavor of the day, politics aside.

"A Morbid Taste for Bones" is probably out of print so I'm keeping this yellowed little paperback. I was first introduced to the work of Ellis Peters while I was checking out anything and everything that was unabridged audio back when I had two hour daily commute to the Deathstar.

Imagine my surprise when I investigated the authors backlist to find that Ellis Peters was a little old lady who was dead and not writing any new adventures for Brother Cadfael. Then I stumbled on the BBC TV production of one of her books,  "the Virgin in Ice" and I was reminded of how well-written drama can break your heart wide open.

And while I was doing the dishes this morning, I wrote a scene that has been wanting and waiting to trouble and terrify me. Good day and it's only noon.

practical matters

The sun coming in over the sewing chair is rich in the mornings, strong until 11 almost, but once the trees get leaves all that will change. For now, I'll take advantage of it if I can.

The washing machine heard me boasting about getting a good deal on those lumberjacks yesterday so it decided this would be a good time to up and die. Not if I have anything to say about it.

We jackassed it off the base because I thought we had to take the back cover off. Then I did a little web surfing and found the trixie technique for getting at the works - flipping the lid and yanking off the cabinet from the front. It was nasty in there.

 In search of a clog, hoses were disconnected, but I forgot about the several gallons of dirty water still in the tub, even though we siphoned off most of it. Damp carpets will look cleaner someday. There was NO sock blockage, although I did find an ATM card in the basket that I hadn't even missed yet.

The next part to be investigated/replaced is the timer. Part ordered and an excellent tutorial found. All I need is a strappy t-shirt and crack-revealing jeans.

passing time

I was going to call this post "killing time", but it's such an awful expression when you think about it. Lately, if anyone was to tell me to my face that they were just killing time I might smack them!

While I got even more fussy with the corded lines on this piece, I waited for a phone call from the tree guy.

The house phone was ringing the other day and out of sheer spite, I answered all prepared to send some telemarketer, politician or bill collector to a venomous hell with my snappy repartee. Instead, I took a cold sales call from a local tree company who must have scouted the property from the street even though my concerns are in the back yard.

He came, he saw and he conquered me with an amazing price for felling a group of trees that have been threatening my pool for years. The time has come. Well, it will come later in the summer after I've sold a few pounds of cloth and/or a few gallons of blood.

In the meantime,  it's Spring Break at the Froggy Club Med. This strange climate year has emboldened a host of tender-voiced leopard frogs to come out ahead of the shrieking tree frogs. Who will eat whom? All of them will be evicted in the coming days.

             I cleaned and relocated my favorite, deep-voiced wind chimes.

for Grace

unhinged

Is it just me?

The almost complete lack of winter (as lame as it is here in Georgia) has me unsettled and not recognizing these days as Spring.

Our pool is a pit of green slime, the algae never died off and turned black like it usually does. We are going to have to move up the purge a whole month.

I spent the morning avoiding all (current) media input. It's verging on toxic. I've done my part - did my investigation, made a contribution, slapped on a bumper sticker and voted. For a few days, anyway, the whole process can just catch a handbasket to hell.

What I'd really like is to go to a baseball game..no radio, no TV, just watch and listen, maybe stitch a bit while they are out there having private conversations on the mound.