last shopkeeping of 2019

I guess I can thank Mr. Bad Boy Bailey for this. Also grateful that he didn't decide to sleep on them!



There was just enough good, natural light in the studio to get most of the way through the alphabet: selecting sets, photographing and naming them on the fly. Don't read too much into the names. I was listening to music, snatching words out thin air.

Antic through Scandal are live at Dirty Threads.





Bailey doing his best to look innocent.

taking a break, but...

...not really. I just needed to remind myself about the peace of the flowing needle and thread.

The full sentiment will read "For the pure pleasure of words on a page that will not fade away." More properly subtitled, "Draft in haste and repent in the Hell of everlasting editing"

I've gone back to page one of (yikes) 800+ pages to dig out the ticks and cooties. Sometimes I think, "Who wrote this shit?" and sometimes I say it in wonder and delight, "Who wrote this marvelous shit!"

a shakeup

NOW I'm in for some fun. I keep the dirty thread on covered plastic trays on a high shelf, out of reach of five-year-old fingers and feline paws.

I thought.

Last night, Baily, aka Mr.Big, managed to pull them down onto the work table into this stew of color.

Rather than try putting them back into the old collections, I'm going to first put together some rainbows (thanks for the idea, Liz) and post those.

It's gray and rainy here. First sunny day - Sunday, I think I read- I start taking good photos and posting them to the store.

Guilty as charged.

time

Nothing lasts forever.

Many things try. This little bear had already been around awhile when I put it on the stem of the rearview mirror of the year-old Civic I bought in 2002. Its owner was in the Navy Reserve and was unexpectedly called to active duty and needed to sell it quickly, made me great deal.

The beads were a gift from a boy I liked in 1969 when I spent time on Cape Cod. Who strings beads on thread? Boys in love, I guess.

Little Bear saw every one of the 300k+ miles put on that car between myself and my son. It still runs, just passed inspection, but I doubt it will serve as transportation again. The next owner is most likely to part it out. It served us well.


These came in the mail yesterday. I have no way to know how old they are. Twenty? Fifty years. Come dye season, they'll be born again, this time in service to art.

And yesterday, after five years, give or take, I typed ~fin~  on Prophets Tango.

notes from an armed camp

I wish I had something else to post, but it's been a long time since we've welcomed family members into the household. Sweetie should be more gracious as she was the last to join the tribe, but truly, she never got along with Karma or Voodoo. There was always the possibility of a scrape, but the house is big enough for everyone to have their territory. Eventually.

Bailey is young, a teenager. Won't be two until sometime late next April. A bottle baby. He seeks to insinuate himself everywhere.

Salem, the black and white female, is more elusive, but beginning to show herself for moments at a time. That business of her climbing onto my bed...I think she might have forgotten where she was. Do cats sleepwalk? She hasn't appeared upstairs since.

Sweetie continues to moan and sulk.

I am absorbed by the impeachment hearings on TV. I would much prefer the earth open a firey mouth and just swallow him up, but I'll settle for the law taking him down, lawfully.

I'd really love comments from some of my international readers regarding this.