The Spell

 This piece of cloth is from an exquisitely made Brooks Brothers shirt. I used a magnifying glass to examine the stitching around the tiny little buttonholes on the collar and the places where French seams overlapped with no visible gain in thickness. Miraculous. Every seam perfect.

I put it on to see if it could ever be something I would wear. No. Not quite roomy enough for comfort. Perfect if I had to wear a suit and tie to work each day.  It was hard to decide where to start with the scissors. Ripping it was out of the question the cloth is so tight, so strong.

I'm glad I decided to do this post because I can already see that I don't care for the font or the layout. Too studied. Too tight. Too....Brooks Brothers.  I'll look for another piece of cloth and another hand for the lettering. The spell is the thing.

"He watched as she stalked a wide, slow circle that took her all the way around the car. She was wearing something short and black. Magic again? Without taking his eyes off her, he took off his St. Christopher and hung it from the rearview. Gripping the steering wheel, he leaned forward, mesmerized.

She stopped a few paces in front of the car. Her hands reached for the stars, then she crouched low and brushed the wet grass with her fingertips. No candles, no incense. She spoke into the darkness like it was listening.

Hear me sisters, Fire, Wind, Water and Earth, in all your names and guises.

Light the watchtowers for us. Hold back the night.

I ask cover from all quarters.

Bless us this circle and we within."

from "Prophets Tango"

Words later

Be my touchy.

don't text 

don't call 

no tweets

I want face to face

hand to hand

cheek to cheek

back to back.

But sometimes, words are not necessary.

distraction

In an effort to escape real-life turmoil, I'm prepping for a dye fest this weekend.  I have several dismembered linen and silk blouses (thank you, Joanne) and a few garments that will stay whole for now. 

The thread I ordered six weeks ago was finally delivered and, in time, will be carded for dyeing in smaller batches than usual. I need some blues, golds, greens, browns... 

A gift of vintage linen napkins (thank you, Nancy) will be transformed. I can't recall doing this "bundling" thing before.

Each will yield cloth and thread. Still thinking about how the dye should be applied.  Under these bundles, a circle of heavy, supple linen with all the wonderful fringe that I hope I can "creep" color onto.(thank you, Kitty)

Last, this cloth, strange and wonderful (thank you, Mel). A king-sized flat sheet of some unimaginable thread count.

At first, I though that is for my bed, but as I took it from the dryer it turns out to be the noisest cloth, natural or otherwise, I've ever encountered. What is that crackling? It  sounds almost like it's made of kraft paper. I have no idea how it's going to take the dye. Don't you love a mystery?

And what would I do without all my faithful cloth scouts? I really miss the hunt.

back to the garden

Earlier in spring, there were a few puny buds that barely opened before browning and falling off. I gave up getting any gardenias. 

I went to the library for the first time in three overdue notices only because there were also notices that "Varina" and "Regrets" were finally available. 

The new library guy looks just like Justin Trudeau. What I could see over his mask anyway.  

As I pulled back into the driveway a flash of white caught my eye. There they were, three in bloom and more buds waiting. 

 

Gardenia. The sexiest flower in the garden.

Those feathery leaves are Red Cypress Hummingbird vine. I better go back up there tomorrow with some tall sticks to give them and the morning glory something else to climb on before they all choke each other. 

It's a Jungle up there! 

And in keeping with yesterdays post about keeping our eyes on one another, 

How are you doing? 

Where ever you are in the world, what's the thing you cling to for keeping an even keel to your day?

a week away

Not from home, but here. Many things were happening and I just let the days unfold without thinking about documenting them or sharing.  Nothing dire. Most of it beautiful, engaging and pretty mundane. 

Gifted cloth transformed

Then I started thinking about how I feel these fraught days when online friends go "missing". A vague ache that pushes me further away from the imaginary realm.  

The pool is finally open, to the delight of two of us, so far.

A whole day spent stitching to music. High as a kite on last year's harvest was capped in miraculous fashion by Hamilton. 

I hardly have words to describe it. On reflection, I realize part of my intense emotional responses, rivers of tears both bereft and joyful, were about how much Jimmy would have loved it. 

There have been gifts and letters in the mail and I'm frustrated by not being willing/able to go to the post office. I need to find a way. Putting Colin at risk by having him do all the grocery shopping is bad enough. 

Georgia, along with the rest of the South is a pesthole. We circle our wagons, masking and handwashing like starving raccoons. 

Smoke still in the air after the bombardment of the 4th.