My backbones

...according to the MRI and the doctor, are some decrepit shit. 

I won't bore you with all the medical jargon. My own eyes glazed over after fifteen seconds. No Shit!

I'm three inches shorter than I used to be and can hardly stand up straight or walk any length of time. 

The good "But" came next. There is stuff to be done for it that does not involve surgery or shots. Good stuff. Aquatic therapy! (Did she notice my webbed feet and gills, you think?) Chiro, core training, drugs. Did I mention drugs?  

All of this leading to a positive improvement dependent on my diligence. I'm so diligent. So That nonsense dealt with, the audiology tests upcoming and hearing aids likely. I may be ready for the Marines by my next birthday.

Until then, I could not have gotten through this week without the help of my crew, my darlings. I'd hold an award show, but I know how y'all are.

What's real.

 I'm out of practice. Rising before dawn, driving in the dark. He was on schedule even if there was no bus to meet. After a long day of digital school at home,  he was eager to work on his own project. An Idea Jar. 

"Nana. How do you spell ...." 

Jake and I coached him through sounding out 'dance', 'play', 'pretend' and others of his own conjuring as he did his best printing on slips of construction paper.

I could hear the key turning in the lock on the magic trick of reading and writing.  

Five years ago, I watched him take his first steps. This was better by far.

Some fun!

The past year has been hard on everyone. Impossibly hard for some. 

We have a long way to go yet and need to reach out to each other. Things will never be the same and in some cases, right on.

I want to celebrate the changes, the facing forward, and lean into life.

In a small celebration of Spring and other welcome changes, I've dug into my hoard (yes. I have been greedy) and sprinkled in a couple of Bailey's colors and will wrap them in a nice chunk of hand-dyed lightweight linen as a prize.

April Fools, or a day thereabouts when he's in my care, I'll ask my co-pirate to draw a winner. And this time, we are GOING WIDE, as in International entries are welcome. 

To enter the drawing, pop your email in that blue box to be notified when Prophets Tango goes on sale. One entry per email, of course.

If you already have, you're IN this drawing. If you're not sure, email me and I'll confirm it for you. And I promise, no spam and I will not sell your email to anyone. That would be crazy. And if you'd rather not sign up and still want a shot at the goodies, email me anyway.

I know a lot of textilians are also readers. We work hard at balancing our brains. But even if "...a genre-bending romantic saga with a deep twist of paranormal, a hearty dash of thriller, with the heat index on incinerate..." is not your cup of tea, I'll bet you know someone who'll thank you for turning them on to Prophets Tango. 

A good time is guaranteed for all, stitchers and readers alike!

The Bailey Brights

 

Just as I finally got comfortable, he trampled over me like a herd of wildebeest. Stood on my hip. Rumpused up to my shoulder then back to my feet. Sasquatch working a mountain ridge. 

I got up. The day had poured from murky to golden. Headache be damned. 

The new linen arrived earlier and I'd prewashed a big square. I grabbed it from the machine, bundled a double handful of skeins in it and went down to mix some magic. 

Bailey followed. 

This is on him.

the Survivors

 

It was a very mild winter here in Georgia. There might have been a dozen flakes of snow that never made it to the ground. One or two days with the potential for black ice.

A scattered handful days of barely below-freezing weather. 

This grayish-looking thing is a butterfly bush that I bought late in the season. The mailbox garden was already overrun so I parked it in this planter and crossed my fingers. A few of the pansies made it too, tough little buggers. 

Once I get the mailbox garden cleaned up, I'll move the butterfly bush up there to keep company with the other perennials.

This hollyhock was grown from seeds that *someone* sent me years ago. I found the little plastic bag in the bottom of a container and planted them with no idea if they were still viable. 

I'll have to dig it up and move it back. It's literally right at the edge of the asphalt and if it gets as tall as it should, it will block the mailbox.

On the left, the children of Satan, I mean irises. I thought I got them all dug out and re-homed last year. Silly me. 

Righ behind the mailbox is my gardenia, poised to intoxicate me with its fragrance every time I pull up for the mail. It needs shaping and feeding. 

Peonies are just breaking through the soil on both sides of the gardenia. That's Bailey being nasty as I watch!

I confess that all my horticultural attention was focused on the back deck last year. That worked out so well, I won't need to repeat the effort this year and hope to get this little patch back to glory.

It needs topsoil, manure, vermiculite, Miracid for the gardenia. Worms would be good. Coffee grounds and eggshells. Some packets of nasturtium and marigold seeds. My back hurts just thinking about it all.