family

 

Mothers, you will wear your heart outside your body for the rest of your life. And beyond.

from the flight line

In just a few moments, everything can change. 

Dirty thread boogie

 Big reveal when it lands.

I paved the work surface with sections of cloth- linen,  cotton, silk- under the threads so they get the blessing, the grace, of color too. The process can be directed, not controlled.

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    Update: early returns!

shimmer days

  

I love this view of my deck garden. Just a couple pieces of trellis nailed up quick and dirty but the hyacinth vines have taken over. The moonflowers didn't germinate. The indigo didn't come up. The tomatoes got eaten as fast at they formed. 

Everything else, the giant mother lavender and thyme, the lantana and purslane are vigorous and I rooted a stem from my gardenia up in the mailbox garden. Have to start a couple more before it's too late.

Next year, some extra panels on the south side with strings for the vines to creep over. A bower.  

This piece of cotton was a table mopper in the last dyefest but it has some soy wax on it here and there. I just don't have the time/energy to mess with boiling this piece. Just hang out there for a while. See what happens. Maybe ants are partial to soy wax.

This was Wednesday. I was (and continue to) struggling with an epilogue for the book. Say too much? Not enough? What points to wrap up and what teases to lay down.  

I've gone back to writing first thing in the morning and it's a delicious practice that I won't let slip away again.

As you can see, the lifeguard is pretty much done with this job for the summer.

spinning the tale

 This was once snow-white. Part of a bridal trousseau. Italy, c. '30s The fact that it seems to have been never worn, creamy now with time, hints at heartbreak. 

It's made of the finest cotton lawn, delicate, yet still strong. Ankle length. Once I pulled that satin ribbon from under the spider webs of lace under the bustline, it might fit me, so she was no sylph. A woman of substance. But I won't put it on. Won't ever wear it.

Cursed? Perhaps. This would have been the last layer between the blushing bride and her husband. 

Did he leave her at the altar?

Did he die in the war?

What tragedy befell this bride?

That will be part of Angel's story.

I'm going to put this away in the closet for some time.

The tiny slip stitches securing the satin ribbon in place. I actually put this through the washing machine. The other half of the ribbon is in there somewhere. 

These two tiny buttons are all that secures the shoulders.