spring cleaning

In the shuffling of stuff, my thread box got dumped. It was overstuffed so it was more like a spew.

Sorting the colors threatened to give me a headache. The colors I gravitate to rarely fix in once camp or another. What I know to be true - how they look on the skein is far from how they look in a stitch. The variables are too many to count.

This tray got more consideration, beautiful blank slate that it is. Got a thorough cleaning for the first time in memory. Jude, you may have had one like it. At SVA, a painting teacher encouraged us to get this large enamel tray and give up the romantic notion of the quaint wooden pallette with a hole in it for your thumb. He was right. 

This tool has Served valiantly. Beyond art, it has brought meals to bedsides and even did a short stint as a sled. Now I think of it as the Make Tray. Yesterday it staged a Lego project.

Nothing moves me.      Yet.

Roomies

 

They make sure I get my rest and keep me company.

Early rolling

 

    

Getting past a 6:15 alarm and the hustle of coordinating Charlie and his gear for a ride to school, I'd forgotten how much I like driving into the sunrise. We chit-chatted in anticipation of my first ever Car Rider drop-off, but the timing was perfect and it went off without a flaw. 

On the drive back I fell into the years-old routine of asking myself a question about a scene then letting answers come with the miles.  It never fails to produce results that just don't seem to come when my butt is in the chair in front of a computer. Stop-light notes scribbled on junk mail and receipts get it done.

change for the good

In 1979 we invested in half a house full of This End Up furniture. It has proven to be enduringly practical and ugly. This little footstool has been a plant stand for years. With nowhere to go, I brought it into the studio gave it sliding feet and a new cushion covered with a hand-dyed, mid-thirties Italian linen towel. Cloth, get to work!

The blending of the two southern branches of the Lacativa tribe is underway.  Going forward, our schedules - work and school - will make us mostly ships passing in the night. The rearrangement of things has been revelatory. The expression "death cleaning" is apt. Death of Sloth in my case. 

I threw away 4/5ths of my so-called wardrobe. Those who know me also know that I wear clothes until they are dead. Very little of what I gave up was fit for Goodwill where much of it came from in the first place.  It's time for some new duds come summer.

 

And Summer was delivered, as promised. All the colors of the sun plus a wisp of dusk.

 

This demon found refuge in my personal stash of cloth, He's annoyed because today I removed all the good stuff from the tub and replaced it with a worn old blanket. He knows.

It's nine days since I tested positive. The lingering cough I put down to moving years worth of dust and cobwebs from every possible surface. I really should have worn a mask Taste and scent still elude me. Sleep is spotty and dreams are wonderfully cinematic.  Not working until the wee hours every night may have everything to do with that. 

Rock and roll never forgets.

 

Well, well. And I didn't have to google any directions. Just convincing a king flat sheet that it's a perfect pillow case for a twin mattress.