A Wednesday suspended

 

The strong sunlight called me to dig the river basket out of the closet and take a look. See if anything needed needle and thread.

I took a handful of pictures and kept comparing the captures to the real thing before conceding the exceeding blue-ness of my favorites. What was that about at the time?

Anyway, I was about to pull everything out of the basket when the phone rang. 

Shorty and his sore throat needed to be fetched from school. It was a good day to watch a lot of Larva and We Bare Bears. I drew the line at Pinky Malinky. They talk too much. 

I am so glad to be able to do this. 

2.6.22.

 

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.