Dirty threads

 

I was starting to cast my magpie eye on the collection so I put together some sets for other stitchers.

Starting to round up posts for the book.

Milly in the curtains

 I was finding this new linen curtain to be impossible to photograph. Thin cloth that lets the light through seems to be hard for the camera to pick up. 

Then, our Christmas rescue, Camilla, decided she wanted to spy on the new neighbors moving in next door.

Found!

 a clutch of new threads. Up in the closet with several yards of linen still waiting for color. The ones that I wound up on cardboard bobbins before I threw in the towel on that. I'm still sending the bobbins along with the skeins. This time, you get to see the magic when the threads reorganize. 

As you can see, there is plenty to go around. Cloth too. 

As much as I whine here about the temps being just right for dyeing, there are limits. It's supposed to be 102 by noon today.  You'll know where to find me.

My copirate

 

...is away on an adventure one state away. He's visiting with friends of the family for two weeks. Catching up with his best bud since pre-K. 

I sent along some stamped, self-addressed envelopes and told him we would love to get letters. I'm not all that hopeful. Multiplication table practice was also suspended, but I suspect that might be something Maddie might push him on. Make a competition of it.

The quiet and solitude are shocking. The cat crew looks at me with pity as I talk to them. But, alone in the pool today? Heavenly.

Looking forward to driving with the devil and the rock&roll turned up LOUD tomorrow.

Time compressed like a spine

 

It's been a strange and revelatory week. 

Monday thunder sputtered in muggy skies. Everyone, even the cats, was bored, unsettled, and mildly cranky. An outing to the park and library fell through due to the building heat and disinterest. We got home and the heavens opened to bright blue skies. Two solid hours of sunbaked pool time restored us before the rain closed in, cool and soothing. I imagined this was the first day of my retirement. (more about that soon.)

Naps, snacks, and some reading wove the day back together. Charlie read to me from a graphic novel called "Dogman: A Tale of Two Kitties". He gleaned the meaning of words like "intrepid", "specific", "cowardice" and "melancholy" from the visuals and the context. As silly and funny as the story was, it was magical to watch him sink into it sometimes forgetting to read aloud until I said, "And?" 

Then I read a line from my book to him. "Because freedom, I am told, is nothing but the distance between the hunter and its prey." from "On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous" by Ocean Vuong.  

He said, "That's too much for me. Can I go watch some cartoons?" He was right, of course.

Each day, we have leftover dinner for breakfast, Sonic for lunch, and time spent with Legos, stitching, multiplication drills, and swimming. But the days are cramped and restricted by my inability to walk any distance, carry anything significant, or lift anything because of the pain in my back. I am constantly tired because I cannot sleep at night.

At Dee's prompting, I made The Call and lucked into a cancellation appointment with the bone doctor early Thursday morning. Physical therapy was ruled out and we went straight to drugs. Oral steroids, narcotics, and Ibuprophen, with spinal injections coming up soon. Relief was almost immediate.

By noon I was fresh out of flying fucks and feeling no pain. Bless Colin for being on hand for Charlie. Bless them both for giving me the time, space, and peace I needed to reach equilibrium in time to get back in the water, relax and soak up some sun with the Beach Boys serenading us. 

My evening was capped off by the remarkable broadcast of the Jan.6 opening hearing. Anyone who watched has to know that they have been eyewitnesses to history and that what will unfold in the coming days of testimony will be riveting. 

These two pictures were taken just a few minutes apart. Great changes can happen in a very short period of time. Momentous changes.