Eight

 

What a treat yesterday was. Away from the house, out in nature. Visiting with people most of whom I haven't seen in over a year, probably more. Family, friends, food in an amazing setting. 

Jake and Missy did an amazing job all around. We will be eating leftover bbq and sides for days which means, everyone had all they could hold at the party.

Lake Hartwell is a good two-hour drive from home but absolutely worth the drive. It's been a while since I've had Jack Flash out on the big road and forgot how easily we ease into 90 miles an hour. And still, there were cars that blew by me so fast, I couldn't tell you what they were! 

Then, off the main road, the map voice took me winding through a few small towns that made me think of 1950's movie sets and endless stretches of fields of (stunted!) corn and those giant rolls of hay.

The water is warm and soft, flecks of mica stuck all over everyone. There were the water people (twice what you see here) and the lawn chair folk up the bank in the shade. Not everyone has gills, but you know where I was most of the time. What a day!

Charlie and I were sharing a giant pool noodle and one of the little girl cousins paddled nearby. I asked him her name, but he gestured broadly and said, "This is my TRIBE." It wasn't so much about a birthday as it was just gathering. Of course, the birthday song was sung with cupcakes all 'round. 

The brand new day

Always, while searching for something else, things I didn't even know were missing coyly show themselves. 

This clutch of misfits was rolled up in a two-foot square of linen spangled with all these colors. 

I was looking for my black Fiskars. They are probably in my purse which Charlie now calls the Black Hole of Calcutta. That called for a lot of internet research. Now to find the purse.

Anyway, I'll divvy these into sets of four and post them to the store after I finished getting those pieces ready for delivery to the gallery on Saturday.
 

Nice that my nails were mostly clean. Pool Life.

Colin's sunsets have a lot of fans. This one is actually a sunrise from one of his overnight stints. I will keep treating each new day as a treasure.

colorwinds blowing updated

A package from Prochem was delivered and I never even opened it until today.  Inspired choices then and now. Then, like always, I tossed them in with all the others to communicate. Get to know each other. Learn to play.

On other days, I'd put some on paper and see how well the names on the labels reflected reality. Too hot out there today. 

We are in high summer now.  Extremes are the rule. Still, it's been the standard fry and steam routine compared to the rest of the county. 

I have to do a little more cloth scouting before I plan a dyefest. I have a lot of that great, lightweight linen, a set of vintage cotton sheets, but I needed some Strange. 

Skeins are being wrapped and readied. 

 This is an AZZBAG. I may have written about this in previous posts but couldn't find any.  Long ago --pre-Internet long ago-- I designed a pattern for making these bags from old jeans. 

Hand drew the diagrams. Hand lettered four pages of directions. Marketed them from tiny little one-column inch ads in the back of various craft magazines. 

People sent me three dollars, mostly in cash. I signed the last page with thanks and mailed them the directions. It was a cool little business that I never pushed beyond the fun level. 

 The "trick" was opening the right seams at the crotch, then cutting and layering them in a sequence that eliminated any bulk and lay flat. 

Used blue jeans went for a few dollars a pair. I lined them with cut-up print blouses, shirts, and dresses --whatever I could find that pleased the eye. I cranked out dozens of these in varying sizes on the old Kenmore and sold every last one at local craft fairs when the boys were little and portable. Because jeans used like this just don't get a chance to wear out, I'm betting there are dozens of these hanging in closets and attics all over Westchester and Putnam county. 

Yeah, those were my favorite levis that I never could get back into after Colin and before Jake. Couldn't wear them, but couldn't give them up so I put them to work with a nice fat quarter of fancy batik for lining and a scrap of print for an inner pocket. (Update. THOSE favorite Levi's had rust and paint stains all over them. Memory Fail. these were Goodwill Jeans refashioned in 2016. No surprise I could make them in my sleep. 

I still love it. It's been holding the dyes for a few seasons but as soon as I can find the right size container for all the pots of dye powder, I'm taking it back and using it as intended. A haul all. the pockets are all deep and functional. The only problem I ever had carrying it was putting too much in it. 

If I ever come across the original instructions, I'll share. I scanned them to digital somewhere around here.

Thanks, Liz. I'll keep looking for the other three pages. I was SO snarky. 

Five to get ready...

The largest of the five, "Cephalopod" is ready to go. All I have to do is measure and cut the rod.  I have two weeks to do the pesky business of making and attaching a few sleeves to pieces that are really small enough for framing and matting. Not out of my wallet, thanks.  
 

The exhibition is called "The Material is the Message" and will be at 378 Gallery from 8/5 thru 8/27.  the address is 378 Clifton Rd. NE, Atlanta GA 30307.

 

As to the business with my back. The doctor gave me three options. I'm going for the most expedient which involves a few more rounds of needles which I am fine with. 

I'm an old hand at administering injections. You never feel another's pain or pleasure, so it's important to watch their eyes.

 Getting injections is an excellent time to practice that out-of-body kind of meditation. 

This picture is both my focus during that mind bend and my goal - walking again. 

One foot in front of another until there is no thinking about it, freeing my mind for other, better things.

sidelined

Somehow, I imagine this is what my spine looks like these days. X-rays and MRIs are so boring. There are a dozen words ending in itus or osis that all relate to the decrepitude of my frame in the doctor's report. 

I used to stand a pretty tall 5'8". Three of those inches are gone, discs and bones all succumbing to disease, age, and gravity. The nerves left behind in disarray are another story. Alive and sparking.

 I don't want to write about pain - too many people suffer horribly and chronically. I'm a hobbyist by comparison, but when the demon bites me, it brings me to my knees. And then I can't get up right away.

I also smile to think what a good drug addict I could be. I warned my doctor that I survived the sixties, so she's already on notice. But I have too much to do to be at the mercy of pain or being out of my gourd.

The garden needs me. My people need me.