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It got hot here. Not as much humidity as we have near my swamp, but the cicadas told the tale. Jake and Charlie have a great workaround.

That bird was a female Baltimore oriole. 

It's good to be home.

The cloth and thread that I left to dry on Sunday have held the "wet" promise. Vivid and varied. 

Now, sorting, photographing, uploading....all that tedious stuff as I can make time for. Life. 

     Until I can get all of these into the store, if you trust me to choose four thread colors for you, I will add them to a full baggie of scraps for you. Email me for details.

Workspace away

This is my workspace for this week.  It faces west so later in the day, retreat to indoors is necessary. 

There is just enough breeze to evaporate your sweat and cool your skin. The wind chimes on the far end of the porch barely whisper.

It's tranquil here. A distant rooster or cow now and then. Mourning doves and other songbirds, but mostly deep stillness. 

Now I know what the real cure for tinnitus is. Quiet, dressed in quiet, and carrying a bouquet of quiet.

A bird I've never seen, pale orange with dark tail tips just flashed by. No clue and no inclination to find out. He lives around here. I'm only visiting.

Charlie is in a very brief summer school program. I drop him off at nine and retrieve him at noon. Then we hang out. I'm soaking it up because, after this week, I'll have to schedule time around camp to see him.

 

The words are like stitches. One by one, they add up to a sentence, a passage, or a scene. The overall picture is still forming, but the groundwork has been laid. 

Starting from scratch

 

The day rolled up hot and loud shouting, "Don't waste me!"

There were some threads measured, waiting. A few linen garments dismembered earlier. A fat handful of old damask napkins. Shockingly large when I shook out the ironing. A sad khaki hobo bag that I bought a few years ago. A fat hank of 70/30 silk/cotton, all waiting.

The colors? I didn't know what I wanted. I sorted all the dyes into primary groups, turned the labels away from me, and went from there, again holding back the Raven. 

We need rain, but it won't come tonight so I'll be hand rinsing all of this early tomorrow. Then packing for a week away. 

If you've placed a request recently, forgive my poor follow-thru. Life and family had to come first. I will hold your place in line and the store will be replenished for you to take a second look.

The dyedeck gardens have run wild. Sacrifices may have to be made. Why do I keep growing mammoth sunflowers in pots? 

The linen table moppers are going to be fabulous by the end of the season. There will be discharging and soy wax work along the way, otherwise it will all become mud.

I rolled some of the threads into linen bundles to see how wet batching works as opposed to leaving the hanks in the sun to poach fast.

The thread ran out pretty quickly so I  turned to some old-school techniques for the remainder of the cloth. The mason jars were ecstatic.

Buttons will be salvaged. Seams will be picked. I'll have some time on my hands in the upcoming week. Not here, but I love how cloth is so portable.

The neighbor's magnolia trees are in full bloom. The scent stops my train of thought, but it brought a memory. Tomorrow is my wedding anniversary. Jimmy would sit on the couch in the living room where he could see me working on the deck. Sometimes he would step outside and say "What you were grinning over. Which one? Yes!" 

They rest

 

Karma, Voodoo, Orion, and Sweetie.

~Sweetie

 She snuck into our lives fourteen years ago.  Sly little minx flying a false flag of Sweetness. It was a ruse!

She put on her lipstick and falsies and charmed her way into our hearts.  After she made us her own, she asserted her true Tribe of Tiger self.  Large and in charge.

Always watchful and ready to take up arms. She never bothered to learn "soft paws" and spent a lot of time sharpening her tools and drew blood casually. She and Voodoo were a fierce team of hunters; the Ghost and the Darkness.

Meow was beneath her dignity. Some cat owners will understand "Blurpt? which could mean, "Where have you been?" "When is dinner?" or just "Hey, Mom." She also had a big block purring engine and loved a good scratch as long as you didn't get too personal.

She was also my closest companion after Jim passed. She heard it all. Sorrows and joys, first drafts and confessions. Little Priestess between me and my coffee cup right up until her last day.

Last week I wrote a post bitching about the cool and damp. The same day I granted her a reprieve. From that day until her last, on the 30th, we had a string of days with the most perfect weather and I spent them outside with her doing our version of metta, open to the universe and the truths. 70 degrees, blue skies with just enough puffy clouds to keep the temperatures windows wide open. No AC. Low humidity and gentle breezes carried the scents of magnolia, gardenia, and jasmine. Moving slowly as comfort required between the warmth of the sun or a patch of shade.

At day's end, I would carry her up to my room to watch fireflies from the high deck and listen to frogs and owls signaling after sunset then sleep beside me. One perfect day after the next. Days so fine and rare in this hot and humid state they should be named like hurricanes. 

From now on, I will call such days Sweeties.