My boys of Summer

 

Do overs

 

As tasty as things looked yesterday, about half of the skeins were insipid at best. It was kind of disheartening sorting through them. That blue I'd been searching for fizzled badly. 

The Lesson: Don't buy more dyes than you can use in a season. They lose their potency, some colors more than others. I realized that most of my inventory is three years old, or more.

I don't know if anyone else has noticed, but I keep seeing this color as a theme in movies and TV.  First it was "A Little Chaos" with Alan Rickman and Kate Winslet. Dashes of it everywhere in the costumes drew my eye.

Then the remake of Perry Mason and most recently,  the Bear. 

It's a teal blue, on the dark side, that vibrates on the line between warm and cool the way some people's eyes will. 

I got close. 

(Somewhere between East and West below.)

Overdyeing is risky business especially when all you have to work with are other old colors. I resisted the "more is better" approach and made my choices. It has gone badly in the past. I have thrown away many skeins of pure mud. Today, I'm celebrating. I'm also off to ProChem to look at some new stock.

The Junes take wing

 

Wrapped, rolled, and ready to rock.

I had maybe half a cone of DMC left and decided the time was ripe. Hot, humid, and no inspiration pouring from my own stash.

Right out of the gate, the fates conspired to mess with me. I messed with them instead. The little tub marked RAVEN was empty. Lesson: is the container empty? Throw it out!

Using what I had, I cooked up my own black, as neutral as my internal color wheel could make it.

When it came time to mix three primary colors, I made a point of taking a left at each turn, NASCAR style instead of my predictable course. Once I made enough of each, I used those to set up three complementary colors  - the weird cousins got to sit in.

They look really good at this stage. Crispy. I ran out of salt and had to add sugar. Remember, the crystals are just a means of carrying the dye to the thread. I've read that a little salt goes a long way in pushing the dye molecules into the thread molecules, but you can't prove it by me one way or the other. Not like I'm standing there with an electron microscope and a stopwatch as sweat drips into my eyes.

They are washed, rinsed, and rinsed again. Now hanging in the herb dryer on the high deck. 

I have to keep an eye on the weather because there's no cover anymore. 

It's still hot and humid, but now overcast and I think we are starting to experience some of the smoke from the Canadian wildfires.

I'll be spending the rest of the morning getting the rest of them out to dry. So, good folks who were expecting me to get to the post office today, I'm sorry. But, you will be reaping the benefits of a fresh lot of dyed cloth and thread in your order if you left the choices to me.

And when all was wet and resting, I took my roasted carcass into the pool to dig even deeper into this terrific novel. 

I finished it this morning and I feel like I've stepped out of an old-time cinema where I watched an extended version of "Casablanca" and now I'm blinking in the hot sunshine wondering what year it is. 

A while back, one of my readers commented that Prophets Tango made her feel like she had just discovered the work of author Amy Harmon for the first time. I made a mental note and promptly lost it. 

Last week I was in the library and this was propped up with the librarian's summer picks and I took a chance. Looking forward to reading more of her work.

If anyone has read my book and reads this one, let me know what you think. Colin called it a "Cosmic Coincidence"

A cycle

 

When you can look it right in the face and not call it by its name, it will own you.

So, depression...fuck you. 

Workarounds work. Although I did finish up the last quarter of this right-handed. What is the proper tool or treatment for the backside of something like this? Some kind of iron-on shit? If I decide to sell it, the back will need to be properly finished off, and protected. Then again, I might just save it for my Dixie mink come the cooler weather. 

There will be more in time. Making them is like eating potato chips.

Sunday I met with one of my oldest friends. 

Once a season, we invade a favorite Mexican restaurant and take up a booth for two or three hours. It's a big place. Management doesn't seem to mind.

 It's good to have common ground to chew over with a smart, pragmatic woman. She said (something like) all the world leaders need to drop dead and their wives or daughters take up the jobs. Shit will get fixed properly, quickly, and equitably. We are team Jack Smith.

She reminded me of Gratitude and how it is the best antidote for any brand or level of self-pity. 

This bit of linen got into the writer's bag as a towel for drying my fingers before I handle the phone or paper. It seems to have a story, but for now, it's just going to serve. 

I feel a little bad mocking Salem when she is in the throes of catnip intoxication. Dignity to the wind! Also jealous. When I'm this stoned, I need to be on the carpet and stay there for the duration. 

Another fabulous sunset by my firstborn who is about to turn 43.  My first, and biggest gratitude is for both of my sons. 

Lefty to the rescue

 

I always wanted to do my hair in a French braid, but had no clue how to go about it. Then, one day, I was at the doctor's office waiting to get blood drawn for something forgotten and the technician had to kneel down to get supplies from a low cabinet drawer. 

Her hair was a rusty brown. Sleek, shiny, and braided to her head from the crown to the ends well past her shoulders. I studied that braid intently. That night, I dreamed about how it was done. 

I can't remember the specifics of the dream, but the next morning I hung my head over the side of the bed, brushed out all the knots, and did the thing. 

The first time I did it so tight, my eyes tipped up at the corners. My sister is a hair professional and told me that I've done is called an inverted fishtail braid. It wasn't like I could see what my fingers were doing. 

Today I gave Lefty a shot at the needle and thread. Give Righty a rest and flex the part of the brain that learns new tricks.

Just the stabbing pavers stitch for now. Slow motion eases the way. It was surprisingly easy enough to be satisfying. I'll save the wrapped rope and knots for Righty.

I have misplaced words during conversations more than I like lately, so I'm pushing the gray matter into new and different situations to keep the grooves from smoothing out. 

I've written a Tarot Spread to be included in the new novel. Haven't named it yet. That will come after I use it for a while.

Meanwhile, slackers abound!