Treading time

Clear to me now. These are some desperate procrastination. Busting out the art when I'm not handling the grown-up details. 

Ain't it the way?

-book four and another are resting like dough. (How long can one get away with that dough thing?)

-There's a shitpot of cloth and thread standing by. 

-A flying wedge of Wandering Hearts.

So much art that needs to be looked at again, hard. If it's held up, there needs to be some serious marketing.

-There are three books waiting to be combed for cooties once again and then resubmitted to KDP, a scary process these days.

-that will and TOD-likely spendy.

-Bite the tax bullet. Not my first  IRS rodeo.

A tarot practice waiting for its moment. tapping its toe.

What did I do? Finish this one with another episode of Stanley Tucci-Searching for Italy on MAX. It's been a long time since anything on TV was that entertaining. Springsteen on Broadway or Hamilton-level entertaining.

I'll take an item from that list over coffee tomorrow. Oh, here's an action item!

 I have a Singer Centennial Featherweight hoping to get some action. Languishing in my closet is just wrong. Email me for the price and details if you have a yen for a sweet running, tiny machine. Case and attachments included.

 

Shifting shades

 

Madame Salem is one of those cats who has a lot of opinions but uses only one sound to express them. Her clipped, breathy "mew" can be annoyed, reproachful, warning...the less said, the better.

I'm in a listening mode myself lately. Less likely to cut someone with my tongue.

It's a winter thing, listening for snow that doesn't fall. Remembering laughter and smiling at the joke. Harkening for those herald angels and the sound of the town plows after midnight.

Or maybe, it's just a turkey hangover. 

Thanks, ds, for reminding me that the Wandering Hearts page needs updating. 

And this thread! Like a summer vacation.  I recently used the last foot of it. Now to dream about how it came to be. I think Deep Space, Pagoda, and Sun Gold in a three-way stretch over some kosher salt. My kitchen is in for some kind of mess in the coming weeks.

Tradition

 Jake and Missy were fabulous hosts for their first Thanksgiving in their new home. Twenty? Twenty-five friends and family,  not counting kids? I lost track. 

 Do you remember this when a gathering got too large? As the eldest of four with a handful of younger cousins, I was always irked with being the head of the kid's table. All I could hope for was that they would eat quickly, not spill their milk, and leave the table. 

With our parents gone ten years now, my sibs, each in their own way, are still working on establishing new traditions and bemoaning the loss of others. My mother's handwritten stuffing recipe got flashed around the internet while I instructed Jake on it firsthand. It was delicious. 

I distinctly remember that my first Thanksgiving at the grownup table was the year of Kennedy's assassination. I think I earned my seat when I  was watching live TV with my dad, uncle, and grandfather and witnessed Lee Harvey Oswald get removed from the equation. 

 I wouldn't call the Thanksgiving table discussion politics exactly. The adult men had somber opinions and hypotheses, but all the women did was try to steer the conversation away from world affairs to local gossip and pop culture. I watched and listened.

This was the first year that I really felt like an Elder. I remember how my grandmother would disappear at midday for a nap at holiday gatherings. I wanted to, but I didn't. I don't want to miss a thing.

I left Danielsville just after sunset and drove home alone arriving well after dark. I fed and coddled the cat crew and conked out early. This devil moon woke me up around two am. 

The clouds parted just long enough for me to grab a few quick and dirty shots and to recognize that I really needed to clean the glass, inside and out.

And speaking of devils, I watched this little heartbreaker flirting shamelessly with a young cousin who, at 20, giggled that he thought she was a teenager. He smoothly performed the "Coin From Your Ear" magic trick for her. Look out world.

Flow

 This is how the river keeps rolling.

 I found this working CD player in Jim's desk. We had an extensive vinyl collection at one time. One by one, the favorites were replaced by CDs. Many of those are deteriorating with age or rough handling, but I had some gems squirreled away. Charlie is charmed by yet another piece of ancient technology.

A decade

 Proof to me that time is not linear. Jim's been gone ten years now. For me, ever-present. Sometimes, I still feel he's just gone to the store and should be home soon. 

Although he was almost always smiling or clowning around, this is a good look at a smart, serious guy staring down some big picture. Making a plan and a backup. He took care and let me be a goofy butterfly.