finding the horizon

I've known for a while that, as one ages, injuries take longer to heal. Illnesses, even nonsense like a cold, take longer to get over. 

This also seems to hold true with emotional doldrums, upsets, or other internalized grievances be they real or drummed up. There is no easy fix. 

I know all the steps and I'm taking them. These days the steps are necessarily shorter, so results seem further into the future than I care to look. 

So, I do what I have always done my whole life. Watch my steps. When I was a teen there were several injuries. I raised hell poorly.  The nurse who gave me bad advice on how to use crutches was adamant. "Watch your feet."  

Good advice was hard to come by once you were out of the ER with everything mostly intact. The follow-up with physical therapy should have included, "Now that you are healed, watch where you are going." There wasn't any PT. I didn't learn to keep my eyes on the horizon until I was driving (legally) many years later. I wish I could remember who said that. I owe them.

As of this moment, I'm looking ahead. Baby steps. No retreat.

To quote our friend, "Just Going".

The eye candy? I bought the marble maze off of FB marketplace. With a little discernment, a great way to score cool stuff and help your neighbors out of their hoarding. I love playing with this as much as Charlie. He has his at home. This set stays with me.

His love of and initiation into good music continues. At a mere nine, he doesn't seem to have the pre-Christmas frenzy that some kids fall into. He hasn't asked me for anything in particular so I will have to come up with something. Be creative.

I broke my featherweight out of the closet to dust and take better pictures. Of course, I threaded it up and test-drove it a bit. The stitching as smooth and dependable as ever. 

I read somewhere that some quilters can look at a quilt and tell that it was done on a Singer Featherweight. I believe it.

I went as far as dipping into the cloth closet to see if there was anything that called me to complete it. There were several. Two machine-pieced tops ready to be sandwiched, backed, and quilted. A big tub full of bits and pieces of commercial prints that I used to work with before I took up dyeing. Yes, that long ago. But nothing grabbed me by the hair, so I'll stay with the plan to sell it. Email me if you want details or more pictures. 

#13 

Hearts are flexible if you meet them halfway with a little care and attention.

As promised

 There was no rest for the wicked today, but there'll be a party tonight! 

Among many other useful things accomplished today, the Wandering Hearts are in the Gallery. 

And our outdoor Christmas lights are up! The ones I never took off the mailbox garden last Spring when my elderly neighbor said they lift her heart last thing before she goes to bed at night. 

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.