A deep dive

 

I

I watched "Maestro". I'll wait a while before I comment on the film.

  

    We spoke once. 

     How many of you can recall how rich and immediate a human voice could be on the phone? Real phones connected by webs and switches of copper presided over by women. The Operators.

 

It was a dark early winter evening. Somewhere in Manhattan I connected a call. Three rings and a woman answered with a curt "Yes?" I sensed a secretary annoyed at having to work late. 

    "I have a person to person call for Leonard Bernstein." I pronounced it exactly like the caller had. 

   The woman said, "Who's calling?"

   That was none of her business because she wasn't Leonard Bernstein and this expensive service would not start earning for Ma Bell until the man himself was on the phone, but I had to be business like about it. 

    "Is Mr. Bernstein available?"

She got the message and clunked the handset down.

   I knew who he was to a point. In 1969 I had little musical interests beyond Led Zeppelin, Santana or the Stones. I had never heard his voice.

  

   "You got me out of the bath. This better be good." Wet or not, he lit a cigarette. His voice was thick and sexy.

    I go pro. "Mr. Bernstein?" 

 "Yes, my dear, put them on but I'd rather talk to you."

    

  How full of snappy comebacks do you think I was at twenty? Zip.

   As trained, I evaporated. Closed the switch, wrote down the time to the second, slotted the punch card, and took the next call. Smiling. 

holiday shopping - not

 

I went to the post office yesterday. Madness! You'd think they were giving away gold bricks instead of making you wait an hour to cough one up! I might go back in a day or two when people give up the illusion of stuff getting where it's going in time for Christmas.

As of today, you won't get any from me in time for Christmas gifting, especially this one which just might slither out of the inventory basket into my own stash. Devil, get behind me.

There are plenty more here and here.

😎And just now, something new. Fancy Bags until they are all gone.

Peace for a moment

It was too cold to go meteor-watching last night, but this was worth the chill. I read that the full moon falls on Christmas this year. There will be better shots.

Jude is a 'fluencer. 

Feathers are everywhere.

When I got home, I settled in to see the last season of the Crown. There was a lot of weeping, while I faked away at these feathers. 

Years ago I pulled swan feathers out of my imagination. This time I came up with feathers from some rough customer. A Harpy Eagle, maybe. 

l'audace

Liz very kindly intuited that this piece was needed at home and I'm very grateful. It's hard to put a finger on all that has changed since I made this one. Much and little.

The part that interests me is that I never loved this piece until it was gone. My mantra during most of the construction was, "Now what the fuck?" Large pieces will get out of hand in a heartbeat if you let technique have its head. Constant control over the design is exhausting when all you want to do is fall into exuberant color beats, make warp and weft go organic, and cover the thing with stitches. 

I have a very large starting point and cast of character rolled up in the closet. Large enough that I'm considering building it with the machine rather than by hand. Either way, I'll be clearing off the design wall soon. Get it underway. 

I can't swear at something until it gets real.

 I wonder if anyone noticed that I cannibalized the unresolved "Firmament" for this one. I lost my way with that one. Summer of 2013. 

                                                                                               

I had all good intentions of getting outside for a few steps, but when this old throw (fresh from the washer & dryer) came out from under Bailey, I noticed it was coming apart around the edges. And Lo! I happen to have a cone of thread that was very close. 

l'audace? I was listening to a foreign movie last night when I fell asleep. It's been a long time since I dreamed in French. Tonight, I'll find an Italian film. 

There was a haircut. Really. Chunks all over the carpet. 

I just didn't go far enough, YouTube videos only show DIY haircuts by young things with stick-straight hair. I had to improvise. 

As dealt

 Choice, chance, and/or change. 

 Maybe I haven't been around enough to know if this is an original layout. If anyone recognizes it, please clue me. 

Regarding no particular question. (Great way to wiggle out a story, isn't it?) All you need is the gift of gab, a Master of Bullshit, with minors in Woo-woo and Sociology. A quick read:

A loss or setback is easier to take if you're not the victim but the instigator of the change. Be open to anything and everything, but guard against overindulging physically and emotionally. That hollow feeling the day after the party only gets harder to shake.