Form and function

I wasn't going to wear this as is, but a lag in doing my laundry called for it. In hand, it didn't have much promise. Then I slipped it over my head.

"Heavenly" might be misconstrued. The funny thing is, if I lived alone I'd still be sleeping naked as I did most of my life. Since Jim passed, I've gotten used to having a little something between me and the sheets. The favorites have about run their course of usefulness. Now this. Soft, airy, just roomy enough without any excess. 

Now I have a template, a perfect fit for me, and the search is on for one or two more of these elegant, simple tablecloths. I'll measure it tomorrow, including the foot and a half that I lopped off. That piece will become the facing on a robe I'm working on. 

This is the only seam. I overlapped the two edges and left a few inches open mostly because those hemmed edges fell open like flower petals. Just enough. 

I stared long and hard at the array of fancy stitches the Janome had to offer. Test drove a few and settled on this one for its clean functionality. Of course, I had no white thread so I went with the pale blue rayon which won't be obtrusive if it refuses the dye. You never know. 

I cut off one edge, doubled, for the shoulder straps. Left them wide and comfortable. Pinned them into place before committing to the spacing, front and back.

I'm still going to dye it. 

Me, all pleased with myself just before a summer cold fell on me like a starving hyena.

Home from away

 

The days swung between stultifying and glorious. Giddy and melancholy. 

We ate crap and watched every damn episode of Futurama. Loitered in the library and discovered that Hardee's is the bomb. Politics and the Olympics spiced each day.

Do you remember being over summer vacation and unwilling to admit that you were looking forward to going back to school?

I have been reminded. 

The birthday party was a huge success. The house and grounds buzzed with youngsters like so many dizzy hornets.

This was the best day. We paddled around and he narrated a sci-fi screenplay on the fly. Zombies and all. 

Minute by minute I was reminded of my purpose, much more than in loco parentis. I have magic to share every moment I can spare. All else is dust.

I have a lingering case of ennui that I hope to solve tomorrow by cleaning MY neglected pool. The cats have forgiven me. 

Be of use

 

It was overdue and I was determined to find my black scissors. So far, they are still lurking somewhere else in the studio. But much of this cloth has gone into the scrap basket. 

I also uncovered a tablecloth I set aside from the Things To Be Dyed because of its perfection. Linen, maybe five by six feet. Hemmed to perfection on all four sides. Flawless. 

 

Without a pattern or template, I held it to myself, measuring neck to cuff just imagining the easiest path to what I had in mind - something to slip on after a shower or the pool. Construction was purely functional. 

What I was really looking forward to was doing some embroidery or applique on it. A blank canvas for unknown hours of mindless stitching. Foiled again.

The cloth said "No!". Linen, only a shadow thicker than cotton lawn, but the thread count is so tight and dense two layers laughed at my attempt to draw a needle through it. I think it's called Handkerchief weight. After I hand-hemmed it with silk, I decided that floor length is a foot too much. After I chop and rehem it, I'll use the excess for some pockets and an eyeglass loop. 

I also took one of those heavy cotton top sheets and started cutting it for a simple kimono. Both garments will be attending the next dyefest. All this white reminds me of a Korean funeral. Also reminds me that I'm a slob. If I'm wearing white, it's a given the menu will include ketchup, spaghetti or bbq sauce. 

All the sweet

The Grove. Still no great drifts of color. The three small ones have always been puny even before I stopped giving them the annual scalping. I have to do some research about them. What to feed them and when. Surviving as they have on dog piss and Georgia clay, anything has to be an improvement. Did I mention, that this is the pet cemetery? Karma, Voodoo, Orion, and Sweetie are there. 

I try to keep clean water in that little pan. Very glad of the daily rains.

My prime day haul was a new tent! Now if I can just keep on top of releasing the corners if big rain is due. 

The tulip tree is already starting to shed its weaker leaves. 

Yes. 10 wide. I should be able to walk on water, but no.

These are just some of my favorites. While I was working with the bottom one this morning the END of a short story I've been working on made itself known, as rich and simple as a skein of thread.

Now to breathe life into into the bones.

The events of the last few days prove that nothing is set in stone for our country. I will tend my own gardens with one eye on the horizon. Karma will have her way.

 

Storm chasing

 It rained hard for about twenty minutes. Not enough, after all these weeks of hot and dry. The crepe myrtles are just blooming. For the first time in a decade, South and East have hot pink and fuschia clusters. The first and largest, North, will break out in a white crown that will last all summer. Little West, closest to me, I can't remember it blooming but the only color left out there would be lilac. 

All over town, businesses and public parks favor the rich, dark red. Some lean berry red, others, fresh blood. Lawrenceville calls itself  "Crepe Myrtle City".

Jim planted these on the points of the compass so I could

"Do witchy stuff". Naked. In the dark. 

My man was a lot of fun. 

The weather radar promises this will be an all-night rain. My favorite kind.

The garden pots on the dye-deck have been neglected. 

I never did a cleanup after the last dyefest. The dye powders are safe inside. Everything else - the shakers, spoons, table moppers - is right where I dropped it. 

All will be fresh tomorrow. 

~~~

        I breathe "O    Shun" and the rasp of saltwater flashes through me.

Slow rollers, black with weeds, furl out across the beach. 

Crabs cussing

scuttle back to the waterline

or decide to stay and stink.

From a cottage away, cigarette and meat smoke. 

A woman steps out the back door, slips off her wet suit, and hangs it on the line.

She doesn't yet know how sunburnt she is.