Saturday raft, updated.

As ever, I've got mine, but this time, only tentatively. I need to go through my thread box and evict some non-starters who are taking up space. Or maybe think about a secondary thread box? No. I need boundaries and that seems like a good place to start. Out with the old, in with a few new.

The four table moppers were out in the elements for a whole week. It was a very soft, worn damask tablecloth that I cut into quarters to cover the table with nothing hanging over the edges. They have me thinking about flags.

It's been warm. Anything that loves the sun is taking full advantage. There's a box of dirt out there that's bursting with nasturtiums. All summer I couldn't get any to grow. Late bloomers reaching for life.

I'm a little sad right now. Jim's truck is on its way to its next life. I put the story here.

A perspective

 I'm elevating, icing, off it, and taking the cat's ass cure. I've never broken a bone in my life. Guess it shouldn't come as a surprise that structural damage, even this minor, should come with high-intensity pain.

 I'm a thrasher at night if the bedding tells any tales. Every movement seems to involve using that foot for leverage and touching anything with it sets off seismic waves of pain. 

This inability to rest, to escape, sent me on long, violent mental tangents. I'm a writer with a gift for sex and violence and nobody was having any fun, so I'll spare you the details. 

That thought train led me to think about the outliers. Those who have been quiet for a while, the behind-the-scenes players from both camps. I have not watched TV or spent more than seconds on the web since I lit up my phone sometime in the night and that greasy visage filled the screen. It might have been the latest Vanity Fair cover. Without media influence, I thought about:

-- Biden is still president and Harris is still VP. With polling as it was, I believe contingency plans for this bad outcome have been ready since Biden stepped aside. SCOTUS, however unintentionally, has given the sitting president carte blanche to do whatever it takes to prevent the worst of the shitstorm Trump thinks he can whip up. No, he will not be able to shit-can civil servants if they don't kiss the ring. No, he will not be able to use military force against citizens on American soil. There is probably more that never occurred to me. 

Also, the Shitweasel has accomplished the MAGA objective, the syphilitic tool. He is no longer useful, in fact, an embarrassment. All he can do now is cause them problems. 

If he doesn't live to be sworn in, you'll be sure that JD Vance has a solid alibi. Why, Donold might think Melanoma owes him a celebratory BJ and she'll show him how a hat pin enema works. Anything could happen and when it does, I'm rather sick of the word "unprecedented". 

Something I've learned in the past year (unrelated to politics entirely) is that I will make myself physically ill if I dwell on the enemy. Serious hair loss, hives, and pest headaches came from a long spell of "kill the enemy" thinking.   

Don't know if the Buddha actually said it but holding on to anger is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die couldn't be more apt.

I've gotten that under control (mostly) and have extended it to how I'm handling this latest insult to my mental well-being. 

The dye deck is a perfect embodiment of the mood of half the country. Those table moppers have promise, though. And I still get first dibs. 

the days ahead

I assured him that there were enough good people to keep this shit from happening.

Now, I don't know what I'll say, but you can bet he'll be finding the news and judging those who chose greed, fear and hatred yesterday. 
 

Which liar will hold that book so he can curse it further with his touch? 

It's a long time until January, Karma. What's the holdup? 

And to frost the shit cake of this day, I just broke or dislocated my right little toe. No pictures. A good cry didn't amount to much relief.

 Update, the doctor was glad she did not need to a reduction, closed or surgical. I probably did it myself at the time it happened. But the x-ray revealed that the second bone was broken. The solution as I thought, tape the flapping toe to its neighbor. Elevate. Ice and stay off it for a few days. Not going to pick up the drugs today. Maybe tomorrow.

The wait

And now, we wait.

I am put in mind of a time when I was bringing home a rather shitty report card.

We almost always sat in "our" seats on the Giant Yellow Limos, those few of us peons who didn't have cars. 

Our small-town Slim Shady sat across from me directly behind the bus driver. I think he was trying to learn how to drive a bus. Such would be a pinnacle of achievement for him other than stealing one.

I was slumped in my seat trying to unsee the failing algebra grade. He lifted the flimsy document out of my fingers, found the source of my misery, and handed it back to me.

"Smile. Ain't fuck all you can do about it now."

Harvest

See the watchers? Both of them dangling off the edge of the deck, working my last nerve.

When I was finished, each shelf was filled.

Two thousand yards of thread out there.

Lessons!

-Use more dye. Be profligate. 

-give the threads a head start. Put them in the (warm) sauce, then mix the colors.

-make the sauce stronger. A whole cup to a gallon.

-Nothing goes into the washing machine. 

Handling the skeins after they've batched for a day requires patience and a delicate touch. Cold, hot with Dawn, Cold, Hot, Cold. Small groups of like-ish colors. Very gentle handling underwater. It's like handling cooked pasta and not breaking any noodles. I really need to film this part. It's not brain surgery, but, go hasty and you'll wind up with a nest of snakes.

There are some very eclectic shifts in this lot.

On my way home from Jake's this morning. Red has been watching me come and go almost weekly for two years. I double tap the horn and more and more, she looks up from her munching. 

This morning, I stopped and she came to the fence. I want to bring her some carrots. It bothers me that she looks underfed. A few yards to the left the driveway is guarded by two large flags. One that we salute. The other, a national shame. 

I told him we needed a joint selfie. 

What were you doing?

Looking into your soul. 

And?

He laughed.

It was nice to eat someone else's cooking. 

My ofrenda needs more flowers. And a beer, some chips, and some cat cookies.

I have traded in Halloween for the Day of the Dead. 

I would rather buy flowers for the late Beloved than cheap candy for total strangers.