duck and cover days are here

That angular object on the right. We are in the red (deep shit.

unsettled

this lasted mere minutes

Sundays used to have a feel to them. Not that we were ever churchers.

 Food shopping. A meal prepared to be shared by two or four at most. Never strangers. The Sunday New York Times, filled mostly with benign entertainment and destined to soak up bacon grease. Cannolis. An old movie on TV. Some laundry. The prosiest stuff.  All of it wisped away. 

I had to move my car today so I wouldn't be blocked in tomorrow morning. When I got out of the car, the sun seemed wrong in the sky. That Saharan dust being brought down by intermittent monsoon-style rain has affected the light, as if the clouds are too thick, too low. 

I dead-headed the marigolds in that hard light. I was having a hard time accepting that this was Sunday now. The heat and humidity were smothering. Back inside, I collected my wits with some stitching and some reading, then stumbled across this breath of fresh air:                       Wheesht by Kate Davies.

                    

a little late day mayhem

The explosion you hear in the opening seconds, that nearly caused me to drop the phone, was a transformer somewhere nearby. Another loud thing was a great tree falling in the woods somewhere to the left. There's a creek down there and the ground is too wet to hold these big trees in heavy winds. Every year a few more fall. The more I listen to this, the more I suspect there was a baby tornado nearby. That weird wailing noise midway through..no clue.

The power was out when I retreated from the deck. Five hours before it was restored. Even at 5:00pm it was too dark for much but napping.

Weeds galore & more

My mailbox garden needs attention. If it would stop raining or roasting for a few minutes. Maybe tomorrow. 

Last night there were horny does yodeling in the front yard. 

There was also a plumbing debacle around 2am that kept us mopping and plunging (to no avail) until 3. 

Professionals were called first thing and because I was so good at describing the issue (the plumber's daughter) we were passed off to a Jetter. 

Perk up your ears, homeowners with septic systems. This is a new thing halfway between getting the sink snaked and digging up the septic tank. They use high-pressure water into the clean-out trap ( I didn't even know there was one) and all was made well and functional in about twenty minutes. And reasonably, compared to the other two options.  

I am left with the majority of my towels befouled, now outside on the deck taking a drench in this monsoon. I may boil the best and ditch the rest given they are all worn raggedy. 

This is still a long day of work away. Gaskets need replacing from inside. 

A trip to the pool store for a few chemicals - the two feet of water left in it is already a lovely shade of green. But I know how to fix that. 

Saturday. Maybe. It feels like making plans is asking for trouble. 

a thread runs through it

And the Dirty Thread sets I promised are finally posted. 

Most of them, anyway. Some of the pictures came out pretty crappy, so I'll add them in when I get two spare minutes to rub together.

Over the weekend, I finally decided on and committed to a company to design the cover for my novel. I didn't have to be told more than three times that doing my own cover would be a lot like being my own lawyer in a murder trial.

DON'T DO IT!  

Oh, I've made a clever little placeholder (I am so in love with that photo, but I scrounged the original off the web which is a big no-no.) but I'm leaving it to the professionals at Bookflydesign.com . 

I looked at cover design sites until my eyeballs were bleeding. Most went from bad to worse when you specified "romance" or "paranormal". I'm so sick of sweaty, chiseled abs and tattoos I could puke. Somehow I found Bookfly. Here's their portfolio. This is a class act. I traded emails and put my electronic pawprint on a contract. Big step.

As a reward, I gave my self some stitching time this morning. More words lifted from an old song.