prospecting

    If you've ordered cloth recently, a big batch of orders left the PO on Monday so...soon.  Thank you all. This is a first, selling out thread and cloth.

    Spring and spring cleaning are here. I would love to take an old-fashioned junking expedition. Heading out on a Saturday morning and stopping at every yard sale sign I see. Carry cash and maybe even dicker a little. 

    

    Many years ago, my friend Barb and I would plot a course from the garage sales listed in the most current Pennysaver. Remember those? I honestly don't remember what either of us was prospecting for. It wasn't cloth. Our tastes in most things were diametrically opposed. She went for what I call Americana Kitsch and I looked for Bizarro & Sorry I Bought it a Week Later. 

After a rather wasted (in more ways than one) day, we headed back to her place at dusk. A few streets from home, a big yard sale was long over and the unloved stuff was piled on the curb to wait for the garbage man.

     She just had to have a large platform rocking chair with overstuffed cushions. There was also a big box of hundreds of empty aluminum film canisters. You know the kind. So, something for each of us, but the chair would not fit into the trunk of my car. We tried. As big as the trunk of a '53 Chevy is, the two of us could not lift and turn the chair in a way to make it fit. 

    

    So we did what people did back in the seventies. We sat on the curb and split a joint to consider the problem. There was a coil of nylon rope in the trunk and somehow we decided that this chair would survive being dragged behind the car for a few streets.

    The streetlights came on. The mosquitos found us. We roped up the chair and turned the radio up loud to drown out reasoning and headed for her place. She was nattering on about our route for the Sunday sales and I forgot I was dragging a hundred-pound chair and picked up speed to all of twenty-five in this asphalt-paved residential neighborhood. 

    

        "Stop!!" she yelled. The dregs of another failed yard sale were heaped on a curb and she wanted to check it out. I jumped on the brakes and the Chair launched itself into the air to crash into the implacable steel bumper of my two-ton Chevy. I had also forgotten the box on the roof while we were figuring out how to transport the chair. 

    At the sudden stop, the box flew forward, hit the hood, and dumped hundreds of tinkling little metal canisters rolling into the street. Porch lights popped on from both sides of the street. I cut the rope, jumped back in the car, and we took off, giggling until our guts ached, the dead chair and hundreds of twinkling metal eyes in my review mirror.

Simpler times.

scrapped updated 3.27

 

....all gone.

If you ordered scraps in the last week, they are on their way! Post Office said arrival for all on this Thursday or Friday. 

While I was making these up, I kept seeing pieces and looking the other way while the HAND snuck another little gem into the River Basket. To prevent this, I closed my eyes and stuffed bags full by feel. There are nine or ten left.  Here's the store link.

I have some new vintage scouts working in the field! Looking forward to warmer days and bigger messes out on the dye deck. This will be my first dye season since I retired from the day job. It's going to be interesting. I'll be doing a lot more documentation, maybe even some videos. Tutorials? A book?

 I don't know yet. Still thinking it all through.

Studio time

 

Look at this little crazy. Giving it her all even if her pot mates are on death's doorstep. They really need to be repotted in some real dirt and put outside in the shade so I can ignore them. The best treatment for cacti in my experience. 

 

I'm still mulling over how disturbed to be over this. 

You can't see it from this angle, but I laid out the lettering with a silver Prismacolor pencil - it erases easily from cloth. The next letter where the needle sticks up is a lowercase "a".

I drew it completely backward. 

Am not now, nor have I ever been, dyslexic.

store update:

There is still some cloth from the 2022 dye sessions. More new cottons and lightweight linen than vintage or damasks, but still rich with color and textures.

I've abandoned the square yard fussiness in favor of expediency. Back to stuffing the 6x9 poly bag full. I have about a dozen left, so SALE.

away sweetly

 

This cloth has been hanging on the design wall patiently waiting its turn. Could be it never gets cut up or incorporated into a larger thing, it's so strong and singular all on its own.

Look down there in the foreground at the little Christmas cactus playing at being an Easter bunny.

                 ~~~

I went "up country" on Sunday to stay over and spend the day with Charlie because they had no school on Monday for some administrative business. It was a welcome break. It's a shock seeing him after two weeks he's growing so fast. We've dispensed with the booster seat but there is still a wicker basket of toys and other crap in the back seat.

Sunday night another rainstorm blew through but Monday was glorious. He wanted me to time him running around the house with the stopwatch on my phone. Lucky me hit the camera button instead. 

All the neighboring herds were out enjoying the new grass. Sheep, cattle, cows, burros, horses. You can hear them from time to time mooing. 

Earlier in the day we had Poker 101 instead of boring math practice. Still, there was money involved. Adding, subtraction, probability, odds. He is discovering that math is in everything one way or another.

Hilariously, he learned to bluff accidentally and I learned that I have zero poker face.

 Sunday afternoon poker was a family tradition at my house. I joke that I was raised in the Church of the Inside Straight.

My family moved to the country when I was seven. Each Sunday my relatives would come for lunch and spend the afternoon into dinnertime playing nickel/dime poker around the kitchen table. Ballentine beer and the air blue with cigarette and cigar smoke. My Dad was a Charlie as was his father.

My Mom scuttled around the players in the tight kitchen cleaning up after dinner. My grandmother took over the TV in the living room. Kids were banished from the kitchen, but I had mastered the art of sitting quietly and was allowed to perch on a stool behind my Dad or my uncle and observe what was usually a friendly game. 

Holding a lame pair of sixes, my Dad leaned back to confer with me, silently. Stay or fold? Me, ever the wise guy, pushed a dime from his pile into the pot. We won that hand, but I was never allowed to sit in and play on my own. That would have been too much acknowledgment for a girl child.

Somehow, that distance was important to my understanding of the game, the people, and that my place would not be in their world in just a few years. 

Charlie and I laughed and learned as we went along, hand after hand. Later, I found a high-stakes poker tournament on TV and waited for him to spot the difference. He could tell that even with their poker faces on, they were anxious, and crabby even the big winner. On his own, he picked up that professional gamblers had flushed all the fun out of the game.

We went out to play.

Springing

Well, there's a familiar sight.

This view from the stitching chair is a bit more cramped looking but much more functional. Big J is plugged in and ready to rock.

A pre-dawn thunderstorm had the cats trampling me out of my dreams. Just as well. Stuff to do and traveling later today. 

The greening is on us and I have a bunch of new seeds for the woodchip pile. The area needs to be tossed a bit with a rake and some stubborn shrubs taken down to their roots first.