Saturday

My sleep/wake cycles have been sacrificed to family duties for a few days. I keep asking myself if this is Sunday.

Charlie stayed overnight Thursday. All the cats see these sleepovers as an invitation to Circus. With all four of them, kid and cats, in my bed I got about two hours of sleep. I dropped him off at a friend's house for the day on Friday and was home by mid-morning. A twenty-minute nap turned into two hours and that awful "what day is it?" lost weekend feeling that persisted through my shift at work.








Saturday dawned sharp and cold. The sunlight by itself almost too harsh to work by so I balanced it with the task lamp, but I was restless. Couldn't settle into a stitch or sequence. There was editing to do and reading for a friend.

I'm resigned to let this take it's sweet time to manifest. Let it rest and not get obsessive with progress.

Gifts came. The best kind. On the bottom, a long-coveted treasure from afar. Thank you!

Colin is busy reclaiming the living room from a cluttered hoard. "Cutting for Stone", I thought I'd lost. Yet to read and want to.

The two books on the top of this pile were from deep in our disordered stacks. I'd say they've come from beyond, including a note, a slightly delayed valentine. One of my first Tarot books and Marcus Aurelius' Meditations, provenance unknown. The note was between them.

love, always

rounds

A different kind of orb.
I've started to cut away small portholes in that vast sea of green.

Sometimes there's something good underneath, sometimes not. Then I have to fiddle something into the hole.

The messages are falling into place: my characters are speaking to each other again and I am eavesdropping and making notes.

full and frosty

After yesterday's wind and rain, the temps fell. And fell.

It snowed on and off all day. Just enough to make your eyes dart around. Nothing stuck of course. Snow always gives me homesick, Christmas feels.

My tarot cards will get a waltz with the moon later.

No fear

It's interesting how some people seem to be afraid of secret messages. Rest assured, if I have something important to add to the conversation, I will stoop to crude language at a third grade level to accommodate those who need it.

 In the meantime, I watch my country try to eat itself alive . Notice the word "try".

I believe that the oppressors will choke to death on their own agenda because there are far too many good people who oppose the self-serving ugliness of the current administration.  Those who support that evil agenda will forever bear the stain of their fear and greed. We see you.

What to do? Only what one person can, one moment to the next. Be kind. Vote. Keep your knives sharp.

partial fresh starts

Just a scrap from the floor while I was rummaging through a pile of finished pieces. Still wanting to take some to the copy place to make prints.

Just a scrap but it has magic.

It was so warm out today. If I had believed the weather report and planned for it, I could have dyed thread!

As it is, I'm going to be pilfering from my inventory tomorrow for whatever greens I can find.
The work in progress is needing a lot of green.

And thrilled to have finally found my six-inch maple hoops. I started updating the holiday tablecloth back around Thanksgiving. It's been buried under a pile of miscellany since then.

Those starts. I was supposed to NOT watch the news today. Instead, I watched and listened to history as Adam Schiff gave his stunning summation to the senate.

I did get out and walk the back trail at Ron Reagan park. A whole seven-tenths of a mile if their signs are to be believed. Next time, I need to bring my own folding chair .

mending life

Taking charge of things that I can affect in real time.

I've donated, made calls, and will vote. Other than that, I'm  out.  Social media outrage, no matter the platform, is a waste of time. It's certainly no place to get valid information.

I know who my people are and will stay in touch.

This is one of my Dixie Minks, really no longer fit for wearing in public, but it's like a favorite cardigan. The right elbow was worn through and there was a "lose your glasses" hole in the chest pocket. Fixing it up was time well spent today. Worthy.

catching up the week

Shocked? Don't be. I won't have a gun in the house for a lot of reasons, but it's good to know that I can use this tool should the situation arise. The bullets were expensive and look like jewelry. Crows would steal them.

This was my first time firing a real handgun and it was pretty much as I expected. Noisy, even with ear protection, and pretty quickly, boring. You can't see it in this image, but I got him in the carrot. That is a dead snowman. I have half a box of bullets left over.

I asked for a .45, which is rather large, but I have big hands, and this was the gun I used in a scene in my book. I also needed to know if it could accidentally discharge if dropped and had that confirmed by a very knowledgeable person.

I think I know why fake gangstas hold their guns sideways. They have no intention of shooting anyone, just making a lot of noise.

This morning I was reminded of the magic of making reprographs of finished work. Maybe a trip to Fedex/Kinkos over the weekend to make some prints from new work.

Note to self - do not forget masking tape for removal of cat hair, etc. This method is SO unforgiving of the messy life of a studio.

And (drum roll, please) my editor finished reading my manuscript and I couldn't be more encouraged to go forward as a self-publisher.

There is still so much to do. I have to convince myself that production and marketing are as absorbing and interesting as writing.

Tall tale in progress.

stitching here and thinking elsewhere

 This piece is evolving around the theme of secret messages. Evolving because I am winging every bit of it. Even the basted substrate cloth has been cut away and shifted as I stitch.
 
To let you in on those secret messages, all of this stitch activity is, for me, a very useful misdirection of brain activity. Others may meditate while stitching, but while my hands and eyes are busy making second by second choices at the warp and weft level, my mind is gathering up the threads of a book I'm working on.
 
One of the devices in the story is a young child who has been taught embroidery to keep her busy and out of the adult's hair. There are strong paranormal and magical elements in the story; irascible ghosts, talking animals, demons walking around in everyday bodies, people possessed by evil. Evil itself writ large and loud, a pillar of his community.
   
The child takes it upon herself to help the afflicted by stitching hidden messages in clothing stolen from clotheslines by her familiar, a cigar-smoking Barbary Ape named Ace.
 
The messages? Simple, childish directives like "sleep good" or "be nicer" go unnoticed until she steps up her game to stronger messages and bigger magic comes into play.  The working title is "The Monkeytown Murders".

It's tough switching between editing one book and writing the next one. Needle and thread are helping me find the way.

Monday derailed

There was no school for MLK day, so Charlie and I made plans.

Plans that were quickly derailed when I heard a funny noise as we pulled away from McD's with breakfast. Fortunately, the flat tire found us in the parking lot and not whizzing down the highway.

Clear and cold outside, I felt full of myself and decided I could still change a tire. What did I tell you, Grace? Get them to manually tighten the lug nuts? Did I follow my own advice? NOT. 
With all of my might, I could not crack any of them. We called Jake, he came and rescued us, and Charlie got a lesson from the guy who matters most.

While we waited for his dad to arrive, Charlie worked on his backseat journal, asking me how to spell this and that. FACTORY.  He printed the letters, frowned, and said, "That can't be right. Are you sure?"

wheels work

And so today, I presented Jumping Jack Flash at Discount tire. Made myself comfy in their immaculate waiting area. Sunlight streaming in. I was ready for a long wait. Blessed silence! For once a public waiting area with no TV.

Several men wandering around, too engrossed in their phones to sit. They looked at what I was doing like it was somehow suspect, not approaching, but obliquely curious. Time flew and the work was done.  I was off to an oil change, then shopping. By the time I got home, all I wanted was a solid nap.

Someone else decided that twenty minutes was plenty.

I love Fridays

It's been a day of lessons and indulgence.

I don't have to work tonight. After a busy morning and a solid nap, I came back to the sewing seat in the studio, turned on the task lamp and the music and stitched until full dark. It was a really nice piece of time.

In case you wonder about the mismatched socks, my feet are blind. It's a small part of my lifelong quest to Not Give a Flying Fuck about a lot of things that other people seem to go nuts over. Matching socks.


After weeks of freakish warmth, it's going to get cold again. I don't know how these will fare. This display strikes me as desperate with no pollinators around. I have to assume plants know what they are doing so I'm not going to cut them and bring them just in because they please my eyes.

Once the blooms die back and it warms up, I'm going to be thinning this bed. If anyone in the US wants some iris tubers, that originally came to me from NM, let me know.

These will serve that purpose. Someone else disconnected them from the earth. I'll pay for the privilege of just looking on their dying days.

Stitching stories

One book written, but a long way from done.

The second book in bits and pieces, scraps and dreams, but the seeds are planted.

Magic and miracles in the highest branches. Down in the grass, it's cloth, stitch, mayhem, and justice.

gifts

Look what the mailperson brought! Derwent watercolor pencils. And with no card or note from the giver.

Did someone think I needed another media to procrastinate with? As if stitch wasn't enough.

amending

It's after nine in the morning and so dark and dreary I'd go back to bed except that I've already had a solid six or seven hours. Too much lying abed and my back sends me nastygrams "Get up, you lazy bitch!"

So I'm here in the studio, with not enough light coming in the east window to stitch by. The rain has quit for the moment, but the forecast says, "Jammies will do today."

2019  Night Gardener  36x24 

Yesterday, I took the long-put off step of correcting the top line of "Night Gardener". I can't even remember what I was thinking about when I did this. Not good design, for sure.

It's been annoying me from the wall for months now and it was time. I posted a few detail posts to two new FB groups I joined just to see what was out there these days. I've gotten a bit disconnected from the stitch community.

Those detail shots garnered a lot of attention, then someone asked for an image of the full piece and I realized how botheringly quirky it is, so...

I fiddlefucked with the stitch ripper on invisible nylon machine stitching sunk deep between the backing - thick, cushy something that's cotton twill with a dose of something synthetic that has a good bit of stretch to it and took the dye in a smoky wonderful way AND

the base of the piece which is a yard of 100% wool suiting that is, at minimum, over fifty years old. I knew the owner and she never bought cheap goods.

The weave has dried a bit with age and once cut, unravels alarmingly fast. I need to set up the sewing machine and get this nailed back together properly soon, or I'm going to piecing in a repair. The wool is black as midnight in a mine and will be hard to replicate.

the threads

Here's my stash of Dirty Thread and the few tools it takes.

Thanks to everyone who bought sets over the weekend. I'll be off to the post office tomorrow.
If the light is right when I get back, I'll make up a few new sets with what's left of the inventory and post them.

Yes, new sets are up.

It's only January. Four months before I can make any more. I may take up the banjo. Or Portuguese. Clean out my closet so I can list it with Air BnB? Dispose of the hoarded crap that has taken over a fourth of our living space? Train the cats to do dishes and laundry?

Or publish one book and get the next one underway?
 Let me know if you'd like to be notified when Prophets Tango goes live. I promise to hoard your email like the rest of my stuff.

It could all happen, but guess which has priority.

Sunday catch-up

I've just logged into the day job for the first time since forever. I've only worked Christmas and New Years' days in the past two weeks.

Saving up vacation time to coincide with the school calendar is something I'm out of practice with, but was delighted to do. I don't see nearly as much of him as I'd like now that he's in school and we had a great time. There hasn't been much time for stitching and that was fine.

Charlie got to meet and interact with the new cats but played favorites with Sweetie who remains dubious but patient with short people.

He didn't know it but on one sleepover, there were five of us in the bed - three growling or purring, one snoring, and me not getting much sleep that night.

Something new.

The words are stuck.

A few actions will unstick them: driving, walking, or stitching. Somehow the last one seems out of place, but it's the only practical thing at the moment.

Until I get my back issues sorted out, driving or walking for any duration or distance, are not options. But I think I just challenged myself there.

In the meantime, there's a basket of talent waiting to be discovered. Glyphs are planned. Alien poetry waiting in the wings.

Merry Christmas

the weekend

While running like Sonic the Hedgehog, Charlie tripped and did a face plant in the gravel at aftercare. His glasses probably saved his eye from worse injury, but they didn't survive.

When I asked him if it hurt, he said, "Only when people look at me like it does." So I gave him my biggest sunglasses for when we went into Publix and told him to say "NOT a barfight."

After shopping for all manner of snacks, we sat at the kitchen table and sorted through a large tub of Legos I've hung on to since Jake and Colin were kids. There was a lot of trash in the tub and everything we saved had to be sanitized.

He told me all about the other happy holidays all going on at the same time. Kwanza, Hanukka, and Santa Lucia which I learned (from a five-year-old) is a Swedish holiday. I explained Solstice. We feasted and had a lovely visit while Jake installed a replacement interior in Jim's old pickup, seats, flooring, seatbelts and all. I wish we'd taken some 'before' pictures. Its a miracle.

Since that last sampler, I've been avoiding the stitching chair in the morning. Too many other things need attention like those spider webs that are somehow between the screen and the glass. The lights are up year-round.

Once I get all my holiday packages shipped, I kind of collapse when it comes to decorating. There's a sweet little tree downstairs waiting for its decorations. In good time.











The new family members continue to find their place in our routines. Sweetie has been very tolerant of both of them. There's more contention between the newcomers than I realized. Bailey is full of teenaged energy and mischief. Salem is a lady and not please with his rambunctiousness and will disappear at the slightest disturbance.

done here

but truly, for the pure pleasure of Stitching.

Insane, I'm told, I freehand the lettering directly to the cloth with a silver quilt marking pencil that traveled with Noah on the Ark, its so old.

Quite in love with my made-up font, there will most certainly be more, but for now, this one helped me clarify a scene that needed to die and crystallized the one that will take its place. Imagine a bad carnival ride replaced with a crystal ball.

The only thought that went into selecting colors was to choose lighter colors for 'fade' and 'away'. I was going to do some organic white on white shadowing some of the more prominent motifs in the damask, but my effort paled beside the real thing so I picked it out. A rinse and press should help call this finished. Eventually.

Salem

 Has decided she'll grace us with her presence.

At some point in the evening, all three of them were in the bedroom. Peacefully.

No one has expressed any further interest in cloth, or thread.

last shopkeeping of 2019

I guess I can thank Mr. Bad Boy Bailey for this. Also grateful that he didn't decide to sleep on them!



There was just enough good, natural light in the studio to get most of the way through the alphabet: selecting sets, photographing and naming them on the fly. Don't read too much into the names. I was listening to music, snatching words out thin air.

Antic through Scandal are live at Dirty Threads.





Bailey doing his best to look innocent.

taking a break, but...

...not really. I just needed to remind myself about the peace of the flowing needle and thread.

The full sentiment will read "For the pure pleasure of words on a page that will not fade away." More properly subtitled, "Draft in haste and repent in the Hell of everlasting editing"

I've gone back to page one of (yikes) 800+ pages to dig out the ticks and cooties. Sometimes I think, "Who wrote this shit?" and sometimes I say it in wonder and delight, "Who wrote this marvelous shit!"

a shakeup

NOW I'm in for some fun. I keep the dirty thread on covered plastic trays on a high shelf, out of reach of five-year-old fingers and feline paws.

I thought.

Last night, Baily, aka Mr.Big, managed to pull them down onto the work table into this stew of color.

Rather than try putting them back into the old collections, I'm going to first put together some rainbows (thanks for the idea, Liz) and post those.

It's gray and rainy here. First sunny day - Sunday, I think I read- I start taking good photos and posting them to the store.

Guilty as charged.