A small thing. A soul ajustment.

I filled my gas tank two days ago. Long enough ago to not really notice gas was two sixty something a gallon. It was up twenty cents today. Will we, as a country, be able to claim temporary insanity?

To counter the actual insanity that started while we were sleeping, Bruno Mars gave us a little respite today. 

Music I have no cultural conneection to, and yet, comes this sweet wash of suadade taking me to a time and place I never lived in, and yet it feels so familiar. 

 And of course, in the dark, just when sleep snuggles up, so did the story. Enough to make me snort/laugh, then grope up pen and paper and touch on the light. 

Libra (updated)

 

Yesterday was a long, gray slog complete with thunder. I cleaned out the small stitch bag with half an eye for something to work on. 

This strip of linen had just the "p" with a threaded needle dangling. I must have jumped off that train of thought, but yesterday it carried me through the meditation. I stitched the letters on directly, no sketched guides. Do you think those Es care? 

Then, I started listening to Hillary Clinton's testimony while the TV had only an image of the outside of the Performing Arts Center. in Chappaqua, NY. Incongruous. 

The audio was poor and there was no closed captioning. so I decided to read the transcript after the fact. Her opening statement had already been posted and it's a scorcher. 

Chappaqua is less than twenty miles from where I grew up in Goldens Bridge. It might has well have been Mars. Bill used to come into the tavern where my Dad was a bartender for many years. Jazz, chili and cheeseburgers. He's going to testify today.

The other side of the Libran scales wanted something. This strip of linen was also in the tote bag. In haste, I had used markers for a hachimaki worn by samurai tied across their foreheads before battle. That was just before my first No Kings rally. I was tempted to use markers right on my forehead but I couldn't figure out how to draw on my face in a mirror and keep it legible. 

I decided that it needed some stitching to keep it from being tossed. The marker looking afire under the stitches is oddly appropriate. 

In the meantime, dream time.

                                        His face in the sun. A last birthday gift to me, 2013.

Patterns soothe

These are my mother's voodoo doodads. She was smart to keep the little stuff on a chain. 

I'm changing the scenery here for the first time in forever. Try to imagine your own bed a quarter turn from the way it is. What dreams may come?

The blue curtains will come down for something else. Something glowy. 

The pool wants to be cleaned and ready before it's warm enough. I need a landscaper. 

Such ambition. Without muscle, all I have to do is pay for it all. 

That would be luxury. So, small steps. 

I'm also trying to be a little more discriminating with what sort of input I use.

I recently rewatched the last couple episodes of:

Ozark

Madmen

The Sopranos

Breaking Bad 

Deadwood

all with an eye toward crafting a satisfying ending for the story I'm working on.

Conclusion? Crime cannot pay because people are weak and cannot be trusted. 

And "The arc of the universe towards justice is long and we must work to bend it." (paraphrasing Dr. Martin Luther King even if he didn't say it first.)

The self-care is easy. 

Music and/or silence every day until noon. 

Reading, making or writing. Trails are easy to pick up where I left off. 

    

There have been days that tease of summer. 

These colors just wrap me in their arms. This is how it starts each year. Soon, a dye inventory. And I get real about a non-fiction book. Dirty Threads. 

 My sister Patty ai'ed herself. She's not a blond...yet. Do it, Pat. But don't do anything that will get your mugshot put up in the post office. 

Aloysius Intercostal, Andre Iijiit, Armando Immactsia, Ash Ichor. 

What shall I call AI?

Do you have a name for it?

A remedy and reminder

...to keep my eyes open for the beauty in the mundane, day to day stuff.

To remember that we are not alone in this fight.

Rather than scratch around the web and suffer through opinions and other non-starting crap, set aside 45 minutes to listen to every word of this particular Heather Cox Richardson's Explainer wrap up. 

She sees beyond the cloud of bullshit that the Shitweasel likes to stir up daily. The crap that makes sane people sick to their stomachs.

I'm working at my own cloud of bullshit and the cards are not pampering me one bit. 

I did a little reconciliation (if only in my own head) with those who might not be up to confronting or dealing with the issues our country faces. I'm not shouting FAFO to them. Some of those things will manifest to them in time. 

Through lack of engagement and or education they have checked out, doubting their ability to have any affect on the outcome. Highly unlikely to vote ever again after the shame of this administration is revealed one rotten corpse at a time. 

Here is my reason to carry on. Almost every discussion used to begin with "I have a question." Not so much anymore. 

Ever since I had to give a circumspect explanation of what the Epstein files are all about and we fell down laughing counting the number of times Jimmy Fallon said "EPSTEIN" in his opening monologue, I have pulled back on having any deep political discussions with him.

 He has so little untroubled childhood left, I will not rob him of a minute of it, but I will answer direct questions. 

He is so smart and perceptive it's frightening.

 

He was proud to carry a batch of Signs of Justice postcards into the post office for me and made me promise to add his favorite message to the back, "No one is illegal on stolen lands!" 

Even after I assured him that that no return address was required, he used my mittens to carry them inside and put them in the outbound hopper. "Fingerprints, you know." Imagine an eleven-year-old already wary of his own government. 

The rest of this glorious Friday afternoon with a high of 78 degrees is for my friends and family about to experience yet another heavy winter snow. 

The word blizzard had been tossed around some. We remember this kind of winter as being the norm when I was a kid. 

Here we broke a sweat in the direct sun and the camellias are in bloom. 

Sophie brought me this scrap from under my bed. I was too shocked to grab a picture of her with it in her mouth because I thought she was bleeding.  It's back in the river basket waiting for a turn to speak.

Doing my best to reduce the crush in my thread box and remember where my real happy place is - in the workings of the Heart. 

these days

I was holding my breath until they reached home. Ever since their walk began, I have been worried that someone would decide that these brown, foreign men didn't deserve to breathe free air. I put nothing past the maggots and am pondering the fear some of them felt at the notion of doing something so heinous. Now, I breathe.

💠🌙💠

    Well, hello, Depression. I see your buddy Writer's Block sucking along behind you. Where's that other bastard, Sleeplessness and his asshole buddy Body Aches? Fuckers kept me up all night. Again. 

I am not good company these days. 

I live 27 miles from Social Circle, GA where DHS bought a warehouse destined to house 10,000 captives. I'm calling it Auschwitz South. Three quarters of the locals are maggots. It's very hard not to sit back and say, "This is what you voted for," meanwhile, a local restaurant critique group discusses the  sudden closures of a handful of Mexican restaurants. 

  When I asked what the group thought the common denominator might be for all these popular eateries going out of business, a bloviator replied, "They never advertise specials or offer coupons."  

Get my fucking axe. 

Ninety miles west of me, the national embarrassment is going to  be in Rome, Georgia today. He doesn't deserve the mid 70's we're supposed to have later. I want to drive by, stick my ass out the window and take a wet shit in his direction. 

I picture the Knight of Wands on that Fire Horse with a combat flamethrower, but, as he has become a liability to the maggots, I fully expect him to be martyred spectacularly any day now. The things that live in my head...

If you haven't yet, please don't look into the epstein files. Just don't. 

the heart of it

I really hate going to the doctor. Before Jim got sick, it was a necessary chore. After he died, I just didn't want to know. 

Didn't want to go. Especially the routine maintenance stuff. 

Criminal, given that my twenty plus years of employment with ATT Left me with decent medical benefits. 

In a spasm of adulting a while back, I found a new primary care outfit. These places seem to come and go with the seasons here. New corporate ownerships slap on a different color paint and some new, used waiting room furniture. Appointments are three months out. Will they even be there in three months? One can only hope for competance.

So I submitted to an annual physical and all that went with it. Something made the PA frown at my EKG so she ordered other tests. A cardiologist. The tests. The weeks wait and resutlts: 

Just a normal heart that works a little harder than most with a zag where others zig.

We swell, break, and still.

Are cursed, given, or stolen.

Sworn on, pine and leap.

Race and burn, full.

Holding you. Keeping time.