NOT a cutter

To hear Deb tell it, a cutter was coming my way. It was too this and not enough that but feel free, you know, to chop it up.

Huh? I love it. As my mother might’ve said, “it’s a good transition piece.” And pockets to die for!

It’s a gorgeous day here in the Northeast. Sunny and warm. Our street is blocked off from whatever utility work the city’s doing, but the machinery’s still. I can hear the crickets and I can hear children on the playground.

Came down early this morning. Lit the fire table and worked on the laptop in order to change a bunch of Eliza’s reflective queries to statements. Sharp reader pointed out that the form got wearisome (to be frank, Eliza gets tiresome, too, but that’s a different issue).

I folded all the cloth in the front closet yesterday. Wow. It’s what most would consider a decent stash. For me, it’s just the stuff that wandered upstairs during a handful of projects. We might put a few little shelves in there.

Shelves! Long desired! Functional! Simple!

Minors forms of progress feel so necessary right now.

It’s Saturday, right?