Category Archives: work in progress

#SistersinLaw

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What a day to see #SistersInLaw on stage — Joyce Vance, Jill Wine-Banks, Kimberly Atkins Stohr, and Barbara McQuade — the very same evening that a NY jury found Trump guilty on all 34 counts! He is now a convicted felon.

It softened me to the pundits’ late arrival — presumably they had to rejigger their comments.

My friend and I were checking the Times and Twitter as we headed to town on the Pike. Scroll scroll. Verdict in! Scroll scroll. Alvin Bragg just entered the courtroom. Scroll scroll. The judge’s clerk has entered. Scroll again. A slip of paper! And then boom. Boom, 34 times. It was one of those — I’ll always remember where I was when moments. At the Copley exit with Ellen.

Of course the mood was high at the Shubert Theatre. The podcast/lawyers got a standing O as they took the stage. Oh, so much joy! It was hard to tell how much excitement was fandom and how much was ebullience at trump finally being held accountable. Who cares? Hallelujah!

It was nice to share that moment as a collective.

They discussed the NY verdict, an electorate still inclined to vote for trump, the problem of Alito and Thomas, the need for court reform, and Aileen Cannon (just so you know, this was a crowd that could also BOO).

Maybe Cannon is on the verge of (finally) being forced to make a ruling that Jack Smith will be able to appeal. I’m not holding my breath.

Barb McQuade occasionally called out the baseball scores (the Sox were playing Detroit. Barb is from Michigan). She was borderline hilarious, kind of a surprise given her TV persona.

Most of the discussion, no matter the topic, landed here: Vote.

Vote, vote, vote.

I’ve heard the podcast drops on Saturday. Of course I’ll listen.

Crossing the Common
Outdoor venue at the Common
Theatre is near Chinatown. We ate nearby and poked around in a grocer before the show.
I’ve got to go back!

Today is more quiet. I’m rereading my manuscript (for the umpteenth time). I found three typos during the hand-off for formatting and graphic design. I know I’ll miss a couple even with this latest effort.

The good news? I find the writing tight, smooth, interesting. Not sure why this continues to surprise me but it does.

Tooth

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Content warning: this post is about the going to the dentist.

My new tooth was installed this morning. It looks so much better than my old crown (the neon one? The one that was waaay longer than my other front tooth?). And it outclasses that fucking flipper by miles. Is it perfect? No. But I can live with it. The journey that began in July with my old crown falling out is now, hopefully, over.

But I must insert here that my dentist sent me home with the flipper. Just in case, she said. Blah blah slow drying cement blah.

JUST IN CASE? I have twice in the last two seasons had the experience of my front tooth falling out. Twice. Really don’t want to make it a trifecta.

There was tugging and pushing and pressure and enough pokes with that pokiest of all pokey tools that at some point novocaine was administered. Of course that’s no fun either — the roof of the mouth several times, my upper gums.

Even after being numbed up, I clutched my hands. I pressed my clutched my hands into my abdomen as if that could protect me. My trick of leaving “Little DeeDee” home required some maintenance. Enjoy Finn. I told her. I’ll be home soon.

Even numbed up, I had to announce at one point that I was starting to panic —

(they were blowing the air DOWN MY THROAT. And for a while. That was new, and by new I mean awful).

What’s next, I asked. Does the cord come out, I asked. How much pressure? And, what’s next again and again.

I was behaving like such a baby that at one point I felt compelled to let them know that I gave birth twice without pain meds.

Home again, now, I am breathing in ease and I can relax. I’ll work on the couch throw for K and me — what I’m calling the leftovers project.

I’ll make lunch. Walk Finn. Maybe watch another couple of episodes of the Korean series The Extraordinary Life of Attorney Woo, which I didn’t think I’d like but I do.

Mish mash

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This is a mess. Process: fixing the mess

I’ve been trying to combine already quilted remnants with other cloth. The layers have their own ideas. Not sure my determination will be enough to overcome bubbles and ugly edges.

Section outlined in red below is already three layers (including batting).

The week has been quiet, the holidays muted. I’m kinda glad they’re over. I kept bumping into sadness and got tired of constantly having to manage expectations.

My brother and sister-in-law gave us membership in a Puzzle-A-Month club. Who knew such clubs existed? We are very psyched. Hope the next one is a little easier than the first (above).

I’m not picking a word for 2023. The practice feels out of reach, I’ll just say that. But I might set a modest goal, which is to learn — FINALLY, AT LAST — some rudimentary elements of perspective. I’ve tried, believe me. It’ll take a lot more practice.

If you look at my most liked photos from Instagram, you can see how much my quilts and collages might benefit from a different view of structure.

The middle, far-left (above) made an attempt and it is terrible.

I’ll end with a version of an inspirational quote I found online and then couldn’t find again, so I made my own little poster. Don’t know who said this, but it is pure gold.

Let’s Count 10/22

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0 — number of times I’ve been discouraged by Dems in Disarray narrative, Dems need better messaging coverage, negative polls, or Doomsday DOJ sentiments;

0 is also the number of cold frosts so far this year; number of times I’ve had Covid;

1 — number of ballots cast this week; number of books I’m reading right now; number of queries sent out recently; number of mini, fallen skeletons seen in the neighborhood today.

2 — number of meals I served homemade croutons with (homemade spinach soup and a killer Caesar salad); number of manuscript rejections received with an actual email in last few weeks;

3 — number of people within two degrees of separation who have died recently. One was almost 100, one was almost 99, and one was 59. Also number of times I heard the liturgical response in Latin in my head at a funeral Mass this morning;

3.5 — number of inches of hair that I cut off this week;

4 — (also during Mass) number of times I heard my mother’s voice saying, “I love a good Irish tenor;” approximate number of times I wondered what my Jewish neighbors thought about all the sitting, standing, and kneeling going on;

5 — number of WIP quilts that I am actively working on right now;

6 — numbers of days recently racked up without sugar;

21 — number of white linens out to dry at salon on Center Street;

31 — number of tulip bulbs planted in containers to force;

75 — number of daily emails I receive from democratic candidates (just kidding, but whew — it’s a lot);

875 — total number of #PostcardstoVoters I’ve sent out in last two years (this is a real number);

Too many to count — number of times I’ve fast-forwarded through TV news coverage recently either because * I’ve already learned about issue in some detail through twitter or because ** it’s nattering on and on about what Dems are doing wrong or because *** they’re playing a clip of the former guy (and usually one I’ve heard umpteen times before — e.g. portions of his bullying, illegal conversation with Raffensperger); times I’ve felt grateful for Finn’s company.

The number of collages made in the last month, especially digital, is also too many to count.

Using this week’s Paris Collage Collective prompt (palm tree photo)

Handling disappointment

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My adoration for the quilts of Bisa Butler and the pandemic began at roughly the same time. If you haven’t discovered her yet, you must, because she is a once-in-a-generation quilter.

Butler’s work is absolutely stunning, in construction, scale, color, and subject matter.

Her quilts document Black life with exuberant patterning and such an incredible ability to render faces and clothing without resorting to paint that she continually reminds viewers that they are 100% cloth. You squint agog wondering, How on earth does she do it?

She’s like Kehinde Wiley on acid.

Not that long ago, I vowed to myself, “When this is all over, I’m gonna see her quilts even if I have to travel to Chicago or Memphis to do so.”

So it might surprise you to learn that I just ordered a book showcasing her portraits rather than truck a few miles down Route 9 to see one of her pieces. A neighbor even lent me her MFA member card so that I could be admitted at no cost.

And still I’m not going.

Is it yesterday’s colonoscopy stopping me? Maybe. At the endoscopy center, there were half a dozen nurses, several doctors, an anesthesiology assistant or two, secretaries, and other patients. They managed risk expertly — everyone wore masks, curtains divided the gurneys, a careful protocol determined who came into the building and when. Still that feels like enough potential exposure for one week.

(P.S. Everything’s fine).

More delays in the editing process mean that I will finally spend two solid weeks polishing a query letter (not like creative writing at all!) and building a functional list of agents. I should have done this a year ago! I signed up for QueryTracker and will look into Submittable and Duotrope, two other literary submission programs. I’m going to be ready to aim and fire the second I get the last batch of edits.

Otherwise, I’ll just kill myself. I can’t keep doing this.

(I’m JOKING).

The situation reminds me of something I read in some book or other on happiness. It has really stayed with me, unlike the author and title of the book. It said something along the lines of this: except for the loss of a partner or a child, almost no disappointments result in significant changes in happiness five years out.

So in other words, if this book never sees the light of day, five years from now I’ll be dead — oops — I mean, my happiness quotient will be roughly the same as it is today.

This reminder is oddly comforting and in no way promotes defeatism.

All of this today makes me feel the fragility of life. It’s so important to breathe, and to be kind to one another, and to make haste slowly.