A very cold day that included a brisk walk, raking (and more raking), and cleaning out some duct work. Polishing glass. Writing and sewing. Decapitation. That’s right: decapitation. I took the head off one of my figures. More on that later.
Meanwhile, Boy Mouse has his skates. His grey scarf is another one of my size zero knitting needle adventures. He’s more ready for winter than I am!
When I lamented to my husband that Boy Mouse’s skates were a little too big, he quipped, “That’s okay. He doesn’t have feet.”
The pipe cleaner on his back is for hanging. He can go on a wall or a Christmas tree. His jacket comes from old pjs and old (clean!) socks.
I made a substantial salad with blue cheese, bacon, apple, romaine hearts and bitter greens for lunch. It was satisfying.
I’ll sign off here. Stay warm if you are in cold temps! Danny comes home tomorrow and there’s chili on the stove in his honor. Later in the week, I’m cooking for Thanksgiving, but only for seven, so I hope to check back in here before then!
Mist this morning. Rhythms shift as the days diminish. Some things stay steady or grab ahold. Others seem to fall away. I don’t quite feel in control.
Frustrations — the ongoing irritation of yard crews buzzing, seemingly, through my skull — sometimes four a day, sometimes the trucks blocking my road. An expensive ‘upgrade’ with Verizon that not only DID NOT increase our speed, but created the lovely new quirk of dumping our devices off-line even when sitting within several feet of the (brand-new ‘upgraded’) router. The prospect of switching providers is on the horizon. While it will be good to do something about deficient service (especially when that ‘something’ might include two years of free HBO — a real prospect to a 57-year old who has NEVER had cable), it is nevertheless the case that switching a decades-old email address can only feel like a nightmare in-the-making. Ya know? And I hate how even the ‘easy stuff’ never is — fellow oldsters know what I mean! — how you get that four step list and the first three super-simple steps do not take you to the tabs or settings they say they will and you have to walk away or start over, all the while assuming there is something seriously wrong with your brain?! And then there’s WordPress, which misbehaves regularly. This week? Random new default settings for picture justification and the lovely (revisiting) trick of rearranging the placement of a photo if I add a caption after insertion. That neither of these things were happening last week and that neither seems amenable to my attempts to correct just add to their power to annoy the crap out of me.
I’m not done yet — every other picture I shoot on my phone produces the “NO SPACE” message, even though I only keep about 250 AND I keep deleting apps AND I have very little music there. Since recently discovering the DianaPhoto app, it suddenly matters to me, meaning that what was an inconvenience two weeks ago, feels like a creative constraint today.
The PC where I type now presents its ongoing inefficiencies with photo tweaking and storage (my friend the Blue Spinning Donut). Any rearrangement of pix (say to a separate hard-drive) risks losing the trails and producing a gallery of question marks (it’s happened!). I actually feel sick thinking about all of this.
All fixable problems, of course, but not without outlays of cash for expert intervention or, in the case of the phone, massively upgraded monthly service. OK, I’ll learn about the cloud. OK!! OK!! I’ll go talk to one of the fucking geniuses at the mall.
But more money? No and no.
No wonder this little girl cheers me so!! She’s immune to these maddening issues. Completely Old World (which, let’s face it, might be 1991). She doesn’t even care that the hem of her pink silk skirt is ripped. She sports her imperfections with elan! She eagerly greets every morning! All she needs for a happy day is someone to share her seasonal gifts with. Today, she’s my role model.
I think when I get back from Salem today, I’ll have a nice long chat with her.
Maybe her name will come to me on the drive North.
For now, let me beg forgiveness for the complaining (and by the way, for those of you who know me better, you know this is NOT a rant… more like a Report of Defeat).
Let me also apologize for the possible incoherence. I am typing to Alison Krauss (followed by Amy Winehouse) played a little too loud. This, to obscure the sound of two trucks somewhere nearby that seem to have nothing to do but BACK UP.
Beep beep beep beeep beeeep beeep. And now the street sweeper. Oh god, this is making traffic on 128 actually look appealing!
woven exercise from Jude Hill class made into ornament
wool, cotton, and silk fabrics for this one
cupcakes and tea pots lining the windowsill
I had fun stitching the snowflakes
this one hails from Montreal
tabs have since been finished
turtle rolled and ready to ship
niece’s choral group – Handel & Haydn Society from yesterday
I’ve been on a tear making cloth trees. Next up? A few aprons. I am looking forward to a Cookie Swap this Friday, to C. coming home next week, Christmas, a couple more festive gatherings, and, at the end of the month (oh I can’t wait) – my second cortisone shot for right thumb. Hard to do some of the basics lately. Fortunately, can still sew.
DONE – FIXED. So, I couldn’t post the little felt disk photo that I took with my phone a little while ago right from flickr, which is what I wanted to do — Instead, here is a picture of a tray from the basement, which I shot a few days ago.
Our basement is currently riddled with mice, and my general tolerance for the critters has been worn away. This winter has been characterized by finding their nests and food stores in so many of my fabric bins, that even I am a little grossed out (we have been killing three-four-five a week with traps). At least the dog food now lives in a mouse-proof bin, so that they aren’t busy transporting those nuggets into little caches all over my studio.
Even WITH my tolerance at an all time low, I see this dead baby and wince. What killed it, I wonder? How can I throw it out? Even as it begins to stink, I can’t bring myself to dispose of the tiny body, curled into death… so vulnerable, so small!