Catching up

handsandshirt

Well, dears, it has been a while.  Haven’t had much time lately to pontificate about color and pattern and splattering dye around.  Donated all of my previous work to a yard sale for a charity for local kids and am having fun spotting my stuff around town “out in the wild.”  Order pending for a friend who owns a restaurant in town.  Supplies came in and the garage is cleaned up.  Now to get going on it.  Possible future orders for a business in the next town east of here.

Constant drippy rain and a house full of sleeping cats.  The rain rattle in the gutter puts me to sleep as soon as I sit still.  I love the sound of the rain and the almost hypnosis it induces, but I need to be able to use my solar oven for the shirt order.

Yardfarming and an inflamed sciatic nerve in return.  The green babies are doing well.  I need to apply neem oil to the cukes, some kind of burrowing beetle is getting to them.  But can’t do it until the ever lasting rain stops.  The spaghetti squash is blooming.  The yellow beefsteak tomatoes are coming along but the heritage dolly variety are kind of spindly.  I keep forgetting to buy epsom salts to dose them.

I am twitchy because my house is chaotic.  Had the floors replaced and have had to escape the blaring country music and noise of power tools and hammers.  Everything is out of place and there is dust everywhere.  Next is to replace the gas logs (not vented and they stink when I use them) with a vented stove, a couple of light fixtures, and new paint.  I will be so happy when it is all over.  I have long had the notion that I am getting the house ready for someone.  Not sure what that is all about.  Wishful thinking?

And strange things have gone missing; a dull box cutter, a pair of rusty garden clippers, and a bucket I kept birdseed in on the back porch.  What the hell?  I am not one to easily lose or misplace things.

Had my heart stomped on yet again because someone I have a huge crush on has put me firmly into the friend zone.  I am too damn old for this.  High school ended in 1972.  Yet when he calls we talk for hours.  I don’t want to be just a friend.  I want more.  But so it goes.  It’s his move.  I am keeping my mouth shut for fear of losing a valuable friendship.

Trying to remember a sci-fi story I read years ago about people who lived in a place of everlasting rain and the celebrations on the one day per year that it stopped and the sun came out.  Ray Bradbury maybe?

It’s all grist for the mill, compost, a reminder to lean in and breath and sit with it.   Let it go.

Ooooooooommmmmmm, dammit!

 

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