Wednesday, March 14, 2012

pi day wanderings

In which, for Pi Day, our plucky heroine serves a shepherds pie of Acorn Cottage scraps, sandwiched between external and internal weather...

the days lengthen incrementally, and every once in a while there is an egg in the nest box... very early Tuesday morning, in the backyard letting the hens out for the day, and a snowflake kissed the end of my nose, I walked back inside with those sky sparkles on my robe and in my hair, walked back inside to warmer kisses...

was one of the lovely weekends when G was able to come down here to visit. Not a lot of outdoor walkabout this time, and the wind and rain were quite enthusiastic in battering the windows and awnings, but there was time for me to finish the custom reflective safety vest I have been building for him, time for hours of needful talk, time to just rest quiet and safe, time to continue healing.

Mmmm sun-dried flannel sheets smell eversomuch nicer than those from the electric dryer. On the one sunny day last week, there was that one little window of opportunity, (and in accordance with secret laurel knowledge, one never passes up an opportunity) to get the laundry dry outdoors. There is no end to the simple pleasures in this life, it was a treat to feel strong enough to carry out the laundry basket, though I did take the precaution of weighing it first. A treat to be out under a sunny sky and pin the clean laundry on the line for the first time this year. And, of course, a treat to sleep between the outdoor scented sheets.
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fragments large and small,
even and uneven, held in matrix,
all in balance somehow

worn and stress cracked,
infill growth has it's own beauty,
the patina of effort and need

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Almost finished with the slippers started last year for my mother, they are made from felted knitting, and with the ever-uncertain results of that technique, came out with far too loose a top opening, so decided to add a top strap in the style of French Press Felted Slippers. Knitted garter stitch straps and felted them, added suitable vintage buttons from the ancestral button box, now to find some kind of non-slip sole to add. I plan on making a somewhat different pair for my father. The handknit socks that were a holiday gift back in '88 are worn to a ravelling, and replacements are long overdue...
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There is a story that run through my life over and over, a story I do not like. Does story happen because I look for it, does my noticing generate the tale, or is it something that is finished, and I can go on to a different track? Or is there a turning inherent in the tale, that I have somehow missed in all the previous chapters, that will allow the tale to continue on, rather than the record-skip repeat again and again. I walk in story with all senses as open as possible, to not miss whatever clues and cues there may be; mayhap this time of transition will indeed lead to new adventures and delights...

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