I don’t get very many colds, and the one I have right now will be gone, soon. I have lined up all the right weapons, and they are being deployed. I have tissues; I have Tussin. I have a heating pad for the chills and a fantastic plaid blanket for the general comfort a vintage plaid blanket can give. It’s partially mended, just like me.
Look at those three beautiful girls in this photo: Heddy is in the middle, Janice is on her right, and I am the bride-to-be on the left. My mom is in the background in the middle, and my future mother-in-law is sitting beside her, partially hidden, but you can see her fancy up-do blonde French twist peeking out. Now that the world is learning about all the various forms of sexual assault as more and more women are speaking out, can you imagine the stories these three grown women could tell, if they chose to talk?
It’s early morning and the geese are honking their goodbyes as they head south to warmer weather. Brown leaves are raining down and I am tucked up on the couch, under blankets, sewing this and that and finding new friends who also sew on Facebook.
There’s lots of show-and-tell in these groups, and there is much support for making things out of discarded and saved treasures. My thread book is a good example of what my new friends and I talk about on a daily basis, and it’s rather nice to leave politics behind for a minute or so. This, for now, is one way to deal with bits of thread that are perfectly ready for the next project, but which can get lost easily. The cover is a made from really expensive tapestry fabric, and the button is a custom Femo creation by Holly.
Seriously, I am too tired to type, let alone write. Let’s just enjoy this photo of some real-world writers trying to make a living in Washington Square Park, one poem at a time. 🐔
Truth be told – and today’s bit ‘o caramel is all about the truth – I don’t get out very much. My life is quiet and sedentary. Therefore, schlepping to NYC is not something to be treated lightly. The trip, from various places we’ve lived on the East Coast, is always about 2.5 hours, and the coming-home part can be fussy, whether driving crazily at night trying to keep awake on dark country roads, or nodding off on a train with more than a few excited and over-tired screaming babies in seats way behind us, but still with earshot.