April 1

Piles of Inspiration

This mess has been straightened out. I am within 5% of finishing my jacket. Only the grunt work is left to do and I’m not sure when I will get around to it. The important part of doing this jacket has been completed. I wanted to see if I could do it. I can. Done. I need a workroom full of seamstresses.

Time has collapsed since we moved those clocks ahead a couple of weeks ago. I don’t seem to have as much of it and I didn’t have much to begin with anyway. I tend to need long periods of rumination, rest and reset. And then there are errands – things that must be done when you live 20 minutes from town and you are trying to conserve gas. Have you seen the gas prices!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! The truck gets a whopping 15 MPG. We can’t be going to town every day any longer. Trump left office and our personal financial wealth collapsed.

I’m going to admit right here and now that I don’t believe our globe is warming and I refuse to believe paying exorbitant gas prices is going to help anyone. I live in the fly over part of America, where we give a shit about eating and paying our bills – not whether some polar bear is going to die because the water’s too warm. Jesus I wish those people would shut up.

I have plans. I have big plans. For years, from 1987 to 2008 or so, I made quilts. Most of these were “art quilts” a term I do not like at all. Predominantly because some lady with good intentions will make a cute quilt with bunnies and a picket fence and call it art. It’s a wall hanging at best, a crib quilt if used. It’s not art.

Quilts are fine, but I’m done with it. I made about 150 quilts all by hand and I did sell them all, but not for a fraction of what it took to create them. People have no appreciation of the work involved hand sewing and hand quilting a piece. Not to mention cutting the damn things out. We didn’t have cutting machines back in the day.

I dye fabric. I dye fabric because I like it. It’s kind of like making mud pies, although I’ve found a way to keep mud off my cloth. I do not like brown areas …………….. I will go to any length to avoid them, but yet I like blue/orange, purple/yellow, red/green and so on right next to each other. So I Sprinkle and Spritz. It’s a thing.

When I was 17, my dream in life was to be a fashion designer. Unfortunately, I lived in a small midwestern college town where fashion arrived 6 years after it went out of style. I don’t come from a wealthy family. We were the antithesis of wealthy, although not as poor as some people in today’s world. I’m grateful for what we had and for how hard my parents worked to make sure we had what we needed AND wanted.

I’m in an UP mode at the moment. I can be in a DOWN mode for 6 months or more, then I get pissed and VOILA I get UP. I’ve been spending money like a drunken sailor and, unfortunately, The Shepherd is beginning to notice. Like there’s too many boxes and packages being delivered for his comfort. I actually bought a couple of things last week and told the seller to hold onto them for a month before shipping them. When your husband is HOME ALL DAY it’s hard to hide purchases of fabrics and clothes and things. He sees the delivery guy. He’s started calling him Santa. We won’t talk about his desire that I place price tags on my stuff in case of sudden death. It could be reversed, no?

Not only do I have the raw materials for my proposed projects, I also have the ideas. Those two things aren’t always in the same place at the same time. The only thing I don’t have is uninterrupted time to play with my toys. I have to fix breakfast, do the dishes, make the bed, take a shower, blowdry my hair, put my clothes on, do laundry, remove myself from the vicinity of The Shepherd before he thinks of a way he can use my time …………………. Seriously, last night he was telling me what “we’re” going to do today. No “we’re” not. I’ve been removed from my sphere of creation for two whole days running errands and baking, fixing complex suppers and blah blah blah. Today is mine, sayeth the Wife. I am not available for whatever his mind has deemed important. Not today.

I am in the process of applying to sell my clothing on a prestigious site. It’s beautifully done, exceptionally professional-looking and they JURY YOU before you can sell. This strikes fear in my blood. I have been juried before – and found wanting.

This time, I am determined to see the jury process through. I am also determined that my artist’s statement and description of my methods and products sound “intelligent.” So I’m going to have The Shepherd write the shit. He was an honor student majoring in Victorian Lit. If he can’t make me sound intelligent, nobody can. I will give him the basics of what I do – because seriously, he doesn’t have a clue. I mean he keeps talking about price tags on yarn, for God’s sake. Then I’m going to leave him alone and let him write me a CV to die for. Then if I don’t get accepted, I have someone to blame. Just kidding.

This Child Needs Clothes

And instead of being upstairs, what am I doing? Making crystallized ginger. Why not?

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