I did work some yesterday

Here is the front as it stands now. I have ordered more fabric as I ran out of the cinnamon and several other colors are almost gone.

Originally, I was going to piece the back, but I kept thinking about the quilting, and wondering if it wouldn't be better to have a solid back.





This was going to be the back, but may be another quilt.



I love working downtown. Shreveport is a small city, but it does have a nice downtown. What is so different about working in the heart of the city and working in one of the many office complexes that have moved further and further out? The atmosphere seems more like an adventure, and I love the feeling of the wind moving down the channels of the streets like a river bordered by huge forests on each side. I love having places to walk to, different possible destinations. I can walk to a restaurant, the post office, various stores, Art Space, the Multicultural Center, the YWCA.... There are interesting things to examine --the murals, the old advertisement signs painted on buildings, the complicated details on older buildings.

Across the street and down some from the Beck Building, scenes were being shot in a parking garage for Kevin Costner's new movie. Rumors are that he is a quite a gentleman. Rumors are less kind to his co-star, Ashton Kutcher. This is Mr. Costner's second movie to be shot in Shreveport, and traffic often has to be redirected as they shoot various scenes. That is pretty much all of my knowledge on the movie business, but it was interesting to see the cameras as I walked to work.

Jackson and Mila's birthday

We had such a nice, if very quick, trip to Jackson. Eric has done so much work on the yard, and when we drove up, I couldn't help but smile at the "cow" he had built to hold pots of geraniums and verbena. There were other pots in the front and the effect was so welcoming. In the back, a a kitchen garden full of dill, basil, tomatoes, lettuce, and squash lined with bricks and thriving.

Erin had been busy making curtains for Mila's room and a bedskirt for her bed. The little room had been transformed to accommodate the little newcomer who will arrive at the end of July.

Fee and I were able to take Mila with us to spend the night at the hotel, giving us some private time with her, and leaving Erin and Eric with some time on their own. We thoroughly enjoyed having Miss Mila, and she was fascinated by all the "kids" at the hotel, having an especially good time watching them swim. Anyone under about 15 is a "kid," and Mila loves watching them...drawing nearer and nearer until she is acknowledged, but not making any comment until they speak to her.

I laughed when she was playing with Mama and Papa duck that night, and I heard her say, "This is your Captain speaking." The ducks had many conversations that were not completely clear, but it was obviously an entertaining scenario.

Most of pictures did not come out because the setting on the camera had been inadvertently moved. This was disappointing, but I did get some that I'll treasure.

Mila's cousin Ella arrived in the mail from South Africa by means of a self- portrait. Ella is a very colorful child and enjoyed the birthday cake very much.

Mila loves painting, and Fee chose this little water color set and Cookie Monster coloring book for her. Eric gave her 3 chickens that should give her as much pleasure as the ducks. She received plenty of books and a very special print by Brian Andreas of the Story People.

talking to myself again...

I've got a soaker hose going and the timer set so that I don't forget about it. I can't even find the hoses is some areas because the Homestead Purple Verbena has covered everything and the hoses are lost somewhere underneath. A result of my lack of attention to the garden this year. The Queen Anne's Lace is blooming...another weed that I love and that takes over by seeding itself everywhere.

Miss Mila's birthday is this weekend, and we will be heading to Jackson tomorrow to celebrate. She will be three, and I can barely remember a time without her.

Lately, I've found myself with nothing to say, nothing to write about. My husband would find this astonishing, I talk to him whether he listens or not. Well, I know it is mostly "not" because he always asks me about stuff I've already told him. Actually, he doesn't remember what he has told me, either...he repeats the same story to me shortly after having told me the first time and never questions the slight tic in my left eye. It is probably a good thing that he is out of town a lot. Our marriage might have been considerably shorter if he had been present more.

At any rate, whether he listens to me or not, I do talk. To him, to the dogs, to myself. But do I have anything to say? Quite frankly, if I had to listen to anyone else say what I say, I'd be bored to tears, and yet, I don't bore myself. I continue talking to myself and writing to myself on this blog and on my reading blog .

I'm still working, on rare occassions, on the latest quilt. I'm now piecing the back and next Tuesday when we return to Jackson, my intention is to spend more than 30 min. on it and see what can be accomplished.

Things went downhill, I think, in the sewing department when I quit buying fabric in April. Now, I have some new fabric that I hope will inspire me to get busy again.
What are my plans for any of these? None at the moment... but I liked them.

beauty and the beast

Before work this morning, I spelled this out to illustrate the intangible allergy problem. Beth, thanks so much for the eye drops that will hopefully allow me to spend more time in the yard.


I love cleome (or spider flower). They are prolific re-seeders, so you are blessed with volunteers in odd places, and they transplant easily.

Bats in the Belfry

Last Thursday, I used Roethke's poem "The Bat." This week, I searched on line for a copy of Randall Jarrell's poem "Bats," but never found a complete version. So back to my trusted copy:

Bats

A bat is born
Naked and blind and pale.
His mother makes a pocket of her tail
And catches him. He clings to her long fur
By his thumbs and toes and teeth.
And then the mother dances through the night
Doubling and looping, soaring, somersaulting--
Her baby hangs on underneath.
All night, in happiness, she hunts and flies.
Her high sharp cries
Like shining needlepoints of sound
Go out into the night and, echoing back,
Tell her what they have touched.
She hears how far it is, how big it is,
Which way it's going:
She lives by hearing.
The mother eats the moths and gnats she catches
In full flight; in full flight
The mother drinks the water of the pond
She skims across. Her baby hangs on tight.
Her baby drinks the milk she makes him
In moonlight or starlight, in mid-air.
Their single shadow, printed on the moon
Or fluttering across the stars,
Whirls on all night; at daybreak
The tired mother flaps home to her rafter.
The others all are there.
They hang themselves up by their toes,
They wrap themselves in their brown wings.
Bunched upside-down, they sleep in air.
Their sharp ears, their sharp teeth, their quick sharp faces
Are dull and slow and mild.
All the bright day, as the mother sleeps,
She folds her wings about her sleeping child.

Perhaps Jarrell's best known poems are "The Death of the Ball-Turret Gunner" and "Eighth Air Force"... the differences between the war poems and this poem are notable. A new discovery in my Jarrell searches: his children's book "The Bat Poet" --illustrated by Maurice Sendak--was among the Best Illustrated Children's Books 1964 (NYT) Year's Best Juveniles 1964 (NYT).

On changes...

I

've been experimenting with Mandarin design and think I've made some improvements. What do you think? Thanks, Meg.

Finished The Tipping Point by Malcolm Gladwell last night. Here are some quotes from the reviews: "An elegant exploration of how social epidemics work whether they are fashion trends, diseases, or behavior patterns such as crime..." and "Undeniably compelling..." and "...a fascinating look at research from the disparate fields of anthropology and business...."

I certainly found it fascinating, and you can read more about it here. I can highly recommend this one. Try it, you'll like it.

Tuesday possibilities

...a nice relaxing day with only a few errands and no trip downtown to the office...

So many things I need to do: edge and mow, iron (fabric and clothes), change sheets, do laundry, make some phone calls, go to the library, the cleaners, the bank. And some things I want to do: read, work on quilt, catch up on journal quilts, decide on baby quilt for Max, decide on birthday gift for Miss Mila, play on the computer...

Some will get done, some won't.

I started a fascinating book last night: The Tipping Point: How Little Things Can Make a Big Difference by Malcolm Gladwell that I've already highlighted the heck out of. It reads almost like fiction, and I read over half of it before going to bed.

Miscellanea

Another day lily photograph, but the color is deeper, darker, blacker than it appears in the photo. I love the contrast of the maroon and yellow.

Yesterday was nephew Cody's graduation, and Laddie and I were there with bells on. Laddie was really tired yesterday, but we enjoyed the ceremony. We were too far away to get any good pictures, but sister-in-law Robin had her camera and is a better photographer by far. She has an unerring eye; can't wait to see her pics. After lunch, I dropped Laddie off, got home about 2:00, and was too tired myself to make it to the MultiCultural Event under the Texas Street Bridge. Hated to miss, and my brother (bless his everlovin' heart) was doing the afternoon stint with Laddie so I could attend, but I just couldn't muster the energy to change and go. Mostly regret not being able to take pictures...

Oranges by Gary Soto is another favorite poem that I was reminded of by Oranges in Winter posted by AscenderRisesAbove .

Today was an unusually good day. Laddie was feeling well, and we went to visit a friend of his in the hospital, got a Dairy Queen Blizzard (mmmm), rode up to Cypress Lake. A very good day.

I've make a single list from the several lists of book titles and authors. Running the gamut from children's to young adult to adult literature, some of these the library didn't have the first time I checked, but they may have them now (or could get them on inter-library loan):

Barker, Rafaella. Hens Dancing and Summertime.
Boissard, Janine.
Carrington, Leonora. The Hearing Trumpet.
Chapman, Paul. Leonardo's Notebooks.
Gibson, William. Pattern Recognition.
Iyer, Pico. Abandon: A Romance.
Kingsolver, Barbara. Small Wonders.
Marson, Bonnie. Sleeping with Schubert.
Marston, Gwen. Liberated Quiltmaking.
Mitcham, Judson. Sabbath Creek.
Orland, Ted. Art and Fear.
Rickman, Phil.
Swann. E. L. Night Gardening.
Williams, Sheila. Dancing on the Edge of the Roof.

How did I compile this list? From NPR, the newspaper, book blogs, Rayna, and Karoda. After gathering up several of my lists, I sorted out the ones that I still haven't read and composed one new and hopeful list.

"Words, words, words" to quote Hamlet

"Blue/Black Salvia" or "Black and Blue Salvia" ...

Are you ever curious about where/when a word originated? I love it when I find a word's etymology. In reading a novel yesterday the word perquisite was used in a sentence whose context revealed its meaning. So this is where the word "perk" comes from...I never even thought to wonder, but it was self-evident.

per·qui·site (pûrkw-zt)
n.
1. A payment or profit received in addition to a regular wage or salary, especially a benefit expected as one's due. See Synonyms at right.
2. A tip; a gratuity.
3. Something claimed as an exclusive right: "Politics was the perquisite of the upper class" Richard B. Sewall.

[From Middle English perquisites, property acquired otherwise than by inheritance, from Medieval Latin perqustum, acquisition, from Latin, neuter past participle of perqurere, to search diligently for : per-, per- + quaerere, to seek.]

Last night, a wonderfully relaxing and enjoyable dinner with Amelia, Big Chris, and his parents, Bill and Linda. We sat outside at the Olive Street Bistro, visited, and gobbled up appetizers and entrees; I wish I'd thought to take my camera.

Another view of bat-face cuphea and a bat poem

Last week I mentioned the possibility of a "bat" poem. I have two favorites and will use The Bat by Theodore Roethke this week. Bats always fascinate people and can inspire fierce loyalty or gothic fear- partly because, as Roethke says, "... something is amiss or out of place /When mice with wings can wear a human face." Naturalist Diane Ackerman's The Moon by Whale Light (mentioned in an earlier post) contains the most wonderful essay on bats and is certainly worth reading even if naturalist essays are not your thing --because Ackerman can make you feel as if you're reading short stories. A couple of years ago my husband (also a bat afficionato) built a bat house for our yard; unfortunately, squirrels took possession and have fended off any other possible house hunters.

Roethke (winner of numerous awards including the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry in 1954) is one of my favorite poets;I posted his villanelle The Waking last August, and he has so many other poems that appeal to me.

Still in progress

This monster just keeps growing (in the most haphazard and often crooked way), but when there is time, I just keep adding to it with no direction or plan. Must check on what fabric is left so that I can maybe put a final border and finish it up.

Time to mow and edge again, but first must get to the grocery store. Then laundry and housework. This working gig (even part time) has certainly interfered with my life style...

My equilter order came last week, and I've done nothing but wash it. Still needs ironing, but something new is in order. I'm tired of the monster.


Mexican Hat and Stokes Aster are bloomin and more daylilies, datura, achillea.

Beautiful Saturday

Busy day Saturday. Went to Tai Chi class in the morning and from there to the Ledbetter Heights Music and Arts Fair in the park next to the Municipal Auditorium for a Kung Fu and Tai Chi demo. Although very warm, there was a nice breeze and a tree that provided shade. I especially love the pictures of the little ones who were so sweet and excited.



Unfortunately, only a couple of shots were what I really wanted as my camera is so slow that after the cool "in flight" moves were executed, the camera clicked. Always seconds too late...

Pin cushion redux

Inspired by Bitter Betty whose lovely efforts are here, I decided to try a more fashionable wrist pin cushion than the one I almost wore to the grocery store the other day. I haven't finished the beading and still have to check the flea market for an old watch band (may end up with regular elastic), but I'm quite pleased. The base is a piece of handmade felt that I made during my felting experiments a while back and did some free motion thread play on before abandoning it. Just cut off a piece, stuffed it, put a little cardboard in to keep pins from puncturing my wrist, and voila!

Tired, but pleased...

When asked why he missed Tai Chi on Tuesday night, Thomas replied that he had been taking part in National Shrub Trimming Day. Unaware of this year's schedule, I failed to participate. (You could have told me, Thomas.) At any rate, better late than never--I had my own Local Shrub Trimming Day today. I was the lone participant on my street, but there are two large piles waiting for pick up!


Yesterday, despite the threat of rain, I mowed and edged...front and back. So today, I trimmed trees and shrubs, pulled ivy (3 kinds), pulled lemon balm and mint, cut back or pulled 3 kinds of artemesia, removed and disposed of old lattice and trellis, completely cut down the climbing rose that forced me off the side walk on the side of the house, and took out a section of picket fencing. One benefit was the wonderful scents of mint, lemon balm, rose, and artemesia. Now, too tired to go to Tai Chi tonight myself, I'm indulging in a glass of Pinot Grigio and anticipating a hot bath and reading in my pajamas until time for bed.

skunks, poems, and paper work

After reading Granny Fran's post this morning, I searched for this poem by Naomi Shihab Nye. I love everything about this poem from the opening lines to the closing lines. Although I've had one unpleasant experience with skunks (getting rid of the odor on a sprayed dog is a matter of time and great effort), my affinity for skunks is a result of a childhood experience in which Laddie was entranced by the pet skunk of someone he knew. He wanted to get us one, but Mother said that although they were beautiful creatures, they were not pets and it would be like having a pet racoon or flying squirrel. We knew people who had tried to keep these as pets with unsatisfactory results. So the "poems that
[have] been hiding in the eyes of skunks for centuries" will remain in the images from Nye's poem.

I used to have a collection of pig poems (a favorite unlovely one was by Sylvia Plath). Another one was by Plath's husband, Ted Hughes, and others by Wendell Berry and Elizabeth Bishop and Louise Gluck. All were copies I made from various anthologies, and I don't know where they are now. Except for children's poems, pig poems are usually unlovely, but with vivid imagery.

And then there are the bat poems. Next week, a bat poem...

I've made progress at the office. To say they were behind in their filing is an understatement; each pile has to be separated by company, then by well name, then by date. THEN they can be filed...if they can be squeezed in.

The floor is a useful sorting place, but my knees were a wreck after sitting cross-legged amid the piles reciting: BPPJ 18, Brooks 18-1, Jeter 23 -1, Jeter 23-5, Dance 1, Kincaid 1, Dance 2, Tomkins 3, Garret 3-B and on and on.

"Not waving but drowning"

My husband was watching the David Blaine "Drowned Alive" program the other night, so I sat down and watched as well. A niggling thought kept intruding on my consciousness..."doesn't drowned mean...well, dead?" During those minutes, which passed more quickly for me than for poor David, the thought kept interfering. Strange, isn't it, that during an event so dangerous, a trivial thought will "drown" out others. For drown can also mean to drench or deaden awareness or muffle as stated in this dictionary entry. It is true that all of those definitions can apply to David Blaine's stunt, but still the oxymoronic title bothered me.

Then there is the Stevie Smith poem: Not Waving but Drowning that contains the line, "I was much further out than you thought" and may apply to the risk-taking side of Blaine's personality. For myself, the most horrifying aspect of the entire event is the length of time spent with nothing to do but concentrate on breathing. I'd go out of my mind. That would be true boredom. A week. Under water. With nothing. To do.

"roly, poly, little bat-faced girl"

Whenever I look at my bat-face cuphea, I think of the line by Paul Simon. One of my very favorite garden plants; I love the red and purple combination. The flowers are so tiny, but there are always so many, and the plant roots like a dream with no special treatment at all.

Thanks to all of you who gave recommendations about small quilting frames! I appreciate the input and the follow up in email to give more specific advice when I had questions. The project has stalled for lack of time, but hope to get back on track soon.

Although I spent a great deal of money last month (Mac's vet bill was almost my entire monthly income!), I bought no new fabric. (Pats herself on her back, here.) However, May is a new month, and the equilter selection tempted me back into stash enhancement mode. Also something to look forward to...the delivery, the opening of the package, the pleasurable sensation of handling it myself.

Chris returned from Diega Garcia last week, and he and Amelia, Kyle and Rachel attended Jazz Fest to see Paul Simon. Amelia's remark was another Paul Simon quote: "miracles and wonders."

Hand quilting and other concerns...

Life has had several little coincidences lately. You know the sort of thing: you think about something and then that something appears in your life some how. Two most recent: yesterday I had a craving for pizza, and when Fee came in last night he had a large, flat box in hand! Then yesterday, as I worked on my current project considering hand quilting it and decided to ask for hints and opinions about small frames, then Karoda's post this morning voiced the same concerns.

So hand quilters, what suggestions do you have for hand quilting and frames? I've only quilted tiny things (8" x 10" or smaller) at this point and only about 3 of those, so I'm a novice in this skill.

More rain. I've got to take Laddie to the doctor this morning and then to the office where I'm currently employed as part time file clerk. In the rain...yuck. Have you ever gone out wearing one of these? I noticed it before it was too late, but still arrived at the grocery store only to have a kind lady remove the lady bug from my shoulder. !! It had been hours since I was in the yard, so the adventurous "lady" had been hitching a ride for quite a while.

Poetry Thursday

This quilt that I made in October was inspired by lines from Ars Poetica.







Ars Poetica

A poem should be palpable and mute
As a globed fruit,

Dumb
As old medallions to the thumb,

Silent as the sleeve-worn stone
Of casement ledges where the moss has grown --

A poem should be wordless
As the flight of birds.


A poem should be motionless in time
As the moon climbs,

Leaving, as the moon releases
Twig by twig the night-entangled trees,

Leaving, as the moon behind the winter leaves,
Memory by memory the mind --

A poem should be motionless in time
As the moon climbs.


A poem should be equal to:
Not true.

For all the history of grief
An empty doorway and a maple leaf.

For love
The leaning grasses and two lights above the sea --

A poem should not mean
But be.

~Archibald MacLeish

My April reading list is posted here.