83/94: Pausing

pausing

Day Eighty-three: One last meal on the porch. Pausing to remember and drinking to the fallen. We will never forget.

81/94: A Moment of Zen

hydrangea

Day Eighty-one: Our Hydrangea isn’t pleased either.

My child does not always do as he is supposed to do. Shocker, right? But around these parts, there are consequences for behavior and one of those consequences is having your computer taken away from you. If your computer is taken away from you, you best be finding things to do, because if I see you doing nothing I’ll find something for you to do. I don’t believe that idle hands are the devil’s playgound. I just don’t think I should suffer alone.

Which is what prompted today’s moment of zen:

Me: Um, you. You lounging on your bed doing nothing isn’t working for me. You better find something or at least look busy when I come back in here or I’ll find something for you to do. Something chore like. You won’t enjoy it.

Boy Wonder: What if  my lounging is actually me being busy meditating?

I’d like to tell you that I didn’t dignify that with a response. But in truth, I attempted to stifle my laughter while I told him that meditation didn’t count. (and don’t be taking his side on this, because he wasn’t meditating!)

His father was in the kitchen and overheard our exchange. He laughed too. And laughed and laughed and I resisted the urge to punch him in the arm as I walked by. But my child had a book in his hand and appeared to be reading when I checked back. So. I win.

And I’ve illustrated today’s moment of zen with a picture of my water-logged Hydrangea. Because that’s just the way I roll.

80/94 Naked

buntingdown

Day Eighty: The house always feels a bit naked when the bunting comes down.

**I’m still moving the studio. I’ve been waylaid by a faulty water-heater. Repair people are working to haul out the damage; but until they’re done, I can’t move anything more into my space without crawling over them.

79/94: Moving Day

movingday3

Day Seventy-nine: Darling IZ said if I put my fabric into laundry baskets, he would carry them down the 2 flights of stairs for me. I love him.

77/94: I’ve Got Nothin’

nothing

Day Seventy-seven: But it’s a pretty nothing.

It’s chaos here. IZ and I have spent the day pushing through on the new studio. We even moved the huge hutch down the two narrow flights of stairs and I began painting it. That was very scary—since it’s heavy and cumbersome and the glass feels precariously hung.

But that means you can now add my old studio to places in my house where chaos reigns. I’m trying hard not to cry and let it get to me.  Seriously, I do not function well with every space in “move” mode. It’s not the mess as much as the vibe that gets to me; I abhor moving and even an in-house swap makes me break out in hives.

So, no photos of the chaos. And there will be no photos of me in my painting clothes either… since the elastic in my pants is shot and I end up with an endless case of plumber’s crack. Nobody wants to see that!

IZ is convinced that the bulk of the move will be done by tomorrow. Presently, I’m choosing to embrace his delusions because it beats melting-down. In the meantime, I’m going to drink some wine, look at the pretty flowers, and try to breathe.

Breathing is good.

76/94: Macabre

deadbird

Day Seventy-six: Photo props left in the window.

Boy Wonder: (walking past the remains of a photo shoot)  Mom! That’s not a dead bird! Is it?

Me:  Yes, it is a dead bird. I just went outside and whacked the first black bird of a specific size over the head. You know, so I could take a pretty picture. Don’t you think people will want to buy my candles more if there are recently deceased birds in the product shots?

Ok, I didn’t really say that.

Seriously? Dead bird? Where does he get this stuff? I cannot roll my eyes further into my head without risking brain injury. There is entirely too much sarcasm and not enough common sense in this house.

75/94: A Rare Sunset

sunset

Day Seventy-five: The marine layer is creeping back once again. But yesterday’s sunset will hold me for quite some time. I caught it just as it was ending. . . and even so, it’s beautiful.

74/94: Deconstructed

pommartini

Day Seventy-four: Deconstructed

So, it’s been a day. A day of undoing. Considering that I’m feeling a bit undone, it’s in keeping I think. I spent the better part of the day fretting about my bead investment, after realizing that I really don’t like the pendant quality. It feels clunky. And Mireio is a lot of things, but I’m hoping clunky isn’t one of them.

Which meant a decision to either abandon the project or wade deeper in— oh come on, y’all should know by now which path I took. I’m predictable on that front.

I found another solution. Or, at least a possible one. And promptly fell into a deep funk after paying for the supplies. Let’s just say the proto-types of this endeavor are not going to be a money making venture.

Of course if I’m conflicted and tortured about something, I don’t suffer alone. I’m sure there are days IZ wishes he didn’t work from home. I tormented him with my angst over coffee and he found me hours later in my funk feeling sorry for myself.

“But you felt this way when you started with buckwheat, and you felt this way when you went to the new glass for candles. You should really trust your instincts more.”

Yes, yes I should. I took the scissors to the necklaces, sorting out the reusable components and trying not to calculate my losses. Taking things apart is never as much fun as putting them together.

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