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A good friend and former doctor took me out to lunch this week. Ahi tuna salad with a glass of Chardonnay. Very nice. We caught up on news of her recent trip to France and my excursions into town and my neighborhood. I am getting more reclusive as I age.

Remember those boxes I made that contain all the special sketches and mementos from different countries? Well, that’s how I prefer to travel now. Just mix up a cocktail, sit down with one of seven countries, and fondle the bits of memory enclosed. So much easier and so full of happiness. It was such a good idea to make these boxes to look through later in life as travel would become more difficult.

When we went to the restaurant for that lovely salad, I was able to take the waitress the shirt I made for her. She was very surprised and happy that I did it. Hers is the sage-colored one on the top of the stack.

And I learned that with darker colors, never use a lighter colored thread. It really stands out. The other thing I learned was how meditative it is to sit and use your seam ripper to remove all the offending stitches.

The neighborhood is taking a bit of a chachka look as someone seems to be unloading their collections around the subdivision. Several artificial flowers in flower beds with the real thing, which pushes the idea of a southern cemetery. But this construction worker’s port-a-john really takes the prize! And yes, that actually is a bird house hanging off one side.

I did not venture a trip around the back side to see if the workers were still allowed access.

Back to poetry this week. It feels good putting down words in lines and then knowing those thoughts have found a place to be instead of rambling around in my head and heart looking for a way out. There’s an old fellow from England that I happened onto on line. He sits in his garden, apologizes for not having more flowers than greenery, shrugs deeper into his jacket and reads poems from a very large book. His eyes sit deep above puffy lower lids as they move over the words of a poet he has taken the time to introduce before reading. Just listening to him and seeing the joy he feels when reading, I want to make a cup of tea and sit for a longer time in his company and garden.

I need to do more sketching in my books. It would be a good idea to not have any blank journals left behind. We book makers do not assemble all those pages to be left blank. And I am not the type that would even consider pasting in scraps of paper with a copied phrase from Mary Oliver.

Today I will make a quiche to clean out the fridge and have six meals at the ready.

I will be able to stay at home, keep to myself, and try not to watch the downward crash of a country I once was proud of.

Today it will be a nice Manhattan at the end of the day and early to bed.

Til later….

Yesterday I cut out four shirts. Today I thought I could just whip them up. Do you have any idea how long it takes to thread a needle in a sewing machine?! Forever! Then glasses and magnifying goggles later it is done….only to have the needle drop out completely because the tightening thingy came loose! THEN I had to figure out which way it went back in…assumed the flat side went to the right, but no…after putting back on seeing aids and several missed tries, I saw I was trying to thread into the side of the needle where there is no hole! Flat side to the back, needle threaded and sewing can begin.

Of course the first under the needle was the black one. Black textured material with black thread…good grief! Now I am down to just hand sewing the bias neck hole piece. But one more snag….the pocket I attached looked too low. I am wearing the same shirt but do you think I am going to take a look at where the pocket goes? No! But it was a bit long anyway, so instead of removing the pocket to put it where it should be, I cut off the bottom and restitched to keep my keys from falling through. To say I have lowered my standards or my level of satisfaction would be an understatement.

Now three more to go with lessons learned and still lodged in my brain.  The rest of today and most of tomorrow will be sitting at the machine, threading needles or wondering if I can get away with a thread that doesn’t match.

Last Sunday when I went to my neighbor’s birthday party, I met up with a lady from one of my poetry groups. She remembered the last poem I read and to be honest, just talking about it made me decide to return. I miss people who use words. I miss people who can make me feel things. I miss the old guy who writes beautiful love sonnets, but not for those. I miss how he plummeted me into feelings for a dying moth that battered himself to get to the light and warmth only to take his last breath on the cold concrete below. I miss holding my breath as someone reads of the simple things I understand. I don’t miss the poetry with words I have to look up or ones that take on strange forms I have a hard time following. But a dead moth is worth the wait.

Today at cocktail time, I shall have an extra strong one. At least one more shirt will be finished, I will have watered my plants, worked on my own new poem, and thought about all the things old ladies think about before giving up on wondering why. Seems like a busy day, doesn’t it?

I might take a walk if only to pass these bright yellow flowers.

Maybe I won’t take a walk. Today is not a day for visiting and chance encounters. It is a day of just me with few words and fingers too clumsy to push a thread through a needle. It’s a day to remember when I could and had higher expectations of myself. It is a day for pushing myself to get something done and being happy I did. A day to keep myself quiet, hug a cat, and go to bed early to try again tomorrow.

Till later…

Hello again. It is a depressing week here in the Un-united states. Ignorance still reigns. With the Supreme Court’s decision to gut the Right to Vote acts that were established sooooo many years ago, and the march across the famous protest bridge in Selma yesterday, I was reminded of how I wanted to march in Selma all those years ago. I assumed that I would be safe because I had white privilege, but that misconception and my mother’s firm stand against my going, I stayed home and watched appalled. Then when it was over and voting rights firmly established, I thought it was finally settled. But no, we are still the most racist modern country. Still easily frightened by the different, and still easily cowed by blustering blowhards given a daily platform to spew their venom. I would move if I could just to avoid what is coming. There are days when it seems I am caught between hatred and despair.

I visited my dermatologist this week for my semiannual check up. He still has the expensive Trump coffee table books strewn around his waiting room. He asked how I was and I told him I wished I had left the country earlier. His comment was, “See you in six months, and I hope you are feeling better.”

Please continue to boycott this country. And keep the influences of BS and billionaires out of your own. We are the roadmap for self destruction of democracy.

This is what I see when I leave my hair dresser’s. Tall, tall trees with lots of kudzu.

And just down the road to the right is a Mexican/Italian restaurant with margaritas and a very good white veggie pizza.

In my own yard I am watching birds. This mockingbird has decided to come often but only sings when in the top branches of tall trees.

I like their big feet and long twitchy tail. Then one of the many song sparrows came here to collect for his/her nest. So well camouflaged!

I watch birds and draw in my sketchbooks. Here is the latest couple of pages with the new maple tree I bought for the yard.

I need to get back to my book with letters as the focus. In the second letter where the woman is leaving her husband for all the bullet pointed reasons, she returns from the car to scrawl “FUCK YOU” on a post-a-note. Some messages need the order and disconnection of an email-type font, and others demand the hand-formed letters of emphasis. The husband has just passed up taking out his cold beer to read what she had to say. I am going to enjoy writing her reasons for being long gone.

Next maybe a child’s letter to a favorite teacher. It will have drawings that need to be there…because what else would a child do with all those margins of blank space.

It is a lovely day today. Sunny and near 80. Maybe I will get onto that fabric that needs over-dying. I might even toss it over a bamboo fence out back to let it dry. Why not? Maybe a complaint will come my way, maybe not. I am not in the mood to care that much.

Better go and heat my tea in an rust filled pot.

Til later….