I Am So Artistic

Well, sometimes I am :)

Actually, it's because every time I start to clean my room, I turn up the beginnings of some project I once had in mind, and then I decide to settle down and do it. So, back in December I'd made one pretty cloth flower and found a good button for it, but had nothing to sew it on-- and into my little tub of scrap fabric and needles and thread it went.

Likewise, I was pretty sure I had some jeans fabric lying around, and remembering the cute purses I've seen made out of old jeans, I reflected that I might try making one, myself.

I discovered two back pockets in my little container, pleased that my vague recollections proved accurate. I had two matching buttons, so I made another flower and, well... one thing led to another!

The two pockets, which I will eventually sew together into a pouch. It might be a good little thing to hang in my closet, filled with a nicely scented sachet. I did some beading on the backside mostly because I found my thin beading needle, and because it's fun.

The Bistro

The Bistro: Coming Soon!
Through blank windows I see
Tables,
Painter's tape.
Tired air.
My day is at an end;
evening sets in, thickly.
Also inside:
a lone woman,
working late but
still for a moment,
musing
on the potential of a dream.

A Random Pickup Line

(...for nerdy English majors and sympathisers only.)

"Baby, you must be Hamlet, 'cause you look as tasty as a Danish."

Summertime

"Summertime, when the living is easy..."

The yard is lovely and verdant now... I did miss the greenery in Belfast.

Dad's visiting, and has a nice furry placemat.

My bromeliad finally blossomed... after four years.

Kittens lie around in the sun all day and enjoy the new flooring in the back room.

The garden in blossom!

My Neighbors

They sat out on the patio together, a rare early morning sight. They sat in silence, hunched over their plates with characteristic single-minded concentration, chewing with dull satisfaction. They exchanged condiments more than words, and yet there was a bond between them, all the same. An aging couple, enjoying a rare cool summer morning together. Their son, perhaps five years my senior, still lives at home; his father works an overnight shift for a shipping company and the mother’s at the mercy of Walmart’s exploitative hours. Their drive to make money seemed matched only by the size of their cars, not to mention their mission to deforest their yard and disfigure the landscape. And yet, this moment of tenderness, in a morning that was unusually still… almost poetic.

Then the man lifted the bag that had held their breakfast, and the glaring red and yellow McDonald’s logo shattered the moment.