(no subject)

Listening to the roofers replace plywood above my head yesterday, the penultimate layer in the strata that shelter me, i came to believe that we were a rainy season away from pots and pans and dripping water music. Some of the roofers wear hard hats, others don't. Christine, with her cynical view, suspects those without are day laborers and those with (and there are few of them) are unionized. I'm not sure, suspecting carpentry is still a skill. But, indeed, there's much moving of material around that might not be done by carpenters but day laborers.

The ladder was right near my desk and i occasionally made eye contact with those going up and down. I didn't warmly wave or act welcoming: unsure of the etiquette of intersecting workspaces i just nodded acknowledgment. That's me: reserved, which might be aloof or might be respectful, depending what you want in a stranger.

I suspect that if i look out, i'll see the lines of red pennants on other roofs. I suspect the oddly celebratory fluttering flags are actually safety markers: roof ends over here.

My plans for the week didn't take into account the possibilities of the roofing. I think i can clean the deck as soon as i finish my morning's mental meanderings: removing bird seed spills and shells, nails, sawdust, and the fine dust that settled when they shoveled off the roof gravel. I guess i'll water-wash the plants, as well, to remove as much of the dust as possible.

Then -- and here's where i need to ponder -- how do i manage using the deck for my dye studio with the uncertainties of the roofing (when do they tar? how safe is it to work out there when they're banging away?) and the uncertainties of the weather (the deck gets rather warm midday and into the afternoon)?

I am actually delighted to see the warming trend, but the forecast for near our campsite stays the same: Partly cloudy. Patchy fog. Highs in the upper 70s. Lows in the upper 50s.

--==∞==--

Beloved, help me navigate the possibilities of this nine day break from my employment. I want so much, i dream so much, i expect so much. I know nine days can not be all the things i imagine. Guide me to the right activities: ones that will ground me so that i can return to work and be responsive not reactive, ones that will reward me with delight in color and creation, ones that help me relax and rest so that i have a better sense of what is sustainable action.

While i struggle with the sense that i am trapped in my employment-role, i do not think this is the time to explore that. Instead, help me regain the resiliency and sense of possibility, so that i can make plans to coach myself in exploring how to change my sense of being trapped to a vision of travel along a road.

--==∞==--

I didn't quite make it to the end of the work day yesterday, but faded out. We bounced some evening plans around, but i ended up reading the eBook Ghost Ship by Sharon Lee and Steve Miller. I had some wine of dubious quality, mostly for the sedative and relaxing effect, and nibbled much of the evening.

(no subject)

I thought of amaebi as i saw a late twenty to early thirty-something year old wearing an oh so ironic "college" t-shirt get into his BMW with it's "INVISIBL [hand]" license plate in a Wharton - University of Pennsylvania license plate holder. I have memories of Wharton students from my time at Penn,and associate them with a get-rich, me-first energy. Enven the Wharton professor who was going to help the Christian Association sell it's core-of-campus building created such a sense of antagonism with the University, that the deal with the obvious buyer got caught up in court cases and dragged on.... What is there to witness to Mr Invisibl Hand?

--==∞==--

I'm returning back to the grocery store shortly: the pharmacy was closed last night. Christine and i walked down town yesterday evening under the full moon, planning our meals through our first breakfast at the campground. We bought frozen yogurt from the hip self-serve place where you pay by the ounce. While pounding techno played i selected the oatmeal cookie gelato, the praline yogurt, and topped it with cinnamon and chocolate syrup. (There are tart flavors there, too.) We marveled at the crush at the established gelato store across the street, and then walked back to the plaza at the train station, where we made our grocery list on a park bench under the full moon.

The number of wandering minstrels on the street was impressive: what would be a lovely street performer costume for Christine to play Italian mandolin, i wonder.

--==∞==--

One item on the grocery list is flour, as i am going to play with a flour resist on the cardigan and t-shirt i died mostly red last year. You plaster the fabric, allow to dry, and then crinkle, creating cracks in the paste. Then you apply thickened dye, which seeps in the cracks, creating a natural fragmenting pattern.

I've also tied a small camisole in a irregular pleat around two conjoined soda bottles. It's my attempt at Arashi shibori inspired resist. I'm also trying again with tied small puckers -- most like tie-dye -- using the artificial sinew. Last year i used crochet thread and found the unbinding didn't leave me with one long marvelously mottled pattern, but lots of small bits. While i appreciated the subtle resist pattern, i'm looking forward to a stronger resist, this time

I do enjoy imagining how the chemistry of bringing the celulose, the reactive dye, and the soda together will work. Soak the fabric in soda and then dye? Add the soda to the dye and then apply?
Apply dye to dry fabric, to wet? All create different effects, none of which i'm particularly experienced with. I suppose i should find the video notes i made last year to review.

(And, oh, that's right -- i need to soak the fabric in soda water before applying the flour paste!)