Tuesday, August 28, 2012

And We're Walking

This morning I'm meeting my pal, Skully, and we're walking along the river.  The Fox River, not the steaming Firehole River or the racing Yellowstone River, just the Fox River which flows (rather sluggishly) through the center of Green Bay.  I'd like to teleport the two of us to those far-away riverbanks so we could walk along, dodging bison biscuits (which are huge and hard to miss) and drinking in the soft pine fragrance of the lodgepole pines.  Ahhhh.  Not that I'm complaining, no, I know how lucky I am, we are to have a river trail so close to home to walk on through the backyards of the city.  The part we walk on goes behind some pretty swank homes, through the back end of Heritage Hill, and past the Reformatory (aka GB Correctional Institute, aka prison) so we get a good cross-section of the socio-economic strata in our city.  Once I'm all hot, sweaty, and stinky I need to stop at Lucie's to drop off my latest batch of "sewing for dollars"--and get a check.  That's another thing I like about this, she pays on delivery.  I like the work, I like that I usually have the right color thread (or near enough) in the barrel of thread I got from Mom, I like that it's intermittent.  You'll be proud (and possibly impressed) that not only did I manage to get all of our vacation photos onto a CD, I also figured out (mostly by accident by pressing random buttons) how to make it play on the TV.  Of course I didn't organize them or delete any so it's a random, by day, view of all 1237 still photos we took.  Not in any order.  I just slapped the ones I took and the ones Durwood took into a file each day and after the first day I didn't even change their names, which turns out to be a good thing because the named ones put themselves into alphabetical order while the unnamed ones are in chronological order.  Much better.  Now that I know how easy it is, I can sacrifice (at least) one more CD to make a shorter, better storytelling "slide" show of our trip.  The big challenge will be wrangling the digital videos.  I might need the help of a kid, even a 33 year old kid has a lot more knowledge than I do as a 4-days-younger-than-61-yrs.-old, right?  Right.  I'm back from walking and delivering my sewing bins... and picking up another bin of what Lucie calls stragglers, tops that need fixing or need to be resized, so I didn't get a check today (boo) I'll get one tomorrow when I deliver this last (she swears it is--for now) bin (yay).  I fell down the rabbit hole in JoAnn Fabrics where I stopped on my way home to buy a little package of black fusible tape to try and fix one of the tops for Lucie.  I didn't accidentally swipe my credit card but some of my earned-but-not-paid-yet sewing money got left behind for a few spools of ribbon, a zipper or two, some random reduced price fabrics, and some heat-resistant batting stuff to use to make hot pads.  I'm determined to sew from stash but it's those things like zippers and ribbons and specialty items like the hot pad stuff that lure me back into the store against my will.  I'm a victim, that's what I am, a victim.  (that's my story and I'm sticking to it, don't be waving any facts in my face, I'm not looking)

August 28--Egyptian, probably Tukh el-Quaramus, Miniature Broad Collar.  Dierdre's fingers were shaking so badly that she couldn't work the necklace's clasp.  The heavy gold didn't make it any easier.  She heard the orchestra begin to play and the voices swelled up the staircase and flowed down the hall to her room, their room, not as distinct voices but as a rising hum.  Like the wind in the trees, she thought as she lifted her hands to the back of her neck once again.  If Paul wanted her to wear the damned collar he could at least be there to help her put it on.  Just as she was about to give up and call Vivienne for help, the tiny gold hook slid into the loop and the broad gold ornament settled just below her collarbones.  She took a step back and appraised her looks.  Paul had been right, damn him, her simple white silk shift was perfect for the complex gold, carnelian, lapis, and turquoise weight tugging at her neck like a gilded ball and chain.  (Do any of you read this part?  My BIL, RJ, told me he skips over it and I'm just wondering if everyone does, if I'm posting this part for my own edification.  Comments?)

Okay, that's it for today.  I need to slap some photos on here, hit "publish," and get down to the sewing dungeon, uh, studio and retag those tops and fix the booboos so I can get paid tomorrow.  Oh, today's Photo a Day theme is "clock" so here's a pic of the antique mantle clock that Dad junk-picked from an old house he was selling.  Mom & Dad let me keep it in my room and it followed me when I moved out, first into a single girl apartment in a very skeezy part of town, to various duplexes and houses and now back to my very own duplex.  I love hearing it bong the hour and half hour and I love the comforting tick of it when the house is silent.  Adios.


vjicha said...

I've always said the rivers out west trickle and make beautiful music, while rivers and streams here in the Midwest just ooze.

Aunt B said...

Of course I read it! It's a short (very short) story-a-day thingie! And I agree that you're lucky to be able to walk along the river with the ever-changing view. We feel the same way about our view of the ICWW -- yachts, jet skis, shrimp boats, kayaks, barges, etc. It's the whole strata of boat-dom.