Today I managed to be more like myself which was a real relief. First thing I finished the denim Dress no. 1. I decided to drop the pockets down an inch so they weren't resting on the seam where the medium and dark denims meet. This is by far the longest dress I've made but I really like it.
There are a few flowers on my long-suffering blueberry bushes. Last year they didn't bloom or fruit at all, they barely leafed out because the bunnies gnawed them down to the ground over winter. In the spring I fenced them in so they regrew but didn't make any berries. This spring (or what passes for it so far) they're leafing out and making a few flowers. Hooray!
The little pink viola that's potted on the patio table is blooming. The flowers are so tiny and delicate. My mother-in-law's name was Viola so I always think of those as Mother Malcolm flowers.
Speaking of mothers, the mama robin has finished her nest on top of the driveway lights and is sitting there incubating her eggs, I assume. She's flown away most of the time when I go out the front door or pull out of the garage but today she stayed. Maybe I snuck (sneaked?) up on her. I'm still not thrilled that she's there but now I couldn't knock the nest down.
I found a couple sheets at Goodwill that I think will do just fine for the robe I want to sew. Now I need to launder them, trim the pattern pieces, cut it out, and sew it up. Just like that. Snip, snap. (yeah, right) Also the one with the yellow and gray pattern was half-price.
In bird news, Mrs. Hummingbird perched on the crook just as pretty as you please so I got a decent picture of her and a pair of Mr. Goldfinches had a conference on some crooks. I love seeing them all.
After supper I added a couple more rounds to the Fake Isle hat but quit when I'd dropped a stitch twice in the same round.
1 June--Barbara Malcolm, Horizon.
Again I sat in the car watching the
people going into the store. I couldn’t
decide which of them might be in my class, so many carried bags or wore
backpacks.
I dithered long enough that by the
time I got directions and made my way to the classroom in the back corner of
the vast store, class was about to begin.
I stood in the doorway hoping to
see a familiar face but no luck. There
was only one empty chair. I tucked my
chin, made my way to it, and sat. I
glanced to my left to see an ancient gnome of a man, his china blue eyes
sparkling as he extended a hand and said, “Floyd Marley.” I shook his hand with a murmured “Gail Logan”
and turned to see who sat on my right.
All I could see was the back of a
woman’s head with black hair in tiny braids with beads on the end of each one
and a narrow back clad in a colorful sweater.
Before I looked away she turned my way and smiled.
“Hi,” she said, “I’m Samara.”
Oh my, I thought, she’s such a
pretty girl but she’s got her nose pierced and her eyebrow too, even one in the
center of her cheek… Embarrassed to
realize I was staring, I smiled back and said, “I’m Gail.”
“So, have you been painting long?”
Samara asked.
“Never. I just thought it would be fun.”
“I’ve been painting my whole life,
mostly on the walls, according to my mom.
I plan to major in Art at college next year.”
“That should be fun.” I scanned the tables, which were arranged in
a big square, to see what supplies everyone else had unpacked. Some of the students appeared to have
everything on the list piled in front of them and others had nothing on the
table in front of them. I had hoped to
see someone I knew but they were all strangers to me. It looked to me like most of them already knew
each other. I checked what Floyd and
Samara had out, decided to emulate them, and pulled out a small notebook and
pencil just as a woman came into the room and shut the door.
“Hi, everyone,” she
said. “I’m your teacher, June. Welcome to the first fall session of
Beginning Watercolor. Not beading, not
crochet, so if you’re signed up for either of those you’re in the wrong
room.” That made a little nervous
chuckle ripple around the room.
“Everybody got the supplies on the list?” She looked around at all eight heads bobbing
yes. “Great. Let’s get started.” She reached into a box on the chair behind
her, picked up a pile of brown paper grocery bags, and handed them to the woman
sitting on her right with instructions for her to take one and pass them
around. “Everyone put some water in your
ice cream pail and get out your one-inch flat and your biggest round brush, #8,
#9, or #10, whichever you decided to buy.”
We spent the first half hour of the
class using plain water and our brushes to paint shapes on the brown paper to
learn how changing the brush position or the pressure can change what it
does on the paper. Then June asked us to
cluster around her while she demonstrated how to prepare the paper, how to pick
up paint on our brushes, and how to put the color on the wet paper. It was amazing and a bit scary to see how the
drops of paint spread and changed and mixed together. Finally June sent us back to our tables to
trace a simple landscape onto a piece of paper and begin painting. I watched Samara and envied her freedom with
everything. Her brush strokes were
relaxed. She didn’t agonize over color
choices; she just painted. In contrast,
I had cramps in my fingers from gripping my brush before class was half
finished.
When we took a break Samara looked
at my painting and said, “I like the way you control your paint. Mine’s so messy.”
“Free is more like it,” I
said. “I love the way your colors
blend.”
This morning it was rainy then overcast and finally sunny-ish but it never got much above 60 degrees. Sheesh.
--Barbara
1 comment:
Did you take a watercolor painting class at some point in time? You must have to know how the class starts. Can't wait to hear how Gail does. I think she's going to have fun with Floyd and Samara. Great bird pix today. Love all the fine feathered friends who visit your backyard. Cute denim dress. The pockets especially.
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