This morning I went for coffee with one of the Class of 1965 guys who lost his wife a couple years ago. He'd tried to ask how I'm doing a few times at the group lunch but there's usually a lot of joking around and talking over one another so it's hard for us to have more than a moment's conversation. He called the other day and we agreed to meet at Perkins' today. It was nice; he talked about his wife and how much she meant to him, I talked about Don and how I couldn't have married anyone better. We each agreed that neither of us is looking to take applications for a replacement but it sure was nice to have someone to talk to that doesn't roll their eyes when the "I miss my person" conversation enters its second hour. We'll do it again. On my way I snapped a quick picture of the skeleton of the Arena. It's been the site of concerts, the circus, sports events, and high school graduations for over 50 years but it's too expensive to fix so down it comes and a new one will rise in its place. I saw Doc Severinson there, Sha Na Na, Chuck Berry, Muddy Waters (who was the all-time best), B.B. King, Maynard Ferguson--those are just the ones I can think of right now. 
This afternoon I spent time crawling around on the floor cutting out a couple Dresses no. 1. That pink Shirt no. 1 refashion of a Caribbean caftan-thing wasn't as successful as I'd hoped so I found a soft white-on-white striped sheet at Goodwill that I cut to make a Dress no. 1 (which is like a jumper) that I plan to sew to the pink top at the shoulders. I opened the side seams of the pink Shirt and I'm not sure if I'll add a gusset or just turn the raw edge under and let it float over the top. The blue jean fabric is for another Dress no. 1. I have a black denim one that I wear quite a bit, besides I need another solid color one because I've bought striped and printed knits to make long-sleeved tees for winter. I still haven't let go of the idea of making another swimsuit. I brought up some fabric today but there isn't enough to do what I want. Gotta keep digging in the stash.
Last night was the monthly Knitting Guild meeting. We usually meet and knit in a downtown park, but since it was sooooo hot and sooooooo muggy one of the members offered her home as a place to knit. Eight of us took her up on her invitation and as I parked in front of her lovely home two turkeys strolled away into the woods. Nature!
I added rounds to the Welcome Beanie tonight at Friday Night Knitting. Only six more rounds to go until time to decrease. I love the colors of this yarn.
19 July--Barbara Malcolm, Horizon.
Spring was fighting its
way through winter very slowly this year.
Here it was the end of April and there were still piles of dirty gray
snow in the shadowy places and what should have been warm rain showed up as ice
storms. My yard was littered with broken
branches, which would be a pain to pick up, and even my daffodils on the north
side of the house were barely peeking out.
What we needed was one day of sunshine and everything would just pop.
I noticed in
the latest Kingman Times that brave souls were starting to have rummage
sales. I had so many unframed paintings
stacked around the house I thought maybe I could find some cheap frames at
them. I had learned that I was a better
judge of my work when I saw each painting framed.
I called Clara
to see if she'd be interested in launching a campaign to find some. "Sure, I'd love to go rummaging with
you, Gail."
We met for coffee at my
place early the next morning with the Times and a county map. Clara brought over pieces of her delicious
cinnamon-brown sugar cake and we plotted our plan of attack. There were an even dozen listed with a huge
variety of wares advertised. A couple of
them even listed frames. It wasn't the
prettiest spring day; in fact it was overcast, chilly, and drizzly but I figured
that might help me negotiate the prices a bit lower.
Off we went in
Clara's ancient station wagon that had served so well ferrying seven kids to
and from Scouts, basketball, choir, and a million other activities. What was even more amazing was that it had
survived seven kids learning to drive.
The paint had faded to a pale shadow of its original dark teal decorated
with what looked like a rust lace skirt.
But it still ran and there was plenty of room in back for frames of
almost every size.
The first few
sales we stopped at were mobbed. I guess
everyone was as sick of the lingering crummy weather as we were. Each stop yielded a few frames, some with the
most god-awful art in them imaginable.
The worst were the pitiful daubs of Lorene Lewis' daughter, Ruth, who had
spent the last fifteen years proving that if you don't have talent for
painting, you can't learn it. But I
could use the frames.
We hit the mother lode at
Kendall's farm. Old man Kendall had made
wooden furniture as a hobby and he had a barn full of the most beautiful
handmade frames. His daughter-in-law,
Sheila, was running the sale and let me have the lot, over 50 frames in every
size, for only one hundred bucks.
Years of
shopping together gave us the skills to cram them all in back, although I had
to hold the big copper boiler Clara had bought as a planter in my lap. We drove off before Sheila realized how
cheaply she'd sold them to me for.
"Gail, I
can't believe how lucky we were to ask about frames. I could have just died when she pulled open
that shed door and there stood all these frames."
"I know. It was hard to keep a straight face when I
asked if she'd take a hundred dollars for the entire lot. And then not to jump around like a crazy
woman when she said yes."
How do you know that I'm back to feeling normal? It's 11:30 and I'm still up. Sad-me goes to bed earlier. I'm going to hurry up, slap on a piece of Horizon and hit the sack. Nighty-night.
--Barbara
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