Memorial Day Weekend

More stripes on the quilt top:

Our basil has sprouted, in spite of Gavin helpfully trying to drown it. Maybe we put a few too many seeds in there... I don't know a lot about nature stuff. I like wild growth and overgrown gardens, maybe there's a book for the willfully ignorant gardener I can find somewhere. It'll be short; "plant, water, neglect, repeat".

Sookie has become a ratter, throwing rats all over the lanai, running through the living room with corpses, and then kissing my face with her little ratty lips. Po, feeling peer pressure, has started venturing outside a few steps, then gets scared, scrambles through the house on her tiny legs, poops in the bathtub, and climbs on me to nuzzle with her poo paws. Evidently I am made of an attractive wipey-type material.

Being a holiday weekend, most of the folks around here have opted to avoid a trip to town, and the general stores are cleaned out of meat. Mike came home with giant steaks, which were delicious even though I caught them on fire while he wasn't looking.

Ahead: very exciting stuff.

Misc with the xfh

The heat makes the air heavy, blurring the horizon. I like that, these days. It used to be that I suffered summer, waiting for winter, but the recent years have turned me into a creature of the sun. Several nights ago, I rolled onto my back on the living room floor and saw the moon shining through the skylight, red as a bloody eye and staring. And I remembered, It was red that week. I rolled away before it could pin me to the floor. I am faster than the moon, ha.

I've taken up quilting, which involves a great deal of shaking cats out of batting that is not mentioned in craft books. Mike had been hovering, so I offered him a pair of pinned squares, "Want to try sewing?" "Sure," he said, and he took the fabric, sat down on my stool, fiddled curiously with the unfamiliar machine, and then proceeded to sew a perfect seam. By the end of the evening, he was whirring down the length of my quilt top in a neat line.
"This is what I hate about you," I told him. "You'll try anything, and you'll be good at it, and you have no damned sense about it. 'Scottish dancing? Hey, I'll be an instructor! Knitting? I made a lace kimono! Beer brewing? Here's an Irish Porter! Illicit drugs and sex? Sure, sounds fun! Deliver this box for you?'"
"Fly this plane?"
"'Put this package where?'"
"Crash into what?"


Stupid man.

Trip to town

On the way to town for a meeting, I passed under the now twice-fallen landslide. Kind of furtively.

Am working on first grown-up sized quilt. With bits of cat sewn in.