I will admit it, I went to bed at about 6:30 last night. Just to lay down for a bit. Awoke at 11:30 like someone hit in the head with a frying pan in a cartoon. Put the confused birds to bed, and returned to my puppies and blankets. And actually slept. Haven't slept a full night in days due to RA discomfort, and knew this was coming. Well, forget the euphemism. Not just discomfort, actual pain. The bad kind in the toes that wakes you from a sound sleep and reminds you that the clock is ticking on your joints and mobility. 

But there is so much art to do! 

Sometimes battling the fatigue associated with an RA flare is winnable -- but often the internal batteries are so drained you know that the 3% that is left won't be enough to do anything of measure, so it's best not to fight. Sleep helps, and is an escape from soreness. I feel very much like a cell phone that needs charging. When on the last bar of energy, I better not try to take too many photos or I will completely shut down. 

Last week I pushed my luck on a Monday night and worked on a new art piece that I am excited about for an extra hour or so, landing in bed around 9:45. I paid for it all week, as during Flare Times one isn't allowed to do anything, it seems. So discouraging. Seems like a massive exaggeration and whine-fest, but it really isn't either. Just stating the facts, ma'am. It feels like a cruel joke -- I finally have all the materials. tools, and most important the IDEAS for artwork -- but have the physical stamina of a sloth to get things done. I know many people have it much, much worse and can accomplish more than I do, and it frustrates me.  

Doctor offers more steroids, which are not a good solution, or more of the biologic medication I take at the next infusion, which I will try. She said if I were her patient at the beginning of her practice I would be in my current condition within a few years, so that is a consolation, I suppose. She asked "So you want to stay working?" Ummm. Gee, let me think about it. YES! Who knows. All I know is I am grateful for my ice packs and have an addiction to ice water as my temp seems to be running high these days, too.  And this too will pass! 

The new piece I am working in has a base of almost all digital fabrics. I scanned gelli prints and played with them in Photopaint, and printed out sheets to use for piecing. Finally really yellow fabric! I also printed a bunch of dreamy photos from this summer's one beach excursion when the sunset was doing amazing things. Some edited, some not. It is a whole new way to feel and work. And there is a big seagull.

New color palette, using ideas that mean something to me, and I am inspired to stay up and fight the good fight to get it going. What more can one ask for? I am in love with the printer and being able to make the cloth I want to use. Game changer. I go to Joann Fabrics and no longer am limited to what they have at hand. To make the jump from screen to cloth at home is truly inspiring. C'mon RA, give me a break so I can do this!! Gripe over. Be well everyone and stay up late if you can pull it off. The alternative is not that great! 

It is a blur since the last post. A roller coaster of fear and worry, and returning to work in the worst heat I can ever remember teaching through. Happy now to know that all is finally on the mend with little Tilly, and the rhythm of the school day is again feeling normal after only three full teaching days. Like riding a bike. A big bike with 350 kids hanging on to the seat, pedals, my hair, and the bike's handlebars, but a bike no less. 

And I love it. Managing the mental chaos that arrives with the start of a school year is exhausting but also right up my alley in terms of sorting detail and planning. Getting to know new faces, seeing so many sweet kids that are actually happy to be back, and the laughter that accompanies each day when one works with kids. Oh, the laughter. I miss that in the summer. 

Tilly went through what I can only call radical dental surgery on August 23. He had 24 teeth removed while under sedation, and thanks to my amazing vet friend Carol, it was successful for him. Can't say it was for me, though, as the whole experience felt very traumatic. My 94 year old son did not have a smooth recovery and is very vocal to his mama. He shook and shrieked nonstop for several days following the procedure and made me feel so guilty for having subjected him to the surgery. Gradually, he has weaned off pain meds and is now appeasing his ravenous appetite -- eating more dog food than I've ever seen him consume in his life! His resiliency is nothing short of amazing, considering his liver is bad since age four and he was supposed to not live very long. It's been a long road with this little pup, and though his smile is forever changed, he can now satisfy his hunger, take walks again, and most importantly, poop (that has been an ongoing issue due to not eating well and infection from a yucky mouth.) Now the Toothless Wonder has fresh breath, too -- bonus! Words can't describe the sense of relief I feel in knowing he will be okay, at least for a while. It was a rough patch. 

As was opening school with temps in the high nineties. And I am in the basement! We are talking high humidity, wring out your shirt after thirty minutes, type of heat. Constant sweating, as if I'd just worked out (perish the thought!) Nothing like stress and excessive heat to kick RA into gear for the goal. Today it is expected to only be 86, so that is an improvement. My room stayed at a steady 80 yesterday, but the humidity was so high the printer kept jamming and all the paper felt damp. The floor feels slippery and the air feels hard to breathe. Yuck. 

On the art front, things are looking great, though! I completed the first piece of art for the School of Stitched Textiles class and have submitted it to my tutor (the term "tutor"sounds so Harry Potter...) I am reasonably happy with it, and see  it as a departure from the Completely Flat World of Art. Making chunks of quilted and stitched fabric is fun and can lead to interesting structures. It allows for more mixed media and experimentation (one concrete benefit I've taken from this class, for sure.) I look forward to the next piece, and working with a wider color palette, too. No more green for a while! 

Except for Boncuk, who is green, and is sitting on my left shoulder as I write this. He is nestling under my neck, and the sound of his little foot moving faster that the speed of light to itch his neck feathers is amazing. Probably only bird peeps get that part. 

And, another addiction has taken hold of my hands, but I think it is a good one. Thanks to a little video by Laura Kemshall on English Paper Piecing, I have rediscovered the technique (long forgotten in my own art making history.) Again, like riding a bike, my hands have recaptured the rhythm of basting little bits of cloth onto cardstock shapes, and I am delighting in the perfect geometry the technique produces. Already I have two big hexies made of diamonds and jewel shapes using fabric I like. Going for the scrappy look and to make some pillows...watch out relatives, lol. I love that it is portable and I can do it anywhere -- at the district Welcome Back to School meeting, in bed before sleep, and even in the chair when getting the last Remicade infusion -- during which I made 30 diamonds. Gotta be a record for me on that one! 

Sadly, Laura Kemshall made the video as she is making a raffle quilt for the hospital that is treating her recent horrible cancer, and she works on it during her chemotherapy appointments. That is where I got the idea to try. Because the needle is in the crook of the arm, some (most) hands-on activities block the flow of the iv and cause an embarrassing beeeeep that the nurse has to come fix. For some reason, I can do EPP in a position that doesn't block the meds. Woot!  Now Remicade time is studio time, and it has a better feeling attached to it. Yet another reason to love Laura Kemshall, as if one needed another reason! Best wishes to her in her treatment and outcome.  May she have as successful a treatment as the Tilman. 

Cheers!

Nothing is truly very permanent, is it? This summer has been such a mix for me. A mix of routine, attempts at accomplishment, much needed rest (as needed), and lots and lots of time with my birds, cats, and sometimes ill dogs. And lots, and lots of sad news and the deaths of four people close to good friends, and to me. I tend to punch holes in every moment of peacefulness, thinking there needs to be more going on than ever really needs to be, with a mind that has more ideas than time to explore them. Not getting to them all leaves me thinking that I am standing still most of the time, instead of seeing the baby steps of progression that are actually occurring.

Last night I took the pups out for a walk. My neighbor's two energetic maltese girls, and my two elderly citizens. Tilly, sporting a new very short haircut, resembled a newborn pink mouse on a leash. With the hair gone I can see that he has lost weight. Almost frail to carry. His appetite for food and walks has diminished this summer, and I think his vision and hearing are fading or gone. No longer charging up Temple Street like a puppy, as he did just this past spring, he now walks a few tremulous steps and waits as if he needs to reorient himself with the new space he has found. I put him on a leash and he refuses to walk altogether, so I stand next to him and reassure him with little pats as he tries to navigate. He seems scared. I am too. Very.  

When still on leash we encountered a puddle and I gently tugged the leash to guide him around it. His legs gave out and he fell on his side. Leave it to say I scooped him up and was glad no one was around to see me get emotional about it. This is my baby. It might be time to use the nice stroller Auntie Valerie sent the kids. Thanks, Valerie. 

Tilly's potty habits are not usual, and he is having trouble "going" in the right places. Honestly though I don't really mind that after dealing with Toby for so many years. I've always joked that Tilly pees magical rainbows and it is true. Just the fact that he is still here and almost fifteen makes this true.  We will cope. He spends most of his time sitting on a poofy bed, sleeping. He gets up a few times a day to drink, nibble, or pee, and then it is back to bed. Such is life for an oldie, I guess. Yet I hate to see it happen. It physically hurts.  99% of the time I am in denial but the reality is creeping in. Maybe because there have been so many wakes and funerals this summer that I feel like the veil between worlds is exceptionally thin? I don't know. 

What I do know is I look over at the doggie beds and see my two best friends resting peacefully amidst a pile of soft toys that Ellie has collected. I hear my happy parrots chuckling in the back room, and am greeted every morning by little Boncuk as he flies to my shoulder to welcome me when I enter the kitchen. That I am carefully guarded all night by two beautiful feline patrol officers that come and go as they walk their little kitty beats in between my night time naps. If I stop noticing all that needs to be done around here, all the Big House Improvements that are needed that I can't manage right now, all the Little House Tasks I Should Be Doing, and all the freelance work I Should Be Organizing, even the artwork I Should Be Making, life is perfect. At least it is life. In these special moments of awareness, I'll take it. Cheers. ​

....and it is RA for the win! I can understand getting hit for a day after overdoing it, which admittedly I did on Thursday. Was hoping there wouldn't be a two day hangover, but after last night's difficulty I called in the Big Guns and took extra prednisone this morning. Am typing with four fingers instead of all. The legs are wicked and the arches on the bottoms of my feet were feeling like overstretched taffy. I got upstairs, to bed, then the pain intensified to an ugly point, making sleep difficult. I move a lot in my sleep, and every move brings a jolt of pain. Sleep didn't come easy until about 4 am. Now it is time to feed the farm and make up for lost minutes of a nice Saturday...but how?  C'mon, meds, c'mon...

Yesterday was a washout as I made the decision not to get all sweaty yucky and try to compensate for Thursday's cleaning.  I did one Good Thing for my current art project, and had a BLAST doing it. I dug into my library and found Valerie Campbell Harding's amazing book "Edges and Finishes in Machine Embroidery" to gain direction with the next step of the current piece. I expected to sit for a leisurely half hour and gently think, but in true Ropple fashion within a couple pages and five minutes my brain was off and running.  Then it was zigzag all the way as I blended a neat braided yarn with a thin gold cord using variegated thread, and finally some metallic thread too. I made yardage of the stuff and know it will be wrapped and coiled, and beaded, to become a balanced part of the piece. As soon as the hands are working again. Grrrrr. 

It is so therapeutic to play with textural materials. I am so grateful to the amazing authors of all the books I hoard and treasure for carving such an eccentric path with their accomplishments. Even if yesterday was mostly a washout, I was able to make this and open a new door onto using handmade cords as embellishments and edges. Niiiiiice. Cheers. 

Taking a day to clean up the house, as it is in dire need of attention. This is because I was able to finish the main piece of art for my course with School of Stitched Textiles last night! I think it needs a little more and will get to it once the tsunami of mess and chaos is reigned in a bit. I don't live under the false illusion of being a domestic goddess, but even I have my limits...

So, Here is a peek of the piece as it is now...cheers! Back to cleaning! 

Today we lay to rest a member of the Temple Street neighborhood for as long as I can remember (more than 50 years.) She passed away a week ago, and today we say our final goodbyes. My neighborhood is like a small English village, really, and in the years since I bought my parents' house and lived here full time "Mrs. C" and I had become friends. She was a compulsive vaccumer and her house was always so spotless I was in awe. She was a down to earth, say-it-like-she-sees-it kind of woman who was fiercely independent and more resistant to illness than any person I've ever met. 

When I was young, I was in and out of her house like one of her own kids as her daughter Lisa was one year older than me, and we were best friends. Lisa died in a tragic accident at the age of 16, and it was a long road back from emotional estrangement for all of us. I reminded her of Lisa, and she reminded me of Lisa, and there was pain. For the past decade tough, I'd see Mrs. C when walking the dogs, and on the occasions that she needed a little help. We put her dog to sleep together, and I cared for her pets when she faced many hospital stays in recent years. We laughed about things on the street and in the world, she showed me pictures of her grandchildren, and shared a great love of dogs. Her house, with the kitchen light on, looms iconic on the street and is full of childhood memories. While she has been hospitalized for some time and the house stood empty, it was waiting for her return. Now it seems cold and lonely. Death is so sad. 

Add to this another sudden death this week of the husband of a dear friend. I am ready to lock myself into my sewing room and sew for a month. Alone. Doesn't matter what I sew, I just need to distract myself.  This summer has been tough -- losing Tobes, and then three significant deaths that have affected people I care about. Tilly being really ill, too.  Am working on my artwork, but seems to be a lot of other things that need doing, too. 

As I write this, my little green feathered pickle is being exceptionally sweet on my shoulder, reminding me that I have to get going and feed the flock. With them around, I will never slack off completely, which is a good thing. 

RIP, Mrs. C. You are missed. 
​

​Like clockwork, my teacher brain is waking up and getting ideas and plans ready for next year. Which starts in three weeks! Every year is like a work of art in itself, with initial plans, execution, experimentation and adaptation while in progress, and careful evaluation at the end. I think of years past as having their own identities and feels, and am sure the upcoming one will be no exception. Time to get going with the plans and preparation that will make this year fun and successful. And hopefully more organized. Last year I wasn't so great with that, and lived in the land of paper overwhelm. It did prove useful in that I am now facing more organized boxes of teaching materials that are just waiting for sane organization over the course of this year, leaving me with a refreshed set of resources for all my classes by June. Am moving towards more of a paperless classroom as well by taking full advantage of the amazing Google tools that are now available for organizing and even grading student work. 

And like clockwork, I am looking around at my disheveled home and all the things I planned to get done over this summer...! Oy! The front stairs need painting, there are greens that need pulling between the driveway and sidewalk (and throughout the flagstones in front of my house),the kitchen needs wallpaper, paint, and a good clean, and the east side of the house needs paint, too. I think I didn't tackle a lot of these things because of the heat, so I anticipate a dirty fall (in that I will be dirty a lot in the cooler weather!)  I miss having a husband. LOL. Really though, it is very hard doing all of this myself, even if I enjoy the challenge (and there is a part of me that does.) Some days, like this past week, it is hard just to get through a day of normal routine things that need doing - while not even working - due to health issues.  IT is hard not to get frustrated and anxious, but I am trying. 

Lately I am trying a new technique of managing my frustration and inability to function the way I want to...and it is surprising to even me. I am making quilt blocks. Plain, old quilt blocks. Four patch, half triangles, quarter triangles. Log cabins. They don't match and are made out of whatever I have to use at the moment. It is funny, because outside of the four little nephew quilts I made years ago, I don't make "real" quilts - but have always been in awe of them.  When giving quilt talks the guilds hold their show and tells, and I find myself gasping and their creations. And wishing I could make something so beautiful. I belong to a "scrappy" club group on Facebook and see all the amazing BIG things that people are creating with little pieces and little bits of time.

So, when faced with a few minutes of "lame time" when I still want to DO something, I grab some small pieces of cloth and bang out a few blocks. Eventually they may turn into things, or they may not. It's okay. Just the act of MAKING FABRIC feels productive. Using the machine, seeing cloth juxtapositions come to life feels good. And during lame times when the body is screaming, I need to occupy my mind with anything that feels good and is productive! Not part of my "art" (although I found that I made a few blocks that match my current artwork...hmmm...) 

The current piece that I am making for my City and Guilds UK course is well underway, and is pushing me into using dimensional elements and layers in new ways. Am trying to not over embellish, which may not be obvious for the beaded part I did this week. Some parts will be left naked! I am determined! More to come as this piece develops. 

And, not like clockwork, the unstoppable Tilman is, well, not like clockwork again in the potty department, causing him great pain and discomfort, and more vet intervention. Had to see a vet other than the Amazing Doctor Carol on Sunday as she was ill herself (feel better, Carol! Take time to get better!!) and Tilly is on antibiotics and pain meds to hopefully help him out.  Getting him to eat regularly is an issue as he demands chicken, not dog food, which is not a recommended diet. It seems like the best choice though as the auditioning of dog foods to find one that he will willingly eat has made his tummy a mess again. The vet recommended a sedated dentistry with the extraction of every tooth he has left, which scares me. I bet he would feel better without his teeth, but would he make it through surgery at his age? Will he live long enough after surgery to justify the procedure's cost to him and the financial cost, too?  Tilly is slowing down, and as Tim wisely said "is elderly and will have good days and not so good days" as he enters this phase of his life. He is in his late 70's now, age 14.5. Anything can happen now. 

I am not ready for this. Not at all. Losing Toby was tough, but different as he was so ill for so, so long. Tilly has been my best pal since my married days, a witness and part of both my old and new lives. My 8lb rock of a mighty dog is now becoming a more feeble, 7lb delicate and elderly pebble that needs protection and special care in order for it not to fracture or further erode. My heart is breaking a little bit more each day, each time I see him slow down and be uncomfortable with moving, eating, or going the bathroom. Maybe a slow break is the secret to not losing my mind when the inevitable eventually happens. Though I can't even think about it without filling up.

So, I won't! Off to make him a yummy chicken and pumpkin brekkie. And pray to the pooping Gods for clear passage LOL. 

And because this post needs a pic of Til but he is sleeping and I don't wish to take one, here's an oldie but goodie that sums it up nicely. Cheers!

Friday that could be Monday, and I'm loving it. When I went to the doctor this week my blood pressure was so low they took it twice. No joke! Having a flexible schedule is a wonderful thing. Am always busy, but at a pace that is manageable. This must be what getting old looks like! 

Maybe it is because I was raised a guilty Catholic (since mostly abandoned, though.) Maybe it is because I was raised by parents who worked really hard their whole lives and made it clear to us that their childhoods were so bad that work was the only thing that saved them. I have issues with "productivity." When I think about it, I don't ever just relax, and never really have! I'm always "doing" something, mentally or physically, usually both (lol.) Even when I work on art I categorize it in my head as "work" -- giving it a justification that it doesn't really need. Hmmm...summer comes and I am confronted with the one ingredient that I have so little of during the school year: time. And I would feel horrible about wasting such a gift! 

So here I sit, on a gorgeous Friday, and am free after noon today. I am going to the beach. To do nothing on purpose. I might not even bring a book, or even a sketchbook.

I've been looking at the Designmatterstv site again and want to sign up and just absorb all that loveliness. How on earth have the Kemshalls created so much? How have I created so little? It is humbling. Yet I still shrink away from spending time on art these days, feeling like I should be doing more worthy things. Aren't there people suffering in other parts of the world? The state? My town? What good will me making a thing from fabric and beads help? I look at my little Quaker parrots, who are busy all day gathering things from around my house and "working" on making a nest. They are really busy and productive. They never really build anything, though.

Isn't art an indulgent act that really doesn't have value in ways that really matter? I think that is the big question I wrestle with these days. The purpose of making art objects. Not sure if this is just a message from my moral compass or an element of creative self-sabotage, but it is on the table these days.  The benefits of process are clear to me, for me and for others. But the product seems to be irrelevant, in some ways. It is intellectual Parcheesi. Puzzles of texture, color, and thought. Self indulgent to force them on the world, no? 

Then I look and see work by people like the Kemshalls and feel grateful that they can put into fabric the things I feel that go beyond words. And I am grateful for their contributions to this very hard world we all inhabit. All an artist can do, I guess, is keep working and hoping that sometime, somewhere, someone sees the work and gets something out of it that is meaningful. Yeah, I'll bring my sketchbook to the beach today. You never know what could happen.  In the end, parrots are parrots and do their parrot things, and artists are artists and do their artist things. It is just the way it is. Cheers.

Linda Kemshall's work, below: 

Day ? of vacation. A good thing I don't really know as this means I've stopped counting and am in the zone. Are my household projects done? Or at least significantly underway? Errr...well...some of them... New projects arrive to The Lists as soon as any movement is made in the tide of things that need doing, so it feels less than celebratory to complete anything. The screens need washing, though. I do really notice some things. 

My summer copilot Boncuk is on my left shoulder, happily grooming the hair on the side of my head near my ear and also finding the odd "where the heck did that come from?" hair from my post-age 50 face or neck. Cheers, pal. His touch is so light and delicate that I hardly know he's there and occasionally get a shiver from his little beak preening. By contrast, Kizzy woke me with bellowing good morning screams of desperation to get the day underway.Now that he sees me, he is silent and patient, and Hapi just says "Ok, gonna have coffee," and mimics the coffee pot and the pour.  The pups are sleeping on their bed, waiting for breakfast, and the cats have sullenly left the room as they have been fed already but my humble offerings were not enough. Sorry, boys. 

So this is summer. 

Frantic rushing forgotten for a while...I could enjoy a life of this pace, I think, but then realize how easy it is to slip into lazy mode. Happy to have art time, and am working a lot on the School of Stitched Textiles course, and really enjoying it. While my heart is pulling me to go to Hampton for the day and just sit by the sea, I have a feeling I'll be sitting by the Pfaff wrestling scraps into something coherent that I can call art. My house is an unholy mess but my threads and beads are sorted and under control. A day off. Again. Priceless and appreciated, universe!

Funny enough, I have little bags of fabric scraps sorted into neat color combos that I envision becoming a quilt or little mummy dolls. No thought required, just show up and sew them. Have I touched them in the year they've been in my art room? Nope. Too busy with Thoughtful Projects. Maybe a day of sew-play is in order... 

Or maybe I'll go the beach. Or maybe I'll go to Portsmouth...or...maybe..go... During the school year I am rushed and sick to the point of having no choices. Now choice makes me freeze like one of the baby bunnies I see by the sidewalk when I walk my dogs. Too many choices leads to no choice at all, really. All year long I crave art time...and here it is. It will be gone before I know it! During the school year, I get flooded with memories of waking up at Hampton as a little girl. Smelling the ocean before opening my eyes. Stopping at the Ashworth Market and getting a little bag of Swedish Fish and then loping down to the beach alone and walking with the seagulls, enjoying the quiet beach before it became packed and crazy. The empty arcades, the warm sun, the freedom and peace. Happy place. 

But these are just memories, and when I go today, it is usually too late and the beach is already loud and crowded, and it is hard for me to walk on the sand with the legs I now have. I go for a swim because I think I should, having come all the way there. I don't like laying on the beach, or reading, and get a bit bored. I end up thinking of all the things I could be doing with this precious time.

I just like waking up at the beach and the scent of the ocean before opening my eyes. Sometimes I can smell the ocean here where I live when it is caught on a breeze and it is magnificent, especially at night, because it is not an every day occurrence. It reminds me that the beach is very close, and always within reach. I do think that living here is the best of all worlds.

But staying home and focusing on art time also means chilling with the pups, who I know will not be here forever. Tilly had a medical scare this week that we are still not completely through, so I don't want to leave him alone for too long. Testing has shown that my poor 7.3 lb wonder is in relatively okay health for an older gentleman but a recent diet change has tossed his digestive tract into chaos. Not out of the woods, but there are um..signs of productivity. So out we go to the sidewalk five or six times a day, with hopes of seeing what most people hate to have to look at.  I remind myself that someday, sadly,  I won't have this option.

Onward. Beach, Pfaff, or sidewalk, it will be a good day. Cheers. 
​

Maybe it is the news of two very sad deaths yesterday and today, maybe it is that I overslept and now my skeleton is frozen solid and full of complaints with the smallest movement. We are looking at brunch again instead of breakfast, dogs, cats, and parrots, as I type this with two fingers like one of my 6th graders. That's ok, I tell myself, yesterday wasn't so bad, and tomorrow might be okay, too. RA is like that! 

The Big Red Chair that has been in the living room since I moved here was rolled to the curb yesterday with a lack of ceremony. Maybe that is why I am immobile today? Hmm. It was Toby's Target Chair, made of nice red leather that the cats found fun to pick to pieces, too. Between Tobes working the bottom and Kitties working the top, I never sat in it. Just cleaned it, and piled stuff on it (ahem, nothing could go on the floor in my house with the Tobster.) A month in past Toby Time now, I made the call to cough the chair up to the recycling gods. Kind of sad, really, to hear the truck go by and crunch it up like it was made of paper. Do chairs go to heaven? I hope so, as Toby must miss it a lot. That thing was filthy. Ew!

So, dirt out, floor cleaned again really well, and in the chair's place is a lovely papasan. I find them very comfy and the dogs can't jump into them. MY CHAIR. I want to be able to sit in the bird room again. Tim asked if I could get out of it once I was in, but I did so successfully enough to take this photo, so I guess it's a win. Please note that destroyed pergo floor is clean. Ruined, but clean. Onward. Bit by bit I am tackling His Nibs remains, and getting flash memories of how sick he was at the end, too. This counteracts the feeling of sadness. Til and Ellie are doing fine, though Ellie is now glued to my feet. Oh, the tangled love of puppies. 

Been cranking on the course I am taking through the School of Stitched Textiles -- it is really good and has me thinking in new ways, which is just what the doctor ordered. Will share some things soon, but know I am being pushed out of my comfort zone in a good way. I love taking the time to just experiment, and realize how little of that I do anymore. This course is making me slow waaaaay down and examine my process in new ways. Perfect for summer work when I have time to focus for more than a few minutes a day. Ah, summer. 

Have only 30 minutes to get the farm fed and watered to meet my self imposed noon brunch deadline. Doggie chicken is done (love the Instant Pot!) and I gotta move. Ugh! Onward...! 
​