Gettin' Cozy

I did it. I dumped my bins of fabric, bit the bullet, and made a cozy. An irrevocably purple cozy.

I realized yesterday as I was working that a big part of the problem I have in choosing fabrics in projects for myself is that I know that it's a statement about who I am. Not just in sewing, of course; every choice I make about flooring, or clothing, or light fixtures - it's all an external of who I am internally. And I'm not very comfortable about that at this point. After last year (Some of you know, and if you don't, well, it was a bad year. Enough said.) I still have a hiding reflex. I'm shedding it, but it crops up in funny ways.

Like purple, for instance. I really like purple. Always have. This is a source of embarrassment to me. There's something residually juvenile about purple in my mind, and the fact that it's still my default makes me cringe a bit.

But there you go. There's a lot of purple in this house, from palest lavender to indigo. It's one of my colours. The other is green. Spirit and healing/heart chakras, if you're looking at it from that angle.

And I do. That's another thing I'm reticent about. I'm a very pragmatic, down-to-earth person who knows the value of lusty dirt and worms and manure... but I'm operating in more than one world at a time. It's all muck, and it's all spirit. And many more things besides, but it's hard for me to think of them all at once. I go where the wind blows at any moment, but all the while I'm washing dishes and such. Mysticism in the midst of physical aridity or squalor ain't no mysticism at all.

Now, when I catch the pocket gopher that's been chewing up my apple tree roots, believe me, he's going to A Better Place. I certainly believe it'll be better for me, in any case. Between the pocket gopher and the deer we didn't have one tree survive from last summer. DAMMIT!



These pictures show the state of the land. A mess. The guy who lived here before us kept bringing in junk and dumping it. Those grey fibreglass vats? Full of garbage and old siding and car parts. I have to keep reminding myself to breathe deeply and have a sense of perspective. This isn't a two-year project. It's a lifetime. I swear, the theme of my life is renovation...

Patch's hunting blind. For some reason the magpies playing in the compost heap get right up his nose, and he's bound and determined to do away with them. They're pretty canny though, blind or no blind, so best of luck to him.

The trees didn't make it, but the strawberries did! Ballyhooya!

I was weeding the strawberry plot a little yesterday, and only half an inch down there's still frost. These things are so tough!

Roxanne The Huntress.

I am a grandma no more. I don't know where she had those kittens, but after a few days of showing up for food with wild eyes and then running away, she gradually became much more relaxed about it all, and finally spent all of yesterday following us around the yard as we chipped away at the to-do list. I think she's decided on a career rather than family. The mice live in terror. Good kitty!

I'm a little sorry about the kittens, but rather relieved, too. I imagine she'll have another go at maternity fairly soon, and maybe she'll have a better idea about how to go about it the second time around. For now I'd just as soon not have kittens underfoot as well as everything else.