Saturday, March 18, 2006


Yesterday was one of those dark, glowering days when it looks like it will rain but it never does. Occasionally things would lighten, then the clouds would loom overhead and threaten. Very unsatisfactory; we need the rain.

I spent the morning with the computer here, finishing up a major project. Then I headed to Stuart. We're almost finished, or at least my part is nearly done. The young woman who is taking over the job is very good. She listens well, understands what is going on, and has a good sense of humor when things are screwy. All valuable attributes!

Slip-stitch purse
Slip-stitch Purse

I was late getting in, and took the dogs out with me when I went to feed the rabbits. When I came back up Lily was growling and lunging toward the old dog house by the apple tree. TJ was dancing at her side, trembling with suspense. I heard a hiss and peeked into the dog house, flashlight aimed, to see a very frightened possum cowering in the back. Lily allowed me to drag her away, reluctantly, and TJ, who knows he's still little, ran right along with us, as close as he could get to his big dog. Lily spent the evening on the couch, guarding the window from possum invasion.

After we got settled inside, I spent some time trying to help a young friend set up a shopping cart on her web page. I was dismally unsuccessful. She has the page on Geocities, and for some reason I have a lot of trouble getting their system to work for me. I had the same problem awhile back on another project, but at least this time I could get into the system. I hope maybe we can work something out; she has some nice yarns to sell!

After I gave up on the computer, I settled in to working on the purse. I really like this technique; I wasn't sure I would enjoy it because slip-stitch can sometimes be fiddly. But I do like this; ya'll will probably be seeing more of it!

The moon looked strange on rising last night, with dark clouds on the horizon. Not the golden of autumn, but a grim pale orange, heavy and slow arising. The slow wind held a chill absent lately, and the night sounds seemed muted. Briars rustled heavily in the thicket.

A little time with Gladys Tabor and her Stillmeadow Sampler lightened my mood. But there are a couple of lines in Millay's Second April that I've been thinking about. "But the music of your talk/Never shall the chemistry/Of the secret earth restore." My life is a simple one, and happy, but I've had my share of loss, as everyone. Of those I've loved that are here no longer, I think I miss their voices the most. Mountain voices, slow and muted, roughened with age, a Long Island young voice, quick but mellow and caring. And most of all an English voice, gruff and low, hoarse with moodiness and quiet in passion.

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