Kathryn Clark has been working on a series of quilts that map foreclosed properties in communities across the US. The quilts are beautiful and graphic in their simplicity, while also being filled with meaning.
Each little hole in the fabric, each block of color represents a lost home, and all the grief and hopelessness that comes with it. I feel like I understand the housing crisis much better by looking at one of these quilts than I do by reading endless articles.
Too soon, too much, too weird! I want to register a complaint, but I’m not sure who with. And anyway, I’m finding myself resigned to it being winter already.
Yesterday I had the door open and all day in the background was the sound of leaves rustling across the ground. Labor Day brought with it the orange undertone that creeps into everything green. Even the light is getting that low angled rust color to it and the squirrels and I are rushing to hoard the end of summer bounty.
In among tomatoes of every shape and size, the first little Benning’s Patty Pan squash. Fresh light green, to remind me that in the not too distant future it will all start over with spring.
I was talking to my friend V about all sorts of things: the meaning of life, mandalas, colored pencils…
A couple of hours later she sent me a picture of this amazing 13th century field structure, near Montady in France. And it made me think of the meaning of life, mandalas, and colored pencils.
Irene blew through here and we were without power and water for a couple of days.
We were lucky compared to many, but we did get a little swimming pool in the basement, so there’s been some throwing out of damaged things, and a lot of laying stuff out to dry.
Being without hot water for four days sure makes me grateful for my shower now that it’s back.
My stash of frozen tomato sauce was parsed out over the winter and spring, and I defrosted the last jar just as the new tomato crop started to color.
I want more jars of sauce in the freezer this winter, and planted twice as many tomato plants, but we’ll see how many tomatoes get into the sauce pot once leaf spot diseases and tomato sandwiches have had their way.
Thank goodness there’s always the local farm stand.
Mornings are the low point of my day. I have wisps of dreams and their strange worlds left in my mind and it takes me a while to get going. The best approach is to move slowly, and to “take the day gentle”. When I do, I notice things. Moments of light. Subtle, constant changes that bring me into the current moment.
Seems the shadows aren’t only in my head, but moving all around me.
