It's Only a Little Addiction

I wish I could say that today tasted like mango margaritas, brought by a handsome and flirtatious cabana boy while I lounged in the shade between two palm trees, dandled in a Oxhacan hammock; a fine spiderweb where you use your body as the spreader bars. Under a tropical sum, swaying in the balmy salty breeze, charting intricate lace patterns—no, dictating them into a hand-held recorder to play back in Dragon later so I wouldn’t need to proof a secretary’s work.

Unfortunately, today pretty much tastes like cat food smells. Dry cat food, at least. Greasy and crisp, with wheaty overtones, and a vague spoiling milk smell.

I have a bottle of bubbly from America’s oldest winery (founded in the 16th century, when that part of the USA belonged to Mexico) chilling in the fridge for the day when this trial is over, and I will order a case on the day that the verdict is appealed. (Because I know that it will be, and we’ll ramp up at least once more after that. Sigh. Put the lawyers out of business--get it in writing and make sure you understand what you’re signing.) This could be very good business for that winery, but it’s wreaking havoc on my general “life is about balance” motto.

I’m back to yoga in the afternoons. The whole routine fell apart when we went to Mexico last Thanksgiving and I didn’t want to carry the bulk, weight, and space that my mat takes up. (Never again—when we go to Italy that mat is coming with. I can get by on fewer clothes.) So of course when we got back to Arizona it was cold and dark and icky and waaaaaaaah. (Excuses, excuses, mara mara mara.) The morning routine has been rather slipshod until lately, now that it’s warm and the mornings are bright. I look forward to July when it’s in the eighties around 6:00 a.m., and thus warm enough to go out on the porch first thing. I plan to pick up a space heater this winter when such things are again available, and use that to stretch the porch days out for a while. There’s those awkward periods of spring and fall (Na’too’ot, in the native tongue [embedded joke—tourist is talking to Yaqui Indian, says “The Navajo call winter ‘the Season When Thunder Sleeps.’ What do your people call winter?” Yaqui shrugs. “Na’too’ot.” The tourist raises one eyebrow, and asks, “And summer?” Yaqui answers, “Hot.”]—you were warned at the entrance that this is stream of consciousness!)

Anyway—awkward periods of spring and fall where it’s too cold to effectively stretch outside, but you don’t want to warm the house up any more. (Winter will find me and my space heater in the foyer to the backyard, pumping out the joules.) I’m hoping that having a heater to plug in outside will allow me to continue my hatha routine and keep moving and motivated through the winter. Yes, even when it’s dark and icky and cold and waaaaah.

Thinking about ATC’s, my little addiction. (Knitting is the big one—just finished seaming the black and blue cardi, am swatching the moss stitch bands, and contemplating zippers. I think a tight moss stitch band with a plain black or matching blue zip, as this is a classic sweater—nothing flashy except the poured-on fit. Ah, the wonders of ribbing.)

Anyway, ATC’s. A kind soul responded re: shaker cards, suggesting that I sew them together. An interesting idea. I may have to try that and see what happens. This morning, I started thinking about laying them out as a sheet of ten since I use 8.5” x 11” cardstock anyway.

Essentially, I would alter the cardstock on the fronts, then lay out the 10 card cut lines on the back. Cut the windows on one sheet, lay the frames. Lay the backgrounds on the other sheet, fill the frames, lay the glue and dry under pressure. Less likely to slippy slide out of alignment as the little individual cards. Let everything dry, then cut them out and slap labels on. Easy peasy lemon squeezy.

And that led to thoughts of quotation cards. I like them—but I hate my handwriting. It’s on the to-do list (I think—that may say “hamburger” after all. {Holds mental list upside down in an attempt to improve legibility.}) So wouldn’t it be fun to alter some cardstock, then use the computer to print out quotes in the appropriate size—then alter the paper to make it fun, in a different way than the cardstock. (F’r instance, paste cardstock and watercolored paper. So the stock makes a frame around the quote, which is a keeny bit on its own.)

Ah well, that’s what weekends are for, right?