…Salutations, sitefolk! Below is an essentially unedited (aside from forgotten fobs and photographs) Saturday write that was delayed due to a hectic hospital health fright the same night. I beg pardon for this whole nonsensical note. Numb, mumbling meager sentences, but I am mostly the master of my own muscles once more! Beyond brilliant to be back!

(Also I forgot How To Blog and realized these images may be offensively oversized? I ordinarily email them to myself to auto-resize, my brain is fried. And I assembled it in Docs and plopped it over here..Will fix it if it is problematic! I absolutely should not be online in this condition and am struggling to speak in full sentences.) 

 

 

A cautionary cue: 

The following content contains more than traces of cognitive impairment. And cortisol. I relate to Oxley from Indiana Jones, incoherently rambling over his wall drawings with the utmost deranged zeal at this point. I must apologize for your eyes. 

Some pencil drawings….that I’m not particularly proud of. Out-of-practice and trying to relearn/draw during weird new weakness episodes. Wheelchairs are wonderful, as is being able to use mine on these floors now, basically bedridden without it now.

Owl as my brother’s gift. Started doing 8x10’s (my scanner is small) and sealing them with Art fixatif pre-scan. 

 

And my brother (as a baby) for my mother’s gift! 3x5”?/standard small print photo size

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And my mother, I never thought to draw her before!  8x10”

At Duke Chapel during a doctor day. Living locally we’d never been, but I guess moving made it more of an event? 

 

Little bun’ for fun. 4x6”.

Thank you cards too!

This one was for a salt-block rock lamp starring itself in felt because… uncreative!

 

And hook-handle bags, a refresher in cotton construction.

 

When the mind finds a fish out of fabric.

Oh, and small squiddy embroidery decor for my bro. Absolute spontaneity, as the stitching may reveal to thee! 

 

A glow and a gleam of seams, gold threads fit for a dainty dryad!

A bare-bones with a bear stop motion attempt. No interesting bits but a vivacious brain vacation. 

Feathers of fur, a wee winter outfit for her.

But perhaps if the season does lapse, immortalized ice queen to dance in a dream. Not nearly so nightly as the Narnian nightmare, I daresay.

Harp and harmonious hums so heavenly.

 

A little locket, my people in a pocket! I longed for one but never out loud. Lo and behold, an acquaintance of my mother bestowed this trinket gold.

 

 

Balloon snowballs, fur for wings and flooring from an old dancing Santa decoration’s coat.

Blanket stitch bead border, braided embroidery threads straps.

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Gold lame from my mom's prom dress, that became my random gut-and-patch-together dress (Long ago! I added about 3” length from another scrap to it after this picture. This fabric was an unraveling atrocity hahaha) and I still had some left. 

The problem with “fancy” human clothes is never using them because being at home. And home is the dreamland of deconstructing old things, crawl mopping (It’s easier!), delicious messes, and many a graphite demise of a good garment. But the toys are tidy. The idea of pinafores delights me. I hope to try this because why not create one’s own fairytale reality?

Concept art carried upon perhaps the smollest stack of sticky’s. Online ordering and the adorable Alice-in-Wonderlandian accidents!

Lace and ceramic church from my late grandma's basement. A distant cousin's social media post was how I discovered this, as a freak instinct to check Facebook that day swept over me. I'm sorry for them, for me it was not soaking in. My sensible sibling was stalling on calling.

The last time I saw her was in court. The first I was in the wheelchair in her presence. I couldn't speak to her. On some shelf in the back of my mind, I ponder if the family-fall-apart cut short her time. I am grateful to have visited her and that pleasant peachtree place for the last time in 2019. The distance, health deterioration, long hospitalization and high risk of food allergy shock locked us out of her life. She taught me a lot in spite of it, and I hope to see her again without the weight of the world's burdens.

*Old-art oh-no* 

Then our pug, aged 14 died within the following two weeks, and my ENT surgery crescendo couch ridden comatose was sandwiched in between. 

Pug was a parking lot pup my family scooped up, seemingly a holiday-gift stray. With our band of misfits he nicely fit! I don't think the drywall dust was good for his lungs given his trachea issues, but nothing could be done. I didn't have a mask either, but there are so many things one only must do once. Like that not-so-long-ago midnight-thirty mess.  My mom came home horrified from work to find me collapsed in a cloud of drywall dust with my electric sander in hand, too weak to stand up. At the base of a six foot ladder with smothered smoke alarms sounding off . Sometimes I just have to laugh at the horror..and sleep on the floor because insufficient energy to shower. But that carpentry chapter is over!

 

I couldn't cry over the departures though, a perplexing personal paralysis that began years ago. To mechanically throw the bad feelings out the window.

At Thanksgiving I feasted on tears. All of them, all day, somehow triggered by the parade? 

Life has been better since, as though reality is balanced. That perfect pendulum inevitably must rise and fall even if it feels like you've lost it all. An avalanche of uplifting events are occurring, but it’s still too rushed. So hard to hush!

In the midst of this, my medical madness has merged into multiple diagnoses. Two years of major tests later, grateful to be getting a grasp. 

 

2022 was a tad like tumbling down the rabbit hole to arrive at a better end. Convalescence in every sense?   

2023 has started with a deep and proper happy for me, and I wish the genuine same for any reader who came!

*ignores pile of unedited artthings, drags out old photo of baby ducks instead*

*Imaginary effect of the Maytime Muscovy coos of my cherished children*