What a treat it has been--

my sister here for ten days--
 a lovely  time-out-of-time--
almost a retreat for us both--
each immersed in her own obsession.

Every day
 Lyn went to a local coffee shop
to write about compost,
while I focused my research
on the pile of coffee filters
she had collected from said compost,
washed and brought with her.

What could be better than new material?

On my end, I found that​
the commercial filters 
are bigger in diameter
and ever so slightly thicker
than those I'd been using,
and that they required careful handling while cutting
lest the layers get off-kilter in my hand.
The extra diameter, of course
added yardage:
approx. 10 yards vs 7 yards
for every filter cut.

They are also a different color:
 evenly brown from center to edge
which leads to an evenly hued yarn,
in contrast to the heathery variegation
I get from Jodi's domestic filters
which shift from brown at the center
to creamy white at the edges
(unless they have been filtering pigments of course,
in which case they are every color of the rainbow).

 That Jodi washes her filters indivudally
as they are used
and the commercial filters
are dumped in a bucket
to absorb the color from the
rest of that day's spent filters and grounds,
as they wait for Lyn to collect them for her compost,
probably accounts for this difference.

Needless to say,
my work will happily accommodate--
indeed is better for--
having both.

Anyway,
​after a morning of immersion
in our respective explorations,
Lyn and I met for lunch:
needles clicking
as we chewed on ideas,
raw carrots,
my husband's fresh sourdough bread,
and other such delights.

That Lyn was knitting
was particularly thrilling for me
as, though she had not picked up needles for years,
she decided to break her fast
with my Somewhat Slanted Sweater pattern--
which she later said
had a particularly easy point of entry.

Well, those may not be exactly the words she used
but since the pattern starts with a single stitch
and forms a pointed triangle to begin,
I couldn't resist the pun.

​At any rate, 
it was a huge treat
 to walk into the Yarn Underground (my LYS)
and say,
"Pick some yarn,
any yarn, any weight
(lace to super bulky),
in a color you want to wear,
no gauge swatch necessary,"
and watch her go almost instantly
to a warm reddish pink
reminiscent of sweaters ​knit for her
​ by our mother and grandmother
​when she was a little girl,
​and watch her take off.

And now I'm all agog with ideas
so might have to use some of the yarn
from the coffee filters she delivered
to knit a paper Somewhat Slanted
for myself --just because.
Think it'll work?

It's hard to know what to say
about these little open warp
gridded paper tapestries.

I like making them?
The colors are pretty?
The grid is weirdly satisfying?
Love leaving room for the light?
Symmetry -- who knew?
All of the above?

I'm definitely feeling the influence  
of the marvelous material
in Rebecca Mezoff's new Design Class,
the second module of which
focuses on using line in tapestry.
Working with,
(and doing my best to defy)
the elemental structure of tapestry
has been a thing in my work for years,
​and it is fun to revisit it so directly.
note: I apologize for bringing up this class as registration is now closed  for the season,
but you can watch the trailer HERE,
--spoiler warning--includes a couple of clips of my dulcet tones going on about the joys of tapestry--
and do note that the non-interactive version
opens for registration in June so you can put that on your calendar --
and/or make sure to sign up for season two next year.

The paper yarn itself
most definitely exerts 
an enormous amount
​of power over my choices.

Beautiful as it is,
​how not to try to find a way
to let it shine 
free from the distraction
of image of imposed narrative?

And it's not just about color.
The look, feel, texture and behavior
of plain, coffee-stained paper
is irresistible to me.
And what joy, few days ago,
to receive ​a veritable bonanza
of new material.

First:  a lovely big stack of
extra large round filters
that my amazing sister 
fished from the grounds
during her twice a week
coffee-shop-compost-collection,
then washed,
dried by draping all around her kitchen
and carried with her
when coming to visit me--
what better present could there be,
on both counts?

(If you scroll down the post in the link above--
though not too fast cuz her photos
are marvelous along the way--
you can see the buckets
of  spent coffee grounds
as they come to her).

These filters,
though larger in diameter,
are of a similar thickness and feel
to the round ones I get from Jodi--
the source of all that color above. 
Like the colored ones
I use scissors to cut them into
 one continuous spiraling strand.
(pics of this in the post linked above).

Then: my friend Robin
delivered a second collection 
of big square chemex filters--
individually ​rinsed and dried
over days and days.

As well a being square,
the paper in these
is significantly thicker than
the round ones,
so I cut them using what I believe
 is the more traditional approach:
slicing into narrow strips with a sharp blade
before releasing into a continuous strand
that zig zags back and forth.

Robin also included
a few small cone-shaped Melita filters, 
the paper of which I've worked with before.
Similar in weight/ texture
to the chemex above,
I nevertheless cut them with scissors
to get the most out of their curved shape.

The different materials make surprisingly different yarn,
and I'm just beginning to get a sense
of what I like best, when. 

As ever, I'm learning as I go,
every day an experiment--
and if you are also interested in meandering 
down this particular rabbit hole
 I highly recommend some internet searches

Great sources of info:
Kigami and Kami-ito:
Japanese Handmade paper and paper /thread
by Hiroko Karuno,
Velma Bolyard's site/ blog
Pinterest
My posts under the "coffee filter yarn" tag on the right

At any rate,
as well as  broadening my filter horizons, 
I've also been comparing
my two charkhas for spinning and plying:
the book charkha above 
(ratio about 100/1)
and the Ashford Charkha below
(ratio about 10/1)

Plusses and minuses to both--
Book:
- the speed of the book charkha is phenomenal
and makes paper spinning fast and pleasant.
-the thin shaft makes a paper pirn kind of a hassle
so singles have to be rewound for storage and use
Ashford:
-the slow speed is restful
(and annoying -- depending on the day and the material)
-spinning directly onto a paper pirn is great.

If a gal happens to be blessed with two charkhas, then,
it is pretty slick to use one for spinning singles
and the other for plying and winding purns.

I'm still experimenting
with the singles vs plied thing too.
So far, I prefer to weave with singles
and knit with plied paper,
(the tapestry at the top of the post,
which uses both, notwithstanding).

My preference is  based on: 
-warp/weft/sett relationships 
-the look of singles vs plied yarn when woven
-my casual paper-yarn-making skills/approach
-my insistence on using fragile materials
​fished from the compost
​ rather than  lokta,
strong, flexible washi,
or exquisite  hanji 
(which maybe some day I'll be fortunate enough to experience first hand).

All this will undoubtedly evolve,
Things usually do.
And in the meantime,
I'll just try to notice
the moments
​of delight.

 Thanks for your company.

That about says it all, doesn't it?

Much more fun to draw my butt--

Because wearable, these are.
​I think I made three
before Shelley of The Yarn Underground
and The Palouse Yarn Company
nudged me to write up the pattern 
so others could enjoy it too--
and then she hosted it on her Ravelry page
until I got around to making my own a few weeks ago.

After that I knit another three or four more
in different yarns/gauges
and these (eventually) led to the changes in this revision --
but not before I'd thoroughly tested each one.
(note: these are my clothes you're looking at,
not pattern samples
​ so please pardon their imperfections).

And really, what is not to love
about a lightweight wool  shirt?
Cool when warm, warm when cool,
hypoallergenic, carbon-positive,
renewable, non-stinky, 
and endlessly stretchy without 
the saggy spots of dead lycra --
such a garment is
(unless you are vegan),
a freakin miracle.

Indeed, apparently a bunch of big outdoor companies
have finally figured this out and are using it for lots of stuff.
Wool is the technical fabric of the future!
Who knew?

Well  they they act like they just invented it if they have to,
as long as they keep working with it.

In the meantime,
we can go ahead and make
whatever we want for ourselves.
Because we already know how.
And living as we do
​on the cutting edge of technical achievement,
the right garment has always been a thing. 
Nothing says focus and physical accomplishment
 like weaving, spinning, knitting, reading
​and hanging out with dogs,

But gosh,
for all my messing about
with paper and linen,
I don't need to extoll
the virtues of wool to you.
What I really want to do
is  go on and on
about one of the most important features of this garment
which is that (assuming you are so inclined),
since most of it is knit in stockinette in the round,
the literarily-inclined knitter
can scale the heights
 of two of these massively important activities
at the same time. 

And no commercially made garment
will ever provide a pleasure
to equal that. 

Oh yes --OOPS.
One more thing.
The Pattern for the magic medium pullover 
can be found both on my Ravelry site
and my web store 
depending on your preference.
​
(Alas, the two are not linked, so the choice is up to you
but if you have already downloaded the pattern
from The Palouse Yarn Company site on Ravelry,
​you should, by now, have already received the pattern revision
so need to worry about any of it).

Now, what was I doing?

​Coffee Filter yarn.

Again.

Well yes--
again.

But different.

This time
 a knitting experiment--
something I wanted to try
while waiting for the soy milk ​to cure.

And so far,
​I kind of like it.

Over the last few months
I've written again and again
about the bliss of making 
​(and using)
coffee filter yarn.
NOTE: To explore these posts, click the  coffee filter yarn, cellulosic experiments or tapestry buttons in the sidebar

The filters, as I've mentioned,
​ come from my friend Jodi,
 the colors from her process 
of turning plants and minerals
into pigments,
that she then transforms
​into watercolors.

Most of my coffee filter yarn posts
include links to her Instagram
​and if you want to know more 
about lake pigments (pictured above)
and mineral pigments (pictured below),
​I highly recommend you click and scroll
for she has generously shared
a great deal of information on her feed.

On my end though,
for all the photos of cutting,
 adding twist,
and weaving
what I have not talked about
is how the colors
 stick to the filters
​ in the first place.
​
And the reason for this 
is that they don't. 

Unlike dyes,
which chemically bond with a fiber or a mordant,
or watercolors (and other paints),
where the finished pigment is mixed with a binder,
the particles of color on the filters
are essentially resting in place,
a bit like stains,
and are thus both fragile and potentially fugitive.

At first I didn't care about this--
didn't, in fact, even think about it. 
I just wanted to learn and play.
They were just coffee filters for goodness sake,
fished from Jodi's garbage can.
But as I spun more of them,
 wove paper tapestries,
and made the tapestries into books,
I couldn't help but notice
the occasional bit of color
​ coming off on my hands.

Not, I hasten to say,
the stuff from the grocery store,
but rather the white milky liquid
you get when 
a handful of soybeans,
has been
soaked,
rinsed,
crushed,
thoroughly masticated with water,
(faster with a blender than a suribachi 
if not as photogenic),
then filtered
​and
diluted.

At its most elemental,
it works like this:
when applied to fibers,
the proteins in the soy
(long chain polymers),
literally grab both the pigment particles
and the particles of paper
(or fiber if that is what you are using),
and hold on
in a kind of ever-tightening group hug
that won't let go,
the bond growing stronger over time
as the soy cures.

The process is called polymerization.
(explanation seriously oversimplified, of course).

There is info on using soy milk for dyeing
around the world and across the web,
but since I learned about it
many years ago
from the amazing John Marshall
I will send you straight to 
-his recipe for making soy milk,
-his book, Salvation Through Soy,
and hope that while you are there
you check out more of his website
for his work in all areas
(katazome, fresh indigo dyeing, historic Japanese textiles....)
is fascinating and comprehensive.
He is also a generous and lovely person
and puts on a damned fine workshop.

At any rate,
one of the ways that John uses soy milk
is as a "post sizing"--
a kind of fabric finish
that protects the cloth as well as binding the pigment
and that is the way I have been using it--
as though the filters were finished cloth.
Ideally,
I would have dipped
all of the colored filters in soy milk
the moment they arrived from Jodi
so they could have been curing
during the months I was working on other things.
Buy since I did not think about it then,
I've now been using it in three ways:

1.  dipping the remaining uncut filters and letting them dry

2. winding the paper yarn onto my willow distaffs,
painting the strands (as in the photo above),
then re-winding onto paper purns when dry.

3. painting the soy milk onto finished tapestries.

And that is where I am now.

The first batch of yarn and uncut filters
has been curing for about a month,
and though it is probably a little early,
I may soon cut and spin a few
and try some rub tests,
just to see.

I'll also probably continue
to treat the finished tapestries with soy milk--
not only to keep the pigments in place
but also for the long term protection
(what John has called the 'natural scotch-guard' effect),
provided the cured polymer--
especially those tapestries that will  go on
to have a working life.

I'll keep you posted as I learn more,
and in the meantime,
feel free to use the comments
to share your own information
and experiences 
with all of us.
Thanks!
​Now, back to it.

Or officially:
Small Tapestry Media Week:
a 'media tour' on Instagram.
hosted by 
 ATA (the American Tapestry Alliance)
in anticipation of their 13th annual
unjuried, small format exhibition, Renditions.

Six weavers (with Instagram accounts) each get a day
to share an aspect of weaving small tapestries
that particularly appeals to them--
(or rather, us).,
​ and if you comment on any or all of the posts
you stand a chance to win a prize.

Rebecca Mezoff devoted yesterday
to talking about looms
(totally worth checking out all of her Instagram posts
as well as the accompanying blog post)
and today is the day for me
to crow about this fabulous form. 


NOTE: I think you have to have an Instagram account to comment but if you do not, you can still look and read-- just  click on the word Instagram and you'll get to my page, then click on the photo on the top left and there you can find the list of artists and links to all of their pages

Finally I just started a list,
and while that was certainly helpful for me
I still couldn't choose just one
so decided to share the whole thing--
but by then it was too long
 for Instagram's format
(such a surprise).
So instead of cutting it down
or breaking it up into pieces
I am putting it here instead.
It is Tuesday (blog day) after all
and hopefully those of you who have hopped over
via the link on Instagram,
will enjoy the ride.

So here goes:
​
​Tiny Tapestries ARE:

​—Portable: they can, and do, go everywhere --
pocket, purse, backpack, glove box, suitcase.
The one pictured below lives permanently in my billfold
and whenever I have to pay for something,
I catch a glimpse and give it a little pat.
Not only is this emotionally pleasing
(I wouldn't carry it around if I didn't like it)
but it also serves as a reminder about priorities:
"Do I like/need this thing I'm about to buy
as much as I like/need time at the loom?"
Sometimes there is no choice.
But sometimes there is.

​—Ripe for experiments: when the warp
is only a few square inches
 why not try
-that smidgn of iris cordage,
-a foot of milkweed yarn,
-this bit of shiny fiber from the Canadian thistle stem,
-a few yards of kami-ito
spun from variable annuity semi-annual report
dyed with indigo? 
-a little embroidery?
Or, I know — a tiny house. 
​(No need to do that more than once).

—Economical (budget): no need to buy or store pounds of yarn
when a few ounces or grams will do.
And with the the four selvedge warping technique
there are not even thrums to compost.

NOTE: if I absolutely had to pick one aspect of tiny tapestry weaving I couldn't live without, it would be four selvedge warping. Indeed, without it, I probably would still be weaving big.
Or perhaps not weaving at all.
Though luckily, I don't have to do that experiment.
Anyway, if you've read this blog for any length of time
you probably know how I feel already. 
If you  haven't though, or weren't aware of my passion for this technique, here is a link to FRINGELESS, the class that Rebecca Mezoff and I teach -- because I think it, the technique, is sooooo freaking important and cool. 

—Economical (materials): the perfect way to celebrate
that unrepeatable six inches
of bright, warm yarn
spun from a coffee filter
colored by ten grams of orange ochre
gathered at a road cut
near Bearmouth, Montana
and pounded into pigment by Jodi Gear.

—Economical (space): easy to store tapestries/ looms/tools;
 in even the tiniest of dwellings.

Note: Every tapestry in this post was woven on a 1/4" or 1/2" galvanized pipe loom-- easy to make and when not in use (whenever that might be), the whole thing can be unscrewed and stored in a shoe box (with room for bobbins).
For more on tapestry looms, again check out Rebecca Mezoff's Media Tour posts
HERE on her blog  and 
HERE on Instagram

—Economical (shipping/transport ): pure bliss in this department--
and a total piece of cake
to get your new wee tapestry 
to the American Tapestry Alliance
unjuried small format exhibition.
or any place else that suits your fancy.

—Economical (angst): hard to get or stay worked up.
If  things don’t turn out as I hope,
 it is a matter of minutes
​to put on another warp and try again. ​

—Life Changing: mine, anyway.
Never, in my days of weaving wall-filling mural tapestries,
would I have believed the bliss
of sinking into the vast and unknowable space
to be found within each tiny form--
the very constraints of size
throwing open windows of possibility
to  realms I'd ​never before imagined. ​

And there you have it --
my  list as it stands today.
Tomorrow, and the day after
and the day after that, and the day after that
and  last but not least on Sunday
I'll probably have ten more.
And what's not to love about that? 
Thank you ATA, for helping us Celebrate.

The thing about my inner Luminist,

is that she knows what she likes.

It drives my Storymaker 
crazy.

For her  (said Storymaker),
the repetition necessary
for a deep dive
​ into a particular
idea,
 color, 
material,
​​technique,
​function,
kind of imagery
(or lack therof),
or means of display--

​can be a teensy bit
​ hard to sustain.
The desire to put everything in context
or make it useful,
or somehow important,
or at least talk (blog?) about it,
is almost irresistible.

ps. and speaking of getting in touch
with your inner Luminist
(or whatever you might call her or him),
 if you're interested in a deep dive
and could also use some support
(you know, oxygen tanks and such),
check out Rebecca Mezoff's new class
Design Solutions For The Artist Weaver

She is doing a free Webinar about it
tomorrow, January 16th
so check it out while you can. 

pps. Full disclosure --  Rebecca includes extended interviews with different tapestry artists every month during the Design Season, and I am the person for January. 
We did the interview at the end of filming all the videos for Fringeless, our four selvedge tapestry class, and I was so excited by it all that I fear I waxed enthusiastic the entire time. 
Then again, do I ever not?
And isn't tapestry worth it?
​
Speaking of which...
Next week, ​the American Tapestry Alliance (ATA) 
will present  a media tour on Instagram.
There are prizes and everything.
More info below.

This year's theme: Weaving Small.
​In anticipation of ATA's 13th international, unjuried, small format exhibition, follow seven weavers on Instagram for ATA's 3rd Tapestry Media Tour, as they share their approach to weaving small format tapestries. Participate in the tour and win one of 22 prizes like Rebecca Mezoff's Little Looms online course, a three-month membership to the online textile School of Sweet Georgia, one of five Hello Looms and more.

To increase your chances of winning one of 22 prizes follow ATA's Instagram @americantapestryalliance #TapestryMediaTour between January 20th-26th and comment on each of the 7 stops, i.e., daily posts, featuring each of the weavers below:

• Jan 20th: Rebecca Mezoff @rebeccamezoff
• Jan 21st: Sarah Swett @sarahcswett
• Jan 22nd: Briget Cetera @brigetcetera
• Jan 23rd: Patti Kirch @pattikart
• Jan 24th: Claudia Chase @mirrixlooms
• Jan 25th: Kathe Todd Hooker @kathetoddhooker
• Jan 26th: Janna Vallee @everleayarn

Prizes include:

• One of five mini Hello Looms
• Rebecca Mezoff’s online Mini Looms course
• A three-month subscription to the online textile school School Of Sweet Georgia
• One of five Hokett Tiny Turned Beaters
• One of five free entries into American Tapestry Alliance’s Renditions 2020, ATA’s 13th international, unjuried, small format exhibition
• One of five free one-year memberships to American Tapestry Alliance

Once upon a time
​when I was young and curious,
I spent many hours
drawing and weaving
my naked self.

Sometimes, of course,
I was also able to draw my friends. 
Vicki (the one with the long blonde hair
in the tapestry above),
was great about whipping off her clothes,
and holding still in an awkward position
​while I plied my pencil.
But given that I was a full time stay-at-home mum
(I spun miles of yarn while hanging out with Henry),
as well a full time tapestry weaver
working madly on my drawing skills,
the live model at hand when my son was napping
was usually me. 
Besides, most of stories I wove
were autobiographical
 (assuming you are willing
to accept that my friends and I
really did ride through the night sky
on high-whorl spindles),
so it was both practical and necessary
to render my own thighs.

Back in those pre-digital-camera days
it was also more sensible, time-wise,
to set up a couple of mirrors
and spend a few hours
drawing my backside
than to try to take photos of said rear end,
send them to the photo place,
, wait while they were turned into prints,
(hoping all the while that  the position I'd photographed
was the one I actually wanted),
​and then draw from that.

Time factors aside,
I'd end up spending a lot of time
looking at my body either way,
and if I was going to be judgmental,
better the real thing seen only by me
than photos that could hang out for decades.

What amazed me then though,
and delights me now,
is what a great help
 judgement-wise,
all that drawing proved to be.
That fleshy form
those motherly thighs,
the smiling C-section scar
with its the little pooch above,
 slowly ceased
to be objects of angst,
and became instead a collection
​ of truly lovely shapes that,
​ if only I squinted just right,
​and did a lot of erasing and unweaving,
I could somehow maybe capture 
with graphite and yarn.
​
Also, it always has been hard to decide what to wear.

 A few weeks ago
as a break from holiday madness,
my now adult son
(boatbuilder and sometimes spindle maker
because fruit and trees and all that),
was rummaging in the basement
for what he thought were carefully stored
mementos of his youth and found,
not the outdated and now non-canon
Star Wars memorabilia he was hoping for,
but rather one last and forgotten box
of these notecard--
my own reminders of a time long gone.

It wasn't a huge box,
but there were enough inside
 to put together some sets
and they are now in my web store
for as long as they last.

It's been surprisingly lovely
to spend time with these images --
 to think about the incredible joy of that time:
of drawing and weaving,
 studying color and shape,
 honing tapestry techniques, 
 practically bathing in natural dyes
(see the tapestry Indigo Bath on this page),
and of giving in to the freedom
of being interested in the dailyness of life
 and of rendering those days in wool,
a pick at a time, 
even as they unfolded.

Looking at the note cards today 
I see that in the years since I wove them
things have not changed all that much.
There are fewer nudes to be sure--
seemingly, it is more compelling
to draw the skirt I just wove
or sweater I recently knit
than my lovely soft and sagging flesh--
even if it is still hard
to decide which of them to wear.

But the joy of rendering the days,
 of learning to work with new (to me) materials,
of recording  the ways
in which different aspects of  life
overlap, influence and interact with one another,
and of transforming some
of those impressions into tapestry,
is as entrancing as ever. 

And if the way I go about it has changed--
 the tapestries more focused
the narrative less voluptuous--
well, I put it down to the emergence
of the my inner Luminist,
an aspect of my creative psyche
which (or maybe who),
​ after decades of contentedly hanging out
and quietly observing
​the heretofore unchallenged Storymaker,
now insists on a fair share
of creative control.

These days, indeed, it might be said
that their very differences 
​now drive my creative life.

(FYI, it is me, the Storymaker who is responsible for this blog.
Just saying).

(And if I didn't take pleasure where I find it,
the Storymaker would have nothing to work with).

Anyway--
if you're interested in reading more
of this nonsense--
or about a body of work
created by their disagreements, 
hard copies of Backstrap Dialogues
are also once again in the web store
along with the PDFs.
I've  even stocked up on envelopes,
so if you want one -- now's the time.

 Not to do the hard sell thing
but alas, like the Note Cards,
 hard copies of Backstrap Dialogues
are in limited supply,
and it is unlikely that I'll reprint.
Cuz you know --
more ideas to try--
​inner arguments to have--
 things to make--
approach ever changing
and always
somehow
happily
the same.

A year ago, 
the first of January
fell on a Tuesday--

and the blog post from that day
​is all about the making of tiny books.

In fact, 
when I checked out my blog archives
I noticed that the whole month of  January 2019--
indeed the entire year--
(for though I may sometimes scoff
at the impositions
of human-imposed calendars,
and work on official holidays,
weeks, months and years
do provide a useful framework,

--not unlike a loom,
or a four selvedge warp
within whose limits
a gal can experiment to her hearts content,
changing her mind,
from orange to pink
​as she will),

--the entire year,
(as I was saying),
is punctuated
by the making
of little tapestries,

within which
I have drawn comics 
of me weaving,

coloring each drawing
with K Jodi Gear's
​hand made watercolors,

the creation of which
provides
not only materials for more tapestries,

but also inspiration
for said tapestries
​as well.
​How meta is that?

Here's hoping
I can stick to the point
with fewer parenthetical
and/or creative
asides
in 2020.

Or maybe not?

Who knows.
Except to start off this New Year's Eve,
I'll leave you with a photo of Heptys in waiting--
 so beautiful, all lined up--
and delicious to test --
a highlight of the holiday--
for what could be more satisfying
than possibility--
 intense haptic delight in the moment--
while making yarn
that will provide similar pleasure
​in the future?

--aka: three projects to keep
my holiday angst
​ in check.

1.  a twined basket 
made with
dead leaf cordage
(iris, daylily, cornhusk)
​ and coffee filter yarn

roughly but satisfyingly mended
​with a lopsided eggbeater drill,

some hand spun linen,
and a couple of needles,

now the middle of being read
with enormous enjoyment
(extra powerful since it is once again sturdy)--
and with particular joy
because Kate's first chapter
is on mending....

that turned out to be too big
to fit through any doors in my house

but which nevertheless
makes a fine blind

for photographing 
the rare and non-migratory
​ ten foot pink flamingo.

Life's grand and absurd, eh?
Might as well
​let the good times roll on
(even when the gifts inside
​ are invisible).