Here's the quilt.
Mike and I decided to go buy fruit from Marguerite since it would get us out of the house, see Marguerite whose quilt show I missed, and eat lunch out on the town. We did. I changed out of my suit into city clothes.
We bought cherries, strawberries, apricots masquerading as plums, and nectarines. We ran into Carl and Lisa Ray there and though planning ahead makes me tired, running into people delights me. We talked about our daughters, and they bought two PoemHolders which made my day. That's what I mean about Fruit Loops. I sent out a notice of Marguerite's fruit sale, and that brought us all together. Lisa and Carl and Mike and Marguerite and me. After feasting in the quilt studio, Marguerite gave me fabric scraps from her quilts so I can enter recycle Santa Fe in November with my recycled projects.
Here's what they are looking like.
Rowing in Eden, Emily Dickinson said. Or that Sabbath is a taste of Eden, say the Jews. My Peeps. That's it. This odd time, my shut-in stay-at-home make no plans, is a Sabbatical. I think giving a name to my post PL life gives some credibility to it, but maybe not having credibility is a part of it. It is illegitimate time. Wasted, composting (ugh!), down time, seclusion, hermitage/ home.
I have no idea if I am the happiest I have ever been or teetering on the edge of depression.
I am just myself, the same girl who loved getting Weekly Reader at school, ordering those cheap paperbacks at the book club, and going to the Carnegie Library and flaunting my library card. I know how the library smelled. It smelled like times past and words. Today smells of Italian herbs I picked to dry. Words, herbs-- finally I am going to swim not laps but loops.