braving road construction

Well, they are working on two of the major avenues here in town, and now they've closed parts of what are our detours as well!  I got off work at noon, and debated. To thrift, or not to thrift. I hadn't made the trek in awhile, and I really wanted to do a walk through, so I thought, how bad can it be out there. (...on a Friday. At noon. with all the roads closed...)

While sitting in one of the many 'jams' I drove myself into, I was close to coming unhinged when a dragonfly came an sat on the windshield wiper of my truck. Okay, that was without doubt (in my mind at least) my sign to take a deep breath and let it go. (For those that were not aware, the dragonfly is my animal totem and when I get one showing up in odd places, I pay very close attention! The windshield of my truck as I creeped past Jiffy Lube? Yep, that is one of those pay close attention times.)

I'm glad I went.  Found some interesting kitchen towels that I walked past once and then went back as I couldn't blink away these images in my head of what to do with them.  Call me crazy but I like the old flour-sack-cotton-full-of-grease-stains thing.  It's not really visible here, but there is a really cool thing going on with the stains. 

 I also found one little crochet piece that I might try to tea-dye along with some of the flour sack.

Also made a stop at Hobby Lobby to pick up the threads I need for the Irish Quilting Magazine piece, and was pleasantly surprised to find them on sale!

Now off to stitch, and once the camera charges up, I think I'll snap some garden photos.

Website of the Day?  The Thread Blog

~thank you for today~
for the gentle poke of dragonflies, cotton beneath my fingertips, and a garden touched by sun and gentle breeze.


Soon the child's clear eye is clouded over by ideas and opinions, preconceptions and abstractions. Simple free being becomes encrusted with the burdensome armor of the ego. Not until years later does an instinct come that a vital sense of mystery has been withdrawn. The sun glints through the pines, and the heart is pierced in a moment of beauty and strange pain, like a memory of paradise. After that day, we become seekers. --Peter Matthiessen