Our 2022 calendar is a work in progress.  I like how the February calendar turned out, all hearts inspired. Good thing, too. February is a month of  both sad and happy anniversaries: * the Husband’s late first wife’s birthday * the birth and death of Big Sister (one day of life, unfortunately) * the start of my career as a writer and editor (I love that my first day on the job was the second day because the first day was a holiday.) * the day we brought Missy Molly the pinky-nosed (wilde) Cat home * the Husband’s older brother’s birthday * the day Daddy died while having lunch at the senior center * the day Baby Sister died on Mama’s lap (Mama was about to feed her lunch)  Making calendars is therapy.

  The freesia have begun to bloom, hurrah!

How can I work in chaos? This, I asked myself as I sliced a thin edge off a rectangle of patchwork with a rotary cutter among tossed array. Tossed array, is that such a thing? It sounds like something I might’ve learned in physics, logic, theoretical mathematics, if it had been my pleasure. Thank goodness, Mama and Daddy had no clue about such things either. What was I talking about? How can I work in chaos? Picture this: Me looking at the tossed arrays of fabric spread over all available surfaces of the room. Where is that cute print I thought would be a perfect background for a card? No where to be found. Oh well, second choice works. Fast forward. Where is my card template?  I turned around and what do I see? Yep. That cute print I wanted. That’s one way chaos works for me.

I am pretending that I published this post yesterday. Yes, indeed. It’s a “rule” I just made for myself in my quest to write and post some bit everyday until. . . I’m done thinking that way. So, how do, how do? :-) By the way here’s a photo of the dove, an omen of good things, I hope, that’s hanging out in the persimmon tree. It could’ve been roosting there yesterday. Upward and onward. Vice versa, if you please.

The Husband doesn’t care (I asked first) that I’ve taken to using the aged appliances, furniture, and walls as my canvas. Everything has to be replaced or repainted anyway. If we don’t like the results, we know it’s not permanent.  The refrigerator was my first project.  As I was painting, I could hear Mama saying, “When are you going to vacuum the icebox coils?” Such a Virgo she was. :-)

To look at the clear blue sky this morning, I wouldn’t have thought it rained yesterday. Oh, wait. Yesterday, 2/22/2222 did turn out to be a lucky day for us in drought world. We got a good drenching of rain and a bit of hail. Hail, hail, the gang’s all here.... If I’d thought about picking up the camera when Missy Molly and I ventured outside, I would have shot photos of sweet tiny pellets of ice lining the bottom of the fence and splotches of melted ice on the geranium leaves. In lieu, I give you an old photo of a morning glory bloom. :-)

I read this morning that today’s date is a palindrome and, to some people, it is a lucky day. Two/ two, two/ two two. A lucky day for something, I happily concur.  A buena fortuna of a 2/22/22 to you, mes amis!

Is there an actual term for “word constipation”? Is there a cure?  My words have been very slow to come, when they do. Is this how my godmother, Ninang Deling, felt when she drew a blank casting for the English word for orange or something as seemingly simple to me? Ninang Deling’s stroke was the cause for her loss of words. In one way, the stroke made her stronger, feisty, the kind of woman I suspected she was before she reunited with her husband about 30 years later in another country. Fortunately, she physically came back from her stroke.  Me, no stroke, thank goodness. Knock on wood. Not my head, please. I have been...am...word constipated because, oh, this is so trite after having brought up Ninang Deling, I was feeling down in the mouth. Quite. Not so much now. The words are showing up on the blank page.  It’s baby steps again.

Hope all’s well.  :-)