Painted Fabrics/ Food/ Journal

I am gobsmacked. the pictures loaded in the correct order for the first time in the five years or more that I have been blogging. Got to go buy a lottery ticket, huh? These are my very own fabrics. I have a closet full of commercial stuff; selected and paid for with hard earned money, and the ones I make myself are the ones that always work in my pieced collage. Go figure, huh?

My own and some gifted squash frying away with some oil and an onion to golden brown wonderfulness for today's lunch or dinner. This may be the last panful for the summer season. Parting is such sweet sorrow.

My journal page from this morning. Yes. It does look very different from my usual journal pages. This happens sometimes when I begin a new book. The pages and the surface of those pages begs for something else. This one wants more visual and less written. As does my work.

My supply box for the journal is rather spare. Date stamp, the rings from Target prescription bottles (of which there are many with G's new disease), Sharpies in two sizes and many colors which I am USING and not SAVING. I color in wide sections of pages. My glue stick. I may add some paint. And colored pencils. Neocolor crayons. It's early days in this journal.

Remember how I was always saying "change was coming"? Well, it's here. It crept in while I was looking elsewhere. Just in time. I am getting to know myself all over again. Every seven years things change. This is the beginning of the 10th cycle in my lifetime. The last cycle was all about loss. One corner of my pinboard here by the desk has all their faces smiling out at me. Some have died and others have just disappeared from my life for the time being, as friends do sometimes. We lost jobs also in the past seven years. Both G and I. These seven years have been a trial, a struggle, an acceptance. I have been lonely, sad, angry, hurt and defensive. I feel that part is now over.

How do I know this? Because, as I fasten the protective paw bootie over Riley's back, left paw and lean my head against his hip, I feel such contentment and quiet joy. My life right now is good. I am in the right place, doing the right things (usually), and feeling healthy, safe, relaxed. I enjoyed pasting things to the journal page this morning, gathering the last few squash from the dwindling garden, emptying the compost bucket, watering my plants, making my bed and clearing off the dining room table. Each task the same as every other day, but today it was all better. It felt better to be me. I have shed tears while writing this post but even that feels good. I still miss my shredded wheat breakfast cereal.