SUNDAY'S CHILD

Sin palabras. No words this weekend. Spending time cleaning out, organizing chapters, throwing away old, old, old shit that I'll never ever need again, especially the "Fiction 101" Writer's Digest magazines. Thankfully, I'm past that I'd like to believe. Two big boxes of out-and-out junk, clogging both mind and soul.

Also time spent on the homefront. Bought shutters to install over the kitchen sink (I'm a sucker for shutters) and blue painter's tape to tape out the childrens' bathroom (we're painting it purple). Weaving again -- bought a beautiful pair of bamboo size 19's and some very thick, very beautiful red yarn with strips of yellow and blue (whoever dyed this should be elevated to saint status). Somehow, I don't feel the least bit guilty about not having put actual words on paper. I know the story is there.

I did stumble on some very delightful old quotes. This one from Toni Morrison:

The progress of Black American writing is marked by five stages. First comes the heat of protest and then the more reflective search for personal identity. This is followed by an exploration of culture, a refinement of craft, and finally a wider vision of the world. But the important thing is not to explain but to bear witness, to record.

Toni Morrison
Time 9/12/1977

--A.

Comments:

bamboo needles and thick yarn. that's my girl!

:)

# posted by  nakachi : 7:14 PM

 

hey sis!

oh, yes! only big needles. who says size doesn't count?

--a.

# posted by  Angel : 10:05 AM

 

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