Links To My Free Sewing Patterns! - Big Manta Ray - Smaller Manta Ray - Monster Friend (those Monsters

anecdote of the pig, tory adkisson // achilles & partoclus // house of dragon, 1x07 // plainwater, anne carson // ? // ?

*faux leather no animals were harmed! :)

I was talking to a coworker recently and offhandedly said I wasn’t exactly competent at a lot of things. He reared back in obvious visceral disagreement that made me stop midsentence.

“What do you mean you’re not competent?”

“I guess I mean compared to the people I’m surrounded by? I’m not very handy, I guess.”

He looked baffled.

I tried to illuminate with a story. So at the sex shop we needed to vacuum every night, right? But one time after my days off I could tell the carpets hadn’t been vacuumed since I last saw them. I asked the other girls why not. It turned out that the screw that held the handle on the vacuum had been stripped and it wouldn’t stay in. Why was that down to a single screw? Bad design.

So any attempt to vacuum meant the handle just popped off when the screw jumped ship. I looked over the vacuum. I found a junk drawer. I found the biggest screw I could that still fit in the hole wrapped it in tape to bulk it out. Then I shoved/screwed it in place. Then I duct taped the opening so that fucker couldn’t pop out. Voila, a working handle.

The other girls were utterly delighted that I’d fixed the vacuum but I was painfully aware that my solution was neither elegant nor long term.

My coworker listened. Finally he said, “I think being competent just means you have the ability to learn a skill you lack, and you can do that. Your solution worked, and you were the one that tried to fix the problem.”

I digested that and agreed, but admitted any new skill learned would prompt me to be a huge baby about it.

As the seasons change, so do I

"There is something at work in my soul, which I do not understand."

-Mary Shelley, Frankenstein

Am I chasing ghosts?

The one that I had left behind

Searching every new face

That age old familiarity

That thoughtless bond, older than us

Will I ever find such a ghost again,

Or am I meant to be seeking, this life time

One that will quench the thirst

While calming and enraging the fire inside my bones

As his hand ghosting over my scars

A voice that I may pretend is his

Finally hearing my words from his lips

Or am I forever chasing the wind?

Ghosting hands on my waist

Shuddering like a flower in the breeze

When it hits my neck

Just a breeze stroking desperate flesh

by marina weishaupt (500px / flickr / instagram)

Jane Austen // Nizar Qabbani

The emotion expressed...

Like it captured the hope and nostalgia I feel every new years. Even when I pretend it's just another day

Franz Theodor Aerni - Fireworks on Castel Sant'Angelo (1875-80)

Hyperallergic

My Grandma's Doilies Are Not a Joke

When will art institutions finally pay respect to our foremothers’ artistry?

This all day long … Elena Kanagy-Loux's article is right-on. I myself have made it a point in recent years not to share any content that glibly uses the phrase, "not your grandma's " because it's a) lazy and b) dismisses the real fact that grandmothers and older textile artists have worked hard to keep craft traditions alive and evolving, not to mention their immense skills. We should be thanking them and looking to them for inspiration, not mocking them. via @hyperallergic ❤️