November 2008

Since pixels don’t come with smell-o-vision, I must tell you that these words are being typed in a quiet house that smells of fresh salsa and roasting bell peppers.  The laptop (old, beaten up) is positioned so as to block out the setting sun, which does not come directly through my front door but close enough to force my pupils to readjust.  I have a small party to be at in an hour’s time.  I must not be late, so I must write fast and speak rightly the first time.

The place, now: Huntsville, Alabama.
The place, then: rural Arkansas.

I was a child of the late 1970s, whose memories just missed Jimmy Carter but remembered Reagan dimly through an apolitical child’s eye.  Those who read this site know my story well; I came from a union family in a former mining town.  My tiny hometown, well under three hundred souls at the time, all looked like me because they were almost all related to me.

I can tell you what I’m working on.  Sort of.

Anyone who has called the house in the past week — and for those of you who have called in the evenings this past week to keep me company while Jeff’s working insane-o hours, I thank you dearly — knows that I’ve been hard at work on a quilt.

Here’s the problem:  technically, I shouldn’t post pictures.  Why?  It’s intended for someone whom I know reads this site. 

Here’s the solution: the photos are friends-locked on flickr.  It means the photos won’t syndicate on solecist.net, and I can control who sees them on flickr.  Problem solved.

If you’re curious to see the quilt that named itself "red shift," pop over to this set on flickr. Users on my friends list will see multiple photos; those not logged in or on my friends list will only see the shot of The Unhired Help: