411: safe in the milkweed pod

A while back, I think I mentioned The Milkweed Project, and my own humble efforts at putting together a piece for the exhibition. Well, my installation is complete, and we measured it at book club: one hundred and forty six glorious feet of fuzzy yarn on its chilly way to Sheboygan to be assembled with other bits of a milkweed pod.

I bought the yarn something like a half dozen years ago, intending to make a lap blanket for a couple's wedding. I was to be a bridesmaid. But they never married, and I made a little something else instead.


These days I'm keeping my hands busy while watching old episodes of Northern Exposure and new episodes of Ace of Cakes. I'm fully aware of how strange my new cycle of medication makes me feel: my hormones are off-the-charts, though Ryan is patiently keeping up, keeping close, making me radiate from within. Every night I whisper to whomever-is-up-there (is it whom? I can't believe I'm a comp. teacher): Don't let me forget how lucky I am.