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Cobblestone Theivery; also Happy New Year.

I can usually motivate the writing muse with something visual – I had a quick but enjoyable walk in the park with the puppy this morning after the kids were off to school after winter break. There’s a tennis court behind (or in front of, depending on your direction) the park and it’s landscaped with those potato-sized river rocks that have always held some odd fascination for me. Did anybody else love painting rocks as a kid? The melding of art and organic did it for me, plus it was a portable “pretty” to admire wherever the mood struck. I vividly remember a red daisy with a yellow center I made with some too-thick possibly musty acrylic  leftover from a paint-by-numbers set.

I’ve seen a few crochet-covered stones here and there on the interwebs. (Even a flickr pool for them!) And I do love me some crochet covered things. Until just recently I was plagued by a series of creepy dreams involving real pets covered in yarn and faux fur.

So now I have an empty D*nkin’ Donuts travel mug in my right pocket because I can’t get enough caffeine in my system before walking to the bus, my phone in my other pocket, and the dog, who hasn’t been walked in too long and is straining to smell the thousand other animals who have passed by in the time since we’ve been here. I want to pick up a rock but realize, as I have before, that it’s technically stealing (an admonishment that I’m sure I heard from my parents as often as I’ve given to my kids). There are a few seniors gathering for tennis, but I wasn’t too worried, except I was because as I quickly scanned to area for a good one – oval but not too bumpy, granite-y instead of slate and bent down to grab it, I chose too quickly and immediately regretted my haste. How could I go back for another? Surely that would seem suspicious. I start to think about my “new” project – never mind the number of old new projects that are not finished.  I can cover it in the green thread I found yesterday when I cleaned out the coffee table drawers. It may look like moss. Now I’m daydreaming and I know it – what else could I cover in crochet? I could make little yarn leaves on those fallen branches over there. A theme! Maybe I will have an exhibition, a retrospective!  – but I’ll have to learn some type of doily-like pattern. Picots? I think I have some pattern books. Urgh, but I really don’t like thread crochet..oh, what is this now, a roadblock, put up by me? in my mind?  How very unusual…

So we start back and get to the crosswalk and I still have the rock in my hand. Will some passerby or motorist see me and know of my transgression of the pedestrian/park ethics code? I pretend for a second it’s a special dog training device. I wait for the light to change and try to put the rock in my pocket but but it doesn’t fit, and I can’t switch hands with the leash puller so I stand there awkwardly, pushing the walk button a few more times than needed.

Headed home though, a funny thing happens. I start to enjoy the weight in my hand. It’s warming up a bit and the sky looks clearer. Lucy’s caught some scent on the wind, and she looks happy too.

I’m going home with my rock and my dog, because that’s pretty much how far in advance I’ve planned my day. It could be worse.

“Anxiety is the hand maiden of creativity” – Jones, Chuck

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