I made a teapot.

I may be “needs a little stool in the hoop house” years old. A bionic hip apparently does not make me wonder woman. Happy to play in the dirt and hear rain on the roof at the same time.

Books. Absurd numbers of books. It’s my root cellar of survival backup dopamine, for when this data stream gets too hard to navigate.

I am awash in February Make A Thing A Day projects. I’m building a little automaton involving a porcelain doll head, cans and cranks and something dramatic happening.

Do what you can, where you are, with what you have. Even if your efforts never bear fruit or take root, your effort alone is an act of beauty and gives courage to us all.

It ain’t over ‘til it’s over. Hope springs eternal. Hibernate and rally. All of that.

Hourly comic day, four hours in.

The pedestal is a sugar cube

I’m reviving and recovering an abandoned hoop house frame in the overgrown wild-viney back of my yard. Went out in the cold with pruners and tools. If a bra full of dead leaves, twigs and detritus count as “touching dirt”, then I’m golden. Off to soak my bones in a hot bath.

Pruning dormant elderberries because I’m craving some sense of control. I keep cuttings for propagation. Some will root and sprout branches, some will be dead sticks. Like ideas for art making: you can’t tell which will wither or bloom, so it’s good to have more than you need.

I am not great at making neat straight lines with my sewing machine but I figured out I can use it for scribbling. Made a self portrait.