what happens when art meets destruction? Should it be restored to the moment before or should what’s left be mounted as a tribute to survival? Who should decide and how?

Before Caldor’s Bent Propellor After
Before Koenig’s Sphere for Plaza Fountain After
Another view

Almost forgot to mention that I’m on that edge of starting a new quilt. How about that? I can sort of feel something moving in that direction, but what it will emerge as I’m not quite sure of yet. I’m enjoying the moment before starting.

I see that my schedule next week includes two half days again. Although working basically 6 days a week sounds REALLY bad, I found this week that I’m much less exhausted, so perhaps this is worth pursuing for awhile.

On the other hand, I have hurt my right foot somehow. I would like to whine a bit, not about how much my foot hurts (which it does) but about the fact that if it’s that injured shouldn’t I be able to remember WHEN it was injured? Since I’m looking for new, black walking-type shoes I’ve moved my orthotics to a pair of five-tennies I have. They’re not very sleek looking but they do offer a lot of support and have relatively stiff soles. tomorrow at lunch I’ll have to continue my search for new work shoes. Ick. I tried to do this on Monday with some committment and failed miserably while enduring the worst customer service ever.

Bob the Corgi was just mentioning nicknames and the names we answer to. I always wished for a nickname, but probably spent too much time reminding people that my name was Mary Beth, not Mary, not Mar’, not Beth. So as a result, I’m not a Spike, Spot or other jovial moniker. One boss called me MaryB, actually MaryBB. I sometimes register for things as MaryBG. My brother called me Birdbath growing up, before he could pronounce Mary Beth. Some folks will occasionally call me MB. That works. As does “The Queen” for my more royal roles as quilt show bureaucrat etc. Now it’s probably too late to get a nickname.

What’s worse than not having a nickname is getting not called anything at all. I wear a nametag at work now and customers often check out my name and use it. All too often though, my name is “what goes unsaid.”

Sometimes you look at something and think, ‘it’s a miracle it works at all, and I don’t even need to understand why.’ Similarly one can look at something like the Winter Garden in NYC and think it’s a miracle that any of it is still standing, let alone that there’s enough there and the resolve to reestablish it.

Thanks to Fortune Elkins over at bread, coffee, chocolate, yoga for a link to a great article about the Winter Garden and plans to rebuild.

Wow – I remember this view: North from the World Trade Center

Many many years ago, I quit my first job out of college. As in walked over to my slimy, who-knew-how-slimy boss and said “I quit.” And I left. Had to threaten small claims court to get him to pay the back salary he owed me, but that’s another story. One of the things I did the rest of that day was to do things I’d wanted to do in NYC but couldn’t because I was working – and chief on that list was to go to the top of the World Trade Center. What a view. Not soon forgotten.