House of Resource
by Ruth Waddy on September 16th, 2015

Texas is hot.  When it's not hot, it's really humid.  When it's not humid, it's sweltering.  You get the idea.  A loved one of mine, who's name, I well mercifully not mention;  has a particular problem in the Texas heat.  When I met said person, he used a leather wallet.  He carried cash in said wallet.  He purchased items with said cash.  He made change for untold strangers.  He conducted all of these activities in the aforementioned broiling Texas sun. This cash would emerge from his wallet damp, limp; fragrant with the aroma of soggy dollars.  As though he did his banking with the wet bills from the children at the concession stand of the community pool.
He did not conduct his banking in this manner.  
He did not live with mermaids and merman in a secret underwater cave.
He did not commute to work each morning by swimming the river, fully-clothed.  
Now, you may surmise that my loved one's ass might be generating such an abundance of sweat; that it would soak through his garments, passed the protective barrier of his wallet and inundate his bills.
 This is a revolting notion, and I refuse to believe it.  
Let me offer a counter- theory.  I do believe that the incessant, scorching, sizzling heat has indeed, caused my dear one to sweat - profusely. But not from the place where the sun doesn't shine.  No!  From the place closest to the sun!  From the top of his innocent, pristine, beautiful head.  And it is this sweat that is cascading down, like an amusement park water slide.  Down the back of his head, and down the back of his neck, and down his back to be deposited in his back pocket!  Where it would, naturally, sully his cash.   
 Despite his bizarre propensity for generating moist money,  I loved him.  I made him a wallet because I loved him.  I made him a wallet out of bicycle inner tubes because that's what I do.  
He continued to conduct cash transactions with this new bike tube wallet in the blazing, blistering, burning heat.
Miraculously, his money remained dry.
A few days ago, I was informed by a  friend who  had purchased a wallet from me;  that, since using it; he too, noticed that his formerly damp dollars, were dehydrated!  
So, based on this irrefutable scientific evidence, we can conclude that one of the world's most pressing and dire problems has been solved!
You're welcome. 

by Ruth Waddy on August 24th, 2013

Who's afraid of a button hole?
I'm working on a commission for a blazer, which I modestly project may be completed around the time of the next ice age; mainly because I lack the intestinal fortitude to risk sullying  my handy work by impaling it with six, evenly spaced, perfectly aligned holes.
I imagine that the first button hole was the contrivance of a clever cave woman , whose spastic partner, overcome by adrenaline and chocolate covered espresso beans, riddled his hunt with excessive stabbings that resulted in a hardy meal, but a sieve-like hide.  Our intrepid cave girl wrapped a few inches of intestine around a saber tooth button, and we're talking Seville Row.
I do not have such an advantage.
I should have made the holes early on, before I got invested.  But now that I've spent the better part of my most vital years applying intricate designs to the fabric, I feel like a soldier who has traversed enemy lines.  A soldier who is pulling himself along by his one remaining limb.  A soldier who must lob six hand grenades onto a target the size of a termite in order to achieve victory.  By God I can do this!
I prepare the areas for incision with the ritualistic calm of Samurai performing Hara-kiri.  I steady my breath, and down a handful of a chocolate covered espresso beans...