The last couple of weeks have been about waiting and wishing and wanting. Spells were stitched. Chocolate was eaten. Washed down with wine. There was a day when I shouted, "I am feeling ANXIOUS!" a few times. I was not alone, but was definitely the loudest.
Results are in, finally. All is well. And our friends received encouraging news, too.
I thought that I had put this one in the last post...
Speaking of Twinkle... stage two of kidney disease. So now we watch and wait. She often wants to be in my lap while I'm at my worktable. It's not always convenient or easy to do any work, but doing what I can when I can, seems to be my motto these days.
Speaking of the stitching table... I'm very much looking forward to the days when the sun gets up before me. I can hardly see the trees on the hill outside my window in the dark mornings.
Speaking of our hills... To get to our house, you climb a steep hill, turn and we are in the middle of the next one. Coming home from the vet with Twinkle on Wednesday afternoon, this is what was happening at the bottom of the first hill...
When I saw it, I thought, "I should stop, but I've got Twinkle in the car and she will flip out if I stop and leave her in the car, and there's nowhere to pull over on this hill, and lots of other people will be coming by that can stop, and I'm so tired of taking care of things, and..." In the few seconds it took to drive by the car, see the clearly upset elderly woman in the driver's seat, and turn up our street, I thought, "You do what you can, when you can," and ran Twinkle inside, let her out of her carrier, apologized, and walked back down the hill.
She had run out of gas going up the hill and rolled back onto the sidewalk. A man had already stopped and was off getting some gas. After he returned and we figured out how to get the gas out of the can, and yelling, "Stop!" as he poured it, because it was pouring out of the bottom of the car, because she must have punctured the gas tank rolling over the curb, I called 911. Over an hour later, after talking to four firefighters, two police officers, her husband (a few times), listening to many stories from the sweet woman, I tucked her into the police car for a ride home and walked back up the hills.
The husband brought by lovely flowers yesterday. You can see that neither vacuuming or sweeping happened on Wednesday (or Thursday, or today). Simple tasks just seem too hard to get to right now.
Even the very simplest of jobs.
Speaking of pencils...
K gave me a set of anti-social butterfly ones for Christmas. They crack me up. They are so me.
Speaking of me... pulling myself off of the couch to stitch this morning, thinking I would just make something out of the first scrap that I saw... suddenly I found myself digging through the blues, frantically chanting, "I need to make a boat, I need to make a boat, I need to make a boat..."
And I did, because you do what you can, when you can.
Things are ok-ish. It was a mostly nice couple of the weeks with everyone home. Didn't even open the computer for over a week, just an occasional phone peek at things. It was interesting re-adjusting to four now adult-sized bodies in our house and the sharing of the one bathroom. I will confess to being very ready to have the house to myself again after three weeks without a day alone.
There wasn't much stitching, just the beginning of this sun on Solstice (scrap and techniques ala' Jude).
Still spending time at our friends. One evening she and I talked about the other side of all that is going on for them. That along with the fear, tiredness, unknown, etc. there is beauty. The gift of realizing of how much love there is surrounding and holding these days.
The first stars and tree of 2023...for wonder, wishing, and a little wanting.
In thinking about what I want to focus on in this new year, "tend" and "crystalizing" are thoughts I'm holding onto.
Speaking of tending... Twinkle's not doing well. These were at the vet's this morning. They're keeping her for a few hours to run some tests. The house is too empty without her.
Maybe I’ll vacuum while Twinkle is gone. It terrifies her. The house looks like it’s been full of boys.
And K. is having a test this afternoon that I'm mentioning, but don't want to talk or think about it just yet. Just saying that I'm quite distracted and restless right now.
Maybe I’ll sweep instead. The broom scares her too, but it might calm me.
Looking out... and in.
There are days when it feels like the universe is cracking open lives and hearts.
A week ago, I was quilting as fast as I could, hoping for a Christmas miracle. Often thinking of our friends and this precarious journey they are on. Meditating on and stitching with hope, frantically trying to ward off the opposite.
I believe in miracles, expect them. Sometimes we just need to shut up and let them happen, make room for the possibility of them, open our arms wide to welcome them in.
A lot of time is spent at their place these days. Delivering, picking up, taking things away, hanging out with her in the evenings after he's asleep.
We talk, drink wine, eat Thai food, shelve books, take out the recycling, talk about what still needs done, I set alarms to remind her the next day. We watch the house across the street, the one that was one fire a week ago. This week someone was found stabbed to death in it.
A couple of days ago, I threw in the towel and tossed the quilt to the end of the couch. Knowing that the only way it could possibly get done was to spend the days frantic and stressed. Enough.
Ornaments for my guys in process. Threadcrumb moons on that starry cloth that K gave me twenty-five years ago when I was pregnant with Blue and full of hope.
"And Still... the Moon"
The flying dream was a great one. It was actually more like swimming in the sky. Keeping my arms close to my body and wiggling like a fish, a mermaid, the movements lifting me towards the stars...
A morning at my friends' hanging out with him while she took the cat to the vet (the cat is having health issues too). Again, parking is an issue in their neighborhood, so I pulled up to the building, she and the cat left in my car, and I headed into the condo. Neither he nor I are morning people, nor had we ever really spent any length of time alone together, so the plan was for us to have our coffee and tea quietly in separate rooms.
When I brought him his coffee, he was sitting in a comfortable chair in their bedroom listening to music. "Here you go. I'll just be stitching in the living room. Just let me know if you need anything- more coffee, company, whatever."
"Yeah, there's a book that I'm listening to that I want to get back to... My sister told me about it, Braiding..."
"...Sweetgrass?"
"You know it?"
"Yes, I've been hearing about it for years. I've checked it out of the library several times but haven't actually opened it. Are you liking it?"
"Have a seat!"
"Let me get my tea..."
He shared about the book, and we wove in and out of topics- connection, and community, how the last weeks have been for him, them, what might come... Two hours later, she returned, the time had flown by.
"Robin"
Coming home, I sat down to stitch, after going to the library website, checking out, and opening the audiobook of Braiding Sweetgrass. What an amazing, beautiful, spirit filling book, and listening to the author, Robin Wall Kimmerer read it with her soothing rich voice is an added gift. I'm halfway through. It's the perfect thing to listen to while stitching. I can't believe it took me this long to get to this book, but then again, sometimes things happen at just the right time in our lives. I imagine that I will listen to it again and again, each time remembering a lovely morning conversation with coffee, tea, and connectionsing.
Deb's cloth made for an earthy hill on blackberry-ish purples by Tina, with a small scrap of the starry cloth K. gifted me for Christmas twenty-five years ago in anticipation of baby Blue.
There was a bit more boat mending in the wind and the cold under a daylight moon.
In an effort to maybe, just maybe, get this quilt done in time, I keep it on my lap while stitching for the shop. Whenever there is a bit of thread left in the needle, it goes into the quilt. Sometimes it's only a few stitches, but that keeps things interesting.
Speaking of interesting... There was an evening at my friend's condo this weekend. They live near a hospital and a couple of nursing homes, so sirens are common. But suddenly there was siren after siren...
We looked out the window to see that the street was full the length of two blocks and around the corner of her building.
Across the street an old, abandoned house.
We spent the next hours watching out their windows. The hours were also spent with fond and fearful memories of my dad's decades as a fire fighter.
The house is still standing, without some of the roof and floors.
"It's never a dull moment around here!" I commented. We laughed at the crazy their world seems to be full of these days. Over there again last night, we talked about how pretty the fire actually was, especially at one point when snow was falling. We thought it could be their Christmas card... "Our world is on fire, and still beautiful... Merry Christmas!" We laughed some more. Laughter is such good medicine.
And so is stitching! (More of Deb and Tina's dyeworks.)
"Gathering Light"
What a difference a day can make. This piece was started and finished today. There was worry midway that the sky was too much, but I went with it, wanting all of the light that could be found.
There was a walk with a friend in the arboretum the other day. Even in the midst of cold and worry, it's always beautiful.
Our friends have a tentative plan that is laced with a glimmer of hope. There are a lot of If's and several rings of fire to go through, but if all of the stars align... some hope. Thank you for all of your loving thoughts.
Yesterday we drove up to watch Moon's a cappella concert. It's always such joy to watch these young people having so much fun making music. And before the show, there was the added delight of dinner with Deb G.! The whole evening was spirit lifting and filling.
"Where Stories Might Meet"
And... this piece was finished, too, after being buried under a pile of cloth for four months. Honestly, there are so many layers in life.
There was a day of halves this week, the day before yesterday...
It started with half a night's sleep from worrying that I wouldn't wake up in time to go help my friends early in the morning.
Many thank yous for all of your love and kind thoughts on the last post. You folks fill my spirit.
I was alone the last few days. The guys were all scattered to the wind with fun plans, and I was looking forward to really concentrating on stitching for the shop... and then the last week happened. Letting things go. I did spend hours watching really stupid TV and quilting on the woven quilt. Some really bad stitching in places. Letting that go, too.
There will be more definitive news this week, hopefully with a plan, hopefully with some kind of hope.
Whenever I don't know what to do, I think about feeding them. Especially her. On Thanksgiving I spent two hours making stroganoff. Not the kind of thing I normally do, but no one in the house likes mushrooms as much as I do. It was a good distraction, delicious, and I was so glad to be able to hand her a warm bowlful when she picked me up today.
"Turn off the car for a minute and eat this."
We went to batten down the hatches on their sailboat before the rains come. While we worked, I kept hearing my dad's voice... all the things he used to say when we were out fishing, hunting, etc. "Pay attention, you might learn something," was a favorite saying of his.
While driving home, I fed her grapes.
"Eir" for healing.
“The Shape of Hope”
Delirious. Last night was spent holding vigil in the ER for dear friends. Their lives have been turned upside down over the last couple of weeks.
“Nadine” for hope.
I try to channel my big sister/mom/teacher/bossy self in useful ways... bring (and share) wine, applesauce, snickerdoodles, take out the recycling, take away piles. When really there is nothing that anyone can do other than being there and keep shifting the ways that hope is held on to.
The other day, while walking and thinking of them, there was a blue bird near the sidewalk. Not the Stellar's jays that I usually see, it was one that I've never seen around here before. I don't know what it was, other than beautiful, and a gift.
“Holding Light”
Home at 4:30am. Head buzzing. Two and half hours of sleep. The body keeps its patterns. She is sending texts of things to visualize. That procedures will happen for him, answers will be found, with solutions. Medical textbook images are rearranged and surrounded by swirling rainbows, stars, and blue birds in my thoughts.
Yesterday I wrote, "If only we could stitch safe places for who and what we hold dear."
If only.
