handstories

"cultivating peace"

    This is a photo of a photograph by Ishiuchi Miyako.  One of her many beautiful and poignant works on display at the Spirits Rising: Hiroshima exhibit at the Portland Japanese Gardens.

    "...documenting cherished items and clothing left behind by victims of the atomic bomb detonated in Hiroshima at the close of World War II that are now housed at the Hiroshima Peace Memorial Museum." 

    More about her work can be found here.

    We've been in Oregon for a few days visiting family.  The gardens were part of a lovely day with K.'s sister.  I hadn't been there in decades.

    The Heavenly Falls.  (To see & hear them in action go here.)

    It was a bright sunny cold day, and I don't know how to adjust for that with the phone camera, so please imagine all of the lush green that surrounded us.

    There was a view over downtown Portland, looking towards Mt. Hood.

    Such a blue sky.

just when you think you've got nothing...

    A new place to wander.  Summer's indigo scraps and a ThreadCrumb moon (about 13 x 13").

    There's been a lot of forehead furrowing by K. and I about Moon's future plans.  K. keeps telling me to not say anything, that it will push his heels deeper in, but I can't seem to help myself.  So, the other night, jokingly, I suggested a different idea.  When he didn't react, I stepped out onto the ice, slowly and carefully saying some of the reasons why I want this to happen for him.  He seemed to be listening, so, bravely (or foolishly), I kept going... 

    "I just want the world for you..."

    Finally, I stopped, held my breath and hope that I hadn't cemented the deal for his original plans, and turned to busy myself with making dinner.

    And then...

    "Mom, I love you, too." 

    I managed to keep the happy cry in in until he left the room.

    And, he's looking into and considering our idea.

moon mulling

    Yesterday had some parenting moments...  

    Blue has been offered a job upon graduation this spring, and it's across the country.  Whether he'll accept it, or not, is still up in the air.  Either way, it was a realization that he may never live here again, which is good, how it should be, and... sigh.

    Last night, I yelled something at Moon out of exhaustion and exasperation.  It wasn't horrible, but it wasn't kind.  I said I was sorry, and again this morning, and I am.  He's seventeen and thinks he's ready to be on his own, which is normal, how it should be, and... sigh.

    In trying to think of something to write here, I drew a moon mind-map, writing down moony thoughts- a page of golden round words and moonlit memories of childhood- both mine and the boys'...

    Traveling to the moon and stars with my brother in our imaginations and rocket ships (lawn chairs), growing up with a woman named Mooney across the street, and being told (and believing) I could live on the moon when I grew up.

    How Blue chose Moon's middle name because there was often a full moon on the evenings of our midwife appointments. "Look at the moon, Mama!" 

    Standing outside, huge-as-moon pregnant, days overdue, trying to convince Moon to come out and see the moon for himself, and finally, on the porch a couple of days later, showing him the moon on the night he was born.

    Writing a little Zoom to the Moon book for four year old Blue to read.  Putting together that wonderful "Over the Moon" play with his second grade class, which included bits of the songs "Blue Moon", "Moon River" and more.  

    And that night sky song that I hummed to my baby boys, while slowly twirling around the front room, trying to dance them to sleep (click here for a lovely listen).

        Well, this turned into an unexpectedly long lingering...

    "A Golden Making" and a few more starlit story cloths will be in the shop tomorrow morning.

buoyant

    Stitching away every inch of the day that I can, loving and floating in it.

    These little squares of self-talk, stories that I keep telling myself over and over, reshaped, but still the same, let me know that there's still something I need, or want to hear and believe.

    Ideas come in bursts in that moment between awake and sleep, making me wish it was possible to take a screen shot, because the memories of them are often blurry by morning.  Last night there was a bird singing a star song in the night sky...

   Dreams have come every night for the last couple of weeks.  Deep dreams, often in direct connection with conversations of the day.  Dreams of the dead- friends, co-workers, old teachers... of going back in time and seeing them again, wanting to warn and save them from their fate, and realizing that I can't control everything...anything.  Other nights, I'm visited by folks I've lost touch with, some on purpose.  The next day, I often hear from them.  Ghosts of my present.

    Language is a struggle lately.  The other night I said the wrong word for something to K..  There is stuttering, in thought and words.  Last night, in the middle of a "discussion" with Moon, I had to stop to gather the thoughts into coherent sentences (which, I discovered, is not a bad strategy when dealing with a teenager). I'm pretty sure it's not a medical issue, but rather a result of being full.  So much to swim through...

unexpected wandering

    A friend was going to Portland this weekend, and there was a spur of the moment decision to join her.  She had booked a swell waterfront room, where I enjoyed the river view in a sweet rose covered and pink piped chair, while she went off on her plans.

    It was good for stitching, too.

    We strolled by the river, and around the city a bit... appreciating the walkability, great old architecture and quirkiness of the place.  I took her to Mill Ends Park, which claims to be the smallest park in the world.

    Many cute animal statues that cavort in the fountains along one street were patted and posed with, and we smiled at the happy doughnuts painted on the garbage cans.

    There was also a discovery of a carefully curated upscale GoodWill store, where I just may have bought a glittery wallet, and just outside was parked this very cheery bicycle.

    We laughed much of the trip, mostly at our own quirkiness, including the disoriented feeling that came over me, over and over... a sudden unsureness of where I was, or why?  Not a bad sensation, just wandering in the unknown maybe?

Freedom.

    The square for Social Justice Sewing Academy has journeyed back to the organization.  Before it left, there were a few changes and additions.  The lips just weren't right, and I couldn't get them there, so out they came.  In the end, I think the square is stronger without them.

    Wanting each half to stand alone and to be connected with the other,  there is a ghost of the missing  "free" and "dom" on either half of the square.

    This square was a challenge, came at a challenging time, and it was a gift.  It brought focus to some control issues (how I desperately want to get things right, especially when it's for someone else), and it forced me to let some of them go (at least for this moment), because there was no way to know the mind of the maker, and there was a deadline. 

    I've signed up for another one.  You can, too... Here.

a blur of Joy

    The wedding was in beautiful Whistler, BC.

    Everything sparkled.

    And twinkled.

    And glittered.

    Young and old danced and sang until midnight.

    Including Moon and me!  I hadn't danced in years and years...  It was a perfect party. 

    I loved every minute of it-  all of the details from tying ribbons around the bouquet to into her hair, cutting fleecy "snow" for the stumps we attendants sat on, convincing the bartender that even though they only ordered wine, "surely" there was a bottle of bubbly somewhere for the happy couple (there was!), talking with strangers (who felt like family), the ceremony, dinner, dancing, watching everyone be so very happy (the couple, Moon (who charmed all of the girls, from five to thirteen), everyone) ...All of it.  I couldn't stop smiling.

    Before falling to sleep, I wrote "Joy, pure joy!"

    We came home Sunday night, and I slept for eleven hours, and then yesterday, began really stitching again, all day long.

    I'm back, and feeling better than I have in months.

Looking

*** Depression (noun)

a depressed or sunken place or part; an area lower than the surrounding surface.

sadness; gloom; dejection.

Psychiatry. a condition of general emotional dejection and withdrawal; sadness greater and more prolonged than that warranted by any objective reason.

 

 

*** Peer (verb)

to look narrowly or searchingly, as in the effort to discern clearly.

to peep out or appear slightly.

to come into view.

    Noticing the differences and connections between the noun and verb above, and thinking about "choice" and "choosing" (another noun and verb), and the power that they hold.

(***https://www.dictionary.com/)

glimmers of light

    A friend sent an email asking how things were going?

    "Depression is a bitch," I wrote.

    It's been a long long time since depression and I have hung out together, and it creeped in so quietly, that I didn't recognize its presence for a while.  In the past, it was a comfortable companion...something to slip inside of, and let everything else slide away from. 

    This time is different, it isn't an ally, and I'm trying to fight this go-a-round.  Treading water to stay afloat some days and looking for islands to swim towards, and rest in, when I can.

    The friend wrote back with, "Make depressed cloth, anything."

    I had been working on the Story blanket this week.  Not feeling creative or up to decision making, I had switched to stitching long lines.  Long mindless lines.  I wondered if this was a depressed cloth?  I don't think so.  It's a just-keep-going cloth.

    And today there were stars.

tangled up in freedom

    This is the square that came from the Social Justice Sewing Academy @sjsacademy.  It is an organization dedicated to empowering young artists.

    "A youth education program that bridges artistic expression with activism to advocate for social justice. Through a series of hands-on workshops in schools, prisons & community centers across the country, SJSA empowers youth to use textile art as a vehicle for personal transformation & community cohesion and become agents of social change. Many of our young artists make art that explores issues such as gender discrimination, mass incarceration, gun violence & gentrification. The powerful imagery they create in cloth tells their stories, & these quilt blocks are then sent to volunteers around the world to embellish & embroider before being sewn together into quilts to be displayed in museums, galleries and quilt shows across the country. This visual dialogue bridges differences in race, age & socioeconomics & sparks conversations & action in households across the country."

    Click HERE to listen to an interview with the rockstar young woman who founded the organization and one of the students.

    I had thought this would be an easy thing to do, the kind of thing I've done with hundreds of students over the years.

    The first step was to secure the edges of the pieces, easy enough.  But then, what?  This square came with no instructions from the artist.  Not knowing them, or their intentions has thrown me.  At school, I was able to have conversations with the students- hear their thoughts, have them pick colors, etc. 

    Wanting to respect and keep with the artist's vision, I emailed the organization, and was told to feel free to do whatever I thought.  My thoughts were panicked.

    "What if I get it wrong?  What if they don't recognize their own creation?  What if I'm somehow silencing or not seeing their truth?"

        I think too much, I know...holding my breath and hope, and continuing on...