handstories

mended at last

     Now.

    A year ago.

    Patched.

    Stitched.

    Rebound.

    Ready for some more loving.

    

teaching an old bird new tricks

    Bird making in kindergarten.  Usually, when I stitch with the little ones, I give step by step verbal directions, often holding the cloth with them, guiding their needle, etc.  Mid-birds I found that for most of the kids, if given the whole picture, telling them what the goal of the needle was, and if I let go and got out of their way...they were able to figure it out (with a little needle re-directing).  

    I suppose that's true for a lot of things in life.

    And about the flash mob . . . there were 30-40 of us dancing at a the Seattle Brain Cancer Walk.  We burst into our moves (some moving much better than others) in the middle of the crowd just before the walk started.  It was a lot of fun, and great to participate in something uplifting at a very emotional event.  And no one minded that a few of us were not quite in sync at all times, or at least they didn't tell us!

some things old, some things new

    One of the second graders approached this project with a little anxiety, having never stitched before. 

    "I don't know if I can do this?!"

    "I do."

    And he did.  In the middle of it, he asked, "How did all of the holes get in the cloth?"

    It took a minute before I realized that he was trying to understand how the needle was able to go through something that appears to be solid.  We held up the cloth to see the weave of threads that create a cloth full of holes.  No one has ever asked about this before.   What a great question.  

   This space of time has been very full...the boys caught their annual back to school colds and each spent a day home with me, there was sewing with second grade and kindergarten, traveling three hours each way for a Jason Mraz concert with friends, cooking risotto for the first time, and being part of a flash mob!  Other than the colds it's been a good mix of old and new.

reinforcements

    Canning jars make me happy.  They almost make it fun to sort through things.  

    Holes where the blanket ties were.  Extra strength is needed in order to re-tie.

    This gingham was the closest thing to the twenty-something year old clover print to be found.

    It melts in well enough.

    And look what was at the library!

    Which leads me to story number two:  The Books. (The first story,  "We Are Not Those People" here).

    There have been attempts at this organizing before, and several well-meaning books were involved.  

    First book:  Twentyish years ago, before they were trendy.  K saw me reading it.  "What are you reading?"  "I'm not going to tell you, I don't want to get your hopes up."  Just as well.   Soon after, I lost it somewhere in the house, haven't seen it since.

    Second:  It began with a questionnaire.  If you answered "yes" to more than a few questions- your organizing problems were actually emotional issues that you needed help with.  I answered "yes" to seventeen out of twenty-three.  Depressed, I took the book back to the library.

    Third:   A gift from a friend, thirteen years ago.  Feng shui based.  There was actual progress made.  That summer the basement was cleared out and organized.  Thirty boxes of donations, recycling, garbage.  Then I hit the chapter on "bowel movements"?!?  I was done.

    I think this one might have my name written all over it.

all there is

      I am obsessed with finishing this.  But it seems the more stitches that go into it, the more there is to do.

    Today I am patching the ragged edges of the back layer.

    And speaking of dominoes....

    The other task that is filling time, mind and much space...

    Trying to bring order into the chaos of my treasures, collections, passions...stuff.  I am definately in the "worse before it gets better" place.  Decades of collecting, saving, and holding on need to go.  It is so hard, I don't know how, I move things from here to there.  

    It hurts my head.

    But I am determined.  

funner

    Bundling India Flint style and pounding with the second graders again and again.  

    Talking of the many many ways plants are useful and magical.

 

    Singing "Oats, Peas, Beans and Barley Grow" and "Inch By Inch".    

   Grateful for overhearing  "This is even funner than I thought it would be!"

white line fever

    Continuing on with the baby blanket repair.

    And just when I thought it was endless.

    There is an edge in sight.

so glad the sandal broke

    It broke mid-miniature golf game.  I hobbled along, carrying the useless thing through the last eight holes, sure that it was the reason my score was so far behind the rest of the group.  

    Afterwards we went to see if the shoe repair shop was still there.  It had been across the street from where I used to work.  Fifteen years ago that neighborhood was full of character- independent shops for book lovers, gardeners, restaurants with flavors from around the world, and a hole in the wall shoe repair shop.  

    The shop was still there, still piled high with shoes on the counters, shelves, every surface, and the same kind man who fixed it then and there while I stood on one foot.

    Shod again, I walked down the block.  I try not to go back to this area, it's changed so much, it makes me sad.  The leftist literary bookstore where I had spent ten years is now a dingy quick mart, the garden store a drugstore chain, and the little old house that held rooms of used books is chained off and empty.  

    But there was a surprise . . .

    someone had given some love to the old used bookshop.    

    Seeing this was worth limping through the game.

better than fine

    Carding, spinning and knitting away on a shawl for someone who gave me a gift.   A gift of having faith in possiblilities.

    Getting used to these different kind of days could be a very wonderful thing.

a rut girl wallow

    Last night this spider built it's web right across the sidewalk.  I wonder how long until someone strolls into it.  All that work, misplaced.

    Today is the first day of school.  Today, after twenty some years (minus a couple when the boys were babies), I am not there.   I will still be doing work that I enjoy, but I won't be part of the daily classroom routine.

    It was my choice to step back, and there is a lot to look forward to in this transition, but today. . . today I miss having a square to stitch.

    Things are going to be fine, probably bettter than fine, but today I am sad.

     And I suppose that is fine, too.