handstories

Truth Teller

    K and I were living just outside of D.C., in a company apartment for a few months while he was taking part in a training program.    We were married just over a year and I was 21 years old.  His parents asked to come for a visit at Thanksgiving.  We said no.  K was in class six days a week, so I knew it would mean long days alone with them, not at all what I was up for at that time in my life.

    They announced that they had already bought tickets and would be staying for a week.  (It took a few more years before they learned no means no, and for us to learn to say it clearly.)  So they came.  Each day I listened to all of their ideas of what, where and how we should spend our time, lives, etc., ...venting to K each night.

    On the last night, K's mom was talking about how we all have gifts.  Each of us.  Something that is our strength and obligation to share with others.  She then went on to describe how much she loved having people in her home- thinking about what to feed them, what they would enjoy doing, how to make everything special for her guests, etc., ending with, "Yes, I know mine is the Gift of Hospitality!"

    Without missing a beat, with my eyes closed with the exasperation and frustration of the last six days, without a moment's hesitation, or thought, or any nuance of grace, I blurted out, "Well, I don't know what mine is, but it's Not hospitality!"

    (FYI- this is a very good way to silence a room.)

    The next day, after taking them to the airport, I called a friend and told her about the conversation and my unhospitable reaction.  Without missing a beat, she said, "Your gift is prophecy.  You're a truth teller."

    She rewrapped all of my blunt, socially awkward, straight-forward ways into something to celebrate.  My tendency to show all of my cards and call out everyone else's, was a good thing! 

    I don't know if my mother-in-law quite saw it that way when I later shared this revelation with her, but we both knew it was the truth.

december 2013

    It is a dark gray New Year's Eve afternoon.  The year of 2013 is done, as is the working words onto this cloth.  In a few days I will start spending some time pulling together the loose spots, figuring out how to finish the edges, and deciding whether or not to correct some misspellings ("narwahl" being one of them..."arrrgh" to late night stitching!).  But for now, I'm going to tack it to the wall and just look at it all, all of this year's stories . . . and wonder about the next's.

     Rather than starting a new daily cloth piece in this new year, I'm thinking I'd like this to be The Year of Finishing.  There are so many "not quite there" pieces and places in my life right now.  It's time to stitch down the loose threads, and tidy up the edges of a lot of things, or at least a few more of them.

    I hope that 2014 holds peace and enough for all.

november

september

    Three fourths done.

    About three rings to go, to grow.

    Like a tree.

august

    Whoosh!

july

    And today I read this-

        "I'll let my journal grow just like the mind does, just like a tree or a beast does, just like life does.  Why should a book tell a tale in a dull straight line?

        Words should wander and meander.  They should fly like owls and flicker like bats and slip like cats.  They should murmur and scream and dance and sing. 

    ....My sentences will be a clutch, a collection, a pattern, a swarm, a shoal, a mosaic.  They will be a circus, a menagerie, a tree, a nest.  Because my mind is not in order.  My mind is a clutter and a mess.  It is my mind, but it is also very like other minds.  And like all minds, like every mind that there has ever been and every mind that there will ever be, it is a place of wonder."

        From My Name Is Mina by David Almond.

wishing i was spatial

    Spiraling around, stitching a word or so each day, I've just been adding to the base fabric as needed.  This last time, whether it was from busyness or laziness, I don't know, but I was in denial about the need to get on the with the task.  I found myself choosing shorter and shorter words, until it couldn't be avoided any longer.  

    I wish I knew how much more will be needed to finish out the year, but I am not spatial.  Here's one story that proves it . . .

     About a decade ago, there was a fabric store in a neighboring city, I knew which exit to take off the freeway, which street, where to turn- I could get there on my own.  Then a friend took me to another fiber store in the same city, but it was off a different exit, another street and turns.  I could get there, too, BUT. . . I could never go to both places at the same time, a year of not knowing how to get from point A to point B.  One day K (who is very spatial) drove me to one of them and I asked if it was too far to go to the other shop?

    It was on the lower backside of the same building . . . really.  

june

    Half a year . . . and so it grows . . .

    (a click on a photo will take you closer)

there's another train

   
      Something new in the works, holding part of that scrap found earlier this week.

    One of my dearest friends shared a song with me last month.  It was sent to her in the middle of the time we were both making big decisions.  To listen, click here.  ( Lyrics and music by Pete Morton, sung by Beth Youngblood, inspired by the Poozies' arrangement.)

     My faint pink version is sandwiched between "fearless" "universe", I love that.

    "There's another train.  There always is."

may

(a click on a photo will take you closer)