handstories

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.  

trick of tilt

 

my moomin moon boy

    While waiting for Moon to be born, the midwife appointments often fell on the full moon.  K, Blue and I would admire the moon as we headed for home.  I think it was four year old Blue who first thought to use "moon" as a middle name.

    Eleven years ago tonight, as I caught him coming out (with the midwife's help, of course), he looked at me with these eyes as big as moons, and I said, "Oh, you are Moon!".  A few hours later we took him outside to look at the moon.  

    Tonight we drove down to the lake and did the same, he was thrilled to have a full moon birthday.

    And this begun, thinking of the big and wonder of the moon, and of my Moon.

    And that Moomintroll onsie he's wearing up top, I found it for $1.00 at a thrift store, perfect for my Moominbaby.

    We're taking off for a few days....wishing you all moon filled nights.

"to have all one's buttons . . .

    . . . to be mentally competent, alert, and sane; to have all one's wits."

    Summer colds are stupid.  I have not been alert, and my wits are strained.  Baking two pies, one for K's birthday a few days ago and another for Moon's tomorrow, feel like my only accomplishments this week.  Oh, well.

    One good thing that's come out of this is that while digging for cough drops I found this button necklace.  My Great Aunt Aileen made it for me when I was in third grade.  

    She was a school teacher, a children's hospital sewing guild leader, the dispatcher for the fire station that Uncle Art was fire chief of, a bossy oldest sibling, who always ran a good show.  I thought she was great.

    We would visit them most Thanksgivings.  Their house was fun, with all kinds of nooks and crannies to play hide-and-seek in, a horseshoe shaped couch to climb on, a huge lazy-susan on the table, a laundry chute big enough to drop ourselves through, a giant christmas cactus in the corner, and a horse in the field next door.  

    She was also a weaver (she wove the upholstery and curtains in her home), knitter, and was the first person to put a sewing needle (and the confidence to use it) in my hand.  

    I've always loved this string of buttons, the feel and weight of it, its bends and curves.  Buttons are swell.

what children see

    How is it that summer is half gone?!?  How is it that this gift for a friend is over a year late?!?  

    When she left her preschool job last summer there was a celebration, the invitation used these adorable drawings the children made of her.  The plan was/is to turn them into a little book. 

    This is her "with ears".

    And here she is with "her intestines".  

 

composing the sky

    Nursing a head cold and sore throat . . . blah.  

    Before I went down, there was a quest for just the right blue.  An indigo dip was beautiful, but too dark.  So, I carded the two together and a perfect summer sky appeared.

    (I will also mention that a few of my unmentionables were also dipped and freshened up to a light shade of blue.)

    Time to go crawl back under Serenity.

peaceful prestidigitation*

    Last night, seventy-seven days later, "serenity" is finished.  

    Started on the day I quit my job, a letting-go and freeing exercise of fabrics being put together without care or concern, and stitched likewise.  There is a wine spill on one corner, another fell into the tea cup.

    Start to finish, it felt good.

    This one patch, bought years ago, expensive, reminding me of an old family quilt that I loved.  It has been saved and saved, waiting for just the right thing, something special.  Finally a piece of it ripped off and used, not folded in a box.

    I slept under her, and this morning we stitched and had tea.  

    A new friend, serenity.

    (*word of the day... prestidigitation:  sleight of hand)

harmony? yeah, sure.

    Today's horoscope:

        "...Begin a new project, but finish the old stuff first.  Go for harmony...."

    If I have to finish the old stuff before beginning the new, nothing will ever begin again.  But I am almost finished with the "serenity" blanket.  Continuing to just grab whatever fabric is on top of the box, it's being bound with turquoise polka dots.

    And looking at all the other fabrics in this . . . why the heck not?

fresnel reflections

        We were able to visit a lighthouse on our trip.  Climbing up the steep stairs, standing shoulder to shoulder with the allowed six others in the tiny space around the Fresnel lens, the Coast Guard Volunteer shared the story of the lighthouse and its lens.  I loved being nose to nose with it (and had to be reminded by my fifteen year old that I wasn't supposed to touch it).  This lens was made in Paris.  They are no longer being made, not many are around any more . . . GPS has rendered them unnecessary.

    Unnecessary?  Maybe.  Beautiful?  Definitely.

  

    This last photo is from the Point Wilson site.  For more information on the Fresnel lens click here.