handstories

mad mama

    This being a Mama business should come with a guidebook, or sedatives.  

    When Moon was little, he would get passionately angry.  So, I made him this Mad pillow.  Something he could pound, throw, bite, or do whatever to.  I was so pleased with myself.  My neighbor was sure I had a new business in the making.  I gave it to him with love and understanding.

    It made him mad.  He would have nothing to do with it.  Just the sight of it ticked him off.

    Well, now the boys are coming up on thirteen and seventeen, and many times I still don't know how to get it right, but I keep trying.

    Blue has a subscription to Sports Illustrated- fine.  The company has a number you can call to opt out of the swimsuit issue-  good.  Every issue has the ad below inside of it for the swimsuit issue- pisses me off.

    I know, it's tame compared to some of the stuff out there that he sees and hears about every day, but this is my house, our home, a place that I don't want to see soft-core porn in front of my children.  So, when it comes in the mail each week, I do what I know how to do.  

    Blue rolls his eyes.  I don't know if it's the right thing to do, but until parenthood comes with clear directives or drugs, it's getting me through.

the warmth of blue

    I switched out the harem cloth behind the moon, filling in the space with some pale indigo, and added some midnight orbits and stars.  Much better, I think.

    Years ago, we had a tiny room enlarged, so that it could become our bedroom.  When it came time to choose the paint color I practically shouted, "BLUE!"  K didn't even try to vote.  He knew the story of my long wished for blue bedroom (here).  Our contractor didn't agree.  He argued with me over and over, telling me, "It will be cold.  You won't be happy."  

    Later, as we stood there in the finished room, looking at the four robin's egg blue walls, he said, "You were right."  

    With a big smile, I replied, "I know."   

spring fevering (with apologies to those of you who are buried in winter)

    This weather is crazy.  

    My sister sent a photo from the east coast showing snow higher than the parking meters, and here's it's sunshine, blooming trees, and hay fever.  It's unsettling.

       Twinkle continues her couch frolicking.  Which includes attacking anything left on it.

                                

    She pulled out every last thread from the bag, wrestled them, and wondered what my problem was?

    While the sun was at its brightest, I began another little ship.  I've made a few now, but I can never remember how I do it.  It's as if the wheel's being reinvented every time.  Tired aging itchy eyes and brain . . . 

    Going in search of a sail . . .

moon making

    Weaving till my eyes blurred into a new booklet.

    It's just a smidge bigger than a quarter.

    Stitching a found scrap onto "uncertainty".

    The dark side.

    A quick play with paint.

this way and that

    The other night I started thinking about how to bind the edges of "uncertainty". 

    I held the unbound layers and mulled . . . 

    . . . Noticing the places where one side came up short to the edged of the other, the uneven sections, gaps . . . 

    . . . Wondering what fabric to use for binding, whether trim off the extra pieces that stuck out, to extend with more fabric, or to true up the lines of it with scissors?

    I began folding over what was there, as it was.

    The perimeter line came into being that is uneven, turned to one side and sometimes the other, with patched and stitched over gaps.  It curves, widens, thins, twists, and zigzags around itself.  Uncertainty allows for all kinds of possibilities.

reveling in light

    This yarn is on its third incarnation.  Let's hope this is the charmed round.  I'm playing with the stitches at the spots of blue, and trying out some pleating.  The color way is "Moonlight Stroll", but because of it being a blur of blue and gray, it really only works to knit on it in the sunlight.

    Fortunately there has been lots of it in the last couple of days.  Twinkle is beside herself with the joy of sunbathing.  We fight over the prime window spot.  I always win, but not without having to listen to a bunch of feline cursing.

    From our corner yesterday evening.

hours and hours of uncertainty

    So, last week I said to a friend, "I rarely get sore throats now…” That will teach me.

    Recovery has included lots of echinacea, goldenseal, tea, sleep, and stitching down the edges of "uncertainty".

     There is something very freeing about these wild whipstitches, made without a care for the view on the other side.

    The latest "uncertainty" moment . . . a couple of days ago, sixteen year old Blue was planning a night out with friends.  It involved driving back and forth across the city, to several locations, late at night, with drivers we don't know.  (Actually, I had met one of the drivers when she was a baby.  She was adorable, and the younger sister of one of my five year old students, who I adored.  Is that enough information to go on?)  And to top it off, they weren't sure of exactly when and where they would be- only where they would begin and end.   I'm not sure when I became one of those mothers, but I have.  I fretted inside and out.  

    I dropped him off, grabbing him in a frantic hug, "Be smart.  Be safe.  Come back.  I need you to come back!"  Fortunately, we both survived.  If only parenthood could come with that carefree feeling I have while stitching on this, with no worries for what might come.

 

 

how much can stitching do?

    Wondering that if I keep weaving into "uncertainty" will there be a better understanding of the layers of it all, or am I just muddling up the possibility of clarity even more?

    What I pondered today while stitching-  We're about to start talking about Harriet Tubman and the Underground Railroad and stitching with the fifth graders again (to see what we did last year click on the "Harriet Tubman" category below).  Last year we hoped to share the importance of telling their stories, and how art is a way of doing just that.  While talking with their teachers today, about recent situations in the classroom, another thought came- the importance of children understanding that not only do they need to be able to tell their own stories, but also that they get to have a voice in what that story is, and what role they play in it.  I hope that by sharing about Harriet's life, they might grab hold of the idea of becoming their own heroes.  

revisiting uncertainty

    Just when I thought the "uncertainty" blanket was nearly finished, I've got it back in my lap, and am asking more questions.  This afternoon I spent half an hour stitching this inch or two.  Afterwards, I fell asleep, woke up too late to make dinner, and Thai food was ordered.

    Today, I just don't know.  

valenn-diagram

    This pinky, red, hearty thing began a few days ago.  I'm not a valentine-y sort, but it's cheery, with its crisscrossing paths.  And, oh, there was sunshine today!  So glad for the clear seeing that brings.  Working on my couching skills with some of Jude's magic thread.

    Where it began . . . 

    Where I am now . . .

    We'll see where we go . . .