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Moon's hand is finished. He's asked for it to be a gift for his birthday in July.
I added thirteen stars, one for each year he will be. How did that happen?!?
I don't think there is a day that goes by without him asking, "Mama, did you ever have a time when . . .?" The rest of the sentence changes according to whatever mystery the universe has handed him that day.
I had no idea where this one was going until it was finished.
A "Touchstar", for centering and searching.
I think I need to begin again . . . continue on.
There is something in this daily exercise that is doing me good.
"I am not afraid of storms, for I am learning to sail my ship"
- Louisa May Alcott
"With Some Sky for a Sail"
Even in a four-inch square there are places to get lost in.
Last night these three were stitched together. They are small, palm sized. I've set myself a challenge to finish them in three days. One for each day.
There was/is no plan. Just going. Just being. Seeing if I can be disciplined for a change. There are bigger things I should tackle, but this is all that I can imagine today.
One is almost done. It has a moon . . . surprise.
And this . . .
Blue has decided our small yard should resemble the outfield of the baseball stadium.
Things are a little out of whack here.
The galaxy has been surrounded by a universe of blue.
I love the midnight velvet in the crook of the thumb.
Stars to come . . .
Not quite complete . . .
Maybe some midnight blues to surround the hand?
The asteroid belt is my favorite part.
Moon saw me stitching on his galaxy and decided to keep going.
After printing and tracing it onto fabric, I'm stitching Moon's recent hand art onto muslin.
Recent days have held a roller coaster of feelings about my boys growing up. There was that prom night (aka hotel request), Blue's 17th birthday - when I started to cry while making of his pie, realizing that when they were younger birthdays were milestones, and now they seem like countdowns, and then Connie's memorial this weekend - seeing her two twenty-something boys, and imagining how heartbreaking it must have been to leave them.
I am shocked to find myself being one of those kind of mamas, it is not what I expected from myself, but then again, I never expected to have children, or to be here this long. When I was growing up I always assumed that something would happen - a bus accident, spontaneous combustion, something.
But, here we are, here we go, and there they go . . . I am working at smiling and waving goodbye, and trusting the universe to take care of them. I suppose stitching the galaxy onto a hand is a subconscious stab at control . . . you do what you can.
This week has been foggy- jet lag, a different work schedule, baseball play-offs, our friend's memorial, and the school art show. Our art teacher arranged a wonderful exhibit and sale of some of the students' art at a local gallery, as a fund raiser for the arts program.
When I saw this tree painting, I asked if there would be anyone related to the artist coming to the show that might want to buy it? "No, she won't have anyone coming." I learned a little of her story, it's not an easy one.
The next day I went to her class and introduced myself to her. She had a nervous protective look on her face, as if she thought she was in trouble (which, I hear, is sometimes the case). I told her how much I loved her painting, was so grateful to be able to buy it, and that I hoped she would keep on creating, because she has a gift. I asked her to sign it and let me take a photo of her with it.
I wish I could show you her beaming shining eyes.
