handstories

Ruby Bridges

"The Problem We All Live With" painted by Norman Rockwell, 1964.

    Walking past a crowd of faces yelling insults and threats at her, past a woman who promised to poison her, past another woman holding a child's casket with a Black doll in it, six year old Ruby Bridges entered (until that day) an all White school in New Orleans on November 14, 1960.  For the next year she was the only student of a wonderful teacher, Mrs. Henry (who came from Boston because all of the teachers in the New Orleans school quit upon Ruby's arrival).  

    We heard this, and much more of Ruby's story, yesterday at school from Ruby herself!  The PTA arranged for her visit.  For two hours she shared her experience with us.  As she shook my hand, with a "Hello, Hazel,"  I felt honored by her presence, the strength of the little girl she was, and all of those that stood beside her.

    Ruby Bridges Hall (more of her story here).

dodging self

    Thoughts are bouncing around, they won't hold still.  Rotating through these cloths, with the circle growing wider each day.  Trying to write an artist's statement.  Trying.  You would think, being a person who loves words and stories, that it would come easily.  You would be wrong.

circles

    The little boy across the street brings us bouquets of dandelions and chives. He is very sweet, and a first grader at the school I work at. We are on different floors, so it is a treat when we happen upon each other...we hug and enjoy a moment of "home".

    There was a short discussion about my new name.  We realized that both of our names come from trees.  "Together we're a forest!"

    Yesterday's stitching has nothing to do with neighbors, dandelions, or the woods, on second thought, maybe it does?

starfish & pancakes, and a side order of blue

    It started off well enough . . . extra time alone in the morning, blue squares to fill it . . . and then a tree fell, and I was here to hear it.

    It turned out to be the other half of the one that fell on a car at the bottom of the hill yesterday. It was completely blocking the street. A city worker was cleaning up from yesterday's crash. I suggested putting traffic cones at the top of the hill, before cars got stuck coming down. She told me she was not authorized to close a street. "It's already closed by the tree!" After standing at the top attempting to re-direct traffic for a while, I moved the cones myself.

    Then off to school, where I failed to corral a group of students, let alone keep them on task, or even get them started. There was yelling by all involved . . . including me.

    Later, tired and cold at Blue's baseball game, it didn't look like he was going to be playing, so I took myself home. He ended up pitching a great last inning that I didn't see.

    Finally, to singing group, where my sits-next-to-me-trusty-in-tune friend didn't show, there would be no hope in finding the right notes tonight.

    But then we warmed up with "Purple Rain" and were given Prince's song, "Starfish and Coffee"*** to learn for the concert . . . and Moon made me pancakes . . . and there were still blue squares to stitch . . . thank the stars!

(***give yourself a few minutes of sweet whimsy & go watch/listen here)

 

a quiet weekend

    Just stitching in the stillness, not doing anything I should be doing.

    Working on the long overdue Iowa project.  The two sides for making a pillow are finished.  Just about done puzzling the left over muslin pieces together to cover the backs, using Jude's invisible basting to attach them, for strength.  Having started this a while ago, I have no idea why I didn't just use one piece of muslin that was big enough to cover the whole thing?  But what would be the fun in that?

    Maybe if I added "stitching" to the docket, it would keep the guilt of ignoring the rest of the list at bay?

journeying

    It was good to change it up a bit and work in a slightly bigger space, a little more room for playing. 

     "With a sail as big as dreams and a hold full of hope" have traveled to the shop, along with these two.

    "The stars twinkled in the purpling sky" & "Even the moon is amazed by starlight".

 

still surprised

    Walking into the classroom, that same boy had his hand in the air, and the same look of frustration on his face.  (Of course, his perception of the situation is not quite accurate, he is called on plenty.  He's one of those kids who has a lot to say.)  I went over to him as he threw both hands up and shook his head in exasperation, "See!  She's not ever going to call on me!"  Rubbing his back with one hand, saying, "You're ok.  You'll get through.  You know that you know," while pointing and gesturing to the classroom teacher with the other.  After she called on him, and he gave his answer, I put my hand out for a low-five.  He gave it, and then held on, I held back.  We stayed like that for a few moments, both of us happy for different reasons.

 

    "Even the moon is amazed by starlight"

in the gloaming, with another Hazel . . .

    Isn't she beautiful?  I'm very pleased to share a name with her.

    (Before you go on, do click here for mood music & then come back.)

    She and her friends welcomed the few of us who had gathered in their yard at dusk for an evening of making.

    Just a few blocks from us, in the middle of the city . . . eight chickens, three goats, and a few cats.

    We all brought projects-stitching, beadwork, and one involving beach glass and a string of lights.

    But mostly we sat and chatted among the fallen cherry blossoms, content to be enchanted by the soft "maa-ings," "cluckings" and the twilight.

    I hope you are all enjoying lovely spring evenings in the gloaming.

    In the gloaming, oh my darling
    When the lights are soft and low
    And the quiet shadows, falling
    Softly come and softly go

    When the trees are sobbing faintly
    With a gentle unknown woe
    Will you think of me and love me
    As you did once, long ago?

    In the gloaming, oh my darling
    Think not bitterly of me
    Though I passed away in silence
    Left you lonely, set you free

    For my heart was tossed with longing
    What had been could never be
    It was best to leave you thus, dear
    Best for you, and best for me

        "In the Gloaming", an 1877 song composed by Annie Fortescue Harrison,  with lyrics taken from a poem by Meta Orred 

shining through

    This morning, a student was frustrated that he wasn't being called on enough.  His solution was to be disruptive.  We went in the hall to talk about it.  He felt that things weren't fair.  

    "Sometimes things don't feel fair, but you still have to get through the situation.  What can you do to take care of yourself, that won't get you in trouble?"  

    "I was."  

    "Well, I don't think it was working for you, and I know from experience that acting out isn't going to get you what you want.  Let me tell you a story . . ."  

    I was in sixth grade, and felt just like him, that the teacher never called on me.  When I asked her about it, she said she didn't always see me in the back of the row.  My first idea was to try waving my hand while whistling.  "I am not a dog," was her response.  So, then I cut out a big hand from construction paper and taped it to the end of a yardstick to wave back and forth.  That landed me in the hallway, across from the principal's office.

    "So, what can you do to give your story a better ending than mine?"  

    I don't know if the rest of his day was any better, but at least I made him laugh with surprise for a few moments.

what do you see?

    I feel some moons coming on . . . but there is a long To-Do list looking at me, when what I really want to do is play hooky from it all, and stitch, stitch, stitch.  But, I will be disciplined, go get on a bus, and head downtown to the Social Security Office and DMV.  Name changing does not come about without some effort, that's for sure.

    There will also be a stop to mail things, which I used to dread, but now look forward to.  Each trip is the next installment of "Adventures at the Post Office" (There should be some loud "Dum-dum-dummm" music here.)  Our station is its own kind of weird universe.