handstories

pillow & people

    Sunday was a day away with two of my best friends to visit a third, who has moved a ferry ride and drive away.  I was finally able to give her the Iowa pillow.  It seemed at home in her new place, under watchful eyes.  (Click on the Iowa category below if you'd like some of the backstory.)

    I'm sorry I didn't get better photos- there was hurrying and gray rainy skies to contend with.

    It was a nice day full of friendship, and a realization that if not for the friend we went to visit, chances are, we three would never have met, as she was the founder/director of the school we all used to work at, who hired each of us many years ago.  She started so much more than a school.

bottled moonshine

    What to put in a bottle?  So many ideas . . .  Worlds in tiny spaces have long been a favorite thing- snow globes, dioramas, doll houses (not the dolls so much, just their houses full of miniature books, dishes, etc.).

    There's a memory of pretending that a family lived in the walls of my bedroom, like those in the children's books The Borrowers and The Littles.  Once I put a bit of cracker, safety pin, and a scrap of cloth through a crack near the floorboards, hoping they would be welcomed by someone in there, pushing them out of sight and reach, so that I would never have to know if they were put to use or not.  

    I suppose these cloths are part of a continuing unfolding of my love of small, and of wishings that there are other places to be, full of the unknown.   

agate in abstract

    This week we were to bring something from nature to our abstract watercoloring class.  

    Jeweler's loops were passed around.  We were told to look at the lines, shapes, patterns, and then to "deconstruct the tyranny of representation!" 

    Okey-dokey . . . 

    I'm not sure if I undid any oppression, but I did have a lovely time playing with pretty colors.

with hibernation on the mind

    Squoze (squeezed? squoozed?) a sail in there.  Still need to fill the boat with something besides daydreamings.  

    There's been some knitting, too, two sleeves.  

    It's been pouring and pouring.  Too dark to stitch, paint, think.  Took a nap.  Reheating the leftovers... a casserole-like thing that involves mashed potatoes, apples, mushrooms and cheese.  Our new favorite.  Need a bigger dish, so there will be even more.

    The sleeves are quite cozy as they are, even if I never get to the rest of it.

just a smidge adrift

    The pieces left in the shop have joined some others to get ready for the salon display next month.  There was a plan to take a break and spend some time knitting and spinning.  There's still work to do on that blue sweater I promised myself last March, and the poor neglected wheel has quite the layer of dust building, but it seems there are still stories floating by.

    Wondering if there will be room for a sail on this little ship?   Today felt kind of rudderless.  The shift in weather is welcomed, but seems to be messing with sleep patterns in this house.  And that boy I wrote a poem with a couple of weeks ago, well, the offer of help was not so welcomed today, nope, not so much.  He scribbled over the words I put on the page.  Most of the morning went like that.  Thank goodness for the reading group who was just as excited about manatees as platypuses. . . 

the sound of moonlight

    This is music.

    Early in September, our singing leader sent word that for the Fall session we would be performing  "experimental musical compositions of the 20th century avant garde... minimalism, chance music, phase music, music for speaking chorus, music that many would not even be willing to label as music, cacophonous music, improvisation, silence... we will all be expanding our answers to the question:  What is Music?"

    My response was, "Huh?"  

    She promised it would be "challenging, confusing, exciting, and definitely more than a little silly."  She was right.  I'm lost a lot and can feel my mind stretching, but the music is fascinating to look at and listen to (when we get it right!).  The pages here are from R. Murray Schafer's piece  "Epitaph for Moonlight".   (Listen to it here.)

    Another piece we'll be performing is a "Happening," John Cage style.  It's too hard to explain . . . I will either be knitting or drop spindling while humming, Moon will be playing his saxophone, and K. has a paper tearing duet planned (he's the bass line), if that gives you any kind of an inkling!

        Now you're probably thinking, "Huh?"

    Between the singing and the watercolor class, I am being wrapped in abstraction these days.  More than ever, stitching has been very good for centering and focus!

interactions & intersections

A day at school this week . . .

In the morning . . .

    "D., please stop whistling."

        "Ms. Monte, please stop talking to me."

And . . .

    "Do you need help with that?"

        "No."

    "Well, let me know if you need anything."

        "I won't."

At the end of the work time.  "Why didn't you do your work?"

        "You didn't help me."

    And the reading group with a student on one side of me, who wouldn't read, but really wanted us to all watch him play with and discuss pencil lead, and the girl on the other side who kept yelling at him to stop, and the boy across who was just angry, with the girl next to him giggling,  . . . you get the picture.

But then, there was later . . .

    When I got to read about platypuses (a creature that I've always wished to see in real life) with a reading group who was also excited to learn about them.  

    And a student asked if she could read her poem to me.

    And someone asked if I was coming on the upcoming field trip, and there was just enough cheering to make me feel like I do belong.

    And while admiring the beautiful symbols a student was drawing, he told me it was the Arabic alphabet, and gifted it to me (see above).  

    And I love his starry borders, and that the days usually balance themselves out. 

         

some more things I love about stars

    That they're always there, whatever the weather, however the clouds.

    Just doing their thing, underneath and above it all.

    And did you know . . . ?  I didn't, but it makes me happy to learn that they're doing a slow dance up there.

    (From that children's star book I talked about last month.)

brewings on blurring

    Jude's sharings over at Spirit Cloth have stirred thoughts of blurring.  Of how two can become one.

    Twisted, turned and melted together . . . until they can't be seen apart.

    And thinkings on how just maybe things that seem separate and different, aren't at all.  Maybe they're just grouped, gathered or shaped in different ways.  And maybe moon and starlight are one and the same?

poem

    There were many missteps this week.  In cloth- this piece was almost done, went all wrong, couldn't stand it, ripped most of it out, but now it's back in calmer waters.  At school- one very bad interaction with two students who were fighting, tried to intervene, only to have them unite against me, and finally realized that it was my own issues that allowed for that to happen.  I need to learn when to walk away.  There were several other fails with students, and lots of mutterings of, "Maybe I'm too old and grumpy for this?" 

    Then, on Wednesday, a student, who I haven't had any kind of connection with, was having a bad day.  Came in late, couldn't get along with his table mate, was sent to the back of the room, and now he was supposed to write a poem?  He was having none of it.  The assignment was to write a poem inspired by one of the poems used in Sharon Creech's book, Love That Dog.  It's a fabulous book about a boy learning to write and love poetry, and the power of expression that it offers.  

    This student was not in the mood.  

    Sitting down next to him, "Which poem do you want to think about?"

    "None."

    "Which one did you like best?"

    "None."

    "Come on….choose a poem."

    Rather than looking at the pages of poems in the back, he flipped to the first pages, where the narrator says, "I don’t want to.  Can’t do it.  Brain’s empty."

    "That does sound poetic," I said, undeterred, and copied the lines into his notebook. and then added prompt after prompt, talking fast, about how he felt, wanted to feel, wished for . . . writing down his responses, stopping often to read it aloud to him…talking about rhythm, repetition . . .  Until it felt like the end, wrapping it up with a modified version of the opening lines, "Do want to, Brain's . . . ?"  

    "Empty."

    "Really?  This doesn't sound empty at all.  Listen again . . ."

    And after the final lines, "Do want to, brain's . . ."  

    "Full."

    "Yes, it is!  This is beautiful, I feel choked up with its fullness.  How do you feel?"

    "Good," and his eyes were welling, too.  Those moments, and the hug that followed, refueled us both, I think.

    J's Poem

    Don’t want to

    Brain’s empty

    Feel angry

    Feel mad

    Want to feel good

    Good like scoring a game winning point

    Like getting some new shoes

    And seeing my sister winning a soccer game

    I wish I’ll be famous one day

    I wish I’ll still have a good family

    I am going to win the championship one day

    I am going to have a family

    Do want to

    Brain’s full.