handstories

a sister stitcher

    This beautiful creation is a work-in-progress by another Seattle-ite, Shelly Sazama.  The center is full of many different golden scraps, surrounded by Jude's  moons and stars.  Her variety of stitches, textures, and couching is really wonderful.  I especially love her spot of french knots, just a little below right of center.  I'm sorry my photo doesn't do the fabrics or her stitching justice.  

    We had a lovely meeting yesterday.  It's been a long time since I've had someone to stitch with, and being able to share stories and cloth thoughts in person . . . such a treat!  

    Thank you for reaching out Shelly, I'm looking forward to next time.  ox

I loved every inch of the day

    A quiet morning filled with cloth, tea and thoughts of yesterday.  Our nephew and family came to town.  We spent the day with him and his two little ones.  I just love him.  I love the memories of him, who he is, how he is so our family-the good parts, the best of us.  He has always felt that way to me.  We were all too young when he came into our world, but he was so welcomed, the first of the next generation.  A funny easy going red-head, who at four loved fire trucks and a clip-on bow tie that he wore on his t-shirts.  Who is still funny and now spends his days working on emergency vehicles.  

    Blue and Moon came into our world as he went through his teens and then set off onto his own adventures.  Our time and connection with him became much less, mostly at family gatherings during holidays.  So, yesterday was a big treat, our first real time alone with him as an adult.  I wanted to scoop him up, just like I used to when he was little- walking through town in the dark composing a poem, joining him for lunch in our old grade school cafeteria, during beach weekends with just the three of us, driving from Oregon to Seattle singing "Lollipop, lollipop . . ." at the top of our lungs . . . during all of the wonderful full memories.

    And now there are his children to love . . . a three-year old funny sweet boy and a baby girl of eight months.  I held onto her all day.  I'm hoping this is the beginning of a rekindled relationship with him and his family.  I tried to say that as I scooped his six foot four 33-year-old self into a hug that I didn't want to let go of.

holding stories

    Hearing how these little cloths hold moments in other people's  journeys and daydreams is one of the very best parts of sending them out into the world.  Realizing that when stories and imaginings go back and forth, unseen windows open, and something shared becomes more . . . I just love that.

    There are a few new wanderings in the shop.

true colors

    Neither of these photos appear right.  Maybe it's impossible to capture the real thing here on a screen.  

    That's probably true about the stories I share here, too.  Whether parenting or teaching, I don't want anyone out there to think I have any answers.  I'm just stumbling and fumbling along, most of the time without a map.  I don't usually tell the tales of the fails, and there are plenty.  Just the other day, a student and I went round, and realizing I'd cornered myself into a tug-o-war over a pencil, I sent him to the hallway, saying, "I'll be out in a minute."  Regrouping, or so I thought, I followed him out.  

    "It hasn't been a minute yet," he told me.

    Re-exasperated, I went back in the room, muttering, "Well, then make it five."  Which turned into fifteen, because of a whole lot of other stories going on in the classroom.  

    Finally getting back to him, I was met with a teary angry, "That was more than five minutes!  Why did you lie to me!"

    Honestly, there was no winning for either of us.  Thank goodness it was lunch time and we could both just walk away from it.

    I wish I could dive into a sea of blue velvet . . .

elements: atmospheric agencies or forces

    What are we made of?  Can we really change or shape that?

    Just in case anyone out there thinks this is a house full of tranquility . . . Moon and I are having a stand-off about the dishes.  He refused to do them last night, because he was mad at me.  Choosing instead to make a dramatic exit, complete with door slamming, and shouting, "You are SO bad at parenting!"

    "Good to know," was my response.

    I wonder if we have any paper plates?

what time & space held

    What a full weekend- A dinner date with a friend, that was just the right thing to ease some of the stress that has been building over the last couple of weeks.  A long caring, moving phone call with someone whose gifts let her see and share so much (and best of all, of her words, "When you are moved, you are believing, and it's true.  Trust what moves you.").  A  day with a dearest friend, traveling to visit another beloved soul.  Hours of talking and talking and laughing (followed by a lovely dream that magnified her quiet steady comfort).  And some stitching.  The guys have been missed, but having these days has been good.  Time and space with Self.  

    These squares are from the muslin dipped in the indigo bucket last summer.   I started stitching them Friday night, thinking about how things can be rearranged into something new.  Cloth and Self.  How things can look quite different without really changing.  

    And how to build on that.  

    I don't really have the words yet for it all, but there is bubbling.  Maybe there aren't words?  

    And remembering a painting I made a couple of years ago,  titled, "What if things were different than she thought?" (here).  And I began a new piece with thoughts of, "What if things were everything she hoped?"

    I am paying attention, and it is hard to let myself focus, but I am owning that I am moved in this process of trying.  Moved by self & Self.  I feel it.  So, it must be true.

    There is a lot more stitching to do.

where to begin?

    K. & Moon left yesterday to go visit Blue for the long weekend.  The list of things I could/should do is quite long.

    I'll probably just pet the cat and stitch.

how it might go

    This sail is scrap of silk that has been tangled in the thread basket for a while now.  It began as a piece of kimono silk (from Richard in Japan), and took a bath in the indigo bucket last summer. 

    Really love how it folds and flows.

    It composed itself, today.  I did not.  

    Maybe there's a kind of balance in that?

post-show

    The pieces at the salon came down last week.  Above is a photo of one of the walls.  It was fun and a little surreal to see my makings on out in the world.  I really enjoyed the process of putting it all together, especially once the problem of how best to display the cloths was solved.  

    Some of you have asked how to hang these little cloths.  Here's one more idea . . .

    These are 5 x 5 inch cradled wooden panels, that I covered with watercolor paint (phthalo turquoise).  Using tiny short nails that resembled sewing pins, they were nailed on at the top corners.  The pieces looked fine on the unpainted wood, too, but when they were against the beige walls, they seemed a bit blah.  Adding a tint of color made them pop in a much cheerier way.

    And I'm excited that they've asked me back for another show in the spring!

    There are a few cloths left, and they have sailed over to the shop.

Valentine, love letter #2

1980 K's high school graduation

    I’ve shared some of this before, but good stories should be told again and again. . .

    We met the summer I was 16 and he was 17.  I was dating someone else, and he had no interest in me other than friendship, but I went home and wrote in my journal, “I’m never getting married, but if I did, it would be to someone like K.”  Four months later, I told him that I loved him.  He told me that he loved someone else.  After four more months, we were on the same page, at least for a while.  We back-and-forthed for four years, and here we are 37 years later.

    Last week, I described Moon as a “passionate soul,” and the following day I told K. he was a “swell guy”.  He joked about not being as exciting as Moon.  But K. is passionate, not in temperament (thank goodness, Moon & I more than fill up that category).  He’s someone who wants to help people, make others happy, to do the right thing.  He is the one person in the world who I know would do anything for me, and would drop everything to do it.

    He is caring, kind, generous, smart, sensitive, romantic (when I let him be, which isn’t often, and he’s patient about that.)   Letting me be right more often than he should.  He’s all the good stuff, and for whatever crazy reason, he adores me (even though I won’t let him do it out loud very often).  At bedtime he says, “Goodnight, love of my life,” even when we’re exhausted and grumpy.

    A big piece of my being able to become and Be myself, is because of who he is- supportive, encouraging and giving space when needed.  I am not a mushy-lovey-dovey sort (he’d be the first to agree), and I don’t say things enough, but I hope he knows that I love what we are, how we know and like each other, that even in the rough patches we are solid and sure, and more than enough.

    Happy Valentine’s Day, K., you are the love of my life, too.  Thank you, for how you care and take care of our world, for being solid and sure, and a very passionate soul.  Even if I had the money, and a place to go, here is where I'd be.  (Unless you want to go to Italy with me?) ox

1982, Spring Formal