handstories

defining space

    Blue is home for the summer.  He was ready to come home and rest, and we are all so glad to have him here with us, but there is a need for some wiggling around and re-learning how to work and fit together again in this small house.

    He's also grown some new wings of freedom while at college this year.  Trying not to clip them, but really I just want to tie him to a chair and make him tell me everything about his new world.

    Instead, I'm watching and waiting for sightings of him, being grateful for whatever scraps of stories he offers up on his way out to see friends (and trying not to scream every time I go into the bathroom and am reminded that he has spent the last year living with other teenage boys).

    Sometimes I wonder if I'm looking in at my life, or out from it.

    Started here with another one of Jude's moons.

gardening

    I've never really been a very good gardener, although I come from a long line of those who are.  

    Mom had a half-acre plot next to the house when I was three, four, five…  Corn and beans growing taller than I could reach, I remember looking up at the sky through them.  And sitting side-by-side with her, learning how to shell peas.  Feeling happy and useful.

    And later, when we lived in the "town" (of 10,000), on a corner with very little yard.  She had porch boxes and pots, and a side strip for tomatoes.  We'd bury the fish heads from Dad's catch under them for fertilizer.  But you had to get them down deep, or the cat would dig them up.

    Flowers in moonlight.  

    Moonlight in flowers.  

    (Moon by Jude.)

a scrappy & scattered moon

    It may be more stitch than cloth.  

        A raggedy moon, but there's still some twinkle in it.

crazy-making

    I don't know what I was thinking?

    I know I wanted the moon to be made of something, not just a stitched outline.  

    And I saw that Edwardian ball gown sitting on the shelf.  There are scraps of silk attached to the tulle that's been used for some sails.  The silk is so fragile, it tears at the touch, sometimes the thread pulls through it, and even if I get it to work, it may all crumble away.

    But I imagined what it might be, and now I'm in it.  We'll see.

graced

    Twinkle is attached at the hip, ankle, lap, etc. these days.  I wonder what goes on in that furry brain of hers?

    A bookmark, ala Jude Hill's book mat style.

 

 

    A gift to go along with this book.  I've finished my copy (and YES, Deb, it's a keeper).  It's full of love, courage, forgiveness, grace, and being present when the universe calls on you.

    I think about having grace a lot, mostly about how I wish I had more of it.

    "Elegance or beauty of form, manner, motion, or action" according to dictionary.com.

    In my twenties I worked with women who were forty-somethings, who were full of grace.  I longed for the day when I would be forty-something and filled with it, too.  Alas, when I finally got there, I realized grace had nothing to do with age, just who a person is, or is not.  Sigh.

    If you can only read one of the stories (but, really, read them all), make it "A Phone Call" by Auburn Sandstrom.  There is a moment in it that made my heart stop, and then it started again, overflowing from the deep goodness of it.

making

    There has been some.  I'm just starting to understand the cycle that happens around stitching for me.  Both the rush and the lull.

    And I have no idea why these beads continue to give me so much delight, but they do.  They are like tiny fairy tales. 

              

want

A conversation:

    Going to sell it?

No.

    Why, not?

Because I want it.

    Going to hang it on the wall?

No.

    Why not?

Because I'm going to use it.

    For what?

As a mat.

    But it's too nice for that.

But I'm going to.

    Why?

Because it's what it was meant for.

    It just covers my lap, keeping the stitching things clean and still, and it's warm.

    The stitches around the edge do make the binding blend in better.  It's been washed, and is so, so soft.  I find myself petting it.

    Today is Blue's 19th birthday.  He is 2,381 miles away, that's 33 1/2 hours of driving.  

    We put this silly sign up whenever there's a birthday in the house, so you see it when you first wake up.  We hung it last night, made a video of it with us singing "Happy Birthday," with Twinkle the cat scowling into the camera.  Sent it to him at midnight his time, so he could wake up to it.

    My little flip phone is also my alarm clock and sleeps next to the bed.

    At 4am a Chicago friend texted "Happy birth-day."

    At 4:30 Twinkle was throwing up.

    At 5:00 Blue texted a "thank you".

    At 6:00 the alarm went off, and I slept right through it . . . and went on to dream that I fell asleep during therapy, she tucked me in, placed her pretty ring next to me, and turned on ocean wave sounds.  I awoke (in the dream) rested and comforted, but then realized there was a line of clients waiting for that couch, and woke up (in real life) stressed and feeling very tired.

    There is a thunder and lightning storm beginning.  It smells good.  Maybe it will clear the air?

What is useful?

    The heart of it.

    A few red squares for balance.

    Made from scraps of indigo and red (moons and the striped and plaid pieces from Jude)

    It's been a strange couple of weeks.   School has been busy with testing and field trips, which throws many students off.  Me, too.

    There was a day when it took a few of us to pull one child off of another, but not before she got in one last kick to his eye, as his mother approached.  While sorting it all out in the office- ice packs, reports, etc., she took off.  Following her around the building, going from one exit door to another, getting between her and the door.  Arms outstretched as she tried to push through, "I can't let you leave, sweetie.  I can't let you leave."  Over and over, door to door, until help came. 

    It seems she's left.  Her struggles are more than the school can help with.  She was only there about a month.  So, where will she go now?  

    I'm not sure what all this cloth is about?  Maybe just a need?  Something I could do.  Something for myself.  Looking at it here, I see a couple of spots that need some stitching, and I might stitch a few rows around the binding.  The raw edges looked good, but I want it to be useful, meaning it might get washed.  Enclosing the edges seemed more practical.

cavern

    Stitched broken lines over the cave.  Thoughts of the cracks and crevices of rocks.  

    And still thinking about my "cave" of a room, remembering a piece of time when I crawled further in.  The closet was quite deep.  I put a wooden crate on it's side against the back wall, as a shelf for favorite books, a lamp on top, along with a record player, and a bean bag chair.  It was very cozy.  

    It's more of a web.  Maybe a safety net?  With a sprinkle of fireflies flitting about in the moonlight.