handstories

Guemes days

    We're back from Guemes Island.  Blue found a piece of lavender sea glass.

    There was some time at Square Harbor, where the guys threw rocks, sticks, rocks at sticks, and hit rocks with sticks, as they do every time we're near water. 

    There were sunsets, stars, owl calls, herons in flight, and one little mouse who ran up to the open door, saw me a few feet away, and scurried away.

    Some sea was started, a sock knit, a whole book read, a puzzle half finished, early bed times, lots of naps, and several rounds of our family's crazy obnoxious version of Apples to Apples.  We're all quite rested, I think.  Amazing what a few days of being disconnected from it all will do. 

a piece of peace

    "Piece of Mind" by Moon.

    Sometime in early May, Moon asked what I wanted for Mother's Day.  

    "Peace of mind," I told him.

    When we finally got around to "celebrating" the occasion (which happened to be on Father's Day, which tells you a little about the state of things around here), this is what he gave me.

    Made in art class, this little (1x1 1/2 inch-ish) bit of brain makes me laugh, which means it does bring a little bit of peace after all.  

    We're off in search of a few more pieces of peace . . . going to the island for a few days, and it rained last night, hooray!  

    Wishing you all a very swell week . . .

a story with a heart

    A cobbled heart from the smallest scraps in the thread basket for the "Child Cloth".  For being so small (about 1 1/2 in. wide), it took a lot of thread and stitching to secure.  A loose and fragile heart, but it's strong now.

    It started out mid-sky, traveled around, and finally landed in the center of the starburst, a wishing star of possibilities.  

    And then things started flowing faster than I could stitch, so I pinned all the thoughts into place...

     of seeing a way through on a path of dreaming, feelings, with the truth and sureness of the moon, and guiding stars,

    of a growing garden of blooms, birds in flight, and there's still some sea to come, I'm sure.

    There's a kind of circle in it all, that I can't quite put words to yet.

    It's feeling quite exciting!

a blue day

    It's still too hot here, and I'm still too whiney, but I took advantage of the heat to stir up an indigo bucket.

    There are cloudy moons for some stitching into story cloths. 

    This smocked-like stitched up business was an evening on the couch and made for the ridgedy lines below...

    And little bunchings made a bunch of bubbles...

    And some bigger shapes to use for the shop.  When someone buys a story cloth, I like to send it off wrapped in indigo.  Imagining it will be useful for the recipient, that they might find a way to turn it into some dreaming of their own.

filling the sky

    Continuing on with the "Child Cloth".   With a star from Jude. 

    And a gift of a scrap of constellations.  Continuing with that, too.  (fyi- soap slivers are great for drawing stitching lines with.  They wash away easy-peasy.)

    Things to wish on, and to chart a way through with.

sisters

    A companion piece.  They didn't start out that way, but there they went.  This one is about space, not outer, probably inner, making and holding it.

    And looking at them here, side by side . . . how they are related, but still different.  Like family.

"Space" and "Story"- layers of oil paints mixed with cold wax medium on wooden boards, 12x12

some new stories

     The hill/mountain shape has been showing up a lot lately.  In cloth, doodles, and painting.  What do they mean?  There's a harmony to them, a place for balancing things.  Edges of unknown, with mysteries beyond.  Thinking of childhood stories, Besty and Tacy Go Over the Big Hill, and fairy tales with magical creatures who live in hidden openings of hillside caves, or where the hero must get over a rise, or three, sometimes through peaks of fire and ice.  

    Around kindergarten age, we lived in the countryside, on a hill.  There was a rise in front of our house where I learned to ride the purple bike (after landing in the blackberry bushes on the side), and had a dream that was so real that I'm still not sure it didn't happen . . .

    A big group of us, all children, were running down the hill, in the middle of the gravel road.  We were running so fast and free, laughing, arms waving, that suddenly my feet lifted off the ground and I was carried by the momentum of the rush of our feet and delight . . . floating, flying, in the middle of friends, to the bottom of our hill.  

    I can still remember that feeling, of being carried by wind and joy.

 

    "Anything can happen on a pink hill", "Rainbow's memory" and "The sky twinkled rainbows & petals" are in the shop today.  

    I hope your day is filled with memories of flight and laughter.

some strange skies

    We had a reprieve from the heat yesterday, only mid-70's. Quite pleasant.  Today is supposed to be 10 degrees higher . . .

    Looking out the back in the evening, the sun was such a deep reddish orange.  The camera couldn't catch it.

    What if anything could happen?

whining

    This is all I've got to show for the last three days.

    It has been so hot for us here in the Pacific Northwest.  All week, and next week doesn't look so good either.  

    That combined with this week's need to drive an hour each end of the day (during rush hours),

    And our house is in the Blue Angels flight path this week, until they perform on Sunday,

    And the weird brownish-orange apocalyptic haze that is hanging over the city from the wildfires burning north,

    I am barely civil.  Just ask anyone.

how the body remembers

    I love this bird cloth.  There are bits of it here and there in the piles.  Bought a long time ago, back when I used to frequent fabric shops.  

    Janie, a long-gone friend, and I would roam the aisles together, with her toddler daughter in tow, who would reach for the bright cloths, saying "Dandelion!"  and "Apple!"  Her first words for the colors yellow and red.  

    Memories of Janie have been flowing the last couple of days.  This morning I remembered why, it's her daughter's birthday this week.  

    During this week the three of us would go blueberry picking, later there would be pie for little L.'s celebration.  One year it was unusually hot (just like it is now), and we decided to make orange-peach marmalade, too.  Arriving at their house with canning pot, jars, etc..., her husband thought we were crazy.  I laughed, "I think it's important that we do this on the hottest day of the year, to remember it!"  

    L. is in her late twenties now, the age I was when I met her, and then Janie.  Here they are stitching together, Janie is working on a quilt for L., there were orcas on it . . .

    Janie's been gone eighteen years now.  (If you're new here, there are more stories about her in the "Janie" category.)

    Gosh, I'm missing her today.