handstories

dot by dot

    Those white polka dots were too much and bugging me, it seemed too complicated to get that scrap out from under the stars, so I filled them in.

    I don't know, this is slow going.

    Thank you for your kind heart full comments.  I'm sorry I'm not writing back to each of you, every time I start to it all gets blurred with tears and stories, but I am grateful.

    The last few days, so discombobulated.  Gathering and navigating with family in Oregon about what happens next around Dad's world.  Each of us with different stories, different needs, wrapped in grief- some for what is, some for what was, and probably, for most of us, for both.

    I already wrote this to Jude...  She had sent this little star a couple of months ago, something to hold onto.  It was in my pocket during the time in Oregon.  In the middle of it all, fists shoved in my pockets, I felt it there.  Opening my hand to touch the cloth and threads, thoughts of Jude, this community, and stitching filled me, and brought me back to myself...the me of now.   I can't tell you how centering it was, to remember that there is a me outside of all of this.

this place of through

    Thank you so much for all of your thoughts and touching messages.  It means so much.

    Today I am still out in an ocean of memories, trying to stitch some of them into this twilight blue cloth, with threads named "deep sea" and "blue spruce," and a golden boat.  Green and gold were his favorite colors back in the 70's, I wonder if they still were?

     When I think of him being happy- he's out fishing on his boat or in the woods hunting...in quiet stillness.  I hope he's surrounded in it now.

the day after.

    My dad died yesterday. He never liked Christmas.

    He’s not been well for a long time, so not unexpected, but the end was much faster than we imagined.  He’d been in the hospital since last Wednesday, struggling to breathe.  At first, we thought for a few days, like all of the other times.  Each day it changed...He'll be home on Wednesday... On Wednesday with 24 care... On Wednesday with care and hospice...“Could be two days or two years.”

    All day Christmas Eve I thought about a Christmas forty years ago…

    Standing in the kitchen, putting paper napkins into the mushroom shaped napkin holder we kids had given my mom. The phone rang. Dad answered, with the knife he’d been sharpening in his hand. His uncle had died. A father figure to him. He burst into sobs, threw his knife down on the counter, and ran from the room.  It was the first of the two times I ever saw him cry.  Startled, I dropped, and broke the napkin holder. The knife bounced into the aquarium on the counter, cracking it. Water began to pour out of the broken glass. I could hear Mom and Dad crying in their bedroom. Grabbing bowls, I scooped water and fish as fast as I could, and towels to mop the counter. 

    A text from my brother in the evening said that he was finally comfortable, and sleeping.

    I stayed up too late. K. asked why?  “Because tomorrow my dad might die. I want to stay in today.”

    Christmas morning, my brother called at 11:30. Dad was unresponsive and his body was shutting down. It could take an hour, a day, or two.  I decided to go to Oregon, to see him, to say goodbye, to see his hands one more time.

    At 12:15 I got in the car. Five minutes later, a mile from home, I pulled over to the side of the road to answer my brother's next call.  Dad was gone.  I burst into sobs, and then drove home.  Listening to Johnny Cash, we watched an old movie of him fishing, his favorite thing in the world, catching salmon.

    Ours was a broken story, he had no idea who I am, and I'm so much like him.  It was complicated, and not.

    Still…He was my dad, and I loved him.

winter light wishes

    Taking a few moments for stitching and sending thoughts of peace and light to you all!

    With love, Hazel

too many things

    The afghan is almost done, just the crocheted border to do...or not (those yarn ends you see dangling have been woven in).

    And this stuffed pillow-ish thing is begun for Moon.  Because he likes the critters I've stitched/painted.  And if a teenage boy likes something his mother makes, you better believe she's going to milk it for all it's worth!

Saint Woman, 2015 by Amy Sherald 

    And, because there is all the time in the world, a friend and I went to the Seattle Art Museum yesterday.  I can't tell you how happy I was to see a work by Amy Sherald in real life.  Apologies for my poor photography, I wish you could see how this blue really glows...

        While visiting the museum, a storm was brewing in Seattle.  Later, out on the street, the wind blew the bandana right off of my head!  Luckily, a man in the street saw it coming and stomped on it for me.  Power was out all over the area, our house included.

    Luckily, there was take-out by candlelight and Moon had a band concert in the evening.  We enjoyed the concert (and the heated, lit auditorium), and then went home to sleep under plenty of extra blankets until the electricity was back up at midnight.  

    Now back to stitching...tick-tock!

doodling the days away

    Last week, the students were creating gems, and I was itching to join in, but there were other things that needed done.

    This weekend the dark gray weather got to me, so I scattered some swashes of watercolor, including some shimmering supernova colors from here  (not surprisingly, my favorite is "starlight"), and then doodled my own cache of jewels.

    Meditative and fun, a very swell way to spend some time.

    (And, no, there isn't a Christmas cookie in the house, a gift wrapped, or any ornaments up, but there are lights on the tree and the afghan is almost done...)

    "There's still plenty of time," she told herself (almost convincingly).

tick-tock

    These squares have been ten years in the making.  (This pattern)

    Made from left-overs after knitting socks, or impulse "It's so pretty, I'll just buy one skein." shopping.  

    The plan had been to make an afghan big enough to cover our bed. 

    But that might take another ten years.  The idea of a lap blanket for a Christmas gift seems just fine. 

 

    There's one week left...plenty of time!

listening to trees

    Having finished the blankets, I had meant to "Christmas" the house yesterday, or today, but the only thing that has happened is that the Christmas tree is standing here, naked, with a pile of lights on the floor next to it.  I stitched a story cloth instead.

    "I need a map," is a frequent thought these days.  I thought this piece would be about that, even pulled out fabrics with maps printed on them, and a book with map drawings... but it quickly fell together into this tree and roots.  With hardly a thought, there it was.

    Maybe it's an attempt to tell myself it's not a map that's needed,  but instead, to believe that I'm not lost.

    Time to put the lights up... 

    "She grew her own roots" in the shop.

blues & trees

    On a very gray day, in a blue chair, they are done...two extra long, not so pretty, but very practical blankets for Blue and Moon.  Pieced out of cloth from the tubs under the bed, dipped in fading indigo, left-over flannel for batting, and stitched with threads from that messy basket full (shrinking the tangle of it quite a bit, thankfully).

    The weather is dark these days, and wet.  Between that and the holidays, it can be hard on the students (and the teachers).  

    While working in the back of the room today, a boy was sent to sit by me.  In a bit of a mood myself, I sighed inside, because it meant making room for him, physically and mentally.  I shoved things over, and asked him, "So, other than right now, how's your day going?"

    "Bad."

        "How come?"

    "Everything's boring."

       "Lucky for you, you're in art class now."

    He rolled his eyes.  

    Working side-by-side, he we relaxed into Ms. T.'s drawing assignment of mountains and evergreens (one of those well thought out ones with simple steps to follow that lead everyone to success).  We experimented with ways to make the trees.  He admired and laughed at the scribbly ones that my 7th grade art teacher taught me, and decided he like his very straight lined sweet ones (I loved that).  The class ended with him letting us lean into each other, shoulder to shoulder, and my telling him, "I know this isn't where you wanted to be today, back here with me, but I'm sure glad you came."  

    He gave me a big smile, reminding me that I was lucky to be in art class, too.

    Back to the blankets, while they're nothing to write home about, I'm pleased that they are done, warm, and made completely from what I already had, including fabrics that hold fond memories of maps, castles and cows jumping over moons during the boys' younger years.

quietly

    Yesterday morning, Moon left on a school trip- a survival training camp.  The boy that refuses to go camping with us anymore is out there building fires and a shelter to sleep in.  It's pretty cold, too, I wonder how he's doing?

    K. and I, on the other hand, are enjoying a very quiet weekend.  

    Yesterday I had the entire day alone, with no where to go.  I stitched all day on these starlit roots, wintery stones and a conversation with the moon. They had been put aside for Christmas making, it was nice to get lost in their stories again.  

    They're almost done, but I really should get back to the boys' blankets.  That binding made it around one and a half of them, so I need to pull the machine out again, sigh.  Maybe one more day of story stitching instead?

    P.S.  I found one of the needles!  It was stuck in the center of the blanket.