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There's still lots to sort and organize, but there is room, and it's a blue room...
The beautiful big table that's been in the basement waiting for this room, doesn't need clearing off before using, nor picked up before dinner. Things are where they were left. There isn't a door, but I've asked folks to knock.
The afternoon light is lovely.
K. stands in the doorway saying things like, "It looks good on you."
P.S. Shop update coming on Saturday...
It's been a weekend of stitching. I was going to say there are no stories to share, but here they are... Stories of storms.
And moons. One of them over a sea of scraps...
There has been talk and plans of my claiming a bedroom for a studio for years now, once one of the boys moved out.
A couple of weeks ago, I said I didn't want to wait, and maybe it could happen in the fall, when Blue goes off for his senior year of college?
Last night, I cracked, and announced that it couldn't wait, I need a space of my own now. It's going to inconvenience everyone, but there is hope it will bring some calm, too, at least for me.
We have spent the afternoon shuffling beds and such. It's like one of those hand held plastic puzzles, with squares that slide into a picture. It takes three moves to get the piece you want into the corner. There are mattresses and bed frames in the kitchen, dining, and front rooms. (What's harder than putting together a piece of Ikea furniture? Taking one apart.)
Right now, I'm waiting for the mopped half of the room to dry before the next maneuver.
Things are their usual end of the school year busy.
In spite of the supposed-to, should, could, meant-to-do's...I started this.
I'm not sure it will work, but it's worth a try.
Five weeks until school's out . . .
(The hill and a the thread of few trees were dyed by Deb, and that blue printed wave up top is by Blandina.)
For the last couple of days, this. Squares into pairs.
Pairs into quartets- square and rectangular.
Late into last night, and up before the light this morning. Wanting it to be together. Using the scraps of leftover thread in the tangled basket. Knowing the stitching isn't very tidy or careful, but just needing it to hold together, that will be enough. Life is like that sometimes.
While working this morning, there was a thirty-year-old memory of a young adult novel about a girl named Nell...
Pressured to marry by her family, reluctantly she began a wedding quilt. At first it was beautiful. A crazy-quilt? She began embroidering it, flowers gave way for beetles and spiders, dark lurking things, as she stopped eating and sank into depression. After the last stitches, she took the whole thing and dropped it into a vat of black dye. At the end, Nell was in bed, under the heavy shadow of a blanket, fading into nothingness, and on the last page, she made a decision to get up and go on...
It's long, because I am, and I want to be able to wrap my feet up in it. Narrow, because I wanted to make 3-inch squares, and have it be thirteen wide. Hmmm... There are some things to figure out- widening it with borders, the binding... I'm not quite sure what's next? But it won't be a black dye pot.
Last evening, there was the sweetest spring rain...and then I stepped out of the door.
There was even a faint double rainbow, but it had faded by the time I ran back for the camera.
The last two days were completely loopy at school, not bad, just cuckoo's nest. One boy was unable to manage sitting still, so I asked him to come help to deliver some art to classrooms. Handing him a pile to carry, he licked it.
Later, in the hall, there was a girl wandering slowly. You get a sense about these things. I asked her where she was headed? Nowhere. Where she was supposed to be going? Upstairs. "How about you show me where? Let's go..." Turned out she'd been wandering quite a while.
Another boy, who's been growing more and more defiant each week, seemed to be ok this week. He was writing and illustrating a thank you note to the art museum along with the rest of the class, but upon closer inspection it was discovered that he'd drawn a naked boy, and I don't think they saw any nudes at on the field trip.
Both days were like this, all day long. Both days the adults in the room laughed a lot. Both days I came home and took a nap. I'm going to miss these kind of days.
And none of this has anything to do with the tree that was stitched on today... or maybe it all has everything to do with it?
(Moon from Threadcrumbs, rainbowed thread by Deb.
These last 169 squares should be enough to finish up the "Story" blanket top. It'll be small, nap size. It's been great digging through these fabrics, some quite old and forgotten. They're full of memories of moments, travels, imagining, and thoughts of friends- including some long gone, and some I've never met. There are childhood rememberings of mermaid pretends, willow trees, and wrapping paper, of little boys and their robots and rocket ships, along with wishes for the sea and sky, and a scattering of moons shining over it all.
In seven weeks, school with be out, and my this job will end. I've been thinking a lot about how to organize my life for this next phase. I do love routines. Maybe this could turn into a personal writing assignment? Each square could be a day's writing prompt.
Hmmm... Yep, this is feeling good.
(This is the story of the best stitching I did all week.)
Teenage Moon asked if I could mend the knee of his jeans. I was wary, because he likes things "just so", and because things have been strained between us lately, but very happy that he was asking (especially pleased because he had just informed me that his girlfriend can sew, but still wanted me to do it).
I asked him if he wanted the mend to be the same color as his gray jeans, or contrasting?
"What do you mean?"
"A gray patch, or something very different for fun? Like lime green?"
Shocked at the idea, he said, "When you said contrasting, I thought you meant a black patch instead of gray."
"Gray it is."
So I patched in gray. It's not perfect, but it looks good enough from a normal distance. While finishing, I wondered if some mama love could be stitched into it, a spell for harmony and care? Pulling out a lime green thread from the basket, and using Jude's invisible basting stitch, I put an "X" across his knee.
"He'll never know," I thought, "but I will."
I put them over the back of his chair at the table. When he came home that night, he yelled out a thanks, and then brought them into the kitchen where I was making dinner.
"I see the lime green thread." (Did I mention he likes things "just so" and has a great eye for details?) Fortunately, he thought it was funny.
"Turn them inside out," I said. He did, and saw the "X". "It's a kiss from your mama, some mama love for you and your knee!"
He rolled his eyes and left the room, but there was a smile
Heading out the door this morning, in the repaired pants, I called out, "Are you feeling the love?!"
"Sure."
"You mean, "Thanks, Mom, I love you, too!"?"
"Sure, bye." (Which is Teenager for exactly that, right?)
Going through the desktop, I came across the sweet little loom from Velma. Weaving seemed like a good comforting idea.
So much went wrong in the making of this little inch of shifu. I decided to just go with it, and then the third warp thread broke. Patched the whole thing together as best I could, or good enough anyway. That third thread was completely lost track of.
I'm going to love it anyway. It's how things are.
I don't know what I'm doing when I'm painting. Talking about it is awkward and stumbling.
This one came after some hard days, and a nightmare that has stuck with me all week. One with Dad's ghost yelling and cursing at me, taking me back to old sunken things.
So, I painted. With dark and heavy feelings, but when I took the pen to it, some light came in, and a sense of being at the sharp edge of the cusp of where sorrow and joy meet.
Today is Blue's 21st birthday. It holds both, too.
"I collected my thoughts and got up again." -Yayoi Kusama
This one is Horace. Last week, his maker came to class in a mood.
Why don't you come sit with me?
"No, don't want to."
Well, I'm right here if you change your mind.
"I won't."
Five minutes into drawing, he was frustrated, slamming things.
D., what's happening?
"I can't do it!"
Bring it on over here.
He came, he sat, we drew grumpy cats.
Mine's named Gertrude, Gertrude the Grumpy Cat. Who's yours?
"I don't know."
Looks like a Horace to me.
He added the label, asked about the spelling. We talked about his day. Not good, his teacher was annoying him, so he was annoying her back.
Well, I hope your day gets better.
Nothing profound was said, but we had a few silly moments together, pretending our cats were grumping at each other, and he took my Gertrude with him. This boy is often searching for attention, and full of attitude. He's got a story that makes it understandable. If I were him, I'd be a grumpy cat, too.
