handstories

moon talk

    We've become good friends over the last couple of weeks, telling each other stories, making a new one together.

    Jude's big orange moon sings with the stars of Deb's thread.

    Collaborating with cloth.

"Moon Talk"

    She's in the shop.

"cultivating peace"

    This is a photo of a photograph by Ishiuchi Miyako.  One of her many beautiful and poignant works on display at the Spirits Rising: Hiroshima exhibit at the Portland Japanese Gardens.

    "...documenting cherished items and clothing left behind by victims of the atomic bomb detonated in Hiroshima at the close of World War II that are now housed at the Hiroshima Peace Memorial Museum." 

    More about her work can be found here.

    We've been in Oregon for a few days visiting family.  The gardens were part of a lovely day with K.'s sister.  I hadn't been there in decades.

    The Heavenly Falls.  (To see & hear them in action go here.)

    It was a bright sunny cold day, and I don't know how to adjust for that with the phone camera, so please imagine all of the lush green that surrounded us.

    There was a view over downtown Portland, looking towards Mt. Hood.

    Such a blue sky.

just when you think you've got nothing...

    A new place to wander.  Summer's indigo scraps and a ThreadCrumb moon (about 13 x 13").

    There's been a lot of forehead furrowing by K. and I about Moon's future plans.  K. keeps telling me to not say anything, that it will push his heels deeper in, but I can't seem to help myself.  So, the other night, jokingly, I suggested a different idea.  When he didn't react, I stepped out onto the ice, slowly and carefully saying some of the reasons why I want this to happen for him.  He seemed to be listening, so, bravely (or foolishly), I kept going... 

    "I just want the world for you..."

    Finally, I stopped, held my breath and hope that I hadn't cemented the deal for his original plans, and turned to busy myself with making dinner.

    And then...

    "Mom, I love you, too." 

    I managed to keep the happy cry in in until he left the room.

    And, he's looking into and considering our idea.

moon mulling

    Yesterday had some parenting moments...  

    Blue has been offered a job upon graduation this spring, and it's across the country.  Whether he'll accept it, or not, is still up in the air.  Either way, it was a realization that he may never live here again, which is good, how it should be, and... sigh.

    Last night, I yelled something at Moon out of exhaustion and exasperation.  It wasn't horrible, but it wasn't kind.  I said I was sorry, and again this morning, and I am.  He's seventeen and thinks he's ready to be on his own, which is normal, how it should be, and... sigh.

    In trying to think of something to write here, I drew a moon mind-map, writing down moony thoughts- a page of golden round words and moonlit memories of childhood- both mine and the boys'...

    Traveling to the moon and stars with my brother in our imaginations and rocket ships (lawn chairs), growing up with a woman named Mooney across the street, and being told (and believing) I could live on the moon when I grew up.

    How Blue chose Moon's middle name because there was often a full moon on the evenings of our midwife appointments. "Look at the moon, Mama!" 

    Standing outside, huge-as-moon pregnant, days overdue, trying to convince Moon to come out and see the moon for himself, and finally, on the porch a couple of days later, showing him the moon on the night he was born.

    Writing a little Zoom to the Moon book for four year old Blue to read.  Putting together that wonderful "Over the Moon" play with his second grade class, which included bits of the songs "Blue Moon", "Moon River" and more.  

    And that night sky song that I hummed to my baby boys, while slowly twirling around the front room, trying to dance them to sleep (click here for a lovely listen).

        Well, this turned into an unexpectedly long lingering...

    "A Golden Making" and a few more starlit story cloths will be in the shop tomorrow morning.

buoyant

    Stitching away every inch of the day that I can, loving and floating in it.

    These little squares of self-talk, stories that I keep telling myself over and over, reshaped, but still the same, let me know that there's still something I need, or want to hear and believe.

    Ideas come in bursts in that moment between awake and sleep, making me wish it was possible to take a screen shot, because the memories of them are often blurry by morning.  Last night there was a bird singing a star song in the night sky...

   Dreams have come every night for the last couple of weeks.  Deep dreams, often in direct connection with conversations of the day.  Dreams of the dead- friends, co-workers, old teachers... of going back in time and seeing them again, wanting to warn and save them from their fate, and realizing that I can't control everything...anything.  Other nights, I'm visited by folks I've lost touch with, some on purpose.  The next day, I often hear from them.  Ghosts of my present.

    Language is a struggle lately.  The other night I said the wrong word for something to K..  There is stuttering, in thought and words.  Last night, in the middle of a "discussion" with Moon, I had to stop to gather the thoughts into coherent sentences (which, I discovered, is not a bad strategy when dealing with a teenager). I'm pretty sure it's not a medical issue, but rather a result of being full.  So much to swim through...

unexpected wandering

    A friend was going to Portland this weekend, and there was a spur of the moment decision to join her.  She had booked a swell waterfront room, where I enjoyed the river view in a sweet rose covered and pink piped chair, while she went off on her plans.

    It was good for stitching, too.

    We strolled by the river, and around the city a bit... appreciating the walkability, great old architecture and quirkiness of the place.  I took her to Mill Ends Park, which claims to be the smallest park in the world.

    Many cute animal statues that cavort in the fountains along one street were patted and posed with, and we smiled at the happy doughnuts painted on the garbage cans.

    There was also a discovery of a carefully curated upscale GoodWill store, where I just may have bought a glittery wallet, and just outside was parked this very cheery bicycle.

    We laughed much of the trip, mostly at our own quirkiness, including the disoriented feeling that came over me, over and over... a sudden unsureness of where I was, or why?  Not a bad sensation, just wandering in the unknown maybe?