handstories

Giddyup

"Songs of Everything"

    The other day, there was a phone call with Mom.  The best calls are when we share stories, especially when she shares old ones.  Most of my family are good tellers, we all have a good sense of humor, mostly sarcastic.  Not everyone's cup of tea.  It took K. a while to get us, and to learn how to give it back.

    I told her about Blue's upcoming camping/road trip with buddies.  They'll be traveling between Michigan and Yellowstone.

    "Do you remember when we went?" she asked.

    All I remember are the photos, I was two, my brother was six months.  It was a trek from Oregon to Montana to visit my great grandparents on their ranch.  Nick and Marion Monte.  There is a formal photo of them in the album, a stern looking couple, him in a bow tie and white cowboy hat.

 

(An experiment in tiny living.)

    I'm not sure how our conversation took a turn to hitchhiking stories.  Remembering how Dad would pick up most anyone he saw on the roadside, and how distressed I was when he would tell the person to get in the back with us kids.  Worrying that I would be the first to go if the guy was a wandering murderer.

    I confessed my two hitching stories to Mom.  During college summers, K and I would take innertubes down the Deschutes River.  Dropping the tubes off at a starting point, we would drive the car five or so miles up the river and park it, and then walk back to the tubes, looking for and often getting a ride from a kind stranger.

    The other was in Colorado.  A summer high school church camp.  With the afternoon off, four of us girls walked several miles down into town.  The return trip was not so pleasant.  It was hot and uphill.  Convincing four conservative church girls to hitchhike wasn't easy, but I did it with some fast talking, "If a man stops, there are four of us.  Together we can take him!  We just have to make sure that there are handles inside the doors, and I'll sit behind the driver.  If he tries anything, I'll grab him around the neck."  A very nice guy stopped. No strangling on my part was required.

"Moon Kept Their Stories"

    And then Mom shared a couple of her stories... "And here's the best one...," she said, "It was on the Yellowstone/Montana trip.  We picked up a guy somewhere along the way.  He rode in the back with you kids.  We stopped at a bar that was famous for its long bar and saddles for barstools.  Dad and I really wanted to check it out and the hitchhiker said that he wanted to nap, so he stayed with you kids while we went in and saddled up for a drink!"

    Can you imagine?

    I think that I'm glad that I don't remember that trip!

    Sometimes everything looks the same but feels quite different.

Week in Review ***

(*** Friends of ours eat all of their leftovers on the weekends, they call it "Week in Review".)

"Circles Held Her"

    Unexpectedly, the houses are still coming.  I want to learn some photo collage skills, to create a village of these stories of home for myself.

    The evening birds seem much more contented than the morning ones.  More songlike, rather than desperate "Let's get going!" tweets.  Remembering the mornings of hungry little ones and the rush to get everyone everything and out the door on time.

    LOTS of Jude's thread beads happening.

    Sometimes I end up feeling dotty from them.  Deb's thread and cloth must have had the same dye recipe, and Tina's yellow framing cloth is the icing on the cake.

    I've been listening to books from the library while I stitch these days.  Finished a lovely middle reader Caribbean fairy-sea-tale yesterday, A Comb of Wishes, and am now partway into Cloud Cuckoo Land.  What a change in required concentration level!

    A boat stitched while thinking of dearest friend who is out at sea for the next couple of weeks.  She leads a life of adventure with new experiences and people at every turn- a glittering existence.  In my quiet lamp lit corner, I sometimes wonder how we found and held onto each other over the last twenty plus years?

    Walking through Seattle in springtime, it's hard to remember to watch where you're going.  I'm often tripping over the sidewalk cracks or getting dizzy from craning my neck to the sky and tree tops.

    On Earth Day, someone on Instagram posted their visit to Walden's Pond.  I was there 24 years ago last January with K., visiting my sister, and six months pregnant with Blue.  The pond was frozen over.  I stepped out onto the ice so that I could say that I was on Walden's Pond.  K and my sister's guy stood on shore shouting at me to, "Bring the baby back on land!"

"Itzel" Mayan for "rainbow".

    Wishing you all a colorful week of glittery things.

Returning to rhythm

    Just when I thought that I was finding a rhythm in keeping up here and there, life took a busy turn for some days.

    One tiny tree was squeezed in.

    Some moon gazing with a friend.

    After not picking up a needle for a few days, it felt a bit awkward, had to find the rhythm of that again, too.

 

 

    Ok, back to it...

Contentment

    That tiny Deb scrap on the bottom left was the dangling bit left over from the house in the last post, it perfectly.  Sometimes it's all about making the bases- putting cloth together, those seams with Jude's glue stitches.  It got this far and then wandered away...

    Not a lot of focus this week, distracted, tired from the crazy dreams/nightmares.  Trying to keep a menagerie of creatures in a basket while trying to find my way home, but ending up lost in a mall...

    Sometimes making Jude's thread beads with Deb's threads can happily fill a day.

    I wake up not being sure of anything and ok with that. 

    Last night's... Taking a nap with groceries while Moon had a Harry Potter party in the next room and a neighbor was trying to wake me up so that he could read me a poem that he'd written.

    After going to the grocery store this morning and forgetting the very first thing on the list, I called the neighbors to see if they had the missing chickpeas?  They did!  (When I went over to get them, I shared the dream and offered to listen to any poems he might write.  He had a good laugh over the idea.

    There was a different house and roof here, and other stars, too.  After a couple of hours of stitching, it just wasn't right.  So, it was all pulled out and replaced with some of Tina's deep purple and topped with Deb's dream cloth.  The top left corner was sun-printed with seed beads. Stars, dots and sparkles are still going...

    Sometimes I have no idea what's going on or where things are going.  It's really nice to be at ease with that...most of the time.

Stories with a Stranger

    With an eyelet from Deb's dyeing under a blue moon by Tina, I started a new home cloth.

    I had a fun phone conversation yesterday.  There is a credit card that I never use, that K. wants us to start using.  The problem is that because I never use it, I had never changed the incorrect name on it.  I told K. that I would need to go to the store it was issued through.  A store that we rarely go to now. 

    "No you don't, just call the 800 number on the back of it."

So, yesterday I finally called.  After a couple of tries to choose the right number, to get to the right department, a pleasant southern woman answered, "Hello, my name is S.  How are you doing today?"

    "Good.  How are you?"

    "Fine.  Thank you for asking!  Let me verify some information...  What is the name as it appears on the card?"

    Answered.

    "Here's a security question... What is your favorite pet?"

    "My favorite pet?  I've only had cats..."

    No.

    A specific cat?  "Twinkle? Jenny?  Jake?  Mittens?  Midnight?..."

    No.  No.  No.  No.  "It starts with a B..."

    "A 'B'?!?"  Bird?  Bat?  Buffalo???

 

    "Oh, wait a minute!  I clicked on the wrong name..."

    "Was it my husband's?  K....?"

    "Yes, sorry about that..."

    "Did he say Buffy?!?"

    "Yes."

    "Oh, Buffy...poor old thing!  She's dead."

    "Oh, I'm sorry!"

    "No, she's long gone and was a crazy dog that he had back in high school.  A few weeks after K. left for college, his mother called me up in hysterics, saying that K's dad had accidently backed the car up over Buffy.  When he went to try to help her, she bit him and died.  His mom called me because she was afraid that she would start laughing if she called K.  She couldn't stand Buffy.  That was fall of 1980..."

    "Oh, my!" said S. and then had a revelation of her own, "1980, that was the year that my dad came out..."

    "We have some stories to share!" I said.  She agreed.  We went on for a minute, and then she remembered she had a job to do... 

    Clearly, I had verified who both K and I were, so she moved on to another kind of question, but still one that I wasn't sure of the answer to.  "Is it ______?"  Clearly it wasn't.  "Maybe I should just tell you what my question is?  Maybe none of this matters?  How do I change the name on my card?"

    "You need to go to the store where it was issued."

    "I knew it!  I was right!  K. said I needed to call you, but I was right!"

    "Of course, you were!"

    The whole conversation was very fast, only a few minutes, but we were both laughing hard by the end. 

    This piece was fun, too.

"She Remembered Her Song"

Choices

"Rooted in Magic"

    I mean to be here more, really, I do.  The days are spent making, by evening my eyes are too tired for screens, and/or K. is using the computer.  I love these days of stitching.  So lucky to be able to do work that I love.

    The morning paintings are happening again.  I think that I lost my way with routines in the last weeks.  They help.

    The singing group has started meeting in person again, masked, spread out some.  One of our songs is "Storm Comin'," a favorite of mine.

    

"Glittering"

    When I was new to the group (15 years ago?), at some point the woman next to me turned to me and said, "You're not singing the right notes."

    I shrugged my shoulders and said, "It's not a choice."

    At our first gathering a couple of weeks ago, I noticed that she was sitting in front of me.  At the next sessions, I noticed that she moved up a few rows.  Ha!

    I love it when Deb Lacativa's cloths have seams to pick apart.  They feel like bonus surprises- secret extra places of color.  This was probably a sheet.  I put stitches into the holes left behind as a way of holding the story of before.

"Showered in Light"

    Tina dyes up beautiful soft rainbows of cloth.  They are often just the right setting for a story.

    Spring has sprung.

    And THIS took my breath away (be sure to click on the right arrow to get to the video and make sure that you have the sound on (bottom right corner).  Can you imagine being in the presence of such an ocean of amazing?!?