handstories

Something is more than Nothing

    "Coraline" on a hill made from a gift of beautiful silk.  A friend shared some scraps (from Nepal, I think?) a few years ago, and I was "saving" them, actually afraid of messing them up.  Trying to get myself to just move, do something in a few areas of life.  Every step is movement.

    Through got a little longer this week, as K's surgery has moved from Monday to Thursday.  It's also at a later time in the day than expected, so he will probably be spending the night.

    I tried new recipes a zucchini pasta, rice bowls, and Steph's Tofu.  If you like tofu, do try it.  It's a creation of our local co-op.  Something I've bought there often.  The first round was good, but not quite right.  I went and bought a little from their deli to compare.  The second time I chose a dryer tofu and cooked it longer and it was great.  The recipe calls for an hour of cooking.  Our old oven took an extra half hour.  You want it brown.

    A trunk full of donations were gathered and sent off with Moon to drop off.

    One compost bin of blackberries was cut down out back.  Something K has always done, and I didn't fully appreciate until now.

    Vacuuming happened UNDER the couch, along with some other weird usually neglected cleaning.

    I am trying to have some constructive anxiety to balance out the mindless tv and tree watching.

Contented in Through

"Through"

    While naming pieces for today's update, "through" kept coming up.  So many things feel like "getting through" right now, not in a bad way, just things going on, and remembering my mother-in-law's idea that "through is a place".  I guess we are always in through.  (This through started with a dreamy piece of Deb's cloth and was framed in Tina's twilight purple.)

    In anticipation of K's surgery on Monday (the biggest through), and of his being home for weeks, I wove and pinned the next section of the quilt.  Did it have a name?  If so, it's gone now.  

    I'm guessing that there will be less time and focus for making pieces for the shop.  Quilting will be a comforting no-thinking required thing to do.

    Not the best photo, but a sense of where it's at now.

    And a blurry hot pink photo of the current socks on the needles in the bright sunlight.  I often knit a few rows after breakfast to wake up my hands and head.  These are eye-openers!  Someone I know has been wearing a lot of hot pink and fuchsia lately.

    Bear close-up for Barbara.

    "Razia" meaning "contented".  Wishing the same for us all.

Crux

    Walnut ink painted onto cloths dyed with fresh indigo and in that turquoise wash.

 

 

    A moment from yesterday. Rainbow in my blue room (on a wall that could use repainting, just like the rest of the house), Story quilt, and the bedpost of the childhood bed. I should say childhoods...Moon’s, Blue’s, nephews, brother’s, mine, and Dad‘s in the foster home that he grew up in. 

    I’ve been thinking about the soul this week, what it is, how to stay in the space of it.  I was told that it’s a place of who we are, all we are, all we might be.  That all the things that we think and believe about ourselves are just thoughts, reactions, responses, and often judgements. So, I’m spending moments trying to step outside of thinking, and observe the What and Why.

    During the first attempt, I remembered watching Dad at his mom's wake as he struggled to grasp timelines and his past.  Suddenly, I could see the small boy of who he had been, who didn't know what had happened to his world or where his parents had gone.  It was the first true understanding of the why he was the way he was, and the beginning of feeling some compassion and forgiveness for him.

 

 

    I’m also trying to understand walnut ink.  It was dried, ironed, wetted, and then smooshed with a couple of indigo leaves and salt.

 

    What a beautiful green it was.

 

    After drying and rinsing, the rings were barely visible.

 

    And begin again.  I don't know anything about this ink.  It is from a workshop a few years ago.  Maybe I need to make my own?  Either I will figure this out or just keep the ink away from water.

    A Table Story...  Years ago, at a craft fair, M., a friend, bought the bear necklace.  I loved it too, but there was only one.  Recently, M. gave it to me.  She lives on my worktable.  Her occasional adventures are photographed and texted to M.  Yesterday she and the "Story" doll (made by Cathy Cullis years ago) celebrated the finishing of this piece under a sunny scrap of Deb's cloth with party favors of a jay feather and a piece of a tumbleweed from a road trip with M.

    It's funny how elements of stories that have been looked at over and over can suddenly take on new meanings.  That memory of Dad, after all of these years, seems to have opened a door to some understanding and compassion for me too.

"Soul Work"

    I'm keeping this one.

Floating & Flow

    This was started in the few quiet moments of last weekend, in between hours of this...

    Blue Angels.  They roar over our house for four days- two of them practicing, and then two days of shows for Seattle's Seafair every August.  One of the silver linings of the pandemic was the event being cancelled for two years, but they came back.  They can be seen out of any window in the house.  Sometimes so low that you can make out the writing on the sides.  The house shakes, my brain shakes, the cat runs.

    We went to the co-op to escape.  The display of currants beside apples and strawberries was beautiful.

"An Exuberance"

    Fresh indigo dyed silk on Tina's midnight purple above Deb's fiery cloth.  It felt like a party.

    And this one, started yesterday.  Often it all comes down to what scraps are scattered closest.  It began with the pink arc.  I was thinking rainbow, but then went looking for a moon.  This is one of Jude's, beneath a starry gift also from her... and then the two small scraps by Deb and Maiwa were within reach...

    Sometimes everything finds each other, reaches out and connects in ways that feel outside of me, a kind of floating into place.

Many kinds of stories

"Maybe a Lot of Things"

    I'm liking these longer cloths lately.  Space for more layers of the story, but not overwhelming.

    We went to Oregon for the weekend.  To visit family.  I spent most of the days with my mom.  Her days are so different now, without her husband, or the need to care for him.  There is so much time in a day when life suddenly empties of all you know. 

    We spent some time driving through my hometown (she lives in the city next-door now).  We stopped by to visit her best friend, who still lives next door to the house that I grew up in from age five until 18, when I left home.  The photo above is how it looks now.  It feels too wide open and lifeless to me.  My bedroom was there at the top.  I used to crawl out onto the roof on summer evenings.

    This is how it was... (photo taken as it was being sold when I was 24).  Blue (Mom's choice), the split log fence Mom built to keep us and the neighbor kids from riding our bikes over the corner, and the two big trees on either side of the corner.  A lot happened in that house.  Seeing it makes me want to weep from many kinds of sadness.

    When all of the leaves were picked off, the indigo stems were put into water.  Look at all of the new leaves!  They continue to grow above the stitching table among small stories- the ship in a bottle (it appeared when I was cleaning off my shelves to leave my teaching job), a bluebird from Blue, a clay "piece of mind" made by Moon when I told him I wish I had "peace of mind". 

    In the works, with a moon from Jude.  What goes under the arch, I'm not sure yet? It feels like a place where stories might meet.