handstories

neighbor days

    The neighborhood has had plenty of stories this week.  

    We attended the memorial service for Mr. C, he was 96.  Mrs. C. is 96 too, in great shape, still gardening and a pillar of her church community.  She looked beautiful in her black sequined hat at the service.  (She has an amazing collection of "Going to Church" hats.)

    They built their house in 1956, and have always kept it up impeccably.  We've lived next door to them for the last 27 years.  He mowed the grass and cleaned the roof himself until the last couple of years.  I would watch him up on that ladder with fear and awe.  A quiet man, always cordial, knocking on the door now and then in summer to hand us zucchini and tomatoes from his garden.  He'll be missed.

    Our youngest neighbor across the street (9?) is a musician, and has had a guitar or drumsticks in his hands as long as I can remember (I can hear him playing right now).  His School of Rock concert was at the Hard Rock Cafe downtown yesterday.  They passed out much needed earplugs on the way in.  Someday we'll be able to say we knew him when.

    And then there was the trip to visit with old neighbors...  K. and I drove up for a day to have lunch with my Iowa friend, who used to live a few blocks away, but has retired up on the peninsula.  

    We also saw our old next-door neighbors (on the other side), who moved there a couple of years ago, too.  We miss them so much.  Just swell people, both artists, with two sweet boys.  He's a painter, and a house builder by day.  Tininha, is now weaving beautiful passionate textural creations. 

    While there, we met their lovely friend, Tracy, also an artist, who weaves, stitches, works on paper...the list goes on.  It was so nice to sit and share about making.  The big news is that together we've started plans to have a show together later this year.  Excitement and nerves abound, but the two of them are full of grace and know-how, so it should be swell.

    There are so many un-knowns right now.  Focus and stitching are all over the place these days.  Nothing's quite done, waiting for more story to come...  And I keep thinking of something Jude said to me years ago, "...and it all formed as it might."

returning & gifts

    The "Love Can Mend" pennant is back from being a part of Mo's powerful installation of love, "I Dream of a World Where Love is the Answer".  Mo's vision, talents and magic gathered together love and hope from around the world.  I wish I could have been in that room and have been surrounded by the energy of it all.

        There is some weariness going on here, just as there was in the making this, and remembering what I wrote, back in November, when sending it off to Mo, "...maybe this is how it really is.  This work and struggle for peace, healing the earth, trying to find a way through-  It doesn't usually happen because everything is a calm and hunky-dory garden of sweet peas and roses.  The ripped and rough places show us what's really going on, and call to us for mending.  For most of us, we do what we can with what we have.  Piecing together whatever kind of inner scraps we might have within.  And just maybe, all of the frayed worn bits can be brought together and worked into a kind of wholeness again."  

    While I'm sad that the gathering is over, it's been good to have it back, as a reminder that there is love and beauty in mending.

    Mo's generosity continued with the added gifts of one of her brilliant stars, bit of blue and a cloud of wedding cloth (I see some sails in there...).  And while wrapping the ties in the tree for photos, there was a sudden movement to the left, turning my head, there was a hummingbird mid-air,  eye-level, within arms reach.  We looked at each other for a split second before it zipped away, another gift.

    A heart-deep thank you to Mo and the Gathering, oxo.

making home

    Thinking about...

    Home and community.  How we make them, how they shape us.  

    Grace's comment on the last post, "Back. To the Home You created."  (A very good centering reminder.)

    Talking with a friend last night about the trip, the place, the feelings there.  She asked, "How did you get out?"  I heard myself saying, "I was going to, or die trying."  Which made me laugh, because that was one of Dad's sayings.

    And talking with my sister today about our hometown, and how glad we are to be back in our now homes.

    There are some good memories, too.  Scraps of stories came back while walking down our old street, naming the families that used to live in the houses... Paula's grandma's where I saw my first bleeding heart flower and learned that yogurt was made from live bacteria, and couldn't believe either things were true.  Maxine's, where we watched "The Wizard of Oz" and ate too much salty popcorn one night.  Coach Cook's, who saw me running one day and said I would be joining the cross-country team.  Charlie's with the empty lot next door that we all called "The Field".  Once a year he'd mow it down, in-between we would run, hide and play in the tall tall Queen Anne's lace, grass and weeds that covered it.

    I just keep stirring this pot of self and the past, waiting for it all to come together into something.  I was going to apologize for that, but I'm not.  I'm tired of being sorry.  So, if folks don't mind, I'll just keep whisking and folding the thoughts, and hoping that nothing curdles.

winter light wishes

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

    With love, Hazel

love can mend

    When Mo sent out an invitation to join in the making of her installation "I Dream of a World Where Love is the Answer," I had visions of a little boat on a calm sea under twinkling starlight, all being peacefully stitched on lovely summer days.

    Well, none of that happened.

   Giving up on the idea of making it with a peaceful spirit, it was dipped into the fading indigo vat.  After washing it, I started to iron it, and before I realized what was happening, there were holes melted into it.  At first there was panic, but then Mo's phrase "our beautiful broken world" came to mind, and it began to take shape.

   An earth of scraps and stitch was made. followed by a golden moon with the warm sun below, a few patches of deep space and starlight, and a scattering of stars across it all.

    And while making, there was thinking, confusion, and a wondering if... maybe this is how it really is.  This work and struggle for peace, healing the earth, trying to find a way through-  It doesn't usually happen because everything is a calm and hunky-dory garden of sweet peas and roses.  The ripped and rough places show us what's really going on, and call to us for mending.  For most of us, we do what we can with what we have.  Piecing together whatever kind of inner scraps we might have within.  And just maybe, all of the frayed worn bits can be brought together and worked into a kind of wholeness again.

    With a heart full of gratitude for Mo's vision and spirit, I'm sending wishes and prayers for, and into, the bigness of the Universe and our own small wished for cosmoses within it... May they all be patched and held together with our threads of hope and love. 

ever grateful

    Thank you, again, for all of the very kind comments on the last post.  I wanted to be sure that you all saw this paragraph from the article...

    While being in the magazine is very flattering and confidence-boosting... at the heart of everything I'm grateful for in this stitching world, is this circle of makers.  Finding Jude and this community of kindred spirits has been the very best gift of all, another "Thank You" to all of you!

 

peace dreaming

    It seems I'm lost in the last hazy days of summer.  Focus is hard to grasp.  The other day I had to pull over to remember where I was going and how to get there...to a place I go every other week.  

    Suddenly autumn has arrived.  There's a golden edge to the leaves and a welcomed coolness in the air.  It will probably be good for me once school starts, to be in a routine again, be accountable...but I can't imagine it right now.

    In an effort to find some grounding, stitching has finally begun on my pennant for Mo's  Gathering- her collaborative creation "I Dream of a World Where Love is the Answer."  Mo's deep and wide visions, eye and talent for the tiniest details, combined with her deep heart and love for this world and all it holds, are sure to make this installation an amazing gift to behold.  

    The satin was dipped in the fading moments of last summer's indigo, leaving it with a silvery shimmer.  I'm not quite sure how this will go... imagining pieced peace filled spheres (planet and moon thoughts), and there will be stars, many many stars to map the story, guide the way, pin hopes on, and for wishing...

deliberated.

    Something new for the fridge.  It was a very dull civil case, an appeal to overturn the Board of Labor and Industry's decision.  Which meant that the two lawyers read the transcript of the original proceedings with the Board.  No witnesses, objections, motions, nothing... just pages after monotone pages of testimonies from doctors and more doctors.  Days of it.  We all nodded off at least once, including the judge.

sea relief

    We had been talking about a vacation, but not doing anything to make it happen.  On Saturday I was looking at places by the sea, and by the end of the day a short trip to the Oregon Coast was planned and booked for later in the month.  

    Yesterday, in the jury pool room, my number was called, they handed us a questionnaire (not a good sign).  It asked if we would have a problem being on a trial that involves a death?  And if we were available for most of the month?

    My insides went into knots.  I wrote that we had plans, and had paid for, a family vacation.  I focused on the ocean, seeing myself there, hoping K. and Moon wouldn't be going without me, that I'd be looking at and listening to the waves, rather than crime scene photos and mourning family members.  I was excused!

    Once home, I looked up the case.  Horrific.  Such relief not to be a part of it.  I am serving on a different trial for the next week or so.  Fine.

    All of this put me completely out of sorts last night, that and this being Blue's last week home until Christmas, and it's hot.  We always go around the table and say something we're grateful for before dinner.  "I'm just sad," I said, and left the table crying.  

    Later, I gathered these cloths and a new idea is forming- a booklet-talisman-prayer-cloth sort of thing.  I'll take it with me to court today.

    Wishing you all, and the world some pieces of peace.

We are all just walking each other home

Singing In the Rain Family Choir, June 2017

Walking Each Other Home

We are all just walking each other home.
We are all just walking each other home.
We are all just walking each other home.
We are all just walking each other home.

Lyrics: Ram Dass. Music: Kate Munger ©3/2013

    My  favorite song from our concert the other night.  

    It comes from the Threshold Choir, a group who's mission is "to bring ease and comfort to those at the thresholds of living and dying."

    As we sang, a collection was taken for the ASAP (Asylum Seeker Advocacy Project/Urban Justice League).  

    When we were in full harmony (just after 2:00 min.), the beautiful space seemed to swell with song and emotions...for loved ones, for the children, the parents, and for each other.