handstories

skies & writing

    Still dreaming in pink skies.

    Some dipping in blue.

        Yesterday I realized that I had grabbed the wrong red thread in the middle of the quote on the SJSA block.  But, even with an opportunity to redo some of the words, I'm noting that my handwriting isn't any better in stitch than it is with a pen.  Still more work to do on this.  How I wish I could sit side by side with the young artist and do this together.  This is an exercise in letting go.

pink echoes

    Following Jude's advice for rinsing her gifts of red, these scraps were pinned to what's left of an old walnut/tea dyed silk shirt, and then put through the wash.  (She shares more thoughts about this process in her series).  The resulting pinks are pretty. 

    There was a time when I didn't think residual rosiness was quite so swell...  

    We had just moved into our first apartment, married two weeks.  A funky old 1920's office building with two apartments upstairs.  Other than here, it's my favorite place we've ever lived...  Anyhow, downstairs there was a washer and dryer (one quarter for a wash, and a dime for thirty minutes in the dryer!).  K. went to do the laundry.  There weren't that many whites, so he threw in his old red striped bathrobe.  You can guess what happened.  Pink underwear and t-shirts for a year.

    We've pretty much been doing our own laundry since.

stitches, ties, half-hitches & more...

    Today was spent at a wonderful workshop taught by an old friend, "Shibori + Indigo: Bound Resist and Vat Dye."  We prepped our samples to dip in the vat tomorrow.  Focussing for eight hours was intense, tiring and terrific.  I came home, ate the delicious dinner that Moon and K. made, took a nap, and have been prepping more.  Excited to see the results tomorrow...

in a fever

    Well, this week did not go as planned . . . 

    Growing more and more tired each day, until Thursday when I crawled into bed with fever, chills, and everything hurting from toes to finger tips.  After being in bed for fourteen hours, I spent yesterday on the couch dozing and knitting.  Finished the socks, dipped them into the tea, meaning to come back in a few minutes . . .

    An hour later, I woke up and remembered them.  Good thing I like brown.

funner

    Bundling India Flint style and pounding with the second graders again and again.  

    Talking of the many many ways plants are useful and magical.

 

    Singing "Oats, Peas, Beans and Barley Grow" and "Inch By Inch".    

   Grateful for overhearing  "This is even funner than I thought it would be!"

borders

    This was some more of that mailbox rust cloth mixed with cherry pits and an indigo plunge.  It has become the bottom border.  

     Frantically basting the top border on, so as to take it all with us to the island tomorrow.  We had to eat out on the porch because it was all over the table.  

    Of course, I should be packing.  Priorities.

    See you next week, enjoy the rest of yours.

a multi-tasking mailbox

    Noticing the rusty mailbox, I threw a vinegar soaked piece of silk on top of it.  Throughout the day I'd move it around, in spite of the few "What is that!?!?" comments from the boys.  Later, instead of composting the cherry pits from lunch, I wrapped them in the rusted silk, and steamed the bundle.  After that dried, it went into the dregs of the indigo bucket.

    Most of the color held very well.  That little square just had the cherry pit treatment (sounds like a spa procedure).  All in all, a very successful day for cloth and compost.  Maybe we should scrape the dinner plates right on to cloth?

indigo-ing

    Joining in with Glennis'  indigo workshop.  The tub and sink are tinged with blue (which troubles K, but not me).  I've had a long love affair with blue, as my oldest's middle name proves.

    My hands are also becoming lightly tinged.  Dru talked of this on her indigo post, sharing beautiful images and a poem.  Her and Grace's comments reminded me of one of my favorite poems.  Back in college I memorized it for a Children's Lit class.  It makes me so happy.

    So, for Dru and Grace (and me) . . .

The Jumblies by Edward Lear I

They went to sea in a Sieve, they did,   In a Sieve they went to sea: In spite of all their friends could say, On a winter's morn, on a stormy day,   In a Sieve they went to sea! And when the Sieve turned round and round, And every one cried, 'You'll all be drowned!' They called aloud, 'Our Sieve ain't big, But we don't care a button! we don't care a fig!   In a Sieve we'll go to sea!'       Far and few, far and few,             Are the lands where the Jumblies live;       Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,             And they went to sea in a Sieve.

II

They sailed away in a Sieve, they did, In a Sieve they sailed so fast,   With only a beautiful pea-green veil Tied with a riband by way of a sail,   To a small tobacco-pipe mast; And every one said, who saw them go, 'O won't they be soon upset, you know! For the sky is dark, and the voyage is long, And happen what may, it's extremely wrong   In a Sieve to sail so fast!'       Far and few, far and few,             Are the lands where the Jumblies live;       Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,             And they went to sea in a Sieve.

III

The water it soon came in, it did,   The water it soon came in; So to keep them dry, they wrapped their feet In a pinky paper all folded neat,   And they fastened it down with a pin. And they passed the night in a crockery-jar, And each of them said, 'How wise we are! Though the sky be dark, and the voyage be long, Yet we never can think we were rash or wrong,   While round in our Sieve we spin!'       Far and few, far and few,             Are the lands where the Jumblies live;       Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,             And they went to sea in a Sieve.

IV

And all night long they sailed away;   And when the sun went down, They whistled and warbled a moony song To the echoing sound of a coppery gong,   In the shade of the mountains brown. 'O Timballo! How happy we are, When we live in a Sieve and a crockery-jar, And all night long in the moonlight pale, We sail away with a pea-green sail,   In the shade of the mountains brown!'       Far and few, far and few,             Are the lands where the Jumblies live;       Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,             And they went to sea in a Sieve.

V

They sailed to the Western Sea, they did,   To a land all covered with trees, And they bought an Owl, and a useful Cart, And a pound of Rice, and a Cranberry Tart,   And a hive of silvery Bees. And they bought a Pig, and some green Jack-daws, And a lovely Monkey with lollipop paws, And forty bottles of Ring-Bo-Ree,   And no end of Stilton Cheese.       Far and few, far and few,             Are the lands where the Jumblies live;       Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,             And they went to sea in a Sieve.

VI

And in twenty years they all came back,   In twenty years or more, And every one said, 'How tall they've grown! For they've been to the Lakes, and the Torrible Zone,   And the hills of the Chankly Bore!' And they drank their health, and gave them a feast Of dumplings made of beautiful yeast; And every one said, 'If we only live, We too will go to sea in a Sieve,---   To the hills of the Chankly Bore!'       Far and few, far and few,             Are the lands where the Jumblies live;       Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,             And they went to sea in a Sieve.

 

golden

    Trying to make a particular brown.  I don't know why.  There is a color in my head, and now this piece of muslin is being dunked in whatever crosses my path.  First a walnut soak, then onion skins with a few tea bags thrown in.   It's getting closer.

my life as a squirrel

    This huge black walnut is atop the slope across the street.  

    My neighbor, who became a good friend, lived under it for more than a decade.  I listened to her worry about the possibility of this tree falling on her house, watched her pick up the fallen husked nuts, and was startled every autumn by the LOUD sound inside the house when they dropped onto her rooftop from high above.  

    Every fall her house would be surrounded by them...and I didn't care.  Last summer, she moved (I won't go into my grief about that).  And now I want those fallen treasures to dye with.  There are new neighbors.  I have only had a few encounters with them so far.  During each of these meetings they have seemed very nice, and I, uh, well, I am not known for making good first impressions.  Without going into the details, let's just say I've done nothing to change my reputation.

    So, I would wait for them to go to work, then scurry across the street and search their sidewalk and easement for walnuts.  After a couple of weeks of this, I finally realized the tree was also above another house.  These neighbors are used to my dyeing experiments, fabric and wool draped around the yard and concoctions in jars or pots on the porch.  They were happy to have me take their walnuts away, though they did ask if I was coming to "trick or treat" as I approached their house with a big bowl.

    So I can stop looking like a mad woman walking slowly up and down in front of the new neighbors' house.  

    But, I'm sure they think I'm nuts.