handstories

Blue thoughts

    Yesterday was another good stitching day, two pieces were started.  Moons and blues on my mind.

    Until a headache and carsick feeling kicked in late afternoon.  A delayed reaction that grew and grew until I went to bed.  A small price to pay to feel safer in this world, and one step closer to normal.

    Today I feel just fine, possibly because tonight, after fifteen plus months, Blue is coming home for two weeks!  For the last year I've been lamenting not seeing him be twenty-two, but tonight I will look into and hold his face on the last eve of it, as tomorrow he turns twenty-three.  I've been afraid to believe it would really happen, but he's in the air right now...

        This morning I went a bit wild with Deb's thread around Jude's moon, but I've lost focus for the last few hours.  There is so much I should/could be doing right now- stitching, cleaning, writing a promised article, baking a birthday pie, but all I can do is stare at the clock and hold my breath.

    (And just to say, K, Moon and Blue have all finished up their vaccinations.)

At home with myself

   "Moon Marks"  Stitching this one was very comforting, soothing colors, simple stitches. 

    p-a-l-E-t-t-e a word I will always struggle to spell.  Rhythm and restaurant are two more.  There are lots of others.

    For the first time since mid-March 2020, Moon went back to school.  They have divided those who wanted to come back into two groups (based on whether the last digit of their address is odd or even).  Each group goes for two afternoons a week.  They will still continue on-line for most of their school hours.  It's a bit of a scramble to finish the last morning class, eat lunch and get to the school in time, so I made his lunch for him the first day.  I made it into a face like I did when the boys were little.  He was so anxious and flustered that he didn't even notice.  Fortunately, he came home saying it was great!  I'm so glad he'll have a smidge of his senior year with friends.

    This one.  I don't even know what to say.  A party on, in and around a hill?  Or some folks on Instagram saw a Duomo, or a campsite.  I'm calling it "Her Happy Place".

    We've had a beautiful week of weather.  Clouds coming in tonight.

    Tree stitching across the water at my friend M's sweet house yesterday.  Her ranunculus (hey, I spelled that right!) were just opening.  The one on Tina's pretty pink cloth is "Clementine."

    Today, a home.  It's about now, and then.

Signs

    Yesterday in search of a path.  Using a moon, silky red and magic thread gifts from Jude, I tried to make my own. 

    It’s hard when the best way forward isn't clearly marked.  It's been a rough week, a decision had to be made.  Is it an opportunity, a step backwards, or a leap into quicksand?  We aren't sure.  Instead of making things lighter, it was more complicated than imagined.

    K. wondered why nothing felt right or easy.

    "Because nothing is right now.  Because it's been a f@#$ing hard year for us, and lots of people.  It's not personal."  (I don't usually swear, really.)

 

    The pro/con lists tipped in both directions.  We looked hard for which way to lean..."ONE WAY," "NO U-TURNS," "DO NOT ENTER"... anything would have been welcomed.

    I looked for things I could do.  I could make a call with hope that it would have helpful information at the other end.  I dialed, redialed, and punched in the needed numbers nonstop for over half an hour.  Finally, I got through to a place in the on-hold line (with really awful music), only having to hang up forty-five minutes later because there was an appointment to get to.      

    After days of debate, a leap of faith/decision was made, with hope and trust that the shape of a hill is also that of a doorway- an archway to goodness and going.  (Thanks to Liz for this reminder.)

    I said to K, “We'll do this, and if there are pieces to pick up later... We will." 

    We remind each other of who we are... and that we can.

    Today bases for tree tokens were made.  I don’t usually work like this, in a group.  Sometimes two or three together, but not rows of them.  Without planning there were thirteen.  My lucky number.

    I just wanted to see what it might be like.  Would it would it be an assembly line?  Or would there be connections and relationships?  How might they inform each other?  I wonder if they will have their own individual tales, while still being pieces of a whole?

 

    No answers yet, but it’s interesting to hold so many stories at once… like a wander through a deep forest with much to see in every direction at once.

    Yesterday there was a walk in the arboretum.  A raven cawed and cawed while flying overhead- soaring and swerving as crows harassed it.  It was so big.  And beautiful. 

    The Cherry trees are in blossom, and the magnolias.  This one had blooms the size of dinner plates.  I wanted to gobble them, to be filled with them.

One hill leads to another...

    Saturday afternoon I just needed something bigger to stitch on.  These cloths were at hand.  A comforting hill.

    With Jude's beasts in mind (I love them so).  Thinking about most of my self-portraits either have no mouth at all, or are wide open, screaming things from the deep.

    Hills.  Folks see portals.  Maybe they are the same thing?  A way through.  Or over.  Or a place to rest and make daisy chains.

 

    We are waiting to hear some news.  Which way it will go, we don't know.  Which answer will be good or hard, we don't know.  So, just hoping for how it might be.

    Layers are cut away, making new shapes to work with.  They are shifted and rearranged as they accumulate.  There are no rules, just going.

    In the middle of it all, I wonder what we want?  What we need?  How to want what we will have?  Mostly I do.

    Hills, portals, places of in-between...brinks of stories.

Blue & potatoes

    Before the boat it looked quite desert-like with its soft colors dyed by Tina, Deb and Laura.  There was quite a long ponder as to what might be in the wide open pink space?  At first, a boat washed ashore onto dry land.  Fortunately, the sea rolled in, silk from Richard that I dyed in indigo.  

    It's been good and fun to dip into new color combinations lately, but I do find that after each wading there is a craving for the familiar comfort of blue.  

    And now for the nature portion of our show...

    The birthday "card" from Blue arrived.  Yes, a real potato.  It came inside of a mailer labeled "The Best Gift Ever".  Inside was a shiny gold box holding the spud, with a message from him written on the other side.  This is so my family.  I texted him, "You're so weird!  And I'm so glad!" 

    He has always had a thing for potatoes.  You can't imagine how happy he was to discover blue potatoes, there was a potato costume for Halloween at age nine, and in high school his email address included the words "bluepotato".

    A sprig that K brought home from a walk.  The smell is delicious.

    Speaking of delicious... stitching into this silky moon gift from Jude... sigh... like melting.  A very soft thin cloth.  This one has so many tiny stitches, some to include the whole rainbow spectrum, others not needed for design or stability, but because I just didn't want to stop.

More cake, rope & a boat

    This year's birthday season came to a close last night with German chocolate cake made by Moon and a family visit with virtual Blue.

    A new boat, sailing into, or with, springtime.

    I had forgotten some of the rope story...  It all started with this photo and a text from my brother to my sisters and me last April.  What you need to know:  My dad's name was Pat, both of them were in the volunteer fire department of our hometown, my brother's son (D) is now in one in his town, and that my family likes to tell stories.  Here's my brother's in his somewhat edited words...

    "Ok, good morning, prepare for some rambling, or delete now...  Couldn't sleep so have been cleaning shop since 5am and drinking COFFEE.  Weather has been 68-74 the last 10 days and thank goodness it's raining today- makes this quarantine more bearable?  At least it feels ok to sit in/at home.  Shop's clean, drawers organized, and drill bits all sharpened.

    "I said rambling right?  When I resigned from the fire department in February, after 35 years, I cleaned out my turnout pockets, came home and tossed it all in box."  ("turnouts" are what fire fighters call their uniform pants tucked into boots, partially turned inside out, with suspenders dangling on the sides, all standing ready to be stepped into and pulled on quickly.)

    "This morning in my puttering, I mean cleaning, I found I needed a section of rope to hang my gnomes on.  The ones I kept from Pat's (Dad's), as the original rope had rotted away (see photo).  I recalled my "turnout rope" (see photo).  Now you ask what is a turnout rope? 

    "Always carry a piece of rope in your turnouts, that way you'll have it when you need it," Pat-ism (Dad had A LOT of sayings).  To tie off a ladder, a hose or whatever.  On one call Pat borrowed my rope (guess who didn't have his), tied open a door, and let it get burned up when we were pulled out of the structure.

    So I proceeded to give him crap about my rope... And where was his rope?  We know who lost mine, etc.... 

    One drill night in a classroom, he sat and end braided a new section of rope.  Not quite half the class watched him- fascinated as they had never seen end braiding and they still weren't sure why or what he was doing?  Near the end of class Pat came over to me, in front of everyone, and handed it to me.

    "Your f---ing rope, don't lose it again!"  A good laugh.  It's still with me.

    It seems funny, I carried that simple piece of rope and used it Many times for 33 years.  I'll never need it for turnouts again.... Can't decide whether to hang the gnomes with it or....  D. can't use it as now everyone carries synthetic webbing....whatever.

    See rambling....simple things that somehow make us tick."

    Love this rope more and more.
 

Waterside gifts

    Dad's birthday was/is (?) the day before mine.  Something that I both loved and hated growing up.  Things were often tangled for me because of it.  The feelings about it all continued into adulthood, making the days leading up to my birthday hard (especially for those around me).  This year was the second one without him, it turns out that my pre-birthday angst doesn't require his physical presence.

    Those who know me best are used to it.  At least this year I saw it coming, headed most of it off at the pass by saying "Yes!" and "No." as needed and wanted, and in the end it was much shorter and less of everything than usual.  

    And yesterday began beautifully... 

    Sunrise.  For all kinds of reasons, the family celebration will be on Sunday, so at sunrise I headed to the ferry.

    Stepping onto the boat, stopping to snap this photo of the city, a ferry worker shouted at me to not stop there, to move to the other side.  I wanted to shout back at her, "Why are you yelling at me?!  It's 7:30 in the morning and it's my birthday!"  I just apologized and moved on.  She was just doing her job.

    The day was spent stitching and talking with my friend in her sweet little house again,

    Beside the bluebird figurine and watching the sparrows, chickadees and crows outside,  

    In a red velvet chair.

    Returning home last night there were surprises waiting in the mailbox.  Nancy kindly and thoughtfully sent a book who's title has often called to me, and now I'll finally be able to read.  The rope is from my brother.  Take note of the two ends, they were done by Dad.  

    A kind of knotting-weaving that secures the ends from fraying, and can create a strong loop.  I didn't know about this until my brother mentioned it in a conversation after Dad died.  I was fascinated, by the skill and the way it wove into Dad's story...  How in In the early years of Mom and Dad's marriage, with a new baby (me) and struggling to make ends meet... Dad would go down to the docks on the weekends to fish, and offer his knot making skills to other fishermen.  I can imagine him sitting there with his line in the river, while turning ropes into new tools and a few dollars.

    So things shifted this year.  Some anger and sadness set-aside, a few holes filled in with a little more forgiveness, understanding and story.  

    I'm so glad to have this, to be able to hold it and think of Dad making useful and beautiful things with his hands.

Biding

    "Their stories were as old as the stars"  These hills seem like very good friends to me.

    Odds and ends days...

    After days and days, taxes are done.  K does them.  I tiptoe around in denial and guilt and try to answer occasional questions.  Until he hands me my part to do (for the shop), and then I whine and tell myself that I'll do a better job of tracking things this year (again).

    Moon busies himself with school and music.  He's taught himself the guitar, ukulele and is currently making sweet (sometimes quite high-pitched) sounds with the tin whistle.  He's also often practicing and/or recording songs for the high school spring musical that will be online.  I love hearing him sing.  His gifts are definitely not from my side. 

    A moody ninth block for the moon cabin stack.  Spiraling out counter-clockwise...  A moon from Jude, Deb's dyeing, friend's scrap, starry gift from K when I was pregnant with Blue, unknown, Maiwa polka-dots (I miss the annual visit to their $5.00 a bag scrap bin), two dyed by a woman somewhere in Washington- bought at quilt show market years ago (wish I could remember her name), and a leftover print from my William Morris phase in the 90's.

    As for me, it's cloth and thread, with a little painting, with a little housekeeping and dinner cooking thrown in.  

    A gathering.  I wonder if they're six feet apart?

Quick catch-up & a deep Thank You

"Moonset"

    The edge of a napkin dyed by Deb made for a fabulous wave (& her purple cloth, too).

    So many nightmares- dead bodies, assaults, old jobs.

    Things are busy, mostly in my head, and computer time is more limited these days.  It seems that by the time K. is finished with it, it's too late for my eyes and brain.

    Working on Cameron's block.  This was hard to make- not my comfort zone in stitching, or the racism behind the symbol.  I sent Blue this photo saying that my making this was proof that the world's gone off kilter.  "Racist and sports?!"  He agreed.  But the Kansas City Chiefs were his favorite team.  There is a video of him having a great time at a game two days before he was killed.

    Moon was impressed that he actually recognized it, "You made these?!  Good job!"   Cameron was also known as a Chevy man.  I'm really looking forward to getting to the star stitching.

    The boys have had some growing pains this week.

    This little house in progress is love- in home, velvet and raw ragged stitching... started after talking to Blue yesterday.  After he said that he wanted to come home.  After I exclaimed, "Yes!  Just get on a plane, we'll figure the virus stuff out, just come home!"  Just wanting to wrap my arms around him.  And then sense kicked in (for him first). 

    While they grapple with big things and emotions, it's hard to remember that they're almost grown, 18 and 22, and there's not much we really can/should do except listen, and remind them that we're here and on their side.  I guess that I've had some growing pains, too.

    A couple of days ago it was this blog's ten year anniversary.  It was started with a wanting to be a part of Jude's Patchwork Beast workshop circle.  It's been a doorway to connection- with the circle, my making, and mostly myself.  Thank you for coming along on the journey.

Stitching by Snowlight ❄️

    This morning's view...

    It seems I think about bowls and glass a lot.

    The snow continued off and on until midafternoon.  K. measured thirteen inches on the car top.  Meanwhile, Blue says they only have a few inches where he is in Michigan.  How strange.  I remember Michigan snow lasting six months when we were there.

    This morning Moon was putting on all of his winter gear.  "I'm going to go dig the car out."

        "Why?  You're not driving it anywhere."

    "It'll be fine, I just have to roll down the hill to the main street..."

    That's our car across the street.  There are only footprints and sled tracks on it.  No one is going up or down our hill, let alone a teenager who's been driving for less than a year, and never in snow.  His plan was kiboshed, and he hiked up to the snow route bus stop.

    I loved how bright the day was.  Stitching by snowlight, while listening to neighbor kids squeal on sleds sliding down the empty streets.