handstories

In Search of Stillness

    Thank you for all of the lovely heart-filling comforting comments, they were warm beams of light during the last week.  This circle of cloth and care is so very swell, xox.

 

    I'm trying to get back into a routine.  Starting with this little moon, stitched on the drive to and from Oregon.  "Stellaluna," star and moon.  Made in last summer's indigo bucket using a dime for a resist, I think.  There was even a daily painting, the first in over a month.

    After days of digging, lining, jackhammering, etc... we have a newly lined mainline without tree roots growing in it, an unclogged pathway to the mainline, and a new drain in the basement floor.  I am ready for a still silent space.

    Part of the plumbing saga included bringing up piles of old clothes from the basement to the living room (to join the other furniture, boxes, and mattress that K used while recovering).  Most of it belongs to the guys (just saying).  I announced that none of it could go back to the basement until it had been seriously reviewed and deemed either sentimental (old baseball jerseys) or useful in the present (time for K's old corporate wardrobe to go!).  Which led to facetime calls with the boys yesterday during which I held up dozens of pieces of clothing for their review.  The result was seven bags of donations!

    There is still more mopping to be done in the basement and in the house (between the melting snow, pouring rain and men tromping back and forth, the yard was turned into a mud trench).

    The workers were all nice guys, but one could not get his foot out of his mouth.  The company had been kind enough to rearrange the schedule so that we could leave town to be go with my mom.  The day before we left, after they had finished and gone, I discovered a new worrisome leak in the basement.  Someone was sent to check it out, after much frustration on my part and what seemed like confusion on his, we decided that it was ok enough for the time being.

    As he was leaving, he said, "Well, now you can go on your vacation!"  

        "Vacation?"

    "Yes, you're going out of town?"

        Given how the last half an hour of trying to communicate with this man had gone, this is where I should have just said "Thanks," and let him go.  "We're not going on vacation!  A family member died!"

    "Oh, I'm sorry."

        "It's ok, it was actually a blessing.  He was in p..."

    "I know how that goes.  I had an uncle that I hated and wasn't sorry when he died."

        "We're sorry!  We loved him.  He was in pain..."

    "Oh, well, then... have a nice day today!"

        "Not so far!"

    In his defense, after the last couple of weeks, I had lost all coping skills by this point.  He left, I went upstairs, swore, and watched an episode of "Leave It to Beaver."

    This one is about needing some sky.

    Mom is sad, but ok enough, and seemed glad for the company.  We went for a short walk.  She's not been out in the world, other than to hospitals or quick runs to the store, for the last two months.  She needs Spring to come.  She's been cleaning, going through things, found his high school photo- charming.  We found common ground in conversations about the past, stories of how they met, and of how she and Dad met- both tales were funny and sweet.

    Through is truly a place.

Songs

"The Music of Memories"

    Many thanks for all of your thoughtful and heart filling comments on the last posts.

    We are sad, glad that he's not in pain anymore, and such sadness for my mom.

    Yesterday was long- the phone calls, texts, the not knowing what to do with myself, and the plumbers.  (Of course, yesterday was the day that water couldn't be used for six hours.)

    And there was stitching and gratitude for moments and memories.

    I'm so very glad I got to sing with him.

    The plumbing issues continue, and I'll be away some.  Hopefully, stitching here and there.  Be well.

Home & Hand Stories

"Spells of, from & for Home"

    The road opened back up.  No locusts, hailstones or boils appeared.  Two days of trying to help.  Hard.  Just hard.  Physically, emotionally hard.  Due to covid there is not enough support for him or my mom.  We need to figure out a better plan for them, this is not sustainable.  None of us knows what to do.  I'll probably return at the end of the week, when the plumbers are done here.

    Sitting here in my studio room (with a jackhammer sound coming from the basement), surrounded by things I love, especially these blue walls.  Sitting here stitching this morning, trying to figure out what this overwhelming feeling is?   A kind of homesickness, I think.

    Last week I noticed that I kept putting on more layers.  For cold or comfort, I'm not sure?  At one point there were seven items of clothing, and that was just from the waist up.  Just now I remembered that this was something I used to do as a kid, when things didn't feel safe.

    Mom's husband is mostly resting, sleeping, unaware, but there are moments of connection.  There were three sweet ones... 

    On the first day, giving him a dropper full of medicine that he didn't want.  I was firm, "This needs to happen.  It will help you."  He opened his mouth.  "Thank you, good job!"  He raised his arms up a little, hands about a foot apart, gesturing.  I didn't understand.  He tried to say something, a few times.  I realized it was an echo of how I had said "good job!"  That he was trying to clap.  I gave him his deserved applause, he smiled.

    Knitting across the room from him.  Again, the hands were up, moving in a pattern.  "Braiding," he said.  We "braided" together for a few minutes.

    Just before it was time for me to leave, he began humming, "Swanee River."  I joined in with the few words I knew, made up some, hummed too, and then started "Red River Valley."  He hummed, managed a "valley" here and there, as he waved an arm in conductor-like movements... flowing.

Chanting to self

    Cloth, thread, needle, blue, moon, waves, stars...

    Last night I opened up the dishwasher too soon.  A new way to wash the kitchen floor.

    This morning I woke to the sound of the cat throwing up in the living room.  K was in the shower. While cleaning it up, I heard a crash in the bathroom.  The shower curtain rod had broken off the wall.

    I am so done with this week, and it ain't over.

    Tonight, the neighborhood will be without power from 7-2, something or other is being done to something or other.

    Heading back down to Oregon to help Mom tomorrow.  I'll have my phone, but I find it hard to read or type much on it, and there is no internet at her place.  Some stitching will come along, but the place is very dark, and she keeps it even darker.  There are always socks to knit, and she does have a hummingbird feeder to watch.

    Cloth, thread, needle, blue, moon, waves, stars...

Many moons

    Appointments, family in Oregon, and stitching have occupied the last couple of weeks.  Things are good for the most part, but definitely lacking a rhythm.

   The long overdue appointments (due to the changes in insurance over the last year and a half) were surprisingly uneventful.  My eye prescription hasn't changed in eleven years (I still can't see the small E's or the big one).  Even the dentist gave no news (which is good news!), in spite of my diet of black tea and red wine over the last chunk of time.

    The morning paintings hit a wall.  Rhythm had become Rules because of my inner control issues.  Being bossed around (even by myself), tends to lead to fighting back or stopping.

    Pushing through, there were a few stutters.  Not knowing what or where to go.

    I think I'm just going to paint and play with color for a while... see how that goes.

    The therapist has often said to just "sit with it."  Recently, I was saying that I just don't know what to do next?  Or if there even is a next? 

    "Just keep doing the work," she said.  Another version of sitting with it.  Not my comfort zone, but she's probably right.

    So, I'm trying to find small ways to challenge myself.  Layering old ideas into something new, hopefully.

    There was a long phone call with Blue this afternoon.  He's 23 now, still in Michigan, and such a good guy.  I miss him.  I told him about a tricky situation/relationship, and then asked him what he thought I should do?  He had great insights, advice and a sense of humor about it all (I can take some credit for that last trait).  It was a gift of a conversation, not just the nitty-gritty of the topic, but knowing that we can be adults together, trusting each other.  A new layer to our story.

Comforts of home

"The Wonderland of Home"

    Sometimes, while working on a piece, I scribble down thoughts.  "Home, moon, window, making, light, heart, shine, through lines, woven, tending, care... where is home, there is home, home stories, homemaker, maker of home..." were the words that came while stitching this cloth.  There was a lot of joy in the making of this one.

   

    Home has been even more of a comforting space lately.  K and I are settling into new routines now that it's just the two of us again.  Memories of our first fifteen years without kids float around.  There is so much less to do for just the two of us, except the chores.  Although, there is a lot less to clean without two boys coming and going.  We've been divvying up the jobs that first Blue, and now Moon have left behind.  I was embarrassed to discover that I didn't know how to work the vacuum!  In my defense, Blue and Moon have done the weekly vacuuming for the last decade or so, and I do sweep.  Confessing my homemaker deficiency to K, and adding that I hate vacuuming (lugging the contraption from the basement stairs, the noise, the hassle of changing the attachments, etc.), I was thrilled when he said that he enjoyed it!  Hallelujah!  I have willingly taken over the litter box instead.

    And today, a new boat beginning.  I always come back to them.  They're a comfort, too.  A kind of centering and symbol of going.  A reminder of who I am, or might be.

Today is still Thursday

    Today's slow stitching into the gifts of Tina's soft blue moon and galaxy-ish dyed cloth below.  Much needed rain has been falling off and on for a few days.  I love the coziness of it.

    Four posts in four days... I won't say anything more about that, don't want to jinx it.

    There will be a break next week, when I fly east to spend time with my sister.  It's been three years since we've spent time together.

    The last time was the lovely Maine trip in the fall of 2018.  That was just before Dad died.  We did see each other twice in the midst of family during 2019, as we gathered to clean out his house, and then again to put his ashes into the sea.  I was very shut down during those times, mostly keeping to myself, just trying to get through.  It was a dark year, for other reasons too.  All to say, I'm really looking forward to time alone with her again.

    I've been so looking forward to it that I've texted an occasional countdown of days to her.  The other day I sent a very excited message saying, "One week from right now, we'll be on the road!"  Her response informed me that it was Tuesday, NOT Wednesday, as I had thought, and that I had given her a flash of stress and panic, thinking that she had scheduled time off of work, lodging, etc. for the wrong day.  There were a few other words, too, but I won't repeat them.  Oops. 

    Each morning I wake up and try to get a grasp on what day it is, chanting it to myself a few times, hoping that the information will stick.  Win some, lose some.

Week before last

    Monday and Tuesday I drove to Whidbey Island to attend and assist Christine Mauersberger's "Meditative Stitching" workshop.  

    Two peaceful quiet stitching days listening to Christine's insights with lovely women.

    Tuesday's sunrise seen on the ferry. 

    I probably drove more last week than I have in the last year put together.  I have such anxiety about driving, especially now that I do it so infrequently, but it was good to rediscover that I'm capable-ish.

    One day at home, spent packing myself and Moon.  Thursday we drove him up to Bellingham.  Because of COVID restrictions and his being SO READY to start this new chapter, the three of us made three trips with his boxes to the third floor dorm room, and I barely had time to even get misty-eyed during the quick goodbye hugs, in the rush to get us out of there in his thirty allowed slotted minutes.  (Deb, I did wave across town to you!)

    And then I drove back to the island, returning home on Monday night.

    My work table during the four days of Christine's "Binding Time" workshop.  More lovely women, and much more active.  Indigo pots, cyanotype, stitching, gelli plate printing, collaging, and more!  (Including dyeing some thread in my tea (above).)

    There's not much call for sequins in my life, but I do love them.  It was great to have time to play, to work and share with other makers, and to spend time hanging out with Christine during prep, clean up, etc.

    There was a crazy wind storm one day.  The kind of wind that tries to move your car off of the road.  Power was out for some of the island that evening, including the place where I stayed.  Leftovers were wrapped in foil and heated up on the barbeque, and I was in bed at 7:45 due to the dark and cold.

    The clouds were incredible.

    The workshops were held in this spacious building.

    Each day was a new story in the sky.

    There's more to say, but this is a start... hope you are all well.

Coming up for air

    Quilting these woven hillsides... all I want to be doing.

    One little moon was started, but I am so distracted by those hills.  (This one might take a while, but there are a few other pieces in the shop).

    Thanks to Dee for her gift of scraps, including these golden moon bits, Tina for the deep purple night, and for Deb's golden threads that add to the glow.

    I wish I had one to share...  These days are filled with day-to-day-ness and/or the scurrying and worrying of getting Moon ready to head off to college (one week!).  There's actually not too much worrying, with him being the second send-off, and so much closer than Blue was, anything needed can be delivered in a daytrip.  There may still be a few anxieties going on (his and mine), but we are all excited and ready for this next step to happen.

    He insists on taking this old blanket, so some mending has been done to hold it together.  It's so threadbare, a synthetic purchase from a department store in the late 80's (probably the only bought blanket in the house).  Covered with silly sheep.  He loves it.  He says he'll take the quilt I made him, too.  At least there's that.

    We have packing piles all throughout the house... his for school, and two for me.  I'm delighted to be assisting Christine Mauersberger during her workshops next week (this one and this one).  It's going to be a busy good week!

    In the meantime, there are hills to stitch....

    And, yes, I am going about this project in every direction at once, trusting that it will all work out in the end.

In Seattle & thereabouts

    There are days when you just need soothing.  Stitching this silky moon from Jude was just that.  Like stitching water.  It grew into the tenth moon cabin block.

    Favorite fabrics, some took a while to find.  Somebody really needs to get some ducks in a row over here.  That pink cloth looks like it might be too much, but I'm hoping it will be balanced out once it's surrounded by other blocks.  Or it can come out later.

    A visit to the Bainbridge Art Museum...

    Upstairs, in the Sherry Grover Artists' Books room, there is an exhibit going on... "Every Day & Special Days".

    What a happy honor to be a part of it!

    And to share a space with so many wonderful works, including dear Velma.

    There has been some searching for my best Self .  She seems to be M.I.A. a lot lately.  It seems Moon and I are working hard to create many memories that we will hopefully laugh about some day.

    Also on Bainbridge Island is the beautiful Bloedel Reserve.

    Most of the photos I took were of water.

    I just love this willow.  It holds the memory of another willow, that held a memory of another willow for my mom.  All of the willows held/hold happy moments.

    The day ended with a beautiful ferry ride.

    Wishing you the bluest skies.