handstories

A kajillion little things

    "In the Glory of Light"

    I spent this week making so many tiny stitches, hour after hour.  After the previous week of sunshine and open windows, it's turned dark and gray with occasional downpours.

 

    I don't mind.

    "Amidst Joy"

    Quiet uneventful days are a gift.

 

    Still looking at and drawing/painting boats.  This one was from a photo on our friends' boat last summer.

    Blue sent photos from his weekend in the port town of Valparaiso, Chile.

 

    Inspired by song that our community singing group sang. The lyrics are, “I have a million nightingales on the branches of my heart…. Singing, freedom, freedom, freedom.”  An adaptation of a poem written by Mahmoud Darwish-A poet and writer, who was considered the national poet of Palestine.  A beautiful song.  Listen here. 

    If we all had birdsongs in our hearts... can you imagine?

    “Freely”

 

falling

    I am out of words and thoughts.

    Just going.

    One slow stitch at a time.

    Grateful for moments of light.

    And for remembering that they are there.

    There is a corner downtown, enclosed, when you step inside... waterfalls, trees, flowers, ferns, chairs and small tables to rest among.  A lovely world away from everything in the middle of it all. (Here)

    A token of love, thoughts and prayers was put into the mail yesterday.  I hope it gets there.  Because I don't know what else to do.

another pin photo & a few thought scraps

    I was trying to think of something interesting to say here today, and instead found myself taking photos of pins.  We're all three at the tail-end of colds, which has involved a whole lot of boxes of tissues, and not a lot of thinking.

    A lot of simple squares were made and are being added to the story quilt.  It's been great to revisit old fabrics (the ones in the dusty tubs under the bed) and remember some of their stories.

    Some pieces are almost finished.  There has been lots of wishing for the ocean lately.  

    And today, some thoughts about healing- all kinds, the layers of it, and the wonder and unexpectedness of parts of it.

slow burn

    I'm feeling the need for a change, but have no idea what that means.  In what gets made?  Or in how it gets done?  Or maybe I just need to change my attitude?  

    Or maybe it's just the heat?

    Yesterday there was a house fire a few blocks away.  At first the smell came.  "Why on earth would someone be having a fire in this heat?!"  But then the sirens, and truck after truck, at least six came up the hill.  Two got stuck in the winding roads and had to maneuver tricky turnarounds in the intersection.

    Dad was a fire fighter in our small town's volunteer department for thirty years. It's the thing he's most proud of.  I remember the adrenaline rush when the siren at the station would sound across the town, we'd run to the plectron radio to hear the location.  Someone would stand by the desk and hold the keys out, another would open the door as he ran through.   (Somehow this made me feel like I was playing a part in saving the day.)  The furniture of the living room was arranged with a clear path to the door. Sometimes there was shouted cursing in the middle of the night when he tripped over something in the way.  You did NOT want to be the one who left it there.

    So, yesterday...standing outside, watching smoke pour into the sky, adrenaline rushing, hoping all was well, being grateful that it was over quickly, so many stories filled my mind...

    And today, I've almost finished another heart, and am wondering what might happen next?

13th

        The last heart for the "Boy Hearts" piece.  This one is mine.  Raw, ragged and old.  From a favorite childhood sheet, my "soft" sheet, soaked in walnut and dipped in the dying indigo last summer.  So worn and fragile that it was torn into shape without scissors, but still it's here after fifty-ish years, so it's strong, too.  Depending on the light it's barely blue, tan or silver, and the soap line that I drew to guide the tearing turned dark brown under the heat of the iron.  I'm sure there's some science to it, but I kind of like the surprise of it.

the twelfth & memories of a swell heart

    This patch comes from an old favorite dress and a lot of good memories...

    The fabric was purchased in London, January 1987, while on a college trip to study theater for a month.  Twenty-one plays (amazing performances- Anthony Hopkins as King Lear, Vanessa Redgrave, Jeremy Irons, "Les Miserables"), castles, museums and art galore, a terrific roommate, lots of desserts, and fun.  It was my first time out of the country, and it was wonderful.  (I can't find that photo album, someday the basement will be organized, too.).

    Greg was one of our group- a very funny sweet dramatic guy, a stylish dresser, who dreamed of being a soap opera actor.  We first met while working on the play "Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead".  He played Hamlet, I was his Ophelia.  Here we are on opening night, 1985.

    When we landed in London, his luggage did not.  It was lost for a few weeks.  At first he despaired over his missing carefully chosen wardrobe, lashing out at my jeans-and-flannel-shirt self, "This should be happening to you!  You wouldn't care!"  We were similar in size, so I was able to loan him a few things until the airline gave him money to buy new clothes.  One of his shopping expeditions included a few of us, and a detour into a Laura Ashley shop, where he offered much advice on my fabric choice.

    I sewed it into a dress that spring, and wore it all of the time- to graduation, bicycling on Mackinac Island, to the the theater pool party (where it received Greg's high praise approval)... it went everywhere that summer.  I loved that dress.  

    Here it is visiting a good friend in Ashland, Oregon later that summer.  The cloth faded and became very soft from all of the wearings. 

    A year later, while driving to college for his senior year, Greg died in a car accident.  He had a fear of flying, so much so, that when he flew to school for his freshman year, he had left a letter with instructions, just in case something happened. It was read at his memorial, full of his wit and sweetness... with his choice for flowers ("maybe pink carnations, they're not too flashy."), who should play the organ, which music, and other funny loving thoughts. 

    So, this heart, with it's not too flashy pink flowers, is for memories of adventures and accomplishments, summer days, friends, and one really great guy.

heart to heart

    A new heart on this unearthed piece, started seven years ago during Jude's "Whispering Hearts" workshop.

    I'm having a love/hate relationship with this summer, I think with myself, too.

    The murmur and throbbing of feelings and words can not be pinned down.

a full heart

    I went a little all over the place with this one.  Layers and layers, bursting with blooms, stars, stitches, and lots of Deb's rainbowed threads (I just can't call them "dirty" as she does). 

    The sun was out today, it's still cold, but bright, so I was able to really stitch,  there was a walk with a friend, and I didn't get lost taking Moon to his baseball workout on the other side of town.  He's making us bacon waffles for dinner soon, and tonight K. comes home after a week away.  Things feel lighter today.

heart work

    The dark blue scrap was leftover from a boat making.  There must be a lot of these in the basket.  Never noticed the hint of a heart before.

    And remembering the "boy hearts" piece started years ago . . . it's in a stack, unfinished, somewhere.   Started in the middle of a time when I was so unsure of myself as a mama, wondering if I had passed on too much of myself, or if I had enough to give?

    K. has been in NYC and New Jersey all week.  Just Moon and I here.  Years later, I'm still wondering the same things.

a story with a heart

    A cobbled heart from the smallest scraps in the thread basket for the "Child Cloth".  For being so small (about 1 1/2 in. wide), it took a lot of thread and stitching to secure.  A loose and fragile heart, but it's strong now.

    It started out mid-sky, traveled around, and finally landed in the center of the starburst, a wishing star of possibilities.  

    And then things started flowing faster than I could stitch, so I pinned all the thoughts into place...

     of seeing a way through on a path of dreaming, feelings, with the truth and sureness of the moon, and guiding stars,

    of a growing garden of blooms, birds in flight, and there's still some sea to come, I'm sure.

    There's a kind of circle in it all, that I can't quite put words to yet.

    It's feeling quite exciting!