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."

pillow & people

    Sunday was a day away with two of my best friends to visit a third, who has moved a ferry ride and drive away.  I was finally able to give her the Iowa pillow.  It seemed at home in her new place, under watchful eyes.  (Click on the Iowa category below if you'd like some of the backstory.)

    I'm sorry I didn't get better photos- there was hurrying and gray rainy skies to contend with.

    It was a nice day full of friendship, and a realization that if not for the friend we went to visit, chances are, we three would never have met, as she was the founder/director of the school we all used to work at, who hired each of us many years ago.  She started so much more than a school.

a quiet weekend

    Just stitching in the stillness, not doing anything I should be doing.

    Working on the long overdue Iowa project.  The two sides for making a pillow are finished.  Just about done puzzling the left over muslin pieces together to cover the backs, using Jude's invisible basting to attach them, for strength.  Having started this a while ago, I have no idea why I didn't just use one piece of muslin that was big enough to cover the whole thing?  But what would be the fun in that?

    Maybe if I added "stitching" to the docket, it would keep the guilt of ignoring the rest of the list at bay?

a box of memories

    My Iowan friend handed me a shoebox of treasures the other day.  It was all of her sewing things, and then some.  Buttons and beads, old wooden spooled threads, pretty stones, and other bits and bobs.  I particularly loved her labeled envelopes of special buttons.

    It was a lovely afternoon with her.  We could talk for hours, enjoying each other's stories and discoveries.  Being eighty, she has such a sense of history and the wisdom to go along with it.  I enjoy stories of her childhood, of visiting the farm.  "That's what we called it, not Grandpa and Grandma's, but The Farm . . . My sisters and I would sit around him, and he would say, "I've got the god-damnedest best granddaughters in the world!""  She told this story with the widest soft smile.  She stills glows with the memory of being loved like that.

later . . .

    It was supposed to be the shape of the state of Iowa.  One of those state puzzle pieces was in mind, an effort to put some of my friend's lifetime of teaching into the cloth, but it never quite worked.  I knew it, ignored it, waited for it to work itself out. Turns out it needed help.

    Sometimes a little undoing, sunshine, and time can make a big difference.

iowa memories

    Well, it has been dark and gray, hard to take photos, and the two sides of "Iowa" may be as done as they're going to get.  Or maybe I just need to take a break from it, and give a late birthday gift.  Cursed deadlines.

    I can tell you the What and the Why of each little area on it, but when I look at the whole of the front, it seems a jumbled up disconnected collection of thoughts.

    I suppose memories are like that sometimes.

the symmetry of time

    Working on the last strip for "Iowa".  

    It was over twenty-five years ago when Janie introduced me to the friend that "Iowa" is for.  I was in my late twenties, my friend was around fifty.  She was the director/founder of the school that Janie worked at, and where I would work for the next 23 years.  I found her to be smart, intimidating, and too authoritative, but I liked her.  She thought I was smart, down to earth, and had problems with authority, but she liked me.  We're both Irish, we both liked that.  Over the years we had our ups and downs, me saying no to her, her saying I was stirring things up and maybe I should go, but there was always mutual respect.  After Janie died, we found a new piece in our relationship, friendship.  It has grown over the many seasons, especially after she stepped down from heading the school.

    Yesterday we talked about old times, as we often do.  She reminisced about my being down to earth, smart, and how great it was when I would stand up to authority.  I shared my admiration for her brilliance, and appreciation for how she always took charge of situations and remained in control of things.

    It's swell how time balances things out.

full spectrum weekend.

    These old prints are so dang cheerful.  Even my usual blue-gray self is enjoying this trip along a vintage rainbow.

    This last weekend the guys were gone for 27 hours!  There was lots of time for stitching, reading, evening with a friend, a walk in the bright cold, spotting an eagle perched atop a tree, and even a little cleaning (when you can see the dust on the mantel from across the room, it's time).  

    There was an unusual amount of slowing and noticing of the pretty prints, and even the pins in sunshine.

same thing, different backgrounds

    Thinking of turning "Iowa" into a pillow.  

    Thinking that a simple patchwork might be a nice balance to the busyness of the other side.

    Thinking with a friend, about the kids at school.  

    Thinking that it might be easier if I knew which kids had tough stories, that knowing might help me to be more patient sometimes. 

    She thought it would be easier if I just went into it thinking that they all have a story, because they do. We all do.

 

    Thinking that I love having a brilliant thoughtful friend.

dots and lines

    "Draw the lines, Woman!   You gotta connect the dots!"

     (Overheard during math, from an exasperated fourth grade boy to a confused fourth grade girl.)

    Continuing to make connections between the old fabrics of "Iowa".  I can see that the possibilities are endless, and that I will have to make myself stop, or make it a belated birthday gift.  (I'm known for that.)

    A big thank you to all who have come by recently.  Your thoughts and sharings lightened the weight of it all, as did seeing that boy's smiling face this morning, while he worked at his math again.  I love the ways we can all hold each other.  It's very swell.

    P.S.  I used the word "swell" with a group today.  They didn't know what it meant.  "It's like 'terrific'."  Still, they had no idea what I was talking about.  "It's like 'great'."  

    "Oh!  Swell is like 'dope'!"  

    I just looked it up.  It means cool or awesome, who knew?  We are all finding our way through this dot-to-dot life together.