handstories

just when you think you've got nothing...

    A new place to wander.  Summer's indigo scraps and a ThreadCrumb moon (about 13 x 13").

    There's been a lot of forehead furrowing by K. and I about Moon's future plans.  K. keeps telling me to not say anything, that it will push his heels deeper in, but I can't seem to help myself.  So, the other night, jokingly, I suggested a different idea.  When he didn't react, I stepped out onto the ice, slowly and carefully saying some of the reasons why I want this to happen for him.  He seemed to be listening, so, bravely (or foolishly), I kept going... 

    "I just want the world for you..."

    Finally, I stopped, held my breath and hope that I hadn't cemented the deal for his original plans, and turned to busy myself with making dinner.

    And then...

    "Mom, I love you, too." 

    I managed to keep the happy cry in in until he left the room.

    And, he's looking into and considering our idea.

a blur of Joy

    The wedding was in beautiful Whistler, BC.

    Everything sparkled.

    And twinkled.

    And glittered.

    Young and old danced and sang until midnight.

    Including Moon and me!  I hadn't danced in years and years...  It was a perfect party. 

    I loved every minute of it-  all of the details from tying ribbons around the bouquet to into her hair, cutting fleecy "snow" for the stumps we attendants sat on, convincing the bartender that even though they only ordered wine, "surely" there was a bottle of bubbly somewhere for the happy couple (there was!), talking with strangers (who felt like family), the ceremony, dinner, dancing, watching everyone be so very happy (the couple, Moon (who charmed all of the girls, from five to thirteen), everyone) ...All of it.  I couldn't stop smiling.

    Before falling to sleep, I wrote "Joy, pure joy!"

    We came home Sunday night, and I slept for eleven hours, and then yesterday, began really stitching again, all day long.

    I'm back, and feeling better than I have in months.

happy stories

    Quilting of my "Story" blanket has begun.  The first real stitching in a couple of weeks.  I feel rusty, out of practice.  There is no plan, just taking the needle wherever it wants to go in the moment.  Finding rhythm again.  

    I don't want to, and/or shouldn't, think or write about the things that have been going on here.

    Instead, a story...

    A few summers ago, hanging out with a dearest friend.  She was wondering about her future, wanting to have a partner in her life, "I don't want to get married again, but I look around and wonder where my people are?" 

    She wondered if Mr. X was it?  NO.  We agreed he was fun, but definitely not Big Picture material.  Maybe Mr. Z was as good as it was going to get?  "No," I said, "He's a good guy, reasonable, as close as you've come, but not IT."

    Suddenly, in my mind, I saw Him...  Sometimes, I sense things- think or dream of someone and they call, wonder about something and it's in the news the next day... that sort of thing.  There have been a couple of times when I've freaked folks out with my knowing, and my guys all roll their eyes about it, but don't deny it's true anymore.  But this was different, not a feeling, or a dream, it was a knowing.

    His back was to me, looking out of the window of their condo at the lights of the city.  It was the clearest, most certain vision I've ever had.

    "He's coming.  He's going to be older than you.  He won't work with you, but he'll be in the same field, so he'll understand the passion you have for your job.  He'll have been in a long term relationship, so he'll know how to be in one again.  There will be kids, but grown, so you'll have the grandparent experience.  He's coming."

    A month later, she started getting to know a man from work.  He was in a different department, and some years older than her.  His wife of many years had just died the year before, and he had three grown children.

    After a few interactions and weeks, her feelings were clearly growing.  "I think this is him," I told her.

    A month later, she said, "I think I love him!"

    "I know, and you're going to marry him."

    They've moved into a condo looking towards the lights of the city, and the wedding is in a few weeks.  

    Last night, K. and I joined them for dinner.  For the first time, it was with his kids and their significant others.  Seeing her so happy, belonging with him, surrounded by her people, was joyful.

    For the first time, in a long while, I went to bed smiling, feeling filled with happiness.  Something had lightened, and hopefully, it will continue to lift and float away...

an enchanted evening

    The Cotton Building in Port Townsend was a beautiful space, and the rain stopped in time.

    So pleased to have had my little squares next to the wonderful work of Tininha and Tracy.

        Tininha's weavings are as joyful and passionate as she is.

    Tracy's patchwork brings to mind the wonder and fascinating stories of her life.

    I loved how children were drawn to the textiles.

    My favorite moment came near the end, looking around the room...  Seeing K. (who is such a good guy, and who was my rock around this whole thing- supporting, encouraging, enduring a few meltdowns, and knowing how to do the credit card thingamajig!).  Across the way were my three oldest and dearest friends laughing and talking together (their support and help, before, during and after, went above and beyond, and held me together).  There had been reconnecting with people, meetings for the first time in real life, friends, and friends of friends, and such kind and generous thoughts shared... I realized how rich my life really is, that all of these folks are a part of my world, including those of you who come here and have given such heartfelt cheering-on and support, that I'm able to spend time doing something I truly love...  The night was, and my life is, so full of goodness.

    It really was a lovely evening.   

moon blue

    Almost five am.  Woke up over an hour ago.  Just before Blue's alarm went off.  An early flight for him.  K. is dropping him off at the airport right now.   Gone until Christmas.  Back to Ohio, for his senior year.  One more year and then who knows? 

        This piece was the last two days.  The moon was unexpected.

    There was actually the start of a star, first traced in soap, and then outline basted in orange thread.  After a bunch of pale blue thread beads were in, it just seemed wrong.  The moon called.

    But really, it's all about the blue, and Blue.

we do what we can

    (This is the story of the best stitching I did all week.)

    Teenage Moon asked if I could mend the knee of his jeans.  I was wary, because he likes things "just so," and because things have been strained between us lately, but very happy that he was asking (especially pleased because he had just informed me that his girlfriend can sew, but still wanted me to do it).

    I asked him if he wanted the mend to be the same color as his gray jeans, or contrasting?

        "What do you mean?"

    "A gray patch, or something very different for fun?  Like lime green?"

    Shocked at the idea, he said, "When you said contrasting, I thought you meant a black patch instead of gray."

    "Gray it is."

    So I patched in gray.  It's not perfect, but it looks good enough from a normal distance.  While finishing, I wondered if some mama love could be stitched into it, a spell for harmony and care?  Pulling out a lime green thread from the basket, and using Jude's invisible basting stitch, I put an "X" across his knee.  

    "He'll never know," I thought, "but I will."

    I put them over the back of his chair at the table.  When he came home that night, he yelled out a thanks, and then brought them into the kitchen where I was making dinner.

            "I see the lime green thread."  (Did I mention he likes things "just so" and has a great eye for details?)  Fortunately, he thought it was funny.

    "Turn them inside out," I said.  He did, and saw the "X".  "It's a kiss from your mama, some mama love for you and your knee!"

    He rolled his eyes and left the room, but there was a smile

    Heading out the door this morning, in the repaired pants, I called out, "Are you feeling the love?!"

        "Sure."

    "You mean, "Thanks, Mom, I love you, too!"?

        "Sure, bye."  (Which is Teenager for exactly that, right?)

returning & gifts

    The "Love Can Mend" pennant is back from being a part of Mo's powerful installation of love, "I Dream of a World Where Love is the Answer".  Mo's vision, talents and magic gathered together love and hope from around the world.  I wish I could have been in that room and have been surrounded by the energy of it all.

        There is some weariness going on here, just as there was in the making this, and remembering what I wrote, back in November, when sending it off to Mo, "...maybe this is how it really is.  This work and struggle for peace, healing the earth, trying to find a way through-  It doesn't usually happen because everything is a calm and hunky-dory garden of sweet peas and roses.  The ripped and rough places show us what's really going on, and call to us for mending.  For most of us, we do what we can with what we have.  Piecing together whatever kind of inner scraps we might have within.  And just maybe, all of the frayed worn bits can be brought together and worked into a kind of wholeness again."  

    While I'm sad that the gathering is over, it's been good to have it back, as a reminder that there is love and beauty in mending.

    Mo's generosity continued with the added gifts of one of her brilliant stars, bit of blue and a cloud of wedding cloth (I see some sails in there...).  And while wrapping the ties in the tree for photos, there was a sudden movement to the left, turning my head, there was a hummingbird mid-air,  eye-level, within arms reach.  We looked at each other for a split second before it zipped away, another gift.

    A heart-deep thank you to Mo and the Gathering, oxo.

home building

    Home has been on my mind a lot.  What it is, what makes one, what stays with us.

    This roller coaster called parenting... it's exhausting.  We want babies, imagine toddlers and grade schoolers, but why is little consideration given for the teen years when deciding to get on this ride?  

    This was one of those weeks.  The kind that leaves you feeling completely out of control, with your hands in the air, saying, "I have no idea, and may not even care anymore."  (He'd probably say the same.)

    Friday afternoon, with K. out of town, Moon came home from school only to head out as fast as possible to spend the evening with his girlfriend.  

    "Sit down for a minute, I haven't seen you all day..."  He wouldn't, said he couldn't, she was waiting, and he couldn't wait to get to her.

    "Be home by ten," I sighed.

        "I will...give or take," he said while sticking in his earphones and closing the door.

    Conversations have become tug-o-wars.    But then, he came home at 9:58!  Sat down, and began asking questions about love...  We talked for an hour.  I said some really smart things that I didn't even know I knew.  

    Over his shoulder, heading out of the room on his way to bed, I got an "I love you, too."

    I'm thinking that it's these lovely little scraps that hold it all together.

the strength of fragility

    I've been slowly listening to the Mary Oliver interview on On Being, backing up and re-playing parts, with a growing love for her strength and ability to focus on joy.

    This morning, listening and stitching, I heard her poem "Fourth Sign of the Zodiac" for the first time.  It was just after choosing the thread to echo and continue the few floating blue petals in the orange middle ring cloth around the sun.  How she saw and knew things most of us miss...

    This is part four...

4.
Late yesterday afternoon, in the heat,
all the fragile blue flowers in bloom
in the shrubs in the yard next door had
tumbled from the shrubs and lay
wrinkled and fading in the grass. But
this morning the shrubs were full of
the blue flowers again. There wasn’t
a single one on the grass. How, I
wondered, did they roll back up to
the branches, that fiercely wanting,
as we all do, just a little more
life.

– from Blue Horses by Mary Oliver, published by Penguin Press, 2014.

the day after.

    My dad died yesterday. He never liked Christmas.

    He’s not been well for a long time, so not unexpected, but the end was much faster than we imagined.  He’d been in the hospital since last Wednesday, struggling to breathe.  At first, we thought for a few days, like all of the other times.  Each day it changed...He'll be home on Wednesday... On Wednesday with 24 care... On Wednesday with care and hospice...“Could be two days or two years.”

    All day Christmas Eve I thought about a Christmas forty years ago…

    Standing in the kitchen, putting paper napkins into the mushroom shaped napkin holder we kids had given my mom. The phone rang. Dad answered, with the knife he’d been sharpening in his hand. His uncle had died. A father figure to him. He burst into sobs, threw his knife down on the counter, and ran from the room.  It was the first of the two times I ever saw him cry.  Startled, I dropped, and broke the napkin holder. The knife bounced into the aquarium on the counter, cracking it. Water began to pour out of the broken glass. I could hear Mom and Dad crying in their bedroom. Grabbing bowls, I scooped water and fish as fast as I could, and towels to mop the counter. 

    A text from my brother in the evening said that he was finally comfortable, and sleeping.

    I stayed up too late. K. asked why?  “Because tomorrow my dad might die. I want to stay in today.”

    Christmas morning, my brother called at 11:30. Dad was unresponsive and his body was shutting down. It could take an hour, a day, or two.  I decided to go to Oregon, to see him, to say goodbye, to see his hands one more time.

    At 12:15 I got in the car. Five minutes later, a mile from home, I pulled over to the side of the road to answer my brother's next call.  Dad was gone.  I burst into sobs, and then drove home.  Listening to Johnny Cash, we watched an old movie of him fishing, his favorite thing in the world, catching salmon.

    Ours was a broken story, he had no idea who I am, and I'm so much like him.  It was complicated, and not.

    Still…He was my dad, and I loved him.