handstories

Wings for Michael

    Thank you, everyone for all of the kind supportive comments on yesterday's post.  I love how we hold hands in this circle.

    Last night cloud and wing shapes were basted on.

    This morning I woke up early and wanted to get right to stitching- to see if the ideas might work, and with a little anxiety about getting this done by the July 8th deadline.

    Feathers were basted all day long, with thoughts of Michael.  Thinking of the cloud angel he saw.  Imagining him in wings, rising to a better world where he might be free.

    Moon looked at Michael's photos, listened to his story, and is taking an interest in this piece.  That does my heart good.  He'll turn eighteen next month, the same age Michael was when he was killed.  This project breaks and fills my heart.

Michael Orlandus Darrion Brown (1996-2014)

    A few weeks ago, I volunteered do more stitching for the Social Justice Sewing Academy, this time for their remembrance projects for victims of violence and their families.  When I signed up, the projects were just being formed, I really thought I was signing up to work on a lap quilt of a victim's clothing for their family.  Something cozy and comforting, but said I was willing to do whatever I could within my skill set.

    On Saturday a request to make a square in honor of Michael Brown came.  Michael was shot to death by a police officer in Ferguson, MO, he was just eighteen.  Upon reading the email, I was overcome, overwhelmed, and sure that I couldn't do it.  Also, on instagram, I had seen the first finished square for this project.  It was beautiful and expertly created- a photograph in cloth.  I really couldn't do that.  I replied that while I felt humble and grateful for the opportunity to participate, I was not sure I had the skills required to do Michael or the project justice.

    While waiting for the reply (which was lovely and encouraging), I began reading everything I could find about Michael.  At first, I was done in by stories of the shooting, but then found this NYT article and a few others that shared more about Michael's story. 

    What I kept coming back to is that he was just a kid.  Born two years before Blue.  Like Blue, Michael was born in May, was 6' 4", loved video games, music and hanging out with friends.  He had just graduated from high school, with plans to start college in a few weeks. 

    Earlier that summer he had called his dad and stepmom in the middle of the night to describe the after-storm clouds that he was looking at.  He said that he saw an angel in them, being chased by Satan and running into the face of God.  "Now I believe." he told them.

    So, with a mama's heart, I've started a square for Michael, and will try to hold all of this.

    Michael Brown was just a kid, who had hopes and an openness to wonders in this world.

 

wonderings

    How small could they be and still look like trees?

    What if stars really were this big?

    Why did it take so long to spend only one evening stitching a strip of fabric to the bottom of a too-short sheet, so that it can stay tucked in all night?

    What kind of seam is this?  (I thought it was a sloppy french seam, but after quick research, it seems (ha) not.)

    Why are buttercups so delightful?

    How it's possible to get lost in a small moon for hours?

crows & cracks

    That storm is still on my mind, looking at the images from it, trying to capture the fractured brilliance of the lightning.

    Today started dark and rainy...dreary.

    K. goes for a walk most mornings.  Lately he's been having encounters with crows.  Along one block they yell and swoop at him, close enough to feel the wind off their wings.  He wrote the crow guy from the newspaper.  A reply came with possible reasons, such as a nearby nest.  He said that they won't attack if you look at them.

    This morning there were three crows cawing in a repeated cacophony outside our house.  Over and over.  Something was wrong.  K. left for his walk with his hood on.  He returned a minute later.  There was a dying crow in the parking strip.  I called animal control to see what to do.  She thought it was probably a fledgling with parents guarding it, and it would be fine.  "I don't think it's fine."  Fledglings can look pretty bad, she said.  I sent a photo.  She called back saying it wasn't fine at all, and could we get it into a box and bring it in?

    When I went back out to get it, it was face first in the grass, dead.  The other crows were silent (I'm hoping they were friends, not foes).  A few minutes later, returning with a shovel to carry it to the woods behind our house, it was on its back, face up in the rain.  (I wonder what happened?)  I put it in the woods and thanked it for its spirit.

        A search for "What does a dead crow mean?" led to this, "While many believe that seeing a crow is a harbinger of death, others say the presence of a dead crow means the end of bad things and the beginning of all things new and good. ... There are also websites claiming crows symbolize change, intelligence, prophecy or strength."

    Oh, I hope so.

"Struck & Still Standing in Starlight"

balancing things

    Yesterday brought news for us, not unexpected, but still, it has tilted things.

    At the same moment a beautiful email came, from a soul who does such good in the world, creating space for healing.  It was a reminder that in the big view of things we are ok.

    The rest of the day was spent stitching, finishing up pieces, thinking about the many possibilities for how things might go. 

    There was a new start, too, and a recognition of that moment at the very beginning of a cloth, when I don't know what will happen, and of how much I love the wide openness of that.

      Gratefulness for Jude's moons, star and scraps, Deb's cloths and threads, Tina's cloth, and so much for the centering circle of this community, oxo.

small somethings

"A Sky of Love"

"Heaven's Heart"

    These two pieces were stitched through the storms of this week- society's and personal.  I have almost no memory of making them, which probably speaks to stress levels.  Posts were made here and on Instagram.  Posts were deleted.  I'm second guessing every move and thought.  In the big picture, things are ok here.  In the big picture, things are not ok for so many.

    I keep thinking of the students at the last school I worked at.  Thinking about how many of those young children were living with injustice in many forms.  How justifiably angry and/or hopeless many of them were.  I wonder where and how they are now?

    These two sky stories will go into the shop tomorrow.  100% of the sales of these cloths will be donated to the Social Justice Sewing Academy ( @sjsacademy ).  There are many ways to support this organization- volunteer to stitch a remembrance quilt for families who have lost a loved one to violence, embroider a young person's square, donate, etc.  Please take a look at all of the good important work they are doing in "connecting young people with the opportunity to engage with issues of social justice through sewing."

heaven's heart

    Yesterday morning I awoke to the rain.  Everyone was still sleeping.  Flinging open the studio window, I stood there listening, smelling and hearing the low rumble on its way.  (The photo is a screen shot from the video I took when the thunder and lightning were coming one after another.) 

    I love a good storm, but all I could think of was that the Sky/God/Universe was grieving, that there is so much sorrow and angst right now that the heart of the heavens is breaking.

    It rained all day... and then an alarm went off on all three of our phones...

    We turned the news on...

    And this is just Seattle.  

    

    It's almost midnight.  It's still raining.

stars & stuff

    Looking through a pile of starts, I found this, and couldn't remember much about it.

    Old blog posts reminded me that it was going to be a star blanket, with stars stitched daily onto it, started sometime in 2017.  Oh, well.

      A couple of collages, not my usual thing to do, but it was fun to play.

    There was an urge to make a face, something I usually shy away from.

    She's only got one eye so far, I may be afraid to go on.

    Still working on the things I love book.  It's been fifty days, there are 38 things so far.

    How it feels a lot these days.

    Things are quite unfocused.  Today a few small skies came into being, that helped.

some story of Story

    It was finished on Saturday.

    Most of yesterday was spent curled up in it- reading, knitting, petting the cat, napping, and finally sleeping under it.

    I know it's not a complicated or fancy blanket, but I made it for me, from my stories and those I love, and it makes me so happy.

    There are lots and lots of places where the stitches run into, cross, or weave to and away from each other in odd inconsistent ways. Unplanned.   

    I don't mind.  I kind of like the meeting places of selves from different days and moments.

    My crazy wonky stitches make me happy.  Sometimes they were lines of getting through, carrying on or finding purpose, and other times- like a laugh of "I'm here!  Having a good time, making marks of myself!" 

   It was started in October 2018, because someone told me to make myself a quilt.  I rolled my eyes at her, but a week later stitched the first few squares.  In a blog post I wrote, "Maybe a very slow quilt, a square here and there, of cloths that are gifts, memories, and loved.  A way to hold them, and eventually they might hold me back.  We'll see."

    It's a good blanket.  (And there are a few stories about this old bed to tell on another day.)

Binding Story

    Not wanting to cover up the edges of the squares on the "Story" blanket with binding, I quilted up to about an inch or so all around it.  When that was done, the three layers (squares, flannel and backing) were trimmed even with each other.

    Four inch wide strips were folded in half and slid between the squares and flannel layer.

    A row of stitching through all the layers.

    Followed by more rows, filling in that unquilted inch or so.

    With the quilting finished on the squares side, it was flipped over.

    The binding folded over and whip stitched into place.

    A finial whip stitched row on the front (just to be secure, or because it meant being able to keep going on it for longer).

    This shows the finished edges from both sides.  Three sides are done.  Probably another day or two for the last one, or maybe I'll stitch another few rows into the binding on the back to keep it going?

    No stories today, but I have been working on writing down a long ago travel misadventure, told a friend on the phone the other night.  We had such a good laugh from it, she made me promise to write it down.  It's so much longer on paper, and I'm not sure it's as funny without my dramatic presentation.  We'll see.

    I'm noticing that more stories are being shared these days.  There's not a lot to share with nothing much going on in most of our lives, the same people, activities, walls... day after day... so the past is coming out to entertain us more and more.  Moon has been shocked to find out how many times teenage K. and I broke up before finally settling down, a friend wanted to hear all about my Camp Fire girl days, and my mom shared (for the first time!) Dad's strange proposal.

    I've always said stories can carry us through...