handstories

Season

    "Into the Blue Wood"

    Lists are being made, and lost, and rewritten.  Things I might do, should do, want to do.  Probably it's the "mights" that should be focused on.  All of the unknowns are piling up this week, the maybes.  It's hard to think of how to move forward.

    This is Ezmerelda, she's about two inches square, with some of Deb's cloth and thread, and a tiny moon scrap from some Liberty of London fabric from that family trip years ago... That was such a wonderful trip, especially the day with Blandina...

    The governor has announced that students will have the option to be back in school part time in two weeks, but no one knows what that will look like.  Will Moon finish his senior year outside of his bedroom?  We'll see.  I find myself happy that he might have the chance to be with friends, and anxious about risk and change.

    Stitching in my blue room keeps me going, keeps some of the anxiety at bay.  It's something that I can and want to do.

    One of the last things that I do before a shop update is to write the name of the piece, sign and date the back.  In an attempt to write the simple short name of "Hana" on this one, the pen went awry.  There was no fixing it, so the backing was removed and replaced.  It was nice that something could be fixed so easily.

    I long for a routine and rhythm for all of us again.  To know what days and things will look like.  I wonder if it's possible anymore?

spring fever

    "Florence," or "Flo" if you're friends.  

    Strange bouts of insomnia going on, balanced with naps and marathon sleeps.  So the days are spent in punch-drunk delirium or sleep hangovers.

    Which leads to very slow stitching.  These scraps were pinned together in a pile.  No memory of why, what intention or plan there might have been for them?  Maybe there wasn't one?  Maybe I just liked the combination?  I still do.

    There was a delicious dinner on a wonderful rooftop deck with friends...root vegetable soup, frites, brussels sprouts, and citrus olive oil cake with berry compote.

    "Hana" in spring.

    I am not, don't want to be, but need to figure out how to be a better business person.  There, I've said it out loud.  Maybe now it will magically happen?

Still a hero forever

    Yesterday texts and emails with the news... Beverly Cleary has died, just a few weeks shy of her 105th birthday.  I burst into tears, went outside to say it out loud to a friend, and cried again.  And now, while writing this, some more- sadness in knowing that she is gone, but mostly for the overwhelming joy she brought into my life, my family's, and millions of others.

    This is from the post that I wrote ten years ago, the day after my birthday...

    "Beverly Cleary, and her "Ramona" character, have long been heroes of mine.  Growing up, I loved those books.  I read Ramona the Pest to my husband on our honeymoon. 

     During a dark time, I read her autobiography,  A Girl From Yamhill.  I was surprised to discover that she didn’t grow up in a warm fuzzy Ramona family, but still went on to write wonderful books that make children so happy.  It gave me hope.  I wrote to her.  She wrote back a lovely thoughtful message with more hope.

     Soon after, working in a first grade class, I shared the letter, love of all things Cleary, and my hope that in spite of my lack of a Ramona family, that maybe I could someday do something that would make children happy.  In unison the circle of children suddenly said, “But you do make children happy!”  Oh!

     Twentyish years later, I met a friend of hers and shared my story.  “I’m going to see her soon,” she said, “Write her again, tell her all of this.”  I did.  That was about a year ago.  Mrs. Cleary is 95 yrs. old, I did not expect a response.  Her friend said that she was pleased with the letter.  That was enough.

     Yesterday I went to the mailbox.  A postcard.  A very happy birthday indeed."

    I hope that she was surrounded by all of the love and joy that she gave to so many others.  Thank you, Beverly Cleary.

Blue & potatoes

    Before the boat it looked quite desert-like with its soft colors dyed by Tina, Deb and Laura.  There was quite a long ponder as to what might be in the wide open pink space?  At first, a boat washed ashore onto dry land.  Fortunately, the sea rolled in, silk from Richard that I dyed in indigo.  

    It's been good and fun to dip into new color combinations lately, but I do find that after each wading there is a craving for the familiar comfort of blue.  

    And now for the nature portion of our show...

    The birthday "card" from Blue arrived.  Yes, a real potato.  It came inside of a mailer labeled "The Best Gift Ever".  Inside was a shiny gold box holding the spud, with a message from him written on the other side.  This is so my family.  I texted him, "You're so weird!  And I'm so glad!" 

    He has always had a thing for potatoes.  You can't imagine how happy he was to discover blue potatoes, there was a potato costume for Halloween at age nine, and in high school his email address included the words "bluepotato".

    A sprig that K brought home from a walk.  The smell is delicious.

    Speaking of delicious... stitching into this silky moon gift from Jude... sigh... like melting.  A very soft thin cloth.  This one has so many tiny stitches, some to include the whole rainbow spectrum, others not needed for design or stability, but because I just didn't want to stop.

More cake, rope & a boat

    This year's birthday season came to a close last night with German chocolate cake made by Moon and a family visit with virtual Blue.

    A new boat, sailing into, or with, springtime.

    I had forgotten some of the rope story...  It all started with this photo and a text from my brother to my sisters and me last April.  What you need to know:  My dad's name was Pat, both of them were in the volunteer fire department of our hometown, my brother's son (D) is now in one in his town, and that my family likes to tell stories.  Here's my brother's in his somewhat edited words...

    "Ok, good morning, prepare for some rambling, or delete now...  Couldn't sleep so have been cleaning shop since 5am and drinking COFFEE.  Weather has been 68-74 the last 10 days and thank goodness it's raining today- makes this quarantine more bearable?  At least it feels ok to sit in/at home.  Shop's clean, drawers organized, and drill bits all sharpened.

    "I said rambling right?  When I resigned from the fire department in February, after 35 years, I cleaned out my turnout pockets, came home and tossed it all in box."  ("turnouts" are what fire fighters call their uniform pants tucked into boots, partially turned inside out, with suspenders dangling on the sides, all standing ready to be stepped into and pulled on quickly.)

    "This morning in my puttering, I mean cleaning, I found I needed a section of rope to hang my gnomes on.  The ones I kept from Pat's (Dad's), as the original rope had rotted away (see photo).  I recalled my "turnout rope" (see photo).  Now you ask what is a turnout rope? 

    "Always carry a piece of rope in your turnouts, that way you'll have it when you need it," Pat-ism (Dad had A LOT of sayings).  To tie off a ladder, a hose or whatever.  On one call Pat borrowed my rope (guess who didn't have his), tied open a door, and let it get burned up when we were pulled out of the structure.

    So I proceeded to give him crap about my rope... And where was his rope?  We know who lost mine, etc.... 

    One drill night in a classroom, he sat and end braided a new section of rope.  Not quite half the class watched him- fascinated as they had never seen end braiding and they still weren't sure why or what he was doing?  Near the end of class Pat came over to me, in front of everyone, and handed it to me.

    "Your f---ing rope, don't lose it again!"  A good laugh.  It's still with me.

    It seems funny, I carried that simple piece of rope and used it Many times for 33 years.  I'll never need it for turnouts again.... Can't decide whether to hang the gnomes with it or....  D. can't use it as now everyone carries synthetic webbing....whatever.

    See rambling....simple things that somehow make us tick."

    Love this rope more and more.
 

Waterside gifts

    Dad's birthday was/is (?) the day before mine.  Something that I both loved and hated growing up.  Things were often tangled for me because of it.  The feelings about it all continued into adulthood, making the days leading up to my birthday hard (especially for those around me).  This year was the second one without him, it turns out that my pre-birthday angst doesn't require his physical presence.

    Those who know me best are used to it.  At least this year I saw it coming, headed most of it off at the pass by saying "Yes!" and "No." as needed and wanted, and in the end it was much shorter and less of everything than usual.  

    And yesterday began beautifully... 

    Sunrise.  For all kinds of reasons, the family celebration will be on Sunday, so at sunrise I headed to the ferry.

    Stepping onto the boat, stopping to snap this photo of the city, a ferry worker shouted at me to not stop there, to move to the other side.  I wanted to shout back at her, "Why are you yelling at me?!  It's 7:30 in the morning and it's my birthday!"  I just apologized and moved on.  She was just doing her job.

    The day was spent stitching and talking with my friend in her sweet little house again,

    Beside the bluebird figurine and watching the sparrows, chickadees and crows outside,  

    In a red velvet chair.

    Returning home last night there were surprises waiting in the mailbox.  Nancy kindly and thoughtfully sent a book who's title has often called to me, and now I'll finally be able to read.  The rope is from my brother.  Take note of the two ends, they were done by Dad.  

    A kind of knotting-weaving that secures the ends from fraying, and can create a strong loop.  I didn't know about this until my brother mentioned it in a conversation after Dad died.  I was fascinated, by the skill and the way it wove into Dad's story...  How in In the early years of Mom and Dad's marriage, with a new baby (me) and struggling to make ends meet... Dad would go down to the docks on the weekends to fish, and offer his knot making skills to other fishermen.  I can imagine him sitting there with his line in the river, while turning ropes into new tools and a few dollars.

    So things shifted this year.  Some anger and sadness set-aside, a few holes filled in with a little more forgiveness, understanding and story.  

    I'm so glad to have this, to be able to hold it and think of Dad making useful and beautiful things with his hands.

More flowers

    Hill as home.  Stitch as song.

    Isn't this cloth dyed by Tina a glorious color?  Fuchsia, magenta, cerise?  And Deb's thread pulling all of the colors together?

    The last two mornings drawings have been of something on my table, still not looking at the paper.   I haven't forgotten that I said I would share more about this painting practice, but I'm still gathering/finding words about it. 

    Actually, I've been very frustrated about words this week, that I can't seem to pull them into the shape of what I want to say.   It takes so much work to get to the root of things, at least about myself. 

    "They Returned in Song & Starlight"

    There was a moment of seeing something clearly the other day.  Two friends asked about finding a way/time to celebrate my birthday.  I did my usual, "Oh, that's nice, I don't know, we'll see...."  Later, after seeing my horoscope for the week, "Your desire to make sure no one is left out or lonely...." , and I thought to myself, isn't that the truth that I do that, and then thought, isn't it the truth that I don't do that for myself, and how hard I work to not take up space or want, to not be seen as all of those words that I sometimes still believe about myself.

    I've probably circled around this topic here before, but this time I reached back out to my friends and said, "Yes."

    Sometimes, after stretching and trying something new, it's really comforting to sail back home in, and to, a comfortable spot.

Day to Day

    Friday afternoon...  I did not see this one coming at all.  Was really loving the colors of the base patchwork (including a Threadcrumbs moon), and went looking for hill cloth.  The flower was the right color, and the curve of the framing border suggested a hill shape, and those hot pink dots... There was a "What if?" moment, and then a going.

    Saturday morning... A hard morning- a household weariness over everything and all of the unknowns, and nothing really that can be done.  Definitely was not feeling the red flower.  Said to myself, "You should work on something that's going to work," but kept on.

    Starting with saving the inside of the hill, the patchwork that I liked so much, using Jude's "managing layers" technique.  

    A moment of debating stars, dots or crosses for the sky, and then a yes to it all.

    "What a Difference a Day Makes"

    It could have been named lots of things- Believing, It Was There All Along, Holding Hope, or Almost.  

    Next...

Come what may

    This log cabin happened while spending a couple of hours in a hospital waiting area.  (K was having a routine procedure that he needed driven home from.)  There were a handful of us waiting, with an occasional hospital workers stopping by to eat at the tables near the window.  One woman made several laps past me, slower and slower.  I don't know if she was stretching or trying to see what I was doing?  Not feeling social (it was early), I didn't make eye contact to find out.  

    This was the moment when I noticed that the last piece had been stitched onto the to the wrong other side.  It happens.   I thought about moving it, so that it could be an extension to the sky, a place for more stars.  Too much trouble, just work with it.  It needed a quiet something to fill in some of the space.  Scraps of colors other than blue would pull the eye too much. 

    So, more blues, a little different, with a bit of variation- texture, pattern, and stars after all.

    I like making a base with no idea of what might come.

Biding

    "Their stories were as old as the stars"  These hills seem like very good friends to me.

    Odds and ends days...

    After days and days, taxes are done.  K does them.  I tiptoe around in denial and guilt and try to answer occasional questions.  Until he hands me my part to do (for the shop), and then I whine and tell myself that I'll do a better job of tracking things this year (again).

    Moon busies himself with school and music.  He's taught himself the guitar, ukulele and is currently making sweet (sometimes quite high-pitched) sounds with the tin whistle.  He's also often practicing and/or recording songs for the high school spring musical that will be online.  I love hearing him sing.  His gifts are definitely not from my side. 

    A moody ninth block for the moon cabin stack.  Spiraling out counter-clockwise...  A moon from Jude, Deb's dyeing, friend's scrap, starry gift from K when I was pregnant with Blue, unknown, Maiwa polka-dots (I miss the annual visit to their $5.00 a bag scrap bin), two dyed by a woman somewhere in Washington- bought at quilt show market years ago (wish I could remember her name), and a leftover print from my William Morris phase in the 90's.

    As for me, it's cloth and thread, with a little painting, with a little housekeeping and dinner cooking thrown in.  

    A gathering.  I wonder if they're six feet apart?