handstories

Friendly Ghosts

    "Floating into Being"

    A happy accident led to a lovely reunion. A couple of weeks ago, I sent a text by speaking rather than typing and hit send before realizing it was going to someone whose name sounded very similar. This someone was a classmate in those painting classes at the local college years ago.  One text led to another, until the two of us, along with a third friend from the classes, were sitting down for lunch this weekend.

    Not having seen either of them for more than five years, it was fascinating to me that my usual social anxieties didn’t kick in (for the most part). I rarely go back in time to meet up with people. It’s usually not about the person from the past, rather more of a fear of running into old, unwelcomed ghosts of myself.

    But this time, there was calm. Near the end of our time together, I told them so, realizing that being with them took me back to those calm, peaceful hours of painting in that classroom. I had forgotten how much I loved being there. 

    "Spells for Well-Being"

    In the Studio...  These two, they are like an old married couple, how they check in with, keep track of, and bicker with each other. And then there are moments like this, when he brought his drawing to show her, and she gave him sincere admiration.  It’s such a gift to be there.

    The Studio has moved to a new location (much further away, challenging my driving anxiety).  A new big room that is all their own, with no need to take down tables, pack everything away, etc. at the end of the day so that another class can come in afterwards. Happily, the artists all seem at peace with this shift.  

    "Into the Unknown"

    Working in the bigness of this (13 1/2 inches square), felt very good.  (With thanks to Jude, Deb, and Tina for their generous sharing in this piece and/or those above.)

    There is also a new book to share.  I will try to put it here in a couple of days.  Typepad was a struggle today. 

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”

 

Our people

    Hills were in my dreams two nights in a row this week.  In both, they were beautiful, rolling, green hills with a scattering of big old trees full of pink blossoms.  

    In the first one, in a ballgown, on my way to a party with a high school boyfriend, I noticed a wayward sheep.  Getting ahold of its collar, I wrestled and wrangled it on the hillside, trying to get it where it belonged.  Not easy in a ballgown.  The second dream was much calmer, just admired the scenery.  I enjoyed both of them.

Pixie's finished painting.  

And mushrooms.

    This weeks' time in the studio had a few moments...

    Near me, a woman who I hadn't connected with yet, began to fret.

    "Oh no, Oh No, OH, NO!" over and over.  It took a minute, but it became clear that she needed the tops taken off of her paints.  The person who usually did this wasn't there.

    "Could I take them off for you?" I asked.

    "CAN you?"

    "I can!"  What a relief for both of us.

Brette finished the top of her nine-patch pillow.

    One of the artists was worrying about her taxi ride being late.  She went out to look for it a few times.  As things began to escalate with worry, I offered to go out and look with her.  The taxi was there, but across the street and a quarter of the way down the block.

    "There it is," I told her.

    "It's supposed to be right here!"

    It quickly became clear that she would not go to the taxi, it needed to come to her.  Where it belonged.

    I scurried to the car, "You need to turn around and come to the front doors..."

    He informed me that he had called her cell twice, and that she hadn't come out, and that he now had another call to get to.

    "You NEED to get her, AT the front door."

    We went round and round a couple of times, and then he began to drive off.

    "This is NOT OK!" I yelled after him as he drove around the corner (his window was down, so he heard me).  When I got back to her, wondering what to do next, I caught sight of that yellow taxi coming back around that corner, and pulling up to the door.  Where it belonged.

    There were a few more moments of flurry and frustration on all of our parts, but she got in that taxi.

    Elizabeth choosing one of her recent paintings for a friend.

    Back in the studio, one of the artists was taking a photo of a painting with a phone. 

    "Is this your painting?" I asked him. 

    No, but he wanted a photo of it, but the phone wouldn't open.  Looking over his shoulder, I saw a message pop up on the screen.

    "Is this your phone?"  Nope.  "Where did it come from?"  He pointed at the table.  "It would probably be a good idea to put it back."  Nope.  He wanted a photo.  "Here, let's do it with my phone."  First phone went back to the table, we took the photo, he gave a thumbs up, and walked away happy.  He didn't want the photo, just to take it.

The photo.

    Later, sharing about the day with someone, they seemed baffled by my wanting to do this every week.

    "These are my people!" I told her.  "It's great finding ways to make connections with them.  I really enjoy it.  Well, maybe not the obnoxious taxi driver, although I did enjoy yelling at him!"

    She responded, "Of course you did."

A dusty picture of things

    Received the best text from a wonderful someone this morning (probably because I was thinking about him yesterday, wondering when I would hear from him again...).   It sums up some of how I feel here...

"HOLY CRAP! Hi! Good morning! Missed your birthday, missed your dad’s birthday, missed a whole bunch of other days too, including Pi Day, April Fool’s, and I think national Pizza Day too possibly—all my misses keep building up like tiny bricks and then I find myself behind this wall of “well it’s been too long” and “I’m a terrible correspondent” and those big bricks hold down the little bricks and the wall begins to feel nigh on unbreakable, but I think of you and K and the boys and the tree house and wonder about you all the time, and wonder what you are wondering about, what you are doing and making and all that…so here I am trying to break through my own wall, but I’m afraid the effort of breaking through may have taken most of my energy and now I have not much interesting to say…;) (I’m humming the tune of Tiny Bubbles but singing the words “tiny bricks…in the wall…”

Whew!  And now I have to go downstairs and head out into the world for work…but at least there is brick dust everywhere…;) I will try to keep the construction noise down to a dull roar…love."

    And so, here is some of the dust of my life...

    Deb's wonderful paints, with thanks to her for sharing them and a lovely evening with me.

    I really love watching the blue bubbles through the window on the side when it reaches the boiling point.

    It was awful.  Eventually, there is a nightmare about absolutely everything it seems.  All of my quilts and stitchings cut up into piles to be used in someone's workshop.  I was screaming.  She wasn't sorry.

    I'm working at getting healthier- moving more, and less of other things.  I get in the car as K is heading off to work in the morning and have him drop me off on the way, forcing me to walk if I want to get back home.  

    I didn't paint the frozen mother and child that were on the bench in this nightmare.

    Someone said that all of these dreams are processing my days, that they are a way of working through all of the thoughts so that I can face the next day.  I don't know.  Sometimes I wonder if my days are ways to balance out the images I dream up at night, that I try to look for light while awake so that I can face another sleep.

    Onward...  Hope you are all swell.

Reshaping

(There are all kinds of wonky things going on with photos, comments, and spacing right now.  Crossing my fingers that I found a workaround with this post...)

    

    "Holding Memories"

    Yesterday I was thinking about how my stitching is about creating possibilities.  That stories can come together to make new places.  

    Recently, when asked if they liked me, I was told that I'm "a mixed bag".  My first reaction was sad and hurt.  Then came the thoughts, "Who says that?!" and finally, "Well, who isn't?"  Realizing that every experience is a learning adventure, I decided to be grateful to know more... about others and myself.

    "Mystique" Tree Token

    I think my stitching is about believing in the possibilities of and for stories.

    "Time, love, and work.  That's all you have.  And, hopefully, a few trips to Italy."- Maira Kalman

    Maira Kalman is a favorite soul of mine.  There were hours of listening to (gobbling up) old podcast interviews with her this week (again).  She's funny, charming, wise, and so talented.  I found out that someone I know knows someone who knows her.  Even though I will most likely never meet her, just the idea that she's only a few degrees of separation away makes me giddy.

    Nights have taken on a strange pattern.  Waking around 4 am from intense dreams (a sky full of pink moons, starlit gardens, terrifying shadowy corners...), and then drifting off again around 5 am for an hour or two more of dead to the world sleep.  The morning paintings have become reflections.

    Also, I've started playing in this "seeded notebook" made a while back.

    Really, life can be rearranged and reconnected in so many ways.

Joy

    We strolled through the local botanical gardens for our anniversary afternoon. 

   A place we've gone often.  A place with memories of good and rocky times, alone and with the boys.  K likes the dahlias, for me it's the water features and wispy meadow like spots.  An old timer made a cheesy jokey compliment to me.  Something my dad would have done.  It made me roll my eyes and smile.

    "Asra" meaning "nighttime journey".

    Speaking of journeys... I'm off for the next bunch of days to attend/assist another workshop with Christine Mauersberger.  I'm looking forward to days of making and soaking in inspiration, to sitting still, spending time thinking and wondering, gathering some thoughts and sense of where I am and might want to go.  It's a tall order for a few days, but a soul can dream.

Crux

    Walnut ink painted onto cloths dyed with fresh indigo and in that turquoise wash.

 

 

    A moment from yesterday. Rainbow in my blue room (on a wall that could use repainting, just like the rest of the house), Story quilt, and the bedpost of the childhood bed. I should say childhoods...Moon’s, Blue’s, nephews, brother’s, mine, and Dad‘s in the foster home that he grew up in. 

    I’ve been thinking about the soul this week, what it is, how to stay in the space of it.  I was told that it’s a place of who we are, all we are, all we might be.  That all the things that we think and believe about ourselves are just thoughts, reactions, responses, and often judgements. So, I’m spending moments trying to step outside of thinking, and observe the What and Why.

    During the first attempt, I remembered watching Dad at his mom's wake as he struggled to grasp timelines and his past.  Suddenly, I could see the small boy of who he had been, who didn't know what had happened to his world or where his parents had gone.  It was the first true understanding of the why he was the way he was, and the beginning of feeling some compassion and forgiveness for him.

 

 

    I’m also trying to understand walnut ink.  It was dried, ironed, wetted, and then smooshed with a couple of indigo leaves and salt.

 

    What a beautiful green it was.

 

    After drying and rinsing, the rings were barely visible.

 

    And begin again.  I don't know anything about this ink.  It is from a workshop a few years ago.  Maybe I need to make my own?  Either I will figure this out or just keep the ink away from water.

    A Table Story...  Years ago, at a craft fair, M., a friend, bought the bear necklace.  I loved it too, but there was only one.  Recently, M. gave it to me.  She lives on my worktable.  Her occasional adventures are photographed and texted to M.  Yesterday she and the "Story" doll (made by Cathy Cullis years ago) celebrated the finishing of this piece under a sunny scrap of Deb's cloth with party favors of a jay feather and a piece of a tumbleweed from a road trip with M.

    It's funny how elements of stories that have been looked at over and over can suddenly take on new meanings.  That memory of Dad, after all of these years, seems to have opened a door to some understanding and compassion for me too.

"Soul Work"

    I'm keeping this one.

Not a vacation

    Had planned to take the week off from shop making. Moon was starting his summer job. After a couple of weeks, I was going to have the house to myself during the days. I was going to work on personal projects- weaving the other side of that quilt, start an indigo vat, work on gifts, catch up on blogs, clear some of the cloth chaos...

    Monday was lovely but felt pretty tired by evening.

    Tuesday morning.  I don’t remember much else about Tuesday or Wednesday.  There is a cloth by Jude hanging over the bed in the studio room.  Every so often I would reach above my head and touch the cloth and stitches, there's blue velvet in it, a comfort.

    There was a dream that Grace called.  Facetimed. Her image became a hologram, 3-D and life size. Reaching out, expecting my hand to pass through her arm, I was able to grab hold, and suddenly she was there!  “We can all be together!” I said, “The whole Circle!”

    A wonderful dream. 

Thursday's Instagram post...

Sickbed post (Day 3):

1. Cozy knees (the only cloth I’ve been near).

2. Sad lonely workspace.

3. Sickbed post (literally, ha ha).

 

Grateful for a bed in my stitching room, best quarantine view in the house (outside, not my messiness inside.)  Husband went down today, Moon is double masked & hiding in his room, holding onto hope. Very glad we are all boosted.  Feeling a smidge better this eve. Might try sitting up tomorrow… maybe lift a needle… 

 

    Friday, I sat up the whole day (in bed).  Stitched a few squares with Tina’s dyed cloths.  K is already feeling better. Just a bad cold for him. His double boosting worked, I think.  Amazingly, Moon is still the last man standing. 

    “Recovery” painted at dusk last night.  Exhausted, but so much better.  Hope everyone is well out there.  Time for a nap, oxo.

More turquoise, & tea

    First fresh indigo experiment using the salt method.  Two leaves, some salt, and a scrap of cotton (it already had some iron or walnut smudges on it) and of silk.  Enjoyed the process and results very much, thanks again, Deb!

    Played with one in my dream that night.  Something I always wanted as a kid (along with Colorforms), but never got.

    While working on the turquoise patchwork from the last post, I thought about hot pink and orange.  The next day a friend handed me this beautiful silk scarf that had accidently been chewed up by her washing machine.

    It was just the right thing.

    The green side of turquoise with shimmering velvet.  Her name is "Opal".

    Someone shared the story of when their husband first said, "I love you."  A very romantic mountain top moonlit moment.  Which triggered my own memories... I said it first to K.  Sixteen, New Year's Eve, got up my gumption and blurted out, "I realize that I love you!" 

    His reply, "That's great!"  (Heart swelled with hope.)  "I realized that I love L.!"  (Deflation of heart.)  "Isn't this great, all of this love going on!"

    No.  No, it was not great, but I put on a cheery face, bided my time (knowing that L. was not interested in him), and got my declaration four months later.  Boys.

 

    Speaking of boys.  Moon has been home a week.  He is so in love with math.  There are pieces of paper like the above scattered throughout the house, representing his attempts at sharing this passion with us.  It may as well be written in ancient Greek.  He doesn't understand that we don't understand, so we nod and smile with awe.

    It's been good to spending time with Moon, having long conversations, hearing what he's thinking about (besides math), and it's been really useful too. 

    K. has been struggling with arthritis in his hip, and the fall last January pushed it all downhill.  Replacement surgery is scheduled (The first available appointment was in November!).  The steep long staircase to the bedroom is too much for now, especially since the only bathroom is on the main floor.  I did offer to move out of my studio room, but thankfully his reply was, "There is so much wrong with that idea."  So, there's been a mattress and box spring in the living room for the last month or so.  Moon helped to move the heavy furniture into a better arrangement.  At least now the bed isn't the first thing you see when you walk in the door.

"Here in the Turquoise Sea"

    Yesterday's turquoises.  The silk waves on top of the boat were the same as the brighter back wave until they were dropped into the morning tea. 

    Stitched while singing an old family favorite from when the boys were young.  Have a listen here, I'll bet you'll be humming too...

    "...They play on the beaches the colour of peaches, there by the turquoise sea, oh, my...under a blue, blue sky..."

Turquoise

    "1: a mineral that is a blue, bluish-green, or greenish-gray hydrous basic phosphate of copper and aluminum, takes a high polish, and is valued as a gem when sky blue

    2: a light greenish blue" (merriam-webster.com)

 

    Also called sea, sky, river, jewel, lake, beach glass, pond, robin's egg, ocean, and a deeply loved blue.

 

    One of the things brought home from Maiwa's was a packet of turquoise iDye.  Really, I'm not a dyer.  There is the midsummer indigo vat and the bucket full of the neighbor's walnut husks.  But there was something about the idea of "turquoise" and it being a small packet that could be done in the washing machine that created a craving.

    Even though the directions were simple and straight-forward, I was nervous.  Waiting until K. left town for a few days, so as not to have any witnesses if it all went haywire, I went to the basement.  Before getting the load going, I accidently knocked the directions and the packet behind the washer and dryer.  There is no way to reach behind them.  Ugh.  I considered climbing on top of them and leaning way over, but wondered how long it might take for a rescue, or body discovery, if I slipped?  While wondering if it might be a sign to abandon the plan, I was reminded why you do want me with you on that desert island.  A long dowel was found, duct taped around one end (with the sticky side out), both items were retrieved, and... ta-da!

    A pile of dreams.  I wish that I had taken a before photo.

    It was a mishmash of scraps of many colors, including some of that childhood rosey soft sheet.

    Moon is home for the summer.  We are settling in, figuring out routines, remembering how to be with each other again.

    This feels like stitching fresh air...