handstories

Wishing you light✨

    A slow cloth started for Solstice, for light, for hope...a gift to myself.  A Threadcrumb moon, and a rainbow of scraps from Jude, Deb and Tina.

    Everything is as made, baked, wrapped, decorated, and decked as it's going to be.  Now it's time for sitting still and snacking on spritz cookies. 

    A Yahrzeit candle has been lit for Dad.  Tomorrow will be two years.

    The three of us will have a quiet day tomorrow, with some zooming with Blue.  There is much to grateful for here in our little blue house.

    Wishing you all peace, comfort and joy.  With love, Hazel 💙

Holding Hope

    Creating calm.  The scrap of blue silk on the top is from Deb's indigo dying.  It's like a breath of fresh air.

    The days have been dark and blustery, but there is a moment in the afternoon when the Japanese maple glows through the window.

    Connections are everywhere.

    I remember my parents going to vote when I was around twelve.  It was dark out, they were bundling up to walk the two blocks to the grade school where the voting booths were set up in the gym.  I asked them what party they were voting for.  Dad was a Democrat, Mom is Republican.  "Then why bother going at all?" I asked.

    "To cancel each other out."

    I've started naming the tree tokens.  This is Odetta, yes, after the wonderful folk singer/activist.  This morning I wept watching this.  Satyagraha.

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.

"cultivating peace"

    This is a photo of a photograph by Ishiuchi Miyako.  One of her many beautiful and poignant works on display at the Spirits Rising: Hiroshima exhibit at the Portland Japanese Gardens.

    "...documenting cherished items and clothing left behind by victims of the atomic bomb detonated in Hiroshima at the close of World War II that are now housed at the Hiroshima Peace Memorial Museum." 

    More about her work can be found here.

    We've been in Oregon for a few days visiting family.  The gardens were part of a lovely day with K.'s sister.  I hadn't been there in decades.

    The Heavenly Falls.  (To see & hear them in action go here.)

    It was a bright sunny cold day, and I don't know how to adjust for that with the phone camera, so please imagine all of the lush green that surrounded us.

    There was a view over downtown Portland, looking towards Mt. Hood.

    Such a blue sky.

alone

    There was no school the last two days, which allowed for checking many things off the to-do list, working my way through a head-cold in peace (and two boxes of tissues), and some solid quiet hours of stitching.

    Thinking about how alone can be wonderfully enough.

    And then sometimes it absolutely isn't ok at all...

    The other day in the hall at school, I saw one of the students I often sit with, when he's together enough to come to art (the one I drew trees with last month).  The last time we sat together he had shared about a wonderful vacation he went on during winter break.  I later learned that the vacation probably never existed and that his life has been scattered to the wind and into uncertainty, without anyone to count on.  

    We greeted each other with "Hi" and I asked him how things were going?  He gave a so-so sign and an "Eh."  

    "Me, too," I said, squeezing his hand, "Hope I'll see you in art today."  

    "Me, too," he said.

    He didn't make it to art that day.  I'll hope for next week.

love can mend

    When Mo sent out an invitation to join in the making of her installation "I Dream of a World Where Love is the Answer," I had visions of a little boat on a calm sea under twinkling starlight, all being peacefully stitched on lovely summer days.

    Well, none of that happened.

   Giving up on the idea of making it with a peaceful spirit, it was dipped into the fading indigo vat.  After washing it, I started to iron it, and before I realized what was happening, there were holes melted into it.  At first there was panic, but then Mo's phrase "our beautiful broken world" came to mind, and it began to take shape.

   An earth of scraps and stitch was made. followed by a golden moon with the warm sun below, a few patches of deep space and starlight, and a scattering of stars across it all.

    And while making, there was thinking, confusion, and a wondering if... 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.

    With a heart full of gratitude for Mo's vision and spirit, I'm sending wishes and prayers for, and into, the bigness of the Universe and our own small wished for cosmoses within it... May they all be patched and held together with our threads of hope and love. 

peace dreaming

    It seems I'm lost in the last hazy days of summer.  Focus is hard to grasp.  The other day I had to pull over to remember where I was going and how to get there...to a place I go every other week.  

    Suddenly autumn has arrived.  There's a golden edge to the leaves and a welcomed coolness in the air.  It will probably be good for me once school starts, to be in a routine again, be accountable...but I can't imagine it right now.

    In an effort to find some grounding, stitching has finally begun on my pennant for Mo's  Gathering- her collaborative creation "I Dream of a World Where Love is the Answer."  Mo's deep and wide visions, eye and talent for the tiniest details, combined with her deep heart and love for this world and all it holds, are sure to make this installation an amazing gift to behold.  

    The satin was dipped in the fading moments of last summer's indigo, leaving it with a silvery shimmer.  I'm not quite sure how this will go... imagining pieced peace filled spheres (planet and moon thoughts), and there will be stars, many many stars to map the story, guide the way, pin hopes on, and for wishing...

sea relief

    We had been talking about a vacation, but not doing anything to make it happen.  On Saturday I was looking at places by the sea, and by the end of the day a short trip to the Oregon Coast was planned and booked for later in the month.  

    Yesterday, in the jury pool room, my number was called, they handed us a questionnaire (not a good sign).  It asked if we would have a problem being on a trial that involves a death?  And if we were available for most of the month?

    My insides went into knots.  I wrote that we had plans, and had paid for, a family vacation.  I focused on the ocean, seeing myself there, hoping K. and Moon wouldn't be going without me, that I'd be looking at and listening to the waves, rather than crime scene photos and mourning family members.  I was excused!

    Once home, I looked up the case.  Horrific.  Such relief not to be a part of it.  I am serving on a different trial for the next week or so.  Fine.

    All of this put me completely out of sorts last night, that and this being Blue's last week home until Christmas, and it's hot.  We always go around the table and say something we're grateful for before dinner.  "I'm just sad," I said, and left the table crying.  

    Later, I gathered these cloths and a new idea is forming- a booklet-talisman-prayer-cloth sort of thing.  I'll take it with me to court today.

    Wishing you all, and the world, some pieces of peace.

sights & sounds & silence

    In the middle of my time on the island, I realized that this was the first time I have ever been away alone overnight.  It was very deeply swell.  

    No internet, housework, appointments, to-do lists, etc...  Just the wind in the tall tall trees, eagles, hawks, a heron, birds calling at dusk, and later frogs in the darkness.  

    There was stitching, successful fire building, and a delicious second breakfast.

    Painting happened for the first time in weeks, bad painting, but still, it was good to move a brush.  The guys thought I was crazy for bringing that little Christmas cactus along, but after two years of waiting for blooms, and having them finally show up last week, I wasn't going to miss a minute of them.

    And there was time in a fairy tale with a couple of friends for company... one of Jude's strays marked the spot, while Velma's bear weighted the pages of Snow & Rose by Emily Martin.  ("Snow and Rose didn't know they were living in a fairy tale...people never do.")

    And more stitching and some writing, too...lots of beginnings.  

    During a nice long beach walk with the guys once they came, there was some wondering about how to stitch barnacles? 

        It was all really really good.

gifts of peace

    Liz sent a wonderful Peace package containing one of Barry's beautiful leaves, a lovely letter-pressed message by Fiona, and a gorgeous piece of her own hand dyed silk.  Each item made with an artist's hand and heart, carrying hope for our broken world as a part of the International Day of Peace on September 21.  Liz shared about it here.

    I am touched by their spirits and generosity, and as I said to Liz, I am ever grateful and uplifted to be a part of this beautiful community.

    The silver sail of peace is being exchanged for one made of the deep cochineal pink of Liz's cloth.  Both shimmer with tenderness and passion.  

    Thank you so very much, Liz, Barry and Fiona.