There's been a bad case of start-itis going on around here, but finally some pieces were finished.
Trees, moons, ships, and a still life in pink. Stories of celebration, wonder, connection, and being there for yourself- the tales I tell myself over and over to carry me through.
If you're in search of a story too, they're in the shop here, thanks for taking a peek.
I love this spoon.
These are pages in progress from my book created in the workshop. (This pretty wave is an indigo gift from Deb.)
I loved how Christine's prompts gently brought focus and honing to our stories. There was an exercise that I thought would be a few quick words that turned into a rough fairy tale that helped to make a bit more sense of myself.
Another assignment, that I thought would be a short story, became a long list, and later lines in stitch, of memories in rivers, pools, lakes and the sea.
And yesterday, I took the book completely apart, and started this new page, not wanting the lessons and feelings of the gifts of this time to end.
This is the third attempt at a post. First I wrote a gruesome memory involving twins, a bicycle and a big toe. And then a sappy meandering through hill thoughts. Try, try, again...
My friend's recovery from surgery has been slow and bunny-hopping with setbacks. I drive across the bridge every few days (which has been its own adventure), and stay with her for some hours while her partner tends to other parts of their lives. Each time I pack a bag- stitching, notebook, novel, magazine (in case I can't concentrate at all). Rarely does any of it come out of the bag. We talk and talk, as she rests in bed- about selves, family, people we know, my parenting, her upcoming wedding, Maya Angelou, memories of first grade reading groups... anything and everything.
Another pink hill. I still don't know why they are in my head and heart. Fairytale like and full of childhood memories, maybe? Why the "and..."? The lines in the fabric invited a word to be written. There was an "and" discussion this week, how it's much kinder than "but...". It's true, and it will take some practice. And it makes me think of storytelling... "and then...".
And now I'm going to go pack up my bag again, and head over the bridge, to tell some more stories about who knows what...
Two snow days with no school...what a treat! Self-indulgence abounded, including hot chocolate. Yesterday there was knitting, and today one of Jude's moons is becoming a personal talisman.
Twice I had to go out and deal with foolish drivers. We live on a steep hill. If it's snowy and icy, and there are no tracks in the snow, do not try driving up or down it. It's not rocket science, people. But, if you do, I will come out with a shovel, roll my car backwards down the hill so you won't hit it, offer guidance to help you get down, and be kind (but I will raise my eyebrows at you).
I've been thinking of shrines, temples, altars. The idea of "holy" is in it, but it's more about the spirit, rather than the spiritual, a way of marking what's held dear. A cobbled indigo arch was the start, wanting there to be something roughly hewn about it.
Or maybe it's a window?
Remembering the beautiful starred ceilings in Italy (the purple painted background was made by the lovely Italian Blandina).
Also recalling the gathering that was made when a baby was wanted, after that first loss, when every breath felt like a wish. Figures and photos of blue birds, leaves, blossoms, blue sea glass, crystals...anything that felt like hope was put on a small table top. The gathering was touched every day until Blue came.
A window to memories?
I'm feeling the need for some of that kind of quiet magic again, but am unsure what's wished for? Maybe it's just a way to hold onto myself? I'll be making more of these...
Having finished the blankets, I had meant to "Christmas" the house yesterday, or today, but the only thing that has happened is that the Christmas tree is standing here, naked, with a pile of lights on the floor next to it. I stitched a story cloth instead.
"I need a map," is a frequent thought these days. I thought this piece would be about that, even pulled out fabrics with maps printed on them, and a book with map drawings... but it quickly fell together into this tree and roots. With hardly a thought, there it was.
Maybe it's an attempt to tell myself it's not a map that's needed, but instead, to believe that I'm not lost.
Time to put the lights up...
"She grew her own roots" in the shop.
The moon woke me up this morning. Shining through the window as bright at could be at five. Got up to find glasses, to bring it into focus, which made it smaller, but still piercingly brilliant.
This sky was filled with stars last night. Today the boat was lined with some of the sky cloth. It's hard to see, but it's there.
No "jewels" going into this one. Maybe it seems empty, but really it's too full to put anything else into. Maybe the boat is the treasure? What if that were true?
Oh, the light is terrible today- very bright or dim and full of clouds, but really, there is a sparkle on that spoon. The spool of silver was bought in the early 90's, but quickly set aside because it was a pain to stitch with. It still is. But it did its job of glittering things up today.
Thinking on what will fill this- a fairytale, a wished for one, and maybe a few starry memories. Originally the thought had been to keep things light in spirit and recollection on this cloth. Try as I might, what flows through has a dark side. Then again, so do most fairytales. Gathering thoughts is not coming easily these days, just a jumble... it's sure to all sort itself out in the end, one way or another.
And does anyone else see the polar bear here, in the bottom right corner?! A story begins...
Still wishing for more stars, this is how Saturday night was spent. From post-dinner until almost midnight. Blurry eyed, but going. Just filling the sky, scattering here, then there. No plan.
Yesterday some layers- waves or hills, whatever soothes. There's more to do, but I'm resting with and in it for now.
