handstories

Comforts of home

"The Wonderland of Home"

    Sometimes, while working on a piece, I scribble down thoughts.  "Home, moon, window, making, light, heart, shine, through lines, woven, tending, care... where is home, there is home, home stories, homemaker, maker of home..." were the words that came while stitching this cloth.  There was a lot of joy in the making of this one.

   

    Home has been even more of a comforting space lately.  K and I are settling into new routines now that it's just the two of us again.  Memories of our first fifteen years without kids float around.  There is so much less to do for just the two of us, except the chores.  Although, there is a lot less to clean without two boys coming and going.  We've been divvying up the jobs that first Blue, and now Moon have left behind.  I was embarrassed to discover that I didn't know how to work the vacuum!  In my defense, Blue and Moon have done the weekly vacuuming for the last decade or so, and I do sweep.  Confessing my homemaker deficiency to K, and adding that I hate vacuuming (lugging the contraption from the basement stairs, the noise, the hassle of changing the attachments, etc.), I was thrilled when he said that he enjoyed it!  Hallelujah!  I have willingly taken over the litter box instead.

    And today, a new boat beginning.  I always come back to them.  They're a comfort, too.  A kind of centering and symbol of going.  A reminder of who I am, or might be.

Gathering light

"How it Would Be"

    A thin moon layer of Heike's dyed silk allows Deb's wonder cloth to shine through.

"Unexpected Rainbows"

    Bigger than usual, 9" x 7".  More of Deb's cloth sailing in the breeze.

    My favorite spot.

    Life is in a tunnel right now, but there are a couple of lights twinkling at the end of it. 

    Spectrums.

    I have the hardest time photographing paintings.  The light is rarely right.

    Two friends, by two favorite artists.  "Story" made by Cathy Cullis many years ago (resting in a bluebird tea cup that matches one belonging to a dear friend.  She gave it to me so that we could imagine having tea together anytime), and a painting by Amanda Blake, "She Kept Herself Safe".  It was a rare spontaneous instantaneous purchase a few years ago.  I named her "Lucinda," and just looked up the meaning- light, of course.  They are across the table directly in front of me as I stitch.  Keeping company and an eye on things.  There are a few more friends here, but these two are giving me meaningful looks today

    The teacup friend texted today, "Are you ok?" 

        "Nope.  But trying to be."

"Gathering Light"

   Or "Audrey the Third" if you're Dee (ha, inside joke).  A Threadcrumb moon, deep purple wave by Tina and the sky, and reverse-side patch in the bottom corner, are a Maiwa cloth.

A thousand little things &/or stitches

    Thinking about the cycles that happen with stitching, and in relationships.  Both seem slow going and growing at times.

    Last night I dreamt that I was transported to Italy.  So happy, I tried to call Deb G. to tell her, but then the sky exploded with flames...

    The relationship with this bird is tenuous at best.  I fill the birdbath each morning and try to keep out of sight when he shows up.  Landing in the Japanese maple outside the window of the front room, yelling at me if I'm within view.  The other morning he saw me and then went to the porch, continuing to yell on the other side of the door, while snacking in the window boxes.  He likes to eat alone.

    Some of these are mixed colors, many of them are not.  I have an addiction to blue paints.

One hill leads to another...

    Saturday afternoon I just needed something bigger to stitch on.  These cloths were at hand.  A comforting hill.

    With Jude's beasts in mind (I love them so).  Thinking about most of my self-portraits either have no mouth at all, or are wide open, screaming things from the deep.

    Hills.  Folks see portals.  Maybe they are the same thing?  A way through.  Or over.  Or a place to rest and make daisy chains.

 

    We are waiting to hear some news.  Which way it will go, we don't know.  Which answer will be good or hard, we don't know.  So, just hoping for how it might be.

    Layers are cut away, making new shapes to work with.  They are shifted and rearranged as they accumulate.  There are no rules, just going.

    In the middle of it all, I wonder what we want?  What we need?  How to want what we will have?  Mostly I do.

    Hills, portals, places of in-between...brinks of stories.

Far & Near

    (Apologies for yet another marathon post.  Someday I'll get back to posting regularly and briefly.)

    Thinking about hills, again.  A lifetime of thoughts and memories of them.  Using Deb's threads to wind a story through... The front hill is from her dye pot, too.  The sky is from a class a long while back.

    This week I've been missing people, groups of people, faces.  I try to smile at people with my eyes, hoping that they know that it's an effort towards connection.

    Continuing on Cameron's block using Susan Fletcher Conway's tutorial here for stars.  They're not easy for me, requiring really good light and focus, but I wanted larger filled-in stars.  They're kind of wonky, but hopefully, with a few steps back, they will shine together.  There will be 26 of them, one for each year of his life.  

    Hands representing his, holding the names of his three young boys.  Grateful for Tina's gift of a rainbow of cloth to choose from for the hearts, and wishing that I had Liz's writing-with-thread skills.

    Another day trip with and to my friend's sweet house.  She's received both of her vaccinations, which added even more ease to our time together.

    The views from the ferry were amazing that morning.  The mountains seemed so big and close.  About fifteen minutes after this photo was taken, we were crossing this bridge.

    I gave her my most recently knitted socks and she put them on straight away.  Happily they fit.

    It was a beautiful day, including a stop at a nursery.  She studied various plants, knowing exactly what she wanted to look at (and the scientific names of everything).  I pointed out the fritillaria, "You had some in your yard when you lived across the street."  She was surprised that I remembered the name.  The word fritillaria is a fun one, making it easy to recall, not to mention that the checkerboard flowers are unforgettable and magical.

    It's a marvel how a four inch container can hold a whole complex beautiful world.  This is just the feeling I want to stitch into my little story squares.

    Sitting in the sunlight stitching moonlight and starlight was delightful.

    It was approaching dusk, so the lights were lit this time.  Still want to come back at night to see them really glow.

Moon medicine

    Filling out a partial ThreadCrumbs moon.  A moon mend.  Once again turning to the gift of threads from Tina for a just right aqua blue.

    There was a dream of being gifted crystals, and another of only having moments to decide what was needed as I left my house forever.

    The ideas of moon- roundness, filling, holding close, silvery, buttery, cool and glowing... fills, mends.

    The tear in K's coat was stitched up and laundry is going.  Small things, as Deb and Liz say.  Manageable.  This moon didn't get very far.  I was distracted by a book that's been read before.  She saves herself, and the others.  A fairy tale.  Another kind of mending for me.

stories for selves

   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.

spooning stories

    This is a Twin Star pierced spoon.  Isn't that lovely to say?  Isn't it a beautiful spoon?  As a child I imagined stardust and fairytales pouring off of it.  I have loved this spoon most of my life.

 

 

    It is part of the silverware I grew up using.  The first place settings were slowly collected during a crime spree carried out by my mom and her mother (Grandma got a kick out of the scheme).  During Mom's last years in high school, about once a month, they would go to a local diner for a cup of coffee.  The restaurant served up orders with a mishmash collection of utensils.  If there was a piece of Twin Star at their table (or on one within reach), a single piece would be taken to add to Mom's hope chest. 

    By the time she and Dad got married there were a couple of place settings worth.  The set was filled out over time with Betty Crocker box-top coupon points that Mom collected and mailed in for the missing pieces, including the magical serving spoon.

 

 

    Sometime during my high school years, Mom had saved up more points and ordered a whole new set of silverware.  It was not Twin Star.  I was not happy.  The Twin Star set was moved out to the motorhome to be used for camping trips.  A few years later, when Dad left, he took the motorhome, cast iron skillet (that's another story), and the Twin Star with him.

 

 

    While over at Dad's house a couple of years later, I spied the serving spoon, and began plotting how to get it (I am my mother's daughter).   While I didn't have to resort to thievery, it did require spending time alone with him (in a post-bar state), listening to unwanted advice and comments about me and my life, but I left with the spoon.

    I love this spoon.

holding time

    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.

trying to think in pictures and words

    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...