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?
Such a gloomy glum has hung over for too long. Feeling done and dreary yesterday morning, I thought I'd try stitching a boat. It had been a while, three months. It felt forced and wobbly, but I kept going.
Deb's cloth and threads, and Jude's moon helped, but still, I didn't feel a real flow.
Some waves were added in the therapist's waiting area. She's so swell. Aside from being very wise, validating and kind, she's an artist and an introvert. She gets me. She knows when to push and when I won't budge.
"Maybe you want to tell them how you felt about it all?"
"Maybe, but I'm not going to."
"Maybe we should talk about why you won't?"
"Maybe, but I'm not going to."
"Then where will it all go?"
"Here. And then I just need to let it all go."
And I did.
And later the stars came out.
It may take a few more boats and conversations, but today I can imagine some light in the shadows.
Today, during the last class of the day, first grade, with one of my very favorite kids, things went awry. He is often a handful, on the spectrum, and all over the place sometimes, but he cracks me up and I love hanging out next to him. Today he did not return those feelings at all. There was a stool up over his head at one point, and then scissors in his fist being shook at us. He was so angry, and unable, or unwilling, to communicate what was wrong. The scissors were finally put down, and he was taken to the support room. I wish we could've understood.
Moon continues to maneuver through new teenage things. I wish I could convince him that I do understand.
Blue is working hard to let us know that he's his own person with his own life now. Sigh, I wish he could understand how I can be both sad and glad about this.
Number seven has barely begun, and is now packed up with the other six. They're coming along with me tomorrow to visit my sister in Rhode Island for a week. Everyone is this house understands that I'm so very glad for some time away from it all. There will be some days by the sea...I can't wait.
I hope you all find restful spaces in the upcoming week.
Toodle-loo...
Six. It's more coracle than ship shaped, but it has a cheery soul.
And polka-dotted five. Polka dots make me smile. We had a Polka Polka-dot Parade Party for Blue when he was two. We had round foods (grapes, cookies, satsumas, olives, etc...). Folks came dressed in dots. The walls were dotted with big construction paper circles. There were dot-to-dots and dotting with bingo markers to do, and pin-the-dot-on-the-dalmation. One friend brought his accordion and played polkas while the kids paraded around the house with their own instruments. Everyone had a good time, except Blue, who became overwhelmed and went outside to take a break, sitting in the sandbox crying. Lesson learned, we didn't throw a party for anyone under the age six after that.
I wish I had something clever, profound or at least funny to say... oh, well.
Number four is filling up.
A blue velvet sea shimmers on three.
Number two is missing its mast...
These boats are keeping me afloat.
Things are how they are right now. Can't even put words to it.
Decided to stitch a boat. It's been a while. Wondered if it might help with finding some balance.
Began another yesterday, and then felt the need to make seven.
So seven ships are in the works.
Started with seven skies. Seas and stars soon...
House, boat, moon...some of the shapes that home takes for me.
What is home for you?
These are in the shop, if you would like one of my homes to come to your home...
I seem to have fallen by the internet wayside for the most part, in much of the rest of my life, too. Nothing interesting to say. Overdone and pollen filled brain. The urge and energy to stitch has come back this week, hopefully the rest will soon follow.
In the meantime...
Here's a silly story, one I've used in schools for decades. A true tale from my childhood, possibly with a little extra drama thrown in. It's good for corralling quiet, or for filling in the gaps as needed...
The Disneyland Story
My family didn't have a lot of money, so for vacations we would go camping. But one year, my parents said we were going to Disneyland! We were so excited! My mom told us that it was going to be very expensive, but that they were going to buy each of us an all day pass. The pass would have a string on it, and it was up to us to tie it to our belt loop or button holes, and to take care of it all day long. She told us, "If you lose it, that's it. We're not going to buy you another one. You'll have to sit on a bench and watch us, and not have any more fun."
"We'll be careful, Mom!" we promised.
We planned and packed up the camper. (Yes, we were still going to be camping, but this time it would be next to a pool and Disneyland, instead of the usual river and outhouse! ) As we got ready, Mom kept asking if we had clothes with places to tie the ticket string, "Because you know, we won't buy you another one, you'll just be on a bench...."
"Yes, Mom!"
The story goes along, alternating between excitement for the trip and growing exasperation at my mom's constant ticket warnings. The children usually start yelling "Yes, Mom!" along with me...
Standing in line to buy the tickets, and Mom started in... "Yes, Mom!"
Riding the Monorail into the park, and Mom checking where we tied them with a warning... "Yes, Mom!"
My brother and I heading off on our own to the big rides, and Mom calling out, "Remember...." "YES, Mom!"
We had a wonderful time, riding Space Mountain, the Matterhorn and more. We met up with the rest of the family for lunch, and Mom said, "Did you have fun? Do you still have your tickets?"
"YES, MOM!"
After lunch we went to the Wild Mr. Toad ride. Each of us showed the attendant our ticket, and we all rode it together. Next we headed for the Snow White ride, again, we stood in line, each of us showing our ticket...
BUT . . . Someone in my family had lost their ticket!
(At this point the kids gasp, and begin shouting out who they think it was...)
"YOU!" It wasn't me. "Your brother!" It wasn't my brother. "Your sisters?" And as I shake my head "no" it begins to dawn on them, that the answer to the mystery is a perfect childhood moment...
"It was My Mom!" (Screams of glee!)
And we said to her, "We are not buying you another one, you will have to sit on a bench and have no more fun!" And do you know what she said? Absolutely nothing. She turned bright red and didn't say a word. We traced our steps back to the Mr. Toad ride, and lucky for her, we found her ticket on the ground next to the attendant. She tied it on and never said another word about tickets to us again!
The End
It is so dark here today. Taking these photos was a wrestling match/ tug-o-war with the sky. We're calling it a good enough truce for now. There is a new set of notecards and a few finished stitchings over in the shop today.
The notecards are all photos of some of my boat stitchings this time. It seems I always come back to them in my makings. Every once in a while there is a new thought about what they hold for me. Or maybe not new, rather...better understood.
In the middle of feeling a bit lost last week, I heard myself say, "Make a ship." How the idea of these vessels, floating and bobbing in the unknown, ground me, is still a wonder.
There's so much about belonging and home in them. After going around in thinkings, about whether the boats are adventuring away from home, heading home, or in search of one... I think it's about being home. Being home for Self. Wherever or however the waves carry, toss and splash.
Maybe I've already thought and written all of this before? Even so, it still feels new and comforting today.
It’s interesting, that it's in the smallest of places, where the stitches are tiny, focused and sometimes fiddly, and the threads may or may not ever be noticed, or even seen at all, that I find the deepest calmest thoughts, and often the most contentment. Getting lost in the process of tying on this sail gave space for all kinds of journeys. Some of them were even into reality.
"As light as the stars"
