handstories

Can I hear me now?

 

    There was probably more time spent on the phone this week than in the last six months put together.  Several calls with friends and family.  Mostly ok to good.  Verbal skills are definitely going downhill with all of this isolation.

    The words that were exchanged are blurred together, much of the information forgotten, only the gist of feelings exchanged remain.  Details that used to matter so much now slip like silk.

    I feel like myself with cloth, and safe.  Possibilities fill the spaces of not knowing, instead of anxiety and imagined incriminations.  When it doesn't work, it's ok.  There's a knowing that things can change, be layered on, or be chalked up to being an experiment or experience, not a waste.  It's all time with cloth.

    It's swell to be in this relationship with cloth.  I'm still work at getting to this kind of kindredness and kindness with myself.

    I am getting better at listening.

There & here

    It was a very nice anniversary, thank you again for all of the sweet wishes.

    We took a drive up to Bellingham for a lunch of our favorite peanut soup and to spend a little time in the trees (and in memory lane) along Chuckanut Drive.  There was an added treat of stopping by Deb's to wave to her and Lola over her gate!

    It is truly an autumn-blanket-on-the-lap-tea-in-the-afternoon kind of day here. 

    This piece has turned itself around and around in my head and hands.  Carrying home, going home, being home...it's all of it.

    I do think things from the last few days are about being content.

    And those loops of thread are heading back to their natural state.

too much

    The other day a box of unfinished pieces, big and small, was found.  I started to sort out the pieces, which ones I might still want to finish, others for dismantling to repurpose the cloth.  There were so many pins and needles to be reclaimed!  By the time the bottom of the pile was reached, I was completely overwhelmed with myself and shoved it all back in and onto the shelf.  Except for one piece.  I cut it in half to rescue the starry sky from the weird fish/sea monster below.  But even the effort it was taking to figure out how to reconfigure the bottom became too much.

    That same day, all of the plans to get to the beach became too involved- too many steps, things and people were having to be considered.  All I want to do is stand still in the waves.  I called it all off and will try again when things feel calmer and more known.

    So this little boat was stitched instead.  It reminds me of my first squares.  Simple.

    And then yesterday, this piece below began with the roots.  I got quite lost in them, and then a red tree grew.

    I don't know what's going on.

journeys

    Business first... These story cloths will be going into the shop tomorrow (Wednesday, August 19th).  

    There has been a lot of staring at these photos, and a wanting and trying to write about how things are at this moment.  Strong feelings of happiness, and sadness, and deep wishing.  The word "clinging" gathered itself and rose to the top.

    I found this when I cleared my shelves in the school basement seven years ago.  Where did it come from?  Floating amongst 23 years of teaching- books, supplies, plans, projects, props, backdrops, etc., and one little boat.  It came home with me, and sits here on the windowsill above the studio table.  It was beyond time to leave that job, some of you might remember.  As awful as that ending was, so many great things came from sailing into the unknown.

    Not long after leaving, this matchbox art was found in a shop.  The message inside might seem sad, but I love it.

    It tells me stories of longing, faraway lands and treasure, and whenever I read the words, "It took me too long to start",  "But, I did." is always tagged on in my mind. 

"Sharing Light"

another Tuesday

    Eighty-nine squares to go.  I paused on this one for a while.  Indigo, walnut and tea, I think.

    A couple of squares begun.  This one with one of Jude's stars, it had floated to the top of the basket.

    This strange thing happened yesterday in response to Jude's post about wrinkles.  Not quite sure what's happening.  It felt like birthing something, maybe myself, but looks like a rock garden, too.  Maybe my mind is a rock garden?  Now I'm remembering childhood stops at a rock garden and museum- an attraction the family would stop at on the way to visit cousins.

    The book of loved things continues, but at a slower pace.  Some pages take longer, like this one of a retired favorite mug.  It was the perfect mug- size, image, handle...sadly, the glaze has worn off on the inside making it unsafe to drink from.

    Just a bit of Rosee...

    "Every night after work, Stew and all the girls in the beauty shop and I went riding before bed time.  It got so hot that summer that the whole bunch of us took a blanket and went out and slept in the pines.  It was a lot of fun.  The summer of 36 came along..."

drifting

    A moon from a lovely bit of Deb's dyeing.

    Trying to float for a couple days.

    I do want to write about the wonderful event I went to last Saturday, and some self-realizations... Just as soon as my brain recovers from the computer stuff (there were a few more issues to wade through).

gambling

    Vegas.  Wow.  What a different world.  There was fun, heat, and a wide variety of folks to wonder about.  Twenty-four hours was more than plenty.  

    There was another trip there, twenty years ago.  K. had a week long conference, baby Blue was one.  We invited K.'s recently widowed conservative mom to come along.  It was August.  All of it...what NOT to do. 

    I am not a risk taker.  I like to Know things, see where I'm going.  And how I'll get there.  

    Cloth has helped in loosening that.  But still...

    There is work to do.

story-less

    A boat was made.

    And then a tree.  There is a story about this day, but the words aren't in focus.

    Today this.  As is often true when I step out of my boat/tree box, I'm not sure what's happening here.  

    The photo is a bit blurry because of being taken late in the evening, which is actually fine, because it all seemed this fuzzy when I finally stopped.  Those tiny stones were an exercise in small motor skills.  

    At first it was about the moon with absolutely no idea that the stones would show up.  I had thought there would be trees, or at least plants.

     Something more belongs in the sky.  Not that circle and a half of blue around the moon, those stitches were just pulled out after seeing them here.  Maybe I will know what's coming tomorrow.

    Today I was afraid of becoming dull with all of this time alone.  That words are slowing and floating away, out of reach.  We shall see.

leaning towards autumn

    A few new pieces are in the shop for the last update of summer.

    With Blue gone, Moon's work schedule changed, and K. vacationing at home this week, these last days of summer feel loose and a little lost.  Transitions and I have not always been good playmates in the past, but I'm really looking forward to pieces of this fall.  Creating rhythm and routines for myself is one of them.  With no school commitments for the first time in thirty years, the days are wide open.  

    Maybe I'll start this new journey with a few boats...they have a way of grounding me.

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...