handstories

glimmers of light

    A friend sent an email asking how things were going?

    "Depression is a bitch," I wrote.

    It's been a long long time since depression and I have hung out together, and it creeped in so quietly, that I didn't recognize its presence for a while.  In the past, it was a comfortable companion...something to slip inside of, and let everything else slide away from. 

    This time is different, it isn't an ally, and I'm trying to fight this go-a-round.  Treading water to stay afloat some days and looking for islands to swim towards, and rest in, when I can.

    The friend wrote back with, "Make depressed cloth, anything."

    I had been working on the Story blanket this week.  Not feeling creative or up to decision making, I had switched to stitching long lines.  Long mindless lines.  I wondered if this was a depressed cloth?  I don't think so.  It's a just-keep-going cloth.

    And today there were stars.

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.

Story #_________

    "How Stories Tell Each Other"

    I think this one is done.  Maybe a border, but not today.  It was started a year ago, some of the stories have faded, but others showed up.  Today I wondered if maybe all of my pieces could/should just be titled "Story".

    Stitching has been beyond slow this last week, almost at a standstill.  I don't know if it's the shift into autumn, this season in life, or what, but I find myself with very little to say.  There's a lot going on, and not, and last Saturday night, somewhere between the airplane and getting home, my knitting bag fell by the wayside- the yarn, needles, favorite knitting supplies, best reading glasses, a half knit sock (I had just turned the heel), and my wallet were inside.  Didn't realize it until Monday.  Sometimes I just overwhelm myself.

the games of childhood

    Finished "Playground" is hard to photo.  The many, many, many tiny stitches don't show up very well.

    But, sitting here holding it...blue marbles and purple hopscotch squares whisper memories of a blacktop full of monkey bars, swings and see-saws... games of Jacks and chalked Tic-Tac-Toe created with stolen pieces of chalk from the classroom.  

    Swinging from ring to ring felt like flying.  In those days, girls had to wear dresses, but in order to play on the equipment, you had to prove to the recess teacher that you were wearing shorts under your skirt.  On days that they were forgotten, a good friend could be convinced to share hers by sneaking behind the huge tree in the center of the playground to slip the shorts from one to the other.

    In winter, when the big long puddle that ran along under the second grade windows finally froze, we would line up a ways away, and take turns getting a running start towards it, hoping the momentum would allow us to slide the entire length.

    Bottlecaps was a favorite.  Gathered from home and the streets, twenty-five tops of beer and soda bottles were carried to school in pockets.  Two players would take turns removing one, two or three.  The goal was to force the other player into having to take the last cap.  I figured out that if it was the other person's turn when there were fifteen left, that I had won.  I used to be very good at survival tricks.

What came next

    Blue.  Lots of blue.  With a layer of flannel in-between.  I dug out the biggest pieces that could be found, including one with a rosy patch (I don't remember when or why that happened.)   And now stitching the three layers together.  There's a moon, an archway, and water lines are in the works.  

    This hasn't been thought through, nor is it being executed in a sensible way.  

    We'll see what comes of it.

    I am thinking so much, and have absolutely no clear thoughts.  There was wishing for the ability to time travel, but then realized that I have no idea of when I would go to, or what I would tell myself to do differently.

    Stitching on...

home

    This was all that was stitched, at the end of that first day, a week ago.

    Home now, arrived last night, drank a bottle of wine and went to bed for ten hours.

    Notes from the first day... "There are no words, twilight zone, home, crazy, comfortable, awful, unbelievable, rabbit hole.  You can't make this shit up."

    It was hard.  Too many days.  Too many people.  Too many memories.  Too, too much... and not enough.

    There was crying while standing over his washing machine, setting out chairs at the community club for the gathering, in the street, talking to a guy from high school (who I barely knew forty years ago), in front of my mom...

    And then there was the first moment when all four of us were in his house together, when all three of them were crying, hugging, and I just watched without any tears at all.

    Last night, arriving back in Seattle, the water and buildings of downtown to the left, taking the exit off towards my neighborhood to the right... Surprised by the sound of the breath I took in, so deep that the coolness of it filled me.  Loud and sharp, as if I'd come up from the bottom of the ocean... and the long slow release of it.

    There is a lot to process, sort out, and self to get back together.  Going to let it rest for a while, and just be for a bit.

    And there is a dead cat in our basement freezer (not Twinkle).  You really can't make this shit up.

piece & peace (& lack of)

    Yesterday was a pretty and peaceful day.  Our hill was quiet and calm.

    We got about seven inches.  The day was spent stitching and not thinking about Tuesday's trip.  

    Last night anxiety attacked.  Nightmares of Dad and guns, me trying to keep others safe, and another of fragile wombats and premature babies that I was responsible for keeping alive, and failing.  Today there is a headache and stress for the weather, the drive, some of the people to be with there, the task to do, and for the work left to do inside of myself.  

    It's looking like I should leave tomorrow, a day early, between storms.  I don't like driving in good weather.  I don't want to leave home.

    Time to start packing, and searching for some inner peace...

sanctuaries of self

    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...

listening to trees

    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.

illumination

    A moonlit garden and a jar of memories of hope are in the works.  (The roots of the garden is a pretty patch gift from Jude.)

    This piece is filling up, and happily not with the darkness that was expected, instead a whole lot of light is pouring in.

(And last night's dream...visiting a friend's house (that I've never met), going to a baseball game with her, where I caught ball after ball, until I was balancing an armload of baseballs, while still catching ball after ball...)