handstories

buoyant

    Stitching away every inch of the day that I can, loving and floating in it.

    These little squares of self-talk, stories that I keep telling myself over and over, reshaped, but still the same, let me know that there's still something I need, or want to hear and believe.

    Ideas come in bursts in that moment between awake and sleep, making me wish it was possible to take a screen shot, because the memories of them are often blurry by morning.  Last night there was a bird singing a star song in the night sky...

   Dreams have come every night for the last couple of weeks.  Deep dreams, often in direct connection with conversations of the day.  Dreams of the dead- friends, co-workers, old teachers... of going back in time and seeing them again, wanting to warn and save them from their fate, and realizing that I can't control everything...anything.  Other nights, I'm visited by folks I've lost touch with, some on purpose.  The next day, I often hear from them.  Ghosts of my present.

    Language is a struggle lately.  The other night I said the wrong word for something to K..  There is stuttering, in thought and words.  Last night, in the middle of a "discussion" with Moon, I had to stop to gather the thoughts into coherent sentences (which, I discovered, is not a bad strategy when dealing with a teenager). I'm pretty sure it's not a medical issue, but rather a result of being full.  So much to swim through...

happy stories

    Quilting of my "Story" blanket has begun.  The first real stitching in a couple of weeks.  I feel rusty, out of practice.  There is no plan, just taking the needle wherever it wants to go in the moment.  Finding rhythm again.  

    I don't want to, and/or shouldn't, think or write about the things that have been going on here.

    Instead, a story...

    A few summers ago, hanging out with a dearest friend.  She was wondering about her future, wanting to have a partner in her life, "I don't want to get married again, but I look around and wonder where my people are?" 

    She wondered if Mr. X was it?  NO.  We agreed he was fun, but definitely not Big Picture material.  Maybe Mr. Z was as good as it was going to get?  "No," I said, "He's a good guy, reasonable, as close as you've come, but not IT."

    Suddenly, in my mind, I saw Him...  Sometimes, I sense things- think or dream of someone and they call, wonder about something and it's in the news the next day... that sort of thing.  There have been a couple of times when I've freaked folks out with my knowing, and my guys all roll their eyes about it, but don't deny it's true anymore.  But this was different, not a feeling, or a dream, it was a knowing.

    His back was to me, looking out of the window of their condo at the lights of the city.  It was the clearest, most certain vision I've ever had.

    "He's coming.  He's going to be older than you.  He won't work with you, but he'll be in the same field, so he'll understand the passion you have for your job.  He'll have been in a long term relationship, so he'll know how to be in one again.  There will be kids, but grown, so you'll have the grandparent experience.  He's coming."

    A month later, she started getting to know a man from work.  He was in a different department, and some years older than her.  His wife of many years had just died the year before, and he had three grown children.

    After a few interactions and weeks, her feelings were clearly growing.  "I think this is him," I told her.

    A month later, she said, "I think I love him!"

    "I know, and you're going to marry him."

    They've moved into a condo looking towards the lights of the city, and the wedding is in a few weeks.  

    Last night, K. and I joined them for dinner.  For the first time, it was with his kids and their significant others.  Seeing her so happy, belonging with him, surrounded by her people, was joyful.

    For the first time, in a long while, I went to bed smiling, feeling filled with happiness.  Something had lightened, and hopefully, it will continue to lift and float away...

backings, framing & a little business...

    OK, this is for Grace, Liz and others who have asked... 

    It's a gray rainy day for photos, but here's my three cents about backings and framing.

    I have mixed feelings about covering up all of the stitching on the backs of pieces.  The tangle of threads and knots does seem like a part of the story, but sometimes a backing serves a purpose.  You'll see that I do a variety of things, much of it versions of things Jude has shared over the years, and/or just making do.

    First up is one of my little squares.  They are backed with a square of cotton, using a whip stitch around the edges of the piece.  I wanted a place to sign the piece, and to put the title, which is an important part of the story to me.  Also, it sometimes helps to square things up, if needed.

    This bigger piece was done in a similar way, but with small running stitches around the edge.  

    The "X" across the back doesn't go through to the other side, rather the stitches catch on layers in the middle.

    "Playground" was done in a similar way, but because the backing was flannel, I was afraid it might fray too much, so the edge was turned under on the backside.  Making mitered corners is not my favorite activity in the world, but the flannel felt too bulky to just fold square at the corners.

    "Beyond" is only finished on the top edge, with the torn edge of the cloth left raw.

    The backside evolved, with layers being added to it for stability in certain areas, as I worked, so some of the stitching is buried beneath, such as the first stitchings of the tiny dots across the top.

    As for framing-  Folks have done a variety of things- from having them traditionally framed in flat frames or shadow boxes, with and without glass, to just using magnets to hold them on the fridge.

    This piece shows what I've done for shows...

    The piece is held on with two tiny nails (I wanted something that felt like sewing pins) in the top corners onto a cradled board (this one was painted with phthalo turquoise watercolor).  The bottom is unattached.

    These boards are nice because they can stand freely on their own or hang on a nail using the opening on the back.

    All to say, different things happen on different pieces.  I try to just go what feels right.  For example, at the show, it seemed a more finished look would appeal and be easier to display.  The bigger pieces are sometimes used on table tops, and people often don't want to worry about what could happen to the work if left exposed and handled over time.  Personally, I love seeing as much of the work as possible.  Once, I was given a blanket, and I opened up a bit of the binding to see what the inside looked like.  (I did stitch it back together!)

    I hope this has been useful, please say if I've missed something.

    As for the business piece...  At long last, new pieces are in the shop. (All backed and unframed!)

works-in-progress & a story that has nothing (or everything) to do with them

    The nitty-gritty things for the show were stressing me out (again), so I gave myself permission to not worry about them this week.  Instead, a few more story squares were worked on, and I'm calm again (for now).

    This morning I had planned to go to the grocery store at ten.  After the morning rush, before the lunch crowd, and knowing the library would be open by the time I headed home.  At nine I suddenly had the feeling that I should go Now.  Five minutes later, a few blocks from home, I came upon an accident involving a scooter and a car that had happened moments before.    

    The young man was stumbling and trying to move his bike out of the road.  Being the daughter/sister/aunt of fire fighter and EMT folks, I pulled over and got out to help.  While convincing him to sit down, he looked at me and said, "Were you my teacher?"  Looking him in the face, I recognized E. right away.  He was the sweetest boy, who struggled to get his poetic thoughts down on paper.  We had spent many hours working one-on-one together on his writing more than ten years ago. 

    The accident happened right in front of the house of the woman who hit him.  We settled him on the porch, moved his bike, she brought him a blanket, and us tea, while we waited for his dad to come.  His dad arrived, and the two of us got the bike into his pickup.  As they were leaving to get him checked out at the ER, I gave E. my phone number, asking him to let me know if he was ok, and then I headed to the store (at ten o'clock).

    He texted later saying he has a torn ligament in his knee, and also how scared he was when it happened, and how it helped to suddenly see a familiar face.  He is still a sweetheart.  

    Some of the "just the right" cloths and threads are from the makings of Jude, Tina, and Deb.

Currents

    There's a postcard, so I guess this is really happening!

    A show with Tininha Silva (my old next door neighbor, who I miss dearly) and Tracy Hudson (her dear friend, and happily, my new one).

    If you're in the neighborhood, please come say hi!

    The details:

    Port Townsend Art Walk

    December 7th, 5-8pm

    Cotton Building, Port Townsend, WA 

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).

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.

& beyond

    Found in a UFO pile (unfinished objects).  A lot of unstitching happened, new scraps were added, along with one of Jude's moons from ThreadCrumbs.

    And then it started to flow...  I was waking up as the sun rose, hurrying through shower, oatmeal and tea to get back to it.  The hours of the days slipped away.  I was told I'm becoming feral.

    When it was almost finished, someone asked if I usually have a plan?  Rarely.  It usually starts with scraps and goes from there.  Ideas come as I stitch along.  The story grows too.  The best ones tell me something about myself.  Understanding another layer of that was the gift of this one.  That there is a strong deep relationship between going and connection.

    So much to think and feel about.

    "Beyond"