handstories

pink skies and silver rain

    Out our window, a week ago at sunset.

    At the same time, across town, K. saw a double rainbow.

    It was a very nice Christmas day.  One of our (my) traditions, is that I go into the living room first, and take a photo of Blue and Moon as they come into the room and see the tree with the filled stockings and gifts below.  Not to be undone by distance, with Blue zooming on the computer, Moon carried Blue on screen in, and I got my photo.  For the next hour, he "sat" next to the tree and we opened gifts, made jokes, and took a group selfie with one of us holding the computer facing the camera.  Technology was the very best gift this year.

    These are the Wise Guys, my favorite childhood ornaments (except for the beautiful glittery glass balls that my brother has).  If you look closely, there is a single silvery strand draped above and over the top right guy.  I took it off of Mom's tree one year.  She called it "rain" and our childhood trees were dripping with it.

    You see what I mean.  My brother and me, 1967. 

    K. was quite concerned when he first saw my family's tree style.  Lucky for him, this single strand of tinsel is enough for me.

    Mom doesn't do a tree anymore, and passed the angel topper on to me.  I remember shopping for it with Mom and Aunt J.  Mom pointed it out on the top shelf, Aunt J., being taller, reached for it and I held it in front of me as I sat in the shopping cart, asking if I thought it was pretty?  I did.  Mom doesn't believe I remember this, because I was only two, but I do.

    This is Christmas Night, after the photo above.  I'm four.  I remember what led to this, too. 

    I had brought my new doll, dollhouse and their boxes into my bedroom.  Crawling into bed with the new doll and the old one (so that she wouldn't feel replaced), I looked at the dollhouse on the floor...  (Here's where I'm going to tell you one of the strange things about me... I have always personified things.  I don't know what this means or says about me, but there it is.)  So, on that night, looking at the dollhouse on the floor, I worried that I was hurting its feelings by not bringing it to bed with me, too.  So, I got up and brought it into the bed, and then returned for the boxes, because how sad for them to be empty and alone on the floor...

soul stitching

"Story of Self" by Hazel C. Monte

    Finished yesterday.  Some of it was done in a topsy-turvy way.  The stars were added after the backing was stitched on, and the tree was reworked at the very end.  Thinking it was done and stepping back to take a look, the tree's thread just didn't show up very well.  So, out it came and a new one was planted.  Slightly different, with a few new or tweaked branches.  Sometimes stories go like that, they change over time, with the retelling, but hopefully, what was true and intended still shines through.

    It's 23 x 21 inches, made of mostly linens, with silk and cotton cloths.  I've pinned it above my desk, in the middle of the studio/living room.  Funny, it's the simplest thing I've stitched in a long time, very personal, and still there's something universal about much of it, too.  I'm rambling, because I can't quite put words to it.  Maybe I shouldn't try.

indigo stars

    This beautiful indigo thread was a gift from Jude a while ago, it's become a sprinkling of starlight on the cloth.  

   I love it's slightly rough thickness as it pulls through the linens.

    There are one-hundred-thirteen stars to be exact.  (fyi. do not try to count indigo stars in the evening)

odd, but not . . .

    In it is everything else, or maybe just everything?  Three, three threes, thirteen, stones, mapping, off-kilter balancing, some star dots, and story.  And looking at it here, I'm finding more- straight and not, simple and not, woven intersections, a moonrise or sunset on the horizon, or snowflakes falling on a snowfolk, criss-cross applesauce... ha, it really could be anything.

    There was thinking, sketching and the making of lists while figuring out this square, but none of it was really used.  In the end I just picked up the soap sliver (what I use to draw on cloth), and this came out.  A new, but old, form of symbolic self-talk.  

    I was never very good with languages.  (Ask my first German professor who, in his first year of teaching, I made doubt his chosen profession . . . there was a happy ending, I passed, he went on to successfully teach for years, and I was a bridesmaid in his wedding, but that's another story...)

    Anyhow, I'm very happy with this.  It feels like me.

seven & 8

    These are the darkest quietest days I can remember in a long time.  The sky has been many shades of gray throughout the hours, with rain, lots of rain.  

    One to go.  It's symbol isn't quite clear yet.  It's the only square that I wasn't sure of at the start.  Still not.  What's left to hold?  It's something to do with story, storytelling and truth.  It may be too much for five inches of cloth. 

    It feels like storytelling weather, but there are only broken bits of childhood memories...

    . . . my brother and I covering the round dining room table with blankets, and snuggling underneath with more blankets, pillows and books...  riding in the backseat of the car, next to my siblings, trying to read by the light of the street lamps, and searching for the big dipper in the night sky...  waking up early on Saturday mornings, sneaking downstairs for a big glass of milk and a stack of chocolate chip cookies (made the night before), and back into bed, snacking on them, while reading books about long ago and faraway...

    ...fragments, nothing whole.

five & six of nine

    Ok, the bathroom is clean(er), there is food in the fridge, some laundry is done, and I made it to the post office and learned how to use that machine to avoid the long line.  There was even some time for stitching.

    A hill, mountain, bump in the road . . . something to get over, through, climb, view from, roll and slide down, or just lay on and watch the clouds go by.

    And some waves from the sea. . . splashing, rising, rolling, carrying, rocking . . . bigger, stronger, more than Self, and part of it, too.

    Three more spaces to go.

sunshine on a stormy day

    In the middle square, because boats seem to be the center I keep coming back to- holding, bringing, going, through, being.

    Yesterday afternoon the sky grew so dark and filled with wind and rain.  Moon and I watched the lights flicker, heard sirens and all kinds of sounds for a couple of hours.  There was one really big slow crack  a block away. . . 

    In the middle of it all, the mailman blew up the walkway, wrestling the wind as he tried to sort out our letters.  I went out to help hold things, and he handed over some glowing sunshine!

    It was Els' beautiful Solstice cloth. . . I love all of the different stitches, textures and fabrics that she put into it.  A bright cheery bit of light in the middle of a dark day.  Thank you so very much for your generous sharing, Els!

a story of self

    This is not at all where I thought this was going, but here I am.  Each square will have a symbol of something . . . moon, home, sea, tree, boat . . . something I hold on to, or holds me.

    There's something chalk-drawing like in these childish sketches, that seemed important.

    Something is being worked out, through.  Whatever is going on, this cloth is helping.