handstories

Imagining light

    It's great to have the sky back, the birds too.  I slept with the window wide open under a few quilts- the ones named Story, Serenity and Uncertainty.  It was a great sleep, but then anxiety set in... about the world, Moon having his senior year up in his bedroom, financial worries, my computer, this blog.

    (If you've seen Jude's post, I'm in the same sort of boat, although not quite as far out to sea...yet.  (And, yes, I do believe she's being blacklisted, because her comment was found in my spam.)  I post photos on the phone, text is added on K's computer- which is very touchy, so photos often get accidently deleted, so back to the phone...repeat.  I can reply to comments only on his computer, only on a certain browser.  Also, I can't leave comments on other Typepad blogs, unless I'm on that certain browser.  Since it's hit or usually miss whether my comments make it through to Blogger or Blogspot blogs, I may just be fading/sinking away from everywhere.)

    Given all of the above, it's weird that I've suddenly found the urge to blog often.  Maybe it's the fear that it could all be gone any moment.  A kind of dog-paddling.

    This was a hard week, so much is unknown and being lost, but when someone asks how things are, my usual answer is, "OK enough."  Which is true.  We are healthy, have a home, have each other, have enough. 

    It was the answer I gave dearest friend when we met for a walk today, I asked her the same question back, knowing the answer, knowing that things are incredibly hard for her right now, that she's a special ed teacher being asked to do the impossible as she tries to plan for and teach virtually. 

    She replied, "Fine."

    I stopped in my tracks and whipped my head sideways, "What?!"  Thinking I had misheard her, "How ARE you?"

    "I'm fine."  We took two more steps when she stopped and burst into tears, "I'm NOT fine!"

    We stood on the sidewalk hugging, "Of course you're not.  How could you be?!  How could anyone be?"        After we walked, I came home and straightened up my table.  This surfaced.  I can't remember what it was for?  Some kind of reference for myself, I think, a way of making something make sense.

    And then I stitched.  I wanted to make a mermaid, but couldn't think of a way within my skill or patience level.  So I imagined them- imagined hoping and knowing that they were there just below the surface, slapping their tails, scattering droplets of sea and magic.

some story of Story

    It was finished on Saturday.

    Most of yesterday was spent curled up in it- reading, knitting, petting the cat, napping, and finally sleeping under it.

    I know it's not a complicated or fancy blanket, but I made it for me, from my stories and those I love, and it makes me so happy.

    There are lots and lots of places where the stitches run into, cross, or weave to and away from each other in odd inconsistent ways. Unplanned.   

    I don't mind.  I kind of like the meeting places of selves from different days and moments.

    My crazy wonky stitches make me happy.  Sometimes they were lines of getting through, carrying on or finding purpose, and other times- like a laugh of "I'm here!  Having a good time, making marks of myself!" 

   It was started in October 2018, because someone told me to make myself a quilt.  I rolled my eyes at her, but a week later stitched the first few squares.  In a blog post I wrote, "Maybe a very slow quilt, a square here and there, of cloths that are gifts, memories, and loved.  A way to hold them, and eventually they might hold me back.  We'll see."

    It's a good blanket.  (And there are a few stories about this old bed to tell on another day.)

Binding Story

    Not wanting to cover up the edges of the squares on the "Story" blanket with binding, I quilted up to about an inch or so all around it.  When that was done, the three layers (squares, flannel and backing) were trimmed even with each other.

    Four inch wide strips were folded in half and slid between the squares and flannel layer.

    A row of stitching through all the layers.

    Followed by more rows, filling in that unquilted inch or so.

    With the quilting finished on the squares side, it was flipped over.

    The binding folded over and whip stitched into place.

    A finial whip stitched row on the front (just to be secure, or because it meant being able to keep going on it for longer).

    This shows the finished edges from both sides.  Three sides are done.  Probably another day or two for the last one, or maybe I'll stitch another few rows into the binding on the back to keep it going?

    No stories today, but I have been working on writing down a long ago travel misadventure, told a friend on the phone the other night.  We had such a good laugh from it, she made me promise to write it down.  It's so much longer on paper, and I'm not sure it's as funny without my dramatic presentation.  We'll see.

    I'm noticing that more stories are being shared these days.  There's not a lot to share with nothing much going on in most of our lives, the same people, activities, walls... day after day... so the past is coming out to entertain us more and more.  Moon has been shocked to find out how many times teenage K. and I broke up before finally settling down, a friend wanted to hear all about my Camp Fire girl days, and my mom shared (for the first time!) Dad's strange proposal.

    I've always said stories can carry us through...

noticing stories

    The last squares were quilted yesterday, with stars filling more of those gaps created by my wandering lines of stitching.  I am both glad and sad about that.  Today I started the binding.  I've come up with a different idea of how to do it.  I can see it in my mind.  I hope it works, I hope it wears ok.  We'll see.

    Some starts were made...

    The book goes slower and slower, but still, it's going.

    This page has two things I love- the windows that led to us buying this house, and the blue walls I waited thirty years for.

    The other day I said that I felt story-less.  I know that I'm not, but they're sure hard to grab ahold of these days.  

    But then, I was noticing the few irises that grow under the cherry tree next to the sidewalk.  I remembered how much Grandma loved them and gladiolas, and fuchsias and sweet peas... she just loved all flowers.  Once her birthday was celebrated with cakes baked into flowerpots, each decorated with different frosting flowers, all displayed in a plant stand.

    And irises grew wild on the hill behind the first college I went to.  The hill K. and I climbed after he started to propose to me in the basement of my dorm, next to the pool table.  I could see where he was heading, and said, "You are NOT going to ask me anything important in front of a pool table are you?"

    So we walked up the hill, to a tree, which I made him climb.  Up in its branches, looking down the hill, at the school, town and the Columbia River below, we made our plans.  It was February, long before the irises bloomed, but they were there.

maelstrom

    "Story" goes along.  Stars fill gaps left by wayward stitching.  I look forward to working on it every morning, rushing to get showered, oatmeal and tea made, so that I can settle into it.

   It was a happy surprise to flip it over, after days of not looking, and find a whole other story going on.

    This chart was made on a day it felt like I wasn't getting anywhere, to document and see progress.  Each day is a new color, except for that big blue space that was the first accounting of finished squares before Tuesday.

    Tuesday was a crazy bad day, in lots of directions.  Including a meltdown while trying to dismantle and pack up as many games, puzzles, etc. to send to Blue, who had asked for them, and I was so glad there was something I could do for him 2,351 miles away, but not so glad that it meant a trip to the crowded post office, which stressed me out. 

    And then another in the car when I couldn't release the emergency brake Moon had set as hard as he could. 

    And another upon returning... just because. 

    The last one included a word that Moon has never heard me use before... which sent him into his own meltdown.  We were all like a whirlpool, with everything being sucked down to the bottom of the ocean... sea, sand, ships, and great whales of emotions.

    And then morning came... with that after storm stillness, everyone treading lightly, checking the weather.  The sun came out, and everything has been very peaceful since (knocking on wood)!  Clearly I need to swear more often!

    As for Grandma Rosee, when last we left her, she had just gone to work for Stew, the baker.

    "I told him I knew shorthand and bookkeeping, and he said he’d never done any bookkeeping because all he had was bills, and it was less discouraging to just throw them in a flour barrel. However the Income Tax man came along and requested a report. Stew said he’d give me $5.00 extra if I’d clean out the barrel and put it in a ledger, which I proudly bought. At last I was going to get to use my Business College that I’d taken four years ago in Seattle.

    When I got all the bills and nasty letters recorded, I found a blank space under rent. Nothing but nasty letters and threatened legal action from the landlord in California. I asked Stew why we never paid the rent and he explained that he’d either have to lay off a baker with a family to feed or pay the rent, so he hadn’t paid the rent for three years. That was the picture all over the United States in those days.

    When I’d been there about three months, with Stew sleeping and swilling whiskey in the chair beside me, he came down one morning and said, “Rosee, I’m going away for a while and someone has to sign the checks, so come down to the bank with me and I’ll authorize your signature.” That was all the authorization I ever had and he was gone for almost a year."

    To be continued...

rows & rows & Rosee

    Different day, different squares... (these few are from Jude and a trip to London).

    Routine helps me.  So, I'm trying to stitch in the first half of the day, lunch, and then afternoons are for computer things, reading, housekeeping (once in a while), trying to pry Moon away from his phone... doing anything that needs done (today it was a search for the eggs K. couldn't find at the store last night.  A dozen was scored, but there wasn't a grain of flour to be had...another day.).

    These papers are also becoming a piece of the days.  The manila envelope that's held them for decades was uncovered last week.  Forty some pieces of onion skin paper, written on the fronts and backs by my Grandma Rosee.  I think I was in high school when she wrote it for my dad and his sister.  He had handed it to me saying I should type it up before it was lost.  So, forty some years later, at last, it's happening.

  It begins with...

            "This is the story of my life. You might be interested and you might be bored, but it gives me something to do and I’ve never been home to tell it to you."

    Way back on the blog I wrote this about her... "Rosee was Montana born and raised as a cowgirl.   She was a palm reader for a while in Alaska, while Grandpa was out at sea fishing, during their early years.   She hung her shingle outside her door on the building, the building that also housed women who were frequented by the fishermen.  She was schizophrenic, heavily medicated, wore bright red lipstick, loved her Harlequin romances, and would lay on our couch when she visited once a year, with an ashtray balanced on her chest.  She would only get up for food, cribbage or to read our palms- never sugar-coating what she saw in your hand."

    Since then, there have been family discussions about whether or not she was schizophrenic, or misdiagnosed and misunderstood?  She was in and out of the state hospital for most of my dad's childhood.  There were shock treatments and lithium, which left her flat and mostly silent.  So it's great to be hearing her expressive, funny and sarcastic "voice" in her writing.

    The first fourteen pages told about the animals of her childhood on the ranch.  She described the personalities of eleven horses (Tablespoon, Dainty Boots, Silver, Star...), a sheep named Popeye, and Puppins and her puppies.

    Today her story finally left the ranch...

    "I was one of those suckers that never could pass a fortune teller without shelling out a dollar to have my fortune told till I finally got disgusted and sent to Montgomery Ward for a fortune telling book."

    She goes on to tell about educating herself in palmistry and numerology, reading more and more books.  When a text didn't match what she had already learned, she would heave it into the stove and buy the next one on her list.

    "This was in those deadly depression days when I couldn’t get a job. I took a correspondence course in news writing but I found out I couldn’t write anything unless I had first lived it myself.

    In 1934, I’d had all I wanted of O’Neill, Montana, so when Peggy (her sister) got ready to go back to school. I said I’m going with you and hanging out my shingle as a Fortune Teller in Miles City, which I did. An ad was placed in the Miles City Star and I waited for customers. All the teachers in her bridge club and all the beauty operators where we had our hair fixed bought a fortune. One day one of the girls in the beauty shop said the baker next door wanted a fortune so I went next door and read his hand, and he asked me if I wanted a job as a retail clerk in his bakery. I almost climbed his frame with joy. It actually paid $18 a week. That was the end of my fortune telling career."

    It wasn't the end, I know she read palms later in Alaska, but I'm not reading ahead.

    Until next time...

rough & only draft

    I've been avoiding screens (& people, too), feeling they were adding to the stress.  When I'm anxious, worried, scared, overwhelmed... I tend to turn away from everything, and lean towards shutting down.  Self protection.  Looking for a shell to crawl into.  But pretending that I have one doesn't seem to be serving me.  So, I'm going to try to keep going out loud here, and drifting and reaching back into the worlds of others.  Here I go...

    Much of the days are spent stitching on the "Story" blanket.  I could be doing a neater job, taking time and care.  But, I'm not.  Seams of the two sides were eye-ball lined up- iffy at best.  Spilled tea on it, probably a little wine, too.  Just going.  If I stop to get it right, it may all screech to a halt.  So, I don't look back.

    Stitching in whatever direction it gets picked up in, whatever I feel like doing.  There are no rules other than going.  The needle is too long.  Moving the few safety pins that I could find to hold ("baste") the layers together as I go.  Managing only what is in my lap, not the big picture.

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.

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...

blue therapy

    Because there are many things I should be thinking about and/or doing, much of last week was spent stitching blue squares for the "Story" blanket border.

    I had been holding on with stubbornness to the configuration of the center squares, even though it would mean that the whole thing would be an odd size, or require a lot more blue squares to make it fit on a bed.  I finally let go, and dismantled and rearranged some of them (a few strips were taken off of the bottom, and then sewn to a side).  The eighty plus squares from last week were more than enough to make it around its new practical shape.

    Since then, the Need-To-Do-List has had a few more items checked off of it.  I think that time in blue shook some things loose.