I am happy.  I have learned many truths about myself this last year; they swirl around my head, like bats reaching for moonlight.  My spiritual truths are best spoken in terms of fabric.  My hands are learning to speak in support of fabric.  A chef's hands work in unison with food, a  gardener's hands learn how to move in poetry to the needs of the plants.  A fabric artist's hands learn to move in poetry with the needle.  They move, without the mind controlling, but in unison to the needs of the fabric.  This is what I learned. Fabric brought me back to the dance, a ballet where each dancer knows their part.  This unison with fabric brings comfort to my soul.  My mentors have taught me that fabric is a story, a way.  How I touch fabric helps decide the story.  

My mentors remind me to have a relationship with the fabric.   The fabric pieces should evolve as a story, a record of my asking a question or exploring a belief, or as protection for someone.  I should think in terms of segments; segments that join as a whole.  Cloth with spirit evolves; just like a life evolves and changes as it is played out.  Fabric should tell a story.  Fabric guides me to my style. If I have style and a way; the segments will fit seamlessly.  Consistency in spirit brings a life that fits seamlessly together. My fabric should always be touched with spiritual symbology, just like my daily life; the spirit should touch everything I do.  Fabric and thread are a means to an understanding, not an end project.  I remind myself that I stitch because I enjoy stitching, not because I want a finished project.

This year has been full.  I fell into the perfect job.  I turned and found myself wanting to go to work again, wanting to be a part of something larger than myself, and wanting to be a part of people growing and becoming stronger.  My Mother is now in an assisted living arrangement and I no longer worry if she is eating, if she is overmedicating herself, if she is safe.  Now when I visit her, we visit.  I can enjoy her quirky humor again.  I know my children do not want to live with us, but I have enjoyed their presence in my daily life.  They are a blessing.

I am Awake

I have awakened.  These past six months have given me back my energy, my passion, and my laughter.  After much angst on my part,  and encouragement from my family, I quit my job last June.  I spent the month of July on the couch, just breathing.  Slowly, I started to notice the warmth of the summer air, friends' stories and laughter, and the voice inside yearning.  Brad, Jess, and I found St. James' Cathedral.  The parishioners opened their hearts to us.  We joined.  I have been gone too long.  

Artistic yearnings have always tried to find their way to the surface.  A few years ago, I tried to teach myself how to crazy quilt and made a sampler in the resemblance of a cobweb.  I had difficulty deciphering the harder stitches but still strove to apply stitches to fabric.  

I reached for quilting again.  My fingers love the feel of cotton. I returned to the Shamrock quilt; adding borders and quilting it by hand.  

I  wanted complicated stitches and found a hand stitching club at the "Needle & I." Georgia Gale unlocked the secret of crazy stitching for me.  I have not stopped stitching since. We were given the homework of a traditional sampler.  Mine is all reds as white florals were too much.  I am still working on it.  I will add ribbons, beads, and buttons.

This Christmas found me at Hattie's Hat; a most congenial establishment.  I found inspiration in the reds of the lighting, decor, and festive decorations.  My red sampler was seen in an enhanced light; what chaos can bring to a piece.  I now look at my work through the inspiration of what I see around me, not just the fabric in front of me.

Last month, I noticed Karen Ruane was holding an online beginning embroidery class.  Be still my beating heart.  I did not think my skills were ready and was concerned about the commitment.  My family yelled, "Go for It!" and I did.  This class starts in March and I can hardly contain myself waiting.  I have spent my time in thrift shops collecting linens and lace and ordering threads from England.  Much time has been devoted to reorganizing my sewing space and getting rid of flotsam.  I have never taken the time and energy to become good, really good, at hand stitching and this opportunity is my chance. 

I still wanted more and have found it.  I joined the Seattle Modern Quilting Guild.  The members got me excited at the prospect of bringing to life the images in my head, to try new color combinations and designs, and to reach out to other quilters.  

I have it all now; family, friends, my faith, hand stitching, and quilting.  I am ready to start looking for another job; one that has normal hours and normal demands.  I am whole again.

 

Thursday, Cammy and I went to Tina's on Madison.  Eclectic only describes the beginning of the experience.  Fabric is everywhere, with no particular rhyme or reason.  The giant rolls are stacked in corners, fanning out on both sides. A semblance of a center aisle can be seen.  Some rolls are stacked haphazard from shelves, appearing ready to fall under the weight.  First the colors remind me of being inside an Easter basket.  Splashes of color everywhere, with no regard with what may clash with what.  Then, as my eyes adjust, I notice the textures.  My hand reaches out regardless whether I am interested in the fabric or not.  I could drown in the richness of it all.  After touching everything in sight, I notice the collection of tassels.  The owner definitely has an affinity. 

Cammy, ever knowing on the spot what she likes, picks a black textured satin for her hood/shawl.  We both notice the owner has an antique cash register, which she states she has had for years; before it became antique.  It is for use, not show.  She does old style credit cards with the rolling slide gizmo.  She prefers cash, which we were happy to part with.  Tina detains us, without resistance, to see the article on her shop in a major professionals interior decorator magazine.  Yup, lots of tassels in the mock bedroom.  Tina's personal dress style is a reflection of her shop, lots of colors and textures.  She speaks with an eastern European accent and American slang still escapes her, which is a source of laughter between us.

We were reulctant to leave, so we wandered the community of Madison Park 'till dusk.  Tina's is worth starting a new project just for an excuse to go there.

Sigh.  I have been struggling with this voice that whispers inside; so quietly that most of the time I can ignore it.  But it is always there, asking to come out, asking why I don't listen. I want to meditate, sew, laugh with the trees outside; but I spend my time exhausted from work, worrying, and just distracted. 

I spent the evening with Cammy discussing the why of not living the way the little voice wants to and concluded I need to get rid of stuff I cling to.  An image of it sits in the back of my mind and tires me just trying to ignore it.  Time to let go and live like I did in college; all my belongings could fit into the trunk of my car. 

I smiled this Christmas as I saw what the holiday means to me; how I have made it mine.  John, my brother-in-law, posted a comment on Facebook about keeping Christ in Christmas.  He got me thinking as a voice inside said, "what if we took Christ out of Christmas?"  Let me explain.

I would like to celebrate Christ's birthday in the spring, when he was born.  We could mark the day with respect, and gratitude at what this great Man has given us.  We would have time for a Church service, and share our joy with fellow Christians. 

Christmas could be about the pagan aspects we all celebrate.  We could cherish our decorated trees, and not wonder if they should be palm trees.  We would not feel guilty about referring to Santa Claus, instead of Christ, in stories and advertising.  We could express our affection for one another by exchanging gifts and salutations, without offending non-Christians.  People of all religions could participate because most Christmas traditions are from religions and mythologies long gone.  Christmas is a national holiday as evidenced by the US Government, banks, and most businesses giving the day off as a paid holiday.  Why not make it something everyone can enjoy?

We gathered one evening and each family member stated what made Christmas special for them.  We all agreed on a dead tree with lights and decorations.  We  like different versions of our favorite Christmas songs and delight in sharing new ones with each other.  We wanted to exchange small gifts as a sign of affection and a reflection of the giver.  Cammie and I like making Christmas cards as this is a way to express our affection to those we do not exchange gifts with.  Brad likes having a special dinner.  Cammie likes starting the day with coffee, cinnamon rolls, and watching the Nutcracker.  Jess just liked not being in Alaska.

This planning made each moment of Christmas special, especially the two weeks leading up to the big day.  I liked making Christmas our own.

I plan on celebrating Christ's Birthday this March by making a cake, with candles, and reflecting on the gifts and wisdom he gives us.  So, yes, John, I am putting Christ back in Christmas by giving him a whole holiday to himself.  He doesn't have to share it with Santa, nor the retailers, and most of all, his day will not be about overspending, or yelling at clerks.  Maybe the idea will catch on and more people can have a day celebrating Christ, instead of a day about pagan traditions.

A Cold North Wind

Sometimes, a cold wind will blow through swinging open a front door that has not been properly closed.  A family member responds by getting up to shut the door.  Everyone feels the chill and moves to find a sweater or shake off the cold.  Our family had chilling air sweep through our home last Tuesday when Brad found out he had prostate cancer.  The phone call sent chills down to our core.  Brad mobilised to shut the door and will have surgery in the next month to rid himself of it.  The chilling wind is still with us as we move to shake it off.  We have felt the questions of our mortality, what do we want to leave to our family, and what of ourselves would we want our children to remember.  Brad would like to leave his genealogy records for coming generations and to teach Jessi how to hunt and use a gun.  I would like her to develop her art and feed her soul with it.  Brad would like to teach Cammi how to find strength and resolve.  I would like to leave quilts for others to keep warm with and teach Cammi how to sew, releasing her inner art.  Together, Brad and I would like to live simply, to laugh together, and to enjoy watching our children grow. 

Miss Marian

I received a gift today. One of the ladies at my favorite quilt store received a call from Sandy McKay. Her mother, who loved to create cross stitch wall hangings on a wooden frame, had recently passed away. She did not want to sell the frame; she wanted to give it to someone who would continue creating on it. The saleslady thought of me and thought I would appreciate the generosity and honor the gift. I phoned Sandra today and she wanted me to come over. I had a wonderful time with Sandy. She showed me pictures of her Mother, Miss Marian, and a wall hanging she had done. The wall hanging was of a garden, which Miss Marian stitched many. Sandy and I agreed that energy never leaves and that Miss Marian left her energy in the frame. You could feel the energy near her things. I shared a dream I had last night with Sandy. I opened the door to what I thought was my living room. As the door opened I saw that it was not my room and inside were beautiful fabrics on the furniture and skeins of threads hanging from the walls. Golds and reds were everywhere and sunlight was pouring in through the window. A dark haired woman was sitting with her hands crossed at the wrist, by the window. She stood up. I said, "I'm sorry, I thought this was my room." She said, " That's alright, you are welcome here. This is your room now too." Sandy said it sounded like something her Mom would say. We agreed coincidences don't exist; everything happens for a reason. One has to quiet down to hear. I am honored to have been chosen to carry on Miss Marian's work. I agreed to take a picture of the frame and show Sandy something I made on it. I could feel the air tingle as we talked. Sandy said her Mom talks to her often and was surprised when I referred to her as Miss Marian. She said that was what people called her. How did I know? That which encompasses us all spoke to me and I promised Sandy to slow down, quiet down, and listen. I am honored.

My old posts from Myspace

I wanted to save some blog entries from Myspace and decided to leave them here.

Jan 18, 2008
I miss her giggle.
Current mood: nostalgic
Brad said he missed Jessica. I should miss her warmth. Hugging her is easy, her body always hugs back. I should miss her smile. Her whole face lights up. Always has. I should miss her rambles. She is a consummate conversationalist. But, no, it's her giggle I miss. The memory of it can warm me on a lonely night. I have been known to think of excuses to call her - just to hear that giggle. I don't have to say anything funny. Jessica cannot talk long without giggling. It is infectious, melodic - it is Jessica embracing life.


Dec 12, 2007
So sometimes I am not the brightest bulb on the tree.
Today is my day off. Brad made me stay home because he thought I was getting stressed out about Christmas. Okay, so maybe he was right. Anyway, I wanted to make some stew and his rank roast was still in the fridge, in my crockpot. He had promised to feed it to the critters. I decided to help him and cut it up to distribute to the forest creatures. I took the plate outside and noticed my one neighbor was not at home and it was pitch black. I suddenly felt alone, very alone. I dropped the meat near our front yard and scurried back inside. I explained this all to Brad when he called. He burst out loud laughing and said, "So, let me see, you went outside, at night, with meat in your hands." I think I have a ways to go in the Daniel Boone department. I am now safely inside with my electricity, walls, and locked door. I don't think bears know how to pick locks yet.

Dec 4, 2007
We are Home!
I am home after another "Woodinville has been declared a disaster zone" evening. Visions of last year are still dancing in my head. Brad and I went to work as usual, until the highway we were on, 522, came to a sudden halt. All of our recent rain had flooded Woodinville. A traffic jam did the rest of the damage. Woodinville had become an island.
I went to work, where for several hours we helped co-workers and customers find the secret route off of the island. Some co-workers spent 3 hours trying to get home. Some stayed with friends. We heard reports of a submerged truck and circling helicoptors. Matt walked Laura across the train tressle and down the hillside to meet her ride. He then found himself leading families out of Woodinville across the same route.
Brad had to go up to Wood-Duvall to Avondale to Redmond to get to Renton. He spent the evening helping clients find their way home and recording new flooding and outages. He told me the Govenor had declared Woodinville a disaster area.
We in Woodinville didn't need the Govenor to tell us the obvious.
I miss Jessica. She always came and picked me up on the nights I didn't know if Brad was coming to get me. I could always stay at her place and have a girl's night and find out what she had in her liquor cabinet. Always worth it.
Tonight, Brad came through and we made it home. Back to the snow and Payton Creek and Bridal Veil Stream so loud I thought our little valley was flooding. I am home.


Aug 16, 2007
Looking at the NW sky
Current mood:nostalgic
I have the next 3 days off. Today I am home. I am doing a little cleaning, a little sorting, and a lot of looking at Mt. Index. The sky is perfect: cloudy with threatening rain. Some Loreena McKinnett music and a little of my new drink makes for the perfect afternoon. I have discovered vodka with the liquor "Celtic Crossing" goes down smooth and one drink lasts hours.
I am waxing nostalgic as I am coming across stuff my kids owned, made, or loved. Makes me miss their laughter, off-beat jokes, and warm hugs.
I waited so many years for a little alone time and quiet. . . and I spend it missing them.

The Lady

She has been in my life since 2004. She first appeared in our home in Gold Bar. We were getting ready to move and I was sorting papers to throw away. A little picture of her appeared. I asked Brad, Cammy, and Jessi if this little picture belonged to them and they said no. I also asked if they had ever seen this picture before and they said no. I threw it away. A day later, I was sorting through a shoe box full of junk and there she was again. I threw her away. The third time she appeared I asked my family if they had taken her out of the trash and they assured me they had not. I threw her away. As I was arranging our belongings in the cabin, she appeared again. I remarked on how the chances of her appearing were above the probability of chance. Yes, I tossed her out again, but this time questions began running through my mind. If this is not chance, what is it? Were there four copies of her throughout our stuff? If this was outside of normal experience; what abnormal experience was it? I was a bit shaken and asked Brad where she could have come from. We agreed the paper was not from a picture, but more like the photos in the frames when you buy them.

She did not appear for a few years after that. In the Spring of 2009, I was sorting files in the spare room and remembered the Lady. I thought about how I had not seen her for a few years and wondered if She had stayed in the trash. I put the files on the desk and went to bed. The next morning, Brad went to work and I looked forward to finishing the spare room. I opened the door and there she was; on the floor in the middle of the room. No papers had slid off the desk, nothing was out of place. She had earned a place in our home. Whatever was the cause of her appearing, She needed to be acknowledged. I took her to a frame shop and picked out a nice frame for her. She sits in our living room and has not moved since.

People have offered explanations for her. One person said She was real and her spirit has returned to her picture. Another stated her appearance was pure chance, nothing more. One person looked at me as if I was crazy and had imagined it. Brad weighed in; it just didn't matter. He liked the picture and was fine with her in the living room. I realized I did not need an explanation to everything. Chaos is our acceptance of the unknown. She has only moved when the cats have knocked her over and I dust her frame now and again. I have been meaning to post this story about her for two years because She reminds me to accept occurances for what they are, without cause, without meaning. Sometimes it just is.

A postscript to the Lady happened about two weeks ago. Cammy asked me why I keep the picture around when we saw an old advertisement for a Barnes & Noble frame and she was in it. There, mystery solved. I told her we had always suspected that she came from an advertisement; that was not the mystery. Cammy thought we should get rid of her as we were trying to cut down on the clutter. I went on to work. When I came home I found her facing to the side. I asked if the cats had been near her. Cammy said no. I reached for her to face her out again and noticed she had a chip on the top of her picture. How did this happen when she has been encased in the frame since 2004? Chaos, She lives it.

The Magic is Returning

My life has always been filled with an inner tingle; a tingle that feels the magic in the air and the world around. I have always felt like the world was whispering a secret that other people could not hear or feel. This magic left me after Christmas and I feared I had finally grown up. I trudged along trying to be a normal person, but I missed the world tickling me. This last week, at Ocean Shores, the world beckoned me back. I could feel the tingling again. My magic world had returned. This part of me that is hard to explain to others is part of why I stretch up to try and touch the toes of mystics; to try and feel this magic all the time, not just when the world whispers to me. I laugh inside again, I am healed.

Old Friends

I have lived long enough to have lost touch with friends. Moving often has allowed me to leave the past behind quickly and acquire new friends wherever I am. When I was younger I felt much lonliness and wanted friends, although I never seemed to acquire a wide circle of them. Through the years I have realized that I am a loner and my need for friendship was more of a need for self-acceptance than a need for friends. I now choose a few friends carefully and take a long time to know them. I like this about me as I value my alone time, alot.



Recently, Brad and I discussed the lifestyle we have had of pulling up roots every five years or so. We played the game of who do we wish we still had contact with; that we let slip away. Each of us had only one friend from the past we miss. Brad missed an old Coast Guard buddy, I missed a friend from my college days. I have thought of him often and prayed that he was safe.



One evening, using the wonderful vastness of the internet, I found my old friend. 27 years of wondering laid bare on the monitor screen. He is alive, well, and leading a fulfilling life. I took a chance last night and sent him an e-mail. I broke my rule of letting the past lie still. I remind myself that he may no longer want contact and the treasures of our friendship are enough. More than enough. Yet, this reaching out into the unknown, a willingness to be rejected, is new. I know I will accept whatever this action brings me and am gladdened that I do have self-acceptance now and will be fine with the future outcome. I like this quality I have acquired. 27 years ago would have found me taking it personally if a person did not want contact with me. I had not even realised this change within me. I wonder what the next 27 years will bring.

Getting ready for Fun

I leave in a few hours for Ocean Shores on the Washington Coast. I will be traveling with Austin and my Mom and meeting up with my Aunt Mary. Some unstructured time is ahead of me. Instead of trying to find my inner child or inner saint, I am going to search for my inner dog. The one that likes to stick her head out of a moving car and feel the wind on her cheek. The one that can eat and drink on the run, no questions asked about where the food came from. The one that can run on the beach, and sit on the sidewalk. For just a few moments. Then off for a new distraction. I don't plan on meditating.

Here's the Proof

Brad and I enjoyed fish and chips at one of our favorite hangouts - the Lockspot. We have been going there for over 20 years and have never found a parking spot at the side. Oh, we have occasionally parked in the four spaces in front, but we usually park in the pay parking lot. Yesterday, we ruled! I took this picture knowing no one would believe me if I didn't. The Durango has been immortalized.

Me and Archie

A visit to Archie McPhee's <a http://archiemcpheeseattle.com"> . Just about the most fun one can have and spend under $5 dollars. Brad and I were on a pig quest and good quests end up at Archie's. I only wish Jessica had been there. She would have giggled with me, instead I had Brad who rolled his eyes a lot.

What will You Remember?

I looked down our road as I remembered a conversation I had with my Father in his home. He had several bottles of liquid soap on the table. He told me how much he enjoyed the soap and wanted to send me home with a bottle.

As a child, he had to use lots of water before handling the bar of soap to work up any suds. The soap back then was rock hard, with no sweet smell. One had to work hard to get clean.

He said you could squirt liquid soap onto your hands and work up a real lather, before you added water! He thinks you get cleaner this way. My father has seen computers and rockets come of age in his lifetime, but liquid soap can make him stand back and marvel.

I am reminded of a bus ride I took in the mid 1970's. I boarded a city bus headed for downtown Portland and asked an elderly woman if I could take the seat beside her. She said yes and a delightful conversation ensued. During this conversation she kept looking up, out the window. At one point I asked her what change in her lifetime most impressed her. She replied, "windows." When she was growing up at the beginning of the last century, buildings did not have many. The tall buildings she was looking at were covered with windows.

I wonder what changes I will find fascinating when I am a bit older.

Mighty Fine Food

Brad and I had a fun day in Seattle. The Ballad neighborhood has special meaning for Brad and I. We both served on the USCGC Fir which tied up behind the Chittingham Locks. The day started with us roaming the streets looking for a place to enjoy breakfast. Brad stopped in front of the Senor Moose http://SenorMoose.com and asked me how I felt about having Mexican food for breakfast. "I'm game." I knew this was going to be special the moment I stepped inside. We sat at the counter. The dining area was too far from the action.


The staff treated us like guests in their home, not customers. Even the cooks, who did not speak English, smiled and greeted us. The grill and surrounding equipment looked like it was from 1953, compete with hot grease stains. On the wall is a faded picture of the Madonna. Four clocks are on the wall, only one of them works. Two windows are broken. The wooden counter has dents from years of use. The business license hangs askew. A black t-shirt hangs on the wall. Pictured are five moose on stools at a bar. One moose has fallen backwards off his stool. It reads: Moose dropping.


Oh, and the food was as good as it looked. An egg scramble served with black beans. Tortillas kept warm on the side. I was immediately reminded of the small diners we have visited in rural Arizona. This is authentic food, not American Mexican food.


I did have a moment of disappointment. I realized this was going to be the best part of the day, and the day had just begun.

My Corner

My corner. My respite. My link to myself. Since Austin moved out of his bedroom - two years ago, I have been trying to clear the clutter (also known as my fabulous fabric stash). I wanted an oasis in its place. A place to meditate, to sew, to write, and . . . . today. . . I saw the room.

I sat, I breathed. Why didn't I do this two years ago?

A Snowy Day in Paradise

The winter snow has melted. The sun can be seen over the treetops during the afternoon. The birds have been returning; I enjoy them early in the morning. A snowfall started today and I sipped my cup of coffee while watching. Although snow has fallen much this winter, I never know when the last snow of the season will be. Therefore I try to take time to enjoy the spectacle. This picture was taken of our road today. At one point the snowflakes were in such abundance, they were a blur in the camera's eye.

I am reminded of a similar snowfall earlier this winter. I was in Top's Food parking lot waiting for Brad to pick me up after work. Few people were around at midnight. I looked up and noticed this one was special. The flakes were very large, something I had not seen since living in Seward, Alaska. The light from the light pole highlighted the flakes a long way up. The snowflakes looked like a map of the universe, a constellation of snowflakes. Each snowflake fell slowly. I could track the trajectory of each flake from high above. I was mesmerized. Customers stopped to ask me what I was looking at. When I explained that I was peeking into the universe, they joined me in my gazing. God wows us in small ways.

Trees

I was a toddler in 1956. Women wore skirts to just below their knees. My mother would take me to family gatherings. I remember trying to walk. I was unsteady and occasionally reached out to keep from falling. I saw only legs around me, topped by darkness, fringed by the hems of skirts. My hand would reach out and touch a leg to balance myself. At times, I was too far from the leg and would grab up to reach a hem. Usually I would start to fall, but an arm would come down from above the skirt line and right me until I could balance myself.

Last Tuesday, our neighbor sent a text message that a semi-truck had overturned on Highway 2, blocking both lanes. We would have to take Reiter Road home. We followed Reiter Road as it started up the hillside, not knowing if we would be turned away by snow. As we neared the top, the road was barely wide enough for two cars. Luckily, at 1 AM, no other cars were approaching us. Total darkness among the trees. As we turned a corner, the alder trees were an arm's length from me. I could only see the trunks, as the tops were fringed in darkness. The headlights shown on the white trunks. I, again, was a child among the forest of legs. The wonderment of children engulfed me as we silently wound our way through them. I felt I could reach out and touch them to right myself. I miss the women in my life. Silently there to reach down and hold me strong.