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.
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.
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.
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.
