While resting in a nest of dayswhich I am so in need of. All the while considering communication and what that might really be. And not be. And then, feeling older but not weaker but smaller in no sad way. And then feeling free to wonder about wandering without leaving a trace. Asking myself about the obsession of leaving a trace. Marks. Might no trace be an act of kindness in some way? Then. Not having found myself really waiting for longer days but noticing how short they were. Are. How it changes the balance of doings. Being outside in a warm December. Aware of feelings that are usually buried in snow by now. Appreciating the solitude that still flourishes here in this kind companionship. Spending a lot of time doing nothing. But making new squares. Connecting old ones. By firelight. Knowing I might be able to do the same with my eyes closed . This new piece is what I am calling Nest of Days. These are all the nines I have been making in the past months, surrounded by the growing darkness. In old blue. Above, I have the small stray that holds center and continues to vibrate outward (which is now aka InBetween) pinned over a nest of days which is pinned over Holding Pattern. You can see the beginning of the next ring of dark and light squares that will hold the center of the Nest of Days. Officially acknowledged as the year of the blankets, 2016 will bring large cloth. A ceremony. Cloth over cloth for a while then. Later they will go their separate ways.
A few days with family, food and wine and I will begin again.
I am smiling because I am happy to celebrate with him.
He is smiling because he is younger than me.
No gifts. Just smiling. He likes it that way.
I used one of the Pairings waiting for stitch on the wall, just to illustrate the fact that I think (a note to self) it is just grand that after all these years we might still be smiling. And that's enough.
Tomorrow is July. And I will be back to stitching and sharing and not just imagining.
Not new things, just patching them together to make them useful.
The top from an old garlic keeper. Clay. The bottom broke. I had to grind the holes a bit larger to fit the incense sticks.
The little jug, an old mustard crock. From a time when I was into mustard. Now I am just into crocks.
The blue bowl, Dad bought in New Mexico. My parents used to go camping across the States. And my dad used to seek out this particular potter. He used to sell somewhere out there. Blue bowls. I took one after Mom died. My brother has the others.
The cloth... Nine for Peace. Now aka A Newer World Order. Part of the Crossroads series.
I am thinking a lot about which things I will keep when we move. We want to stay loose and light.
Since that is all out of the way I will use the day to Unclutter the big wall.
The one that is big enough to hang the Feather Cloth. Just about.
Undo winter's scenery.
The cold room which is not so cold now. Leftovers and new thoughts caught, pinned, kept out of reach. Safe from paws and claws. The cold room was often Soul-o's playground. No furniture, just space. And walls filled with stuff I didn't want to lose track of.
I am thinking about walls today as I rearrange. Walls are Pages. With this thought comes new (old) eyes.
Yesterday - spent figuring out video on the new camera. Different. Learning.
Today - clearing some space to hang a big cloth for the last time. To Look at it on the wall. Turn that page.
Today will be warmer. Rain has waited till tomorrow.
Early this morning Mr. Robin ran by. So quickly I could hardly catch a shot. I caught him between breaths.
Last night I turned the cloth. This morning just looking. Like some sort of Permaculture. All there underneath. Waiting. Supporting growth. This is the earthen side.
Yesterday. It was Easter. I do not celebrate. But Mom did. I was reminded of how she would line up jelly beans in the hallways while we slept. Little candy breadcrumbs we could follow to find our Easter baskets. She always told us the Easter Bunny must have dropped them on his way through I smiled to myself and said maybe I should make a little holiday cloth. Stitch some jelly beans. But I sat, lost in thought. I thought about my Mom. Who she was. What she gave me. What she gave everyone.
Holidays were not rituals to her. Not banners of belief and doctrine. They did not include or exclude. They were for everyone within reach. They were a way, excuses really, for her to return to a simpler time. Childhood. And share that. Give that back over and over. The love and the fun and the sense of simple joy and laughter. And she did. Over and over. As long as she could. I see it now as a reminder. To push the pause button. To get back.
And when I sat with the cloth this morning. With it's simpler side. I saw them. The stones that trace the rings of my basket-self. The jelly beans.
CandyLand was always my favorite game.
I am going outside. For the day. To stick my hands in the dirt and let winter blow off me. Ride my bike.