Category: stitchings (Page 7 of 37)

Juicing the Third Half of Life

June 7, 2015 / jeanne / 0 Comments

IOOL4 7

In Our Own Language 4:7
She (Nancy, my developmentally disabled sister-in-love) draws.
I (Jeanne, the woman who flat-out loves her) stitch.

ChambersMyers

While in Michigan for my brother’s stepson’s wedding this weekend, we reconnected with friends we haven’t seen in I don’t know how long. We knew them in undergraduate days when we were all young and free and confident. We knew them in that time when our parents were busy creating their own life without children to wait up for or pick up after and when children weren’t even an idea. We could carry little ole’ tiny pocketbooks in those days ’cause we were only responsible for ourselves. We were juicers, extracting every bit of fun and goodness and laughter out of life.

It was so much fun remembering and reminiscing with Bruce and Linda, trekking back down memory laugh. Oh my goodness, the things we did Back Then. And I want you to know that we told the true stories this weekend, with my mother and my son and my daughter-in-love sitting right there listening. I figure they’re old enough to hear those sorts of things now.

I’ve decided I want to keep the body of information and wisdom I’ve acquired and recapture the absolute joy of living as though One Day is Right now. I think it’s possible.

I may have to increase my insurance, though.

Not the Kind of Cracks That Break Your Mother’s Back

June 5, 2015 / jeanne / 4 Comments

SpiralOnBoardwalk

Sometimes things fall between the cracks and disappear forever.
Sometimes things fall between the cracks and leave a pattern.
Sometimes things repeatedly falling between the cracks
is a pattern that needs looking into,
needs changing.

IOOL4 6

In Our Own Language 4:6

Nancy is one of those who easily falls between the cracks.
She’s in a good home now, though
and a good day program, too.
She’s surrounded by women – Mona, Ruby, Kathy –
who see her, protect her,
make sure she doesn’t fall between any cracks.
We all need a team like that to watch out for us.
We all need to be on a team like that, watching out for others.

You Call It Woo, I Call it Way

June 4, 2015 / jeanne / 0 Comments

IOOL4 5

In Our Own Language 4:5

She (Nancy, my developmentally disabled sister-in-love draws.
I (Jeanne, the woman who flat-out loves her) stitch.

Several weeks ago my waking thought was “I’m ready to write.” Within a few days (less than a week), I had 3 requests to write guest blog posts, and I saw an ad in the local paper for a writer’s retreat right down the road from us. Mari Ann, founder of the retreat who’s also a crackerjack editor and writer, and Susan, who wrote a deeply moving book about her brother who was killed in Vietnam and has just turned the manuscript for her second book into the publisher, invited me to attend one of their read-and-give-feedback lunches. (Which I did, and it was fabulous!)

Chocolategrapes

Today on the way to our table at the Boone Tavern Inn in Berea, KY, I bopped into the gift shop to ask if they had any chocolate-covered grapes in. No, the manager said, but she had 4 boxes due in tomorrow. I promised to check back with her after lunch in case some arrived early. They hadn’t, but I paid for 3 of the boxes and we made arrangements for her to hold them for me till we come back through on Sunday. We then went to walk and shop, and after we visited the restrooms, got some water, and filled the car up with fuel, and as we prepared to leave town, I pulled out her card to call, just in case they’d come in while we were out and about. With the phone in my left hand and her card in my right, I raised a finger to mash the first number when my phone rang. It was Kylie, the store manager calling to tell me that the grapes had just come in.

Things like this keep happening to me, do they happen to you, too? Decide what you want and let The Sweet Spirit of Surprise know, then watch for her to put down stepping stones in front of you leading you there. My Shero, Tracey Selingo who is fluent in this kind of living, calls it Woo, I’m beginning to call it simply Way. It’s pure magic, but it doesn’t just happen without some involvement from you. There’s a turning over, a surrender, a letting go, a trust and faith that must happen. You don’t just tell and wait. Oh no. You have to stay awake and recognize opportunities when they appear because the Sweet Spirit of Surprise can be a rascal. And know this: if you go to sleep or if you don’t avail yourself of the wonderfulness She puts in front of you, She’ll stop wasting her time and energy on you. That’s just the way She is. If you want it, go after it. Talk all you will about what you want, but don’t you ever forget that actions speak louder than words. Especially to the Sweet Spirit of Surprise.

A Cloth, A Lightbulb, A Birthday

June 3, 2015 / jeanne / 0 Comments

IOOL4 4

In Our Own Language 4:4

She (Nancy, my developmentally disabled sister-in-love draws.
I (Jeanne, the woman who flat-out loves her) stitch.

A lightbulb moment as I was having imaginary conversations with real friends: I’ve fallen into the ghetto side of self talk. You should hear what rattles around inside my brain any given day.

“I can’t get anything done for the all the interruptions.”
“I can’t do anything when I travel except what other people want to do.”
“I’m gonna’ die without having finished anything.”

And so on.
And so on.
And so on.

Now you and I both know that what we say on the inside is the navigator for where we go and how we live, so I’ve made a few changes. Starting now, whenever I hear the ever-familiar (and comfortable?) ghetto talk, I’m stopping right then and there and changing it to things like: “Wow – look at all I’ve accomplished despite the interruptions and OPA’s (other people’s agendas).”

Okay, so I still have some tweaking to do, but I’m headed in the right direction, getting back on track.

Today is The Engineer’s birthday, and here are reasons #7340-7344 that I adore him:

7340: He is patient.
7341: He is kind.
7342: Not once in the 42 years of our togetherness has he ever responded to something I want by saying “that’s ridiculous.”
7343: He’s funny. Or can be.
7344: I’ve never had to hide a price tag.

Yes, you’re right: it’s his birthday, and I’m the one receiving the gift.

ARCHoldingJHCBdayCakeFeb1973 copy 2
The Engineer holding my birthday cake. I’d known him less than 2 weeks at this point, and I told him I wanted a picture of my birthday cake. What I really wanted, though, (and I’m pretty sure this will not come as a shock to him) was a picture of his handsome countenance cause I knew – I just knew – from that first meeting, he was The One. Isn’t he absolutely adorable? I mean, really, how could anybody resist him?

ARCInDublin

The Engineer last fall in Dublin.
He’s a little taller than me, something that always surprises me.
Happy birthday, you.

Another Cloth, Another Cake

June 2, 2015 / jeanne / 0 Comments

IOOL4 1

In Our Own Language 4:1

I’ve begun stitching the In Our Own Language 4 drawings that were made made in November 2012 when we went to see Nancy for Thanksgiving. There are 94 drawings in the set.

IOOL4 2

In Our Own Language 4:2

Though I try to never do or use anything that competes with or detracts from Nancy’s marks, I opted for more color this time.

IOOL4 3b

In Our Own Language 4:3

And bling.

JeanneNancyJanuary2015

Today is Nancy’s birthday. Perhaps you’d like to celebrate her by doing something she does: look at yourself in the mirror (or your phone camera turned to selfie mode) and smile – sincerely, really, hugely smile – and say to the you in the mirror “I’m a pretty girl.” Yep, we could learn a lot from Nancy.

And hey, if you’d like to help her stretch her celebration far beyond the scant 24 hours usually allocated for such things, maybe you’d like to mail her a card or a postcard. If so, let me know in the comments here or on Facebook, and I’ll send you hew new address privately.

~~~~~~~

Nancy, my developmentally-disabled sister-in-love draws while
I, Jeanne, the woman who flat-out loves her, stitch.

hush: the delicate tremble

April 24, 2015 / jeanne / 1 Comment

work on in our own language 4 has begun. nancy’s drawings become more intense in this set, the stitching takes longer, there are more lines and sometimes more chaos. i occasionally feel the need to set them aside and turn my own hands loose . . .

DelicateTrimbleCloseup2

the moon drapes itself over trees and mountains, and i am once again inside a childhood tent of blankets over chairs, in a world where anything is possible – anything, i tell you – and where time stretches out before me with no end in sight. life is simple there, nothing is silly or stupid or un-doable. everything i’m interested in, everything that calls to me, everything i want to do is worthwhile.

DelicateTrembleCloseup1

in my moon tent, i am spacious. thoughts and feelings commingle freely and naturally and without argument or vying for position. polarities exist amicably, naturally. attitudes that regard differences as automatic oppositions meet with head scratches and laughter.

DelicateTrembleBack

in my moon tent, i am protected. nothing has to be justified or explained or defended. concerns about returns on investment need not apply because when the moon drapes its beams over trees and mountains, i am protected from all that would judge or scoff or balk or argue.

DelicateTrembleCloseup4

questioning is the native language of residents in my moon tent where doubt is valued and sentences that start with “what if” are treasured. most prized of all are the questions that can be answered only with more questions.

i love being a moontent dweller.
where
i’m safe and possible and free.
(and y’all to know what i love best of all about life inside the moontent?
i can hang the No Morons Allowed sign out
and enforce it.)

DelicateTremble4

The Delicate Tremble
15″ x 33.25″
commercial fabric, embroidery floss
indigo moon and other pieces dyed by Glennis Dolce

Even When Nancy Doesn’t Draw, I Stitch

April 22, 2015 / jeanne / 2 Comments

IOOL12Nancy1

Then one day instead of drawing, Nancy reaches in her art box, pulls out all the contents, and arranges them on her blank page. For months I wonder how on earth to turn this into a part of the In Our Own Language series. I fiddle and ponder, wonder and sketch . . . then one afternoon the light bulb (finally) goes off.

Iool12closeup2 copy

Iool12closeup3 copy

Iool12closeup1 copy

I work a lot slower than Nancy.
Probably because I’m encumbered with words and caring what others think
and such.

IOOL12Nancy2

Nancy arranges.

Iool12complete1 copy

I stitch.

In Our Own Language 12
18.5″ x 33″
machine and hand stitched
thread, embroidery floss, and bits of fabric from my scrap bowl

Photos of Nancy taken by Mona Diethrick

vessels

April 11, 2015 / jeanne / 2 Comments

Vessels1d

i am ready to have more space than stuff
so . . .
i dedicated this week to using what i have on hand
to create something new.
my plan may not to The Engineers of the world,
but to me, it is a delightfully sensible solution.
(but let’s don’t take into account that i
have to store the new things i made, ok?)

Vessels1c

today i made vessels
from yarn
using the sewing machine
and, since most of my work is hand-stitched,
i am downright giddy
with the speed of completion.

i’m also more convinced than ever
that my grandmother
spent lots of time at her
sewing machine
letting the constant whir
build walls around her.

Vessels1a

wind

April 10, 2015 / jeanne / 1 Comment

WordsUnspun4

. . . a language delicate and quiet,
that maybe will take root
and maybe not.

WordsUnspun1

words unspun
11″ x 15″
hand stitched
embroidery floss, commercial fabrics from my scrap bin

words from the poem “Terms” by Anne Coray

ancient skins

April 9, 2015 / jeanne / 0 Comments

AncientSkins2

she fed us from her vast garden,
neatly-plowed rows that stretched on and on
as far as my short eyes could see.
we drank from assorted jelly glasses
ate from mismatched plates
most of them chipped or cracked,
bruised by life.
she didn’t draw attention to the
imperfections by way of
apology or neon sign,
but she didn’t hide them in the
back of the cabinet, either,
any more than she hid the bruises
just underneath her parchment skin,
oceans of color splashing forth
at the mere thought of
getting too close to a hard surface.

AncientSkins1