10 Gratitudes for July 5

10. My friend in Wyoming is safe. 
9. The 4th was simple, good, and happy. 
8. My son is a fabulous father with a darling wife and kids. 
7. My daughter is beautiful, brave, and loving. 
6. My quilt top is finished. 
5. My hearing aides work...better than my ears. 
4. I love and adore my siblings. 
3. I can find creative outlets for my frustrations. 
2. My 18 mo. old grandson, who is not a cuddler, came to me yesterday for a little comfort hug. 
1. Thirty-seven years ago today I began a journey with a good man, a wonderful father, and a lifelong companion who makes every morning a grateful day.

Quilt of Valor #3 Decisions! Decisions!

 


      Except for one blue strip of the weave, everything has been placed on my design wall. This is called a scrappy quilt because the materials have come from my own personal "stash" of materials. Yes, we quilters have our private stash. Sounds clandestine, doesn't it? There have been a lot of jokes about how we hide our stashes and keep trying to find  places to put it all. My stash is really quite modest and I have pretty slim picken's finding the right colors and hues to create some order in the pattern, even though it really doesn't have to be, being scrappy and all.  I'm not the best colorist when it comes to this part of the quilt making.  When you get me together with my 2 quilty friends from 100 miles away, we become a dynamo team, selecting, scrunching, displaying, viewing all kind of color schemes.  It's such a joy to find that strength with my buddies.  But going this one alone really boggles me. Because I am limited to what I have, (yes, I could go to the quilt shop and purchase many more fat quarters to make the color scheme "pop") but I really wanted this to be from me, my stash and my heart.  Some of the materials carry precious memories of past works or favorite shop hops, and one is even a fabric gift from my sister when she was in Australia and wanted to send me something for my quilting. She sent me a huge bandana!  Do you see that one?  I like the idea of selecting all these mixed up pieces to create one new piece. Kind of fits what I was saying on my last post.
     As I am struggling to decide on the just right placement of the rows, I think about all the decisions we all have to make in our lives. As with most families, we are at the crossroads of many decisions, individually and as a family unit. My adult children struggle daily with the pressures of work and home that keep them from finding moments of joy.  My husband is trying to decide how best to help his aging parents when is he too many miles away from them.   I keep waffling in my decisions to find a happy medium between stepping in to "help" them all or standing back in love.  Then my mind goes to you. What decision you must be having to make. What struggles are you confronting?
     After staring at the wall all this time, I need to take a break as the colors are becoming a blur. I choose to do a mindless task of making the "flying geese" blocks that are the ribbon points  of each row. These are simple and no major thinking has to take place to get them done. Just 3 blocks, diagonal lines and little ironing and cutting and Viola! flying geese and my brain can relax for a while. A whole new lesson in this too: when the task gets to be too much and everything is rushing in, around, and by us, we need to stand down, walk away, and re-group our senses.
      So now, is there a better way to arrange these rows? I know in any art, the eye needs a resting place. Eyes follow to the light. I have a lot a patterns in here that are keeping the eye busy.  Then I go the the real purpose of this quilt. It's not supposed to be hung on a wall for the discerning art critics. This unknown soldier is supposed to take it to his/her bed or couch and snuggle under it and find some warmth, calmness, and love amid all these reds, whites, and blues. It should surround him with the untold stories of someone who is grateful for his service even if he doesn't know her, while he can hopefully and in the spirit of healing, reflect on his past, and rebuild whatever the future may hold. I know that the hardest struggle is in getting to the decision itself, because once it's made there is a clear path, and there's no looking back. No time for "woulda, shoulda, coulda.  Just keep on moving!

Quilt of Valor # 2 Order Among Chaos

     I have almost finished cutting all the red materials into the required squares and triangles.  I am lining them up on the table next to the un-cut blues. The table is beginning to really represent today's title.  It is easy to compare it to a unit of soldiers lined up and ready for whatever is commanded of them, while the rest of the world around them is jumbled into a chaotic hodge-podge.

    Adding to my chaos, a little diversion occurred  when the grandkids came with their dad to help Papa Wayne. Three little ones under the age of 5 do not allow for this kind of concentration. Only when they all went down for naps did I get a chance to return to this endeavor. But four year old Tayah woke early and came into the sewing room. I had her sit on a stool and watch. Needless to say, the curious questions and inquisitive fingers kept me from cutting accurately, and I messed up a fat quarter and will have to find a new one. 
    I stopped and spent a rare precious moment with the one singleton child to teach her how to cut fabric with little round tip scissors. What fun to see this new skill develop.

    Back to the quilt project:

         Every Quilter has probably been asked the same redundant/rhetorical question, "Why would you want to cut up perfectly good pieces of material just to sew them back together again?"   I hear a similar statement addressed to paratroopers on why they want to jump out of perfectly good airplanes.  Do they really want an answer? Whatever others think of our reasons for doing anything that brings us some kind of joy should not be a topic to address.  I do think the questions and our reasons pose polar views that may add to the scheme of things and how we do find some order.

         If anyone would want an answer to the cut up question, I would want to answer with the analogy of our lives.  We come into this world like a beautiful piece of fabric, untouched, pure, and beautiful. Some are richer than others, and some are stronger. The colors may be muted or vibrant.  There may even be some flaws, but that just adds to the beauty of the material and its unique individuality. Our life's journey can cause some pretty heavy slashes mentally, emotionally, and physically.  Whether it was the horrors of war, a loved one's death, a physical disability, or discord within a family or at work, these experiences cause severe cuts into our well-being.   It would be easy to end up in the scrap heap on the floor.  But working together with others, adding support to and from each other, we can stitch together a new being, more beautiful and stronger than ever before. We may not be the same as we started out, and all the cuts and slashes are still there, but we can create this new life to take on anything else that comes our way with a new found strength, purpose, and resolve to find some type of order in this chaotic world around us. 

A Quilt of Valor

I've been trying to wean myself from electronic devices because they have just invited more isolation from those around me rather than stay connected.  I was fearful that all this inward "acedia" as it may be was going to just sound like a pity party, and I didn't want this blog to turn into that, which seemed to be the path it was taking.  I have decided to make a move away from self-pity and just plain loneliness by turning my attention on to something/someone else. 

I have been hearing about the great organization that encourages people to make a quilt for a returning soldier. The requirements are quite specific...no quicky quilts, no tying, required dimensions, and it has to be quilted on a longarm! I don't have one, but I have a dear friend that does...3 hours away from here. So I am planing a great reunion with her in July for this.
Here's the plan...Today is Memorial Day. What a great day to start! Chris was born on Memorial Day and this year the date is the same as well.  I have been tear-y eyed all week anticipating the inevitable "Day." They say the hardest day for a mother who's lost a child is his birthday.   It's hard to put any day on a scale  because then there would be an "easier" day...ain't gonna happen.  Back to "The Plan" .... I want to have the top finished by the Fourth of July and have it ready to send off to the soldier by 9/11.

These dates have special meaning to just about every American, but they are especially poignant to me. Chris died on the Fourth of July, and when that horrible event of 9/11 happended we were just 10 weeks into mourning the loss of our boy.  The whole nation was forced into mourning, and I was angry that I was supposed to push aside my loss and join the nation. Besides, Chris wasn't a soldier, and his death seemed to pale in comparison to all those who had died. This is a terrible confession but an honest one about the horrors of grieving. 

It's been 11 years. and each of these dates bring too much sadness into my daily life.  It's time to create new memories and a purposeful gift to someone else. So this Quilt of Valor in my sewing room has been born today. Here's another quirky fact...the pattern I have chosen takes 9 red fat quarters and 11 blue ones.  This is meant to be.

Irises -- Revisited

Last March I posted a childhood memory about fingerpainting flowers as a child. This week I was able to "pass it on" in a special way to my sister.  I know the picture is dark but I just wanted to share this story and this phenomenal talent that was emerging at such a young age.

After writing that post on March 1st, many asked me if I still had that picture.  A child's painting from 50 years ago?!  I had a few things tucked away but I doubted I had that after all these years.  It did get me to thinking if it was indeed in a particular box. Deep in the junk closet of my own children's packed away keepsakes, I found what I was looking for -- an elongated flat box that held some quick drawings my mother had done, and a funny huge robin on manila paper and swashed with a thin layer of tempera paint  -- a faint memory, too. Rolled in the bottom were two finger paintings. A blue one that I think I did but not signed and this brown one. Great, this is it! But the artist signature was not mine! Instead, my little sister had signed her piece of art( two years later with the same teacher) and for some reason, I had it.

This had to be preserved, and I had to get it back to her.  She had been in the huge process of helping her son plan a wedding many states away, and buying and refurbishing a home that was taking longer than anyone cared to admit. Even as an artist in her own right, with a degree from UT and our mother's genes, Janie still only dabbled in her art. But a studio room is part of that new house and I wanted to make sure she had this piece to adorn a wall of that room to remind her of her gifted talent.

I framed it between two pieces of glass, printed out the Irises story and placed it on the back just above her childhood signature. Then it was off to UPS to get it safely to her.  I am a little OCD when it comes to mailing packages; checking every hour the staus online and calling to see if it came to the right door.  I was beside myself when Janie did finally say that it came, but she would open it...later. WHAT!? Who does that?

  As it turned out, the wait was some sort of divine intervention. The next day, Janie heard about the passing of her dear godmother, a precious friend (and the last) of our mother's.  The sad moment at least became bittersweet as she finally opened the package with her husband.  A treasured memory preserved of art, mothers, sisters, friends, and lasting love.

Dedication of Mud Woman by Artist Roxanne Swentzell at DAM 10/10/201

I have recently become attached to Storyteller dolls of the Pueblo people.  Maybe I wishfully think that I am a storyteller myself and just like the association. Last year The Denver Art Museum added this large sculpture to greet patrons to its beautiful Native American Art collection.  The artist gave a  dedication at its unveiling.  Her words resonated such truth for everyone, and these few sentences seem to be the cornerstone of what I have been trying to present in the blog.  I gladly share her thoughts with you. 

This piece is dedicated:

To all who feel like they have lost a parent...someone who can hold your bonds of love and security...this piece is for you. 

To all who have lost a child and feel that love got stopped from entering the future... this piece is for you.   To all who feel sisterless or brotherless, who've forgotten the bonds of growing together, of sharing the world together through play and experience, this piece is for you.  

To all those who embrace All  life, knowing we are One, this piece comes from you.  

She came through your love and your prayers for life to continue in a good way.  This piece is dedicated to you.  

To all our parents and parents' parents, to all our brothers and sisters, to all our children and children's children, from every corner of the world...from the birds in the sky, to the fish in the oceans, from the highest peaks to the lowest deserts, we are One.   All our Relations, we are one held in the power of love, held in the arms of our mother we share, The Earth.  

Let us remember the dirt beneath our feet, the mud of our rivers, and the grass swaying in the breeze...  

Let us remember the our roots and our future, of our love and how we are loved.   Fresh waters, cleanse us.  Repined fruits fed us. Tall forests protect us.  Songbirds fill our ears with joy. We are loved by so much beauty, so much beauty all around..    

Mud Woman, speaks for us, now, from our hearts. Let us stand ready to listen. She speaks of timelessness and care, of nature and right place.   She has always been and always will be.  She sits here in the dirt and straw gathered up and formed together by many hands that gave her presence, so that we may remember what has always been and always will be, deep in our hearts.   

I ask that the spirit of our fathers bless through this song so that life may continue in a good way, the right way....

From Mother to Son

I had given this poem to Chris once, and then more recently passed it on to my youngest, Sam.

 I made it through the colic days and the multiple stitch stage.

 I thought I could claim success. You have survived, and quite well at that.

With a great deal of encouragement from both your father and me,

but mostly a task of your own doing, you have grown into a fine young man.

As a mother, I can do so little now.

I look back and think the past was such a breeze.

 THIS is the time to try a mother’s soul.

But, without a doubt, without a faltering thought,

I will always love you.

Flesh of my flesh, blood of my blood,

 I was the instrument that brought you to this world.

Your life is the reward of that sacrifice.

And what a wonderful reward you are!

I know deep in my heart and in the marrow of my bones

 that you will always treasure that “reward”

 by passing on to your family

 the same duty, honor, and love that has been given to you.

You know value.

And you are the most valuable thing you own:

A priceless asset, who I am proud to call my son.