Friday, March 29, 2013

full moon...

Wednesday was my birthday. It was also a full moon. I like that in a poetic sort of way. It's like my birthday had just a little bit more magic to it. And it was kind of a magical day... very peaceful, which is probably the best gift of all. 

I didn't actually get to see this birthday full moon though, as it was completely obscured by very thick clouds. Not the kind that produce rain, mind you, because that apparently doesn't happen here.


I did find this picture though. I took this near my birthday two years ago... almost to the day of finding out we were moving here. I can just about promise you this picture was taken through tears. I didn't handle that news very well. I loved living there, I loved my life there. I mean, just look at that view! 

But, I can look at this now without the same sense of... loss, as dramatic as that sounds. I still don't necessarily feel at home here but I don't look back (anymore) with the same sense of angst. 

Progress and acceptance, indeed, take very baby steps.

Wednesday, March 27, 2013


My very sweet husband surprised me by coming home with this drafting desk a few nights ago. An early birthday present. I have, for many years, sewn and worked on whatever surface was available... usually the dining room table. A very inconvenient arrangement with a family of little ones who also claim that space for their own creativity (not to mention meals). One of things I truly love about this house is that I have the space here to spread out, to get right into the middle of a project and then walk away without clearing everything away.

What I still needed, though, was a surface big enough to use as a cutting table. Or to lay out a project to be looked at later with a fresh, critical eye. This desk is perfect. Just the right height, airy and visually light- very important to this minimalist. It coordinates so nicely with the desk I already have and that can now be just for sewing (it gets cumbersome and a little annoying to be constantly moving the sewing machine, the thread, and anything else when I need to cut fabric).

And since mama spends so much time here (especially now that I have a really, truly designated space!), so does everyone else.

 It seems I'm not the only one drawn to this window.

Wednesday, March 20, 2013


Most of the time, putting things back in their place as the day winds down is a quick, automatic and distracted chore that is done rather mindlessly. There are too many things to do and somehow that time of the evening gets more than a little chaotic.
But then other times, like tonight, I am stopped in my tracks by the scene I'm setting right. Because sometimes I feel like I've stumbled upon something a bit magical and a little....sacred. Because the play that was happening here was special to the little hands that set this up. I can just imagine this little bunny asking to look out the window. I can almost hear the whispers back and forth between friends that communicate in a way I remember, but can barely hear anymore.

This little scene just makes me a wistful, bittersweet sort of way that I really can't explain. And that little bunny sits there still...even after his friend had dinner and played with her older brother and sister and is now curled up in bed, sleeping. He'll be there in the morning, just in case the magic holds in daylight and she comes back for him. Maybe then I'll be lucky enough, or I'll pay attention enough, to catch a glimpse of their day together...maybe I'll get to hear what they talk about.

I hope so.

Tuesday, March 12, 2013


This was a slide from Amy Butler's lecture at QuiltCon. The entire presentation was a feast of color, information and inspiration but this slide stood out to me because, well, sometimes you just need to hear this. Thanks, Amy.


At David Butler's lecture I learned why this room is where I take almost every picture....a big north facing window. I love the light in actually makes me happy. Especially when it bounces off that little face. 

I have also found out that the fairies have been at work again in our yard and, of course, the same sweet girl of mine who found these little flowers last year brought the first ones in this year. This was left for me on the kitchen counter one evening.

I'm finding quite a few gifts around me lately...amazing what you can see when you look. 

Monday, March 11, 2013


A few weeks ago we went to Austin so I could attend QuiltCon. I had been looking forward to this trip for nearly a year and it did not disappoint. It was a bit surreal, to be honest. It felt a little like being rescued from a deserted island and realizing you aren't the only person left in the world after all. After years of feeling as though I didn't quite fit in with the quilting community, I suddenly found myself surrounded by the very people who started the modern quilting movement. 

A weekend of lectures, workshops, vendors and conversation with other people who share my aesthetic was wonderful but what I took away most from this lovely trip was a bit...heavier...or more revealing, I guess I should say. 

I had a chance to bump into one of the very people I went to see. A lovely woman whose quilts I admire so much. I got a quick moment to chat with her and a hug that left tears. 

This dear lady was such a sweetheart, so kind and so very, very maternal...and there they were....tears. Because these days, any and all things "mama" leaves me sobbing with an emotion so strong I just don't understand it. 

I know I need to face it...I know my years and years of defenses that have guarded me from just this very thing are crumbling. And how could they not? But, oh my goodness, I feel ill equipped for this. 

And now I am almost my mother's age when she collapsed.....and my oldest daughter is the age I was when that happened and of course it's surfacing now....bubbling over and spilling out at random moments. And I want to keep hiding...keep ignoring this thing that won't be ignored.  

But when I sat and listened to this woman speak, listened to her give a lecture that left the entire audience in tears as she spoke of her family and how they shaped her and inspired her and I realized that feeling all of this is the normal part. The grief, loss, sadness and loneliness are normal. But the feeling I've had my entire life, of thinking I was the only one who felt this, that is the part I need to let go of. 

And so, after weeks of avoiding this space again, of not being able to find the words to describe the constant undercurrent, I'm here. Trying. 

And I'll keep trying.