So what I’m calling the Turtle Quilt is exasperating me.
I’m tempted to make that vertical strip its own piece because of how problematic joining everything up has been. Here is the latest incarnation.
I could finish it by sewing three, maybe four, seams but I think I like the earlier version better (below). Difference? That that strip of warm-toned patches under the yellow silk turtle.
I will just walk away for a few days. Even the B&W version doesn’t make the solution click (the way it should).
Today: bliss. No rowdy kids’ camp over the fence, no yard crews, no tree work, road work, or house renovations. Comfortable shade. A trickling water feature. AND BIRDS!
We have: sparrows, grackles, cardinals, blue jays, nut hatches, woodpeckers, finches, and titmice.
There were three grackles on the feeder moments before this photo, looking positively mythic.
The brads which Ken hammered into the fence post have helped deter squirrel launches but don’t appear to be particularly bothersome to the lightweight sparrows.
Such peace is necessary, always, but maybe especially on a day that began with footage of our traitorous, delusional leader meeting with Putin. The red carpet! The changed tactics! The grinning, handshaking, the references to Alaska as Russia (a third gaffe on the jet saying he was ‘going back to the States’?)
Picture this: me propped up with pillows reading my phone. It’s after nine and I’ve just woken. Ken comes in, refreshed after a shower. He’s been up since seven. I say (first words of the day to him), “You gotta read Masha Gessen’s piece in the Times today.”
So yeah, birds. Flapping, swooping, bathing, pecking, bickering, flying, calling, feeding — BIRDS. Doing their thing.
*****
Here’s a gift link to the opinion piece if you’re interested.
Wendy Golden-Levitt is a mensch who works with children using Jungian principles and … wait for it … cloth. Back in the day I sent two quilts her way. She commissioned one and the second (the crow) was a gift. Many readers of this blog also made cloth contributions.
I recently received a couple of emails from Wendy where she describes the impact my cloths have had on a particular child. I share the story below.
First, I have Wendy’s permission to share this. And J’s mother’s permission.
Second, until I was about twelve, everybody called me DeeDee.
Third, the heart-felt entreaties made by ten-year-old J. both uplift me and break my heart. It’s worth your time to read all her words.
Wendy quoted below. Sorry about the spacing. Some quirk I don’t think I can easily fix.
I also started seeing children again. here in my very tiny apartment. One of the older children I worked with for several years enjoyed working with your cloths. Her family was in Toronto for five years and returned to NYC this year. Long story short… she wanted to come here to “work on a couple of things.”
J., 10 years old, walked into my second bedroom and looked at me and said: “Where the heck are DD’s cloths?” They call you DD. I told her I had not unpacked them yet. But they were in a huge storage bin, sitting in my second bathroom bathtub. She insisted we look for them. And we did. We found Samantha the Crow cloth first. She grabbed it and said, “Good thing you didn’t lose this because I would have been very mad and have to start therapy again.”
She had a long talk with Samantha (what the kids call the crow). She lay on the floor, holding the cloth above her, and talked. Here are some of the things she said.
“Samantha. There is a problem in the place we live. We got a president who is making me scared to be a brown girl. I don’t know what to do. I want to play a lot. But I can’t. I am scared I will be taken away.
You are our crow girl. Can you do something? Can you make it safe for us? I want to learn the things you know. Because you fly. Because Wendy told me you carried fire and other things to help make the world in the very beginning. You know how to build, to count. You have a lot you can teach us kids.You have a whole world under you. (Referring to the different cloth squares you stitched underneath the crow). So I know you can help us. I want to not be afraid. I want to build something new like you. I want to also be safe like you know how to do. I want both. I want to make stuff. I think if you help us kids make stuff again, we could be okay.
Samantha? I want to walk in the nature centre near me and take my shoes off and look for you. I know with my shoes on you will not know me. But with my shoes off and grass and stuff on my feet you will know me. I want to meet you. Wendy says I can. Either at the nature centre or as a surprise. Or in my dreams. Please guide me and the other kids.”
And below is a second email about a second visit.
J. was back yesterday. Here is a poem she wrote during our session….with your crow (Samantha) cloth:
“I am black like the crow. I shimmer like the crow’s feathers in the sun.
I lay on top of DD’s cloth to let strong powerful energy into me. I lay on my back. It is important Samantha (crow) protects my back. My heart goes from front to back side to side.
I am finding ways to be okay even though I feel scared I will not be seen anymore, even though I have dark skin. The president you can tell has never worked with DD’s cloth.
I will learn with the squares underneath Samantha the crow how to build real love, real strong muscles of my heart. I will learn from DD how to speak and say “You will never make me a slave again.”
You could show this to DD if she is alive and wants to see it.”
Wendy: There is something in your cloths that resonates with both the effort of suffering and the effort of healing. The kids feel it. So do I.
Description of making Samantha here and Treasure Island Quilt and crow here.
Hive mind helped identify the stray fledgling we found in the street this morning — it’s a mourning dove.
Once I knew it was a species my local rehabilitator would accept, I gave her a call. By then we’d already brought the chick inside because it was shivering a lot. I sent pictures. She wondered whether it was sick or injured at all and suggested putting it back out near where we found it. So we did.
Hours passed and nothing much happened, though at one point we saw an adult dove on the telephone wire. I called the Bird Lady again. “It’s either settled down to sleep or to die. I can’t tell.”
She suggested we bring it to her after all. When we went outside to gather the fledgling up, a mourning dove was calling from nearby. What if it was the chick’s mother? Were we doing the right thing?
But north and west we went. It was 6:30 pm so traffic really sucked, but never mind. I honestly was relieved to not be watching the rest of (recorded) Nicole Wallace. Enough already.
I’d been to the Bird Lady’s house once before. Sure enough, up a windy wooded road, left at two forks, across another road and then fifth house on the left with the white pick up truck. She was outside wearing grubby white shorts and a loose tshirt. Eccentric but knowledgeable. She identified the bird’s age (just shy of fledgling) by turning its wings over and examining feather development.
She immediately determined that the bird was sick. It wasn’t warm enough. It had poop stuck to its rear. It was opening and closing its beak as if gasping for air.
Pneumonia? She will warm it up and give it antibiotics. I was almost relieved it was sick because it meant we’d done the right thing by interfering. I hope it survives.
We found this injured bird on the road this morning, then directed her to the curb, where she hop-flapped to this semi-sheltered spot. I promptly researched rehabilitation services without much success.
My Merlin app couldn’t identify her. Does anyone know? I think she might be a starling and that matters because the closest bird rehabilitation center does not take starlings. (why I wonder? Aggression?)
Or maybe it’s a northern flicker — although probably not because the beak isn’t long enough.
I pulled the curb-found birdcage out of the bed of day lilies and equipped it with seed and water and shelter from wind. It’s on our deck table under an umbrella, so it’s sheltered from rain too.
Sunflower seeds don’t seem like the right choice. Will have to research. Also, K wonders whether it needs more warmth?
Any and all advice welcome.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the table: a relic from the insulation in the basement “studio.”
A soggy mess to hear K tell it.
It’s a blessedly quiet morning here. Camp is over next door for the year, all the near-yard crews roared through yesterday, garbage trucks run and done, and many neighbors (I’m guessing) are getting the last of their summer fun on the Cape this week.
I’m on a quilt finishing spree (post coming about them) and also a pause (are the two related?) My summer writing workshop wrapped up on Tuesday, I’m taking a two week break on both the daily haiku and weekly Paris Collage Club responses. The calendar feels suddenly spacious.
I have a dental cleaning next week which I’m dreading with more than usual angst because of this loose front cap (can’t you just hear me — “Don’t polish it! Don’t floss on either side! Leave it alone!”), also a morning of babysitting for a new neighbor’s infant. Otherwise though the days are mine. Completely mine.
You have a whole world under you. (Referring to the different cloth squares you stitched underneath the crow). So I know you can help us. I want to not be afraid. I want to build something new like you. I want to also be safe like you know how to do. I want both. I want to make stuff. I think if you help us kids make stuff again, we could be okay.
