Tag Archives: birthdays

Big cloth, small glass

In progress, all over the living room: the six panels for First Born’s bed-sized quilt.

Will I finish in time for an upcoming birthday? Probably not. But finishing is the goal.

I keep finding glass from the shattered tumbler — in the dishwasher, on the floor.

I canvassed for Warren yesterday. The NV results were discouraging but here are three ideas to remember (cling to?):

  • Bill Clinton lost IA, NH, and NV;
  • the 75,000 early ballots in NV were cast before the most recent debate; and
  • Warren raised $12MM after that debate.

My last bday celebration took place across town last night with two long-time friends — one a fellow February baby, the other the host and a terrific cook. We’re all getting older. Actually, we’re all terrific cooks, too!

We sat by the fire and talked about all kinds of things, including — ESG-filtered investments, dating apps, grandchildren, Harriet Tubman, the NV caucus, butter beans, and how to survive in a wholly altered America.

“We only have each other. Small, local communities.”

I wonder: what kind of paperwork does one need to live, say, in Montreal?

We swapped inspiring links. I offered up the Future Primitive podcast link about regenerative design and B gave me (another) terrific astrology link as well as this:

Trash to Treasure

So if as Maddow says this is not the threat of dark times but the dark time themselves, it seems incumbent upon all of us to document gratitude and small miracles.

This orchid seems poised to bloom. It’s a kind of miracle if you ask me — especially because I know nothing about orchids or what they need. There’s a sky light, so maybe that?

The orchid was a long ago bday gift from D, who cooked dinner last night. From Georgia. The butter bean expert.

Friendship is a kind of miracle, too, don’t you think? Connections local and, I would add, connections, here. Much gratitude for these. For you.

 

Where is she now?

This quilt was constructed earlier this year — in February — mulling over what creates a distinctive impress in a life. My mother, for instance, loved Paris. She only traveled there a few times, but it was a place she felt at home and alive. With a tin ear for language, it wasn’t that. It was the fashion, the lively street markets, the delicious food.

This is one of my Remix Quilts — the central section being from a quilt that was cut up and then built around. So, as is typical with these kinds of pieces, some areas have up to 7 layers, others only three.

Last note — the word “Paris”, visible in this close up (you can see the entire quilt in flickr, on the sidebar), was part of a printed shirt.  As usual, the prints I ‘happed upon” while composing dictated the direction of assembly and my thoughts.

It was February, around the anniversary of my mother’s death as well as near my birthday (fortunately not the same day). These are two times that I think about her more than usual —

(do other mothers find that once you’ve given birth, your OWN birthday becomes a celebration of one’s mother in a way it had not been before? I have found so) —

so when I found the word ‘Paris’, suddenly this little house became a meditation on my mother.  I heard the phrase, “Where is she now?” as I stitched.