forwarding address


i can’t keep up any more. i just can’t keep up. i want to live through each day with reflection, attentive to the magic that’s just beneath the surface of each moment and stitching helps me do that as it slows my brain down to a speed that allows for contemplation. i love picking up fabrics that are nearby, fabrics that appeal to me, fabrics that i can reach then combining them in ways that emerge and evolve in ways that surprise and amaze me. i start with a kernel of an idea; i wind up with wonderment at the end result.

i have unpacked the last box of the move, but there’s still much to do, miles to go before i’m settled . . . which means i can’t stitch everyday and having a blog that goes untended with tales of cloth and thread makes me feel miserable and kinda’ guilty, in a crazy, wonky way.


i’m saying good bye to autoquiltography, and in the spirit of wanderlust that seems to be the mark of 2009, i’m moving to the new blog i’ve created – The Barefoot Heart – a place where i’ll traipse and tell.

i hope you’ll bop on over and visit. there will be occasional escapade with cloth – i promise – because, really, while i can’t stitch every day, i just can’t live without it.



notes to self:

#1: if you’re posting only the first part of something, end with “to be continued”.

#2: if you’re going to do a soap blopera, finish the whole damn thing BEFORE posting each individual bit, just in case you get waylaid by, well, waylaid.

hoping for some stitching time this weekend. stay tuned . . .


enigma 2: the beginning

she flew all the way across country
to see her son star in a show.
on the way to the theatre, they stopped for a pre-show dinner
in the famous los angeles eating establishment called
subway.she ordered her usual: a 6” turkey on white.


back to basics

call it living like a poet, call it zen, call it what you will, of late i’ve harbored the distinct urge to slow down, to live life outside the ubiquitous to do list.


today i spent 2 delicious hours in a local book store where i feasted on 2 books of poetry by louise gluck, several home interior coffee table books, and 3 random books spied on my way to a chair. i squirmed and fidgeted and wrestled with the angels as i determinedly focused on being there and only there.

though i haven’t made much time for stitching lately, when i have picked up some cloth, it’s been only when (i thought) i had a plan, and once i sat down to stitch, speed was the name of my game. get it done, and get it done fast. when things didn’t immediately turn out to my liking, why i just packed everything up and moved on to something else, something i could check off The List.

today, though, after my morning in training, i came home, cut out a new piece (and i did keep the speed for that, doing it fast before i could think too damn much), and i went back to basics: i basted. i can’t count high enough to tell you how long it’s been since i took the time to baste.


it’ll sure be interesting to see if the basting holds everything in place well enough to allow me to stitch fast . . .


a page from my herstory book

okay. so i picked up needle and thread today, thinking i’d just pick up right where i left off and finish a project, pretty as you please. but nnnnoooooooo. turns out today was not a good cloth day.


we’re going back in time, leafing back through the archives of Things I Did In A Past Life to show you a smoked bag i uncovered during the move. yep, back in the day i smocked the kids’ clothes, taught smocking workshops, even smocked christmas tree ornaments.

still have the pleater, too . . . somewhere.



trespassing bovine comes to call

haven’t blogged of late ’cause i haven’t stitched of late. i keep conjuring up images and words that i want to capture, but i never let myself stop, drop, and commemorate.

unpacked the last box a few days ago, so i’m hopeful that things will begin to slow down in the foreseeable future. hopeful, but not necessary optimistic.

in the absence of tangible clothwork to share, thought i’d share one of the everyday amusements that usually waits just on the other side of our front door. we’ll call it digital cloth:

cows will undoubtedly find their way into cloth soon because there’s so much herstory there . . .


life lesson from a bird brain

(note: this is what i suppose you’d call a cross-post in that i posted this very same bit on my other blog, i’m sure it’s probably not a nice thing to do, but it’s the first time i’ve ever done this, and well, i just had to today, you see. not only is this true an applicable to both blog parts of my self, it’s My Very First Video. yes, that’s right: jeanne is learning a new marketable skill: shooting a little short video, uploading it, and disseminating it. so, i suppose we could say that there’s more than one lesson here from my morning procrastination bird watching . . .)

every morning like clockwork, ms. redbird shows up to defend her space. she’s a tenacious thing, continuing her task despite the would-be distractions of a nosey cat and a growling dog. outsiders are not the issue, you see. ms. redbird tenaciously defends her space from her own reflection, from her own self. when it comes to protecting her personal territory, she is her own worst enemy.


nothing today

you know, i don’t have a thing to share today as both ears and a sore throat have laid me out again. i’m typing this while looking at the materials i gathered for my next enigma installment (a benefit of taking typing in high school), hoping tomorrow will allow me to start.

here’s a picture i snapped this morning, though. it’ll have to do for now.




the next installment of enigma

gathering materials for the next installment of enigma. it begins tomorrow.


an excuse from home

To Whom It May Interest . . .

Please excuse jeanne herself for her l-o-n-g absence here. She’s been moving, you see, and if you’ve ever moved, you know how all-consuming and incredibly overwhelming such an act can be.

She’s also been sick for over a month, I’m sorry to report. It started with a drippy nose which went into sinus headache which progressed into sinus infection which lingers on even now as her first ear infection in decades. Ordinarily a healthy one, this stretch of over a month rendered her nearly completely devoid of energy. She slept more than she has since that nasty bout with the flu in second grade, and while some said it’s precisely what she needed, jeanne herself wasted precious energy fussing because all around her was undeniable evidence of all that needed to be done.

Sound not being able to get through and register in her right ear has created several humorous situations, I must say. The dizziness aside, jeanne herself never realized how difficult it is to determine directions with only one working ear. And that’s all I’ll say about that.

She hasn’t had any stitching adventures to share because of that nasty bout with the fingernail polish remover. You see, back in December, jeanne herself opted to kick off the holiday season by making good use of the spa gift certificate her hubbie surprised her with earlier in the year. It included a pedicure, and since she would soon be cruising to warmer weather, it made perfect sense to commit a girley-girl act and don the reddest of red polish on her soon-to-be-exposed toes.

Things got busy when she got home, and I’m embarrassed beyond description to tell you that it was February before she took the time to sit on the edge of the tub and attempt removal of that still redder-than-red-they-weren’t-kidding-about-the-color-never-fading polish. The three fingers on her right hand – the thumb, forefinger, and middle finger – still bear the brunt of damage from wielding those acetone-drenched cotton balls. (Bits of polish stubbornly refuse to leave this one particular toe, so jeanne herself – knowing that exposed-toe-season will soon be upon us – is prepared to tell people it’s where the toilet paper holder fell on her foot a while back. She’s even practicing a limp to further corroborate her story.) The first few days she couldn’t feel anything with those fingertips. That eventually morphed into a coating of thick yellowish-brown skin that is still peeling. Though the sandpapery feel is wonderful when dragging them across where it itches, she says, it’s less than desirable when those fingers encounter fabric or thread. Let me tell you, she has ruined more clothes from the threads unintentionally pulled by her affected fingers. Though she tried to cover the three rough fingertips with everything from bandages to tape to those rubber paper handlers from the office supply store in hopes of being able to touch and guide thread, she consistently met with a miserable lack of success.

Just last night, however, while unpacking her daily quota of boxes, I am delighted to say that jeanne herself happened upon her pedegg thingie and, after repeated rubbings, her fingers – though sore – show marked improvement.

Know that she is finally feeling better (even if she can’t hear worth a damn) and is quite hopeful that her fingers will soon allow her return to the playground of cloth. Until then, she looks forward to getting reacquainted with those of you who are smart enough to (a) forego the polish or (b) have somebody else take it off for you.


jeanne herself’s e-mom
jeanne herself’s inner mom
jeanne herself’s secretary
jeanne herself’s virtual alter-ego spokeswoman gal who shall remain nameless