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.

so

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 . . .

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.

so

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.

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 . . .

(note: this is what i suppose you’d call a cross-post in that i posted this very same bit on my other blog, lifeinthealong.com. 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.

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.

sigh.

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.

Signed,

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

spent the day dealing with unexpected messages from nature and working on two houses, so no time to stitch. will substitute a picture from my sunrise walk. can you see the white tail of the deer romping through the woods? that deer’s about as well hidden as so many other things i find myself needing every day . . .

continuing to think about creativity. about faith, trust, mystery, work – all components of or cousins to creativity. but after a day of shopping for (and finding!) flooring, bringing it home from n.c., and unloading the truck, i just don’t have the wherewithall to pull together a string of complete sentences tonight. i did, however, sit and stitch a wee bit. still creating the image i call enigma:

FAMOUS
by Naomi Shihab Nye

The river is famous to the fish.

The loud voice is famous to silence,
which knew it would inherit the earth
before anybody said so.

The cat sleeping on the fence is famous to the birds
watching him from the birdhouse.

The tear is famous, briefly, to the cheek.

The idea you carry close to your bosom
is famous to your bosom.

The boot is famous to the earth,
more famous than the dress shoe,
which is famous only to floors.

The bent photograph is famous to the one who carries it
and not at all famous to the one who is pictured.

I want to be famous to shuffling men
who smile while crossing streets,
sticky children in grocery lines,
famous as the one who smiled back.

I want to be famous in the way a pulley is famous,
or a buttonhole, not because it did anything spectacular,
but because it never forgot what it could do.

~~~

i have come to e-know so many people through blogs, each (you know who you are) famous to me in their own way. two women are particularly famous tonight because not only did they not forget what they could do, they took action and did it!

julie and laney are sweet, empathetic, generous souls who read my whines about threadless days i’m enduring as we move, and they each put together a care package and mailed it to me.

from julie:

and from laney:

from both: delicious fabrics in a variety of colors and textures, needles, thread, scissors, batting, paper and colored pencils, several downright thought-provoking morsels – everything i need to satisfy my itching hands, soothe my soul, and stoke my inquiring mind.

thank you both, for your thoughtful, caring generosity. i will have sweet, sweet dreams tonight as visions of stitching plums dance in my head . . .

still sleeping at the “old” house due to no heat and no bed at the new house. in the old house, we have heat and a bed, but not much more. a cardtable and those 4 straightback chairs i mentioned earlier. my computer. 2 sweatsuits (so i don’t have to wear the same thing every day). no washer/dryer, no food, no pots/pans, no plates or glasses, etc.

and my car has been in the shop for over a week.

so i guess it’s understandable – perhaps even predictable – that i officially succumbed to cabin fever tonight . . .