Inauguration Eve

I'm not going to the inauguration, but I will be with students at St. Therese Catholic School tomorrow watching and listening and seeing history through their eyes. Mine will probably be full of tears.

I'll be wearing my "inauguration skirt." Yes, I made a skirt today to commemorate the event. I used the bias-cut pattern that I made for my first skirt, but I added a little length. And, I added the detail of a bias tape hem that I made from some contrasting fabric (it took f o r e v e r ). I also cut another skirt out of that fabric for another day.

Lest you think I have given up knitting, I made an "inauguration dishcloth" over the weekend. How domestic of me!

In the mood for red yarn and not having anything red on an UFO (un-finished object), I started it while watching Battlestar Gallactica (4th season) on Saturday night . Then, I made the bulk of it while listening to a talk about MLK at church on Sunday morning, and later, while watching the pre-inauguration concert at the Lincoln Memorial. How many times did my eyes fill up with tears? Too many times to count. My children made fun of me.

While I probably didn't have the new administration on my mind with every stitch of either project, I did have the future president and this intersection of our future and our history on my mind and heart a lot.

Peace be with you, Mr. Obama. Peace be with you.

Outside night, inside lamplight

Last night as I was checking the doors to make sure they were locked and getting ready to go to bed, I stepped outside.

I was lured by the images all around me of the dark, feathery trees against a purplish-gray sky. My small camera didn't capture the awesome beauty, but my eyes appreciated the contrasts for a few moments. The trees created giant shadows in the sky. The cold temperatures of the last few days had softened, and I enjoyed a few moments of whispery silence as the wind made only the slightest noise through the evergreens.

Then, I turned to go back inside and was equally lured by the lamplight shining in the den.

I continued to photograph the call of the lights and small things that garnered my attention along the way. Books on the shelves, the wooden carving of Jesus that was my mother's, the light-switch plate that my children made from mosaics shortly after we moved to Jackson, the brass monkey that my husband gave his grandmother and was given back to him at her passing. . .

It was only a few passing minutes, but both the dark night and the inside lamplight beckoned me to pay attention-- to giant trees and the trinkets of my home.

Every moment of light and dark is a miracle. -- Walt Whitman

Stuff

It is Saturday morning, and a busy week has left lots of stuff in piles. It is cluttered. There is dog and cat hair all over the floor. By nature, I can't stand the mess, and I will probably spend some time clearing it, organizing it, and vacuuming this morning.

But, the stuff is good stuff-- the chest used as a coffee table in the den is piled high with books, magazines, and games. The bass on the bed is my husband's musical life line, life force, and passion. The art table in the kitchen is a jumble of handmade books, journals, paints, crayons, oil pastels, scissors, glue, tape, colored pencils and most importantly, the work of my children. The wicker love seat in the kitchen holds their coats (it was freezing this week!-- even in Mississippi), their backpacks, a ballet bag, my purse, a bag of Martin Luther King, Jr. books, and a knitting bag with a log-cabin project in process. The table scape on my dining room table is my exploration into quilting and my daughter's early encounters with sewing. The shoes on the rug in the foyer are my son's-- he kicks them off at random all over the house whenever the mood strikes him.

With two cats and a dog who have spent most of the day inside all week, the hair is clumping up in piles on the floors in the living room, kitchen, and hallway. But, I cannot imagine life without them. Bailey always greets me at the door with a bow, doggy smile, and wagging tail. He bows more than any dog I've ever known. Charlie only likes to sit on my lap when I'm on the computer. He is good company for blogging. Nellie likes to snuggle on my chest like a newborn baby when I'm watching a movie.

It is a house full of activity, interests, and hobbies. It is a house full of animal hair. It may need cleaning, but it is home. It is a house full of love.

Exuberance

I spent the day at Casey Elementary helping to hang up artwork, reading and discussing two books about Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. with a class of third graders, and observing a third grade drama class. Much of my life is spent around children at work, at church, at school, with friends, and of course at home with my own two bundles of joy. While sometimes frustrating and exhausting, being around children-- working with them, teaching them, learning from them, watching them think, creating with them-- gives me such joy and energy. I crave their exuberance.

Happy Friday, everyone. Enjoy the long weekend. Celebrate.

Exuberance is beauty. William Blake

Saints have no moderation, nor do poets, just exuberance. Anne Sexton

Blocks

It took me 2 and 1/2 hours to make the fabric quilt block above. It was my second attempt at a log cabinish, wonky block. The first one I put together was too busy, so I plan to cut it up and reuse some of it in future blocks. I like this one much better. This time I had the right tools-- a large mat, rotary cutter (love it!), and an acrylic ruler. I wish I had a sewing room or studio! My dining room is a mess.

I learned that I need to clean-up and keep things tidy as a go (this is the way I like to cook, too). I started out with too much on the table, so I was constantly rearranging things or moving things.

The inspiration came from some knitted log cabinish squares that I have been making (still working on the second one). I chose the colors from looking up at evergreens against the sky while I walk.

Squares and circles

Today while helping my colleague Mrs. Misenar with her art class at St. Therese, I put finished, individual, pastel studies of Kandinsky on the carpet to create a collective, paper quilt. Then, I took photos of these arrangements and put them together in a collage to make a photo quilt. I love the colors and and wonky circles! The students did an amazing job, and Mrs. Misenar always brings such vibrant energy to her teaching that it is no wonder the students' works are so colorful.

The art of these children may be inspiration for what will be a creative project for me. The experience today has me thinking about the improvisational quilt piece I am planning in my mind. I bought some necessary supplies today-- a rotary cutter, a cutting mat, and some small, colorful, fabric pieces. Now, all I need is time and the willingness to make mistakes, learn, and persist to a finished product. And, I will most definitely need some help from quilting friends along the way.

I can't wait to get started.

Shadows and Masterpiece Theatre

On Sundays, I look forward to watching Masterpiece Theatre all day long. Sometimes, I look forward to watching it all week. If PBS has been showing re-runs all summer, I look forward to watching something new f o r m o n t h s (thank God for Netflix). Tonight, MT is showing the second part of Tess of the d'Urbervilles by Thomas Hardy. Having read the book, I worry for Tess in tonight's episode-- knowing what happens.

Watching MT is a ritual for me. My mother used to watch it. I watched Pride and Prejudice and Brideshead Revisited and episodes of Mystery with her. I wonder if it had the same hold over her as it does for me? Did she look forward to it with the same anticipation? Did she escape the daily grind of work and school like I do? Did she read novels again after a new production, or did she read old novels for the first time because of something that she saw?

My mother died 19 years ago. Just days after her death, I remember thinking to myself, "She won't be able to watch any more episodes of MT. What if she misses something really, really good?" She didn't get to see Middlemarch or Under the Greenwood Tree or Bleak House or Cranford (my all time favorite).

But, I have to hope that watching MT is just a minute morsel of heaven-- that in dying, she watches all of the MT she wants-- or that she doesn't have to watch it because she suddenly knows and feels everything through God.

When I watch MT, I sense her shadow in me. It is something I do with her-- at least in spirit. And I think, when I see and feel something beautiful or sad or horrifying or real, that she feels all of these things with me and beyond me in ways that I cannot understand.