Willing Heart

I received another unsolicited gift. This from Renee. While she lives in northeastern Oklahoma, we met in classes at an Oklahoma City paper store (still can't get on their email list, wth?). She also went to Silver Bella last November. She kept to herself. I just figured Jemellia and I were a bit much for her. I mean, some people don't want to have a margarita while they eat key lime pie. That is what being with Je and me is like, I think. It's a...lot.

I ran into Renee in a class a couple of weeks ago. I love seeing her. I guess because she is nice, seems a little mysterious and also seems mature. Like a grown-up. Centered? Yes, that's it. I love that in people, right? I took a picture of her train case. She had this beautiful embroidery piece there. Look, you can see a little bit of each of us in this photo.

Then, I received a mysterious package a couple of weeks ago.

Inside was this box with an embroidered top.

Nothing is impossible to a willing heart.

A note I will not reveal was something about going through the contents of this box. Curiosity. Distraction. The things we need when under stress, in crisis, hurting.

Renee knows.

 Here are a couple of things from it.

I haven't gone through it.

I just want to take my time. Be with myself. And curiosity. And feel close to Renee.

Who is less of a mystery and yet, even more interesting than ever...

One thousand thank-yous, Renee.

I receive the sentiment, labor and love.

Nannie Blue

I feel some sort of compulsion to post on this blog. I always, each week, think I will just delete it. I don't want to post one more time. I want to write about my true feelings, but a more positive post writes itself in my head and that is the one I publish. I have never liked to write. I have always expressed myself through photography. It pleases me much more to see what moment I caught in the jam jar by camera than to read my sad, bleeding heart sentences. I mean, I make my own work to enjoy it myself. If it pleases or at least touches others then I am in the bonus. So what I have been posting is that which I can stand to read.

I am feeling quite blue today. Many emotions today, the same ones I started feeling when I was four or so. I hated to miss anything. Mother was just saying how everynight I climbed out of my Peter Rabbit crib and would show back up in the living room. While I am insular and crave being alone, I also need to feel connected. I don't really want to miss things. That is why this blog is such a perfect medium for me. I can express whenever I want then read comments when they appear. I am alone yet not lonely.

I am blue today. I think this might be an upgrade from the anxiety I usually feel. Blue just is. I sort like my anxiety though. I get so much accomplished when I am anxious. It creates an energy. I make lists and produce and hurry and worry. It isn't all bad. In fact that is the way I operate day to day. But now I am blue. Blue makes me walk in circles. Blue lacks productivity. Blue makes me hungry. Blue makes me sigh and feel tired. But here it is. I don't have to like it I just have to feel it.

I am posting pictures of something lovely from someone I love. My friend Nan and I met just over a year ago in art classes at our local scrapbook store. I am tired of linking to that store. I have spent hundreds of dollars in there and yet still cannot manage to get added to their email list. That is fine. I will still shop there and recommend it and take classes there. It has become actually a new home for me. I have crossed paths with such beloved sisters there. I will just punish that store by no longer mentioning its name. Oh little bitter revenge. But I am right about it.

Anyway, Nan and I met last year. We look so much alike. She is funny and not all uber happy but positive and loving, so, you know, my kind of gal. We went to a baby shower a couple of months ago. Nan gave me the loveliest gift. A spontaneous, generous loving gift. She is a doll maker and collector of old linens and so forth. She loves fabric, like I do. She has a passion and apparently a large collection of hand monogramed linens. She used this "R" right out of her collection and made this apron for me.

Can you freaking imagine?

This is exactly why you don't give handmade things to people who don't make things. Because they don't get it. All of us that make things are so hungry to share. I have received so many spontaneous handmade gifts. It overwhelms me. It is one of the greatest joys and gratitudes I have.

Thank you, Nannie. It is so lovely and loving and I love it and love you.

Shit. Did I just make another fairly positive post?

Bookends

I just passed through the most recent phase of the Care and Keeping of Betty Jean and I call it "All I Could Do." That phase was bookended by the receipt of gifts from two of my HSGs (High School Girls aka Leaders of the Free World, more later).

The first was received during the non-existant, dismal, cold, blue Christmas. Last year I had written a blog post that included my admiration for mosaicist Amy Baldwin (actually it went something like she is so talented I could just want to run her down with my car). I received a box from Angie. You must say that to the voice of Mick Jagger like "Ain-Jay" and repeat. I am Bert to her Ernie. She sends this piece she commissioned from Amy herself.

So blown away. It was an otherwise giftless Christmas, not without lessons to be sure, this was so welcome and tender, perfect. But Ernie and I do that.

Four months later and at the end of this certain phase where I have given all I have to my particular situation I receive this. The note reads that she is sure I will never photograph or blog about this gift. From Babe aka Shelley. I am Babe to her Babe. 

Never be too sure, girl.

The mirror reads "I can deal with anything with the right drink and a girlfriend." 

It was utter concidence and without my awareness that the gifts received from these two landed when they did.

Well, not by chance.

What would I do without my girls?

Dear God, please don't make me find out. Amen

Bits of Bliss

I slept eight hours last night. I took time not to work first thing but to drink coffee and read while it rains on this spring morning.

It feels luxurious. Decadent.

I freaking deserve it.

I have worked my ass off to accomplish what I have in the last four months of my mother being here. Work and planning and care-giving and emptying and moving and raging and healing and understanding and confusion and revelation and resolution.

Depression. Anger. Anxiety. Joy.

Lunch with my girls, Penny and my daughter, yesterday. A night's sleep last night. A moment free of anxiety. Is it so much to ask? I am so grateful for it.

But you caught me at a rare moment of bliss. SO don't think I have stopped needing the support. I told my Leaders of the Free World (clearly, more on that later), aka my HSGs (High School Girls) that while it is difficult to continue to support me in this chronic state of suspensed care-giving, grief and pain, it is the sheer protraction of it that makes me require attention and support all the more. Difficult for me to ask. Yet I desparately need it. I need to be checked on.

My dear reader, if you feel so inclined to show a little love, support, especially a bit of humor, friend me on Facebook or use my email if you know it and do just that. A little note each day from someone who remembers me is manna for my hungry soul. I thank you in advance. Attention and care is the most blessed gift to give. Like this rainy day, I welcome the shower.

Bon Printemps

My daughter can jeer all she wants about "mama's blog friends" but you guys know how real it is. No matter what I write. No matter what I whine about, cheer about, photograph or misspell, you comment back. One of you. Someone. Sometimes the same one for each post, sometime a random single response, sometimes every other. Whatever, whenever, someone pats me on the back.

And we all get it. And need it and it is real.

Ergo a new friend from my blog who I comment back and forth with and also email. She asked for my address, would I be comfortable giving it to her? I did and also wrote that I probably shouldn't because I should refuse anything nice she may do. But I sent my address. And I let her do something nice.

And this is what she did.

She sent a box.

I knew it was pretty rare so of course I photographed each step because I wanted to share it with the one who would understand and appreciate it most.

You.

She sent a note. I will keep the content private. But it was dear, very dear.

And there was a box. This was decorated by her own hands.

And inside a little pillow bearing the message 'good spring'.

For some reason so many of us, so many women, with all that we have in our lives... our home, job, children, partners, parents, friends, holidays, grocery shopping, hair to do, meals to cook, dishes and washing....

Somehow that isn't enough.

Somehow that isn't enough and we need each other. We reach out to the unknown and connect. And it is so special.

Thank you Cheryl.

Thank you, Cheryl,  for your comments, your emails, your support, your empathy, your kindess, your time and your gift.

You make it a good spring.

Not the First One

This is not my first post about Kim. The first time was in the Year Book during our high school junior year.

Miss Kim was our high school twirler. I was in drill deam with our marching band. Kim would don a sparkly uniform and deliver a spinning, throwing, often flaming, routine at center stage of our performances. Everything halted while Kim did her thing. I was part of a corps, but she was the star, superstar. She was otherwise quite quiet and proper, so to see her in go-go boots and {sexy} shimmering costume was intriguing to me.

She otherwise did not let her little light shine. Kim held titles for twirling in our state. I cannot imagine the silvery nads it took for her to dance and catch that spinning metal baton. It took skill to choreograph those routines, then to perform in front of crowds and judges....well, it prepared her pretty well for her carreer in law. Yes my Kimberlee is an esquire and a twirler. Know any of those? Well, there can't be many.

I was so impressed with her and at the same time frustrated with how quiet she was about her successes in dance. So I fixed that. I photographed her in costume and wrote up an article about her achievements. It made a half page spread in our junior yearbook.

Kim can forget how special and shiny she is, I think. We all forget get don't we? I whipped up a collage using that low tech image straight out off the yearbook page.  Adding the word "sparkle" to describe her, her style, the twinkle in her eye. A crown of course.

Look, a wee robin is perched on her baton. Looking up to her...

Kim, I thought I would beg forgiveness rather than ask for permission to post again about you.

Forgive me?

The One About Devon

Devon is one of my new girlfriends. We have been friends for about 18 years. I feel so close to her. We met because our husbands worked together. The guys were a fairly social group so the wives saw each other pretty frequently. We were all pregnant together as well. Our daughters are 5 weeks apart and have always gone to school together. We even chose the same high school so our kids would have this other set of parental eyes on them. Her daughter picked my daughter up yesterday to go to the book store. They bought a journal to share. Each will take turns doing a page. Neat huh?

When I went through my divorce, Devon did something extrordinary. Despite the fact that our husbands worked together, she chose both of us. She remained the same friend she had always been. Meanwhile other wives scattered as though they may catch something off me.

Devon is a physician and I have called her numerous times for advice, of all kinds. Always professional and compassionate she addresses each of my concerns.

While many Christians are very vocal about the fact, Devon actually embodies that which is Christ-like more than many (if not most) of those standing on the street corner openly talking about God, Christ and prayer. She is standfast, loving, puts children, safety and health first, while donating huge amounts of time and money. She is devoted in all ways.

Also, she is tall and beautiful. And real. She answered the door once, it was obvious she had been crying. I asked "what's wrong, are you okay?" She answered "I was was just crying" and shrugged. No drama. No shame. Wow. That may be my favorite story about her.

Devon is also very talented and embraced learning new artistic things after her last baby got big enough to open the refrigerator. Her medium these days is PMC, clay embedded with silver. Once fired it becomes in silver what her hands molded in clay.  I asked her to make a piece for me last year. She used fiber (since I knit and sew) and the oval shape. I am drawn to the oval, as it represents the egg, a meaningful symbol for me. She also added the word "nest," again, very important to me.

I asked her to make a necklace for my step-daughter last fall. I don't like calling her my step-daughter. It makes it sound like I am not owning the relationship. But she does have a devoted mother and I would be disrespecting that fact if I called her my daughter. I often refer to the girls as our daughters. I guess I will never figure it out. My first mother-in-law always introduced me as her daughter. I loved it when she did that. Okay, so then, I had Devon make this for my daughter. So fresh and pretty.

This one is for my mother-in-law Phyllis, the jewelry horse. In my favorite shape. Devon pressed a Euro coin into the piece creating a ghost image of Venus, a reference to Phyllis' Italian heritage. It has a lovely weight about it also.

Last year Devon gave this to me as a birthday present. We have no hard and fast rules about gift exchange. If  Devon sees something that remeinds her of me, she will just offer it as a gift. I love that. I usually think everything needs to be Even Steven. Look at this. The image just says so much. I recognized it to be the work of Samantha Lamb whom I love.

Devon is wonderful. Just bliss to have her. Thank you, Devon.

Tea and Sympathy

I went into the garden and threw a swath of saffron silk over my eigthteenth century potting table. I was thumbing through a first edition Jane Austen when my dearest Stefanie came to call for tea...

Well, no...but I do follow blogs that read like that. Ideal lives, in the garden while the rest of us are thawing out in pilled sweat shirts and tubesocks. Still, I read the idyllic posts because I need someone to be living a content warm life somewhere. However Friday afternoon I was writing a post in my head that did sound a little like that...

I had gone to the school book fair. Parents donate books all year then same tired parents return to scoop up the discarded books of others. I expected loads of paperbacks but was surprised to find many old books and sheet music as well. I took armloads from the very first shelf. I had to drive up while children hauled boxes then loaded the car. For. Thirty. Dollars. Seriously, who gets rid of a field guide?

We brought the books into the library and started going through them. My daughter delighted at a book of quotations which, in turn, delighted me. 

I took the opportunity to show her a rare and unexpected gift I had received from my sister as a kid. The Treasure Chest is a book of quotations I feel in love with when I was close to my daughter's age.

The phone rang. Stefanie was nearby and wanted to come get a box of books (again) that involved a poor book club timing issue on my behalf. She offered to help me out with that. As we sat flipping through these old books Stefanie pulled up {in her MiniCooper which is so her because she would be called Sporty Spice in a diffeent set of circumstances} and she was  bearing a cup of tea.

A hot cup of tea. In a birdie and nest mug. Bird and nest. She knew I had been sick with a cold all week and she knows first hand what is to care for a fading mother. And she knows me.

I do not know if Stefanie really knows what that mug of hot tea meant to me. I settled back inside, sipping tea, perusing old tomes and wrote this post in my head.

I receive that tea and friendship Stefanie. Thank you so much.

Dear Brigid

I am feeling all kinda prickly and like pretty bad company. Gosh, aren't you glad you stopped by? Since I moved mother in and have been caring for her, I have these times where I am kind of blue. I can't put my finger on anything in particular. I don't really mind preparing meals or dispensing meds. Checking on her, repeating myself many times. Well, some of it makes me roll my eyes. There isn't really anything else I want to do, or where I would want to be. I am a little bored maybe, a little lonely. Like after you bury someone, people are there and checking on you, then within a couple of weeks they just want to move on and not bring it up to you. I get that. I do that. I mean, ultimately it is just you and that's how it is supposed to be. So, I am in the eye of the storm. Initially there was lots of attention and there will be again when things are worse. But we are coasting right now, and I am glad for it, but, yawn. Blech. Yuck.

Since I defined for myself the need to receive the love there is and not shut it out, I thought I would chose an act of kindness bestowed on me and see if that doesn't turn things around.

This one is about Brigid.

Since I have the task of cleaning out the house I grew up in and where my mother lived for 50 years, I have felt the need to get rid of things from my own home. I put a message on my FaceBook page that I had some knitting magazines and would anyone want them. Brigid claimed them and sent her address. I know Brigid from the Oklahomans on Etsy. We have crossed paths at a few craft shows. I have even met her mother, who is a hoot and a doll. Like mother, like daughter. I was quite happy to ship my stack to Tulsa. She sent a 'got it and thanks' message, all was happy and complete.

Then I received a box.

I was in shock. Just delighted. Brigid sent a cute note of thanks. She FOUR of her handmade scrubs. All of this was just to be nice and say thanks. But the part that was just on another level was the necklace.

It has two birds and my favorite blue. So personal. She spent her time and energy on me. Beyond that, she personalized this necklace just for me.

Interestingly, Brigid's grandmother is in a bad way. I hope this makes you feel better, dear girl. I am near tears writing this. Thank you, Brigid. I feel the love. I receive that. And it did file those prickles right off me.

The Newspaper

In an effort to receive the love that exists and too often goes unaccepted, I would like to honor this simple gesture. My husband places the  newspaper at the foot of my mother's bed every morning. Every single morning. My mother reads the paper front to back, every word. She always has. He knows how important the newspaper is to her and places it there for her to see first thing of a morning.

It is such a simple act for him. It is so huge to me. I receive the love and acceptance of our situation that he demostrates by doing this.