I see
the field
of dewdrop diamonds
sparkling in the sun,
scattered
amid and around
the plentiful
cow patties
and I think
“self portrait.”

///

and just like that,

i decide to stitch some altar cloths,
small vignettes of cloth
that will join together
when the time is right
to former a larger cloth.

///
///

365 Altars: honoring our deepest sumptuous selves. 25/365
Perhaps you’d like to get the 365 Altars Newsletter.
And share a link to your blog so we can drop by and say “Hey.”
And join the 365 Altars Facebook community
and the Flickr community.
and wave to us by using the hashtag #365Altars on twitter.

There’s room for everybody at this table,
so join us as and if and when you will.
And, hey, for all you mobile users:

Second helpin's:

2. scraps

i am a grove
a copse
a rich, fruitful orchard.

my tree of she
bears the fruit
of music
and cloth
and sparkle
and words.

my tree of she
bears blooms
of food
and flowers
and a strength
so soft,
it’s often mistaken
for weakness.

my tree of she
bears leaves
of dance
and duty
and generosity.
leaves of
preserving
and nourishing
and protecting.

my tree of she
is rich
in the red roots,
of blood
and hearts
and spirit,
and tears,
in the determination
and tenacity
and quiet boldness
of the women
who precede me.
their fierce independence,
their unbounded love,
their unending creativity,
unlocking the wonder
and the aching beauty
that is
my tree of she.

Today’s post is inspired
by the lovely Lindsey Mead
who sweeps me away regularly
with that special brand of wisdom
she shares over at a place called
A Design So Vast . . .

Second helpin's:

1. Tree People
2. Seeping
3. weaving

which sparked this in me:

which became this:

and you know how it goes.
one seed blooms,
then another,
then another
which is to say:
there’s more.
just you wait.

Second helpin's:

1. weaving blooms, 2
2. weaving
3. My Tree Of She

from bandages
to bindings
(not necessarily in that order).
whether part of some great plan
or a contract signed before birth
or just the luck of the draw,
they’re here.
so what’s a girl to do?
weave them into the bigger cloth called life,
of course.

Second helpin's:

1. weaving blooms
2. weaving blooms, 2
3. blues

If I tell you I have a headache,
you’ll badger me to go to the doctor.

If I tell you I’m not interested in anything
and would love to sleep for three days,
you’ll encourage me to go to a therapist.

If I tell you that I’m tired
of saying only nice things,
edifying things,
fresh, perky, upbeat things,
you’ll tell me to go ahead
and write what I will
then
you’ll share your testimony of faith,
and try to save my soul by convincing
me that your god
is The One For Me.

Second helpin's:

1. weaving
2. My Tree Of She

there is something so wonderfully satisfying about ripping fabric.

did you know that’s what you do to find the true grain of cloth?

Second helpin's:

1. foundations
2. and this is true, too

in and out,

up and down,

over and over.

she wove her strands of life together,

patching hole after hole.

eventually she saw it was more than the threads that gave her strength,

it was in the very act of weaving itself

that she became strong.

~ terri st. cloud ~

~~~

tired of multi-tasking and compartmentalizing,

weary of my worth being defined by how busy i am

and how full my calendar is,

knowing that i learn best when my body,

my entire self is involved,

i sign up for jude hill’s cloth to cloth class,

determined to weave the life i want.

i start with a colorful, hand-painted marbelized fabric.

a fabric that while beautiful, is busy and indecipherable.

i weave in calm, muted, solid colors

providing spaces to exhale and explore,

places with room to just nap and ponder and be.

it’s mounted on a sturdy, textured base.

the frayed, unfinished edges remain unhidden from public consumption now.

the stitches that hold it all together

are not straight or even,

or dainty or fine.

No related posts.

thread a better ink.

Second helpin's:

1. it’s scrying time again
2. knots

over at renegade conversations, ronna detrick writes about how coming out of the shadows requires two things: counsel and companions.

tonight i am going to see a rehearsal for “steel magnolias” performed by the senior apprentice company in the theatre company my daughter started back in 2005. my daughter is directing these 12 teenage girls, and oh the experiences she’s opened up to these girls. oh the opportunities. she divided the girls into two casts, and when cast a is performing, cast b is the backstage crew and vice versa, giving them hands-on experience in providing support and receiving support. each girl has also been assigned a production assignment, not only affording opportunities to learn new skills, but to see that any one production takes an entire village of people that are all too easily overlooked. without the steel magnolias willing to do production, there’s be no tickets sold, no press releases written, no web site updated, no programs, no concessions, no venue, no sound and lights.

three years ago, i played m’lynn to daughter alison’s shelby. to say it was a clarifying, once-in-a-lifetime experience rings hollow and falls way, way short. one day i will write about it and the context around that experience that made it all that it was. but today there’s something else on my mind . . .

“steel magnolias,” as you probably know, is a story of women who support and encourage and hold the space for each other, and that’s why my daughter chose this particular play for these 12 teenage girls: she wants these girls to experience (both onstage and off) the feeling of women coming together in support of one another instead of the cattiness, back-stabbing, nitpicking behavior that too often defines women’s togetherness. as i wrote in a note accompanying the holiday gift my daughter and i conjured up for the girls: Steel Magnolias are a special breed, and we need more of them. Steel Magnolias are strong women who delight and celebrate being female. They own who they are – even the polarities – without explanation or apology, and they encourage and cheer others to do the same. Steel Magnolias are not into woman’s inhumanity to woman, choosing instead to support each other without judgment or personal agenda; listen more than they talk; be available without hesitation at 3 a.m.

by exposing these girls to steel magnolias even before they have the life experiences to fully appreciate and convey it, my moxie hopes to teach them about theatre, leadership skills, communication skills, and perhaps most importantly: female friendship. she takes on big projects, my moxie, and this is one she’s willing to devote herself to because she knows it truly does take a village to make much-needed change, and she wants to do her part to change the way women relate to each other. the rest of us can do our part by supporting, encouraging, and affirming each other. by forging and forming the relationships we want to enjoy.

i am so so fortunate to have steel magnolias right here around me, women i turn to when i need help or retuning, to laugh or to vent. and today we have something the ladies of chinquapin, louisiana did not have: the internet. since rejoining twitter last december, my steel magnolia forest has grown rich and lush and bountiful. i don’t know when i’ve ever felt so supported, so encouraged, so affirmed. i grow as i find women who share my interests, and i grow as i am exposed to things i never knew existed. if i get lost in my steel magnolia forest, a trail of breadcrumbs readily appears left by women who have experienced the same or similar. if i stub my toe in this forest or if i am stung or bitten, healing ointments and remedies are generously offered. the trees in my forest rise above the little scrubs and ankle-biters, choosing fresh air and light over thorns and sticky bushes that want to draw blood and hog the sun. in the forest with these women, i grow comfortable enough to tell my stories and speak my truth, southern accent and all.

to all of you who are trees in my steel magnolia forest (and most, though not all of you, are on my traipse page), thank you.

thank you.

thank you.

~~~
about the photos:
i tend to commemorate things in cloth, as i did when i took to the stage as m’lynn back in 2007. woven strips of blue sky torn to find the true grain. images of tears born of both laughter and crying – often at the same time. enough raw edges and stray threads to make it real. sparkling beads laid down in the shape of a heart in shades of shelby’s pink. on the back side, we have an earthy fabric, fertile, a place for love to take root, and we see the seemingly randomly-placed stitches that hold it all together. all bound at the edges with soft pink shibori dyed by talented friend, a digital steel magnolia called glennis.

Second helpin's:

1. not a good girl . . . yet
2. good eats
3. he has a good heart

but most of the time now,
i knot the end of my thread,
simply covering my knots from view
with another piece of cloth
when the piece is finished
because the way i see it: knots are inevitable,
and sometimes necessary.

there was a time when
i did macrame,
tying knots to create
pocketbooks,
and plant holders,
and even a headboard.

there are knots we create as anchors
to grab onto when we feel
about to slip over the edge of the cliff.

there are knots that
hold skin pieces of skin together
so they can merge and heal.
and there are knots that indicate
the desired swelling after a spill or a fall,
letting us know that the body is healing itself.

there are knots that create fishing nets,
attach ski ropes to boats,
and the proverbial knots
that indicate two people’s commitment to each other.

scouts learn to tie knots to pass certain proficiencies,
and i’m here to tell you that
knowing how to tie those knots
is something you never forget
and one of the most valuable things to remember.

then there are the knots felt in the stomach
indicating there’s something needs attention,
that something that needs to be righted and resolved
to untie the knots.

and there are the seemingly inevitable knots
that form in relationships.
knots that aren’t as easy to untangle
as knots in necklaces
because these knots require
two people working together
to remove the knot,
and sometimes one person
yanks hard on their end of the rope,
making the knot tight and firm,
wanting the knot to provide separation
- at least for a while.
and until both people are ready,
the knot remains.

Second helpin's:

1. it’s scrying time again