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.
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

When I noticed how the spent purple wave blooms stained my fingers after deadheading, I dropped some of them in another piece of cloth and wrapped it on the same lichen-laden branch.

All dressed up, the branch is now sunning on a rock beside the falls.

Why is this a big enough deal to warrant a blog post? Because for longer than I care to remember, I’ve imagined doing things like this, but I never veer far enough away from the All Mighty To Do List to allow such (seemingly) unjustifiable excursions and (seemingly) frivolous expenditures of time.

That all changes today.

When I look back at how many years I’ve delighted in doing things like this – but only on the inside – I want to sit down and cry, but that would be a frivolous waste of time, that crying over spilt milk. So I just vow to turn myself inside out more often. To do the things I’ve long done only on the inside, on the outside.

From this point forward (even past the inevitable occasional speedbumps), I will be eccentric not for the sake of being eccentric, but because I can’t help myself. I will decide for myself who I am and what I think and how I feel. And who I am and what I think and how I feel may change frequently – maybe even several times a day – but the self-determination-without-apology-or-explanation-unless-I-feel-like-offering-it will stand firm.

Will everybody like what I do, think, say, or feel? I doubt it. Will anyone think I’ve lost my mind? I sure hope so.

And, hey, I’d sure love some company . . .

No related posts.

sometimes you create something
and it just doesn’t feel right
even though you created
the image you saw
as your waking thought.
and you value waking thoughts
more than anything.

so you sit with it a while,
in case something
surfaces
and changes things.

but eventually you realize
that it just doesn’t work
so you cut it up

then you cut it up again
and again

and tomorrow
or the next day
you start over,
weaving the parts together,
in a new way.
bringing in new pieces
and weaving them in and out
over and under
and you don’t stop
until
it tickles
you.

Second helpin's:

1. foundations
2. weaving blooms, 2
3. embodiment

paint the picture you want to hang.
make the trip you want to remember.
take the photo you want to view.

build the house you want to live in.
cook the meal you want to eat.
lay the stones you want to walk on.

run the race you want to win.
dance the dance you want to feel.
plant the tree you want to sit under.

sew the dress you want to wear.
write the music you want to sing.
craft the play you want to star in.

stitch the quilt you want to use.
weave the cloth you want to stitch.
write the book you want to read.

tell the story you want to hear.
create the blog you want to visit.
live the life you want to live.

(psst: that’s me there
in those last 6 lines.
starting something new
today,
putting a new spin
on something quite familiar.
skip on over to
rootsofshe.com
to find out more.)

Second helpin's:

1. amused by the muse
2. do over
3. blues

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.

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

i am seldom without my computer
and never without a pen, paper,
and all the bits of cloth and thread
i can get in a quart-size zip-loc bag.

for a change of pace,

i picked up thread and cloth.
the in and out,
the over and under
creates a soothing rhythm,
a salve for my soul.
it grounds me in my matriarchal lineage,
it is the calamine lotion to my inarticulate itch.

here on planet jeanne,
the beginning of a cloth piece
strangely resembles
the beginning of a word piece.

first: the itch
followed closely by: the yearning,
an unnamed longing.
then comes the pondering and circling;
then, finally
finally: the starting.
beginning with only the vaguest notion of what i am trying to create,
the barest whisper of what i am going to say.

Second helpin's:

1. knots
2. it’s time
3. will all the queen’s horses and all the queen’s women be up to it this time?