Overgrown

Archive for the Category »overgrown «

Aug

vines with a southern accent

while all else diminished during the great depression, my friends, kudzu thrived. it absolutely thrived. back in the day (read: early 1900s), somebody brought some cuttings over from japan, and kudzu has made itself right at home ever since, aggressively staking its claim to the georgia landscape.

because i’m not so good maneuvering needle in a car barreling down the road towards home, i didn’t get much done on overgrown. i did, however, manage to crochet kudzu vines from embroidery thread. (which godfree interpreted as a feline pillow.)

Category: autoquiltography, overgrown View Comments

Aug

where you least expect it

wholly jeanne

i’ve encountered many potholes in my life. some were clearly marked

others not so much

regardless of the markings and warnings, i have learned something from each pothole visited.

apparently i am not the only one who has potholes for teachers . . .

I walk down the street.

There is a deep hold in the sidewalk.

I fall in.

I am lost . . . I am helpless.

It isn’t my fault.

It takes forever to find a way out.

II.

I walk down the same street.

There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.

I pretend I don’t see it.

I fall in, again.

I can’t believe I am in this same place.

But it isn’t my fault.

It still takes a long time to get out.

III.

I walk down the same street.

There is a deep hold in the sidewalk.

I see it there.

I still fall in . . . it’s a habit . . . but,

My eyes are open.

I know where I am.

It is my fault.

I get out immediately.

IV.

I walk down the same street.

There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.

I walk around it.

I walk down another street.

(Portia, Nelson. There’s A Hole in my Sidewalk. NY, Popular Library, 1977)

(today’s little installment is part of this, already in progress)

Category: autoquiltography, overgrown, ruminations View Comments

Aug

trekking on down memory lane

wholly jeanne

last night found me at hippiefest with hubbie, daughter, daughter’s friend, and a friend of my own from long ago. as we trekked down memory lane, remembering through familiar songs sung by men who sang them back in the day – the names and the tunes familiar if not the aged voices.

i remembered a girl who not only loved to stitch and sew, embellish plain closet doors with collages of photos of things that captured her attention, repaint furniture to suit . . . i remembered a girl who loved to wear pretty clothes (and on whom clothes looked pretty)

(sorry for fuzzy picture – i’m auditioning new cameras, and this one is obviously not The One.)

i remembered a girl who read everything she could get her hands on, a girl who collected words and copied sentences she liked and wrote stories.

i remembered a girl for whom music was a jet plane, taking her wherever she needed . . . or wanted . . . to go in a mere measure or two, music that also provided an escape hatch, allowing her to vacate moods and memories that she wanted to leave. a girl who played colorful tunes on the piano like her grandmother before her.

i remembered falling in deep, instantaneous love with a man who has never once asked me to be more than who i am, accepting (if not understanding) that who i am is subject to frequent change, even while who i really am remains the same.

and then somewhere in the night, i found myself looking forward, thinking and wondering about the future, knowing i did not have to/would not leave the future up to chance. that’s when i decided to do what so many others have done before me: make a list of things i still want to do. so today i got out pen and paper and started My The List.

i was on fire – jotting things like this was my only chance, and in the end, i came up with a list of 3 things.

count them: 3.

oh, i actually came up with many, many more – it’s just that i got all hung up on what’s a real desire worthy of going on My The List and what’s merely a to do and what’s something i feel like i ought to put on My The List because it seems like it’s something i ought to to want to do.

maybe it’s the brownies from last night.

Category: autoquiltography, overgrown, postcards View Comments

Aug

waking up on memory lane

wholly jeanne

though my children are no longer in school (unless, like me, you count life as school – but we’ll save the philosophy for another day), i still operate on a school calendar. which means that the lazy, hazy days of summer are coming to an end. screeching to a halt. closing.

but wait: what lazy hazy days of summer?

i can remember waking up and just lying in bed, the birds singing me to consciousness, the day beckoning me with all the opportunities it held as treasures. i felt so, so . . . in control of my life. there was time in those summer days, and i spent it traveling through books; adding to my collection of words and thoughts in my notebooks; swimming in the lake as the bottom gushed up between my toes; painting my furniture with antiquing kits ordered from the sears catalog; carving my initials in a tree; rolling down hills (and coming home with grass-stained clothes to prove it); eating lunch at grandmother’s house – my plate filled with fresh vegetables we picked maybe an hour before devouring them.

i sewed, creating clothes i wore proudly. i stitched, grabbing something from the closet and embellishing it – transforming it – with decorative embroidery.

i added to the collage of photos that transformed my closet doors. i rearranged my furniture. i napped at will and without apology.

the days were leisurely full: deliciously, creatively, spaciously full.

am here in my beloved n.c. now – phoebe and i trekked up yesterday for a short visit. for reasons i cannot explain, the days are more spacious here – resembling those i remember so fondly – opening up to allow most anything i choose.

today i’ll be setting up my new computer (i do so hope it’s as easy as “they” say it is – am just transferring files from one apple laptop to another, but the hiccup is that the old laptop is really, really, really old while the new laptop is really, really, really new. am hoping my software will be able to make itself at home on the new playground.) and auditioning 3 paint colors for the exterior of the house: Zenful, Early Morning Mist, and Enlighten Mint. (i’m leaning towards enlighten mint – the color’s okay, but oohh those words.) (remember how i told you i collected words? sometimes just for fun, i go to the paint store and read names of paint colors.) (and you should see my collection of race horse names.)

i’m also looking forward to seeing a favorite cousin of mine . . . perhaps that’s the kindling for the nostalgic tone this morning. i do so enjoy our reminiscing – sometimes philosophically and psychologically, often humorously, always lovingly.

Category: autoquiltography, overgrown, postcards, ruminations View Comments

Jul

thinking in cloth

wholly jeanne

it has been a tough week with many words exchanged. i’m feel i’m over my allotment, that it’s time to slow things down, drop out, take a breather, rest.

so i pick up needle and thread because, really, sometimes i just think better with cloth than with words. doesn’t mean i don’t initially imagine the cloth as voodoo doll and needle as stabbing device, mind you, but ultimately bringing together odd-shaped, different pieces of fabric helps me bring together stray thoughts and sometimes make sense of strange occurrences – one of the many things i know to be true, though i can’t explain the how or why. and so another project begins . . .