In Our Own Language 4:11
Meanwhile in the background, I’m still stitching.
~~~~~~~
Nancy, my developmentally disabled sister-in-law, draws.
I, Jeanne, the woman who flat-out loves her, stitch.
Tag: In Our Own Language 4 (Page 2 of 2)
In Our Own Language 4:10
His grandfather took him into the woods and left him in the quiet all day long. At the end of the day, his grandfather would fetch him and ask: What did you see? What did you feel? What did you learn?
You can learn a lot from reading and listening and watching, but you develop your Inner Authority from doing.
Though she has many external authorities in her life, Nancy also has an Inner Authority. I can see it when she makes her marks – the way she starts without hesitation, the way she stops when she knows she’s finished, the way she selects her colors and turns the page and sometimes rips the page into pieces, keeping the bits she likes while discarding the rest.
~~~~~~~
She (Nancy, my developmentally disabled sister-in-love) draws.
I (Jeanne, the woman who flat-out loves her) stitch.
In Our Own Language 4:9
We All know a lot more than we think we do
and Wisdom is buried inside Each One of Us.
All we need is a way to make Art,
a Good Listener
or a Good Looker
Someone to Witness us
to help the Knowledge and the Wisdom
to emerge and flow.
PS: And hey,
if anybody ever tells you junk that sounds like
you shouldn’t care what others think,
or how you shouldn’t care if anybody
ever even sees your creations
know 2 things:
their inner moron is showing
and
they’ve had good witnesses somewhere along the way.
Witnesses they’ve forgotten about
and never appreciated enough.
~~~~~~~
She (Nancy, my developmentally disabled sister-in-love) draws.
I (Jeanne, the woman who flat-out loves her) stitch.
In Our Own Language 4:8
She (Nancy, my developmentally disabled sister-in-love) draws.
I (Jeanne, the woman who flat-out loves her) stitch.
We have neglected the gift of comprehending things through our senses.
Our eyes have been reduced to instruments
with which to identify and to measure,
hence we suffer a paucity of ideas that can be expressed in images
and an incapacity to discover meaning in what we see.
~ Rudolf Arnheim
In Our Own Language 4:7
She (Nancy, my developmentally disabled sister-in-love) draws.
I (Jeanne, the woman who flat-out loves her) stitch.
While in Michigan for my brother’s stepson’s wedding this weekend, we reconnected with friends we haven’t seen in I don’t know how long. We knew them in undergraduate days when we were all young and free and confident. We knew them in that time when our parents were busy creating their own life without children to wait up for or pick up after and when children weren’t even an idea. We could carry little ole’ tiny pocketbooks in those days ’cause we were only responsible for ourselves. We were juicers, extracting every bit of fun and goodness and laughter out of life.
It was so much fun remembering and reminiscing with Bruce and Linda, trekking back down memory laugh. Oh my goodness, the things we did Back Then. And I want you to know that we told the true stories this weekend, with my mother and my son and my daughter-in-love sitting right there listening. I figure they’re old enough to hear those sorts of things now.
I’ve decided I want to keep the body of information and wisdom I’ve acquired and recapture the absolute joy of living as though One Day is Right now. I think it’s possible.
I may have to increase my insurance, though.
Sometimes things fall between the cracks and disappear forever.
Sometimes things fall between the cracks and leave a pattern.
Sometimes things repeatedly falling between the cracks
is a pattern that needs looking into,
needs changing.
In Our Own Language 4:6
Nancy is one of those who easily falls between the cracks.
She’s in a good home now, though
and a good day program, too.
She’s surrounded by women – Mona, Ruby, Kathy –
who see her, protect her,
make sure she doesn’t fall between any cracks.
We all need a team like that to watch out for us.
We all need to be on a team like that, watching out for others.
In Our Own Language 4:5
She (Nancy, my developmentally disabled sister-in-love draws.
I (Jeanne, the woman who flat-out loves her) stitch.
Several weeks ago my waking thought was “I’m ready to write.” Within a few days (less than a week), I had 3 requests to write guest blog posts, and I saw an ad in the local paper for a writer’s retreat right down the road from us. Mari Ann, founder of the retreat who’s also a crackerjack editor and writer, and Susan, who wrote a deeply moving book about her brother who was killed in Vietnam and has just turned the manuscript for her second book into the publisher, invited me to attend one of their read-and-give-feedback lunches. (Which I did, and it was fabulous!)
Today on the way to our table at the Boone Tavern Inn in Berea, KY, I bopped into the gift shop to ask if they had any chocolate-covered grapes in. No, the manager said, but she had 4 boxes due in tomorrow. I promised to check back with her after lunch in case some arrived early. They hadn’t, but I paid for 3 of the boxes and we made arrangements for her to hold them for me till we come back through on Sunday. We then went to walk and shop, and after we visited the restrooms, got some water, and filled the car up with fuel, and as we prepared to leave town, I pulled out her card to call, just in case they’d come in while we were out and about. With the phone in my left hand and her card in my right, I raised a finger to mash the first number when my phone rang. It was Kylie, the store manager calling to tell me that the grapes had just come in.
Things like this keep happening to me, do they happen to you, too? Decide what you want and let The Sweet Spirit of Surprise know, then watch for her to put down stepping stones in front of you leading you there. My Shero, Tracey Selingo who is fluent in this kind of living, calls it Woo, I’m beginning to call it simply Way. It’s pure magic, but it doesn’t just happen without some involvement from you. There’s a turning over, a surrender, a letting go, a trust and faith that must happen. You don’t just tell and wait. Oh no. You have to stay awake and recognize opportunities when they appear because the Sweet Spirit of Surprise can be a rascal. And know this: if you go to sleep or if you don’t avail yourself of the wonderfulness She puts in front of you, She’ll stop wasting her time and energy on you. That’s just the way She is. If you want it, go after it. Talk all you will about what you want, but don’t you ever forget that actions speak louder than words. Especially to the Sweet Spirit of Surprise.
In Our Own Language 4:4
She (Nancy, my developmentally disabled sister-in-love draws.
I (Jeanne, the woman who flat-out loves her) stitch.
A lightbulb moment as I was having imaginary conversations with real friends: I’ve fallen into the ghetto side of self talk. You should hear what rattles around inside my brain any given day.
“I can’t get anything done for the all the interruptions.”
“I can’t do anything when I travel except what other people want to do.”
“I’m gonna’ die without having finished anything.”
And so on.
And so on.
And so on.
Now you and I both know that what we say on the inside is the navigator for where we go and how we live, so I’ve made a few changes. Starting now, whenever I hear the ever-familiar (and comfortable?) ghetto talk, I’m stopping right then and there and changing it to things like: “Wow – look at all I’ve accomplished despite the interruptions and OPA’s (other people’s agendas).”
Okay, so I still have some tweaking to do, but I’m headed in the right direction, getting back on track.
Today is The Engineer’s birthday, and here are reasons #7340-7344 that I adore him:
7340: He is patient.
7341: He is kind.
7342: Not once in the 42 years of our togetherness has he ever responded to something I want by saying “that’s ridiculous.”
7343: He’s funny. Or can be.
7344: I’ve never had to hide a price tag.
Yes, you’re right: it’s his birthday, and I’m the one receiving the gift.
The Engineer holding my birthday cake. I’d known him less than 2 weeks at this point, and I told him I wanted a picture of my birthday cake. What I really wanted, though, (and I’m pretty sure this will not come as a shock to him) was a picture of his handsome countenance cause I knew – I just knew – from that first meeting, he was The One. Isn’t he absolutely adorable? I mean, really, how could anybody resist him?
The Engineer last fall in Dublin.
He’s a little taller than me, something that always surprises me.
Happy birthday, you.
This weekend,
I suffered a flare-up of the ever-familiar
doubt,
fueled and fanned by the never far away question
“Do I even have a voice to call my own?”
Having spent my life as a teacher,
a mother,
a wife,
a daughter –
having written plenty of personal histories
been a freelance graphic designer helping folks look good in print
edited books penned by other women
now stitching Nancy’s drawings,
I can’t help but wonder:
do I lose my voice by giving other women their voice?
Is my voice one of back-up,
second string,
bridesmaid?
Is that as good as it gets for me?
My maternal grandmother made biscuits from scratch three times a day.
Folks devoured them enthusiastically (even when cold)
and praised her name with reverence and awe.
Do I have anything original and worthwhile to say from scratch?
Having almost finished In Our Own Language 3 (shown in photos above),
I begin stitching In Our Own Language 4.
95 drawings made in November 2012
in which Nancy wrote her name
then covered it up,
camouflaged it,
hid it.
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integrity
This work by Jeanne Hewell-Chambers is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
Based on a work at http://www.TheBarefootHeart.com.
here ‘n there