windthread

somewhere, mid morning i was overcome by the urge to find clay that i can make figures with.  i guess it began by thinking about the faces/masks of those "dolls" i used to make?   Wanting to do that…i have some of the necessary material here somewhere,  but i can't…they require a wood stove.  or a very slow low burning fire OutSide.    can have neither.   then clay,  i think.  Off on a search,  reading all the reviews that often would contradict each other,  until i got tired of it and knew also i was being impulsive.  because it was a socked in grey day,  cold.  Rain off and on.  Cold outSide and cold in.   and it's just the beginning of December and i want the days,   every day,  to matter this year.   that 77 thing.   

i needed to go down to where the old Honda is parked.   At the end of this road up,  outside the gate.  Where its been for a long time,  since i knew i had to give up in the efforts to get  emission compliant.   in the hatch back was an area rug folded in half that was from Alz B's house.    I need to do something more for Tay.   the floor is so cold at night.   I have a  door mat kind of thing and then recently got a bath rug for on top.   but still….not.  The wool blanket that had been there in last winters  had gotten left outSide all year.  is encrusted and debris clung.   NEEDS.    During that  "little sleep" this morning i remembered the Alz B rug.    i thought….maybe.        I do not like it,  the color and design,  but maybe on its back….?   You would never guess if you came here that still,    there are very stringent aesthetics about what can be in here and what can't be tolerated.

so i  "suited up" and set out,  down to get it.   took the sled.    It's been i guess maybe 2 years,  or,  i don't know,  but a long time since i opened any door.   felt strange.   the rug was there,  stained from a leak in the hatch back window and something under neath,  but it will do,  upside down as i imagined.   Warm.   and  also was the big pipe wrench? and  my Birkenstocks.   Put them on the sled too.  And on  the dash.  that is  crumbling,  dis Integrating,   some stones  that i just put in my pocket.   there were Feelings.

and  back,  after some other stuff,  i felt the stones weight in my pocket.  There's been some Cloths to my left at the Table…draped on the Calendar Basket,  and i took the one on top,  set on Table and took the stones out.    This is the pic above.

the dark one in the foreground is iron from the railroad trestle  at Bosque del Apache.   the 3 are from the Be~loved rock shop in Magdalena,  where he said….just take them. 

and i looked.   and continued.   and continue now.  it's late.   

and thought…..what could possibly be more than this?    

 

the black/white magic beads.   this year of 77.    two strands.   the first,  red African blood bead at the end.   Second strand,  not yet.   That bead will be placed at the end.,  the completion of this 77th year.   as per "instruction".   

the days are too short.   Talkie "goes to bed"….makes her way up the Tree bough to her sleeping twig  at 4:46 pm.  Soon after,  light fades.   till Solstice.  My difficult days  though now changed because of the Gratitude for no Fire.     The seasons and markers of Season have different,  changed,  new meaning.    There is no  reliable repetition.    Much is unknown.  and so….to rely on this,  Crow and magic black and white.  Blood red.   remaining,  through it.   

 

it's captioned:   Living Lab program,   kids watching plants grow.   

this was in the weekly post of the Master Gardner's  The Real Dirt Blog.   The focus of the post was  "A short history of the Master Gardener Program"  but here this pic was….seemingly incidental,  but just amazed and delighted me.   Kids,  sitting,  still,  orderly,    the plants out front of them,  being watched as they orderly grew.   What a STORY this could be…i could not stop smiling and then,  NPR Weekend Edition Saturday.   2 cousins celebrate their childhood neighborhood by writing and illustrating a childrens book….Dream Street.   Tricia Elam Walker the writer,  Ekua Holmes, illustrator.  

the day went on that way and somehow this is all still about letting questions be alive.   how is unclear,  but  i know it is and so i just gathered the variety of things of the day and took care to note them as it went.  

 

Jenny and Jeff were coming to bring Feed and i didn't know what else,  so i just went to B Garden with one quick sled load and thought…this is a kindness to me.   From me to me.   my habitual way would be to think i didn't have time for that….when in reality,  i would spend whatever time….waiting for them.   a blank.  and too,   one less load toward completing.  This    FELT good.   i finished and they arrived shortly thereafter.   they didn't stay long and after they left,  i thought about this.   Small kindnesses.   Kindness in general.   Those questions,  living in the palm of my hand,   about meaning.   About what has meaning and Value.   

and suddenly….it switched over to the Slide Show.   I saw Blanca.   The Bath Lady.  Sometimes it's not just a single slide,  a still pic,   but a short video like some of the tech gifted are able to put in their blogs,   just short….and here it was…beginning with Blanca maneuvering Alz B into her bathroom.   it had sound.   For those who haven't gone that far back,   Alz B is the mother of Bill who i worked for….both of them,  individually,  and when Betty began to loose ground to Alzheimer's,  it became more.   And went on through her time in the Old Folks Home until that night she died when her son  Bill  and i sat with her.  and then walked the streets of Socorro in the night,  through till dawn.   Blanca appeared through Hospice.   She arrived twice a week promptly.  The Bath Lady.   Alz B was mean.  Angry.  insisting she did not need anyone's help.   short moments would pass and both would appear from the bathroom,  Alz B all squeaky clean and Blanca to pack her bag up ,  wave goodbye and be gone until next time.

During the time Alz B was at the Old Folks Home i watched Blanca arrive there.   In out,  In out,  residents went…how many a day?,   Blanca the Bath Lady,  preforming her Focused Efficient Gift of Grace.   

When OCB,   the Old CowBoy was doing his final time,   Blanca appeared at his door  via Hospice.   I was so grateful to see that it was HER.   She came once a week for bath and shave.   He liked her.  Even in the final times,  he would flirt with her.  Blanca sailed through.   didn't miss a beat.   it was an extraordinary kind of kindness.  Kindness.    That last day.   It was supposed to be a regular bath day,  but the energy had changed.   She arrived and let herself in.  Gathered the towels and wash cloths,  soap,  lotion,  shaving cream and razor and arranged them on the bedside table.   Instead of watching her,  he pushed things away and kept going on to me how i needed to get his boots.  We needed to go.   To the ranch in Colorado.   She was patient.  Went to sit at his kitchen table,  listening.   I was sitting beside the bed,  going on and on about how i couldn't do that.   She walked over and watched and said   "he's Ready."  went back to sit at the table.  her arms folded  in her lap.   Over the next while,  maybe an hour,  i watched him fade.   Until a moment when i saw him looking at me  from "behind himself" .     I just sat.   Blanca came over and said

now the bath.

while i called the Hospice nurse to come and Declare him,   Blanca shaved him.   she bathed him.  She covered him.   Blanca.

it's been many years.  But all that is as clear as the moment of happening.  And why.   Why do i see it so clearly    today?,  clearer than ever before.  Why do i see her.   Truly as the     professional    that she was.  Is.   The Bath Lady.

How does it have to do with the salamanders and newts in the palm of the hand?   and….to go further,  how does it have to do with that boy who shot children LIKE himSelf  in Michigan,   who had drawn a picture that had startled his teacher Bullet and bleeding figure,        but also  the words   Help Me.   I watch,  look,  for reference to those two words.  Help me.   see none.   maybe that morning it was too late for kindness.  probably.   but still,   he wrote the words.   Help me.   No one.  the school,  his parents read them i guess.  

and another small kindness for my  Self.   It's cold in the mornings now.   Ordinarily,  i would wait and wait after getting up till i could make self get moving to start the Tea water….get the tea bags,  the brown sugar out of the cupboard  .   For a few days now,   At the end of the day,  i fill the tea kettle.  Set out 2 bags and the jar of sugar.   Ready.   As i pass the stove to huddle at the Morning Table,  i light the stove.   Comfort,  the Tea,  soon.   a kindness.   to self.   

so many things are simple.  

 

 

 

  I wake at about 4 or 5 oclock.   Make tea,  clear the space on the Table and follow a trail of reading and looking….read any comments to the blog of the night before,  read any posts on other blogs,  sometimes comment then,  but most times just think.  then  news and any related articles.   A second tea and usually some writing in the stenographer's notebook.    And then for a while now,  at least since last spring,   i often go lie back down and fall asleep for  usually about 20 minutes.   Very often,  as i become awake,   some surprisingly clarity appears,   or some surprisingly interesting slant to some ongoing  concern.   the third tea and i sit and  entertain those things,  letting them wander as they will.   often writing things down.   then…meditate for as long as happens.   The day begins.     Those 20 minutes of re~sleep have been very surprisingly usefull.   Yesterday what came was the "fact"  that there are no Answers to those Hard Questions….OR….there are MANY answers depending on how the questions are asked.   And there was also acceptance that i will most likely continue to be caught in the questioning as life goes.  And the questions will continue to become more pointed,   more spare,  more direct.   It's how i am.    And how that came yesterday morning was………That knowing that the questions will remain .   and it was "said" ….Why not just let them live?   Let the questions just be Alive?   Changing/moving/asking themselves.   Alive. 

Just hold them in the palm of your hand.

And i received the image of those questions there,  like how so small salamanders or newts are,  so weightless,  soft,  almost unbelievable in their slight impression of movement and aliveness.    To let the questions be like that.   Light,  and given to just the asking that would help me know more as i live.   To not make them heavy with demand.      

and then….what came next….i had to smile.  Next,  the thought was:   make them a little pouch.   to sleep in as you  work your days.   Make them a little pouch.   

 

 

 

 

in looking back in the Archives,  i saw this.   i don't remember if it was on the wall or leaning against something…it wasn't the image being photographed,  but in the background,  or to the side,   but my heart jolted seeing it.

did i leave it there??????

it's a self portrait.   from that period of time i referred to as the dark years.   Maybe,   Hard Years would be better.  i don't know.  But from then.   i drew it sitting amidst my great garden of squash.   it was hot.   things were not good.  i ran the hose to irrigate while i drew and watched the water run down the rows.  there were squash bugs on the underside of the leaves.  their eggs.  this image is somehow the Form i knew i had to take from there on in.    until something happened.  and that ended up taking years.   i didn't think this when i drew,  i just drew a picture of my Self.      It ended up in this frame some years later when i was working to change out of that form,  back into my "self" or a rendition there of.   There was an Art Show up at the college,  New Mexico Institute of Mining and Technology,  in town…Socorro.   a friend gave me the frame to borrow.   

so…seeing it there….in the stream of pics of the Archives….

i called Alyssia…did she know?   Is it here somewhere?    Today she brought it.   it was with the other things that are in storage,  my glorious stove,  Fiona,  a chair or something.   and since the Archives,  i've been trying to remember a sequence of time for things which doesn't come easy for me.  Dates.  Time Frames.   all i ever have is that Slide Show and it is not chronological.  There's no Time in the Slide Show,  it's all just there together,  moving around.   i took it out of the frame hoping  there was a date on the drawing.  No.  just those 3 letters and      that  mark.   it's simplicity.  it's tenderness.   just that.  and it came as  help with the question….What IS our  "art"?   specifically,  what i call my art.    Why.  Whats the Point?     There aren't words yet,   but this 

 

 

 

 

 

pinned on the back of the Diaries Cloth.    I think i wanted to know what it would look like as a centerpiece to a large,  "real" quilt,   one that could be an actual sleeping quilt…like laundered in a machine.   Like my Tina Quilt that over time and use becomes more.  Becomes soft and MORE.     Maybe some day.  it's a whole different Thing.  The Diaries Cloth would not even exist if laundered.   It almost doesn't exist already just from desert sand moving on its surface.  So many of the choices of cloth were already full of life lived.   It remains Out,  hanging on the cloth line,  the Goats move under and through it.   I'll take it down soon and fold it up again,   Put it away in one of the containers of stuff that i will leave during Evacuation.   Knowing it's there.  Knowing i am leaving it.   This is something to think about too.

 

i went back to the archives this morning,  to try again,   see if anything felt different and it  did…but brought so many questions,  so many  ummmm,   unsettled feelings.   Am just letting it be as it is for now.   What i came away with for sure,  is missing the dying.   Down at B,  there's madder root.  Old enough this year.

Marti…thank you.   HUGE thank you for that link

 

 

because of the conversation going    round   

i began the day by going to look into the Archives here.   I always love it when those who are good at that sort of thing…Link me to a certain post.   i love it and appreciate it so much,  and am always surprised by what i  find there.  Glad it's there.   it's a happy thing.   But otherwise,  i have rarely gone into those archives.   I just don't.  And this morning when i went back to 2011 and began rolling through the months….

i didn't like it.

mostly,  i looked at the pics.   reading the words was too much.   i didn't want to.    Some of the pics gave me a Longing for the desert,  for New Mexico,  some,   for that Place there in particular.   I left so much behind.  And not just things i realized.   For the first time,  i got a glimmer of how it is i leave Selves behind.   Whole selves.   Selves that take years to fall into place in that kaleidoscope way i always reference….this is a Big Thought.   it's only partially thought.  it will take some time.   I ended up writing down the different selves that immediately came to mind and there were,  of course,  5.   i smiled.  yes.    those selves are uhhhhh,   well….how i tried to explain it to mySelf was…..it's like a book.  a novel.     there are characters.   distinct  lives.  Maybe it's kind of that thing of a while ago…parallel lives…but these are not parallel,  but  one after another…..what's the word for that? there's the   Falling Water self                                                                                                                                                                                                  the Fern Home Self,  including Oregon, Arizona,  the return to Michigan and New Mexico                                                                        the dark years                                                                                                                                                                                                                  the Spirit Cloth self which would hold Magic Diaries                                                                                                                                             this one,   this Hill self  which i am becoming

this is hard thinking.   i wasn't expecting it.

what was "offered" right away was the fact that i have always put my Whole and Entire beingness into whichever self i am living.   I AM that.  totally.   and when i move.   from one into the next,   the one i move From is Complete.   I don't know how to explain that.    "complete".   but it is.   And in very certain ways,   certain things are over.   completed.   They are "archived"  in that slide show of my mind.   parts of them come to me when i need them or want them….need to learn from them.  THE ALL of them is always there somehow,  but i don't need more than the slide show.    

the pics above.    After all this,  i set out to haul more of that manure/bedding straw to B Garden.   spread it on the cardboard i put there.   I have two more trips i think.  then will pull logs on that sled to border this new 2021 bed.   There is huge pleasure to this.    After i finished,  i just sat.   that's all.   just sat.   and after a while,  some bird spoke somewhere overhead.  it took a while to figure out where….because i couldn't see any bird.   But  then….there it was.   it was a hummingbird.  i'd not known they spoke this way….

on the way back i stopped at Nogal's Forest and went IN.   this,  because yesterday when i needed to go inside in order to clean his water tub,   he didn't shy away,   but instead came up.  and i spent time scratching his ears,  touching him everywhere,  slowly,   quietly,   no agenda.   and he stayed.   being touched.   wanting it.  this is new.   he will come to the fence but has always run when someone comes inside.   Which is not good for Evacuation.   It takes forever to trap him…it takes all 4 of us and  Alyssia ends up having to physically carry him to load. 

 it's more than she should do.   There is no need for this.   it's habit for him and the result of not consistent physical contact.   Today,  i sat on one of his downed tree trunks.  Puppy arrived to join us.  We were Together.  I'd brought stale tortilla chips.   i just stayed.   a long time.   he came and went.   then came again.    While i sat there i thought about all the above,  about why anything is happening and the slide show clicked in.    Letting go of the A Garden,  the Wall Garden,  that felt like a failure,  but was,  maybe?,  in fact,  a moment of release.  Just like him.  Stuff from habit.   In this case,  the doing of things because of wanting to constantly TRY.   TRY to Accomplish.    and letting that go,  to Let.   to Let what can happen,  Wants to happen,  Happen.   To live in the Present.   moment to moment.   Feel it.   Breathe.   Notice.  Be Glad for what is.  

 

 

 

    

 

 

 

 

in these last days,  i have been deep into what i have called the Reference Cloth.   and with Jude's questioning at Spirit Cloth the days of the Magic Diaries,    i see that in a certain way,  it is a Return to the same point.   Magic Diaries was a reference cloth but at the  CORE  of the Round.   the Beginning.   All from the first workshops could play out there.  And showed its self to be a World of never ending possibility,  never ending imaging,  never ending stitches.   A world of NeverEnding.   And it did.  And it      was and it      IS.    

What i remembered today was the huge and so WONDER FULL flood of   Possibility…and along with that,

Aspiration

I had found.   I had found     my      medium.    in ART.    i had found my medium.    that pulled in what i knew of drawing,  of fiber figures,  of the longing for diorama.    Here,  it was possible and so….along came       Aspiration.    I aspired to create what might resonate,   what might in its self inspire story.   I imagined that someday,   photographs of things i made and words about the making might appear in a

Magazine

aspire.  i google aspiration.    a hope or ambition of achieving something.   and the example of use given is…"the yawning gulf between aspiration and reality"    Smile.    

it's 10 years later.   the aspiration has faded,  like that beautyFULL payne's grey.   But all else remains and just Goes and Grows into its own world.   Cloth is an element for me.    like Fire Air Earth Water.   There is no turning back.   or ,   away.   it Just Goes.

the first two pics  are of Once In A Lifetime Scraps.    Crow and the Window through which it speaks to Spirit     Then,  the Moth which was a scrap of clothing,  a french seam i think it would be called,  that bent in just that way became instantly a Moth

the third.    the second of two,   Alyssia has the first.   this figure is so pure.   so clear.   so REAL to me.   I don't have words right now.   i guess i don't have any more words at all right now.     

Magic Diaries.