windthread

home.
a place where you have a clothesline.

this is happening. i may or may not have referred to this place as my "permanent campsite". By campsite standards, it is
luxury. by others, not. for some time, i have avoided any real thought forms about what was happening under the kitchen
sink. some time being a few years. in the last couple months, i became aware that this wouldn't work. the leak required
a second bucket. when i actually looked, there was some kind of gelatinous substance on the under sink wall.
and so.
neighbor and his son came. first, a new subflooring in the ROOM, which is where i sew and then, we began the makeover
of the kitchen.
part of me doesn't want to show anyone this, but part of me says it's important.

i had to go to Sunday School as a kid, well, longer. in my teens too. they said things there that made me feel bad, especially the
missioneries who my mother's sewing circle made quilts for. they said things that could not possibly make sense.
the one good thing about Sunday School was the flannel board. the teacher or the missionary would tell a story and we
were allowed to place cut out figures, animals, trees, and things on it. it was a blank large board set upon an easel. the
pieces magically stayed where you placed them. i always wanted to place the Burning Bush. if you were best behaved and
perfect with your memory verse, you might be chosen to take everything off at the end and place them all in the shoebox
leaving the uh, tabula rosa…waiting for next time.
i thought about this today for the first time in forever, thinking how i want to just place things temporarily, so i could
change it, add to it or even change it entirely. but then, it woulddn't be what it is right now, which i love. a lot. so…
what if i were to make more? i wonder how that would feel?

can't.
so…this is what i meant when i said something about this blog being "home"…i'd originally
meant it to be to document the workshops. i still do.
i want to remember this time.
it's not how it looks, but rather that i come here to talk about the experience of Cloth to Cloth
and Spirit Cloth.
to try to understand what it is that i am wanting all this time spent to
mean.
deb said…something, that said to me…who am i talking to?
i guess i am talking to myself, to the cloth and when you all respond, i get a better understanding of what i am saying. the cloth doesn't need that….it just is.
so..thank you, everyone for helping me see more clearly.

i think i have NEVER before CHOSEN to stay awake beyond a strong sense of physical discomfort to do something out of
love. or anything else, for that matter.
but i really wanted to finish the invisible basting of the whole cloth, to feel it.
the circle, Deb Lacativa's hand dyed
the background, i think it must be an old much used diaper? that i tea dyed or maybe even metal dyed…i would like to begin
keeping notes.

i'm just going to put the picture here for the moment, and then come back later, after i give water, and write the words.
but i want to look at it here. it occured to me yesterday that i still do not have a sense of this blog being "home" and
i'd like to.

ok. it's late. we'll see how this goes.

i look at this cloth, here, where i can use the little close up thingy and i can see the individual threads. this is something it's about. it's about individuality. individuality even when it's not common, as in maybe uh, pretty? nice, or acceptable? that has never been an over riding concern, tho it always is a little. never wanted things to be…difficult to look upon.

something here about that. about how plaid was said to be nice. but to me, was orderly in a way i did not feel comfortable with? michelle uses plaid sometimes and i really like it. it is comforting to me when she uses it and then makes a cat that reminds me of Johnny Depp. god knows why, that, but he does. it does.

which was visible, in its entirety
but saw things too that aren't there? or are, but i didn't know it?
nighthawks tonight and bats.

which story do i tell?
the past? or, the story that is happening now? that goes on, into tomorrow? is unfolding in this exact moment?

earlier today i put some things to the Sun
some hollyhocks and silk gauze
some cone flowers and a ragged something, i think silk noile, there are no notes.
i need to sit down with India's book and get real.
but i DID do it.
inbetween getting the two new tree wells dug…twice…once to the clay and then after soaking, down to where they need to be.
and the trees are planted.
and then, saying goodbye to Cloth to Cloth and hello to Spirit Cloth
and dismantling the compost, watching how the centipede which was maybe 4-5 inches long tried but then did not know what
to do and simply tucked its head into a very small crevice of dirt and hoped.

things came up today, reading people's goodbyes and introductions that made me think. Which stories go into cloths?
there are so many in my life. weaving selves together, yes. but what do i want to take forward? what can become
compost?

it seems so long ago.
this is what i was compelled to do after finding Spirit Cloth/jude last november.
this next week the workshop begins.
i will never be the same again