So it was the best Mother's Day ever.  Also the worst.  We were working like fiends -- even the fix-it man we hired was pressed into service on Sunday! -- trying to get the house ready to be on the market Monday.

But . . . 

the day had some other truly redeeming qualities!

Daughters bearing flowers and handmade cards, and dinner at one daughter's house.  It's always so reassuring to be in your child's beautiful home being served delicious food that they made themselves.  In fact, her applesauce cake was so good, I just about climbed into the pan in an attempt to get as much as I possibly could. 

Makes one think perhaps one's motherhood ain't been in vain for nothin'.  

But I wanted to share with you some paragraphs from a letter Hannah wrote me, not because of anything it says about me, but because of what it says about her. 










She actually listened!  She actually learned!  (It was a simply beautiful letter, and I admit that the handy-man did catch me crying openly as I read it...but since it was Mother's Day, I wasn't too embarrassed.)  She said this:

"Thank you for teaching me about beauty:  about how to find it, recognize it, and appreciate it, but most of all how to create it.  When I tell people how magical it was growing up on the floor of your studio, watching your hands weave from disparate nothings pieces of art, I am not exaggerating.  You create magic, and always have.  Thank you for teaching me how to see things not only for what they are, but for the potential they have to become a part of something new and interesting.  My ability to see past current conditions and to de-contextualize is all thanks to the imagination you trained me so well to possess and prize.  As a child, I knew that my mother's hands were different, and more important than most other mothers.  You keep your hands unadorned and useful.  They are your tool, and have helped teach me how to see and judge the world.  I learned from your hands to value the abilities, passions, strengths, doings, and disciplines of others.

"Grandpa may joke about the confusion of growing up in a house where Santa Claus may be a woman, but I am grateful every day for your didactic womanhood.  You are 'phenomenally phenomenal'.  I am happy and thankful often that I grew up in an environment where it never occurred to me that I couldn't be and do exactly what I wanted.  There is comfort in the individuality you fostered and I am grateful to have been raised in the understanding that women are strong, important, resourceful, and gentle, and that I should be proud of this inheritance.  You may have spent many of your adult years at home raising us (thank you again), but your existence has not been small.  The saddest thing to me is a woman who lives a small life, and I thank you for teaching me the tragedy of women who make themselves small."

I guess maybe I should stop questioning my career (or lack of) choices.
It seems I did perhaps accomplish something after all.

Thanks, girls.

YOU truly are 

phenomenal women.

Hello!

I sat down to sew a button 

on a shirt for Russ the other day --

(Note: It was neither a pink button nor a pink shirt...but I came across this dandy little bit of found-wonderfulness while FINALLY cutting apart a bag of old wool clothes that I've been tripping over for about 15 years.  Moving makes you do things you might otherwise never do.)

and realized I have not picked up a needle since the middle of February.  THE MIDDLE OF FEBRUARY!

There's something very wrong with that.

I believe there was an audible sigh as I made the first pass through the cloth...I miss sewing.  But then, I have missed a lot of things.

On the other hand . . . I missed a lot of things while I was busy sewing whimsical wool pictures for 9 years too -- that's been MORE than evident in the past few months as I've been taking my well-earned *gulp* medicine working on this house.

And the end is in sight!  The sign will appear on the lawn later this week, the listing should go live on Monday.  Ready or not!  (And we're not. But I've never missed a show yet...)

So I fear I may continue to neglect you for the rest of the week.
You are not, however, Dear Reader, the only object of my neglect.

My real-life family and friends?  Neglected.

Personal grooming?  Neglected -- on both legs, and all 20 nails.

Health and fitness?  The spare tire tells the story.

Perry Mason?  Sorely neglected. Haven't fallen asleep to one in months. 

NEXT WEEK HOWEVER....

I'll have very little to do but vacuum my just-vacuumed carpet.  I won't be able to sit down anywhere in my own house.  There will be no using the kitchen, or anything else.  If I could figure out how to shower at the convenience store I probably would. Even Cooper is getting the boot for a few weeks so that I can mop every 10 minutes instead of every 5.

So it will probably just be me on my computer pestering you no end and waiting for the phone to ring.

CAN'T WAIT??!!  Me neither.

(Miss you all dreadfully 
and hope you're Tuesday-rrific!)

 

First World Problems.

 

Yes, virtually ALL of mine.  

At least I know it.  

And I'm not proud of it. 

It's been a busy week around here -- it's a big house to get ready to sell (see title, above).

Today we tackled our closet.  And I'm speechless.

BECAUSE IT STILL HAS A WHOLE LOT OF STUFF IN IT.  

But here's what ended up on the bedroom floor:

the "to go" pile

It looked particularly impressive....or depressing....in the back of the pickup:

I hope none of the neighbors saw that. 


Part of the problem is being a woman and needing a wardrobe in several different sizes.  (And yes, unfortunately I use them all during the course of a normal year.) 

Another part of the problem is that I'm a sentimental fool who can't throw anything away.

"I wore that the time we ____________ when Lindsay (who is now almost 30) was three! I can't give THAT away!"

You can pretty much fill in the blank with anything.

The third part of the problem is I'm really really cheap so I have clothes for about 15 years before I even start to think about getting rid of them. And they're often clothes I bought at Walmart to begin with.

It all adds up.

Of course, in my NEW life it's going to be much simpler.  My closet will be spacious!  My clothing choices will be limited to a few, well-chosen items of good quality from which I can pull together a handful of chic outfits that can take me wherever I need to go. I will hang them evenly spaced, with good air circulation, and sorted by color. I won't ever need to clean out my closet again, because I will practice the "one thing in, one thing out" rule.  In fact, everything I've ever heard about organization on daytime television is going to finally kick in.

It will be a whole new me!

But of course you knew that. 








(Happy Friday)

Sunday Scribble

image by Manu Pombrol

Memoir

does this sound fair

to present only one side

of a complicated story?

yet all I have to tell

is what I witnessed, things

I heard, my thoughts

true but slanted

light through the slats

my half-opened blind, all this

I can offer and call it

the facts, bits and pieces

of the only truth, I know

no more than what I could see

from where I was sitting

and I could not shift

position, with nowhere to be

but where they put me

there I was

--smh

Must be time for The Mag!  

Click over now to find out 

what else was going on 

in that busy little jar...

(and add a tale of your own)

P I Y P.

So I can't believe I missed 

National Poem In Your Pocket Day . . .

(Thanks to Leenie at Side Trips for calling this glaring error to my attention, btw...and you can read her delightful post about it here!)

But just because I've been consumed with all-things-move doesn't mean we shouldn't have a little belated acknowledgement of the day here at Small Works, because there is nothing we love more than that perfect little arrangement of words that, as soon as they bump up next to each other, somehow magically become a poem.

I loved poetry from a very young age.  My father always recited it (still does).  And I have fond memories of my big sister practicing a highly dramatic reading of Alfred Noyes' The Highwayman for her 9th grade English class night after night as I would drift off to sleep in the next room.

That poem had it all in my young opinion -- drama, romance, jealousy, revenge, even a hint of sex! -- and it was my favorite for a long time. I felt it was a terribly sophisticated choice.  Now it always makes me smile.

But I remember being delighted to find it included in this little volume:

This book turned up at my 10th birthday party, the gift of a dear childhood friend.  I loved it then, and I love it even more now, partly as a result of the charming inscription:

(Elizabeth Smart's aunt, by the way -- just an interesting factoid.  

And she looked almost exactly like Elizabeth.)

I thought it was such a cool and thoughtful gift, from one nerdy intellectual 10-year-old to another.  I remember all my other gifts at that party sort of paling in comparison.

The preface of the book says this:

"This is the age of science, of steel -- of speed and the cement road . . . Science and steel demand the medium of prose.  Speed requires only the look -- the gesture.  What need then, for poetry?

Great need!

There are souls, in these noise-tired times, that turn aside into unfrequented lanes . . . here the light, filtering through perfect forms, arranges itself in lovely patterns for those who perceive beauty.

It is the purpose of this little volume to enrich, ennoble, encourage.  And for man, who has learned to love convenience, it is hardly larger than his concealing pocket."

-- Roy J. Cook, Editor

The idea of National Poem In Your Pocket Day is that you select a poem you love and carry it with you to share with whomever you like -- coworkers, friends, family.  You can also share it on Twitter by using the hashtag #pocketpoem.

Poets.org offered these ideas 

for unfolding your pocket poem and sharing it with the world:

Urge local businesses to offer discounts for those carrying poems Post pocket-sized verses in public places Hand-write some lines on the back of your business cards Start a street team to pass out poems in your community Distribute bookmarks with your favorite immortal lines Add a poem to your email footer Post a poem on your blog or social networking page Project a poem on a wall, inside or out Text a poem to friends

All good ideas!
 
I love the idea of posting small verses in public places.  I know how happy it would make me to come across such a gem on my daily travels.

Yes, poems are still for those who perceive beauty.  And in the immediacy of our digital age, it couldn't be easier to share the beauty when we find -- or better still! -- create it. 

Come on . . . do your friends a favor. 

Text someone a poem and their day just got 

a whole lot better.  Guaranteed. 

(I speak from experience, lucky me!)

Happy Weekend!

Yes......I mean YOU.

 
People are funny --

and if you haven't figured that out,
why you just haven't been paying attention!
 
That's part of what makes doing shows enjoyable and worthwhile -- having the opportunity to observe -- and sometimes even talk to! -- funny, funny people.






One of my favorite conversations of the past weekend was with a guy who didn't look like the typical Small Works art appreciator (yes, there's definitely a type -- if you wonder whether you fit the mold, look at me for clues).

He was immediately drawn to my diminutive stitches and just couldn't stop looking at them.  After a few minutes, he started to ask me questions about my work. I could soon tell that we perhaps shared some common personality traits.

He asked how my eyes are holding up -- I could see that his glasses were getting as thick as my own -- and whether I use a magnifier.  I told him that I've been holding out, but it's getting expensive to purchase new bi-focals every year and so I've considered trying one. Then he told me his idea for magnifying his own woodcarving work...

He said he works as a photographer for a local news station, and therefore is always thinking cameras.  He has an idea that (and here it got a bit technical for my limited understanding) he could use a particular kind of lens and by focusing it on his work, he could see the work projected on a computer screen and then carve by looking at the enlarged image on the screen.

He was the robotic-surgeon-wannabe of wood carvers!  That made me laugh -- talk about people who have a tendency to make things more difficult than they need to be, but it got better...

I asked him what kinds of things he carved.  He told me that right now he was working on a clothes chute door.

I wasn't sure I heard right...a clothes chute door?  A laundry chute?

Yes.  A laundry chute.  He'd been working on it for over a year.

A LAUNDRY CHUTE DOOR THAT HE'D BEEN CARVING ON FOR OVER A YEAR? AND NOW HE WAS DREAMING OF DOING IT IN A WAY THAT WOULD MAKE IT DOUBLY COMPLICATED?

He explained that his carvings are quite -- ahem -- detailed.

Now that is something I would truly like to see.  Still life relief with detergent and lint wad? It was one of the most delightful things I've heard in a long long time.

Some people develop vaccines, some people carve sticks of chalk with a crochet hook.  Ain't life grand?

It reminded me of this:

Ah, the woman who paints on cobwebs!  Cobwebs that are in the Smithsonian. Yes, there are things even...umm...sillier than those to which I devote my own time.  Which is always good to know.

And it reminded Hannah of another of our favorites, the artist who carves beautifully detailed cameos out of......wait for it.......Oreos:

 Oreo cameos by Judith Klausner

Some people might ask why, 
but I need no explanation whatsoever. 

Anyway, there's something about meeting an unlikely-looking candidate who turns out to be a truly kindred spirit that always reaffirms my faith in humanity.

  

Keep doing 

whatever it is 

you gotta do, 

funny people.  

 
The world needs you.

 

Monday means.....The Small Works Show Report!

ACC St. Paul 2012 Edition --

Another show has come and gone . . . . *sigh.

Hannah did a great job hanging my booth -- it never looked better!

It was particularly bittersweet because it was my last show for the foreseeable future -- I'm not sure when I'll be doing another, and particularly one with the American Craft Council.
 

I was planning to do San Francisco this year, but have decided that things are a bit too up in the air for me to commit to that comfortably.  So I will look to next year.



But what a delightful weekend it was! 
Although my regular booth staff was busy doing things like taking a business trip to Delaware and then flying to Singapore (makes my weekend look easy), I had the help of the next generation.  And that was a true pleasure.






Hannah was more than happy to perch in my booth for the weekend and say nice things about me and my work. I am not sure whether she would say the same smiling things in a therapist's office or not, but she was full of glowing tales of growing up on the floor of the studio.  And I couldn't have paid for a nicer report.






She volunteered to help because she is wondering whether she'd like to take on the show life for herself and wanted a real taste of it -- she helped hang the show, worked the show, and also helped tear down, and handled it like a natural.  Despite being diagnosed with mono the next day....but that's another story!  (If you met her this weekend, you should be fine as long as you didn't kiss her...but I will admit to wanting to do that several times.  Thanks for your kind words and your wonderful support, sweetie!  I will always have fond memories of our weekend.)

And speaking of help, the rest of the fam jumped in to fill the gap as well -- sons-in-law helped set up and tear down, as well as driving the truck and putting everything away after, and it was accomplished in record time.  I have assured Russ that he is not fired, but I cannot tell a lie -- having a few strapping young men around wasn't half bad.  Thanks, boys! Always deeper in your debt.

And now:  Overheard at the Show . . . .

There was a funny piece of paper circulating, and I wish I'd gotten a copy of it.  One of the artists had drawn up an Art Show Bingo game board, the idea being that you would mark off a square when you heard the comment contained in it.

We've played a similar casual game in my booth for years, but instead of a bingo-board we have a little checklist.  It contains things like:  "if I win the lottery..." and "cute for a kid's room" -- stuff like that.

Of course, there are also some really nice things on the list, like: "this is my favorite thing at this show" and "this work is just so happy".  

I must admit that, besides comments, there are also a few other artists on our list:  the fighting couple who seem to barely survive booth set-up and remain married every time, the woman who wears a muscle shirt and does yoga in her booth during lulls, the way-too-old-for-his-ponytail guy in the might-have-been-sexy-once-hip-huggers who travels with a pretty young thing and puts on quite a sales show, the gal who wears that uber-dramatic severe black thingy and looks like she's been wearing it non-stop since perhaps the 1960's...
 

And once again, we were able to check off every box!  That bingo board assured me that every artist must share a similar experience.

But surely every artist does not enjoy the good fortune of having the kind of wonderful people connect with their work that I do! I love watching people's lights go on.  It makes every stitch worthwhile.

Hannah observed that I definitely come to art as a writer.  She said that she doesn't really care whether people connect with her images or not, as long as she's happy with them.   But after a day in the booth it was her conclusion that the idea is much more important to me than the image is, and when I fail to communicate the idea to the observer, I feel my art has failed.  I think that's why the label "cute" chafes me like no other. I'm the first to admit that some of my images get dangerously close to being cute, but if you take time to engage with my pieces, there's usually something behind the image that goes a little beyond that.  And THAT'S the part I'm interested in.

That's where my heart lives, 

and I think that's what has the potential 

to make my stitches art.

So to everyone who said "cute," of course I do thank you.  I know you meant well.

But to those of you who smiled, or sighed, or laughed, or read every word, or felt compelled to tell me your own story, or even told me I had a very strange and twisted sense of humor (yes, I mean you, sir!) I thank you more.

Because we shared an idea, a little moment of understanding, and that was the whole point of me threading my needle in the first place. 

And I hope to see you all again soon....

here, or perhaps there.  Or anywhere.  

Keep your eye out for me, 

and I'll be looking for you too.  

(p.s. Goodnight, Terri!)