I heard muffled sobbing behind her bedroom door. Although I couldn’t see her, the weeping and trembling of her little fractured soul were audible though the thick wood. She lay in the bed, a heaping mound of black velvet and thick, white goose down, her face buried deep in the feather pillows. I sat at her side and placed a hand on her back, stroking softly. She was warm and quaking, snuffling tears back into her nose. .
“I want to die!” she cried, her words muzzled by the thick down. I pulled a soft, wet tendril of hair away from her face and tucked it behind her ear. She swatted my hand and turned away.
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”No.” I said. “Dying won’t heal the evil in that woman.”
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“Oh no?” she cried. “She thinks I’m a joke! A disgrace! An awkward, fat girl unfit to attend parties or be shopped for or-, or-, or any of the things that she does for you! I hate her, and I hate myself!” Her sobbing resumed as she curled up into a fetal position around the down and started rocking. .
“That’s not true.” I insisted, moving in close and laying down by her side. “She’s just a nasty woman, full of spite and envy, without loyalty to anyone, not even her own kin.” It pained me to state these facts out loud, but they were truer than a mother’s unconditional love for her babe. She cared for no one.
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I uncovered her sweaty, clenched fist buried in the velvet of her dress and squeezed. “I think you’re beautiful, and smart, and a comedian comparable to none. Wouldn’t trade you in if they offered me the world.”
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The cries paused as she turned to me, her sapphire eyes ruddy, the lids swollen around them. Her cheeks were damp and flush. I kissed one. A soft smile parted her lips as she let out a long, warm exhale onto my chest. .
“It’s going to be OK.” .
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#scarletkumquat #dailylines #momsfirstquilt
We stayed the night at The Seven Wives Inn, a bed and breakfast in St. George, UT where he and I had been a decade ago. Historically this establishment concealed polygamists and their famililes in secret after the practice was outlawed in the United States. Explaining that to the children was an entertaining event. "Polygamy is the practice of being married to more than one person at the same time." I described, their eyes wide like tea cup saucers, mouths gaping in disbelief. "Say, instead of Daddy having one wife (me), he had 3 other wives and their related children." My daughter fidgeted with the bedsheets, uttering slightly to interrupt with bubbling curiosity. I held a quick hand up not to interrupt. "Imagine if Daddy were married to seven women!" I continued. Their eyes widened further as they exchanged unsettled glances. "Mom," my son insisted" that would be so wierd. Now can we watch a movie?" My husband rifled through his luggage as I prepared the DVD. The children squirmed around on the futon bed, circling like dogs preparing for sleep in that perfect spot. Finally settled, the movie started and their eyes were set a daze on the screen, trance-like as the illuminated images flickered against their soft faces.
#dailylines #scarletkumquat #stainedglassquilt
Ancient power, modern ease. This piece is a timeless, wearable objet d’ art. I used thrifted striped navy from @whogivesascrapfoco and the remainder off-cuts from a dwindling stash. The Tibetan panel coat by @folkwearsewing.patterns lets one be as detailed as they wish, adding hand stitching to the many facings and bindings in this reversible masterpiece. My whole world slowed down while making this. And much of it done at my husband’s side watching Outlander (a big ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ recommendation!). So go on, make that magical piece that takes you back in time, yet hurtles you full bore into a future unknown. I’m captivated.
#scarletkumquat #folkwear118 #isew #imakemyownclothes #sewingisselfcare #folkwearpatterns #fantasy
Continuation of my long game. For the love of blocking.
#scarletkumquat #tibetanpanelcoat #folkwear118 #memade
Day 81
It was Wednesday afternoon. Tennis class was at 4pm. It was an important event of my week. Adam S. had a tennis coach and took lessons in the court next to me while I worked with a small group of other students that I didn’t know. I had a hefty crush on Adam, and admittedly signed up for the class to be closer to him and watch him play. It was also a welcome reprieve from my home life. I had spent many summer days in 100+ degree F in tennis camp in Vegas. I was proficient at this sport. However I could have cared less about getting better at the game. I cared a lot about having the chance to sit next to Adam after my lesson, maybe even exchange a few niceties.
I returned the tennis balls from my pockets to the square metal basket at the corner of the court. Coach was talking with one of the parents of another student, a slick, tall dark-haired dad who twirled the keys of his BMW on his index finger. I knew Mom would be late, as she always was. So I busied myself picking up stray balls so coach might not notice me alone and waiting. I was embarrassed. Mom was always late, and I hated that.
I looked over to the next court and saw Adam hitting balls back across the net from an automatic ball machine. His coach was getting some water from the orange Igloo cooler between the courts. Adam looked focused, slamming the balls with steady effort. He had black stringy hair that was slightly overgrown and hung heavily around his face. Every time he hit a ball his bangs would bounce off his sweaty forehead. He had thin red lips and flushed cheeks that made him look as though he wore rouge.
My husband and I have been reading aloud together lately. Have you read with your partner in this way? Listening to one another speak, tell a story, recite a poem… it’s an act of love that we don’t frequently encounter in our daily lives. When I listen to him read a few pages, I am forced to quiet the chatter, to breathe deeper, and give my full attention. Because he is my husband, and I want to show him respect and love. Through this we can also have a shared experience, gain insight and knowledge together. For what is love but recurrent, shared experiences cultivating a bond over time. I miss him when he’s away at work, when time preoccupies us with chores, the kids’ routines, paying bills. But if I sit next to him and help open envelopes, separate the mail, make the piles neat and tidy for him to approach, we are doing it together, and sharing yet another experience.
We are currently reading the The Tao of Inner Peace. I read this book in my early twenties, and took away very little from it’s core philosophies. At that age my ego was steering the ship. It wasn’t applicable to my frame of mind. It’s a welcome refreshment 20 years later when I can see the value of its messages, and share the learning with my closest human. .
Those who know they do not know, gain wisdom. Those who pretend they know, remain ignorant. Those who acknowledge their weakness, become strong. Those who flaunt their power, will lose it. (Tao Te Ching 71)
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In progress. Continuing the long game with this Tibetan panel coat by @folkwearsewing.patterns . A fabulous feature of this garment is it’s completely reversible. I dove deep into my oldie and goodie prints to cobble together an interesting lining. Looks like it will be worn inside out just as frequently.
#scarletkumquat #taoteching #readingtogether #sewingisselfcare #sew #folkwear118 #memade #memadeeveryday #imakemyownclothes #sustainablesewing #sewyourstash #instasew
The power of process.
Our classroom has quieted this last week as spring activities drive the kids outdoors for the majority of the day. The light is brighter, longer, ever present from the time we rise until well past bedtime. I am reminded of the power of process, and how much time is spent behind the scenes of our little showcase picture boxes. What we share with the world in the 2x2 inch frame is but a fleck of the hours spent molding an idea, contemplating color and design, documenting and editing photography. It’s all so much fun, so fulfilling, so necessary. Much of my process time involves reflecting on my home and work week. The biggest highlight of this week was a request for hugs from not one, but two patients on the same day. Yes, hugs. Moving through physical and emotional conflict with patients is often a shared experience, with shared decision making. I find that at the end of many visits, patients crave an emotional conclusion of sorts, and that can involve displays of affection. When I’m asked for a hug, I think somehow I’ve done something right, made some difference. And my answer is usually “I’d love a hug!” Did you have any hugs this week?
Working on a decidedly slow, special project. Rich thrifted, striped woven from @whogivesascrapfoco.
#scarletkumquat #sewingisselfcare #isntasew #sewwhatyouhave #recycleyourfabric #sustainablesewing #hugs #process
