slow by hand

well it seems as if we are living in intense times, no? here we are, people. dig it.

it’s good to be alive & oh my, my heart is full of gratitude and kindness and love and sadness and i feel open to all of it and to laughter, too. that giant container we call the heart can sure hold a lot of stuff at once.

photo-59anyway. the other day i managed to steal away a couple of hours and i made a little embroidered uterus for a gynecologist friend. this is my first embroidery project ever, & i’m pretty stoked on the soul of the whole thing, this sewing up a picture from your mind situation. the mistakey nature of this piece makes me smile, because it looks pretty much exactly like the way i feel freedom. can anyone think up other uterine puns? (i didn’t think up that one myself.) maybe i’ll do a series. that would be very portland.

other things i’d like to make: the woodsy association… cute insanity!! and… ooh la la, i’m totally getting down with some bûche de noël action on xmas eve!

wishing you all a happy, warm, slow christmas, with something in your hands to make and something in your heart to love.





thick in it.


Those Winter Sundays

Sundays too my father got up early
and put his clothes on in the blueblack cold,
then with cracked hands that ached
from labor in the weekday weather made
banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him.

I’d wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking.
When the rooms were warm, he’d call,
and slowly I would rise and dress,
fearing the chronic angers of that house,

Speaking indifferently to him,
who had driven out the cold
and polished my good shoes as well.
What did I know, what did I know
of love’s austere and lonely offices?

-Robert Hayden, c.1966