I made a quilt for my newborn infant at a time when I realized my mother was never going to invest in a relationship with me. What I also inadvertently made for myself is a community of women who have mothered me in a way that I had never known. I treasure these quilters for how they helped me redefine who I am as a child, parent, and maker.
Thanks Padraig. I make paper by beating old cotton shirts and casting small sheets of paper in a mould and deckle. These sheets give me back surprises; colors from the shirts I had not expected and random threads of color and texture. All this provides a ‘blank’ sheet for me to write letters on, never knowing what I’m going to say really until the paper is there in front of me.
I make cheese. Whole richness from the morning milking of our little Dexter cow and Alpine goat is transformed thru time and a bit of culture n rennet. Attention to the ripening is key.
I made a living memory quilt for my father’s friend from childhood, Maurice, after I found him and he gave me back my father 28 years after his death, through memories of their growing up years. The quilt became the Class of ‘35 quilt as their high school classmates gathered every year and placed it lovingly on a restaurant piano for all to see and touch their names or their spouses’ names embroidered on it. It gave me a way to try to express my deep love and gratitude to Maurice and started me on my passion for making memory quilts, which intensified after 9/11/2001 when a friend and I founded a group of volunteer quilters to make memory quilts for those who lost loved on that day, and continues to this day as a means of helping loved ones memorialize those who have physically left their lives in a tangible way that brings warmth and comfort. Maurice’s quilt, thirty years after it’s making, continues to remind me that I can express my feelings and share them through the simple act of stitching.
thank you, as ever, Padraig. I broke my neck 37 years ago. My first thought was my useful life is over. Then I came to realise fate is what happens to you, destiny is what you make of it.
Each weekend since October I make sourdough bread. And each week regardless of whether I bake bread or not I have to feed, renew, remake the sourdough starter. So the sourdough in it starting and continuance makes me slow down - it makes me stop. A bit like the lady of whom Elizabeth Gilbert talks about who would almost physically hook poems from the wind blowing around her home. The sourdough is my anchoring lady. And coming as it does from the wild yeast floating in the air of our home, the sourdough makes, remakes, renews my body - it connects me to my home time and time again in never-ending galactic spirals.
At the beginning of lockdown I began sending an email to my friends to check in, make sure they were OK. They weren't and still are not beautifully edited or managed in any way, but come from my morning quiet prayer time. We thought it would only be for a while. As time went on, the emails were forwarded, new folks asked to be included, a large and glorious group who are anonymous to each other. I found a rhythm of commenting on what was happening (George Floyd, Ruth Bader Ginsburg, John Lewis, elections, sickness or death in the group invoking prayers) offering a poem or quote and then always a song with the lyrics, encouraging everyone to sing out loud at home. It changes things. Now 2 3/4 years later, the emails continue to "Dear Ones". They weren't always fun and light, but they were real. It wasn't until you asked the question that I realized they are something I made. Thank you.
I made me stronger inside and out. This gift reminded me (gave me/returned) the me I remember. The me that enjoys being in the mix rather than a by-stander. The me that is inquisitive, bold and vivid. The me that will drop into the sounds of music and find the color spectrums hidden within. The me that while vulnerable is here on Substack with all of you.
I am part of a mosaic “flash mob”- community of people who come together to make public mosaic murals. Having this opportunity to devote my mind and energy to saved me a few years ago when I was doing a hard thing. Placing pieces of colored glass and ceramic tile is like making and putting together a puzzle, and can be very satisfying.
I made a native, front-yard garden. The bees, birds, bunnies and dirt under my finger nails tell it back to me. And, yes. Love the hat. Keep on knitting. One sock is better than no sock. 😊
I make cookies-all year round, but especially this time of year. This season I have been using a lot of orange zest. The fragrance has made space in me for happy Christmas memories-finding an orange in the toe of my stocking, and the luxury of a special orange spice tea we could splurge on only at the holidays.
I am an immigrant, actually, a refugee, a "naturalized " citizen of the country where I now live. So, to give my children and their children a sense of their ancestors, I made (wrote) a book about my first dozen years, until I landed in the country where I have grown old.
This book is about what life was like for me in my innocence until revolution destroyed the family and community fabric through permanent diaspora and exile. The book introduces each relative and his/her origins as their presence became known to me through those years. It is not a vainglorious account of a child's exploits but a compilation of family origins. I used the events of my childhood as a framework to introduce each relative as him/her entered my life, exploring their ancestry as far back as I could.
I learned that we are all migrants, wanderers, struggling to survive and that my ancestors went through many struggles which were much more severe than mine. This has given me immense respect, compassion and understanding for what they endured and became imprinted in their personalities. I wish I could tell them that in person, and regret not having shown them my deep appreciation back then for their contributions that so color who I am today.
Thank you as always Padraig. I was reminded as I read your reflection of a little poem that came to me last week. It speaks to the art, mystery, magic, malady and medicine of thinking.
I also knit things . I have “ this would just be a lovely scarf syndrome “- i knit big rectangles , basically instead of trying hats or gloves or socks. This week I wrote a poem in my Friday newsletter. I was exhausted and didn’t feel like following the research an article properly recipe to push out my usual newsletter. Instead , I just showed my readers how I was . And it created in me a deeper sense of trust in the community I have here and I think stronger community bonds between my readers and i by showing them how I was really doing.
I made a quilt for my newborn infant at a time when I realized my mother was never going to invest in a relationship with me. What I also inadvertently made for myself is a community of women who have mothered me in a way that I had never known. I treasure these quilters for how they helped me redefine who I am as a child, parent, and maker.
I made a bad decision many years ago. It’s made me wander.
Thanks Padraig. I make paper by beating old cotton shirts and casting small sheets of paper in a mould and deckle. These sheets give me back surprises; colors from the shirts I had not expected and random threads of color and texture. All this provides a ‘blank’ sheet for me to write letters on, never knowing what I’m going to say really until the paper is there in front of me.
I make cheese. Whole richness from the morning milking of our little Dexter cow and Alpine goat is transformed thru time and a bit of culture n rennet. Attention to the ripening is key.
I made a living memory quilt for my father’s friend from childhood, Maurice, after I found him and he gave me back my father 28 years after his death, through memories of their growing up years. The quilt became the Class of ‘35 quilt as their high school classmates gathered every year and placed it lovingly on a restaurant piano for all to see and touch their names or their spouses’ names embroidered on it. It gave me a way to try to express my deep love and gratitude to Maurice and started me on my passion for making memory quilts, which intensified after 9/11/2001 when a friend and I founded a group of volunteer quilters to make memory quilts for those who lost loved on that day, and continues to this day as a means of helping loved ones memorialize those who have physically left their lives in a tangible way that brings warmth and comfort. Maurice’s quilt, thirty years after it’s making, continues to remind me that I can express my feelings and share them through the simple act of stitching.
thank you, as ever, Padraig. I broke my neck 37 years ago. My first thought was my useful life is over. Then I came to realise fate is what happens to you, destiny is what you make of it.
broken-neck therapy
misshapen clay bowl
to hold potpourri
Each weekend since October I make sourdough bread. And each week regardless of whether I bake bread or not I have to feed, renew, remake the sourdough starter. So the sourdough in it starting and continuance makes me slow down - it makes me stop. A bit like the lady of whom Elizabeth Gilbert talks about who would almost physically hook poems from the wind blowing around her home. The sourdough is my anchoring lady. And coming as it does from the wild yeast floating in the air of our home, the sourdough makes, remakes, renews my body - it connects me to my home time and time again in never-ending galactic spirals.
At the beginning of lockdown I began sending an email to my friends to check in, make sure they were OK. They weren't and still are not beautifully edited or managed in any way, but come from my morning quiet prayer time. We thought it would only be for a while. As time went on, the emails were forwarded, new folks asked to be included, a large and glorious group who are anonymous to each other. I found a rhythm of commenting on what was happening (George Floyd, Ruth Bader Ginsburg, John Lewis, elections, sickness or death in the group invoking prayers) offering a poem or quote and then always a song with the lyrics, encouraging everyone to sing out loud at home. It changes things. Now 2 3/4 years later, the emails continue to "Dear Ones". They weren't always fun and light, but they were real. It wasn't until you asked the question that I realized they are something I made. Thank you.
I made me stronger inside and out. This gift reminded me (gave me/returned) the me I remember. The me that enjoys being in the mix rather than a by-stander. The me that is inquisitive, bold and vivid. The me that will drop into the sounds of music and find the color spectrums hidden within. The me that while vulnerable is here on Substack with all of you.
I am part of a mosaic “flash mob”- community of people who come together to make public mosaic murals. Having this opportunity to devote my mind and energy to saved me a few years ago when I was doing a hard thing. Placing pieces of colored glass and ceramic tile is like making and putting together a puzzle, and can be very satisfying.
Nice hat, Pádraig!
I made a native, front-yard garden. The bees, birds, bunnies and dirt under my finger nails tell it back to me. And, yes. Love the hat. Keep on knitting. One sock is better than no sock. 😊
I make cookies-all year round, but especially this time of year. This season I have been using a lot of orange zest. The fragrance has made space in me for happy Christmas memories-finding an orange in the toe of my stocking, and the luxury of a special orange spice tea we could splurge on only at the holidays.
Hello Pádraig and fellow sojourners.
I am an immigrant, actually, a refugee, a "naturalized " citizen of the country where I now live. So, to give my children and their children a sense of their ancestors, I made (wrote) a book about my first dozen years, until I landed in the country where I have grown old.
This book is about what life was like for me in my innocence until revolution destroyed the family and community fabric through permanent diaspora and exile. The book introduces each relative and his/her origins as their presence became known to me through those years. It is not a vainglorious account of a child's exploits but a compilation of family origins. I used the events of my childhood as a framework to introduce each relative as him/her entered my life, exploring their ancestry as far back as I could.
I learned that we are all migrants, wanderers, struggling to survive and that my ancestors went through many struggles which were much more severe than mine. This has given me immense respect, compassion and understanding for what they endured and became imprinted in their personalities. I wish I could tell them that in person, and regret not having shown them my deep appreciation back then for their contributions that so color who I am today.
Happy Sunday!
Thank you as always Padraig. I was reminded as I read your reflection of a little poem that came to me last week. It speaks to the art, mystery, magic, malady and medicine of thinking.
Melancholy melody
a malady indeed
a sign, a song
calling for healing art
from the heart
a cry in the dark
Hope springs forth eternal
by the grace of God
a mystery, a flower from earth
a song-bird out of the blue
transforming malady into melody
through the magic of thinking
manifesting
as mysteriously as a cat out of a hat
fleeting beauty
a pillow to rest
wings to fly
chrysalis into butterfly
transforming night into day
when you least expect it
I made a mantelpiece display of found chunks of weird rock and fossils
What it gives back is a reminder, each time I’m sitting watching the fire on a rainy evening, of the walk where I collected the rock
Thanks
Nice hat ☺️
I also knit things . I have “ this would just be a lovely scarf syndrome “- i knit big rectangles , basically instead of trying hats or gloves or socks. This week I wrote a poem in my Friday newsletter. I was exhausted and didn’t feel like following the research an article properly recipe to push out my usual newsletter. Instead , I just showed my readers how I was . And it created in me a deeper sense of trust in the community I have here and I think stronger community bonds between my readers and i by showing them how I was really doing.