flow my tears (and treasures flow)

august, september, october, november...

i'm counting on my fingers the months since my last post. i really had no intention of posting for a while. my semi, less-than-carefully thought out plan was to push this site in the direction it was originally intended to go in: towards LETTERPRESS related business. i suppose i'm edging a little closer every day. i spent a fairly friendly couple of hours working on designs in illustrator today. for me, that's huge because i usually get so frustrated with the computer, trying to work without really using my hands and really just wanting to pick up a piece of paper and draw what i want and show it to the computer and ask it to turn that image into something i can work with from there. and although it's apparently supposed to be faster to punch keys on a keyboard than to select tiny pieces of lead type by hand, one by one, i'm extremely s-l-o-w when in front of that monitor. however, today i finally came up with some designs that matched what i was seeing in my head. i made a little compromise with illustrator. i worked on about half of the design, then printed it out and then sketched in the rest with my pencil. we were both okay with that.

moving back to what brought me here. yesterday, as i contemplated the one year anniversary of my grandmother's death, i found myself writing in my head. not necessarily for this arena, but sadly, my hand cramps these days when i sit down with a pen and paper if i write something longer than a grocery list. so typing it is. i spent the day next door to her house, outside of her house, around her house. i didn't plan this; it just came to be. and it was good. the calendar is the only thing that really convinces me that it's been a year since her passing. when i think that it's been a year since i saw her or spoke with her or touched her, it strains my heart. but when i'm there, outside her house, looking up at her bedroom window, just like i did on that last day with my camera, it feels like it was just a few months ago. and this time it's eli i'm watching run through her yard. it's eli climbing the old magnolia, chasing robins past the barn, and climbing her porch steps, hoping to be welcomed inside.

and just when my mind starts towards all that is missing from inside that house, all that eli will never experience, i am reminded of all that is still left of her. yesterday, as anna played in the wonderland of antique dolls, tea sets, and dress up clothes, i sorted through fabric remnants that date back to my great grandmother. there was the Grandma Moses barkcloth that would later cover the stool i loved to sit on as a child. there was the cheery floral that made up an apron i was given at a wedding shower and is now lovingly worn by anna. and then there was a piece of unfinished quilt that made my throat swell. it was like finding a secret code and an old friend simultaneously. the fairly large scrap of quilt top was identical to my very favorite quilt that i look at every day. made by my great grandmother, Minnie Clements, it has so much wonderfulness to it that i'm afraid i won't do it justice if i try to describe it. the point is that i've admired it over and over and dreamt of what i would make had i access to its various prints and i've pondered how it was constructed, in what order and what it meant to devote such great care and labor and time to this functional piece of art. i love this quilt. and yesterday, there i was, suddenly holding an unfinished piece of it in my hands and i was able to turn it over and see just how it was sewn and my admiration for my grandmother bumped up another notch as i saw her craft from the inside out.

i wasn't quite ready to let it leave her house. a few things i did bring home and a few more are waiting for me.

last night i dreamt of her sitting in a square of singers. i was pointing her out to someone. 'she's the one next to my grandfather,' i said. and as i said it i was surprised to see my grandfather there since he died 15 years ago. and then i remembered, as if learning for the first time, that she, too, had died. just like when i'm home, and her house is right there, looking like it's always looked and it's just so hard to believe that she won't be sitting there waiting for me if i run onto her porch and look through the glass door.

today as i reconsider that dream, it makes me happy thinking of my grandparents, side by side, singing.

whether she's in that house or not, whether i'm seven or thirty-three, it always has been and always will be my grandmother who inspires me to pursue my card making, letterpress endeavors. (the drawing lessons all over my hands and arms by my grandfather didn't hurt either, i suppose.) and as long as i'm able to set foot in that house, it will continue to inspire me in some way and will certainly help me to feel like she's not so far from present.