Author: Sandy Webster

This is a photo I took on an early morning walk into a meadow in Australia to do my tai chi with kangaroos. I loved the gnarly knots of wire trying and failing to stop something from going further. I stepped through and over it. The peace of body memory movements at dawn while kangaroos watched was magic. I miss the calm sense of being right with the world. The combination of ignorance and greed paired with the acceptance of unbearable cruelty has brought us all down…all except those who revel in their shortsighted stupidity. It is hard not to hate them for what they have done.

BUT. This week brought a surprise call from basket makers in Australia having one of their gatherings, celebrating the learning, the company of others and remembering me. We had such good times and shared so much. Each of them that gathered was able to show me what they were working on and say, “Remember when you…..? It was heaven.  So, since I took no pictures this week because it was such an ugly sight of brutality here in the United States amid struggling integrity, I found some images of the baskets I made while in their company. Like two of a group of New Zealand flax open weave pieces.

And small Memory Baskets from when I was back home. These are tarleton and dress pattern tissues spun into threads.

And part of a series about losing some of yourself over time.

And a detail from one of those pieces.

Anyway, it was a wonderful and uplifting phone call. It came at a very good time.

The following is an essay I wrote years ago and now will be included in the new book I am working on.

Australia Longing

What is it that causes this sudden sadness, or longing, or need? This time it is a recipe on the back of the Tasmanian Basketmakers Newsletter. Anna Lizotte’s family recipe for Tomato Spice Cake. How can “tomato” and “cake” be in the same context? And then it happens.

I miss Australia right now. At this very minute I want to be there. How do I care for this longing? Why is it so fierce? I can smell the soil, feel the air on my skin. I can taste it. Will it be like this later when I am too old to return? My eyes fill with tears at the thought of not being there. Why does it matter so much? Two glasses of wine that weren’t even Australian. What triggers these emotions?

It is the longing thing – that longing that we have no control over. It just comes sneaking in and takes hold. No words can explain it. My husband glances over and then away – no words are best. I look ridiculous or nuts right now. And I feel bereft. “Bereft” – that is the perfect word, and I am slightly better now I’ve defined it. I think it happens when too many memories of times in Australia pour into my consciousness and push everything else away. Only Australia is there – the people, the land, the tastes, the smells – the longing.

I am no longer as sad with missing Australia. Calls from friends down under and surprises in the mail make it so much better. Plus Anna, who was on the call the other night, and never misses a basket gathering, said she will send me that tomato cake recipe.

So far I have laid out the forty-eight poems and five short stories in the book I am designing and hope to release sometime in February. All I have left is the eight essays and cover design to go. I will post a picture of it when it goes on Amazon under S. Webster. Title, Patchworks of Poetry and Prose.

My haircutter just called and is changing my appointment from tomorrow to the day after. A very chilly forecast for tonight that might result in icy roads. That is fine. Maybe the old men will also want to stay home. Then I can finish laying out essays while getting those 8000 steps in.

It is dismal looking out. I think a nice glass of Aussie red with some popcorn and a bit of British telly is where I am headed.

Til later….

 

 

I lost the other post so am starting over. darker mornings when it is supposed to be getting lighter…or so I thought.

I am deep in trying to put together a new book….Patchworks of Poetry and Prose.   Forty-eight poems, eight essays and five new short stories. There will also be some illustrations of patched cloth and drawings.  Likely I will use smaller black and white images.

This week I made my first whisky mac drink. Perfect use of Stones ginger Wine and Kentucky bourbon. Here I added an orange peel.

It was originally named for Mack’s Ginger Wine and a blended scotch. Now it is Stones Ginger Wine 50/50 with Kentucky bourbon….actually Jim Beam because other countries have slowed down ordering from the US and our liquor stores seem to have plenty.

Dilly keeps an eye on me.

If you are thinking of coming to the United States, don’t. We are reaping the consequences of unbelievable ignorance that has resulted in a government of greed, grift and cruelty. Go anywhere but here. Thank you to Minnesota and especially those living in Minneapolis who yesterday ran a nazi out of town. But not before he hollered out, “Don’t be mad at me. You are getting what you voted for.” Unfortunately we should have known earlier how many Americans have fascist tendencies. Please don’t come here. And if you live here, take care of those who remember who we were and fight for the rest of us.

I leave you with a new poem.

I Have This Boat

I have this boat

made from two leaves.

The first, that would float

if I let it,

is a long, brown and spotted

oval, curved upwards,

stem extended from the stern.

Closer to the bow,

a leaf of equal size,

but flattened and lace-like,

stands erect to catch

the wind,

and sail past

my desire to climb aboard.

 

Til next time…

Beautiful mornings on my way in to have coffee with the men. Tragically one of the best of them passed away from a sudden heart attack a week ago today. I waited for him to come in on Monday so we could have a good visit, but he never showed up. His wife came in later to share the news. I told him not to go back to Florida for the winter. Told him it was a lousy state because of the politicians they continually vote into office. I gave him a scarf to help get through the colder winters here in North Carolina. He had just made sure I had his number in case I needed anything. Such a decent fellow. I miss him.

Later this past week I went to poetry reading. Read the poem about the leaf boat. Well received. Then I raised the question about the difference between a prose poem and an essay. And can an essay also be a short story. There were different responses so I ended up doing my own research. I love doing research! Anyway, it turns out that several of what I thought might be prose poems  are actually lyric essays. Essays need to be based on fact…like a memoir that evokes an emotion. Like poetry. A prose poem is fiction-based and purely poetic. Lyric essays can read like a poem but be more of a creative nonfiction that poetry will lack. Isn’t that interesting? Well it is to me as I try to figure out how to lay out my next book …what the sections should be.

As the weather turns colder and more damp, I am using my fireplace more. Quite cozy for me and the cats early in the morning.

This morning I wanted to fix a protein packed breakfast. Crusty seedy toast topped with heated ham then fresh spinach and topped with a fried egg. Half a naval orange added to the plate.

If I photograph my plate, then my kids can see I am eating a proper meal. Later this morning after the Sunday family call, I made savoury scones. Ten made their way into the freezer to pass as a quick lunch. These have ham, spinach, green onions and parmesan cheese. While they were in the oven I did my workout that concentrates on balance and heart rate. Here are those scones.

Friends in St. Louis are gathering in small groups to say good bye to a dear friend from the textile world out there. I have known her since mid-eighties. There will never be another with such an infectious laugh and terrific smile. I stayed with her and her husband every time I went out there to jury an exhibit or teach a workshop. We loved sitting and stitching or drawing together while remembering some fun times. Now a mutual friend wants to know if I would like to come with her to Australia next year. I must decline. Too old for such a trip now. And when I left there in 2019, I had a feeling that I might not be back, so placed parts of my exhibit for the Waterhouse Natural History in the hands of friends and tucked into crevasses of my favorite places. They were the soil-colored Eucalyptus leaves cut from Robert Hughes’ book, Fatal Shore. All the edges were burned as a nod to the fires and heat brought on by intense climate changes. A scattering of those paper leaves make up my screen saver image. I so hope the horrific fires going on now in Victoria come to an end soon.

It would be so hard to return and get to all the places I would want to go to see so many friends from over the years. Best to save my energy and memories and not find it so unbearable to say goodbye. But Suzy, go if you can. It is the most delightful place full of the best people you will meet.

Better go now. I have a hankering for a bit of Aussie red!

Til later….

It is over. Company returned home. Everything taken down and stored for another year. I have always taken it all down the morning after Christmas. Enough!

Here is Dilly trying to read her name on any package.

Sadie prefers to stay in the bedroom.

Remember that English Christmas cake I made a few years ago? We cut a slice or two back then to have with Madeira and sharp Irish cheddar? Well each year I take it back out of the fridge and we have a bit more. It is almost half gone as I wrap it back up until next year.

It is better this year than before. And does not have to meet the fate of fruitcakes in Edward Gorey’s delightful drawing.

I had a bit of a cold during Christmas. Been resting up most days but still getting those 8000 steps in. I listened to a dreadful Dan Brown book. Did he ever read some of those lines out loud!? Do all his books have the same story? Just more sorry, idiotic characters? I have reached the bottom in mysteries to have to listen to his books. I use Libby from the library systems for my audio books and can only get what they have on offer, but need more suggestions.

Yesterday I spent the day watching Jack Smith’s testimony before a committee on the January 6th insurrection and accountability. Of course, during the same time, the president here decides to act in a most illegal and irresponsible way by invading a country to take their oil and kidnap their president. Can we get more aggressive and stupid?! No. Not with such an ignorant, greed-filled cabinet and slow-witted, compliant population that will follow their president any where he points while sending him their last dime just to feel a part of the country’s demise. Okay, I am through with the rant.

I am going to spend this year doing more writing and drawing in my sketchbooks. Sometime this year I will publish a new book of assorted short stories, essays and poems.

Here is a new one…

 

I Have This Boat

I have this boat

made from two leaves.

The first, that would float

if I let it,

is a long, brown and spotted

oval, curved upwards,

stem extended from the stern.

Closer to the bow,

a leaf of equal size,

but flattened and lace-like,

stands erect to catch

the wind,

and sail past

my desire to climb aboard.

 

Several years ago I made boats. None were built to go in the water. Just be there to take themselves and me away. I often think that the best boat ride would be in a wide row boat floating gently among cattails and water lilies, looking over the edge through green/brown water to watch what I was floating over. Then tracing a finger in the surface to make small ripples until I was brave enough to put my whole hand in to hold the coolness.

This week I promise myself to get something accomplished. For now, a nap seems nice. A nap with my cats.

Til next week.