A Necessary Post

This has been a while coming and the arrival of a “gift” this past week was the tipping point. It came in a mailing tube….a large poster-size copy of a fancily calligraph-lettered poem on an Old Woman’s Survival advice.

The line that absolutely set me off was, “Put earrings in every day.” Followed further down by, “…don’t feel guilty because you are not saving the world.”  Then, “keep trying, keep trying, keep trying.”

“Put my earrings in”. Really!!! I don’t even comb my hair!

I forget what else was in there. I was in a hurry to cut into the poster that I am sure was intended for me to keep pinned to a place where I would see it every day. Cut it into folios and make a book with all the strings that I do have to keep tied up or follow to the next connection or knot of daily responsibilities.

Just what is it that makes people think they have the right to advise, give spiritual encouragement to those they don’t even know at all?!

What gives the one who sends these words to people the hubris to assume we need their “thoughtfulness” in a letter full of their own importance?

This is not thoughtful. This is not kind. This is a royal pain in the rear end.

Once women reach a certain age, who gives other women the right to assume we need spiritual guidance? A while back I remember it was the guidance for women to “just visualize a better life and it would happen”. I asked the source of that advice how that would work out for the savaged women of Darfur?

We did not ask for someone to write these words. We have our own. And we didn’t ask someone to carefully craft those words into a perfectly graphed layout and then have the gall to send it to us with a form letter enclosed.

A form letter!!! Just a hand-written “Sandy” after the word, Dear_____! And then sign it in her own name. I am convinced she is expecting a “thank you” for her thoughtfulness.

For the record I don’t get up and put on my earrings! I get up, prepare Lee’s toothbrush and make the bed while Lee puts on his pants and shoes. I have turned on the coffee that I remembered to prepare the night before. He will have his coffee while I quickly take a shower and dress. Next I have a coffee with him and open my computer telling him we have friends in the box we can check on.

Then I do some of the simple chores he used to do. Next prepare his shower and help him find clothes. Next I fix breakfast and my day proceeds from there.

Most of the time I am saying things repeatedly. He can’t hang on to what he hears and he can’t find the words to talk about what he is thinking.

My day continues——without earrings. Without guilt that I am not saving the world! Without taking a walk! Without doing one damn thing this poem advises me to do.

And the hubris of it all pisses me off. It is like those commercials with older models selling me some product because I am “one of them.”…..an older wise crone.

Seriously?!!

Let me ask these two, the one who wrote the poem and the one who sent it.

Would you tell Madeleine Albright to put on her earrings and take a walk?

Would you make sure Ruth Ginsberg received a copy of a calligraphed poster because she needs to be reminded every day to “keep try, keep trying”.

You have no idea what our life is and what we need to keep going. But I can give you an idea or two.

People who care enough to know me – care enough to notice my life do this:

They send funny, newsy letters and cards, not pages of patronizing platitudes.

They keep in touch on social media.

And some, notably not many, actually ask what they can help out with.

Some of us “old woman” that you want to advise on how to live are just grateful to be alive. Try to keep that in mind.

So the only thing I am grateful to the poet and calligrapher for is the opportunity to get this off my chest.

And I got to make another book form that was content driven….endless picking up and folding in what keeps Lee and me going.

Til later with no anger, no frustration and more pictures and drawings….I promise.

Heat of Summer – Slow Movements

These are two of my last dust masks. I have covered them with scraps of fabric. Probably could get some high grade No. 95 ones but right now that just seems privileged…and I think there is enough privilege going on at this time. These are fine for me. Lee does not get out of the car but now I have one for him too.

The other day I got this postcard from a very thoughtful person who keeps me on his list of those in need of a good pick-me-up.

I like this one!

The drawings a day continue.

A sewing notion

that creases folds in fabric

and sometimes papers.

 

Bamboo and Delrin

bone folders are substitutes

for real bone folders.

The most popular

and dependable binding

thread and needle choice.

 

Needles are waiting

to be released so they can

prick fingers and cloth.

 

Not much else new here these past few days. Still working on the Bush Books. Now they are all folded with covers cut. I am still looking for the perfect way for those who have wanted them to pay for them. It will be a forest preservation charity contribution here and in Australia and I will let you know which ones when I send the books out.

I leave you with a little find in the woods the other day…a pipsissewa just blooming…a reminder that we just keep looking for the good even when it is hot and moody and ornery.

Til next time.

Trying to Stay Busy and Feeling “Why Bother”

The last of our gorgeous rhododendron…depleted efforts. It is a bit autobiographical this week. I feel a bit spent.

All the things that have been done just end up as a reminder that there will be more to do. This week of national racist turmoil on top of the restrictions of avoiding the virus can feel so hopeless. Add to that the watching of Lee’s growing confusion and trying to stay on the positive side of the road while negative thoughts get stuck in my head.

Here is another good image via Nature on the struggle to hang on to what was.

That leaf might just have contracted Covid 19. And the very next day on the same driveway I found this. It is as close as I have to an Eucalyptus leaf. A gentle reminder of my times in Australia. It made me smile and be grateful for its successful attempt to lift me up.

A poor old diseased pin oak leaf still has something to offer.

This week the tree man came and cleared away some of the deluge of green density. It took a couple of days as he circled each Japanese maple and snipped with a careful eye. He waded through poison ivy and other vines to cut down some trees that were becoming oppressive and went on to take out branches that touched roofs and extended into the driveway. He trimmed the rhododendron above and snipped at other overgrown bushes. And when he was through with it all, he would not take any extra money, thanked me for the trust I had in him to work on our property, and finally looked me in the eye and said, “If you need any other man job done that your husband used to do, please just call me.”

I have to quickly change the subject when these kindnesses come from strangers because it makes me tear up.

Speaking of which, another fun homemade card from Australia came this week….in an envelope made from a full page magazine picture of an oil painting that featured one of those beautiful Renoir period women wearing a hat. I carefully open them using a paring knife to make the slit and take my time pulling out the contents. I know they will make me laugh so I want it to last. Thank you.

And here are the last four days of drawings a day. I moved from outside to the contents of this working bag of tools brought upstairs. perfect for starting another sketchbook.

This a small awl

that in my hands feels so smooth

and aptly designed.

 

Isn’t this fancy?

And yet it fits in the hand

just right for the job.

Isn’t this the best

little hammer purchased at

St. Andrews market.

 

Thirty-six inches

is a difficult thing

to draw folded up.

That’s it for now I think. The printer corrected a wrongly sized image of the Bush Book, and managed to do it making me feel it was my fault that he forgot to resize it when he did the other fourteen.  Now I have all ten books glued together and draped around the studio waiting til I get a break on Monday afternoon. Lots of careful folding to do before all the covers are made.

Most of these books have been spoken for. Then it is on to The Stoat Story. I think I have got it all sized and laid out on the computer. This one I think I will print myself because it has the text below the images….and I am not ready to give more business to the printer.

I just took a break to stop Lee from hacking away at roots with his ax. Sometimes he can be an accident waiting to happen. I got him back on his mangled rake dragging rocks around. Hopefully it will wear him out and he will come in and take a nap.

That’s it for now.

 

A Simple Little Book – Common Thing

I made a small edition of this book in graduate school. There were three little books like this. The other two were just a bit bigger. All had black cloth hard covers. I was dealing with intimate thoughts and wanted all three books small to be held in two hands to be opened slowly with a close eye to the way I chose to illustrate those thoughts and words.

It was the words of Thomas Wolfe that spoke to me. This one sentence while I was working out ideas of how to present the men on the corner and our relationship to one another, spoke volumes. I was firmly planted on what I referred to throughout my time in graduate school as “the threshold of the familiar.” Just what is it that makes us feel so “right” in this spot? What do we see beyond the threshold that makes us know we belong there? It is the familiar…the comfortable….the “I know this place….these people.”

Anyway Thomas Wolfe was asked questions about “creativity”…and that was back when the word meant more than gluing pleasing bits of things together. The author was asking his subjects what it was that sparked their creative minds.

Wolfe talked about being in Paris, I believe it was Paris, and when coming out of the door of where he was staying, he saw the chipped paint on the hand railing, a hand railing he grabbed every day.

But this day when he saw the railing, he did not see that one, but the one from home….and he saw that one in great detail.

And he said this:

“And this utterly familiar common thing would suddenly be revealed to me with all the wonder with which we discover a thing we have seen all our lives and yet have never known before.”

I know, reading it over it is a bit wordy….but he was a writer don’t forget. And I loved this sentence, this way of seeing and I still do.

It was the perfect length for a small book with illustrations of the familiar things between the men and myself….clothes hung on a line.

Here is the entire book, page by page, that is 4.25 x 5 inches by .25 thick.

 

I thought I would sell these books but never liked the idea of selling someone else’s words so I ended up giving most of them away. But only to those who I thought would really get what he was saying. That “discovery” of the familiar. It can take your breath away when you experience what he was talking about.

And you know what else I love about this book besides the simple illustrations of tiny cut blocks of stamping material (something so low tech)? It is that I stitched the illustrations before tipping them into place. That homeyness and universal familiarity of the stitch.

I also have to tell you that the font printed with my computer was called “Betty’s Hand”. My mother’s name. Over the years and different computers, this particular font did not make the transition and was lost along the way. I have a similar one called “Bradley Hand”. I used to spend so much time researching free fonts to download. Fonts that had a certain “look”.

Anyway I am trying to work myself back into the studio to design another book as soon as I get the Bush Book and the Stoat Book finished. Thank you to those who have asked me to hold them a copy of those books.

Now I am heading back in there to cook up some paste to put all those birds and animals and insects together….very carefully.

By this next week I should have them finished.

Til later.