This is a Banner Day!

I finished a project today that's been six weeks in the making -- it's a Happy Birthday banner for my grandchildren. I love the idea of this being dragged out every year, the edges eventually softening and the corners curling up. It's not inconceivable that it could be hung as many as three or four times a year. It's been a real feel-good project. It's especially a feel-good for me because I was able to parcel it out and complete it in the midst of an exhausting travel month. The letters were hand-stitched on airplanes, in waiting rooms and even in a lounge chair on a Cancun beach.

One interesting observation for me was that when I cut the patterns for the letters out, I did it freehand and was surprised at how easy it was. The feel for shape and proportion from my calligraphy clicked in and transferred itself right down through the scissors. It was extremely fascinating to me. And when I layed the letter on the felt, voila, it had a built up or pressurized serif. Not very many people will enjoy that.

The banner is made out of felt squares about 8". The letters are also felt and are hand-stitched with 6 strands of embroidery floss. I ended up adding a back to the squares and machine-stitching around the edges and the top casing. I threaded them all on a strand of jeweler-decoration hemp and left 5 ft. at each end to use for hanging. Below is a picture of the finished banner and a detail of one letter.

Breakfast Out

An early morning walk at the river, about the time the homeless were brewing their coffee on the camp fire, and I found myself smiling at the memory of breakfast cooked on an open fire at the zoo. My parents occasionally would pack a box on Saturday morning with a cast iron skillet, a loaf of bread, some bacon, eggs and even though I don't remember, I'm guessing real plates--I don't remember us using paper plates--and we'd drive across town to the zoo, which had acres of park connected. As a child, it seemed like we drove a great distance for our countryside cookout. Picnic tables, camp fire stations, big rocks to walk on top of, it was like a mini-vacation on a Saturday morning. I wonder now what prompted them to think of that. It was never a full day event. We just cooked breakfast, played a little and went home. No Saturday morning doughnut shops for us -- of course, at that time the doughnuts were sold door-to-door in little white paper sacks, 6 glazed for 50 cents.

Sometimes I miss the June Cleaver days.

Perseverance of the Butterfly

I can't stop thinking about Jean-Dominique Bauby, the author and subject of the movie "The Diving Bell and the Butterfly." He was editor-in-chief of Elle magazine in Paris when he had a massive stroke and went into a coma. When he regained consciousness he couldn't speak, and could only move his left eyelid. The movie is about him writing his book by blinking his left eye to communicate the letters. It's an incredible story.

I wonder how much we'd say if we had to communicate like that. How short would our sentences be? What would go unsaid? It's hard enough to have feelings and thoughts and not be able to verbalize them with all the words available.

I was amazed at how much description he put in his sentences; the feelings that he described and the analogies used. Of course, he was a writer to begin with, being editor of Elle. When he died 10 days after the book was published, it seemed that writing the book had been his reason for living.

Don't we all wonder, just a little, not wanting to tempt the fates, but still we wonder, how we would persevere in such a situation. Stories like this and having friends with cancer make me embarrassed for not making the most of every single day.

Bad Haircuts & Life

A bad haircut can sure screw up your karma. I hate that it's so, but it's true. And right now, I'm blaming myself. I did not even try to explain what I wanted -- I thought based on what I had, she would know. Her vision and my vision ne'er did meet. And what flashed through my mind at this very minute was the symbolism of how that relates to other aspects of life. If what we want goes unstated, we're at the mercy of whoever is willing to speak up, whoever is willing to act.

I tend to let life come rather than make it happen. It's worked for me, but every now and then I want more say-so. A good resolve for 2008 perhaps. Make it happen. Visualize the result I'm wanting. First I have to know what I want.

Z is for Zena

This probably isn't how she'd spell her name (even if she could), but this is Zena phonetically. Zena is a cat, an aging cat, that I lived with during the famous ice storm. Zena was transplanted from her birth place in Seattle to Tulsa a few years ago and has never completely thrived here. In the summer, the bugs and fleas attacked her and left her little ears with scars she'll never be rid of. She never liked the heat and quickly developed a preference for those cool spots under a house and most recently The Basement. For the past 6 months or so, Zena has been referred to as The Basement Dweller at my sister's house. She would come upstairs, peer into the kitchen from the glass-paned door, and quickly retreat. Her food magically appeared at the bottom of the stairs and her litter magically disappeared. She was a recluse and seemed quite content with her life. Then came the ice storm.
Two more people moved into the house. Boxes of Christmas decorations were carried up from the basement and stacked in the kitchen waiting for a day warm enough to buy a Christmas tree. There was a lot of laughter and goings-on in the kitchen. Zena became curious and finally ventured upstairs, climbed up on top of the Christmas boxes, and made herself quite comfortable on top of the Christmas stockings. She was there every day, going to The Basement only for her litter needs and sometimes to eat in privacy.

So, why all this about Zena? It makes me think about how easy it is for me to become detached, comfortable in my singularity, not reaching out. And then how quickly I can respond to a laugh, a surprise, a little bit of giving. Now that the ice has melted, the extra people are gone and the Christmas decorations are on the tree, I wonder if Zena will go back to The Basement. I don't think I will.

Y is for Yippee! The power is on!

We'll be saying "Remember the ice storm in 07" for a long time. It affected so many people here in Tulsa -- even the ones who didn't lose power (like my sister) who graciously changed their routines to accommodate the displaced. How lucky we were to have her here. After 10 days of no electricity, I was pretty choked up when I drove down my street last night and saw all the porch lights on. My energy (no pun) seemed to miraculously return and I buzzed around moving in all the junk I somehow couldn't live without for those days. Ah. The comfort of our routines.

You always read about people coming together in times of crisis, and they do. Hearts get bigger and more open. Things ignored and taken for granted rise to the top of the list. Beauty continues and in every sense is even more important. In the midst of trees falling with a sound like gunshots, there's that red berry encased in ice that makes you pause and notice it. People create order out of their mayhem. In the sadness of losing those big tree limbs, there's a tiny bit of comfort to making them small and manageable. Fallen trees line the streets, cut and stacked so neatly.

And today the sun shines.

X is for Xcite

Come on, X is a hard one and the question of "What excites me (you)?" has been loitering back there in the alleys of my mind lately. This happens when people start asking me about what I want to do when I retire. Have I thought about an encore career? I have a hard time coming up with something I'm excited about. I mean there are things I enjoy, like cooking, my art projects, family, friends, all the usual suspects, but I don't know that I've allowed myself the time to be passionate about something. I've concentrated more on the challenge of fitting everything in. Maybe my encore will be to allow my passion to develop.

I took the enneagram test yesterday at my daughter's suggestion and I was surprised at how hard it was to answer some of the questions. They want you to answer according to how you have behaved historically -- I think part of the difficulty comes from having lived this long -- I've been through so many phases or changes, it's hard to think about some of them. It's an interesting process, though. The test is $10 and takes about 30 minutes.

W is for Way Outa My League

In the previous entry, I said I felt good just to have submitted something for the challenge cards. Today when I checked out more of the entries, I felt so artistically immature, so not ready for the big world. I'm still glad I went through the process but you know how you can feel sort of embarrassed even when no one sees what you're looking at? When you wish you were better, or smarter, or more something? It's not being ashamed, it's just working to accept the difference of where you are and where you want to be.

I still like that quote (previous entry) though and still think it's pertinent.