On Turtle Time

My husband reveres turtles.  He has a collection of stone, marble, and ceramic ones.  He keeps a silver one on a long chain he wears around his neck.  This practice started ten years ago when I was misdiagnosed with pancreatic cancer.  We had quite a scare for ten days waiting for more test results.  That’s when my husband bought a small silver turtle and used it to help him stay calm and focused.  Turtles are known to symbolize long life, so it also acted as a good luck charm and miraculously it was.  Since that time all types of turtles are welcome in our house, and we seek them out when traveling too.  For me, they are a reminder to slow down and remember what is most important.  They remind me to keep my face towards the sun and savor the sunshine.

Yellow-bellied sliders at Turtle Beach in Hilton Head, South Carolina

Turtle Meditation

Almost unnoticed they silently swim,
Camouflaged through murky water
and twisting pond fronds,
Floating, dark like shadows.
A bale of turtles
Gradually emerge with slow,
Careful, ponderous steps,
Lumbering towards the grassy shore,
Traversing pebble and blade,
Oh, so slow grace,
Basking on their own time.
The ornate waxed surface
Of their moss-colored shells,
A parquetry of inlaid squares
Shine in the afternoon light.
Their noble heads
Rise towards the sun,
Still so still… motionless,
Soaking in wisdom
From the sun above
And the grass below,
Hiss… hum… groan…
They croak a Chelonian chant
Carrying the weight of the world
On their ancient backs,
And then… and then… they
Slowly let it go.



With grace and gratitude to TWT: Slice of Life and SOS: Sharing our Stories.
#standwithUkraine

Sand Dollar Sanctuary

This week as part of my spring break celebration, I was able to escape to the beach for a few days. Unwinding was so necessary – more this year than any other. Working at an elementary school, while incredibly rewarding, is also very stressful at times.  COVID has compounded the stress.  It is evident in the teachers and the students.  Although we try to handle and manage our stress,  we were losing the battle just before spring break.  We all needed some space to relax, renew, and revive our low spirits.  I definitely needed a time out, a time to sit on the sidelines preferably in the warm sunshine.

I was fortunate to be able to grab a few days in South Carolina.  The sun and seventy-degree weather immediately boosted my mood.  Blue skies, ocean breeze, southern hospitality all helped cure my stress-filled mind.  I sat in the sun by the pool and let my mind drift.  I forced myself not to take use technology until night time, and then only for short while. I gradually left the world behind.

One day at the beach, I walked along peacefully intent on taking photographs of shells and other bits of nature that the ocean tide delivered on the sand.  I sought out colorful shapes: golden yellow, pale pink, deep purple, and luminous blue.  I was deep in thought, in the flow of the moment.  I felt truly happy. Then all of a sudden a woman approached me, her blond hair whipping around her face.  She said excitedly, “There are sand dollars on the shoreline.  There’s lots of them along the ocean edge, if you want to take photos.”  I looked up at her, a little stunned trying to gather in what she was telling me.  “Thank you, I’ll go and look,” I said, heading down towards the waves.  I walked intently along the shoreline, head down and camera ready.  I found pearly white clam shells, rippled scallop shells, and a piece of a horseshoe crab.  Then I spied something round and sand-colored half submerged in the water.  I kept walking and quickly came upon sand dollar after sand dollar.  They were about three inches in diameter but all in a variety of shades from deep tan, to light green, pink, and purple.  I didn’t know they could be so many colors. I had never seen a live sand dollar.  As a child, I found a few pieces of white sand dollar, which means that they are not alive.  Only the test remains which is like a brittle white shell.  But these Carolina creatures were alive and there was a tribe of thirty or more.  I clicked away, trying to capture their beauty with my camera. I sloshed at the water’s edge, not caring that my sneakers were getting soaked.  I came to a rocky jetty that was encrusted with oyster shells.  People were bending over the tide pools between the stones picking up spider crabs, snails, cowrie shells, and a couple of huge conch shells.  The cowrie and conch had snail inside. What a wonder!  The ocean was alive, and I was able to witness these small wonders.  I didn’t want to leave the beach.  I could have stayed all afternoon.  This day reminded me of summer days in my youth when I would be on the beach for the entire day: swimming, digging in the sand, building sand castles, and walking along the shoreline collecting all manner of sea treasures. 

I am so blessed to have found this sanctuary. I was amazed, later that night,  to find out that the sand dollar is a symbol of luck, and I had made the acquaintance of thirty of them! Lucky indeed.  I read the legend of the sand dollar and how it reflects the life of Christ. The top of the sand dollar has five slits, which represent Jesus’s wounds when he was on the cross. The star on the sand dollar represents the star of Bethlehem.  On the underside of the sand dollar, there is an outline of what looks like a poinsettia, which is often called the Christmas flower. Indeed, I am so lucky that I came across a stranger who pointed me in the right direction. The day proved to be the sanctuary I needed so desperately. Nature’s beauty does so much to restore the soul.

Thanks for inspiration and encouragement from
TWT: Slice of Life and SOS: Sharing our Stories

Mindful Gardener

“Earth laughs in flowers.”

-Ralph Waldo Emerson

Though I am not a gardener, I have always had an affinity for gardens and have spent many days in both my grandfathers’ gardens.  They grew all sorts of vegetables, fruits, fruit trees, and flowers.  I loved helping them plant and harvest.  I still enjoy getting dirty planting flowers. There is satisfaction in watching something grow. There is satisfaction in nurturing something.

Over the years, when I was able, I created school and class gardens with my students. I loved watching their curious and surprised faces as they discovered garden treasures: a snail, a green tomato, a huge pumpkin. Children learned so much in the garden, not only about the nature of plants, but also about their own toughness and resiliency – grit if you will.

I’m lucky to live near many public gardens and arboretums.  I cannot wait to see their spring offerings.  This spring seems more precious to me, maybe it’s because of the precariousness of the world.  I need a place of serenity and beauty, a place where things thrive and grow instead of being destroyed.  When I’m in a garden everything else fades away.  I step into a different place and time.  I am fully with the plants and flowers.  Surrounded by beauty, I’m able to breathe deeply, slow my heart rate, and be present to all that is flourishing.

Mindful Gardener

I step out of my thinking
into the pink,
the purple and yellow,
into my personal oasis.
A green haven
sprouting to life,
seeds of calm, 
shoots of inner peace,
knotted roots entwine,
newly budded flowers
silently grow.
I forget about busy
and connect with the flowers,
 feel the soil  between my fingers,
I stop worrying,
listen to the sounds 
of the fertile earth,
Inhale all of spring.
My intentions
In full bloom.

Willowood Arboretum – Chester, New Jersey

New & Unique Garden Books for Kids

  • Celia Planted a Garden: The Story of Celia Thaxter and Her Island Garden by Phillis Root
  • Easy Peasy: Gardening for Kids by Little Gestalten
  • Flowers are Pretty Weird by Rosemary Mosco
  • Grow: A Family Guide to Plants and How to Grow Them by Riz Reyes
  • Harlem Grown: How One Big Idea Transformed a Neighborhood by Tony Hillery
  • How to say Hello to a Worm by Kari Percival
  • Little Homesteader: A Spring Treasury of Recipes, Crafts, and Wisdom by Angela Ferraro-Fanning
  • Parks for the People: How Frederick Law Olmsted Designed America by Elizabeth Partridge
  • Planting a Garden in Room 6 by Caroline Arnold
  • Springtime is.. by Leah Vis
  • The Gardener of Alcatraz by Emma Bland Smith
  • What Cooking at 10 Garden Street by Felicita Sala
  • What’s Cooking in Flowerville? By Felicita Sala
  • What’s Inside a Flower?: And Other Questions About Science and Nature by Rachel Ignotofsky

A great website for you to feast your gardening senses:

Flower Power Daily

Much gratitude to TWT: Slice of Life and SOS: Sharing Our stories.

Nature’s Cure

I am blessed to live in a place surrounded by parks and preserves.  Nature is all around me.  There are trails and hills and rivers; wildlife is at my fingertips.  Hawks circle above my head.  Fox slip through the underbrush barely escaping detection. I have always taken solace in nature.  When the world becomes too much, I invariably turn to nature.  As I walk the trails, I am on the lookout for something to surprise me, something to capture my imagination.  Nature is the best cure for writer’s block.  There is something always out there ready to be discovered, ready to be made known.

Hiking the Great Swamp in Winter


Twisted and weather-beaten,
A long, fallen  branch
Undulates under the pond ice,
Emerging serpentine,
Ready to strike
In the frozen air
Suspended in mid-hiss.
Its black, knothole eyes
Search for prey,
Its scale-clad body
Casts a dark shadow.
Nearby, a curious mouse,
Skitters across the ice,
Slides on silent feet,
Pauses for a moment,
Then, without trepidation,
Hurries on home
Through the frosted leaves.







Thank you to TWT: Slice of Life and SOS: Sharing our Stories
for providing me with discipline to write.

Power to Pause

This week, my thoughts came in quick, short phrases.  They begged to be placed into poetry.  January is a perfect month for reflection, and I am able to get to the center of my thoughts when I compose poetry.  Everything seems to fall into place, and I feel comforted by the rhythm of my thinking.

Fall Flow: Haiku for Autumn

This week, I entered a 4th grade classroom to see students at their desks silently moving their lips and quietly tapping their fingers.  I heard a hum, “5-7-5… 5,7,5…” and then tapping, clapping, and snapping.  I knew immediately what they were busy creating.  They were constructing haiku.

In the last two weeks, the teacher introduced haiku as an accessible way for students to get to know each other.  She asked them to write haiku which described who were without giving a physical description. First, she had laid the groundwork reminding them of the haiku form and reviewing background information, sharing examples of haiku from the Japanese poets, Basho, Shiki, and Issa. As I listened, I learned something I had not know before.  In Matsuyama, Japan and its surrounding prefecture,  they have built special mailboxes expressly for the purpose of sharing haiku.  They are beautiful works of art in and of themselves, and as I saw the pictures of the mailboxes placed all around the city, I had an idea. I asked the teacher if I could construct a haiku mailbox for the 4th grade.  She thought it was a wonderful idea and reported that her students have been happily depositing their work into the mailbox.  I am looking forward to the time when we share our poems.

The school year began in a rush and is continuing at a frenetic pace.  I have been trying to pause throughout my day and catch a breath. I’m finding that this is not enough.  I am making it my intention to pull away on the weekends and devote time to poetry, photography and art.  Photography helps me get into the flow of the moment.  When I am walking in the woods, gardens, or parks, I direct my attention to what I see. It is like going on a treasure hunt, and my camera records my beautiful or surprising sights. When I am looking through my camera lens, I am not thinking of anything else.  I am only concentrating on the object.  I let it tell me how it wants to be captured and remembered. I experiment with angles and exposures until I feel I have expressed the object’s mood and essence. Immediately,  a sense of calm permeates my spirit.  I have entered a fall flow.  After I have collected several photographs, I sit quietly and let the words come to me.  They come tapping into my mind – “5-7-5,… 5,7,5…”  The rhythm relaxes me.  I can continue to flow.

Orange pumpkins now
sit heavy in beds of leaves
expectant with seeds.
Leaves float down the stream:
yellow, orange, red, rust, brown –
reflections of fall.
Here, hidden toadstools
peeking through the fallen leaves,
silent guardians.
Spring-summer green wanes –
In its places brilliant yellow,
Autumn returns now.
Baskets abundant –
October’s golden harvest,
Gathering plenty.

HAIKU BOOKS FOR CHILDREN


A Pocketful of Poems by Nikki Grimes.

Cool Melons – Turn To Frogs!: The Life And Poems Of Issa Story and translations by Matthew Gollub, illustrated by Kazuko G. Stone.

Dogku by Andrew Clements, illustrated by Tim Bowers.

GUYKU: A Year of Haiku for Boys by Bob Raczka, illustrated by Peter H. Reynolds. 

Hi, Koo!: A Year of Seasons by Jon J. Muth.


If It Rains Pancakes: Haiku and Lantern Poems by Brian P. Cleary, illustrated by Andy Rowland.

If Not for the Cat by Jack Prelutsky, illustrated by Ted Rand.

I Haiku You  by Betsy Snyder.

My First Book of Haiku Poems by Esperanza Ramirez-Christensen, illustrated by Tracy Gallup.

One Leaf Rides the Wind by Celeste Mannis, illustrated by Susan Kathleen Hartung.

The Cuckoo’s Haiku: and Other Birding Poems by Michael J. Rosen, illustrated by

Stan Fellows.  

The Horse’s Haiku by Michael J. Rosen, illustrated by Stan Fellows.

The Maine Coon’s Haiku: And Other Poems for Cat Lovers by Michael J. Rosen, illustrated by Lee Anthony White.

Today And Today by Kobayashi Issa, illustrated by G. Brian Karas.


Wabi Sabi by Mark Reibstein, illustrated by Ed Young.

Wing Nuts: Screwy Haiku by Paul B. Janeczko and J. Patrick Lewis, illustrated by Tricia Tusa

Won Ton: A Cat Tale Told in Haiku by Lee Wardlaw, illustrated by Eugene Yelchin. 

Won Ton and Chopstick: A Cat and Dog Tale Told in Haiku

Haiku Mailbox: Wrapping paper, Washi tape, and image from My First Book of Haiku

A Fresh Look at Lists

We are entering the second half of September.  School has started.  My busy life has begun.  I reluctantly shift away from summer – the beach, the mountains, my independent reading time, the sun.  And slowly I enter September already weary from thoughts of all I have to do, all I must do, all the little things that await me.

School to Do

Get the Dresses
Out of the closet.
Buy the notebooks,
New pens, paperclips,
Transparent tape.
Get the class lists,
Start putting names
With eager faces,
Put dates on calendar:
Division Meetings,
Department Meetings,
Student Support Meetings,
Parent Meetings.
Set the kettle on the stove,
Brew a steaming
Cup of vanilla chai.
Breathe in the spice,
Exhale the stress.
In this moment
School can wait.

August to September

I leave…
Sleeping late,
Summer sun
Streaming through
The windows.

I leave…
Book adventures
Of my own choosing:
Romantic,
Mysterious,
Inspiring,
Hilarious.

I leave…
Big road trips,
New sights,
The sea and
The mountains.

I welcome…
Cooler days,
Morning commutes,
Little faces
Ready to learn.

I welcome…
Camaraderie,
Lessons learned,
Moments of
Laughter.

I welcome…
New books,
Crisp pages,
Fresh paint
On old walls,
A new school year.

This past week, I have been thinking of ways to energize myself for my school year. I have been going to school for sixty-two years.  I have been teaching school for forty-three years.  This year will be the twentieth anniversary of working at my present school.  All of these years could feel like a very heavy weight, if I let them.  School could finally become monotonous instead of fresh.  School could become just another long and tedious “TO DO” list.  Maybe instead of looking at all I have to do; I reframe my thoughts as all the wonderful thing I get to do.  One day I won’t be able to do these things; one day soon I will be retired; one day soon I will not be on this marvelous blue planet. So, in this moment, why not appreciate all the things I get to do at school, at home, in my daily life. 

Sunny-side

I Get to... 
Wake up this morning 
To green out my window 
And blue, blue sky.
Canada Geese on the field,
The verdant woods beyond.

I Get to... 
Crack open a brown 
egg for breakfast, sunny-side -
Multigrain toast, fig jam,
Strong Irish tea.

I Get to…
Set this day before me
With intention,
With a devotion to the real,
With a disposition, sunny-side.

I Get to…
Create space and opportunity:
Laughing with loved ones,
Painting the sunset
With words and brushes.

I Get to…
Choose the day I make,
The one that was
Gratefully given to me,
The one I am blessed with.


Some Websites on the Power of “I Get to…”

From “Have to” to “Get to”

How a Small Shift in Your Vocabulary Can Instantly Change Your Attitude

I Have To vs. I Get To: How to Change Your Mindset from Obligation to Opportunity

Improve Your Mood by Replacing “I Have to” with “I Get To”

Life is Good Founder: John Jacobs – Keynote

The Silver Lining

I have been teaching for over four decades.  That’s amazing to me because as a young girl my interests flittered from one thing to another.  I never thought I would do one thing for so long, but this one thing has brought me so much joy.  I really can’t imagine a time when I won’t be doing it, but I know that day will come. And it is approaching more quickly than I want it to.  I push that thought away, and I focus on the children.  This year, I am teaching study skills to three groups of 4th grade girls.  They’ve learned about time management, planning, organization – all those essential executive function skills.  Now it’s May.  They are tired and distracted, and so am I.  I call it PES – Plexiglass Exhaustion Syndrome.  This year has challenged us to stay focused and on task even with masks on that distort our speech and breathing and plexiglass that distorts our view and interactions.  A couple of weeks ago, I bent down and peered through a plexiglass-lined desk and said, “Girls, I am so proud of you.  I know this year has been hard learning like this.  So, for the last few weeks of school we will be doing a project on play.  You all will get to create something that shows why play is important.  It can be a game, some artwork, a persuasive essay, a brochure, a model of a playground, a video, anything you can imagine.  The girls were intrigued by the idea and asked many questions.  It took some a while to believe that I was serious.  That we were, indeed, going to study PLAY.

Behind the scenes, I was as excited as my students.  I quickly put together all the important information I wanted the girls to know about play.  I found video clips of animals playing, psychologists talking about play as a human right, and children giving TED talks on the importance that imagination and recess has on learning.  I created a wonderful slideshow to start off our project-based study of play.  I couldn’t wait for my first class. 

Tuesday came quickly, it was a beautiful warm sunny day.  I was so excited to start my presentation, but when I got into the room, the girls clamored around me begging to go outside for a five-minute recess.  I couldn’t in good conscience say no to them when the whole essence of my lesson was how important play is to learning, so they went out and rolled on the grass, hung from monkey bars, and pretended to be dragons. Our five minutes turned to fifteen by the time we got back to the classroom.  That was okay. I still had time to show most of the slideshow.  That is, I had time as long as the technology cooperated.  And of course, as these things go, the technology didn’t cooperate.  I couldn’t get the sharing screen to work to begin the presentation.  I pressed all types of buttons.  Nothing worked. The girls began to lose focus, and the room became loud.  Several of them rushed up to me asking all kinds of questions.  I put my hands up and said quietly without thinking, more to myself than to them, “I am overwhelmed.”  This is something they understood – this overwhelmed feeling – this year.  They returned to their seats.  The got a little quieter.  I asked them to go to the link that I had posted so they could watch the video individually.  This is not what I had planned.  My lesson was falling apart. I wanted it to be a group experience, but it might be able to be salvaged a little.  I sat down and continued to fiddle with the share controls.  Then one of the girls came up to me and handed me a bottle of spring water and a little packet of iced tea mix.  “Open the water.  Put in the packet of tea. Shake it up.  I do this all the time for my mother when she feels overwhelmed. It works.”  I looked up at her in wonder. “Go ahead,” she said, “You will feel better.”  So, I did.  I followed her directions and took a deep breath. I fiddled with the controls once more, and of course as luck would have it, they finally worked.  But alas, it was too late to view as a class.  The girls were all watching on their own gasping in surprise and laughing.  I had a chance to sit back, observe, and sip my mango-flavored tea.  My students were engaged in the content, commenting as they went along. Some students told me that they often get overwhelmed and that it was okay.  Everything had worked out. I thanked the student who provided the magic tea, and told her that it did, indeed, work. “I know,” she said confidently with a smile.

Play is important, but so is compassion, understanding, and empathy.  That day, the girls understood this deeply. And I began to understand also. I could have focused on all the things that went wrong with this lesson, all the content I did not get to share, all the things I should have done. Instead, I reframed those thirty minutes as the room I made to show loving kindness and compassion. Something that is in increasing short supply in our world. I told the girls that I am very lucky because my work – teaching them – is my play.  If you love the thing you do and are passionate about it, then it is play and you can do it forever.  When you play passionately, others feel your joy too – and it spreads – that is the silver lining.

This is the project the girls will be working on for the next few weeks. I’ll keep you posted!

Transformation: The Things We Carry

Spring approaches.  It seems to be coming from underground this year.  I look out on to the field behind my home, and I can see the warmth spreading: the green tenderly returning…  slowly, ever so slowly as to be almost imperceptible.  But it is there.  It is no doubt there.  This week, I have some respite from work, a spring break of sorts: a little time to reflect, relax, do some spring cleaning.  It started with my heavy woolen winter clothes, but then I read fellow blogger Stuart M. Perkins’ post, “One Man’s Trash,” and I turned my attention to my junk drawers.  Stuart recalled his mother keeping a junk drawer in the kitchen full of things, which she left intact for years. He vowed not to have one himself but to no avail.  After reading his post, I went into my kitchen and realized I had not one, but two junk drawers full of things I have not used in months and in some cases years. Why do I keep these bits of things.  Apparently, I have a thing for collecting plastic bottle tops. I think I’m going to use them with the kids on some school project, but that never happens, or hasn’t to date.  Then there are the pens, the pens that are out of ink, or whose springs are lost.  Why am I keeping those?  And at some point my husband bought a gross (144 packs!) of rubber bands.  Some of those are shoved at the back of the drawer threatening to make it stick shut forever. 

The kitchen is only the half of it.  I have two more junk drawers in my art table in my bedroom.  I pulled them open tentatively to survey the damage. There, I found more pens, dried up markers, dusty finger splints, a little rubber ball, a book of prayers and affirmations among the assorted bric-a-brac. How can I transform this junk into something artful?  How can I make it something not to leave and forget, but something I want to return to?  I want to make it more than spring cleaning, more than an executive function organization project.  Seven years ago, when Marie Kondo’s first book was published, I read The Life Changing Magic of Tidying Up cover to cover and back again. I went to my closet lifted each item and asked myself “Does it bring me joy?” I ended up giving away at least half of my clothing.  Then I attacked my sock drawer.  Truth be told, I am obsessed with socks.  Somehow I always lose one of them, and I do not have the gumption to toss it out because somewhere in my heart I hold out hope that the other sock will return.  Ever the optimist. I even bought a sock drawer organizer, so that it is the only drawer in my house that is neat and perfectly aligned.  My socks are mostly black, maybe navy, with some simple gray and as Marie Kondo teaches, folded tightly. It is beautiful.  It is a little boring.

Sock Draw KonMari Style

What if I took my junky art drawer and treated it as a piece of art?  What could I make?  How could it become a pleasing aesthetic part of my art space?  All my life, I have loved to make collages and assemblages, to build something or make sense of the pieces.  I could now do this with my art drawer.  I took some of my favorite small bowls and baskets and started to play with the arrangement. I tried many different variations.  I had fun thinking about color and shape and placement within that three-inch deep rectangle.  I chose blues and green because those are my favorite calming colors: the colors of the woods and fields around my house, the color of the sky and the sea. I mixed squares, rectangles, and circles. There was suddenly possibility instead of mess.

Art Drawer Transformed

With the superficial things in order, it was time to think about my mind.  What clutter was I carrying that I could let go?  Usually, I push away not clear out.  Push all the doubt and anxiety to the edges and make a simple clearing.  Lately, the doubt, anxiety has been creeping in more and more quickly with a ferocious tenacity.  I remembered Tim O’Brien’s The Things They Carried, a powerful testament to memory and the Vietnam War.  I’ve read it a few times over the years with high school students.  The power in the listing of items at the beginning of O’Brien’s tale is evident:

The things they carried were largely determined by necessity. Among the necessities or near-necessities were P-38 can openers, pocket knives, heat tabs, wristwatches, dog tags, mosquito repellent, chewing gum, candy, cigarettes, salt tablets, packets of Kool-Aid, lighters, matches, sewing kits, Military Payment Certificates, C rations, and two or three canteens of water. Together, these items weighed between 15 and 20 pounds, depending upon a man’s habits or rate of metabolism. Henry Dobbins, who was a big man, carried extra rations; he was especially fond of canned peaches in heavy syrup over pound cake.

I can see all these items clearly.  I can imagine those young soldiers’ faces. I can smell the jungle and hear the mosquitoes whining.  I can begin to grasp their pain. Though I have not experienced the unbearable cruelty of war, I think all humans carry things deep inside of us: joyful things and things that bring untold despair.  I’m especially thinking of some of my students who are trying to wrap their minds around this pandemic.  They smile, they laugh, they play, they keep their desks in order. But I know inside they are struggling to understand all the death and restrictions.  They move less and stress more.  We all do.  I do.  And so in coming to terms with the state of our world, I think about how to reframe the things I carry into creativity and play.  How can I take those things, both good and bad, both seen and unseen, and shape them so they live together harmoniously? Is it possible to re-organize and transform an assortment of objects and words, and in the process transform yourself?  I believe so.

Junk Drawer

Old rusted key
To something I’ve
Forgotten how to open,
I’ve forgotten,
I cannot remember.
It is locked in my memory
And I know it was terrible,
I can feel it
And I want to run,
I want to
Hide my eyes,
I want to forget.
I collect things:
Keys, bottle tops, bits
Of paper, broken pens,
Little boxes of 
Assorted sizes,
Buttons, marbles,
Anything small
I can store away,
Safe and protected,
Safe and unnoticed,
Safe and forgotten
Until I open the drawer
And see those things
With new eyes.
Those old things
I carry,
Those forgotten
And rusted things
Useless to everyone,
But me.
Transformation

When I put a pen in my hand
I have the power
To transform things.
I can rewrite the tragedy,
I can illuminate the dark places
With bright colors,
I can make things whole.

When I put a brush in my hand
I have the power
To transform things.
Sweep cobalt into the blue harbor,
Place a line of crimson at the horizon
Of a glorious sunset,
I can create beauty.

When I move through a space
I have the power
To transform things.
Reach up confidently,
Twist and sway,
Breath in and out,
Be in this single moment -
Heart open, mind free.

Mindful Mending

I have been thinking about sewing lately – mending specifically.  A couple of weeks ago, I came across a book that caught my eye, Mending Life A Handbook for Repairing Clothes and Hearts by Nina and Sonya Montenegro.  It’s cover is patterned and embossed.  I have always been attracted to that type of patchwork – collage style.  Something about the tactile diversity calls to me. The book is as much poetry and personal narrative as it is about actually sewing.  It is so inventive – weaving equal parts of story, poetry, drawings, and sewing together.  I had never seen a book quite like it.  I was enticed and started reading.  The authors’ words calmed and centered me.  I began recalling my history with thread and needle.  Funny how some things you loved to do in the past fade from memory, and then are quickly rekindled with a smell, an object, or a phrase. 

Before my mother became a teacher, she was a seamstress.  She worked to contribute to her family and put her two brothers and then her husband through college.  She was amazingly gifted.  She could look at a piece of fabric, fold it, pin it, cut it without a pattern and produce a blouse, a skirt, a dress, or a jacket.  My sister and I would watch her as if she were a magician – and she was.  She taught me to hem, put on a button, attach a zipper and sleeves.  I became interested in embroidery in my early teens.  I’d spend hours making designs on pillows, t-shirts and many of my jeans.  I wish I had kept those pieces and repurposed them.  I have one faded light green burlap pillow that made for my mom.  It is not my best work, it was one of my first, and I will always treasure it.

I continued with embroidery into college and young adulthood.  Embroidery helped me to stay centered. It calmed my mind. It helped me focus.  I entered the flow of the stitches, the lines and curves of the pattern, the feel of the needle sliding through the fabric.  One of my English professors invited us to create an artwork instead of a paper on Chekov for one assignment.  I took a big risk and embroidered a scene from The Cherry Orchard.  It wasn’t a perfect piece, but it did show that I took tremendous time to create the design and execute the stitches.  I got an A+, and the professor showcased it at our next session.  To my surprise, no one else had taken the art challenge that is why he added the plus. He wanted to reward risk-taking.  His message was loud and clear, and my classmates started to be bold and creative.  More inventive projects came pouring in that semester.

In my twenties, I went to see Judy Chicago’s The Dinner Party at the Brooklyn Museum.  I was astounded by her ceramic designs and needlework.  At the end of the exhibit, there was an announcement about Judy’s next endeavor – The Birth Project.  She was looking for quilters and embroiderers.  I quickly wrote down the information, went home and began producing embroidery samples to submit.  To my great surprise, I was accepted and I worked on a piece called “The Crowning,” for over a year and a half, meeting periodically with the other quilters and Judy when she visited New York.  That was a great experience for me.  I found a community of stitchers from all walks of life.  I also wrote a poem called “Power,” that Judy included in The Birth Project book. And I began to think that my life would turn toward the arts and crafting.

But it did not.  Like my mother, I turned toward teaching.  I continued to create with my students.  I kept containers of threads, needles, fabric, embroidery hoops, yarn for my students to experiment with.  For all the years I taught 2nd and 3rd grade, my classes would create story quilts.  We’d read Tar Beach by Faith Ringgold and a whole cavalcade of picture books about quilts and quilting. Yes, it is chaotic to stitch with twenty 7 and 8-year old children, but it is joyful too.  We’d sit in a large circle and attend to our stitching, everyone concentrating, everyone quiet.  We became a community in a way that we hadn’t been before.  We were creating something together, something that would be joined together.  When the quilts were completed, we presented them to the parents and our school community. I still have a couple of the quilts, but the majority of them were stolen from my car one year.  I always wondered what the thief did with a pile of children’s quilts.  There’s a story in that!

The Sewing Corner in The Wonder Lab

For the last twenty years, I’ve been stitching on paper using embellishments of buttons and beads and shells.  I enjoy taking a traditional art and seeing what I can do to change it, to make it my own.  I do these projects purely for myself.  I love choosing the colors and textures of paper.  I pour over the many different threads and floss I marry into the design.  The buttons and beads are a particular favorite.  One year, while vacationing I Vermont, I found a woman who made her own clay buttons.  They were rustic, asymmetrical, and perfect. 

I don’t embroider or mend as much as I would like to.  It seems there never is enough time.  I’m usually rushing and sewing is a slow activity.  I guess that is why I was attracted to Mending Life.  It was that object that sparked the memories that are in my hands.  Embroidery is an integral part of my life almost like writing is, but I didn’t realize that until this week, until I read the Montenegro sisters’ words:

Making something whole again is also a form of healing, and we humans have a deep desire to heal what is broken.  Learning to mend gives us a new lens through which to problem solve.  A garment or belonging we thought was beyond repair is now stitched back together by our own two hands and we discover we are more resilient than we thought.

That’s what kept me reading – that desire to heal myself and our country.  I wanted a blueprint on how to mend, how to put pieces back together, how to repair something, extend its life, make it last.

One of my favorite parts of the book is when the Montenegro’s talk about “A Spirit of Play.”  They recount how their father who was a carpenter and an artist, repaired everything in their home. He used bright red thread to repair watches, baskets, spoons, chairs, and his old brown leather belt.  By using the bright red thread he was celebrating rather than hiding the flaw.  I love this idea.  Don’t be bashful, bring attention to the old and broken – create it anew. 

Mr. Montenegro’s red thread was its own version of the Japanese ceramic repair process called kintsugi.  Broken pottery is repaired with gold lacquer, which highlight the mend instead of trying to make it invisible.  This makes the piece unique and beautiful in its own right. Kate Roberts also speaks of the healing power of kintsugi in her book, A Novel Approach: Whole-Class Novels, Student-Centered Teaching and Choice.  She artfully and thoughtfully explains:  The metaphor is an easy one: we embrace the flaws in our lives; we make beauty of the breaks. The reality is harder. My father couldn’t do it. His cracks grew over the years and even as he saw his life breaking apart, all he could do was lament what could have been. I have tried to learn from him. I have tried to use my cracks to become more open than I was, more empathic… I have tried to fill the breaks with gold.

I love this idea of repairing, mending, stitching together with “gold,” so the broken thing becomes beautiful and whole again.  Maybe that was why I was drawn to sewing and embroidery all along.  Maybe I was trying to repair my broken parts, trying to make something new and useful and unique.

One of my paper quilts, Five Buttons
 Mindful Mending
 
 Clothes sit in a pile
 On the edge of my bed,
 Waiting for attention.
 I sit down next to them:
 The khakis with the torn hem,
 The sweater missing its button,
 The shirt that split it’s seam,
 The sock with a hole in its toe,
 The old pair of worn-out jeans
 With a huge tear in one knee.
  
 I take a deep breath,
 I rather be doing something else,
 I inhale again… and exhale,
 I refocus my attention,
 Pick up the pants,
 Examine the hem,
 Thread the needle with
 As close a khaki colored thread
 As I can find – and start.
 I pierce the supple surface 
 Down and up, down and up again and again
 The thread slides through the fabric
 Until the hem secured.
  
  
 My hands take up the sweater
 It is my favorite: black, red, and white
 Thick and warm from Norway
 With embossed silver buttons
 One is missing now
 I find another in my button box
 It is not quite the same
 Will anyone notice?
 Does it matter? Do I care?
 I snip off the top button
 And put it in the place of the missing one
 Then I take the mismatched button
 And place it on top in full view
 Like that’s where it was meant to be
 I wrap heavy black floss around and around
 The button shank keeping it 
 Snug - sure not to fall off.
  
 My husband’s blue striped dress shirt
 With it’s tiny split seam is next
 I hold it up to my nose
 It smells like him
 I take a deep breath,
 I’m doing something for someone I love,
 I inhale again… and exhale,
 I refocus my attention,
 I find delicate white cotton thread
 And another sharp needle
 I concentrate on make tiny
 Identical stitches one after another
 After another until it is complete.
  
 There’s my old worn sock
 I take it in hands and examine it
 Is it worth keeping?
 The hole is quite large
 But the rest of the sock is perfect
 And they are my warmest
 They make my feet happy
 I search for charcoal gray yarn.
 But find only Prussian Blue.
 I begin to knit with my darning needle
 Chains of wool connecting loops
 Upon connecting loops
 This work is different
 I am not so much as attaching
 As I am creating more material
 I am making a toe-shaped space
 Prussian blue, all its own.
  
 My mending pile is gone
 Only my worn jeans are left
 The tear is huge and threatens
 To extend mid-shin.
 The fabric is flimsy and thin
 I think a patch is possible.
 I place a pretty blue and pink print
 Underneath the tear 
 Stitching it quickly in place
 Then I take up an abundance
 Of pastel floss and create blossoms
 Around the knee and down
 Along one side of my pants leg
 I keep adding flower upon flower
 Pink, yellow, blue, pale peach,
 A vine of mint green winds in and out
 My needle pokes and pierces,
 Loops and slides until it is picture perfect.
 My mending is done for the day.
 I take a deep breath.
 I inhale again… and exhale,
 I refocus my attention.
 
 
Mending Still Life

Books About Mending

  1. Fibershed: Growing a Movement of Farmers, Fashion Activists, and Makers for a New Textile Economy by Rebecca Burgess
  2. Fix Your Clothes: The Sustainable Magic of Mending, Patching, and Darning
  3. by Raleigh Briggs
  4. Joyful Mending: Visible Repairs for the Perfectly Imperfect Things We Love by Noriko Misumi
  5. Mend! A Refashioning Manual and Manifesto by Kate Sekules
  6. Mending Life: A Handbook for Repairing Clothes and Hearts by Nin and Sonya Montenegro
  7. Mending Matters: Stitch, Patch, and Repair Your Favorite Denim & More by Katrina Rodabaugh
  8. Modern Mending by Erin Lewis-Fitzgerald
  9. Slow Stitch: Mindful and Contemplative Textile Art by Claire Wellesley-Smith
  10. The Geometry of Hand-Sewing by Natalie Chanin
  11. The Hand-stitched Surface by Lynn Krawczyk
  12. Wear, Repair, Repurpose by Lily Fulop
  13. Wild Dyer by Abigail Booth
  14. What Will These Hands Make? by Nikki McClure

Quilt Books for Children

  1. Cassie’s Word Quilt by Faith Ringgold
  2. Early American Patchwork Quilt Designs by Susan Johnston       
  3. Eight Hands Round: A Patchwork Alphabet by Ann Whitford Paul
  4. Sam Johnson and the Blue Ribbon Quilt by Lisa Campbell Ernst
  5. Sweet Clara and the Freedom Quilt by Deborah Hopkinson
  6. Tar Beach by Faith Ringgold
  7. Texas Star by Barbara Hancock Cole
  8. The Bedspread by Sylvia Fair
  9. The Josefina Story Quilt by Bruce Degen
  10. The Keeping Quilt by Patricia Polacco
  11. The Patchwork Farmer by Craig Brown
  12. The Patchwork Path: A Quilt Map to Freedom by Bettye Stroud
  13. The Patchwork Quilt by Valerie Flournoy  
  14. The Quilt by Ann Jonas
  15. The Quilt Story by Tony Johnston
  16. The Seasons Sewn by Ann Whitford Paul