Adding My Thread to the Tapestry

After my last post, in which I documented our disastrous date day, I’m happy to report that sunnier days – and sunnier ways – have prevailed. (Thanks, JT!) Our return trip from visiting the mainland was a complete do-over of our first attempt at a date day, and a total success. We’re back to smiling at each other.

I was home just long enough to  pack the car with everything I would need for a five-day quilting retreat – a perfect place, I thought, to continue work on Project UP (Unclogging the Pipes – getting stuff off my unfinished list in order to clear the way for fresh, creative ideas.) There was big quilt entitled "Solay’s World", begun when grandson Solay was 2; now, he’ll soon be 8. And there was my self-portrait, me at 67, also much behind schedule.

At the retreat, I spent two days on Solay’s World and was ready to throw in the towel and go home again.  This quilt will be beautiful when it is done, but it’s such hard slogging to do all that careful and methodical measuring and cutting. I could see that it is definitely off-kilter. I was all tied up in knots. This is so not me!

And so on the third day I pulled out my latest unfinished  self-portrait and breathed again. This project is one of a series. My first self-portrait was started 7 or 8 years ago, and finally completed a few weeks ago as part of Project UP.

The woman in this mandala is contemplating where she is in life, realizing that her life is a sum of the events  and teachings she’s experienced. Some are life-giving, and  some have caused damage. As she reflects on it all, she realizes some heavy baggage should be left behind, but some she can keep and nurture. New life will result – a better life and more honest.

Three years ago, about to turn 65, I once again turned to self-portraiture. The talking crow first made its appearance as an introduction to this blog. Its beak is open, and from it flows golden beads. This crow, like me, had something to say, and the time had come to say it.

What a year that was! I was often in a state of euphoria – I’d finally begun work on a long-held dream to combine my love of writing and quilting to speak about issues and ponder questions common to women of a “certain age.” It turned out that at least some of my  “14" readers were younger women, and men, too, so perhaps these issues and questions are universal.

Approaching my 66th birthday, I created this self-portrait as a reflection of my happy state of mind:

As I approached my 67th birthday, I journalled about and sketched the next portrait, again on a crow theme (of course! – by now, I am known as the old crow. That’s okay with me.) In my journal, I wrote: “I am coming to another birthday, and my life has loose ends. I think it would be a good idea to work on a crow piece that reflects this theme. What are my loose ends? What do you do with loose ends? You weave them together to create a tapestry, that’s what!”

I pulled out a background I had pieced years before, and added a crow. The old crow is white – as is my hair. It was a beginning. Months later, as the theme developed within, I added Planet Earth, holding it in place with  some threads and glittery bits. The crow’s loose ends were being woven into the fabric that is the world we live in. That was another step. A month or so ago, thinking of Project UP, I did some more digging and came across this beautiful quote:

In the tapestry of life, we’re all connected. Each of us is connected to those around us, helping each other be who we are, weaving a perfect picture together.
-- Anita  Moorjani
After that insight, it was pure joy to finish this piece. I added more threads in various colours, and my own unique thread, fuzzy and nubby.

Much of the joy I experienced came from the encouragement and suggestions that my quilty sisters made to help me make it as meaningful as possible. These friends are living proof “that each of us is connected to those around us, helping each other be who we are.” As a grand finale, I added a moon and more glittering planets to show how big and beautiful this universe is that we are privileged to live and love and play in. 

Eleven months late, it is finished!

I’ve journalled about my next piece in this series, and have a good idea of where I’m going with it.My birthday is in a few weeks, but this new piece will be a while in the making.  Stayed tuned...but don’t hold your breath!

Date Daze

Last week the resident sweetie celebrated a milestone birthday. Instead of a big party, we set up outings on each of the three days of the weekend. We had such a lovely time, we decided we should set up a date every week. Good idea, eh?

Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time.

So Friday was date day. We had planned a trip to visit the kids and grandkids on the mainland, but now, we decided to spend the day in Vancouver before heading to Abbotsford. We would visit the Van Dusen Botanic Gardens, with dinner out afterwards.

 Van Dusen Gardens entrance: We'd last visited this place when our kids were young, many, many years ago.

We’d catch the 10:30 a.m. ferry, and have all afternoon and evening to do whatever we wanted in Vancouver. Then we would move on to Abbotsford for a few more days.  Great idea, eh?

But to catch the 10:30 ferry, we’d have to leave by 8:30, which meant getting up at 6:30 a.m. Who starts a date that early? Not us. Maybe we’d be more relaxed if we had a later start. We’d still have lots of time in Vancouver if we caught the 12:30 ferry. After all, the journey is part of the experience, and why not enjoy it all the way, wide awake and relaxed? Good idea, eh?

At 10:30, right on schedule, car all packed, relaxed and pleased with ourselves, we headed south for the one hour trip to the ferry. A beautiful, sunshiny day, on a beautiful island, beautiful mountains and ocean around us, the beautiful city of Vancouver awaiting our explorations ... what a great day for a date!  What a great idea!

Perhaps you’ve guessed where this is going: Murphy was with us yesterday. The first inkling that something might not go according to the plan was as we approached Nanaimo – the roads were so busy. All those people wouldn’t be heading to the ferry, would they? But they were. We ended up 7 cars shy of getting on that ferry – and now we would have to wait for more than 3 hours to catch the next one. What a lovely date: sitting in a hot parking lot with hundreds of other cars, waiting, experiencing all the joys of “Island time”. How often we had been told – and in turn had laughingly told others –  “Relax. It’ll happen when it happens. No sense getting your knickers in a knot.” Not so funny now.

We’ve been islanders long enough to know we’d better be prepared for the unexpected, so we  made the best of it, snacking on picnic food, doing a sudoku, reading the paper, playing games on our cell phones. We only had ourselves to blame, after all. I hate it when that happens. It’s so tempting to blame it on someone else – wasn’t it the RS that had suggested leaving later? (Don't go there, Jessie.)
           
Finally we got to Vancouver. Of course, by this time it was rush hour! At 5 p.m. we were snarled in 4 lanes of traffic that had to funnel into one lane to cross the Lion’s Gate Bridge. Without going into detail, that’s not all that was snarly.  It was 6:30 before we arrived at our destination. If we ate supper before we entered, we’d only have 30 minutes to tour the gardens. What to do? We went in on empty stomachs. The gardens were pretty and peaceful.

Lovely, but our behaviour to each other was not. Snark snark, snip snip, grump, grump. We ended up walking out before we’d seen it all. Whose good idea was this date thing, anyway?

Well, we still had a restaurant dinner to look forward to. Perhaps we could make up over a nice glass of wine, and have a good laugh about the way our date had turned out. Except, zooming down the highway at 120 km./hr., we missed the turnoff for the restaurant we’d chosen, and finally at 9 p.m., our moods dark and dangerous, we stopped at a fast-food bar inside a gas station/convenience store  – one of those places that thinks that the paper your hamburger is wrapped in makes a great plate. No wine. Just whine. No laughs, either.

Some days – and dates –  are like that, eh?

A friend has just created a piece of textile art with a message that reads, “I am grateful for the challenges in my life, for without them I would not have stumbled across my strengths.”

Art created by Lynn Morfitt Gray as a response to a Small Worx challenge to create a piece that tells a story about your life. (This photo doesn't do it justice -- the piece is lovely.)

Truly, when the news media are full of horror stories about wars and wild fires, our failed “date day” rates about .00001 on the challenge scale. But I have learned that I have a long way to go before I stumble across that “hidden strength.” There will be more challenges, and hopefully, slowly, I’ll learn, bit by bit. I can say that I am grateful for this challenging day: it is a valued piece in the puzzle that is life, with its sunshine and shadows, laughter and tears, frustrations and joys. And some day – well, even now – we’ll get a good laugh out of it.

Yesterday was another day. It started with a knock on our bedroom door – the youngest granddaughter was needing a snuggle and a chat. It continued with all kinds of good things: a quiet morning, lunch on the deck, a visit to a greenhouse and petting zoo, thrift store shopping with my daughter-in-law and two grandgirls, a supper date with the oldest grandgirl, which included wine and no whine. Reading stories together. Love and hugs and laughs galore.

Some days are like that, eh? Thank goodness!

Onward and UPward

As I write this, Project UP (Unclog the Pipes) has been in operation for a week. I wrote last week that sometimes our spiritual growth stalls because we have blockages preventing the Spirit from flowing through us.

I’d like to say Project UP is an amazing success, and I am bursting with new ideas and insights, a fresh vision, etc. yadda yadda. That wouldn’t be true. Project UP is operating in fits and starts. I believe that may be true for most of life – our intentions are great, but putting the plans into action is another story. Still, the intention is important, and if we are kind to ourselves, we do find, eventually that we progress. So I stumble on.

I am working on another unfinished project –  a self-portrait of me at 67, which is a continuation of the self-portraits I did at 65 and 66.

#65: The Crow Talks

#66: Old Crow, Still Dancing

My birthday is in June so this unfinished project is 9 months behind schedule. However, in the spirit of “be kind to yourself”, I proceed, and WOW! I like what is happening. So maybe, sometimes, ideas need to ripen to their fullness before you can express them well. Here's a snippet of #67 Carrying the Thread – perhaps soon I can show you the whole thing – just before I have to get started on #68!

#67: Carrying the Thread

 
As well, I’ve started a new practice that I hope will also help unclog the pipes. I’ve always enjoyed walking in nature – I count it as a spiritual practice. But earlier this year, at an Elder College class I attended called “Dwelling in Nature”, I was introduced to the concept of Sit Spot. “A sit spot,” I was told, “is a place you go to often and regularly to sit so you can look, listen, feel, smell, and even taste the surrounding landscape. Sit spots improve mental and physical health as well as improve the participant's spiritual state.”

The idea in practice means that you find a place in nature close to home, which you will visit 3-4 times a week for a year, to sit quietly for at least 20 minutes, preferably longer. You will be still, and you will open your senses to what is going on. You will come to know this little piece of God’s green earth intimately, in all weathers and all seasons, and your connection to the earth and to the Creator of it will be stronger.  (For more information on Sit Spots, google the term. There are many websites offering advice on the best kinds of sit spots, and how to benefit from the practice.)

It’s possible to have a Sit Spot on your high-rise balcony or in a corner of your backyard; you might even choose a bus bench, observing clouds and sky, sparrows and bugs, weeds that grow in the sidewalk cracks. But for me, nature has always been first and foremost the woods across the street. In about 300 steps, I leave behind concrete and cars to enter the cathedral of trees with their soaring branches arching overhead.

I have many choices of Sit Spots here – sitting on a log beside the rushing Puntledge River, or on a bench right beside the pathway. Or, there’s spot in the middle of the woods where the trilliums and fawn lilies grow thick. I settle on a bench facing a quiet  side channel of the river, off the main path. This will be my Sit Spot home for the next year.

The view from the bench: can't beat it!

Experts say when you, the outsider, come to your Sit Spot, the little animals and birds run and hide. It takes at least 15 minutes for them to decide you are okay, hence the 20+ minute time slot. I don’t last more than 10 minutes the first day ... but even then, I’ve noticed things I didn’t see before, like a spider’s fine silk line strung from one tree to another, and interesting shadows shifting on the water. The second time I lasted 12 minutes. That's progress!

Will this discipline be worth it? Will I be able to maintain it? Will it help Project UP?  We shall see.After all, it's all about feeding the waiting heart.

A few days ago, we celebrated Earth Day. As well, all of April has been declared Poetry Month. So I'm celebrating both by sharing another poem, this time by ecologist, author, and farmer Wendell Berry.

Look it Over

I leave behind even
my walking stick. My knife
is in my pocket, but that
I have forgot. I bring
no car, no cell phone,
no computer, no camera,
no CD player, no fax, no
TV, not even a book. I go
into the woods. I sit on
a log provided at no cost.
It is the earth I’ve come to,
the earth itself, sadly
abused by the stupidity
only humans are capable of
but, as ever, itself. Free.
A bargain! Get it while it lasts.

(Taken from “Leavings” by Wendell Berry, 2010, Counterpoint Berkely.)

Pipe Cleaners

A few weeks back I wrote in this blog that I was undergoing an AAGH – Another Agonizing Growthspurt Happening. I was in the waiting mode – waiting for growth and change. Growth and change are not an option: all living things are either growing or dying, always changing one cell at a time.

But growth and change are uncomfortable, and do not appear on command, at the snap of a finger. Much of growth and change happen under the surface in our lives, while we sit and wait for a break-through, a new insight, or a different vision of the future.

Since it wasn't happening yet, I decided I would be working on unfinished projects.

It was then that my friend M reminded me that the process of working on the “to-do-and-to-finish” list is like  “unclogging the pipes.” (She tells me this idea is not original...but, as happens to people our age, the origins of the phrase escape her. Lost in the mists of time ... )

Aha! What I need is some Drano for my soul, some Ex-Lax for the mind to clear away the debris and gunk that impedes my growth. Unclogging the pipes means making room for  creativity and new visions to flow through me.

I wonder if “unclogging the pipes” should be a regular maintenance feature for all of us periodically so that growth and change can happen in our lives. I wondered if  there are ways to “be” and things to do that encourage our growth? I noodled around with that idea, and came up with a few. These ideas are not prescriptions to be followed so you can live happily ever after; rather, they are invitations to consider, just a bunch of noodling thoughts coming from a waiting heart.

Working on unfinished projects is a good start to unclogging the pipes. I finished two projects that have been hanging around since last spring. “Done” is better than “to do”. Done takes a load off your heart and conscience. It is one less piece of “stuff” to carry around, stuff that can impede your AAGH*#@ experience. It’s not just projects, however, that need to be tackled. Perhaps there are relationships that need fixing, or unsaid words to be spoken. Perhaps your unfinished project is to open some doors to the past, long closed, that need to be opened so the sun can shine in.

Done: two baby quilts started about a year ago. They're destined for the nursery at St. Joseph's Hospital. Feels oh so good!

Work is good, but it needs to be balanced by rest. Joy, a fellow-blogger, has been sharing her excitement about allowing herself to ring the bell for “recess” every day. Recess is a break from work, and it could mean play time, nap time, yoga-stretch time, colouring book time – whatever it is that tells your mind to take a break and just have fun. Her research has shown that while there’s lots of evidence that recess is good for kids, very little has been done to show that it works just as well for adults. But it’s working for her, and I think she’s on to a good thing. Ring the Bell for Recess – RBR for RNR.

You can find a link to Joy's blog "Life by the Swake" to the right.

And because creativity is a spiritual journey – at least it is for me – it’s good to polish up our spiritual practices, whatever they may be. I’m no theologian, but to my way of thinking, any activity that opens up your mind and your heart to the Creator can be a spiritual practice: walking in nature, journalling, working in the garden, singing in a choir, prayer, long lovely conversations with friends where hearts are open to each other deeply; reading and study, meditation and more. These are activities that feature connections – connecting to the earth, to the Divine, and to others all around us. Connections help me realize that it’s not all about me – that I belong to a huge community that includes everything from the tiny bugs and  bees to the vast universe in which I -- and we all -- exist. When we reach that realization, we gain a new perspective on our place in the grand scheme of things. We realize that we need to get out of our own way. Sometimes, the big “I” is the block that prevents new growth from happening.

Sometimes, of course, unclogging the pipes calls for drastic action, drilling away at the unyielding mass that is causing the block to growth. Drastic action for me is to give up some part of my life that is not working anymore: bowing out of programs, giving up a habit that does nothing for me (AAGH! Surely not coffee or chocolate? Computer games?). It also means admitting that there are projects I will never finish, and it is time to pare down, clean out the closets, give stuff away. I came across this poem by Mary Oliver which captures the idea so well:

As I grew older the things I cared
about grew fewer, but were more
important. So one day I undid the lock
and called the trash man. He took everything.
I felt like the little donkey when
his burden is finally lifted. Things!
Burn them, burn them! Make a beautiful
fire! More room in your heart for love,
for the trees! For the birds who own
nothing—the reason they can fly.
~ excerpt from the poem "Storage" by Mary Oliver

Of Copula and Complexifying

This blog post started with a question and a challenge. I play an on-line crossword game with a friend on the other side of the country. At one point, she asked, “Do you actually use any of these weird words you’re putting down on the board –  mem, cavy, mage, fe? I dare you to use them in a blog sometime.”

The answer to the question is, no, I don’t use those words frequently, except in crossword puzzles. As to the challenge, well, now that I’ve written them down, I’ve already used them in a blog! Sorry, Riekie, that was way too cheap and easy.

FYI, mem is a letter in the Hebrew alphabet; cavy describes an animal family that includes the guinea pig:

Patagonian Cavy

Weight lifter cavy

A mage is a magician, and fe is the chemical formula for iron. I’ve used other weird words lately – thaler (German money), corf (a basket or container used in mining), and biryani (an Indian rice dish), for instance. It’s fun to form your letters into weird words, enter them into the Lexulous dictionary, and find out they actually exist.

I understand why some people read the dictionary for fun. I've been known to do that. This love affair with words has been going on for a long, long time. My dad used to tell the story of how, as a two-year-old, I knew words for pigs in three different languages, and knew the appropriate times to use them. When I was with our Canadian farmer boss, I called a pig a pig; when I was with mom and dad, who spoke Frisian to each other, I named the sow a “barg”. But when I was with Dutch-speakers, I called it a “varken”. In a letter my mom wrote to Holland, at about the same time, she said she was at her wits end because I kept pulling all the good books out of the bookcase, then “reading” make-believe words and stories to my baby sister.

Words: what’s not to love about them? And speaking of love, that word is a beauty, isn’t it?

So is Grace. Mercy. Gratitude. They’re just letters strung together, but they glow with hidden meanings. At least they do to me.

I’m not the only one who loves words. Enter the term “favourite word lists” into the google browser, and you will get 4,370,000 results. Merriam-Webster’s list of 10 favourite words includes kerfuffle, defenestration, sesquipedalian (a long word for a love of long words), and callipygian (drum roll, please) “having shapely buttocks.” Just try to drop that word casually into your next conversation.

It’s fun encountering new words you’ve never heard before – gives you a little jolt of effervescence. This week, I met two new words that put a spring in my step: “copula” (not to be confused with “cupola”, an architectural feature) and “complexifying.”

“What’s a copula?” you ask. I did not know – it sounded vaguely risque, and for sure, when I entered it into a google search, one of the suggested links was about, ahem, sexual reproduction. But its meaning is much more pedestrian: it’s a connecting link between subject and predicate, mostly in the form of the verb “to be.” Check it out in the illustration below, and you’ll see what I mean.

For a writer, overuse of copulas is a big no-no, resulting in “flaccid and uninteresting writing.” Now I should go through this blog with a fine-toothed comb to make sure I did not use too many copulas.

Upon first reading the word “complexifying”, I thought to myself, “Oh, no, not another “utilize” in the making!” I have a hate-on for utilize. It’s a gold-plated fancy-dress word that means exactly the same as the much simpler word “use.” (That’s my opinion, and you can have it for free.) Surely a simpler word that means the same as “complexify” exists? The author used “complexifying” when he explained the way the universe was unfolding – from simple particles joining together to form bonded structures like atoms, from atoms bonding together into compounds, from compounds joining together to form structures, and on and on, right up to the complex workings of the galaxies that make up our universe. Mind boggling!

This process he calls “complexifying,” and after pondering on that for a while, I decided maybe no other word expresses it as well. If you beg to differ, let me know. (BTW, the book where I first found this word is The Story of the Universe by Brian Swimme and Mary Tucker ... Highly recommended – but it has complexified my concept of the universe.)

I could write many more words about the beauty of words, but I do believe that can wait for another blog post. After all, the eminent teacher of wisdom, King Solomon, “searched to find just the right words” (Ecclesiastes 12:10), then concluded, “Of making many books there is no end, and much study wearies the body.” Maybe short but sweet is better.

AAGH*#!@

The last few months have not been productive. As you’ve perhaps noticed, I haven’t blogged very regularly. No great piece of textile art is in the offing.

I seem to be stuck in neutral these days. I go about doing a little of this, a little of that, but nothing is grabbing me by the shoulders and saying, “Whee-haw! Here’s the thing you’ve been waiting for!”

“Not good, not good,” my head and heart are nattering at me. “Don’t just sit there, do something.”

Rule of thumb: when stalling, check Facebook. There I find a meme, one of those posts that consists of a lovely photo with words superimposed on it, words that are supposed to make you sit up and take notice. The meme goes viral – apparently it’s hit a nerve.  This one says :

The post is by Elizabeth Gilbert, she of Eat Pray Love book fame. She’s quoting her mother, who bemoans the fact that too many of her friends seem to be shutting down, acting as though their life is almost over. These older men and women are just putting in time until the final bell rings.  Don’t they know that adventures await around the corner, if they’d just stop sitting around?  “If you’re not dead yet, you’re not done yet. Get your butt in gear and DO something.”

It occurs to me that our society likes this message. It meshes nicely with “You’re only as old as you feel.” “60 is the new 40.”  Ads show grandpas playing football with their grandkids, omas climbing mountains. If we keep moving, keep doing – well, that’s proof, isn’t it, that we are still alive and well?

I have no quarrel with the idea that “If you’re not dead yet, you’re not done yet.” In fact, I think it’s wonderful and inspirational. I’ve always been a restless person, eager to find out what’s around the next corner. To have a fire burning in your heart for something that is fulfilling, stretching, and growth-inducing is a feeling like no other. It gives energy and focus to your day, purpose and meaning to your life.

But sometimes, the fire dies down to a flicker, producing hardly any light or warmth. Programmed to believe that if you’re not productive, you’re not worth much, you might be tempted to do anything, just anything, to see if there’s a smouldering spark that will ignite if you stir the ashes.

I’ve been in that space lately. Some people might call it a depression, but I don’t think so. I have many blessings to celebrate, much joy to feel and love to savour. Life still has colour and vibrancy. I still want to stomp in the puddles with my grandgirl Gracie.

Yet something is missing, and from past experience, I know that what I’m going through is an AAGH!*#@.   AAGH – Another Agonizing Growthspurt Happening.

An AAGH*#@ experience is when your soul tells you it’s time for change. The nice little life you’re enjoying is too small, it doesn’t quite fit. Take the next step– stretch! If you’re not dead yet, you’re not done, yet. AAGH*#@ is a normal part of life. All living things go through their stages of dormancy. The cycle of life includes times of quietness and rest, and times of activity and growth.

But a growth spurt in your spiritual and emotional life hurts. It’s uncomfortable, and it takes patience and waiting to grow. Imagine a dormant seed in the cold wet earth, splitting its skin to let out new life, pushing down to form roots in the soil, and pushing up through obstacles like pebbles and grit. There’s a lot of tough slogging that happens before something green and beautiful appears above the soil.

What do you do when an AAGH!*#@ creeps up on you? Like a hamster in a revolving wheel, I could keep running – and I will, just to get  things done that need doing, to keep the fabric of life unfurling smoothly. And I enjoy that -- working on unfinished projects, digging in the garden, getting together with friends. But in truth, continuously running in a revolving wheel will get you nowhere – at least, nowhere that you’d like to be. You also need to take time to get off the wheel and wait. It’s the equivalent of hunkering down in the dark soil until the conditions are right to sprout with new life. Who knows what happens down there in the dark? I don’t. It’s a miracle, for sure.

But I have faith that in the AAGH*#@, there will come an AHA! There’s a spark of new life, a new direction, that is waiting, just for me.

Slow Down, eh?

When you’ve lived as long as I have, you’ve seen a lot of things come and go.

Remember the bouffant hairdo using tons of hairspray and backcombing? Remember the opposite hairstyle: ironing your long, long hair so it laid flat? Remember go-go boots? Bell-bottoms? Hot pants? Granny glasses? Big padded shoulders? Fads.

One psychologist defines a fad as a social trend with three stages: emerging, surging, and purging. There comes a time in a fad’s lifespan when what we embraced so eagerly suddenly is anathema in our sight. Out it goes with yesterday’s newspaper. It is so “not in” anymore.

The quilting life, which is a big part of my world, has gone through its fads as well. Once upon a time, long, long ago, quilts were blankets people made out of necessity. As one pioneer wrote in her journal, “I make quilts as fast as I can to keep my family warm and as pretty as I can to keep my heart from breaking.” After that, came the “improvements” – ornate Baltimore Album quilts, crazy quilts, broderie perce  – on and on.

A Baltimore Album Quilt

When I was learning about quilts and beginning to make mine, machine quilting was the big thing. The popular rationale for using a machine to piece and quilt your blankets of love was, “So many quilts to make, so little time.” So instead of spending a winter around the quilting frame, you quilted your latest creation on a machine in a week or so, and moved on to the next project.

 Well, the latest trend in quilting is the Slow Stitch Movement. Making quilts fast is now so passe!  “Slow” is not just a speed, it is a philosophy to counter the hurry-up nature of our world. First, there was Slow Food – buying local, cooking from scratch. The idea spread: Slow Art. Slow Fashion. Slow Beer. Slow Consulting. So “Slow Stitch” is just the latest character to make an appearance in the Slow Philosophy. There’s even a World Institute of Slowness: http://www.theworldinstituteofslowness.com . “We are not rats, and life is not a race,” writes a slow-world proponent on CNN. “The Slow philosophy is ...  about seeking to do everything at the right speed. Savoring the hours and minutes rather than just counting them. Doing everything as well as possible, instead of as fast as possible. It's about quality over quantity in everything from work to food to parenting (Carl Honore In Praise of Slow 2004)

Slow Stitch practitioners have discovered that the process of creating something beautiful is as important as the final product. They pick up needle and thread and create tiny hand-embroidered and beaded pieces, and they are as excited as they formerly were by making a king-sized quilt on their computerized machine.

Slow Stitch Sampler by Margot Bicknell

Sometimes, they are a little like newly born-again Christians. They’ve discovered something amazing, and they want to tell everyone about it. They’re sure nobody has seen the light like they have. (They forget that their grannies always used to work this way.)

This movement was popularized in the quilting world by Mark Lipinski, a professional quiltmaker and teacher. Ironically, not that long ago, Lipinski was touting the marvels of a wonderful pattern called Simple Simon. “If you only make one quilt in your lifetime, this super fast and easy quilt is the one to make. There is just about no quilt that comes together faster than these quick-to-piece Simple Simon blocks.” Hmmm. Now, through Lipinski’s endeavors, there’s a Slow Stitch magazine, website, blog, and even – yes! – a Slow Stitch retreat that features a luxury hotel, catered meals, workshops, Show and Tell – a packed schedule that will keep you hopping – slowly, of course. (Can you tell I’m just a weenie bit jaded when it comes to the commercial aspects of slowing down?)

Will Slow Stitch – for that matter, Slow Anything – be another fad, fading away as it outlives its novelty?  Or is the message of Slow Anything deeper and more important than a shallow fad?

I think about my forebears, who had to create all their clothes from scratch – clipping wool from sheep, washing it, carding it, dying it, spinning and knitting it into garments. Picking up your knitting needles in every spare moment, knitting up sweaters and underwear for a brood of eight because winter was coming – there was nothing slow or meditative about that. I wonder if these women and men “savoured every moment” of the experience. Probably not. You need to have the time to slow down, in order to slow down and savour the moment, if that makes sense.

On the other hand, the Slow message has touched something very vulnerable in our psyches. Life is not all about product, and productivity. When we slow down, when we take time to really get in touch with our own creativity and dreams, we begin to sense an organic connection with and appreciation for all the aspects that go into our work, such as the skills passed down through generations, the origins of the product we’re using, the mystery that surrounds creative endeavors. People all around the world are doing what we are doing, yet each product will be totally unique, an expression of who we are. Slowing down opens our eyes to the precious gift of every moment.

Slow Stitch – slow anything, for that matter – has always been available to us. Perhaps it takes a fad emerging to get us to realize that.

In the meantime, I’m going to practice some Slow Stitch of my own. I mean, reaaaaaaalllllly reaaaalllly slooooooow. I’ve been working at some projects so sloooooowwwwllly that they have been in the works for yeaaaaaaars, and it is time to finish them. I’ll let you know how that works for me in coming blogs, but don’t hold your breath. "Slow down" is the operative expression! Excuse me while I go thread my beading needle.

Spring Tree: I started it last year, put it aside, and then picked it up again and finished it. It took hours upon hours to add all the green beads to the branches, but those were good hours, giving time to reflect, think, enjoy, glance out the window now and then.

For more information on how the Slow Philosophy can apply to textile creations, see this article about Elaine Lipson, who began the Slow Cloth Movement. It includes the Slow Cloth Manifesto.
http://handeyemagazine.com/content/slow-cloth

For a different take on Slow Stitch, check out Pippa Moore's blog at  http://kitambaa.blogspot.ca/ Her blog got me inspired to write my own thoughts on the movement.