Raven and Sparrow

One bad corner

Although there hasn't been too much to show, I have continued to work on Lisa's table settings. The embroidery on her autumn runner is extensive, but getting close to being finished. In the meanwhile I have been making the quilted undercloth for her spring setting. Actually, I'm not quilting it myself....I made the top by adding bands to a square of linen to increase its size to 63 inches, organized a backing (muslin) and batting (flannel) and sent it to our local long-arm quilting lady. I'll get it back in a couple of weeks. This adds quite a bit of expense to the project, but I couldn't face the effort of teaching myself to machine quilt (hand quilting is out of the question with all the embroidery I have undertaken) without knowing if this experiment will work. I'll get the square back and will be able then to judge its drape and ease of care and see if it is worth it to quilt tablecloths. If it is suitable I will have to get serious about doing it myself.

Making the undercloth this way has used much less of the six yards of linen I always buy for large tablecloths, so I have turned the surplus into napkins. I was able to get eight  twenty-three inch square napkins (twenty inches finished) out of the scraps, which means thirty-two mitered corners. Practice has made me quite nonchalant about making mitered corners, so I was irritated to find that I had mis-sewn and then clipped one before realizing that there was a problem. Grrr.... way to keep myself humble. Now one of the set of eight will be the poor step-child, only used when numbers require it, and probably by Lisa herself if she follows my practice of reserving the stained or worn bits for me or Mike when setting our tables. Nothing is ever perfect, but the project soldiers on.

From a different angle

This is the view from the floor of our bedroom, noticed when I was down on my back vacuuming the feral dust bunnies from under the bed. I move through this room every day, but rarely look up. So much of the world is unseen not because it is hidden but because we won't turn our heads. Seeing this "new view" made me wonder what else I am missing and reminded me of how easy it is to become stuck in my habitual thoughts and attitudes. 

Cleaning the bedroom is always a metaphor for introspection. It is a private space that collects a lot of detritus from the rest of our house and our lives, without the sunshine of outside eyes. Little by little stuff piles up until the furniture is buried and the floors disappear. There is always something else to do so I put off reckoning with it, but when I finally can't stand it anymore, it is an emotional experience. As I dust and scrub and vacuum I think about who I am, what I have done and what I hope to do in the future in a way that cleaning the kitchen never elicits. Sometimes I cry, as longings, frustrations and regrets roll up from the depths. As I work, I see ever more to do (which is another reason why I put it off) but it reminds me of what a labyrinth each of us is to ourselves. A lifetime is not enough to explore our inner landscape. 

One of the things that I encounter as I clean is the wish to penetrate more consciously into the unseen. It has always seemed to me that there is more to life than the surface world, but I have never found a reliable door into what I sense is there. Religion is the institutionalization of this common human intuition and urge, but has proven more a wall than a window for me. I have read a lot about shamanism and alternative spiritualism, but after initial hopes, nothing has lasted. Meditation helps, but I still have the sense of waiting outside for admission to the garden. Maybe it is life itself that blinds me and that all will be revealed after I die, or maybe I just haven't turned my head to see what is obvious. At least the bedroom is tidy. 

Fairy woodland in the far northwest

We spent yesterday walking in the local woods with our son and his partner Michele. We went to the high point above our house and looked out across the Salish Sea to the Olympic Peninsula. It was a warm gray day with flat skies and calm water...no bird activity and only intermittent noise, muffled and distant. The crunch of our feet in the dry leaves on the trail and our own occasional comments were our accompaniment as we walked to the viewpoint. Having absorbed the vistas and tried to identify the islands we could see from our perch, we returned to the woods and wandered through the fir trees and madronas to lower, more partial views. On our way we happened upon a secluded glade under a twisted madrona where people had built a series of fairy houses out of sticks. It wasn't hard to see why they had chosen this particular place, since the tree had created a sense of shelter on a shelf of rock set a little apart from the its surroundings. Some of the houses were open and airy, and some were almost subterranean. There were little plastic animals or dolls tucked into a few that made me think of Saskia and the household of the Old Bird King. 

The deep quiet and the sense of having happened upon these little dwellings by accident created a pause in time while we contemplated the things we so easily pass by. 

Later that night a thunderstorm crashed out of the clouds and the rain poured down. We don't get many thunderstorms here, so we were enthralled. The lightning flickered up from the south (the direction out of which we get most of our weather) dimly at first, and then in full and startling brilliance, punctuated by the loudest thunder I have heard in years. A day of subdued colors and sounds ended with an explosion.

Nourishment

I was listening to Seth Godin's podcast Akimbo this morning and he was saying that the point of school should be to teach children to solve interesting problems. It got me thinking about what problems I am trying to solve with my efforts in tablesetting. I started with the superficial issues I wrestle with as I make my seasonal cloths, but kind of quickly got down to the question: "Why does it matter?" Am I doing it to satisfy and justify my own predilections.... I like setting tables, therefore it must be important and useful? Is my work actually as shallow and ego-driven as that? What is the real underlying problem I am addressing? The answer is lurking in the depths like the Loch Ness monster, large and mythical, but hard to see.

I think that the most important thing to me is my own connections to the web of life. Being part of, taking part in, doing my part to contribute to the swirl of Being Alive. It is what I am here for. Like everyone else, I experience that connection through the people I know, the places I inhabit and the experiences those things bring to me. I am part of many interlocking systems (familial, social, political, and ecological) that range from extremely intimate to universal. Some of those systems are breaking down and that is a Big Problem. Religion is a glue that is losing its stick, government is mistrusted, bowling leagues are out of fashion. Our cultural insistence on the primacy of the individual has left us alone and lonely amid the sweep of events too large to control or even understand. (The move toward individual autonomy was a needed part of our evolution, but we have come as far as that road will take us and now what?) Our natural urge in times of trouble is to turn to those around us and join together to face the danger, but what if we no longer know where to turn? We are confronted with threats to our existence without the framework of support we need to address them.

I started out speaking about myself and then moved to a larger view, which illustrates the many levels on which we are affected by the world around us. I guess this is another way of saying that the personal is political. We are each enmeshed in our own lives, together with everyone else. We need to find some rocks to stand on as the river of change sweeps relentlessly onward. What actions can we take as individuals that will gather, re-form and strengthen our communities? There are tons of ways we can reach out to others, but joining our friends and families for meals seems archetypal in its simplicity, and symbolic power. Sitting down face to face with those we know, or would like to know better, sharing the nourishment of the earth that we all require, is bedrock human interaction in which everyone can participate on some level or other. Fancy tables are not necessary at all, but it is our instinct and offering to embellish that which we think is important and I think the small, ordinary act of eating together is of utmost importance. The interesting problem I seek to solve is how to encourage and increase our connections with each other and the world; tablecloths are my medium.

 

On re-reading my post, I realize that I have said this over and over here, through the years. I am moved to say it again. Since repeating oneself is a sign of age does this mean that I am getting old?