my grandmother was almost 98 when she died. and there is a flowering bush that grows at the back of our yard, that always makes me think of the last summer that she was alive. and one particular day is strong with memories of my last real day with my grandmother. just the two of us having the sort of breezy and ephemeral moments we did best. i lived with her all my life practically. i was 7 when she moved to canada to live with us. there was no mystery between us. she was always tiny, but in the last few years of her life, she was practically fetal. she weighed between 50 and 60 pounds and osteoporosis had bent her in half. my parents brought her to spend the afternoon with me that day. she sat in her wheelchair on the porch. i wheeled her out in the garden under the trees with flowers and birds surrounding her. i covered her hat with peonies and she laughed and just enjoyed the perfection of a summer day. she spent hours going through the bunches of flowers i brought her, picking out all the blossoms that were past their prime. we watched the cats play in the sun. gala romped around the yard and delighted her. we just spend the afternoon together. and after a lifetime with her, this is one of my strongest and sweetest and dearest memories of us alone together. just an afternoon enjoying each other.

i want to get a bike and start riding around town with a basket on the front holding my camera. i want to pedal along side streets and see things in the intimate street view that cars often eradicate. i want to hear the true sounds of the street and greet the little visions that glide across the eye. i want to feel the elation of wind in hair, legs pumping, endorphins cruising. i used to ride my bike around town all the time. i rode my bike to the hospital to visit my grandmother one afternoon in august. and she died while i was there. we thought she was getting better. i left my bike at the hospital that night and my parents drove me home. i picked it up eventually, days later. maybe even after the funeral. i'm surprised it was still there. i don't think i've ridden my bike since, i gave up on the joy of it. but i'm really craving all the little nuances that i once loved. the childlike freedom and the lightness. so i hope you see me soon, languidly sailing my tw0-wheeler with it's overflowing basket through our downtown streets.

i'm wrapped up in a quilt. the whole family is actually. tom has gone to bed where a quilt is laid across the bed, giving the perfect weight to the duvet, winter and summer. edgar and stella are curled up together on the couch with a quilt thrown over them to help them sleep through the night. and i'm sitting with the computer on my lap under a quilt tucked around my feet and pulled up to my chin. i didn't find my way home until after 10 tonight and although i'd rather be reading right now, i only had the brain power to stare at the computer screen while i snacked on grape tomatoes and tzatziki. i'm looking forward to a full day in the studio tomorrow, making new quilts to add to the shop for mother's day. we've been working so steadily at the house that i'll need to build my sewing momentum again. but i'm eager to start compiling little colorful squares, layering them in just the right order to patch together into a quilt top. each one is always a bit of a surprise as they take shape from piles of squares, to a top, then adding the back and then finally the edge so it's fully dimensional. a surprise, yes. but also, each one is consistently warm and fresh and smiling.

my grandmother was a grown woman struggling to make ends meet during the years of the great depression. and the efforts she made during those years remained with her for her entire life. i grew up with her and sometimes i recognize her ways in myself. the other day as i was making salad dressing, i'd finished scraping the mustard jar. i put it aside to rinse and put in the recycling.....but i remembered my grandmother and put it back in the fridge. and then last night while i was making salad dressing i made it in the jar, pouring the olive oil and balsamic vinegar and wine and lemon juice in the jar, and shaking it to use all the dregs of mustard clinging to the jar. it was perfect salad dressing and it was lovely to have the spirit of my grandmother in the kitchen with me.

i've been sewing in silence the last few days. i often have long stretches of silence in my life and it's quite a gift. i love the sounds of the village pulsing around me. and the ideas that race through my head. i'm fortunate to have the time as i work to follow these intrigues. and lately i am fascinated with the fact that i have made a career out of making quilts. to me, it feels like another version of the world's oldest profession. and it represents for me something so beautifully strong and feminine and true. taking scraps of fabric and fashioning them into embracing quilted blankets to wrap around the ones we love, warming our children and snuggling with our lovers. it feels like through my work, i am threaded to centuries of women and it seems to funnel their strength to me, which i attempt to pass on.
thankfully we had the generations of women who worked hard to improve their children's lives along with their own. the women who fought for the vote, the women who kept factories running during wars. these were the women i feel linked to in a very real way as i sew. women who opened doors for us as a society; the women who made a difference before the sexy media blitz that coined the term feminism. i relate to these women who made a difference by doing what they felt they could do without relying on idealistic rhetoric to fuel them. idealism is nice to have sitting on your shoulder, whispering in your ear. but as soon as one listens too closely and repeats too loudly, it becomes the big ugly bully that distracts from reality.
so, while i get lost in thought, creating quilts i intend to sell instead of wrap around my own family, i'm so glad i have my grandmother's quilt across the room with her tiny stitches and wonderful bright colorful scraps, to look at throughout the day and keep the thread of reality pulsing through all i do.

november. rain blurred windows and edgar refusing to leave the porch. with our canopy gone, it makes the walk between houses during the rain, even rainier. edgar likes to use the canopy to do his business without getting wet during summer rains and i just love the luxury of it. but now, the leaves are gone and we are open to the sky. bare branches. no coverage. the branches are beautiful. wet bark gray silhouettes against the sky.

i sewed all day. surrounded with colorful fabrics, quilts and napkins and aprons. meagan gave me steamed milk for my tea at lunch. and of course, i watched the waltons. more of the same tomorrow. i love the routine of sewing that has happened the past few weeks. it is my grandmother's 105th birthday today. always a day i notice and remember. i think of her so often, and when i sew it seems she's with me. i miss her alot and feel so fortunate to have spent so much time with her.