A Mother's Hands

I've thought about the blog quite often in the past six weeks or so since I last wrote, but this old laptop I'm using is very frustrating, freezing when I try to do things, or not allowing updates necessary to run certain programs. I did get an external hard drive so I can access old files and photos, but it doesn't always cooperate when I need them. However, I have good news for all of my creative friends - I finally got back on track with my weekly art challenge, and will be posting photos and catching you all up on the prompts.

I also wanted to share one today, for Mother's Day, as a special treat for all the special women in my life who are blessed to be mothers. This is a poem I wrote several years ago (I think it's been about eight or nine already!); please don't copy it without getting permission first.

A Mother's Hands
by mellena mae coady

Cooking, cleaning, tying shoes,

Finding things that children lose,

Picking flowers, catching bugs,

Drying tears and giving hugs.

Taking pictures, making games,

Singing songs with silly names,

Watching movies, playing ball,

Drawing on the bedroom wall.

Running errands, matching socks,

Building dreams with wooden blocks,

Telling stories, climbing trees,

Kissing cuts and patching knees.

Writing letters, calling friends,

Hoping this day never ends,

Knowing someone understands,

Living life by mother’s hands.

Stitched

Although sewing is a lost art in our culture today, it was once a much practiced and necessary component. I’m sure you’ve heard the old proverb “A stitch in time saves nine”. It means a little effort now prevents more work later. Those who first spoke it were literally referring to stitches, knowing it’s best when you first tear something to take a few minutes and repair it. Otherwise it will only tear more, costing you more time and the need for more stitches later.

It’s a timeless truth that  procrastination often requires more work in the long run. I find it ironic that this (and other proverbs with similar messages) have endured, and yet we seem to be getting lazier as a race. I include myself in this, of course, as some of my best work has been produced at “the last minute”.

[Rabbit Trail] That reminds me of this paper I wrote in University, I believe it was during my second year (which was actually my first Senior year, but that’s a different trail altogether). The class was called Paradise Lost and was supposed to be a Senior “capstone” course, focusing on John Milton’s epic poem of the same name. (By the way, an epic poem is a lengthy narrative poem [tells a story], ordinarily concerning a serious subject and containing details of heroic deeds and events significant to a culture or nation.) We spent three months reading and discussing it – and I honestly don’t remember any of it!

I do remember writing the main paper for the course, which I uncreatively titled “Milton’s Paradise”, which was due on a Wednesday morning at 11. The reason I remember the day and time is because I wrote the entire thing that very morning – 15 pages in about 2.5 hours – and got a B+. As I said, some of my best work has been done at the last minute. Not the course of action I would advise for anyone else, but for me, sometimes it paid off to waste some stitches!

Just for fun, here’s how the paper started:  “The ideas of the earthly paradise held by Milton and his contemporaries reflected several centuries of acceptance, rejection, and interpretation of earlier myths, theologies, and literature. In Paradise Lost, Milton sought to understand the beginnings of man and his world – the development of knowledge, religion, government, marriage, and family – and to relate these beginnings to later history.” [End Rabbit Trail]

I imagine one of these days I’ll go back and read that paper again, probably find several much needed edits and change it, and maybe even re-read the poem since I have a feeling I never actually read it the first time around. But not today. If you’ve managed to stay behind me while we traveled that trail, we’re back to the second week seven prompt “stitched”. I believe we left off with an old proverb and some irony. I love irony. Too many Rabbit Trails today!! Must resist.

I also mentioned that sewing is a lost art. That’s not to say it’s never done anymore, just that it’s not as necessary or commonly used as it used to be. We now have fancy machines – and I don’t mean the ones we have in our craft rooms – that can put together an entire outfit in less than five minutes.

Personally, I haven’t yet begun to explore sewing. I have two machines, both were given to me, that are in working order. One of them is a “Jean Machine” capable of sewing through denim. A jean quilt would be awesome – I love weight when I sleep! I also have four drawers (in a cardboard dresser) FULL of fabric:

   

These are a few of the piles (organized by color, of course). I could make a lot of really fun things with all of the colors and patterns I have. Two sets of fabric came altogether, with instructions, to make some pretty awesome quilts. I just need to get started! I know how the machines work, in theory, I just haven’t gotten my craft room organized enough that I feel able to start this new adventure. Story of my life, to be honest – always waiting for something more before I can do this or start that. What a waste of stitches!

Behind the Fence

      For as long as he lives, and probably longer, he will never forget her face.
      It was Friday afternoon. The neighborhoods in this part of town were amazing. Well-kept lawns told of expensive lawnmowers and landscaping classes at Ivy League Universities; cool pastel colors in coats of fresh paint boasted of holiday bonuses and deceptively calm exterior lives; even the children’s toys scattered around the front yards seemed orderly and precisely placed. It was enough to make him wonder what the inside of the houses looked like, what these people’s lives really consisted of.

                                                                       - from A Black and White Photograph

So begins a short story I wrote over ten years ago, about a day in the life of a taxi driver, five of his fares, and a ghost from his past. It’s called A Black and White Photograph, and was meant to show my six roommates (five girls and a guy) how I perceived them. Of course, none of them really got it. But it was a great story.

It was the summer of 2002 and we were renting a house in Seattle. I didn’t have a job, was only friends with one of them, and was not in a good place as far as my autism went, so it was not a summer I look back on with fondness. A few good things did come from that experience – this great little story, and the beginnings of my first novel A Guest In My Life, which has since morphed into Coming Home (a work still in progress I’m afraid) being among them.

Although the last time I actually read all of it was a few years ago (it's in my "to be revised" folder), I don't think I really spend any more of the story exploring the idea of what lies behind the calm, quiet exteriors of the suburbs, as that wasn't my purpose for writing it. And yet, when I drew this card for the first week six prompt, it immediately came to mind.

So, what’s really behind the white picket fences of a “typical American neighborhood”? Do they even exist anymore? Did they ever? It's become quite a cliche in our culture, especially after "Desperate Housewives" started. I suppose it depends on where you live. To me, our country is like a giant box of puzzle pieces that all look different and unconnected, then you put them together and see this amazing picture of unity in diversity, an irony that will never cease to intrigue and inspire me. I could write a whole blog just about the mosaic of America! Maybe I will. But not today, it's too long of a rabbit trail, we may never get back.

I also thought about one of my favorite poems, by one of my favorite poets, Robert Frost. It’s called “Mending Wall,” and I found a great commentary at Spark Notes that also includes the poem. I would definitely recommend reading it a few times (since we all have so much free time!) and the notes that follow. They discuss boundaries, both literal and figurative, and the many layers that are always found in the provocative writings of Mr. Frost.

I honestly have no idea how I will use “behind the fence” in my art journal this week, and I must say it’s kind of exciting. I’ll continue to “explore the possibilities” as I put it in the slow cooker of my subconscious and work on some other projects. Hopefully by Saturday I’ll have something to share, along with the second week six prompt. So far I’ve really enjoyed the combinations I’ve drawn from the decks and the pages they’ve inspired. Here’s to another great week!

Kiss the Cook

Living alone, I cook for myself most of the time, which means if I don’t really feel like eating I probably won’t. But. I love cooking. It’s interesting and relaxing, and no matter how tired or restless or just bleh I feel, eating a meal that I’ve taken time to prepare always makes me feel a little better.

So today, in honor of “Culinarians Day,” (and my younger brother Noah, who is a cook on Navy subs), I’m going to share with you a link I found to the Top Ten Most Difficult Recipes to Make. If you happen to try any of them, I’d love for you to leave a comment and let me know how it turned out!

Also, I would like to share with you a poem about cooking something other than food, “A Recipe for Friendship.”

A Recipe For Friendship

Take a cup of understanding,
Add a smile that’s warm and true;
Then some sunshine, tears of course
(A dab of these will do.)

Mix in some specially happy times
And secrets shared together,
Then strengthen with real loyalty
Thru fair and stormy weather.

Blend in deeds of thoughtfulness,
A way of being nice;
Warm with generosity
And top with good advice.

Serve with cool remembrance
Of joys that know no end,
And you’ll taste the sweetness others find
Who have you for a friend!