six and a half stitches

INCIDENTAL TOUCHINGS

 

We wave to the lady in the boat engine repair shop. We have never spoken until recently, yet we've passed her shop on a daily basis for nearly 6 years [] we pass small tokens of random conversation with the guys in the coffee shop [] we shout out to the guys in the car shop, their presence in our day always smiling, always stopping to say hello, and include the children [] we say hello to a dog we pass on the footpath [] we stop to pick up random twigs, leaves, broken pieces of necklaces strewn over the road [] we say thankyou when we get our change in the supermarket [] we pass information for meetings and briefing sessions between us in the playground [] they pick a small selection of flowers from the garden, some of them weeds, some of them very special orchids but all given just for me, because I was grumpy and they thought it would make me happy (they did) [] we watch the cranes lifting supplies into a back garden [] and finally we make lemon muffins rich in lemon scent and juice. Tonight we will have left over beetroot curry with pappadums and rice, maybe some plain yoghurt as well []

Random connections. Incidental touchings of life, people, moments. Things I like to tie together to become a map of our daily travels, and our movements through the neighbourhood. Recognition that we have a sense of place and purpose, sometimes brief, sometimes far more involved and that we involve ourselves with other people even when we think we live in isolation. I mentally track each day through it's course, broken down into time slots and schedules, and routes taken to get somewhere. It would make a great excercise in spatial use to follow our movements, how much repeats, how much gets traversed over and over, and how little the variations need to be to create a logue of difference to our lives.

Our own flight paths.

COEXISTENCE

 

This parenting thing is a funny business. Constantly throwing up surprises, always catching you off guard. Things get handed to you, and taken away just as quickly, to be given back in ways you couldn't have planned. The phrase 'seize the moment' is so apt.

The other week I turned to my children and asked them to please stop calling me mummy. Just for 5 minutes. I realised in a week long period no one had called me by my name. For a moment, I had seized to exist :: Almost every day one of my children picks me a flower along the way to or from school. These small gestures let me know I am real. I mean something to someone. They care :: Every morning I am greeted with shouts of delight as I walk into the room :: Some days I constantly negotiate between sparring siblings. Equality of parenting does not always exist, no matter how much you think otherwise :: In one moment I might be walking through a tearful emotional release after a sleep over, and the next be explaining what sandstone is and why it needs to be replaced on a particular building :: Give. Take. Ebb. Flow. Static. Fluid.

Some days, I expect a certain outcome. I breathe in at the start, focused, prepared. Some days I am taken by surprise. The breathing relaxes. Play evolves and disseminates through the house where disruption and chaos was surely imminent. Children run with cow bells through the corridors, ride tricycles left out from the park and not yet put away along corridors, squeaky wheels resounding through the house, and it's ok. Lego is taken out, built, arranged. And an almost peaceful coexistence appears. Yes. It is sometimes startling. When calm can still prevade even during sessions of conspiratorial crying and tired grizzle, and we make it into the peace zone. Then it is sometimes magical.

In those moments, I can seize time. I can photograph the details around me - of decaying and drying tulip petals, kept for the glorious colour and textures they have been harvesting through age. Remains of colour a filter for the seized moments between us all. I can take out small pieces of fabric, cut already, waiting , and sew two tops for Pia - simple and quick, and easily done as they play around me, requiring little thought. We intertwine amongst each other every now and then for drinks, toast, lunch, a lego piece needing to be found, a dolls blanket needing adjusting, short conversations about nothing in particular, evesdropping on their conversations as well - our dance one of fluid movement and contentment. Yes. It is startling that we can coexist. And be content with each other.

And when sleep finally comes in the afternoon, it is like a renewal. A chance to exhale, and take another breat.

SLIPPAGE [dis-trac-tion]

 

Oh so very easily distracted. Intentions to work on the cobweb lace, finish it even! Especially as it has so little left to go....sidetracked. Intentions to sew a thousand pieces, put aside as a full day was taken away with a semi-sick child. Intentions to continue filling in forms, put aside till documents arrived with parents visiting. Conversations with parents, more important than knitting or sewing right now, so all that put aside. Intentions, even, to knit a few things for the children, little pieces of mitts and scarves in readiness, intentionally set aside.

Distracted by these. Unintentionally distractions. Colour. Texture. Softness. Quickness. Ok. The quickness was a major factor in the lovability of these. Easily picked up, a few rows knitted. Left for a bit, picked up again. A few rows become more and suddenly they're done. They're fantastic. Really, really fantastic.

Time distracted by small children deciding to paint themselves and the garage green. And then black. And painting large paper sheets in bold black linework, carefully put away for future framing. Time distractions as that paint takes a number of baths to get rid of. And then the bath needs cleaning down. And the towels. And the floor. And then me.

Distracted by hayfever and an inability to really concentrate this week. And because of that, these gloves are thoroughly distracted in themselves. I started counting the number of mistakes. Little things, little miss-counts which no one will ever notice, and then I stopped because it was embarrassing. A major slip in my reading of the pattern, because in amongst my haphazard approach to these I really actually didn't read the pattern at all and then had a bit of a dawning realisation moment very close to the end of the 2nd glove....errors which I would never go back and fix, because it doesn't really matter - errors which make them mine, and personal, and in a funny kind of way, a real record of the moments in which they were made.

And I like that - slippages of time and stitches.

[]modelled by Max with some help by Pia. Background artwork by Pia

A POINT OF FOCUS

 

 

A week of lines. Of lines being drawn, sketched, marked out on paper. Folds and creases lined out in rough. Of lines being crossed through lists - the many lists which make up my week [] notes written, signatures placed [] grocery shopping to supplement the weekly shop [] to do lists - yearly professional registration fees to pay, school fees to pay, bills to pay [] paperwork lists and the never ending rounds of forms to fill in for any sort of benefit for children. Of lines being drawn with word cards on the floor during reading groups at school, and joy at small children saying they look like buildings...Of lines being drawn round and round in different shades of crayon and marker pens on paper, and occasionally the kitchen table. Of lines being drawn as fonts. Of lines now redefining the blog image. Of lines being drawn by tyres on wet pavements. Of lines being drawn in homework books. Of lines being scored in pastry sheets. Of lines and sequences, patterns and categories.

Of lines being drawn to form numbers and letters to write patterns. Of lines being drawn with fine yarns, Habu Silk Stainless Steel and merino wool, using tiny writing implements to create small stitches, a book in itself, intertwined and smooth, soft and pliable, steadily growing into something not totally defined yet, but willing to be seen in some form, defined as it grows. Grown up. A line of embrace around my body. Remedial thoughts now working their way into this equation of substance, their own line of reference.

The exactness of it's line, a point of focus.

RESIDUAL HEAT

I love the dulled autumn light at the moment. The sun's heat still strong, residual heat left over from summer, lingers on windows and couches. The light filters softly through blinds, across seats  and tables stopping momentarily on it's path across the walls as well. The intensity of even a few weeks ago is fading. With the doors open, soft breezes pull through the house. It is cleansing light - of calm and quiet, of stillness and relaxed afternoons.

But it is the birds at the moment which bring most delight. One bird has been singing it's solitary birdsong each afternoon. Crisp and clear it carries across the neighbourhood. Elsewhere parrots have chirped, and it has to be one of the most relaxing moments sitting and listening to life around me. It is grounding - to focus back on the little aspects of a life which continues around us.Tonight a lonesome wood pigeon will call out - echoing the stillness of the night.

At other moments a jackhammer broke up concrete somewhere, and now the breeze is blowing in smoke smells from a fire nearby. Neighbourhood calm. Something's missing. The planes which descend into the airport are missing this afternoon. Just the rustle of trees and leaves as the breeze picks up and becomes wind.

Time now for children to relax and play, dinner to be made. Smoke smells replaced by cooking smells. Perhaps even a glass of wine and some cheese. Some dancing with my little girl. Some reading with my little boy. Some chatting at a neighbours house.

Later - the last remnants of chocolate after a long thorough walk and run through the streets. Lights dimmed. A quiet night. And sleep. Preperation for tomorrow.