WET

September 26, 2019September 26, 2019 / janpriddyoregon / 2 Comments

Yesterday there were deer tracks at the base of our path to the beach. This morning a coyote had passed by. We went out a bit late, and I did not put up my hair or even put on a hat because it wasn’t cold or windy, just cooler and damp the way we like it. I unzipped my jacket on the way north because the rising breeze hit my back and I was warm. By the time I thought I should put up my hood, it was already wet inside. I figured that was okay. I hadn’t worn the jacket to keep warm but because it was wet.

As a rule, we do not mind the wet. If we minded we would live someplace else.

We walked for an hour, north and then back south. On our way north, Gary mostly followed the tracks of the coyote on the sand, and I mostly walked in the basalt rubble lining the shore. The tide came right up over the sand and several feet into the rocks last night. I found plastic bits and bobs and leftovers from fireworks, a piece of quartz, a crumb of sand-buffed green glass, and a shell. On the way home, we walked with Tammy. She was dressed for weather—hood, rubber boots—though she’d decided it wasn’t worth digging out her rainproof pants. Like my hair, her pants were drenched by then.

Recently, juvenile gulls have been following me. One trailed me up and down the sand and over the rocks for a quarter mile the other day. I told him that was not wise. Humans are not to be trusted, and I would not feed him even if I had anything in my pockets he could eat. Yesterday, one came quite close, stood no more than four feet away and waited for a long time for me to do something. What?

There are too many dead birds on the beach, it seems to me. We always see one or two when we walk a few miles. This time of year the new seabirds who have failed to learn their survival skills start showing up, juveniles who have starved or done something stupid. Fully grown juveniles hunker down and call weep-weep at their mothers, who are done feeding them. After the first big storm or a crazy tide, youngsters are swept off Castle Rock and wash up onshore. This morning we saw a dead bird every five to fifteen yards, and that is not typical for late September or really at any time. We haven’t had a storm and many of the dead are adults. Three banded birds in as many yards—a seagull and two cormorants. Gary says the banding may have been enough to stress them, and there is no typical, no normal anymore.

Climate change has killed billions of birds, and millions of species are already lost or threatened.

But this morning we came home dripping and I sat comfortably watching the pale sky dissolve into pale sea. The osprey was fishing, the tide rushed in, waves swept across the sand, which has not begun moving back out into offshore bars.

I have finished a third quilt earlier than I expected (the last four rows of stitching completed Tuesday evening instead of Friday). Late next week I will carry it to Linda, or whenever she’s finished the two I pieced in August.

Yesterday I cleared out my work space, sweeping my work table, sorting colors into warm and cool and black&white bins, and finding storage for miscellaneous sewing and knitting tools and notions. The floor seems oddly empty without fabric spread out in patterns. The scraps from stitching and trimming—trimmed threads and bits of fabric less than an inch wide—made a heap on my work table. I dug through the little pile once more and then tossed it into a waste basket. I hope Gary might pluck out bits and pieces to save for birds’ nest-building in the spring. If we composted, they could go in as “carbon” I think.

The season is changing, weather and focus. There was Open House at the high school last evening, but we were at a restaurant visiting with mostly-retired school employees. Are you enjoying retirement? Some confess to having a hard time, missing students and the work. Some are simply relieved to stop. A friend in the former group is in the hospital. After decades of deep involvement and commitment to teaching, the way we are let go can seem rather heartless. And the way those with social connections are privileged and allowed to continue on their own terms can seem unfair. Six months out, I am still uncertain where I stand.

My kitchen floor is cleaner than it’s been in almost thirty years.

Change is inevitable. Not all of it is good. Not all bad.

FINDING HOME

September 12, 2019September 23, 2019 / janpriddyoregon / 4 Comments

Pieced squares from a dark corner—they have not yet been joined and this is merely twelve of eighteen pieced, of the eventual forty-nine in the center panel. I kept finding more golds and oranges for the stripes, so there will be another quilt, “Blue Streak,” once this one is done, I think.

Though the sky is clear blue and I sweat as I sew (which involves pressing with a steamy-hot iron after each stitched seam), I know the weather is changing. We can feel the cooling and are grateful for it. Our contractor assures me the duplex roof will be on “asap.” Our tenant does did not have water dripping from the ceiling during the recent rainstorm. And yesterday I found glass. All good.

Kids are back in school, we have less than a week left of summer, and last night I had a teaching dream. Most of my dreams about teaching from while I was actually teaching, at least the ones I remember, were about teaching a subject I knew nothing about. The Boer War or Physics. I would be standing before a class of teenagers, who listened intently to every word and took neat notes in a way teenagers never do in real life. I was aware, in a kind of horror, that they would remember what I was telling them, that they would recall all the details I was concocting about a historical event I could not claim to know. I was making stuff up and they trusted it. Is that every teacher’s nightmare? It was always mine, that I would mislead my students.

Last night’s dream was quite different. The dreamt students attended an elite private school, both boys and girls. (I taught for from 1976-1979 at Forest Ridge, a girls’ prep school in Bellevue, Washington.) Some listened and some were inattentive and a couple were rude, and I was teaching them something I am familiar with: “Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird,” which I taught most every year. I used to be able to recite Stevens’s poem, and in my dream I certainly got through introducing it as haiku and reciting several stanzas as well as the parody I wrote, “Thirteen Ways of Looking at Computers.” It was not a nightmare, nor yet completely peaceful. There was some rushing about toward the end, some issue with wearing only a tunic and underpants and searching for my pants? (Why dreams about nakedness?)

From the bottom, a chipped but well-buffed piece of blue-green glass and a beautifully rounded piece of faintly green glass, a rough agate, an “ugly clam,” and several “butterflies,” which are really the back plates of chitons. Two of those are fan-shaped “tail” pieces.

I slept long this morning, till after six. We were late out onto the beach for our walk, the surf is a tame animal today, and I do not need ice in my morning iced coffee. The coffee has chilled since yesterday and the heat has relented. I plan to complete three more pieced squares of the purple-and-orange quilt this morning, finishing the third row of seven. This afternoon, I mean to piece the entire fourth row of this center panel. That row will more clearly reveal the shift in background hue and shade. I might put this one on a bed.

Mom’s house, my parents’ house, the house I lived in from first grade until college, is owned by two delightful people who have remodeled and gardened. Marti showed me where she had transplanted the rhododendron and vine maple (acer), the way they used what we had called “the hut” as a workshop, the expanded master bedroom (just as I would have done) and second bath, the preserved paneling in the family room. They have lived in the house since buying it from Mom.

It was Gary’s idea to drive by last Saturday. When we slowed down, there she was working on the garden and Gary pulled the car over. Hello, I said as I approached her, forgive me but I used to live here. She smiled and said, Are you Mrs. Priddy’s daughter? and it was lovely. She and her husband Jay have lived here far longer than my family did. They have made it home.

Our home remains the Oregon coast. We have lived here now for over forty years. Gary was saying he had never lived anyplace for more than five or six years before we moved here. Often he lived in a place for a couple of years before moving on. There were the houses around Seattle, the three houses in seven Arizona years, more back in Shoreline and Seattle, the last two with me. I have only lived in six houses, counting the month with my grandparents in Portland before moving to Seattle in time for me to begin kindergarten. Most of my life has been in Oregon, more than forty-five years now. It is home.

I can see the ocean from here, and I should be knitting. I have thought of other ways to tell my butterfly SF story: as history or from the perspective of another character. I should be writing them. But there should be no shoulds. If it matters I will write it. If not, I won’t but do something else instead.

But I really must begin knitting my grandson’s sweater. I knit half the back before ripping it out last week. It was going to be large enough for him to grow into . . . in about five years! He chose the colors and was excited when I showed him the gauge sample. I need to start knitting again. Do I try using a top-down pattern, or merely revise my own so that it will fit him? Once I find an answer, I can begin again.

STEP 5: doubt

August 14, 2019August 14, 2019 / janpriddyoregon / 1 Comment

Here are the first two lines of seven. Maybe a little bland so far? Not quite what I had in mind? Once the squares are pieced and sewn, the effort in the first two rows is inevitably tame, inevitably distant from my vision. I began sewing the paler squares, the ones I like least. sigh

I fret and then will rush on to complete the more dramatic rows. I work vertically instead of horizontally, light into the dark. Maybe then I can find the stronger yellow-to-blue tension.

The inner wide border was to be two yellow or orange stripes on each pale blue bordering square (that’s the uncut band just in front of my feet). Now I think maybe dark blue stripes on the pale. Maybe three? Maybe even four? Maybe a narrow orange frame?

The narrower outer border? Four inches wide or thereabout. What do do about that? Color? Stripes? Once I have pieced all these squares, I might be stuck and will soon return to Blue Ladders, the other blue quilt.

More excitement from rentals. A neighbor filed a complaint about the people who pissed on our path, for the cars parked everywhere. This morning there are cars parked all over for another house, which would prevent a UPS truck passing. Not to mention a firetruck or Medic. Apparently there are rules about rentals and parked cars. Our neighbor will likely complain about this rental as well. People always assume it is me, but I have no idea where he is lodging his complaints.

Fireworks (illegal and all summer long) and people pissing in public . . . police and emergency vehicles will come if a life is endangered and that is reassuring. If only they can get here past the parking situation.

Step 4: stalling

August 10, 2019 / janpriddyoregon / 3 Comments

This is a new bald eagle, born this year and still in juvenile plumage. She was chased off by a tourist’s dog, but came back to feed soon enough.

This has been a bustling week. I am sipping ice water and Vera is playing on Acorn (my subscription runs out in a week or two). We are just back from an evening walk on the shore. Cool air blows in from the skylight and it’s hard to imagine knitting a sweater. Last weekend our younger son and his family were here and my grandson apparently thinks I am magic. He asked several times when his new sweater will be done. I think he expected me to answer: this evening or perhaps tomorrow. I told him perhaps by his sister’s birthday. That gives me until Guy Fawkes Day. I have four sweaters lined up. And just now the room is heated to over seventy degrees.

I am stalling. Today I could have joined the blocks of the blue quilt at least into strips of dark dark blue and strips of lighter pieced strips. Instead, I have picked Blue Ladders up in stacks and laid out the beginning of the center panel of another blue quilt in squares. I won’t be casting on a sweater any time soon.

This has been a week. Monday was Scrabble. That was relaxing enough.

Tuesday, the neighbor’s dog Raven got lost. Gary went a little mad chasing around looking. He had seen the dog and recognized she was lost. The beach is overwhelming, sometimes even for local dogs and Raven is a rescue. But found again and safe at home.

Wednesday, we watched a paddle boarder thrashing about out past the surf line for an hour with increasing anxiety. He turned toward shore two or three times and paddled hard without making progress. He fell into the water over and over, a dozen times before I walked out onto the shore to get a closer look. Locals don’t usually surf this shore and maybe falling into the water every couple of minutes is normal? I called the Coast Guard thirty minutes after that, but then he seemed to change his mind and paddled south with the current. He’d been in the water a long time, but seemed to be wearing a wetsuit. Still, the danger was there, a current and an outgoing tide, night coming on soon. He came almost all the way in and then went out past the breakers again. I met others who were concerned. Cannon Beach Rescue showed up. He’d been out for over two hours by then and was a couple of miles south of where he’d first been spotted by a tourist staying well north of us. Eventually a member of the rescue team went into the water and swam to him towing her board. He finally paddled in on his knees and came ashore and I watched all that through binoculars. I called back to the Coast Guard, as I’d been asked to do. I apologized for wasting their time. The Chief Petty Officer thanked me for paying attention.

Thursday, we went to the Tillamook County Fair. I was a little disappointed in the quilts this year, but the rug tufters had lovely work, and as always I was tempted. (Just what I need, another project!)

The pony rides had all appaloosas. The veggies were delectable, the cows looked at me when I told them they were beautiful, but there are fewer cows brought into the fair barns than when we first attended decades ago now. This year there were no goats or sheep or pigeons, but a strong showing of pigs and chickens and rabbits. Lots of children were showing their calves and fully grown cows too. This girl (below) got several wet kissy-nudges from her pretty calf.

The flowers are among my favorite exhibits. The Tillamook ice cream cone was great, but the onion rings came in a half-size paper dish. Those are my gavotte fair foods. Gary bought a new belt and Gary drove to Astoria to renew his driver’s license.

Friday, the sun set spectacularly and today we decided not to drive into Portland.

I have not touched my sewing machine since making a skirt for Ruby last weekend. Maybe tomorrow I will work on a quilt. Maybe I will even sew. Maybe I will only make tortillas and enchiladas. Maybe I will sit on the sofa and read. It’s been a week.

STEP 3: moving stuff around

August 1, 2019August 2, 2019 / janpriddyoregon / 6 Comments

These batiks are entirely from my stash—some of the fabrics are decades old, off cuts from previous work, scraps smaller than a sheet of paper. So far, they are individual blocks that look messy because nothing is trimmed and sewn together. The wider dark bands will not be so wide once they are joined. The lines will be straighter. The colors are close.

This could go on for days or weeks.

About half of my blocks are done—the blue-and-yellows photo shows eighteen of twenty completed so far. I might piece thirty more blocks, but twenty would work for the front.

There are two more lines of narrow pieced blocks to make. And then the dark-on-dark wider strips. I might have all the blocked pieced by next week. Since the pieces are not attached to one another, I can move blocks around. The large wide one in the lower left quarter of the photo looks too light for the wide dark bands. I might cut it down narrower or find another place for it. Perhaps both. Deciding exactly what will go where is an ongoing consideration.

Usually, I end up with more blocks than places to put them in the project they were designed for. I have a strip of pieced squares from a cherry-blossom quilt. I used leftover squares from my grandson’s quilt to make a bank for his stuffed toy. Everything finds a place eventually.

The “Rain” quilt lay on the bedroom floor for weeks while I decided about the stripes, rearranging them, shifting colors. Below, on the left, the first iteration with strips of colors for the center panel laid in place. On the right, the final choices, stitched into blocks but the blocks not yet joined. There would be a double border too, also pieced.

And then there is piecing the backing. (I am already trying to find a way to avoid that task.)

Close-up of “Rain.” Left is center panel, middle is first border, right is second border. I had to purchase only a half yard of dotted gray fabric to complete this quilt, the rest from my stash.

STEP 2: cutting

July 30, 2019July 31, 2019 / janpriddyoregon / 3 Comments

I particularly love this batik fabric, but I used a favorite speckled fabric for the bars, and a bit of yellow. There are not many yellows in my stash, but I mean for this to be a blue and yellow quilt.

An email this morning showed me a knitting pattern I liked. I never knit from patterns, but I often use patterns to push myself in a new direction. This one has a fancy design on both the body and sleeves. What I found interesting was the raglan sleeve shaping and that it is knit top-down. That is something I never do. I bought the pattern and discovered it has short rows, something else I have never done before. Two new skills!

I am up for that because I recently learned to do a twisted rib and I am eager to incorporate that into a sweater. I have the yarn and it’s green. But I also have yarn for a Koigu and kid mohair-and-silk sweater in smokey violets. The gauge for the purples is close enough to the gauge of the new pattern, so I watched a YouTube video about German Short Rows linked in the pattern. Very easy, very smooth, and the woman said, when it got a little counterintuitive, “Trust in the lord and keep knitting.” I am not religious, but the sentiment delights me.

Trust the process.

The quilt is coming along. I generally prefer to piece square blocks, but this time I am working in random-length rectangles. It may not sound like much of a challenge, but the shapes are pushing me outside my comfort zone. At least two blocks a day should see me done by the end of August, front and back too perhaps.

Here are the first few blocks laid out in stripes. I have begun cutting and piecing, eight blocks so far. Laying out the pieced blocks on the floor tells me how far I have to go and how different combinations of hue and value work. These blocks are not sewn together and they will be moved around as I work. I mean to alternate wider and mostly solid dark stripes with narrower and mostly pieced stripes. Some fabrics are so charming in their pattern I will include them as whole blocks rather than piecing.

I should name the pattern I am piecing—in fact, it probably has a name, but I have never seen it before. It is an embellishment of Chinese Coin, a traditional quilting pattern of multi-colored horizontally-striped vertical bars alternating with solid vertical bars. But really it is a pieced version of a pattern I wove into the center of a weft-faced rug that was itself based on a Colonial American doubleweave coverlet pattern called Snowball and Pinetree. I enjoy reinterpreting traditional textile embellishment from other sources—weaver’s log cabin used in a quilt, knitting a quilting pattern of equilateral triangles, a common fabric piecing design. (I should have kept that sweater purely for the pattern. My family found it ridiculous, however, so off it went to a charity.)

The pieced blocks will have skinny vertical lines crossed on the horizontal such as the yellow on blue in the photo. There is also a wide blue-on-blue block between the two yellow ones in the photo. Some of the center bars in the pieced blocks have a spot of another color—the yellow tip of a speckled blue bar upper right (part of the block shown half-finished in the photo above) and a bit of yellow in the dark blue bar of the block just south of that one. I will use about fifty fabrics in this quilt, all from my stash. The backing too, I hope to piece from my stash. Even the thread I am using is leftovers. Black so far, and on my second bobbin.

STEP 1: vision

July 22, 2019July 23, 2019 / janpriddyoregon / 7 Comments

The first step is staring at colors. This might last for a few days or weeks or even years. I had the defining fabric for my “Rain” quilt waiting for at least twenty years before I figured it out.

The patterns of these collected blue fabrics are all over the place: sea shells, blueberries, stripes and sailing ships, speckles and dots and stars, flowers, leaves, swirls and zig-zags. The flying geese fabric might be thirty years old—batiks, as best I can recall, were still relatively new on the market. The fabric itself is somewhat heavier than what I find today. They are all batiks. The yellow birds on black are a color on black—a combination I rarely find these days—purchased for my youngest grandchild’s baby quilt several years ago. One bird for this quilt.

The process is slow, but much of my process is invisible. I have laid out fabrics for weeks at a time, once I figure out the pattern. I think about what to do until I can construct the quilt in my head, and then I build that vision relatively fast, usually in a few days. Years ago a non-artist friend complained that I had completed a gouache painting in a few hours—yes, but she did not count the staring and the thinking, or even the preliminary sketches. She didn’t see any of that.

I have to see the work entire before I begin the easy part, that making.

A compilation of squares and rectangles, each with an X in the middle? I’ve done that before. All squares with skinny bands? I’ve done that too. Alternate the bands horizontally and vertically? Grade from light to dark? Shift the size outside to inside or top to bottom? I never use patterns and I am not generally fond of blue, so this one is particularly tricky. I have reorganized these colors since I took this photo. There are a few turquoises and purples mixed in with the cobalts. There is also a stack of yellows and golds, by way of contrast. I would like to add hits of orange.

I’ve been messing with these colors for well over a year. Gathering them longer than that, without those fabrics admitting they want to be anything. The other day, while dozing half-awake before dawn, I envisioned a blue quilt based on the old “Chinese coin” pattern, narrow bands of stripes, skinny on fat and divide by bands of solid color. That idea makes me squirm, so it’s probably the one I should pursue. The temptation is always to choose the easier option, and I have to work hard to resist doing the fast and easy thing. I have considered making two blue quilts—the easy one in squares, the harder in stacks of coins.

I’ll let you know.

GETTING ON WITH IT

July 18, 2019July 19, 2019 / janpriddyoregon / 2 Comments

From Wallowa Lake Lodge looking north as the sunrise does what it does, taking over the sky.

We meant to wait until Monday, though originally we thought we would have most of the furniture back into the kitchen and dining room yesterday. I had to put a second coat of varnish on the new piece of baseboard, the parts of the room that waited for proper cabinets. That’s been a twenty-year, thirty-five-year project. The cabinets finally in, but the base boards only finished last week. Then, after varnishing the rooms’s floors and baseboards, I came back for a second coat and got a little ambitious. Monday I put another coat on most of the floors. A week to cure and we thought, well, Monday is not too late for company coming Tuesday . . .

That’s confusing, huh? Yes, for us too. The floors were all dry enough today to walk on with bare feet or socks. The furniture around the edges of the room—huge pantry bookcase, pie safe, fridge, could come in without waiting because the floor they sat on is fully cured. The dining table has to wait till Monday.

The real problem was the fridge, which was in the hall facing out of the kitchen, blocking the doorway. Putting it back in place meant crossing over second-coated floor. Gary was suddenly in favor of buying a new fridge. Maybe next year, I kept saying. I think he just wanted the fridge back in the kitchen and buying a new one meant someone else would move it.

We moved it all ourselves. I made salal muffins after an hour beach walk (not so exhausting as the two and a half hours a day before). Gary figured out how to move the fridge without damaging the floor, moved the coffee maker back downstairs, and then began cleaning. I restocked the pantry and made soup and roasted strawberries we are too exhausted to eat. Tomorrow.

Tomorrow morning I will put the first coat of varnish on the two-foot section of baseboard I could not get to because the fridge blocked access. And then we will drive north and I will play Scrabble with a friend. Two games, we cheat and do not keep score.

In the afternoon I will carry on. Maybe I will empty and clean kitchen drawers or begin cutting fabrics.

This morning I irritated someone I respect, and that has distressed me more than it should. I wish it were possible that after reaching a certain age and making a lifetime’s share of mistakes that we just didn’t need to care anymore. We fix it and then move on without self-flagellation.

A wonderful woman once told me that the great thing about turning 70 was “no one expects you to look young anymore.” I look forward to that.

We watched the end of Tales of the City and Olympia Dukakis plays ninety-year old Anna Madrigal. Dukakis is eighty-eight and looks great. We remember again that we are cleaning out our lives along with the house. There is a lot that is not going back where it was. Getting rid of things is never so easy as the magazines make it sound.

I have a new quilt forming in my head, sorted colors by value and hue on my cutting board, and the first “draft” spreading across the carpet. I stare and stare at colors till they form a pattern I can sew together in my head. That’s how I rest.

IN BETWEEN

June 2, 2018June 6, 2018 / janpriddyoregon / 3 Comments

When I am not teaching and when I want a break from writing, or I am feeling wounded and drained (it happens), I weave. Sometimes I quilt.

I have a friend who sells a lot of work urging me to join a group, open an Easy account, or in some way make some money from my work.

It’s not going to happen. I give weaving to friends and charities. I make baby blankets for expectant parents. I give them to friends. New Mexico children’s illustrator and YA author Betsy James, Russian sculptor Marina Globova, and Oregon novelist Molly Gloss have my shawls/scarves. (See below.) I don’t have a photo, but professor of animal scientist Temple Grandin has one draped on the back of her couch in Colorado. My shawls live on shoulders in Alberta and Washington and California. Each one gifted.

I put on warps and choose weft colors specifically to suit what I understand about their preferences.

I make a quilt and knit a blanket for each grandchild at birth. I make another when they turn two. When they go to college, I will make them each another. I try to use their favorite colors, though children change their minds. A sweater begun in July may no longer appear by the time it’s finished in October.

In the mean time, I weave.

Tomorrow, I will begin my first warp of the year. I am thinking red and browns this time. There was a saffron warp a few years ago and I still haven’t found a home for two very special pieces. There was the “Peacock” warp and one for Ruby and seasonal warps where the weft varied to take me through Spring, Summer, Autumn, and Winter. Each warp yield two or three or even four pieces. I like color, but sometimes the more subtle combinations appeal. Each piece is meant to be distinct.