Saturday 4 November 2023

Memphis! Beale Street and So Much More!


Memphis Skyline and the Mighty Lights
from the Observation Deck of the Pyramid

Some months back my friend, Jane, and I began exploring destinations for a trip.  It had to be somewhere neither of us had been, with a variety of opportunities to explore the local culture, which would include an arts and music component.  We landed on Memphis where the River Arts Festival is held each October, a perfect time to visit.  It wasn’t long before we landed a downtown condominium within easy walking distance of pretty much everything we wanted to see and do!

Trolley Lines
Getting there was a challenge but get there, we did, just in time to grab a bit of supper. Jane is a foodie who loves to cook and try new dishes. She was on a mission to find the perfect BBQ so it came as no surprise to find myself at Charlie Vergo’s Rendezvous Restaurant, where its signature ribs were considered a legend.  I’m told that many of the servers have been with the Rendezvous for decades, along with Mr. Charlie’s kids, grandkids and extended family. At the end of the meal, walking home with doggy bag in hand, we laid down a verdict. It was good, but was it great?  For us, on that particular evening, it was not. 

Our first full day we spent getting our bearings.  We laid in groceries, wine and other beverages, and started getting the lay of the land by riding the trolley.  Our condo was situated directly on the Madison Avenue Line, a couple of blocks from the Main Street Line and another couple from the Riverfront Line.  We hopped onto the Main Street Line only to discover that neither the Main Street or Riverfront Lines were operating at full capacity due to the upcoming Freedom Awards, the River Arts Festival and construction.  We aren’t sure where the Madison Avenue Line led but we were advised by the Trolley operator, a retired firefighter, not to take it and we did as we were told.

Main Street Trolley
Let’s backtrack for a moment and talk about first impressions of Memphis in the eyes of two Canadian women in their mid 60’s.  If Canadians are renowned for their manners, Memphians are doubly so.  Not only is eye contact made on the street; we were almost always greeted by “Hi, how you all doin’?” by each passerby. As with any major city’s downtown core, there is a fair number of homeless and those needing a bit of help, none of whom caused us any concern. One such gentlemen offered us a bit of advice regarding our personal safety, suggesting that we should not be wandering around the City after dark.  It came as no surprise when our trolley driver was not only attentive and courteous but offered up his own suggestions regarding ‘must see’ tourist attractions, how to remain safe while in Memphis, and a fee trolley ticket for another day. 

Arcade Restaurant, an Elvis Hangout
On every Memphian’s lips came Graceland, the one major attraction that Jane and I had agreed would not be on our itinerary.  The cost had recently increased significantly to about $70 US, along with an additional $50+ Uber ride.  Neither of us being die-hard Elvis fans, we chose to bypass it but everything else seemed to check the boxes.  In terms of personal safety, being back in our condo by 9pm was considered prudent, not only by our retired firefighter trolley operator but also by an off-duty police officer and a female trucker turned short-term Uber driver who unequivocally and emphatically told Jane that Memphis was indeed a dangerous city. In truth, Jane and I had a hard time staying up until 9pm, let alone staying out!  Our days began early and, with very few exceptions we walked to each destination, often putting on more than 7 miles (11 km) daily; on our last full day, I managed 11 miles (17 kms)!

Shelby County Courthouse
Mud Island from the North
               

Pork with Attitude

An item on our ‘to do’ list was to have a nice cocktail at the Peabody Hotel and witness the march of the Peabody Ducks.  Each day, precisely at 11am, mallard ducks make a grand entrance through the lobby to the Hotel’s fountain, where they spend their day entertaining the many guests.  At precisely 5 pm, the ducks are escorted back to the rooftop. They will live there for 90 days before they are changed out for a new set. There is nothing natural for a  wild ducks to be parading through and spending their day amongst a throng of noisy people but they didn’t appear stressed and actually seemed to enjoy the limelight, or perhaps it was the free food.  For many, it’s unique and the cocktails were lovely. We ended our first day with a walk down Beale Street and a late lunch at the Pig where there is a 50’s vibe and super friendly and efficient staff. Did the shredded pork meet Jane’s expectations for BBQ?  No, it did not.  The search continued!

Hernando de Soto Bridge from the Island Queen Paddle Wheeler

The Island Queen

We opted for a Memphis City coach tour and riverboat ride on Day 2, with the thought that the City Tour early in our stay would help us navigate the downtown. While ‘Get Your Guide’ offered such a tour, the website wasn’t particularly user friendly, the folks at the end of the telephone line even less so, and the coach tour itself was less than satisfactory.  While our guide was knowledgeable and friendly, her rapid-fire speech and heavy Southern dialect made it difficult for us to understand much of what she shared.  The riverboat segment was a completely different story as our guide was knowledgeable, articulate and neither Jane or I had issues understanding him.  We found ourselves sailing the mighty Mississippi at a time when it was at its lowest in recorded history.  Indeed, I later met a couple who arrived in Memphis via paddle boat from New Orleans. There were numerous points where the river was so low, guests were required to disembark and take a coach downstream!

River Arts Festival

The River Arts Festival was a big draw for us in choosing Memphis as our destination.  With over 150 juried American artists in multiple disciplines, one was sure to find something to suit their taste.  Indeed, Jane came home with a small original painting and a couple of pairs of earrings, while I now sport a new RiverFest T-shirt and a couple of business cards.  By mid-afternoon, we were both ready to head home where we could put our feet up, beverage in hand, and relax. That night we dined at a great little Mexican Restaurant, Margaritas which, in my humble opinion, was the best Chile Relleno I have had in some time and my favourite Memphian meal!  Everything about it, was good, not to mention it was incredibly cheap!  We would have gone back—we talked about going back—but Jane had not yet found the perfect BBQ.

Lorraine Motel, which forms part of the National  Civil Rights Museum

High on our 'to do' list was the National Civil Rights Museum.  As soon as I knew I was headed to Memphis, I began reading about the great Martin Luther King, which included an autobiography by Coretta Scott King. We both knew it was going to be a very full day, the end of which we might well suffer from information overload so we prepared by spending a leisurely morning at the condo before meandering our way to the museum for our 1pm reservation.  The museum grounds themselves carries a weight of solemnity that is hard to describe. It weighed heavy on our hearts.  Not only does one look upon the very spot where King was shot but also at the vantage point of confessed killer, James Earl Ray.  There continues to be speculation to this day as to whether Ray was the killer, as put forward by Ray’s defense attorney, William Pepper, who worked tirelessly in an effort to prove that his client was part of a US government FBI/American mob assassination conspiracy.

Room 306, where MLK was shot
What we do know is that the World lost some of its greatness on that fateful day.  King’s contributions to the American civil rights movement cannot be understated and his accomplishments continue to reverberate through Society even today. The 1.5 hour recommended time was not enough for Jane and me; in fact, we were there a solid 3 hours and could have spent another 3 if our minds and bodies could have accommodated it.  We each felt the emotional toll, an agony of mind and physical tiredness as we finally exited the museum.  For each of us, the Civil Rights Museum was, without doubt, the highlight of Memphis.  One cannot listen to or read King’s closing statement of his ‘I’ve Been to the Mountaintop’ speech, made in support of sanitation workers the day before his assassination, without feeling the sorrow underlying his words. The man knew his days were numbered and yet he carried on.

Sanitation Workers Strike Display
at the Civil Rights Museum

I am a Man Plaza and Clayborn Temple
“Well, I don’t know what will happen now; we’ve got some difficult days ahead.
But it really doesn’t matter with me now, because I’ve been to the mountaintop.  And I don’t mind.

Like anybody, I would like to live a long life—longevity has its place.

But I’m not concerned about that now. I just want to do God’s will.

And He’s allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I’ve looked over, and I’ve seen the Promised Land.

I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people, will get to the Promised Land.  

And so I’m happy tonight; I’m not worried about anything; I’m not fearing any man. Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord.”



 


I would be remiss if I didn't mention Emmett Till. The museum was hosting the 'Emmett Till & Mamie Till-Mobley: Let the World See' exhibit. Created in collaboration with the Emmett Till and Mamie Till-Mobley Institute, the Emmett Till Interpretive Center, the Till family, and the Children's Museum of Indianapolis it tells the story of  a 14-year-old boy who, in 1955, was brutally murdered. Some give this incident credit for awakening the minds of an entire generation.  The exhibit challenged visitors to make a ripple for justice in their own communities.


Our plan for the rest of the day was to see if we couldn’t fill Jane’s craving for great BBQ and spend some time listening to a bit of blues on Beale Street. 
Just around the corner from the Civil Rights Museum one can find Central BBQ.  To my unrefined palette, the BBQ chicken was fine but Jane still didn’t feel like she had found her soulmate in BBQ rib form.  The search continued.

Beal Street

We soon found ourselves at B.B. King’s Blues Club, where we listened to a great band and tried on a variety of tasty cocktails before making our way home.  Before leaving home, my partner suggested that best time to experience Beale Street is after 11pm, we didn’t even try.  It just didn’t seem like a smart option.  My partner visited Beale Street in the company of 3 men, all of whom, with the exception of himself, are relatively imposing in size and stature.  Jane and I were not oblivious to the significant police presence not only on the strip but who presumably are privately contracted by many of the clubs. We aren't talking about your average bar bouncer; we are talking big, gun toting men, with handcuffs hanging out of their back pockets, making themselves very visible. Children are not allowed on the street after 11pm after which all entrances are blocked by Memphis Police and passers through are searched for weapons.  No, it didn’t strike us as a place for two senior women to be hanging out only to walk the several blocks back to the condo in the dark, along deserted streets. Call it intuition, call it street smarts, call it anything you like; this was simply not in our cards.

The next stop on our Memphis Tour was the Rock ‘n’ Soul Museum.  There are a number of options when it comes to music museums in this City, including Sun and Stax Studios, Memphis Music Hall of Fame, Blues Hall of Fame, W. C. Handy House Museum and, of course, Graceland.  What helped us narrow the choice is the role the Smithsonian plays as an affiliate to the Memphis Rock ‘n’ Soul Museum. We were not disappointed.  Created by the Smithsonian in the year 2000, this newcomer to Memphis tells the story of musical pioneers who overcame racial and socio-economic barriers influencing music on a global scale. It didn’t take long for the institution to find a foothold; in August 2004, the Memphis rock ‘n’ Soul Museum was established as one of the city’s most prominent museums. The self-guided audio tour allowed us to immerse ourselves in the history of rock and soul accompanied by a significant playlist of tunes that one can select throughout.

One of the many Murals gracing the City


It wasn’t long before we found ourselves on our last full day in Memphis.  We anticipated that there may be attractions that required a ‘divide and conquer’ approach.  Jane had an itch to scratch and, while she tried to put it out of mind when she discovered that there was nothing nearby, she couldn’t quite leave it to rest.  Shopping; shopping called her and, after some searching, she discovered a mall, some distance away that she simply had to explore.  While I’m by no means adverse to sticking my head into a few stores and meandering around, investing a full day into shopping?  Shoot me now!

So Jane hopped into an Uber and I headed for the Burkle Estate, also known as the Slave Haven Underground Railroad Museum.  This wee diamond in the rough was not on our radar before arriving in Memphis.  One statement that was heard repeatedly throughout our visit was: ‘Cotton was King in Memphis'. In the mid-1800s, the need for free labor was in high demand.’  While the history of slavery in these turbulent times is, to say the least, disturbing, it is good to know that there has always been those individuals who risked life and limb to bring this barbaric practice to an end. German immigrant Jacob Burkle and his family played such a role. It is believed that the Burkle home was purpose built for the intention of aiding and hiding runaway slaves.  A small cellar, the first part of the home to be constructed, can be accessed through small ports deliberately created in its walls, leading to the crawl space. A large magnolia tree, a symbol of sanctuary, still stands sway over the home.  The The risks taken by the Burkle family is outmatched only by the cleverness of the runaway slaves, who became adept at disguising messages often by hiding them in plain sight including within the metaphors found in the lyrics of spiritual hymns such as 'Swing Low, Sweet Chariot' and the airing of patterned quilts on porch rails used as road maps toward Freedom.

Later in the day, we headed  to the Memphis Pyramid, home of Bass Pro Shop, the Lookout Restaurant and the country’s tallest free-standing elevator, no less than 28 stories in height.  The Lookout is the gateway to the glass observation deck, providing two vantage points to downtown Memphis and the Mississippi River.  Jane wanted to see the view during the day while I was looking forward to the evening when we could enjoy the Mighty Lights Bridge show.  We successfully managed both by arriving in time to enjoy the daytime skyline, after which we imbibed in a couple of cocktails while waiting for the sun to set. It was indeed impressive to look down upon, not only downtown Memphis and Mud Island, but also the states of Arkansas and Mississippi.
Beale Street Neon


We ended our Memphis visit with one more trip to B.B. King’s Blue’s Club where we were again serenaded by an excellent blue band.  There Jane caught sight of another patron’s meal, a massive plate of BB’s Famous Lip Smacking Ribs and it wasn’t long before a similar plate was set before her.  I chose a dish that also appeared on every menu, the Sausage & Cheese Platter. I’m happy to report that Jane fully endorsed the lip smacking quality of ribs, baked beans and slaw . My fare was simple but tasty, plus I had enough left over to turn it into my afternoon meal on the long flight home. Sadly, I discovered at the airport that I had left it in the refrigerator at the condo.  I sure hope the housecleaner took advantage of my neatly prepared and packed lunch! 


BB's Lip Smacking Ribs

And, while the ribs satisfied Jane's yearning for really good BBQ, her favourite Memphis meal was from a food truck at a Grizzlies NBA team rally. Not a place where one would expect great food and not a place where one might expect to find either Jane or me but there it is!  Kind of fitting when one thinks of the Canadian connection; the Grizzlies were from Vancouver, BC before relocating to Memphis!

We were at the airport bright and early the following morning. We said our goodbyes and headed to our respective homes, me to snowy Alberta and Jane to still fall British Columbia.  We fully satiated in our immersion of Memphis history and culture, even if we didn’t see Graceland or experience the witching hour on Beale Street.  If there are regrets, perhaps we could have used another couple of hours (on a different day) at the National Museum of Civil Rights.  Yes, Friends, it’s that impressive!  While there are small things that might have elevated our condo to the next level we would recommend and stay there in a future trip to Memphis.  That said, neither of us feel the need to return at this point in time.  While we didn’t exhaust all tourism opportunities, we are in agreement that we ticked off all of the boxes that initially attracted us and then some.  Will there be another Jane and Brenda adventure?  Perhaps.  Time will tell. For now, we have memories of Memphis.

SOURCES:
https://riverartsmemphis.org/
https://www.airbnb.ca/wishlists/1242062583
https://www.peabodymemphis.com/peabody-ducks
https://hogsfly.com/history/
https://www.getyourguide.com
https://lasmargaritasrestaurants.com/
https://www.civilrightsmuseum.org/
https://emmetttillexhibit.org/
https://hopereins.org/news/read-the-last-paragraph-of-mlks-speech-before-his-death/#:~:text=The%20speech%2C%20%E2%80%9CI've,and%20read%20the%20closing%20paragraph
https://www.memphisrocknsoul.org/
https://slavehavenmuseum.org/
howdy@tylervoorheesart.com
www.artifactsbynomad.com



Saturday 5 August 2023

Mother of Grouse and other Stories

 

Dirge Song: Litho Print - Mairi Budreau


Artist's Statement:
In 1994 I travelled to  Giskan territory in Northern BC to meet and draw a portrait of Chief Walter Harris for an art show, Circle of Inspiration at the Gallery of Tribal Art in Vancouver.

While in the village of Kispiox, I visited the totems that stood in front of houses no longer there.  Children were running around the totems unaware of the atrocities the church had invoked upon their ancestors. The iron was not lost on me.

The weeping pole and its juxtaposition to the church seen in the drawing is not fabricated, that is how it was when I was there.

At that time in my life, I was new to BC and learning about Colonialism, it purpose and effect upon Native people, and I felt raw and deeply ashamed.  I was searching for ways to communicate through art that these acts were so very wrong.  I felt compelled to find a way to let 'The People' know someone got it, someone empathized.

In Dirge Song, the 'frozen' tears on the totem were the ongoing flow of tears of The People caused by the 'innocent' little white church.  The sky is in turmoil because the spirit of The People is in turmoil and on the lower left-hand side a little bit of light appears on the horizon - a hope for the future that apology, responsibility and respect would one day come to a culture that lived harmoniously with the earth.

A dirge is a song of mourning.

I returned to  Vancouver, printed my photos and knew I wanted to make this drawing.  I found out who owned the weeping totem and returned to Kispiox to meet and ask for that permission in person from elder, Mary Johnson.

We met in that church  and she told me the meaning of the figures on the totem and the woman clutching the grouse.  The tears on the pole fall in thanks for food (the grouse) and a flood that caused starvation and killed their people.

The drawing was made with permission of the Mary Johnson and Stanley Wilson Family.

The original drawing was purchased long ago.  200 lithographed prints were made plus art cards.

Photo Credit:  B. Hoskin

B. Hoskin Notes:

I initially visited the Gitxan area in 1996, during which time I spent copious hours travelling to the various villages to witness the spectacle of totems, for they truly are special.  It was a dark and rainy July day when I visited K'san Village.  As luck would have it, there were few tourists about, which afforded me the full attention of a very knowledgeable staff member.  When I described a scene of two men carving a totem within the shelter of a longhouse in the Village of Gitanyow, my village guide explained who the carvers were and what they were carving. Apparently many years earlier, some of the totems were removed and placed in museums. The men were working on a replica of one such totem.

In 1994, the Museum gift shop had much more of a gallery feel, host to some incredible indigenous art, most of which fell well out of what my wallet could afford.  Then I came upon Dirge Song.  I had only recently learned about the residential school system, including the long closed 'Indian Industrial School' within my own community. While Budreau is not indigenous, she captured my own horror and shame precisely.  The print came home with me and remains on my wall to this day.

27 years later, in 2023, I returned to the community, spending 3 wonderful days, scouring the villages and paying homage to the totems.  It was important to me to find this particular totem and photograph it.  I hadn't done my homework though; I didn't bring the location of the totem which Budreau so graciously provides with Dirge Song.  That little mis-step gave me an unexpected opportunity.  Once again we visited K'san Village.  Speaking to the supervisor, we discovered that the totem was created by none other than her father, Victor Mowatt, along with uncle, Earl Muldoe and Walter Harris.  Carved in the 1970's, Mother of  Grouse commemorates the crests of the fireweed Clan, replicating one that disappeared from Kispiox long ago.  Harris was Hereditary Chief and Mowatt and Muldoe were Hereditary Chiefs and Master Carvers.

The Skeena River, second longest river in the province, remains an icon of British Columbia's northwest. Known as Xsien (water of the clouds) by the Tsimshian and Gitxan, it plays a vital role in the lives of the Indigenous people of this region. Immediately alongside the ancient village of Gitanmaax, what is now known as Old Hazelton was established in 1866. It's an interesting dichotomy to say the least, worthy of more than simply passing through.

Resources:
https://totems.royalbcmuseum.bc.ca/en/story/Gitanyow
https://www.mairibudreau.com/store/p26/Dirge_Song_print.html
https://www.thecanadianencyclopedia.ca/en/article/walter-harris 
https://en-academic.com/dic.nsf/enwiki/2280747
https://skeenawatershed.com/resource_files/SkeenaStories.pdf
https://douglasreynoldsgallery.com/collections/earl-muldoe


Tuesday 31 May 2022

With These Hands: A Journey of an Heirloom Quilt

Hand cut and sewn quilt cover



Cook Family, abt. 1900
Standing, L to R: Malinda (my grandmother), Emilia, Annis, Almon
Sitting, L to R: Caroline (Catherine), Saloma, Elizabeth, John


I never knew my maternal grandmother; she died before my parents married. My mother often talked of her.  As a little girl, I recall my mother mentioning in passing that the day was her mother's birthday.  Having no concept of the loss she felt, I asked if she missed her mother, to which she replied, 'yes, of course.'  When I asked what she was like, Mom replied that my grandmother was kind and very quiet.  I had no real concept of the woman my grandmother was.

Born in Dashwood, Ontario on 20 October 1881, Malinda was no stranger to hardship and loss, losing an infant brother, her mother and a sister before she reached the age of 20.  While mother, Catherine, had a reputation of being kind and loving, father John had just the opposite; my mother's journals express relief at never having known him, retelling numerous acts of cruelty meted out during uncontrolled bouts of rage.  About 1885, the family migrated to North Dakota, USA where the family went from farm to farm as a threshing crew, for which Malinda was the cook. 

Malinda & Charlie, with daughters
Vera, Mildred
and Gladys (my mother).
It was in this way that Malinda met my grandfather, Charlie. They married in April 1904 and together they had 6 boys and 4 girls.  Sadly, in November, 1916, while my grandfather was away working, baby Ronald succumbed to the red measles and pneumonia at 9 months of age; fortunately, the rest of the children not only survived but thrived under her care.   
Even though there were times of great adversity, my grandparents made a happy life for their family.  

 Malinda was hard working and a talented seamstress, making all of the family's clothes and often outfits for children in the neighbourhood that were in need.  Like most women of that era, nothing went to waste.  When material was hard to come by, she sewed all manner of outfits from bleached flour sacks, until the late 1920's when mills began printing patterns as a marketing ploy.  She also made many quilts, using all the scrap material.

Huget Home in West Park, Red Deer, AB
Malinda and Charlie were well loved and respected throughout the community.  They worked hard but they also made time to play. They even made chores fun. Berry picking was turned into a competition and as good a reason as any for a picnic. Although there was never liquor in the house, the large family living room was always filled with friends and family. The Huget home was well loved by the children of West Park, where they came to play games, often staying overnight, sleeping 3 to a bed.


 My mother and grandmother, Gladys & Malinda,
abt. 1937


"Mom had a beautiful voice; she sang alto.  Many is the times the family stood around the piano and sang.  Dad sang tenor and was in a quartet and also a trio and they both sang in the Nazarene Church.  They did their practicing at our house as we were the only ones with a piano" (excerpt from Mom's journal).

Malinda, Gladys & Charlie Huget abt. 1942

My mother writes that her mother suffered a great many health problems and credits Malinda's strong faith in God for pulling her through many bouts of illness. The doctors gave up on her many times and she suffered numerous difficult births.  When my mother was born, in 1922, the neighbours took her in for an entire month because Malinda simply wasn't strong enough to care for her. 

My grandmother spent her last 2 1/2 years confined to bed, with my grandfather and mother as her caregivers.  While many young women may have resented that responsibility, my mother describes this time as being very precious.  

"We talked about things that she had never had time to do with the rest of the family and was more open than ever before.  Such a special time, most of it was after I came home from work [at the Peacock Inn] at one in the morning, 'till three in the morning.  She was in a lot of pain most of the time.  I would sit and knit and talk to keep her mind from her pain.  She left us so young, at 67. . . She had a very bad heart and had her leg amputated from a blood clot, was crippled with arthritis; her knuckles went inside of her hands so she couldn't bend them but she still always wanted to lie in bed and sew straps on things or buttons, etc. . . . When we were young, she made many quilts out of everything, even from overcoats. Also did a lot of crocheting and fancy work."

Malinda & Charlie abt. 1946

It was during these last years of her life that my grandmother made a quilt cover.  Done in the traditional wedding ring pattern, every stitch made by hand, it has occurred to me that she may well have meant it as a wedding gift for my parents.  We will never know for sure but the timing is right. Mom and Dad met at a New Year's Eve Dance on December 31, 1947.  They got engaged the following January and were married on July 20, 1949.  The closer it got to her wedding day, the more anxious my mother became; she had no idea how her father would manage to care, not only for his wife but for his 12-year-old daughter, also under Mom's care.  According to my mother, Malinda would pray to die, so that my mother would be released from her strong feelings of commitment and make her own life.  And so she did, on May 1, 1949, six short weeks before my parents married, Malinda slipped away.

Mom & Dad, with a lucky horseshoe
found on the sidewalk

My grandmother never finished the quilt but it remained a treasure for my mother, stored safely in her cedar chest, with aspirations of one day finishing it.  She eventually gifted it to me in the 1980s, in hopes that perhaps I would do something with it.  For a few years, it hung as it was, unfinished, over my own bed but it was eventually relegated to the dim recesses of a drawer.  Over the last several years, I have made feeble attempts at finding someone who might finish it.  There was a thought that in order to do it justice, the quilt should be hand stitched.  That raised concerns that the material, thread or both had decayed and the cover may be too fragile to work with.  While I never fully gave up hope, I wasn't terribly optimistic either.  The thought occurred to me more than once that my grandmother's handiwork was only steps away from the trash can because, after all, who wants an aging, unfinished quilt?

But, sometimes, things have a way of working themselves out. I saw a Facebook post from my old friend, Wanda, with whom I hadn't been in touch with for years.  Always a crafter and now part of a local quilting guild, she was showing off some of her latest achievements. My grandmother's quilt cover came to mind and I figured I had nothing to lose.  I sent off a photograph and inquired of my friend whether she could take on such a project. I told her the quilt's history, my attempts at having it completed, explaining that she was my last stop.  Almost immediately, I began receiving frantic messages beseeching me not to  throw it away.  Wanda was sure she could find a way to get the quilt finished and, if she couldn't, she would be honored to take ownership of the cover and love and cherish it.  A few short days later, she arrived at my doorstep to take the quilt into her care and see if she couldn't get it completed in one fashion or another.



Not everyone and, in fact, not a single person Wanda knew, had any desire to complete the quilt by hand.  Even machine stitching seemed overwhelming. Covers stitched by hand pose a significant challenge due to the inevitability that the cover did not lay flat. The fact that the pattern was entirely circular, pretty much guaranteed special skills would be needed to produce a respectable finished product.  When Wanda first threw out the idea of finishing the quilt to the women of her guild, custom long arm stitcher, Theresa, dismissed the notion outright. But the quilt was getting a life of it's own and the project stayed with her.  A certain video kept presenting itself to her; by the time she had watched it on three separate occasions, Theresa not only understood that she had applied and mastered all of the necessary skills over various projects, she also accepted that this task was truly intended for her.  

I thought I would simply hand over the quilt cover and voila! It would come back beautifully completed. Wanda had other ideas.  It wasn't long before she had me in a store spending a copious amount of time choosing just the right backing.  And who knew there are not only multiple types and weights of batting (what goes inside the quilt) but the option of mixing them as well?  Wanda and Theresa had their work cut out in bringing me up to speed.  Theresa would handle the quilting while Wanda addressed the binding. Wanda had emphasized the need to retain as much of the history of the quilt as we could. When Theresa showed me how she labelled her quilts, I knew that particular aspect was all mine.

Quilting complete

I wasn't far into my work on the label when I realized that it wasn't going to be small.  I sent it off to my nephew, a graphic designer, for his thoughts.  He suggested some ways to make it more visually pleasing without impacting the content.  Theresa found the first draft 'heart moving', which brought an unexpected emotional level to her work.  You see, she gained her love of quilting from her own mother who, in later years and due to arthritis, could no longer quilt. Theresa would take her projects to her mother and together, they would lay out the blocks. Her mother would share her wisdom and expertise on placement changes and, in that way, remained engaged in the artistic process. Theresa said she often imagined my grandmother's hands piecing the blocks together. I too have had many visions of gnarled fingers working the needle in and out of the material while my mother sat beside the bed, working on her own project.  When I received Wanda's teary-eyed response to my label, I knew I managed to capture my own sentiments as well.


It's funny how we often find our lives come full circle.  More than once, including just a few days ago, on Mother's Day, I was reminded of how very fortunate I am to have known my parents, adult to adult.  I remember so well the conversations I had with my dad when he was diagnosed with Stage IV melanoma and words cannot express how dear to me are the memories made during those last few years of my mother's life, after my dad passed away.  Not everyone gets that opportunity; not everyone recognizes and accepts the gift they are being offered.  As hard as some of those conversations were, every single one was a gift.  Just as my grandmother shared intimate thoughts with her daughter, so did my mother share with me.  In my mother's journal, she related those conversations as her mother finally having the time. I thought she meant her mother was too busy caring for the family to have those discussions. Today, I know it's less about being busy and more about the realization that, for each one of us, our days are numbered; if there is a message to share, the time is now. 

And so my grandmother's quilt cover has finally found it's way back into the light.  The final step was producing the label and stitching it on.  That was a job I delegated to myself, and Wanda was determined to supervise me just to make sure I didn't screw it up! While some might consider it a valued heirloom to be passed on to the next generation, I simply see it as a project that needed finishing.  On some level, I knew it would take me on a journey of research and remembrance, and it certainly did.  I revisited my maternal ancestry, not only through the pages of my mother's journal but in my own personal recollections.  Viewing those childhood memories through the lens of an adult who has now experienced similar loss, provides a new perspective, a deeper understanding. 


It has been suggested that, in order to best preserve the integrity of the quilt, it must be hand laundered and kept out of the light.  A dear cousin, a hand quilter herself, gave me a tidbit of advice. She made quilts for each of her four beds and loved nothing more than to walk by and admire them.  She suggested, if I didn't use it on my own bed, I should put it on a guest bed. . . and that's exactly where it went. She is absolutely right: I love looking at it.  I love admiring it. I love its reminder of every single step in it's journey from time-worn hands working time-worn materials to the contributions of old and new friends alike.  

After all, it's a labour of love and, without our memories, we have nothing.


Resources:
https://youtu.be/a-MdFDuTIws
https://www.facebook.com/threadedfinish




Monday 3 January 2022

Letting Go: A Work In Progress to 'What Is'

 


It's that time where I contemplate some word or phrase to help guide me through the coming year.  I admit, in 2021, I fell vastly short in this task. I fell so short, in fact, that I forgot what my word was!  When I checked my blog, I found my unpublished post and while I did manage to find 'beauty' over the past year, I don't recall consciously relating it to my wellbeing even once. Fail! And so, I'm aiming a little higher this year.  The World is still in the crux of Covid which seems to be less about the disease and far to much about attitude. I believe in vaccination; I also believe in the right to choose what we do with our bodies. Covid is only one issue that I want a release from, emphasis on 'attitude'; I want a release from all the negativity.

I also have felt a need to divest myself of unhealthy relationships.  For the most part, staying connected with people has served me very well.  It's those connections that have kept me grounded when Life has thrown me curve balls.  It's those connections that not only sustained, but fulfilled me, for the last 12 years of my professional career. Almost all of these historical ties have served me well. Almost. Not all. But it's not just about relationships with people; it's about places, things, habits. When there is no longer benefit, the relationship no longer serves a purpose.  If it no longer serves a purpose, it's time to let it go.



There are a number of different words or phrases that serve the purpose of 'letting go'.  The concept is deeply rooted in the four noble truths of Buddhism.  While raised with Christian values, I consistently find myself turning to Buddhism as an ideology that most reflects my own principles and values.  



By using familiar examples, Zen Master Thich Nhat Hanh provides us with a simplified understanding of the four noble truths:
  1. Suffering is universal because of the impermanent nature of things;
  2. We create our own suffering through our wants and desires, attachments and expectations; 
  3. If we let go of our attachments and expectations, we will cease to suffer;
  4. The way to end suffering is through balance and by living in the present. 
Letting go doesn't mean we stop caring; rather, we stop clinging to our emotional response.  I admit, it's a very tall order for me.  While I live in the present, to some extent, I also have a love affair with history.  I love learning about my ancestors because I believe their knowledge and experiences form much of who I am.  I live in my ancestral home, filled with not only my earliest memories but those of my siblings, my father, aunts, uncles, grandparents. That's a whole lot of history.  

I have a deep seated need for control; where do I even start to let go of that? Truth be told, I spend an incredible amount of time and energy trying to control, well, pretty much everything.  Earlier this year, I had a health scare.  Upon hearing the preliminary diagnosis, my immediate reaction was fear; a whole lot of fear.  To calm that fear, I armed myself with knowledge so that I could be prepared for anything.  Had I simply been able to trust the process, to trust in the science, I would have saved myself a whole lot of anxiety and suffering.  While I was able to acknowledge my lack of control on an intellectual level, I simply wasn't able to manage it emotionally.  Someone recently directed me toward Byron Katie, who expressed this tidbit of wisdom:  “I am a lover of what is, not because I’m a spiritual person, but because it hurts when I argue with reality.” That is what I want to become, a lover of 'what is'.


And here begins yet another journey. Let the first steps be by embracing 2022 with heartfelt hope.  To accept those things I can't change, or choose to leave them in the past.  To release my fears for the future and live with both feet firmly planted in the present. Baby steps toward truly embracing the concept that, in the end, it will be okay. I will be okay.



Resources:

  • https://www.huffpost.com/entry/the-art-of-mindfully-lett_b_5929270
  • https://www.ravasqueira.com/wp-content/archive/argumentative-essay/hinduism-4-noble-truths.php
  • https://ideapod.com/25-profound-zen-buddhism-quotes-on-letting-go-and-experiencing-true-freedom-and-happiness/#:~:text=But%20according%20to%20Buddhism%2C%20we,to%20it%20for%20your%20survival.
  • https://www.intentionalcommunication.com/letting-go-of-the-illusion-of-control/