Where the cool kids hang out: Part. 2

 I was fortunate enough to join the Bear Canyon hand quilters a few more times before they wrapped up their group for 2023.   In December,  John brought bread pudding bars, which were delicious (this man can do it all, I tell you!)

I met Theresa, who had just come back from Portugal, where she did a pilgrimage walk.

There was Barbara, who came to New Mexico in the early 2000s from Massachusetts, and lived a time in Florida before she returned to NM.  We talked about finding your people in quilting, be it a guild, group, or just a few close friends.  Some groups are clique-ish, some are too big and impersonal.  Find your people.

Janet brought one of her "Encouragement Quilts" - I learned about these when I interviewed her in July of 2022 (see blog post)  She continues to make small quilts and hand them out to those in need.  How do you know who to give to?  I asked her.  She puts her hand on her heart and says "God tells me.".  

John sharing his bread pudding bars

Unrolling a quilt

Janet

Evelyn's table runner

I look forward to seeing more of the 'cool kids' in 2024, and am grateful they let me 

hang out with them.

Where the cool kids hang out: Part. 1

I took myself to the Bear Canyon Senior Center on a Tuesday morning to visit the weekly group of hand quilters.  A few regular Hip Stitchers participate and it's been on my radar for quite a while to pay them a visit and see what it's all about.  It was well-worth it and I can't wait to go back (hence, the 'Part 1' in the title of this post)

First of all, I love to be in a room with folks wiser than me.  Don't get me wrong, I love the energy and knowledge that comes from being around younger folks too, but wisdom and life experience have their own attributes in this world, and when I'm with elders, I want to soak up every bit of the lessons from the lives they've lived.  They've been through the angsts of life that we all have to trudge through.  They've seen it and done it and witnessed it - the drama, the history, the losses and wars.  They GET it.  (see previous blog post on Janet, who is part of this group)

Now?  Just a weekly Tuesday morning of hand quilting.  A bit of community, a bit of meditative time spent in the quiet company of others.

There was John, the lone male in the group.

As I chatted with him, he went for his phone and started showing me pictures of his creative endeavors, of which there are many.  He served in the Air Force, and now has the time to explore:

*Nålebinding:  heard of it?  Neither have I. Incredible!

*Clothing for Para Dolls/Japanese Anime dolls.  

*Cosplay costuming

*SCA costuming

*Turnshoes (this will blow you away)

*Quilting

And I'm sure there was more, but I had to rest my brain after taking in the enormity of his talents, which seemed to just come naturally to him through curiosity.  He's quite the Renaissance man.

Then there's Evelyn:

While living in Washington DC she became involved with Quilters SOS - the largest oral history collection about quiltmakers in the world.  READ THAT LAST PART AGAIN.

Did you know about this organization?  Read all about it HERE

Evelyn interviewed quilters with Daughters (& Sons) of Dorcus in D.C. - the oldest group of African American quilters.  Read more about them, and Evelyn, HERE

(Evelyn told me she made her 1st quilt in 1968, by the way - the year I was born.)

In the above picture, she's hand binding Hanukkah table runners she's making for gifts for family this year.  We talked about the joy of making gifts that are appreciated by the recipient.  I've talked with numerous customers over the years about this.  What a difference it makes to give to someone who knows what went into the making of a gift.

Also in this group were Janet, Jane, Doris, Lois, Carol & Barbara. 

I'm grateful for the time they gave me, sharing and answering my many questions and taking pictures and video.

And I'll be back to visit more - I'm quite enamored by them all.

Gratitude

 It’s that time of year - sharing what we’re thankful for, blah blah blah.  (sorry, that's the cynic in me)

For me, I go inward even more than my usual introverted self does.  I try to dig deeper into my gratitude.  Yes, all the wonderful customers/friends…..those 2 flow into each other.  Yes, I’m thankful for the roof over my head, and food in my kitchen, and a quilt under which I sleep.  Every single day I’m thankful for those things.

But I need to go deeper, and draw out:

Gratitude for those who challenge me - those folks I come across and we have an encounter that’s difficult, and leaves us each feeling uncomfortable and each wanting to be right and vindicated. Those folks, those encounters, remind me to be humble, and feel humility, and apologize if I have done wrong, and also to kindly assert myself if I need to in order to grow.

Gratitude for my achy back, my stiff bones, the arthritis in my hand.  Grateful for THAT?  Well, yes.  That pain is telling me that I’ve lived many years, and now it’s time to slow down just a bit and pay attention to the pain and take the time to stretch and do some yoga and take my vitamins and be more mindful of my health.  This isn’t an admission of old age, or throwing in the towel.  But I am the age that I am and my body speaks to me in the pain, and I listen.

Gratitude for the heavy grief I’ve felt for months in the aftermath of my aunt’s passing.  The pain and sadness is hard.  Really hard.  But in that pain is a pure love for her, and my mom - the 2 women who raised me, who shaped and molded me, who passed down so many of my traits, and who are now gone from this world but are still with me in many ways.

Gratitude for depression.  Whoa, that’s a hard one.  Without the depression there wouldn’t be the joy that I hold onto each day.  I wouldn’t feel so deeply the good and the bad.  We simply can’t have one without the other.  And I wouldn’t listen, really listen, to others, whether that’s a customer complimenting Hip Stitch or one who says he/she will never shop here again.  I learn from both.

So, I wish you a season of contemplation, calm, deep breaths, moments of pure quiet, and much, much creativity!

Hefty Hems and Letters

 A day spent in my sewing room started with a simple project:  a shower curtain, made from Blaze Ori. 

I call the bottom a hefty hem.  I made it 2.5" in height.  A bigger piece needs a bigger hem.  A skirt, top, casual dress doesn't need as hefty a hem.  One inch will do.  Curtains?  Hefty!

And then I moved over to my desk, that was my mom's.  And write a few letters to friends.

I have 3 women in my life who exchange regular notes/letters with me.  This is a great joy in my life.  Especially as over the summer, I've acquired love letters from my grandfather Fred to my grandmother Julia, in 1928.  And have read, and read, and read them.

And although my correspondence with these 3 women, whom I each admire in different ways and they make be a better person, is not as frequent as a text or email could be, I love the slowness and deliberateness of our words to each other.  We don't have to blurt things that pop into our heads, like we can do with social media.  

So, I sit at this desk  and write, and think of my mom, and find great joy in this moment.  And think about creativity, and that it's not just in one art.  Sewing, writing, reflecting - all embrace the creative soul:

Photos of ones I love.  Pincushions.  Notecards

Journals, notebooks....can't have too many!

This desk where I sit

Letters and notecards written to me. 
Blank paper waiting to be filled.

From this life to the next

Written in May, 2023:

I've flown to Las Vegas 3 times in the last 2 months, all to sit by the bedside of my 92 year old Aunt Sue as she moves closer to death.  The 1st time was a last-minute flight after a fall and a broken hip, when death seemed imminent. When I said goodbye, I cried and she cried and we thought it was our last time together.

The next 2 times,  death was still imminent,  but I've grown to love this time with her.  I enter into a bubble, in the assisted living home.  It's a place where everyone who lives there has lived their lives:  worked in their careers, raised their children, gone through the hustle and bustle and worry and stress of life.  They're now just, well, waiting, for the next chapter.  If they're strong enough, they wheel, or slowly walk, and see their neighbors, or go outside to sit and listen to the birds, or sit for a meal in the dining room.  If they're not, it's a bed and sleep and some tv or some music or just lost in decades of memories of life.  If it's the worst, there are no memories.

I met 91 year old Norma, who is a Cherokee Indian, from Oklahoma.  She told me when she was young she went to the Pow Wow in Albuquerque, in full regalia.  Now, she doesn't see too well, and her daughter visits her when she's not traveling for work.

I met a man who worked in accounting in Boston.  Our visit was brief and I didn't get his name.

I met Ken, who lived across the hall from Aunt Sue, and would check on her as he went down to the dining room for dinner.

And my Aunt Sue, who was an elementary school librarian and a lifelong athlete.  Because of her, I love to read, and have a mean tennis backhand and swim like a fish.  Because of her, I love to travel and see new places.  Because of her, I am lost in a good book.

She had a hard time, the last decade, as her body started to give out.  She rarely rested in her life.  Walk, swim, golf, tennis.  Becoming elderly and full of pain and her body weakening made her afraid, and thus, angry.  It was a hard time for all of us 4 niece and nephews, who were her family.  Hard to love her sometimes.

And then, the fall.  The broken hip. The acceptance.  This is the last chapter.  She's ready to go.  There's no fight left.  And what remains is just peace.  And gratitude.  And lots of sleep.  And an occasional smile or chuckle.  (especially when I took my diary from when I was 9 years old and read it out loud to her)

I take knitting.  I've made 3 washcloths.  Given 2 to her, just because they're bright and a small square to hold, a pop of color.  A quilt may be brought next.  Something small in size and bright in color.

I am her namesake.  One of the stories she told me frequently over the phone in the last few years was that she was the 1st to hold me when I was born.  She helped my mom, her sister, raise us 4 kids.  (I joke that I'm her favorite, but secretly I want that to be true)

She is between 2 worlds now.  She sometimes knows I'm there and sometimes thinks I'm my mom.  She asks me where someone is, and I remind her they've passed away.

And that's alright.  I have the honor of spending time with her while she prepares for the next world, in peace, with memories, with love.  She is dearly loved.  It's important that she knows that.

Update/July 2023:  She passed away June 8, 2023.  My brother was by her side.  I asked him if I could FaceTime when he said it was near.  I cried and told her I loved her and my last words to her were "I'm your namesake.....I'm your namesake."  She passed from this world 20 minutes later.

I made a bag to hold the box that holds her remains.  We will gather in September in Alabama, where she retired and lived for 30 years.  In the deep South, she was known as "Miss Sue".  My siblings and I will spend a weekend together with her remains - celebrate her at a mass, visit the bay, eat at her favorite places and be together there one last time.

The bag is made from fabrics that reflect her time on earth:  playing tennis, golf, books, travel.  It started with the dimensions my brother sent me of the box containing her remains:

I choose some of Reut's hand echo printed fabric for the lining:

Update/September 2023:

And then we 4 all met in Alabama for one last time with Aunt Sue:

At the Fairhope Library

In a rocking chair in her last assisted living home in Fairhope. 

(There were 2 ladies rocking in the other chairs.  One said to me "I knew Miss Sue")

With Bucky, the renowned bartender at the Mobile Bay Grand Hotel, where she worked

At the Sunset Grill in Fairhope, where she was with us all at the center of the table and we bought her a beer and toasted her and shared memories.

And then we packed her in my brother's suitcase, where he took her to Pittsburgh and laid her to rest with her parents at the cemetery where they're buried.  I'll visit that place one day.  And I have the bag, stitched with fabric and thread and lots of love, and a memory of our final goodbye to our dear Aunt Sue.

And we 4 scrappy Kauffman kids will always be thankful for her presence in our lives:

Binah Waite Williams - The Fabric Journey

Why her?  Why her work/this artist?  I’ve known Binah for about 8 years - seeing her at a mutual friend’s gatherings.  I was both drawn in and intimidated by her.  Drawn in to her rich storytelling voice - it lulls and hooks me.  Beyond the voice, though, are the stories.  Many stories.  What I admire most about her is her curiosity about anything and everything.  She just dives in to learn more about something that intrigues her.

Intimidated?  A bit - her wisdom, her wealth of knowledge.  Her knowledge about Black history.  Intimidated as a white woman - will she look down on me? (no)  Will she think less of me?  (no)

I haven’t lived her life, nor she mine, but what I respect about her is that there are no pre judgments.  No pretentiousness. She is a gifted, inquisitive artist and her art flows from the world around her, both present and past.  Goddesses, rivers, slavery, West Africa, Black history in New Mexico.. - the stories of the history pour out of her through her art and her voice (literally, that voice.  It will draw you in).  I was compelled to bring those stories, that art, to Hip Stitch, so you, too, can know Binah, and hear her voice.

We began our journey from art to fabric at a Mother’s Day brunch hosted by our mutual friend Dagmar, in 2022.  A conversation, followed by a text or phone call every few weeks.  I visited her at the home she shares with her husband Gordon, in early November 2022 to see her artwork in person and narrow down what pieces we’d put onto fabric.  On that chilly day, she made me hot chocolate and told me stories, and I took copious notes and took a few photographs but knew then I wouldn’t be able to re-tell in any way what she had in her to share.  Stories of Black history, stories of her life growing up in New York..  Those are her stories to tell, so I won’t try to retell them here.  Though here are a few highlights of her words to me:

Cloth is sacred, the symbols, the making of it.  It conveys a message.

“We are in a time of great light”

“Are you connected to your world?”

The process is more important than the outcome.

People don’t think of the process in this culture.

Pieces of art, hers and Gordon’s individually and together.  Here is “Coyote Medicine” that they made together during the pandemic:

And Gordon?  He, an artist himself.  Next time you’re in our store, admire the shelves running along the length of the store that hold our color way - yep, he made them.  Here he is working on a pair of shoes they created together:

We parted ways that day, hoping maybe the fabric could be ready to go by the new year.    Not yet.  Maybe February?  Not yet.  Strike-offs, color adjustments, communication with the printing company, resizing images - on and on.  And here we are, ready to go.  And I think Binah would agree with me that the journey til now has been worth the wait.

The F bomb and other thoughts.

Written this past winter:

 Upon slicing my finger with a rotary cutter, JUST as I was embarking on some sewing time as my creativity was calling, a few expletives came out of my mouth:  Fuck.  FUCK. 

(The f-word, in my opinion, is one to be used somewhat sparingly, to make it stick.  Not, as many use it today, in every other sentence.  It’s a strong, forceful word.  Used when it’s used, it conveys its strength.  Anger. Hurt.  Rage.  Frustration.  Or, as customer Julie said “I swear like a well-educated sailor")

Anyhow, my creativity retreated and the next 30 minutes were spent rinsing, applying pressure, taking the pressure off and realizing more pressure was needed, then finally, wrapping and bandaging and settling in for some much needed sleep.

I sought urgent care the next day, as our sewing technician Jeremy recommended after changing my bandage and seeing it.  After an hour and a ½ and 3 tries at places, I gave up and said the word again:  Fuck it.  (And contemplated asking my niece, who’s a vet tech and has given many animals stitches, to do the job on me.)

So, with the help of my husband that night, liquid bandage was applied by him as I sat on the edge of the tub taking deep breaths so as not to faint as I held the cut together while he glued.

(Why am I sharing the following gruesome picture? Because LOOK at the afghan behind my hand and then LOOK at the same afghan about 40 years ago behind me Christmas morning as I excitedly open my new record player! My grandma crocheted it and it still is like new - that's how our quilts will be in 40 years, right?!)

All is well now - the cut is on the mend, antibiotic ointment and washing and bandaging continues.

While at work 2 days later, though, I’m grimacing with occasional pain from the cut, my limited use of that finger, my arthritis in the base of my thumb, and then a damn PAPER CUT while putting a customer’s fabric in her bag (damn bag).  Winter is taking its toll on me.

I realized this happens to me every year at this time.  My skin is dry and I slather on cream all day and it doesn’t seem to help, my hand aches, I’m pushing through many days until I can snuggle up under layers of blankets and one homemade quilt and sleep.  November and December, and most of January, are fine.  I love getting out my hand-knit sweaters and wearing them, sitting by the fire and reading under a warm blanket, drinking hot tea and hot cocoa.  But by February, the cold has seeped into me.  My joints, my skin, my emotional endurance.

I’m grateful for creativity.  It gets me through.  Whether I pick up knitting needles, hand embroidery, or my rotary cutter, I’m soothed by the work of creating.  And then, in one moment, probably feeling rushed to create, I’m out of commission for a few days.

Today, the bandage came off, the liquid adhesive is doing its job, and I pick up a sewing needle and work on birds - Sweet Little Birds.

So, folks, slow down in your sewing - be patient, use your rotary cutter slowly and deliberately. Wounds heal, but they can knock you off your creative streak for a bit.

And use the F-bomb sparingly, so when it's delivered, it packs a punch.

Survey says....!

 Just like Richard Dawson, (for us older folks), or Steve Harvey (for you younger folks), we've surveyed our customers and it's time to share the answers!

What skills do you hope to develop this year?  The top 5 answers were:

Paper Piecing

Time Management

Garment Sewing

Free-motion quilting

Applique

With runner ups being: color theory, curves, machine embroidery, binding & art quilting

We're happy to see this and know we either already have classes in place to meet your needs or are working on helping you develop some new skills!  (time management is something we ALL are in the same boat together)

What would compel you to recommend a store to a friend?

The overwhelming response was "customer service", with runner ups being variety of fabric, fast shipping,  good lighting, and help with your project from staff.

Why do you shop at Hip Stitch vs. other stores?

Our 'vibe' was a common answer.  You love the modern/unique fabric.  Great selection of grunge.  Friendly, approachable staff.  Now THAT we do have!

(and the absent student on the day of class pictures:  Ellen:)

Lastly, thanks so very much for taking time out of your busy lives to respond.  It's important to all of here that this is YOUR store.  All of our staff see their time here as a service to you - that's what makes your/our store special.

Healing after death - healing from creativity

Today is the 9 year mark since my friend Ellen died, much too young. 

She was a beautiful human being, both inside and out.I became friends with her through Hip Stitch - I taught her sewing and she taught me

to be a better person.She left 3 small children, who are now teenagers & preteens, and I think about them,

and Walt, her husband. 

A few months after she passed, Walt came by Hip Stitch and gave me many of Ellen's fabrics.  I held onto them dearly as a memory of my friend.  Lisa, a friend who worked at the store, made me this quilt some time later from those scraps:

I cherish it to this day.

Here's Ellen with Rosanne and Claudia at the 'old' Hip Stitch:

I met Helen this week, who came to Hip Stitch for the 1st time with her 1st quilt. 

As we talked, I teared up.  She worked on the quilt while she was caretaking her father, who was dying. 

She would come to his home and sew the blocks together, and it made him happy. 

She told me he passed away almost 20 years ago, but she couldn’t until recently take out the quilt top

to finish it without crying and grieving her father. 

And then one day she could work on it.  And she finished it. 

And she felt a bit the joy her father felt about the quilt.

I teared up because memories of the summer of 2016 came flooding back - when I was my mom’s caretaker as she was dying of ovarian cancer.  How I’d travel from home to her apartment to work, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.  I had my mom’s train case to carry all my toiletries, and the zipper finally wore out.  So that summer, as she slept more and more and I was there just to be in the room with her, I got out her sewing machine and sewed a new train case.  And every time I use it, I think of that summer.  And the grieving becomes less and less - it never goes away, mind you, but the joy and the good memories become stronger and the tears aren't as frequent.

Why do we create?  We create to heal, to make memories, to tell someone we love them, to share our talents and ourselves with others. We create to remember.

Reflections on 2022

 2022 ended for me with art on doors.  My daughter Claire, who creates like there's a fire that can't be extinguished in her soul, painted some of our interior doors.  They're just doors - inexpensive, old, inside doors.  I figured, if/when the house is sold someday, that's an easy swap out, right?

So 2023 begins and new doors open.  We at Hip Stitch made the decision to close for a 2nd day each week, for a number of reasons, but time to rest, plan, create were a few of them.

The last few years have been a roller coaster of running a business.  It's time to calm the waters, right the ship, and sail on with calmer weather.

Part of that goal for me as the co-owner of this business is finding my footing of what IS Hip Stitch.  

*A huge, carry everything fabric store?  Definitely not.

*A take a number, ignore you when you come in because we don't have time for you?  Nope.

*A club where you'll only get niceties if you know us and we know you?  Gad no.

*A place where you'll feel embarrassed to ask questions because you feel you'll be judged?  Definite NO.

It's been almost 15 years that I've been at the helm of this ship.  I've grown, I've learned, I've been put in my place and humbled and learned humility and laughed until I peed my pants and made lifelong friends and had help for my depression from the community that supports and lifts me up by shopping at Hip Stitch and asking me how I'm doing.  I'm a very lucky girl.

So, at the risk of making those dreaded 'resolutions' that we've all done at one time or another in our lives and then been disappointed in ourselves when we've failed at them:

In 2023, I plan to teach more.  

In 2023, I plan to listen more.  

In 2023, I plan to work just a bit more on my passion for social justice and how Hip Stitch can be a vehicle for that.  

In 2023, I plan to nurture friendships more.  

The word more doesn't have a timeline to it, or a concrete set of objectives.  I'm going to be more gentle with myself, and forgiving, and continue to begin each day by saying out loud, "It's a new day"....which if you ask my daughters, they occasionally get a text from me in the morning with that message.

(Won't you join me on this journey?)

Some of the highlights from 2022: 

(also known as a photo dump)

Having 2 local artists jump on board with my co-owner Steve and I and our dream to produce fabrics unique to Hip Stitch while showcasing artists & their work to our customers.  Victoria and Tammy took this plunge with us and it was quite fun - we hope to continue with them and having one more artist we're on the verge of having her fabric printed!  

(lesson learned:  everything takes 3 times longer than we expect)

A once-in-a-lifetime trip to Mexico on behalf of Hip Stitch w/Reut & Ginny:

A once in a lifetime trip to Gees Bend, Alabama:

A daughter who had her heart broken and went on a
solo backpacking trip to Europe. 

Steve & I accepting the NM Business in Ethics Award.
(I didn't pass out from public speaking - win-win!)

A new son-in-law!  They are simply beautiful, these 2.
(neckties made with Hip Stitch fabric....just sayin')

A new son-in-law who quilts!

A sweet flower girl whose dress I loved making, almost as much as I love these girls.

The 4 of us, on the day that we
became the 5 of us.

Crafting with children = happiness.

My friend Heather and I seeing
each other after too long, at the wedding.
Heather co-founded Hip Stitch with me. 
I am so very lucky to have her in my life.

So, let's fling open a new door and get going through it, shall we?