Heavyweight Featherweight

Isn't she beautiful?
This is my foster-sewing machine, lent to me by a dear friend who understands my Bernina-separation-anxiety (and is probably tired of hearing me endlessly whine.....)

Anyway, she is comfortably nestled in my sewing room and I have already used to her make a few blocks for a shop sample quilt we are doing for the New England Quilt Museum gift shop.  She sews like a dream - those of you lucky enough to have a featherweight can attest to the beautiful, straight stitch.  It even smells good. It  smells like my mother's old Singer did way back when.  I was mid-project when the Bernina gave out and now that I can continue I have no idea how or where my head was when I started the project.  I was going to make a snazzy carrying case for my iPad and I had it all mapped out in my head how the different layers and separators would go together.  Now - nadda.  I vaguely remember... but not well enough to jump back in and finish.  (I have learned the hard way that you do NOT sew when you are 1) tired, 2) frustrated or 3) unclear on the details.)

I have an extra reason to be thankful for such a portable marvel of a machine. I spent an hour and 45 minutes crammed head-first into  a steel coffin (AKA MRI machine)  on Sunday and found out today that they DID NOT SCAN MY KNEE.  Lower spine, yes - knee, NO.  Since my original trip to the doctor was about not having any feeling or sensation or support in my knee (causing 2 horrific falls) I was speechless to find that it was the one thing they did not scan.  Today I have a 4PM appointment with my primary care physician (who has foisted me off on PA's for the last several years, just sayin') and we are going to have a 5-alarm come-to-Jesus.  I am angry and horrified that I underwent that terrifying (I'm claustrophobic) MRI against my wishes and have nothing to show for it that didn't already show up on an MRI we did just six months ago.

Bottom line -  when I get hauled off to jail for gutting him like a fish I will at least have this little  featherweight  in its elegant black carrying case with me so I can make some stylish prison garb to wear to my anger management therapy sessions.  Seriously.

The Schoolgirls of My Japan

In 2004  my husband was president-elect of the local Rotary Club.  One of his "duties" as incoming president was to attend the Rotary International conference  to be held in Osaka, Japan.   (Sidebar - the man who held the office one year after Joe went to Chicago.)  The local club paid for Joe's airfare, conference registration and a hotel stipend.  We agreed it was a once-in-a-lifetime chance for both of us to go  so we swallowed hard and bought my plane ticket and added to the hotel stipend kitty so we could upgrade to a really nice hotel.

(Note:  Okay, I am not a total bitch, but I have rules and standards  about hotels. My feeling was we were arriving in a very foreign country with no guide or tour or assistance and I wanted a sanctuary hotel with a Western toilet, thank you very much. )

[caption id="attachment_1652" align="alignleft" width="300" caption="To the left of the hotel is a beautiful, multi-level green garden, nestled among the shops and offices. "][/caption]

The Swissotel Nankai at Namba was all of that and more. I could go on for days about the beautiful linens, the marvelous toilet with an instrument panel for swishy warm water (and air) features, or the delicate porcelain of my  morning  coffee creamer  that fit in the palm of my hand,  looking for all the world to be a fragile,  dainty blown egg. I could regale you with stories about how we ventured out unaccompanied and explored  Osaka and Nara and surrounding cities by train, bus and subway.  (We did get pretty horrifically lost once, but recovered quickly and found our way back to Osaka and the aforementioned sanctuary hotel, thank you very much.)

But this is about my schoolgirls.

While wandering through Nara Park we stopped at the  Toshodai-ji Temple where we found a busload of Japanese students all wandering about with little notebooks in their hands, obviously there on an assignment that would enable them to mingle with non-native tourists. Most of the girls  just looked at us, giggled, and shyly scattered.  Once we sat down on  a bench  we were approached by four beautiful girls who, in halting English,  asked us if we could help them with their English lesson.  We proceeded to answer their questions, sign our names in their notebooks, let them take our pictures with them while  all the time giggling madly like 6 year-olds.   (In fairness,  they were giggling too.)  It was all too hilarious - between their halting English and our feeble attempts at the Japanese phrases we learned for the trip, the whole thing was entirely too funny to be borne.  They were so charming and adorable and sweet and innocent.  Their "homework"  provided us with one of the best memories of the trip.

[caption id="attachment_1667" align="alignright" width="300" caption="Ikebana"][/caption]

I loved Japan.  Profoundly. Our trip there was like nothing else I have ever experienced.  We wandered up and down streets of towns where no one spoke a word of English, and yet we were greeted and kindly welcomed everywhere we went.  Even in restaurants we managed to point at menus and communicate we were open to tasting whatever they thought we would like. When we got lost or turned around we were quickly rescued by someone who would observe our confusion, hold our map and look at us as if to say, "Where do you want to go?" and we would point at the map and they would point us in the direction we needed to go.

Now it is seven years later and I watch the news reports with a knot in my stomach. When I see people looking for their lost family members  the emotion swells up in me and I feel my nose and eyes  ache and grow warm   with tears.   I feel helpless and sickened and overwhelmed.  I look at our pictures from the trip and the faces of  those schoolgirls  and  I wonder where they are today.  Have they started college by now?    Are they near the worst of the earthquake and tsunami damage?  Are they safe? I think about all the ema we left at every temple we visited, writing our prayer intentions and wishes on them and hanging them carefully among the others.  I brought home a few extras I made and holding them now I close my eyes and  make a spiritual  ema for the people of Japan.  I  pray for their safety,  for the continued  grace they have shown in the aftermath,  for the unthinkable sacrifices made by the Fukushima 50 and their families,  and especially for the well-being of my Nara schoolgirls.

[caption id="attachment_1673" align="aligncenter" width="300" caption="Photo by Ilya Genkin www.genkin.org"][/caption]

 

My Name is Jo, and I am a Craniac.

Disclaimer:  I am not a "birder" by any means, but  growing up in the Central North American Flyway I just assumed the migration of  cranes was something everyone got to see.   Not true.  Ever since  I moved East  I have to miss  the annual migration of Sandhill cranes, now taking place....back home.  I am a craniac.  A lover of those long, leggy birds that come by the thousands and fill the skies at sunrise and sunset. They are a wonder to watch - they dance, they call, they huddle, feed, and sleep.   They are tall - three feet, plus.

From the International Crane Foundation website:

Mated pairs of cranes, including Sandhill Cranes, engage in unison calling, which is a complex and extended series of coordinated calls. While calling, cranes stand in an upright posture, usually with their heads thrown back and beaks skyward during the display. In Sandhill Cranes the female initiates the display and utters two, higher-pitched calls for each male call. While calling, the female raises her beak about 45 degrees above the horizontal while the male raises his bill to a vertical position. All cranes engage in dancing, which includes various behaviors such as bowing, jumping, running, stick or grass tossing, as well as wing flapping. Though it is commonly associated with courtship, dancing can occur at any age and season. Dancing is generally believed to be a normal part of motor development for cranes and thwarts aggression, relieves tension, and strengthens the pair bond.

Watching them dance  moves something inside you that cannot be put in to words - it is primal, intimate  and awesome.  I am so thankful to the  Audubon Center at  Rowe Sanctuary for soothing my homesick soul with their wonderful CRANE CAM.  Viewing is best in the early (sunrise)  or late (sunset) hours of the day - do remember they are in the Central Time Zone.  If no birds are visible, it's still nice to listen to the Platte River ("a mile wide and an inch deep") roll past.
Remember when CBS Sunday Morning used to have that nature piece at the end of every show?  Now they call it a "moment of nature" because that is how long it lasts. Back in the day  it used to roll about 2 minutes long, with extraordinary footage of some fabulous location, animals, or volcanic activity.  ( If you are listening CBS -  I miss that.  Anyone with the attention span longer than that of a gnat misses it, too.)   I remember several years ago on  a Sunday, watching that show on my 2nd or 3rd cup of coffee when the nature segment came on and the  announcer said,   "We leave you today on the Platte River in Nebraska, where the Sandhill cranes are making a stop on their annual migration."  I watched with pure delight - and then I burst into homesick tears.   It was fabulous.  I have a connection with those birds.  I am a craniac.

PS - the camera at the Rowe Sanctuary is Flash based, meaning  we can't watch it on our iPads.  Along with CBS Sunday Morning butchering their nature segments, the lack of Flash capability on their devices has also earned  Apple and Steve Jobs a special place on my  "Turd in the Punchbowl" list.

Lenten Hex

Happy Fat Tuesday.   Or is it "Merry Fat Tuesday"?  I'm never really sure. I was thinking about that last night while paper piecing some hexagons.  I've seen them on blogs everywhere and they look so beautiful when finished.  They are also a remarkably portable project, and since we are off-and-on house sitting for a friend I can close up my basket and leave them there while we return back to our "real" house.

So Lent is on the horizon and while I have departed from many aspects and beliefs of my native Catholic faith  I still have serious residual beliefs that I both cherish and embrace.  One of those is the observance of  Lent.  Why not?  I have always seen Lent as a  great house cleaning for the soul.   Time to realign priorities, examine behaviors and take a good hard look at how you treat others.   We had a priest at the Newman Center who would always give a rippin' pre-Lent sermon.  When he talked about giving things up for Lent he would finish with,   "...and I don't mean giving up watermelon and one-armed women!"  Always got a laugh.  He also taught us to do three things for Lent:  1) give something up (okay, pretty traditional).  2)  Start doing something - and continue it after Lent has passed.  It could be walking, exercising,  spiritual reading - something that would be good for you both mentally and spiritually.  The third thing was always the one that got me - 3) something that was a secret between you and God.  Something no one else would notice.  That was always the hardest one because I felt most accountable for that one.   Even when the thought of taking a "cheater Sunday"   and having those potato chips  (mmmmmm  salty) was too much to resist, I could never cheat on #3.    It was personal.  It felt like more of a promise than just a Lenten resolution.  This year #3 has  come to me like a bullet and I'm not happy about having to do it for the next 40 days.   I just know that IT is what #3 needs to be this year.  (I'd tell you more but it's a secret between me and God, remember? )  Wish me luck.  I'll keep working on my hexagons  so maybe I'll have something lovely and photogenic to post soon. Meanwhile, the snow is melting but it is still pretty freakin' COLD.