Holiday Present

Among my favorite childhood memories of the holiday season are the advent calendars we'd use to count down to Christmas. Every day we'd get to open up a little window to reveal a festive image. I hope to do that this year for you all. Look forward to an entry every day starting tomorrow. (Sometimes I might post late late late in the day, but I will try to post every day until Christmas!)

Happy December!

Lassie and the Rescue of the Frozen Food

I got a call from Jeff yesterday, who's been looking in on Daisy while I'm traveling. There's been some feline mischief at the apartment while I've been away. She's really a pretty good cat, not prone to getting in trouble. Sure she likes to jump up ON things she's not supposed to--the table, the counter, the stove, the refrigerator, anything tall and offering a warm perch so she can survey the quiet apartment and plot against her imaginary foes. (Like the evil yoga mat.) Sometimes I find evidence of her jumping up--something is askew on the counter, or the freezer door is ever s0 slightly open when it shouldn't be. When I'm home she rarely attempts such heights, as she knows she'll get scolded.

But the big girl (that would be me) is away, and so I'm sure she feels she can get away with just about anything. "I can jump high and big girl won't know!"

Daisy is pretty self-sufficient, so cat sitters mostly just need to check the tub when I'm away. Daisy plays with her water, so the only reasonable place to leave her something to drink is in the bathtub. I leave her two tupperware containers full of water, and she usually topples one or both of them so she can enjoy the excitement of watching the water go down the drain. Cat sitters keep them filled so she doesn't have to resort to drinking out of the toilet.

Yesterday, Jeff checked the tub and noticed Daisy was unusually affectionate and vocal. She just cried and cried, and he couldn't figure out what she wanted. She walked to the center of the apartment and continued to cry and was lovey-dovey, and he was responding with generous pets but she kept on crying. He was just starting to say to himself, "What is it, girl?" when he noticed the package of (previously) frozen ground turkey on the floor of the kitchen, and the open door of the freezer. As soon as he picked up the package of thawing meat and closed the freezer door, Daisy turned her tail and walked away.

That was it for affectionate behavior towards Jeff. She got her point across, and he's taken to calling her "Lassie."

Happy Thanksgiving!

Border People: Sheltered by the man I would have become.

We ask that "What if?" question of ourselves all the time. I sure do.

This piece was initially inspired by the story of the sound coming from the boy's grave, which I posted several months back. Here's what I wrote at the time--

Maybe it is my affection for 1950s science fiction movies, but Van Horn has always inspired imaginings of giant spiders created by scientists at the spaceport, crawling over the mountains to devour Van Hornians. I cast myself, of course, as the girl scientist or the girl reporter in the story. It is just a fun way to entertain myself, these thoughts.

Yesterday was a weird day. My back was a little sore so I stopped to walk during my morning run in the cemetery. As I passed a grave, I noticed a strange radio transmission-like sound coming from the ground. I've been going by this spot 4-5 times a week for months and had never heard anything like it before but it was definitely coming from the grave itself. Not wanting to move the memorial objects, including piles of toys-it was the grave of a 14 year old boy-and artificial and real flowers, I didn't want to poke around. I came back to the grave a couple of times, just to make sure I wasn't crazy, and everytime the strange sound still came up from the ground.

So I left a sheepish-sounding voicemail with an acquaintance, a state trooper whom I trust. I couldn't wrap my head around what I was hearing, and I thought Bruce could at least tell me if he thought there was something criminal in nature going on at the cemetery. And I put it out of my mind.

Then a tiny older lady wandered into my office asking for "the person who could tell me about this town." She said she wanted information about things to do, and vacant lots because she was thinking of moving either to Van Horn or San Antonio. Okay, a little strange. I gave her some brochures, and then I noticed her feet. Bare feet. Calloused bare feet. She was perfectly normally dressed, and then I looked down and thought, "I've got a weird one here." I told her if she was looking for property she should check the Convention Center, and I'd be happy to walk her there. On the way to see Brenda and Andrea next door, she stopped for a full minute to rub her styrofoam cup all over the holly bush by the front door. "Holly isn't a good friend," she said.

Later Bruce called me back. He was patient with my crazy story and immediately assured me he didn't think the sound was related to something criminal. If it had been a drop point for contraband he said, the criminals would have done everything they could to make it unobtrusive and not call attention to the spot. He was stymied too, and I'm sure thought I was a little nuts, until he asked who's grave was making the sound. When I told him he said, "Oh, this makes more sense." Bruce's theory is that the family buried an electronic device, like a radio in the casket or above the casket sometime since the boy died in April 2005. With all the rain we've been having, water seeping into the ground might have affected the radio causing it to turn on. The boy had had leukemia for a long time, and the death was very hard on the family and the community. Knowing that families here feel a very strong connection to the departed, and knowing they still consider them as a living part of the family, this made perfect sense to me.And this morning the grave was silent again.

It struck me that for his family, that boy will always be 13, but they undoubtably wonder who he might have become had he not gotten sick.

I stitched a suggestion of a male form in yellow blossoms, who is holding or sheltering or gently swinging the boy in his hands. He is out of clear view, obscured by the vines and the blossoms and petals. But the boy remains a boy.

Border People: Lupe Rests

The Border People series was inspired by the Spoon River Anthology by Edgar Lee Masters, a 1916 collection of more than 240 interlocking poems about the lives and deaths of individuals in a small town.

I think we find shelter and comfort and belonging from unexpected places. My regular runs in the cemetery allow me the chance to see the animals of the desert and get a full view of the mountains, and I feel watched over by them both.

Over the past year, I've progressed from being, "who's that driving the silver Subaru?" to "that girl from the Trail," to "that friend of Paul's and Sheila's who hangs out at the coffee shop every now and then." When the local newspaper interviewed me recently, they called me, "our own." The guy at the hardware store calls me, "Miss Nobles," as does the lady at the bank. And I've learned to recognize other community members by sight--the doctor, the Baptist preacher, the lady with the flowershop who is married to the assistant postmaster, the lady at the gas station who lives off the grid and totes her water in by truck.

This is "Border People: Lupe Rests." And the stitching reveals the words: "Lupe Rests. They never asked her name, but they watched over her."

"Lupe" is one of the pieces on display at SOFA Chicago last weekend. I made it deliberately rumpled and soft-looking like bed linen. Most of it is a beautifully rough, slightly irridescent silk stitched together by hand. I appliqued silks, cotton, velvet (around the edges), felt, hand-dyed ribbon. Lupe is mostly hand-embroidered with some machine-embroidery on her bodice. Her skirt came from my favorite rayon dress, which finally utterly wore out after many years of service. Most fun for me, was hand-painting artificial flower blossoms with transparent and irridescent textile paint. I sewed them on the piece with french knots. All in all, the piece is approximately 13" x 18", one of my largest ever.

A Collective Gasp from the Audience....

....was audible when I showed them this photo in my slide talk at SOFA. It was fun to hear that--their appreciation of the unexpected beauty of the land.

I'm back home in Van Horn now, and in the next few days I'll post entries about the work I showed in Chicago. It was a good trip to the Windy City (though VERY cold and wet!) and to Houston.

Winter is here. Our high today is expected to reach just 61 degrees!

Since I'm going to be gone for awhile, a few November wildflowers to tide you over

Some of my favorite altars - Day of the Dead

I love the political expresssion, the homage to Frida Kahlo, the manipulations of the photographs in the floor pyramid display (click on the photo for a closer view), and for the range of items left for the soldier (candles, Almond Joys, candles, flowers, and skulls).

Day of the Dead - traditional altar items

Click on each photo for a closer view:

Photographs of those passed

Candles

Marigolds (whose scent is thought to attract the dead)

Pan de Muerto (a sweetbread)

Sugar skulls

Papel Picado (cut paper banners)

More Day of the Dead photos - Skeleton Drawings

Click on each photo for a closer view.

Day of the Dead (Dia de los Muertos)

Last week I was in El Paso for the Day of the Dead festival. As it happens, my sister was in town on business so she was able to view some of the altars with me.

I was deeply moved by these displays, and intrigued as the objects left as memorials and offerings mirrored the items family members leave on the graves in Van Horn.

Though it is somewhat presumptuous and pretty difficult to boil down a tradition from another culture (and one for which I hold just a superficial understanding!) in just a few words, here my best shot: the Day of the Dead is an interesting blend of Cathoic and pre-Columbian tradition, and in some respects is also a harvest celebration, as it takes place on the calendar between relative abundance and a time of scarcity. The altars are offerings to those passed, as many believe the dead return home and visit loved ones, feast on their favorite foods and listen to their favorite music.

A children's book I picked up conveys the joy of this time,

"They are coming and they are going
And you seen them passing by.
They are walking over here,
They are walking over there....
These are the dead.
How happy they are!