Racism and Loneliness

Well, as if I have not had enough crap happen to me, yesterday another thing resurfaced... How would I put it delicately? ah, fuck it - there is no way to put it any other way: my husband's sisters are racists. The younger one has been easy to understand: she disapproved of me from the start. When the tensions finally mounted to the breaking point, she called and left messages on the phone cursing and swearing about her brother accepting " the white bitch that walked into his life" and "forgetting of who he is" and "forgetting that he was a black man." I remember sitting in the living room alone with my 3 week old daughter and having to listen to every message - I did not want to pick up the phone....
After many calls and screams and yells between Joe and his sisters he assured me that "this was not going to happen again". I was not sure how he was going to guarantee that, but I wanted to believe him. On my part, I did the only thing that seemed reasonable - I isolated myself from that woman and her attitudes. I made it known that she was not welcome in my home, and I did not want to expose my children to that kind of attitude ( yes, I specified my children - Joe felt that Mike and Alex should not stop seeing their aunts).
The older sister, who calls herself an artist, was not as abrupt. In the end, though, she turned out to be just as strongly opinionated as the other one. That one hurt more, because her poison was slow and almost untraceable: no, she did not mean to be this or that, but this family is just so special and it has so many things going on and you just have to be one special person to understand its dynamics. No, it's no disrespect meant, but this is a family matter, and I should not be involved. Oh, I should really keep my opinion to myself. Ah, I really do not understand my stepsons - after all, let's name it loud and clear - they are African American, American Indian (the tribes were mentioned - every time in particular order), German, Jewish, and - at the end - Caucasian. It was stated to me - ever so subtly - that I simply was not capable to understand. Why, and who would? A black person would - because of that person's culture... For a second I actually regretted not being black - then - wait a goddamn minute!!! Since when did the skin color was an indication of ability to understand a new, different culture? I never fully voiced my opinion - not that I did not try, but I was always shut up in the process - but I ended up never being comfortable around my "ever so cultural" sister-in-law. Especially when she yelled at me at the top of her lungs for trying to breastfeed my baby in the room with her artwork - I was "being disrespectful and insulting" to her masterpieces by taking care of my daughter's basic need. Her accusation seemed even more awkward because we were surrounded by paintings and statues representing family, and preceded by a lecture on family values. So -real family live dynamics are offensive to the family art? Suddenly all her words, all her works turned into idols - ugly and lifeless representations of her self-importance, nothing more. From that moment on, I was doubting whether she was a real artist - perhaps, I thought, a mere craftswoman who knew techniques well, nothing more. Was there soul in her work? Where?
The conflict finale took place yesterday. After my "incident" of injury - another lovely way to avoid calling it what it is - an attempt on my life - Joe and I had to go to court. The "artist" sister wanted to come too - "for support," as she said. Some support it was. After we left the room (another continuance, nothing new) she started shooting out questions: did you talk to the attorney? Can Alex be released? You need to find out what can be done - Alex is part Native American, so "they" can't even judge him by American laws - he'd have to go before the Tribal Council. When I tried to answer, she waved her hand and said sharply, " I am not talking to you, I am talking to my brother!"
Excuse me???? excuse the FUCK out of me!!!!! I AM HERE TOO!!! that's what I wanted to say, but instead - I lost my breath and could only say "Excuse me?"
She says - "Get out of my face!"
For several seconds I felt like I could not breathe. Joe was saying something about respect- disrespect and how I was to be respected and how she did not have the right to treat me like that... it was obvious to me that she couldn't care less. I turned around and walked away. And Joe stayed - perhaps, to explain to her the error of her ways...
Finally I walked far enough and started to be able to breathe again. I collected my thoughts... What to do, what to do? I wanted to go home. I turned around and walked back - Joe was still talking, and she was still talking over him. None of them turned to me - I did not exist to them... At least that was how it felt. I am really becoming more and more familiar with that feeling...
Finally, I said, "Joe, I need to talk to you - separately." Joe pulled himself away from his sister, and I said, " I need you to take me home - now. If you want to talk to her about this, please do it later." Joe said his quick good byes and took me to the coffee shop - to get over the shock.
Yes, he said all the right things. He said that he was "on my side," that she was wrong, and I was right, and this was "never going to happen again." And then - he walked out of the shop and called his sister on the cell phone. And I was left alone to deal with my feelings...
She said to Joe that "perhaps I would be more comfortable around people of Caucasian descent." I never heard anything more ridiculous...
Again, just like seven years ago, I had to make the decision. All this time they said I was part of their family... or not... I decided - I don't want racists in my family, and I do not have to accept their deformed views!
Of course, Joe keeps telling me he loves me. he says... many things, and they are all the right things. But it's all in the details. while he "explains the error of her ways" to his sister, he actually talks to her, while I stay alone.
I feel alone. Sometimes I want to disconnect the phone - no one calls anyway, except bill collectors. Except my children, I have no one. I do not feel loved. I do not feel protected. I do not feel anything but pain and disappointment. Sometimes I do not want to feel any more.

More Stitches - Hospital This Time

It has been almost two months since I have written a note in my blog. Why? Because in the beginning of December I was attacked and injured. My daughter was with me at the time, and I am very grateful that she did not get hurt - at least, not physically. But my hands were cut and "out of commission" until now. Today is the first day I officially took off my splints - and here I am, back, writing again in my blog page.

At the hospital I had to get stitches. The doctor used blue color thread; he poked my fingers with different types of needles; he used one thread at a time, continuous, stitching on my skin as if I was a piece of fabric, and he had to prevent it from fraying. He even made knots at the end of each thread, so it would not come loose. When he was done, I looked at my hands... my friend told me that I looked like The Corpse Bride. I felt like an old ripped blanket.

Several weeks later, it was time to remove the stitches - or "stitchery," as the therapist referred to them (what is it, new type of needlework?). The therapist said she "has never seen this type of work" (he must have been a rare craftsman), cut the first knot she found and attempted to yank the whole thread out of my finger.

Now, they told me that due to nerve damage my fingers lost some sensitivity to them. But at that moment I realized they did not lose THAT much sensitivity. I jumped out of the chair and yelped out loud.

I mean, sometimes I tried to do the same thing with my needlework to save time - just cut the knot and pull the thread out of another end. But experience has taught me that in these cases, more often than not, the fabric would wrinkle and start fraying and falling apart. Of course, I never thought of how the fabric would actually feel during that process. The fabric she was working on - my skin - also got wrinkled, but it also had nerve endings in it... Several drops of blood came out, and I pulled my hand back.

This is where my paying attention during the original process with the doctor came in handy. I happened to remember how he stitched me up, and ended up guiding her through "un-doing" some of the "stitchery" of the surgeon with the least damage to my hands. The stitches that did stay I was able to find and remove later at home - believe it or not, with a sterilized embroidery needle... what an unexpected way to benefit from stitching experience.
In the end - I am back! my splints are off, I can use my hands - reasonably, of course, without overworking - but... I can stitch again, I can write again, and I am looking forward to both.
Kathy, I would LOVE to join your Celtic Lady SAL group - I want to talk to other people about stitching and share ideas. Thank you for contacting me.

I do not know when I will be able to find the right words to describe what happened that day to me and to my daughter. It will probably take quite some time, but I know it will happen. Just have to wait and work - on my stitching, on my words - one stitch in time, one word in time, that is all it takes.

Death in the family

Yesterday our nephew Nolan passed away from cancer. He was younger than me, and he had a family - a wife and a three year old son.
I have never met Nolan, so my grief comes from seeing Joseph grieve. Even though we knew about Nolan's diagnosis, his death came as a shock to us - somehow it seemed that "the end" was going to happen much later, after he has completed everything he wanted to complete in this world.
Friday Joseph is flying out to New York to see family and to say good bye to his nephew. What a sad event to finish the old year with...

A Dollar a Stitch? Or not...

It looks like my dreams are starting to come true (oh-oh, beware what you wish for :) . Often I used to say, " I wish I could find a job that would pay me for sitting in my chair and cross-stitching." Well, I went on Etsy Alchemy recently, placed some bids on the embroidery and cross stitch work that needed to be done, and.... (take a deep breath) two of my offers were accepted! I have been paid to stitch - now that's exciting, it may even signal a career turn for me... well, let's not get ahead of ourselves, says my other, less excitable half of the brain. We'll see what happens.

On the other hand, Headstart just informed me that they are cutting down on expenses and use their substitutes "only when absolutely necessary," so that just may be an opportunity to make a name for myself in stitching and embroidery. Who knows? As my cousin told me, "today you make six bucks - tomorrow it may be six hundred..." All in good time.

Speaking of bucks (these green pieces of paper that make all of our lives so interesting), they come up in my mind when I place my bids. Somebody told me that I have to calculate how much my time is worth, how long it would take me to complete a project, and set my price based on that. But, I thought, if they did not pay me anything, I would be stitching at home for free - it's what I do... The only difference is - now I do it for someone else other than myself. So, right now I am just making sure that I do not put out any extra expenses - as long as the shipping and supplies are covered, I look for "what's fair" and always try to put "price is negotiable." I mean, if I wanted a custom item made, I would not be able to pay 100+ dollars for it, even if it took an artisan two whole days to make it.

So, for now I've got my "stitching orders" and am ready to start. I hope that there will be more opportunities like that in the future...

Californication

For the past two nights I have been watching "Californication." I have heard a lot of nasty stuff about it - "Lolita" story based out of Los Angeles, a crazed sex addict running around sleeping with everything, etc. So, when I sat down to watch the pilot, I was expecting very little - but, I was pleasantly surprised. Hank Moody - the main character - is a writer who moved from New York and is trying to "find himself," for the lack of a better term, in Los Angeles. He is dealing with personal situations, financial problems, moral dilemmas, and he looks honestly lost in the sea of all the events. Yet, when compared him to other "well - adjusted" characters in the show, he seems... less fucked up, if that's the phrase. He has not lost his sense of right and wrong; his "indulgence" in sex comes from the need to fulfill something he has lost - a sense and feeling of love, of a true connection. Once he finds that again, or, rather, once he knows what he wants, he gets away from his "sexual exploits" and reflects. That's one thing about him I like - he is capable of thinking and is searching for an intellectual connection, not just for a cheap thrill. And the Lolita character who the whole buzz was about - (oh, no, he slept with underage girl) - in the story is nothing by a thief and a sociopath. Of course, on the surface she is a "perfectly well adjusted young lady," while Hank is a crazy "sex bulldog." But, it's an insane world the characters of "Californication" live in.
I forgot to go to sleep that night, watching one episode after another. Can't wait for the new season!

More on beading and blackwork

During the past two weeks of my - self-imposed - vacation I had time to think, to learn new embroidery techniques, to improve on the old ones, and... to work on some projects. So -

First of all, Blackwork. It is totally awesome! This is the first time when the front and the back of the stitching came out exactly the same (except for a few knots on the back). The Pears project is the example of the Blackwork technique. - By the way, the pattern is taken from the Needlework Tips and Techniques site, by Carol Leather. I find her instructions very easy and helpful.

Second technique I had a chance to improve on was beading. I am getting addicted to it. Since I first tried it on the Mandala Garden project, I have been looking for opportunities to use beads again and again. So, here's a new completed project - a headband for my daughter's fairy Barbie doll. It was created from scraps of Aida cloth leftover from the Pears project and from beads leftover from the bird. My daughter said she liked it.

Hmmm... tomorrow I am going back to work. But, I still have a Sampler project in the works - hopefully, it will be completed within the next two to three weeks.

Happy Birthday to me! And to M! And a New Beading Project

Today is my birthday. I "turned" 31, as George Carlin would say - like sour milk. My husband quickly corrects me - "More like fresh cream, " he says. That is, of course, a matter of opinion. I may be only 31, but I feel much older.

Also, in two days it's my very good friend's birthday. I thought of what to get her. Then, I thought I would make her a present - that way, she can never forget me. Ha, ha. Also, it's small and can fit anywhere. And, it's my second attempt at beading.

Happy Holidays! Happy Birthdays! May the Blue Bird of Happiness visit your home.