Friday, March 1, 2013

How To Thread A Needle


thoughts on turning darkness into light


Life is a tapestry. That’s what people say—the celebrations and struggles, the determination to hope and love are like stitches taken to fill a waiting length of fine fabric. And those stitches, bold or careful, bright or muted, tell the story of all those days. 

I remembered this analogy when teaching a quilting class last week. I demonstrated the needle-threading trick I learned when I was young. It is easy and I thought—foolproof:  With your dominant hand hold the needle parallel to the ground. Drape the thread over the needle and with your other hand’s thumb and forefinger grasp the thread that is touching the needle.  Squeeze the thread between your fingers tight and slide it off the needle. Holding tightly you can feel where the still-folded thread is between your fingers. Guide the needle’s eye and hold it right above where you know the folded, squeezed thread is.  Pressing between your fingers, guide the needle’s eye down over the thread. 

Your needle will thread every time. I told my class,” This technique is so dependable, you can even thread a needle with your eyes closed, or in the dark. “

The absurdity of my statement struck me: Who would thread a needle in the dark? Why would anyone have to thread a needle with eyes closed?

That question on my mind, I remembered the comparison of life to a tapestry.  I love sewing metaphors and thinking of life that way, I knew that threading a needle in the darkness that comes to us—often unbidden, often feared—is a vital human skill. Everyone must thread his needle in the darkness of dimming eyesight, the shadows of confusion, the blindness of threat and fear and uncertainty. To thread the needle is to take up hope and courage, to forge ahead, however blindly.  Or, when dazzled by too much light, overwhelmed, we may have to thread our needles eyes shut. If we are to stitch on life’s tapestry through those bewildering moments, we’ll have to thread our needles—even when clearly we cannot see.

This sense of darkness happens to all sorts of people. I read a Time Magazine review of Mother Teresa’s personal letters and their analysis that were published in a book called, Mother Teresa: Come Be My Light, by Fr. Brian Kolodiejchuk. The review expresses fascination with Mother Teresa’s struggle with uncertainty and depression. The article’s incredulity at the presence of doubt and depression in such a respected and productive Christian irritated me.  Some comments labeled her a hypocrite for urging others to believe and give while she struggled in private.

To think that struggle negates faith and lessens acts of love is an absurd notion. Mother Teresa’s written words give a partial impression of her life of faith.  Her actions—brighter and more obvious—complete the portrait. If she felt the darkness common to humanity as she fed the hungry, calmed others’ fears, then her acts of kindness and faith are that much brighter. To focus on her depression as a sort of revelation is to take a blurry look at what is clear—though frail, though human, Mother Teresa’s life was sewn with dark threads, yes and also with bright, life-giving threads. The shadow of her struggle emphasizes the hope and beauty she created for so many.

My former high school students are now adults. When they snoozed or studied in my class, I knew nothing about what they would achieve or suffer. Now many are married, have careers or artistic endeavors begun. Many are caring for families, many have fought in our country’s wars. Many are facing difficulties; they are finding themselves in places that are heart-breaking and hard, uphill and rocky. 

I remember one such student well. She won my respect one day toward the end of her senior year. As a member of the yearbook staff, she was often called out of class to take a picture.  This particular day, applicants to the National Honor Society would be notified of the committee’s decision. It would be my student’s final opportunity to join and she hoped to be selected. The process was this: a veteran member of NHS would interrupt the student in class by tapping his or her shoulder.  They were called out to the hall where they were robed with the banner of the honor society.  Wonderful, thrilling—except for those who tried and didn’t make it. 


My classroom door opened and a member of the yearbook staff beckoned, “Do you mind, Mrs. Nebbia? S__ (student) is needed to take pictures of the NHS tapping.” I nodded my permission, my eyes on the disappointment that flushed up my student’s face as she left her seat, snatching her camera and composing her emotions.  She moved without hesitation; a generous and resolute smile came to her face and I realized that from deep within, she was determined to be happy for those selected, to think about them and their honor. Even if she were to be disappointed, she’d rejoice with others.  I admire that sort of courage and spirit; to me it is the golden sort of thread with which we can stitch life’s story in dark moments.  

In the hall she was surprised with her own NHS cowl.  Someone else took the picture of her moment of honor and she glowed with a strength that came from her steady, unselfish character.  That true character lived inside her every day—on fair days, on quiet days when nothing much was happening. But in those dark moments of disappointment, she threaded her needle with a readiness too fast for sight or study and took bright and costly stitches.

Now this student is facing difficult circumstances.  When I read her blog and blogs of her classmates and students who came through my class years later, I find accounts of bright moments of hope and faith stitched on the backdrop of dark and unfair circumstances, stitched on the mud-like ground of illness and death threatening. A moment ago, they were children, now the details of their lives are universal and unwieldy. But their courage shows me how to thread a needle in the darkness; their determination to hope and believe inspires me to continue to do so.

Like my students, another friend has been threading her needle in the darkness of several severe health crises. Her suffering stretched for months and separated her from work and fun and those she loved. My friend is a painter and a quilter; she dislocated her elbow and endured months when she could not move her hand or arm. But as soon as she could, she took up her needle and began to create beauty. Physical therapy restored the use of her body, but her creativity restored her soul. She told me that she planned her quilt projects while unable to move. The planning and the sewing gave her more to think about than her own pain. The darkness of the days was the background for the creation of something meaningful, lovely and memorable.
The appliqué quilt was stitched by hand as soon as she could move her fingers. While she was making it, her niece became ill. In the dim hospital room, my friend worked for uncounted hours, stitching her hope into a quilt, hope that the young woman will fully recover and hang this gorgeous, handmade tribute to love and life and courage in her own home.

Down again with debilitating illness, this friend remembered the joy her dog, Lucky, had brought to her life. Unable to sew, she planned and imagined a quilt that would show his vitality.  Stitching it by hand, now, as she recovers lifts her spirit and strengthens her.  And she is making something of great beauty and meaning, something conceived in weakness and frustration. The detail and artistry show a connection to life’s treasures brought to light through much struggle.

Some of us who reach out in the darkness feel alone and guilty as if they should not be in the darkness, trying. As if their own will or mistake put them in the shadows rather than those dark places being part of the human condition. But no! Bravo to those who recognize the bleak nature of their surroundings and make hope-filled choices. God is with us in tender sympathy when we stitch our life’s stories in the darkness, though He may not be seen or sensed.  A favorite Psalm expresses it this way: “…the night will shine like the day, for darkness is as light to You.”

My mother-in-law has brought joy and artistry to our family with favorite recipes. She invented our iced tea, taught me to cook sauce for spaghetti and meatballs, Thanksgiving turkey, and apple pie, but she is careful about giving advice. Twice in the years I’ve known her has she advised me and I have treasured both those bits of wisdom. Years ago, she pointed out a mistake I was making with one of my children.  It was difficult to hear, I’m sure difficult for her to say, but she softened the moment by adding, “I’m certainly no one to give advice. I often felt as if I were groping in the dark to know how best to raise my children.”

Her reflection surprised me as I knew her to be both competent and successful, but I took her advice about that child, treasured it, really.  I loved, too, the honesty of the image. Her description of mothering is not a negative thing; it’s not shameful.  Searching through the darkness means that I admit my condition, (I am not all-knowing; I’m not all-seeing. I’m human), and I am looking—my arms are outstretched with looking—for answers, instruction, wisdom. 

I have felt this way. Oh, I know there are self-help books; I read my Bible daily, too. I listen to advice and watch others’ successful practices. But how to put it all together— what stitches to take, where and how big—that’s what I have to discover. And it’s difficult to see that tapestry of my times, the one I’m stitching when I’m running as fast as I can, when my next step is unclear, or I’ve stumbled and beyond looks took steep. It’s even harder to see when loved ones are yearning and I’m not sure what I can give or say to help.

Life’s path is blurry and rushed and uncertain at best. Life requires us to seek and yearn through the darkness, while we are hoping to make something clearly beautiful. When night has fallen too quickly, life requires our threading the needle, stitching bright and black with faulty, uncomprehending and hopeful eyes.



Tuesday, January 22, 2013

New Book Lovers Block of the Month Club Starting



four patch red and white square with tea potLast year we gathered together at Cottonseed Gloryin Annapolis, morning and evening to learn how to make the Solomon’s Puzzle Sampler Quilt and to discuss what we’ve been reading. The Book Lovers Block of the Month Club was the brain child of Pat Steiner, who owns the shop, and little did we know how much fun it would be.
We decided not to assign a book each month, because everyone’s taste in reading is different and there is a right time for every book.  Instead each woman talked about her lifetime favorite books (more coming to mind every meeting!) and recommended things she was currently reading.  We took notes and read those books that seemed intriguing.
Funny how talking about books brings up discussion of life, things we’re puzzling about, things we value.  Everyone enjoyed it so much, they asked to meet again this year.
We’d love it if you could join us. If you want to make the Solomon’s Puzzle quilt, there are many quilters in the club who have made their own and who can help.  As well, I’ll be teaching how to design and sew your own sampler quilt.  I thought it would be fun and meaningful to make quilts that somehow, in color or block type or name, reflect family heritage. I am part Polish and the Polish flag is red and white.  I love red and white, and I’ve always wanted to make a red and white quilt.  Another part of my heritage is that we love flowers and afternoon tea, so I want to include both ideas in my quilt. Here are the first blocks.red and white quilt block with tea theme
Wouldn’t you like to learn how to draft any block in any size that suits you?
Of course… you can choose any theme you’d like… sailboats, beach, traditional, stars, etc.
And just like last year, each month I’ll teach a new sewing technique or project.
To join the fun, visit the shop’s website, or stop in at Cottonseed Glory, 4 Annapolis Street, 410 263-3897

Sunday, December 2, 2012

Gingerbread Houses

My Gingerbread recipe is allergy free.  I make gingerbread cake and gingerbread cookies, but for houses, the cookie dough is what is needed.  

My kids gave me a cast iron gingerbread mold years ago. You are supposed to bake the pieces in the mold, but I just use it to shape and stamp the pieces. This way I can make more than one house at a time. Then I let the house components dry overnight. Letting them dry insures that the stamped designs for the roof and doors will not bake out.  

A cast iron mold is not needed. Instead cut shapes (2rectangles for the house sides, 2 rectangles for the roof, 2 pieces that are made from a square with a triangle top for the shorter side and the gable.  

However you cut the shapes, when you bake them, they bump up.  So when they are cool, trim them so remove the bumps and make them as even as possible. 

Royal icing works well for putting the houses together and decorating them. However it is full of egg whites and if that's an allergy problem, as it is for us, use this simple method.

Hot glue the houses together. Let's face it. No one is going to eat the gingerbread house after it has been sitting out for a month... and if they want to eat it, hot glue peels off as easily as a cellophane label.  

I use an icing made with confectioner's sugar, rice milk and a bit of corn syrup. It should be stiff. It requires a bit more patience than royal icing, so just hold the decorative candies in place for a minute or two, or apply the glue, wait a minute until it sets up and then stick the decoration on.

Enjoy! 

Saturday, November 24, 2012

Remember that Cliché about Lemonade?

Our family members have some serious food allergies.  This problem has been a source of physical suffering-both acute and long-standing.  It has caused anguish and anxiety.  Some pretty cruel and ignorant (meaning uneducated) comments have been made in response to these allergies.  But it hasn't been all bad-no, not at all.

Without my son's allergy to milk, I doubt I would have learned how to cook. It has actually been fun to learn the chemistry of cooking so I could figure out how to make allergy-free recipes for every day and holidays. People have said they love my Christmas cookies, and yet those cookies are all entirely milk-free.

In their concern to protect, our family members are careful when preparing food for holidays. Lots of conversation happens about what to bring and how to cook it. Innovations abound and all in the name of love, cooperation and a desire to be together. True we might miss pumpkin pie (which just isn't the same without eggs and cream), but we've learned to make wonderful, allergy-free pumpkin muffins that every one enjoys.  The important thing is that everyone can eat the holiday feast and that the allergic people and those who love them (which is all of us!) are not anxious about a potential trip to the ER. Safety tastes much better than butter.

This year during our Thanksgiving Day activities, I was blessed to learn that the care and concern was being passed to the younger generation. Years ago I made these little acorns from leftover plastic Easter eggs.  (Directions at the bottom of the page). 



They open and are kind of silly and cute, so we thought we would



make a treasure hunt for hiding surprises and  treats.


  The older cousins set aside treats for the younger who were arriving after dark, asking, "Grannie did you make sure these are allergy-free?"


After a full table at dinner, we decorated gingerbread houses.


An austere Italian Alpine cottage...


and a Tuscan villa with roof tiles scattered from a sudden storm...


Notice the snowman below...


Joey had a plan for a driveway with a pretzel/candy car, a yard and a fence. He was pleased with it, but congratulated Jack more than once on making what he thought was the very best house.

It's true, Jack and Andrea had the extravagant touch...


Here are Karl and Rosa working together...


We loved Karl and Rosa's 1st Wedding Anniversary Gingerbread House. They put a candy cane heart like the one Karl is holding on both slopes of the roof.  So cute!

But the best part was that everyone could touch every candy and not worry.  


Who knew that when I put those few allergy-free candies and treats in my little, homemade acorns this year that I'd find a harvest of such treasures as peace, compassion and consideration? 


How to make the acorns for your own treasure hunt:
Save plastic Easter Eggs. Target has some that have sort of flat bottoms that work well for acorns. But it doesn't really matter.  Get an old, discardable paint brush, tacky glue, hot glue and hot glue gun, brown buttons, one pipe cleaner, yarn, scraps of felt.
Water down the glue a little so that you can paint it onto the outsides of the eggs, one at a time. When it begins to tack up, (a few minutes), begin to wind the yarn onto the egg starting at the top and making sure that you don't cover the ridge that makes the plastic egg fit together. Let this dry. Repeat with the other half of the acorn. I used thicker yarn for the top to simulate the acorn top. Make as many as you'd like.

Cut felt oak leaves and use embroidery floss to stitch down the center to give texture.  Group these and hot glue to the top of the acorn. Glue a button on the bottom half of the acorn and make a felt or pipe cleaner loop to fasten if you wish. The acorn will shut because it was designed that way when it was still an egg =).  Cut a tab from the felt scraps about 1/2" wide and 3/4" long. Glue this inside the acorn at the back (opposite where you are putting the button) to form a kind of a hinge.  
Voilà. 


Sunday, April 29, 2012

My son recently gave this intelligent, important speech at the high school where he teaches.

"It’s good to see you all. I’m really glad to be here, and I love this school. Chapel has become one of my favorite parts of the week, because I like when we (the school) can do things together. Even when I don’t follow the speaker, or I don’t understand the lyrics of a particular song, I still get the feeling that it’s not just myself doing this. We do chapel together.
It's my adventure now.There are a number of ways we talk about the world, cliches or platitudes, bromides or chestnuts, that we repeat over and over and over and rely upon, which turn out to be completely untrue. The biggest thing I think we misunderstand is time. We talk about time as if it were a series of moments that we inhabit one after the other. We talk about “time flying” or we remember specific moments from long ago, as if they were points on a geometric line, like intersections. We say that moments are brief. But really, when I think about how I experience time, my life is one long moment. I’ve been alive for almost 34 years now, and it’s always now..."

Read more by clicking here:

Tuesday, April 10, 2012

Maybe, just maybe...

Hey! I think maybe, just maybe a certain little someone looks a bit like me! What do you think?


Friday, March 23, 2012

The Phases of the Moon

Jack tells me that this is a "nearly full moon."


Jack insists that he's never seen the moon.  One time this past year, he and Joey spent the night just so we could go outside to see the stars and the moon, but the sky was overcast with clouds and we saw only hints of the moon beyond them.  


But it took a few cookies to show me the phases of the moon. 




Below find a model for a crescent moon.  



And...oops! No moon at all. 


Time for the next month to start!