JOYStone: "Pure Joy Barely Contained"

My friend Zee--who leads Emma's Writing Circle, the weekly writing group I joined last summer--requested a Crewel Stone with the word "joy" on it for her sister Laura. Laura's middle name is Joy, and the stone would serve as both memory and promise.

"I think my sister would most love to have a purple stone with the word JOY on it, and a bit of abstract stitching around it, whatever moves you at the time your hand holds the needle," she wrote in an email. She shared the story of her sister Laura and her library card:

"When Laura was a little girl, probably 7 or 8, I went with her to the new library in our Bronx neighborhood; it was just an apartment in a big building that had been converted into a 'branch library.' We had to fill out forms to get new cards and then we went back the following day and our cards were all typed up and ready for us. Well, even then my sister had a terrible handwriting. So her card read Laura TOY instead of Laura JOY. She thought this was the funniest thing. She almost fell down from laughing so hard. This was a time when she was always laughing so hard that she almost fell over, the power of her own hilarity was that strong. EVERYTHING was funny to her, she was pure joy barely contained inside her skin. The librarian asked if she would like them to type up a new card for her and Laura was emphatic that she was THRILLED with her new identity as Laura Toy. She kept that card for YEARS and YEARS. I wonder if she might still have it; I'm going to have to ask her."

As I sketched some ideas for JOYstone, I thought about the intensity and energy that the word connotes. Joy is an intense physical response; it seems to flare up in an instant and can be gone just as quickly.

As Zee wrote, in its purest expression joy can barely be contained. I wanted the stitched joy to pulse with energy and spill over beyond the margins of the stone.

I chose the colors and beads to capture joy's intensity, transforming the stone into a jewel, which in fact the word "joy" is related to (joya in Spanish has the same Latin root). The ribbons around the stone represent flow and connection, how the expression of joy can flow through our bodies outward and connect ourselves with others, much like the sharing of stories in Zee's Writing Circle spreads joy all around.

The most unexpected aspect of JOYstone is how it feels. The raised crewel stitches, which I outlined with a double line of split stitches and then connected and covered with satin stitches, are soft ridges to the touch. A quick squeeze is a gentle reminder of joy, both the childhood kind that Zee described and the more mature kind that arises from "a sense of well-being or satisfaction" (Oxford English Dictionary) and engages body and spirit. I hope that as Laura Joy holds the stone in her hand, she feels the joy that I felt as I stitched it.

Happy Earth Day!

The land has been released from winter's suspended animation. Sap is flowing, and the crab apple's tight magenta blossoms are on the verge of mass release. Yesterday I noticed the first opened flowers. The delicate pink interior is a surprise. Opening releases their chromatic intensity, I guess.

Sun and clouds were playing with each other. They created a shifting dance of light and shadow underneath the crab apple tree.

As usual my social life seems to have picked up with spring's quickening. People want to shed their winter gear and gather together like the crab apple's branches thick with blossoms. It's tempting to get caught up in that busy-ness. To ignore my gardening duties or hire someone to tackle the tide of garlic mustard that needs to be tamed before it drowns out the more delicate wildflowers.

But I didn't. I spent a glorious morning weeding. And I noticed. The birds sang their conversations as I crouched in the shade of the chestnut tree. The sun warmed my shoulders, melting my muscles to the task at hand. And I caught the first open flower of the crab apple tree.

It made me wonder how many things I fail to notice in my rush to get things done. How many growing things that, in return for a little tending and attention, return that care with flowers that share their intensity for only a moment.

I hope that today you get a chance to dig in the dirt, plant a seed, or tend your garden. Happy Earth Day!

Les cadeaux de Nanou (Nanou's Gifts)

I think that someone has figured out how to package joy. Her name is Nanou, and she crafts the most beautiful gifts from paper, wood, stone, and yarn.



Inside this envelope of handmade paper woven with flower petals Nanou tucked a hand-sewn and hand-lettered card with an eloquent expression of friendship, one offered with a truly open heart. (There is magic sewn inside these cards made by Nanou.)



Each package offered delight, a perfect expression of Nanou's beauty, grace, and sensitivity to nature's treasures.




This serene Flapper Girl stone peeked out at me from a box covered with handmade paper. She sleeps inside a nest of airy wool. She is one of Nanou's many eloquent conversations between paper and stone.




Nanou looks at the natural world with a sense of wonder. She noticed and preserved the rounded lobes of this delicate leaf.




She sees the true spirits of the forest and clothes them as tokens of friendship and protection. She has created a family of Forest Friends whose stories she tells. I am so honored to have two of them come to live here with me. They rest atop the desk in my craft area, where they whisper funny tales of Nanou and her Forest Friends. And when I ask, they tell me that the one true secret to living a happy life is to see the world with a childlike sense of wonder and eyes wide open to its beauty, just like Nanou does.




Thank you, my beautiful friend, for the package of joy. Here is a song that I think you will enjoy.

Ten Tias

My ten tias (aunts): Minerva, Albesa, Elia, Elma, Crisanta, Gudrun, America, Rosie, Yolanda, Alba.

When I am driving, or on a long flight, or otherwise suspended between one point and another, I recite the names of my ten tias. I do so to remember. Because for too long I took it for granted that they would always be there, held static in time like the memories I have of them young and happy and full of life. They were there as my guides for how to be a woman, how to be a partner and parent and daughter and professional. All of these roles I juggle while recalling the grace and energy and love with which my ten tias fulfilled all of these roles.

I recite their names and call up memory pictures of food prepared, laughter shared, games played, stories told. In this way they will always be with me.

Last night one of my tias passed away, a woman of incredible grace, courage, and faith. She was a great beauty, petite and feminine and always put together. A born teacher, she eventually served as an elementary school principal and district administrator. She shared her knowledge with the most graceful mix of confidence and gentleness, and her children inherited this beautiful spirit from her.

Even if it's only by reciting my litany of their names, I will remember and hold the spirits of all of these women inside of me.

Texas Wildflowers

I've written about my love affair with the Hill Country region of Texas, my home state. There's another part of Texas that's in my blood. It's the coastal plains of South Texas, where my family has deep roots.

In the early 1800s, the Spanish Crown granted land to my several-times great-grandfathers in the harsh chaparral of what is now South Texas. They owned thousands of acres of the dry, scrubby lands in the 19th century. Cactus and sage, mesquite and live oaks covered the lands on which they grazed cattle.

As Texas became part of independent Mexico, its own republic for a time, and then part of the United States, my ancestors sold off their ranch lands bit by bit and subdivided the remaining portions among their children. They were land rich but cash poor, and they endured many hardships. Weather was a constant threat: hurricanes, drought, killing frost. They fortified their homes against Indian raids, leaving only tiny windows in their dark, mud-brick dwellings. Northern settlers placed increasing pressure on their lands after the Civil War.

These tough-skinned Texans of Spanish/Mexican descent survived thanks to their strong Catholic faith, an unwavering reliance on family, and a fundamental belief in education. My grandparents lived these beliefs and passed them on to their twelve children. Their children--my cousins and I, dispersed as we are, many of us far away from Texas--carry in our hearts these traditions rooted in the very soil of South Texas.

I only get a chance to visit Texas once a year, and even less often do I make it all the way to South Texas. This Easter the memory of my grandparents, my brother, and my aunt and uncles who have passed away drew me back. My memories of childhood visits to my grandparent's house are vibrant and joyous, like the multicolored confetti inside the cascarones (confetti eggs) that my cousins and I hunted at Easter.

It's hard to adjust to how my grandparents' little town has changed. Their old, welcoming home where we spent many holidays was torn down over a decade ago, and only one rose bush remains from my grandmother's front garden, where the roses that she hand-watered with a long hose bloomed as wide as plates. The fig tree whose delicate fruits were within easy reach of my hands is gone, and the spreading branches of the ebony trees have been damaged by frost. The back yard where my cousins and I hunted Easter eggs is overgrown with weeds.

The busy highway that leads to the Rio Grande Valley now bypasses the town. The sound of 18-wheelers hauling oranges and grapefruits and watermelons from the Valley to the north that was once like a lullaby when I slept at my grandparents' house is absent. When we got a chance to play at the school playground, it was a scary thrill to cross the highway, waiting for a break in the speeding cars, but now only a few slow trucks pass through. The little store where my cousins and I bought candy with the quarters my grandfather put in our pockets is shuttered.

What remains then? The land itself and, right now, in the brief spring before the unrelenting heat of Texas summer, the profusion of wildflowers that claim the roadside ditches and fallow fields. They are the land's brief taste of sweetness, both a memory and a promise.

Lemon mint (Monarda citriodora)

Scarlet Guara (Gaura coccinea)

Scarlet Guara (Gaura coccinea)

Globe Mallow (Sphaeralcea lindheimeri)

Texas thistle (Cirsium texanum Buckl.)

Groundsel (Senecio ampullaceus) (?)

Red Poppy (Argemone sanguinea)

Red Poppy (Argemone sanguinea)

Red Poppy (Argemone sanguinea)

Prickly Poppy (Argemone sanguinea Greene)

Red Poppy (Argemone sanguinea)

Red Poppy (Argemone sanguinea)

Indian Blanket (Gaillardia pulchella var. pulchella)

Texas Bluebonnet (Lupinus texensis)

Heart's Delight (Abronia ameliae Lundell)

Un Recuerdo de Mi Tierra (A Memory of My Homeland)

Cemetery, Falfurrias, Texas
Cascaron, Premont, Texas

Wildflowers, Encino, Texas

Cemetery, Falfurrias, Texas

Mi Tierra Restaurant, San Antonio, Texas

April is without a doubt the most beautiful month in South Texas. After a very wet winter, everything is lush and green, and the wildflowers are blooming ecstatically.

I'm enjoying a spring break trip back home, revisiting my childhood places of memory, and I'll be away from the blog for a while.