A few days ago, H and I went out after school to show our support for our neighbors at the Islamic Society of Monmouth County. It was Friday prayers, first Friday of the month, and we met outside to let their members, and anyone else driving by, know that we support them. H and I made a card the day before and delivered it to one of the organizers from the mosque.
Tag: politics
I do. I want to post about good things, about stuff we’re making here, things we’re doing, how cute my dog is. How cute my kid is, even. But to talk about this stuff and pretend that the country isn’t in a dark place right now is disingenuous, it’s pretending that everything is fine, everything is normal.
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And H and I marched, in Asbury Park. With one of my lovely quilt friends, Natalie, and her family. Originally Adam was considering coming, too, but then H decided she wanted to stay home. I was going to be on my own. But then as I was getting ready to leave, she changed her mind and wanted to come protest. Adam was still in his PJs, with a healthy to do list for an afternoon planned watching the small human, so the girls went solo.
Went to school.
Ate donuts.
Went to the fabric store for thread.
Didn’t buy thread, but bought this Valentine mailbox kit and put it together:
I’ve noticed that quilters–the ones who are prominent, well known, with Instagram feeds I aspire to myself–don’t talk about politics. My guild friends talk about it nonstop, but the community at large seems to be pretty neutral. Many of them talk about issues, and man, do we have a history of tackling some issues with fabric and thread. But less specifically about politics and candidates (even if those issues are loaded, politically). I have this sense that it’s something that’s just not done in the professional world of quilting, and I kind of straddle both professional and not. So when I had this banner idea the other night during the DNC, I suddenly got nervous and almost didn’t make it. I’m trying to build something here with my quilting, and I wondered for about 5 minutes if this would be a bad idea.
Maurice Sendak, author of the famous Where the Wild Things Are, died yesterday at the age of 83. He was one of those creators of children’s literature that librarians feel particularly possessive of, one of our last living “national treasures” like Eric Carle, Beverly Cleary, or Ed Emberley. Still making incredible works of art that tap into the heart of childhood, the perspective of children, that magic, at an age when most have long forgotten what it is to be childlike. He did not shy away from dark themes for children, which certainly stemmed from his own childhood experience as a Jewish kid from Brooklyn who lost several family members in the war and had severe health problems. It always made him controversial, but for anyone who has ever read one of his books to a child or as a child you know that he got to the bones of those great big feelings–which most adults try to shield from children. Sendak knew that this does children a great disservice, denying that they can feel darkly or understand deeply.
I was reading Roger Ebert’s blog over the weekend, and he posted about elevation. His post was about crying at the movies; Ebert says he never cries over a sad ending or moment, but rather in moments of extreme goodness. I feel very much the same way. My eyes well up when I am just so moved by the ability of people to be good. It happens when I watch movies, it happens with my students all the time, it even happens when I watch some commercials.