I got the idea for this after talking to Carol R at the International Quilt Festival.  She was telling me about the “inchies”:that a lady was doing.  We liked the idea of larger, slightly.  2” or so.  And I loved the idea of a journal quilt.  Or charms.  After talking to Kamie, and hearing her idea’s for a charm quilt, where I documented the state I was born in and the high school etc., I knew charm wasn’t quite the right word.  This was from Friday last.  October 16, 2009.  It will be interesting to see how long this goes on.

Ok, so I’m going to call them fragments, instead of charms.  I don’t like the charm idea as much.  It obviously is misleading. 

First, I have the Truth Lie.  Or the Look me in the Eye Lie.  That was the first time I recall ever doing it.  I had been caught under the blanket in back of the garage with a boy.  My grandma and my sister were there laughing and pointing and I helped him get away unseen.  My family was giving me hell, teasing me.  Mom finally said, “look me in the eye and tell me you weren’t under the blanket with Scott Smith.”  I looked her dead in the eye and said, “I was not under the blanket with Scott Smith.”   I never heard another word about it.  It was the absolute truth.  It was also a big fat lie.  I had been under the blanket with Tim Smith.  This is the beginning of dancing with the truth, that I actually still do to this day.

The Red High Heel in the Big Brown Box.  That is for Tammy.  Tammy died on my watch.  I handled that one all by myself.  It honestly never in my life occurred to me that I didn’t have to go solo on stuff.  Mom came in and told me that she had died.  And that was the last time we discussed it, really.  Many years later, she said she didn’t know I was having a hard time dealing with it.  I never showed it. 

Next, I think… The Purple Lie.  This one, has levels of awareness.  I loved the color purple.  I came home from Camp Michiluca to find mom had painted my dresser, trunk, and some other honking big piece purple.  Like, the color of a grape marker.  I was horrified.  It was awful.  But mom was so pleased to surprise me.  I said I loved it.  Had to live with it for many years.  Hated purple until I started learning to sew.  Majorly hated purple.  So, in a kindness to my mother, I hurt myself and was lying for ages.  I think I’ll do this fragment in a color that I like, because I just can’t stand the thought of doing it the way it really looked.  Lol

The Crying Girl.  This one started out being Ann M.  I hurt her, and myself by not fixing it.  It was a serious shaper of my life.  If I thought that I was leaving a mark like that on someone, my brain just beats me to death with nagging until I amend it.  So, who is crying?  Ann or me?  Could be either one of us.

Contemplating the general Boob Thing.  Although, since I’v apparently named it, I probably intend to do one.  This is the marks left by having boobs and the men who chased me.  I couldn’t walk down the street without 6 guys honking or screaming nonsense out the window driving by.  And I was 12.  I had many men try to convince me that I was really older than I said I was. 

The Forest Park.  This one is harder.  I was 14.  Can I just say I was nearly raped by a guy named David S 
and I didn’t want to go with him in the first place?  I wished I had a safe place to live.  I wished I had smaller boobs so these guys would just leave me alone.  I wished I didn’t have to do this by myself.  But I never asked for help.  Not once.  Because I was mature.

It recently occurred that I need one for general isolation.  With the Tammy thing, or with the near rape in Forest Park.  And everything else.  I was “mature”.  I was described as mature all my life.  It allowed me to take more and more responsibility.  I could watch the kids, I could deal with my own tragedies and obstacles.  How does this look?  The word that makes me cry is  Abandonment.

Can’t remember much about High School.  One of the things that I can remember are the drug thing.  I went straight to chemicals because I always heard that Pot was a gateway drug.  I didn’t want to be an addict.  Pot was the last thing I tried.  The Reverse Gate.

The Consequences Seems Extreme.  That’s the hair cut from hell as punishment for drinking for the first time.  We got caught because Eddie couldn’t hold his beer.  His mom came to tell on us.  Mom didn’t do well when she felt she was being judged by others.  Mostly she was embarrassed because we were with others.  I think.  She made Dad take me out and explain the Consequences.  He had tears in his eyes.  He took me to the hair dressers.  It was a school, and she asked me if I wanted it cut dry or wet.  Stupid question, really.  I didn’t know.  She cut it dry.  It was horrible.  Agnes L. fixed it for me, but I wore it like that for weeks.  Mostly for spite.  And I drank as often as I could ‘til I could do it legal, and it lost its allure.


Went Home and Married J.  Also complicated.  I loved him.  He was the only guy I ever wanted
to talk every day..  Not to mention the sex.  :D  However, I did a fortune telling thing and the question was “Does the One I love, love me?”  The answer was “Yes, because he’s blind to your faults.”  He married someone apparently strong and independent and ended up being weak and frightened.  I’m getting tired of my life.

I Became Agoraphobic.  This needs a mention.  I actually like that as a title.  It was panic attacks that kept me immobilized.  Turned me into a wimpy dependent woman, when I kept the illusion of being strong and independent.  It was horrible.  And because I always handled my own stuff, never ever thought about getting help.  Mom actually gave me the clue to that one. 

Seems like it should get more fanfair here.  The birth of my beautiful son.  It behooves me to be honest about these steps in my journey. So, It’s Complicated.  While I loved him unconditionally, it was also a chain locking me into a life I was finding unbearable.  It was my responsibility, you understand.  I knew about responsibility. 

Enough is Enough.  That was with my marriage in tatters, I decided to go to where my family was, which h
happened to be Texas at this time.  I knew I would have to pretend to be strong, because that was the way I rolled when they all knew me. Pretending seemed a good first step.  I’d get strong for real, later.  My husband went with me. 

Interesting Development…Turns out I was pregnant.  Didn’t know it.  I just dealt with it.  She was beautiful.  I can do this.

Walking Thru My Fears.  This was a very long process.  Learning to breathe, learning to drive, learning to expand my comfort zones.  Going to school, going to work.  Having a life.

Discovering That I Think Women Rock.  This was a huge epiphany.  I was listening to my mom sympathizing with this goober, Lloyd. who was whining to her about how horrible his wife is.  I remember thinking, EWWW.  What a pig.  Who talks like that about his wife to a stranger?  And I realized that while I grew up with the idea that “women will stab you in the back” and “men make better friends”…. my experience told me something else all together!  I liked women! 

Realizing Men Are Pigs. The pendulum had to swing the other direction.  Don’t worry.  This didn’t last forever.

Finding God.  This was thru Emmaus.  This was a long journey as well.  Back and forth.  But luckily, I was able to keep my relationship with Him, even though I was all over the map.

Turns out I was supposed to be a Massage Therapist.  Really.  God took me there.  There is absolutely not doubt.  Ask me.  I’ll tell you all about it.

Things are getting heavy.  I mean really.  I think I am numb.  I Am Having Trouble Holding Up The World.  At least the world that I am in charge of.  Maybe numb is wrong.  Maybe it’s shock.

Enter, Devil Woman.  Ok, her name is Sonya and she’s not really the devil, but she made me cry.  OK, maybe it wasn’t really her making me cry.  It might have been … well, I heard it put this way… If you want to feel better, take a pill.  If you want to get right, face the truth.  She showed me my truth.  Dammit.


Reparenting.  What a Gift!  Jaime let me re-parent her.  Her low self esteem was something I should have been addressing as her mom while I was busy holding myself together earlier.  I wonder where she will end up as she learns the lesson’s I am just now getting, while she’s still in her 20’s?  My son is not having any part of it.  :D

Well, If It Walks Like A Duck… I resisted the idea that I could be an artist.  Claimed to be a craftswoman, because I followed patterns.  It seemed wrong to claim artist.  Artists did amazing things.  My stuff is personal.  But, I am an artist.  This is my own creation.  My life.  An artist's life journey. 

The Journey begins...

Went to Houston Quilt Festival and had a Wonderful time!!!  On level after level.  First, classes in mixed media!  I loved them.  Was thrilled to learn that I could paint a bird that you could tell was a bird, and ditto for the sunflower.  Can't think why I'd ordinarily paint those things, but it was still a kick.  Enjoyed the company of friends and the time away itself!  That makes two.  Was also excited to learn that I was physically fit enough to navigate the walking and steps.  Thanks to my trainer.  And how smart (lucky) was I to start in Sept.  That is three things.  Also learned that I wasn't nervous or afraid or anxious about being on my  own.  That, from a recovered Agoraphobic, is momentous.  I went to classes that were in places I didn't know.  Went off on my own over and over.  Maybe having cell phones is enough to reduce the stress?  Don't know.  Didn't have any stress.  I got as ready as I could, then just did it.  That was a very big four things.  These aren't in order, because this hops over to the conversation I had with Brenda, explaining my new eating strategies.  One of them being that retreats and vacations are free.  I can eat whatever I want to.  Well, I got home on Sunday, and Wednesday I realized that while I could eat anything I wanted, I still ate vegetables and fruit.  And my cheat was ONE cookie from Starbucks.  And after dinner, I may have had ONE cinnamon coffee cake from Starbucks.  One or two treats a day.  I thought I was really indulging.  Wasn't til Wed. that I realized I have as much at home with my dessert.  Weird.  Possibly wonderful, though.  What am I up to?  Five!  And then this one... Carol and I were talking about how intriguing it was to make tiny blocks.  She had seen one inch square, and we thought that 2 would be better for us.  Maybe a bit larger.  I thought that would make a neat way to make a journal.... well.  What would that even involve?  How many squares?  What particularly would be eventful enough to merit a square?  That makes six.  Next, is the Journey of Fragments, the written portion.