"The Cafe's in the orchard ... " Raven observed

"The Cafe's in the orchard. If there is one thing for certain, it's this: with help they will pitch this cafe with ease, without it they will labor." Raven observed as the two old dears carried poles and stacks of tent from the turquoise truck, the truck they name Bernadette. Raven was quiet in his noticing, but the tree was listening.

"Is one better than the other? I mean if they have help to raise the cafe it will ease their effort. Without it they labor, but that is not bad either." The Ancient Fir was always curious about humans at their work.

The hens were curious too, but don't make much commentary about things they know nothing about and continued with their business.

"It was the old woman's idea and the old man's labor that led to the Cafe being positioned in the orchard. The large canopy tent is a gift from their friend who is packing up his truck and his happy heart to journey south to California where it's warm all the time. The old woman thinks it will be fun to have the tent/cafe nearby as she plays with the magic." The Ancient Fir is within earshot of all the conversations and is expert at hearing the magic that rides the border between words and belly intelligence.

"She prayed those song words she sings to ask for permission when they'd finished raising the tent. She's consistent in asking." The tree was swaying remembering the old woman's chanting.

Raven watched as the woman went about the orchard pushing on the small button capturing images in the black box. He appreciated that about the woman, she chronicled. Ravens have exceptional memory rather like the human's digital black box, but legions more expansive. "I like that she is looking at the tent through the limb of the Gravenstein. It's a view the apple will see after all; and the hens will see the Cafe whether they comment about it or not."

"There is room for magic in that orchard, and it gives the old ones another shelter to play in when the rain makes it inconvenient. Perhaps this tent will draw the help they need when sharing the labor is what's needed. Perhaps the season of long nights and dreaming will send them stories worth telling. And, who knows with our meddling this winter could be just the one to continue common magic." Raven liked that idea. Flying from The Ancient Fir's dancing limb the black-feathered bird let out with a chant of his own. The Old Man and The Old Woman took it as a blessing. They were glad.

"I'll be seeing you"

"... I continue to struggle to learn basic web stuff (like backing up the site, cloud storage and other things I pretty much loathe doing or even knowing about). I can’t complain at this point. I’ve crested the top of the learning curve and while there is plenty more that I can and will learn, things are functioning both on the surface and behind the scenes…and it’s no longer on a hope and a prayer! It’s definitely good to push to learn new things when you’re older. On that level, I’m grateful for these problems..."-from my astrologer Elsa Panizzon who created the first astrology blog on the internet 11 years ago

I found ElsaElsa the first year Pete and I returned to the Pacific Northwest after the initial times of homelessness and tail-spinning. Our adventures in my homelands were indeed rendering me "faceless" as well as homeless. I was a writer who could no longer touch ink or paper, but there was an escape hatch and it was called BLOG. Short story: I found Elsa's blog, and wove her stories, her angle on astrology (not a new tool, but certainly I needed to make it more real to be useful). Elsa did that for me in 2008. I sought a tether to ground myself, I found a storyteller with real life astrology and a kind and generous heart. I used one of my safety pins and hooked up with her. The pin still works, holding me efficiently and I have learned to blog and stretch what I know about the cyber-publication game as far as my safety pins can take me. Like Elsa I have so much to learn about basic web stuff. My son comes in and out of my life to teach me or do for me what I cannot, and that gets me a bit further on the learning curve. I let that be enough and that makes it possible to accept the disappointments like having to cancel Tea and Toast at The Safety Pin Cafe. The reality of harsh and chemically toxic environments exists. When winter and cold season move people indoors the heat sources (electricity or wood smoke) do two things that challenge us: first, the heat warms up the cleaning agents used in carpeting and in the scents people use to wash and dry their clothing; and if it's wood used to heat most people don't know how or choose not to burn 'clean'. Both scenarios shut out or shut down people like me and my husband. Location, location, location. Where to go, where to be?

We are old and resilient. That's the combination that allows safety pins to be the efficient and moveable magic that is at the belly and heart of The Safety Pin Cafe. Where is she going with this tale? She's taking you outside where the two old dears spend most of their lives. Out in the woods, out in public places that allow for a safe haven, small, "grounded and sensitive" spaces, a place where mushrooms pop up, and where the big red umbrella and banner of the cafe can appear. I have slowly recovered from the body burden of being maluhiluhi (not well). Impatient to be at full steam my head wished for QUICK, but the organic nature of life is different, and SLOW and LESS is the more usual answer. So, I slog through and weeks later I am excited to find alternatives for The Safety Pin Cafe. That's what this tale, this post is all about ... a New Moon Message to say we'll be seeing you in all the old familiar places, or unexpectedly familiar places. Click on the arrow below and listen to Billie croon "I'll be seeing see," while you take a look at some familiar places in and around our town.

Pete and I went looking at the familiar places outside where The Safety Pin Cafe umbrella, a hand-stitched banner, room for a storyteller's stool and a few silly and artful props can be set up in our version of FLASH performances. We had such fun, playing around and believe we're onto something ...

So, we'll be seeing you in these familiar places soon. Be quick though, we're old but move like the wind, with safety pins. Look for messages posted in those familiar places and shared through the coconut wireless networks here and there (Drewslist and more!) telling you when we'll be popping up the umbrella and stringing up the banner.

A'a i ka wala'au. Let the words fly.

Moki and Pete

A year of magic

I found a set of these cups one day nearly a year ago while taking myself on an "Artist's Date." The medicine story had begun, and in my heart I knew the cozy place would need cups to fill with hot milk or tea and magic.

If you don't know about Artist's Dates click here.

Those seven sweet cups sat in the paper bag after The Safety Pin Cafe popped its tent into the Raven-lit sky, sharing story, inviting involvement and keeping a promise. Those cups sat unwashed for nearly a month. We kept passing the bag, but not washing them ... inexplicable. Until I did reach in and found the magical leavings of Red Hibiscus Tea ... in the shape of a red apple. (faint, but there really) Messages. Notations like a musical score.

This morning on my way back from feeding the hens the call of the leaves from the blueberry bushes catch me and would not let me go. "It's been a great year!" they sang. I stopped and randomly picked a handful of glorious petals and agreed, "Yes, it has been a magical and magnificent year of magic."

Meditation on a simple stitch

 "The Silver-haired Raven wore splendid garb." A beautiful remnant of turquoise corduroy was enough to cut into a vest for Pete/The Silver-haired bird. A silk-screened wood cut done by friend and fiber artist and partner in collaboration Pam Winstanley I trimmed and hand embroidered with silver metallic thread.

 To accentuate and add a bit of shimmer to the shape of the vest I machine stitched the curves of the back and front using that same silver metallic thread

The vest is fully lined with cotton flannel, the last of a once warm flannel sheet that has kept us warm in seasons passed.

Can you spot the turquoise vest on The Silver-haired Raven?

"For centuries women have done needlework. It was a necessary skill, it was an accomplishment, and it was a chance to appear to be active while giving one’s mind free reign to consider, to think. Calm, slow, careful stitches gave the appearance of activity, skill and usefulness, but the mind was free to think, to be quiet, to wander... An unbroken thread of women, stitching quietly, their minds pondering, considering, thinking, deliberating... for ages and ages...-Universidad de Palermo

I remember when I learned to stitch. The old house in the valley. An embroidery hoop and colored thread. Cross-stitch. Already an impatient learner I saw how beautifully the colored thread made pictures, and wanted to make those pictures. Now! My brother newly born, we were new to that house, new to the valley. I am four. How do I remember all this when until I sat to rewind the memory those thoughts weren't there? Time would pass and my embroidery skills would not develop much mostly because I did not practice them. The next stitching memory is that of the old Singer that rose from the box when Ma opened the top and pushed down on it. The dark stained wood and black metal machine filled in the wall inside the bedroom shared with all four of us. Two soft and lumpy big beds: one for Ma and Dad and one for me and my brother. Ma sewed and I said under the lid as the machine roared and the sharp needled chewed up and down the material. Ma.Machine.Stitches. Comfort. Closeness.

Sewing is what I got good at. Good at sewing because I loved it, and did it often. Island girls in the 1950's went to Sewing School. I went to Sewing School one block Honolulu-side of my house on Dalene Way it was an easy walk and I had a cousin who went with me. She became a very accomplished seamstress with a day job that paid her bills for decades. We both had day jobs for decades and paid the bills with skills and commitment to being productive in the modern world. But what is miraculous and meditative for me at this stage of life is how the simple stitch practiced over time is the metaphor I feel mostly in my bones. Coupled with my practice of writing, the longer-still disciple and activity of stitching holds me, grounds me while at the same time allows me access to the "minds [of women who have been] pondering, considering, thinking, deliberating... for ages and ages."

Fall is definitely in place here in the woods of the Pacific Northwest. It is cold. My body shudders with the reality of the seasonal shift, and without thinking I wish for the warm sunny sky and salty beaches. A soak and a swim would be heaven. As writer, storyteller and stitcher the magic and medicine of art can create the portal or ha'a kaau to open time and space. That's what the story that began The Safety Pin Cafe chronicles are all about. Creating a cozy space to weather the weather and invite solutions transformative yes, and practical as well. I sit to quiet my aching joints and wrap myself in fleece to warm my fingers: regalia for writing in winter. I process the experience of birthing a project of art and get a sense of what to do next, where to go from here. A bug dangles from a fine invisible thread, wiggling at screen level as my cat curls on the table not far from me. What does a Border Witch do after one performance, one border has been crossed?

She could do many things, do nothing, or perhaps she rests and recuperates, gently grounding herself and forgives herself when she snaps with Mars-infused fire because she is tired. Today, the writer, teller and character from the myth writes and reflects on the simple stitch that led to another, and another creating something from nothing ... a vest the color of those salty turquoise beaches, soft and smooth as silky ocean water. The Silver-haired Raven who worn splendid garb is both a character and a flesh-and-bones old man I know. I stitched the vest, I let my thoughts swim with the story preparing for performance. The jitter bugs and fear of odds and ends stay enough away as I stitch and sew and fit and unstitch, pin and stitch again. The art and disciple takes me through and across the borders of known and unknown space. A vest is stitched. A vest is fit. And in the process the Border Witch shows up to do her work.