Standing Together Against Evil

In April 1995, I was barely 37 years old and living in Bethany, Oklahoma (a suburb of Oklahoma City)with my first husband.  My oldest child, age 19, was a college student in Texas and my two youngest children, ages 17 and 14, still lived at home.  We had two dogs, a huge yellow lab named Brew and a itty bitty, soft honey colored lab named Saxony.  Saxony could catch any frisbie ever thrown.   I worked for a state agency near the Health Sciences Center which is on the outskirts of downtown.  I had been a lawyer for less than two years and loved it. 

I am sure I arrived at work by 8:00 a.m., my regular time, and being a morning person, made the most of that first hour.  I specialized in employment law, regularly dealing with whistleblowing suits, discrimination claims and alleged wrongful terminations.  That morning, I was on the telephone spiritedly hashing out a resolution to a whistleblowing case with the attorney for the former employee.  Over my passionate objection, another attorney in the office with more seniority had agreed to settle the case.  Notwithstanding that I was adamently opposed to the settlement, I'd been left with the responsibility to hash out the details.  Such is legal practice. 

I had/have a love/hate relationship with the whole idea of whistleblowing.  My job at the agency was twofold - on the one hand, I counseled my agency on what the law required and did my level best to stamp out any hint of retaliation against people who reported wrongdoing.   I didn't do it grudgingly - I am genuinely disgusted by that sort of cowardly behavior. 

On the other hand, I defended the agency against charges of whistleblowing.  Over the years, I got to know many of the supervisors under emotionally trying conditions.  I liked and respected most of them.  I saw the real anquish they suffered when charged with something they considered to be ethically reprehensible.

In the course of time and over the years I've had the opportunity to look back and consider whether I ever took the "wrong" side in a whistleblowing case.  I have to say that in my case, although I loathe anyone who would bully someone who righteously reports wrongdoing (and I have done it, myself - more than once), I haven't lost a speck of sleep over defending my agency.  If it appeared whistleblowing had taken place, we generally dealt with it, quickly.   If not, we nearly always went to court. 

Most whistleblowing claims I dealt with arose from individuals with an ax to grind.  Typically, after being fired or disciplined, hurt feelings, rage, fear and resentment lead people to charging the agency with firing them/disciplining them out of retaliation for speaking out.  They frequently cannot admit to themselves that they might have given the agency cause, particularly when they have responsibilties at home.  Easier to blame the agency than to tell a wife that they did something that cost them their job.  And no one wants to lose face with their family or friends when they are disciplined by the boss.  Faced with sounding like a hero vs. someone who has failed, it is an easy call for some. 

Alternatively, there frequently were pre-existing personality conflicts between an employee and his/her supervisor that exploded in rage and a sense of victimhood once that superviser took steps to fire them.  Bringing charges against the agency allows them the opportunity to rage against the supervisor and attempt to embarass or get him/her into trouble at little cost to the former employee.  Whistleblowing cases are disturbingly personal and have been called "corporate divorces" for a reason.

But setting all that aside, on April 19, 1995, at 9:02 a.m., while I was on the phone doing my job, Timothy McVey, may he rot in hell, parked a renter yellow Ryder truck full of a fertilizer bomb in front of the Murray Federal Building, knowing it was full of innocent people and a daycare center.  McVey walked away, the truck exploded, and 168 souls lost their lives, including 19 precious children under the age of 6.

Here is a link to a number of photos taken at the time.   It was a glorious, sunny morning with a brilliant blue sky that gave way to a driving, icy rain that evening while rescuers frantically tried to find survivors.  Downtown was ankle deep in shattered glass.  Window washers on a nearby highrise were taken on a wild, awful ride when the blast hit them and knocked their scafalling.   I rushed to give blood - was second in line - and two hours later when I left the building, all I could see was a sea of ambulances.   Sitting in the street because there weren't survivors to rush to the hospital.   We didn't learn until later that Timothy McVey had been picked up by an vigilant policeman who noticed he was missing a car tag. 

Having been through the Oklahoma City bombing as well as the events of 911, I have had the opportunity to consider how each affected me.  I have to say the events of 911, sadly, made me fearful, weaker.  It some ways, it broke my spirit.  What really changed me at 911 was not the attacks by the terrorists.  It was being trapped in Washington DC in the aftermath with no one on control, surrounded by terrified people.  That damage deepened over the next year because I worked with people consumed with fear. Fear - and courage - is frequently contageous.

In contrast, the Oklahoma City bombing, didn't play out that way.  Instead of the mixed feelings and competing values, it made the city angry.  It made it stronger.  Part of that is because McVey had been captured and it was perceived the threat was gone.  More importantly, most Oklahomans are homegrown and they took personal offense at some b*stard coming into their town and, for political reasons, slaughtering innocents, including children.  It flat out pissed them off.  Sorry for the language but I couldn't feel stronger about this.  Even people who shared some of McVey's political leanings had no difficulting understanding that there are lines you don't cross.  And killing innocents - babies, even - is a bright, bright line.

If McVey had wanted to start a revolution, he should not have attacked a redneck place like Oklahoma City.  They recognized his actions, as soon as they understood what motivated them, as complete BS.  As evil.  No ambivalence, here.

Note:  Over the years, there have been a number of theories that McVey was part of a larger conspiracy and that others who were involved weren't captured.  I'll be honest - it wouldn't surprise me but it isn't something I've kept up with. 

It is with sadness that I read about all the commotion regarding the 911 Memorial at Ground Zero in NYC.  What a shame.  So many agendas, so many competing values, so many willing to harm others to get what they want.  Who was right?  Who was wrong?  Is terror ever justified?  Distrust depending on religion or ideology.  Accusations.  Competition.  On and on.  So dysfunctional.  So painful.  Some see the division as healthy.  I am not one of them.  Not after all this time. 

I re-visited the Oklahoma City Memorial, this morning.  It is a lovely, serene memorial.  I've been there before and have been meaning to return for the past year.  So different than what took place in NYC.  The sentiment in Oklahoma City was simple, shared and passionate.  They were outraged at that McVey son of a bitch.  They were disgusted that he tried to use politics to justify a slaughter.  They were insulted that McVey actually thought sane, moral people would adopt his warped belief that blowing up children was ever justified.  The idea that he thought people would rally around that monster was so outrageous that about all you could do was shake your head in wonder.  The vast majority shared faiths that condemn murder and since they spoke a similar religious language with a common religious heritage, they understood each other even if they didn't always agree.  They deeply mourned the loss of life and all of us wept over the children.  They celebrated the survivors and heroes who stepped up.  They vowed to not bend their neck to cowardly acts of terror.  And they vowed to make the City stronger.

Here are some photos of the Memorial.  This church, right next door, survived the blast:

Overlooking the Memorial you can see the reflecting pond that flows from one arch to another.  The eastern arch - closest to the rising morning sun - says 9:01.  The western arch, closest to the setting sun - says 9:03.  The bomb went off at 9:02, taking so many from this world:

Each person who lost their life has an empty chair with their name on it.  They are arranged in groups, depending upon what floor they died.

Immediately after the bombing, a makeshift memorial arose.  People left items on the fence erected around the bombed ruins and they continue doing that to this day.  The items are periodically stored and many are displayed at the Museum that is adjacent to the Memorial.

The Survivor Tree is a large Elm that survived the blast.  It was filled with metal and shards of glass.  It has been tenderly cared for since that day and serves as a symbol of the strong Oklahoma spirit. 

The Memorial is in the footprint of the Murray Building and they left much of the original wall that remained following the blast.

The Western Arch:

 Note that some chairs are smaller than others - the small chairs are for the children.:

 The eastern arch:

 The Survivor Tree:

 Looking southwest:

 Looking west:

It was good to reflect. 



 Happy Quilting, Penny, Evelyn and Pearl

Tarka and Blind Willie Come for Another Visit

The girls had some gentlemen company that arrived last night.  Tarka

and Blind Willie

blew into town with their mom, Julia, following a two week trip to Taos.  They were on their way back home to Chicago and stopped for the night.

Blind Willie, as the name suggests, is completely blind but that doesn't slow down the big love bunny (he is over 90 pounds - half again as heavy as my girls).

He barks to participate in play and get back information to help him to navigate.

Or just for the love of singing out:

Tarka, the little scamp, weighs about 46 pounds and we call him the White Coyote:

 He is a highstepper that practically walks on air.

 Pearl was a wee bit intimidated by him but would ask him to play when they were out in the yard:

Evelyn was sweet to both the boys:

 Pearl was more standoffish but Willie loved everyone:

That Tarka can fly:

Pearl wanted to be friends but was shy:

The boys came to visit about a year ago and I blogged about it.   Tarka was just this side of feral and has made great headway in the past year.  He still didn't want strangers near him but by this morning, was much more relaxed.  Willie, a giant of a dog, came to live with Julia after surviving on the streets in the dead of winter, completely blind, quite ill, only about half his current body weight and forced to scavenge for food.  Julia doesn't believe he was ever abused because he is such a lover who shows no fear of people. 

It was a delight to see them and I am itching to throw the girls in the van and head up to Chicago to see them, again.

Happy Quilting, Penny, Evelyn and Pearl

I May be Clobbered After This Post

It is January 17, 2011 and supposed to get up to 57 degrees, today.   The forecast calls for highs in the mid fifties several times in the next week to ten days.  I can't tell you how happy I am about that.  After ten years in Northern Virginia, I nearly acquiesced to the insane notion that January, February and March are predominately a deep, uncomfortable, dark time followed by three months of mud meant to be endured rather than enjoyed. 

It wore on me. 

In fairness, the Oklahoma temperatures in November and January are not that different from where we lived in Triangle, Virginia - they are about two degrees higher in Oklahoma, on average.  Also in fairness, the average low temperature for Oklahoma in December is actually lower than in Triangle.  The main difference between the two in winter and spring is the amount of precipitation and the overall cloud cover.

First of all, in Oklahoma, if it is not raining, chances are it isn't heavily overcast, either - certainly not for long patches.  At worst, you tend to get a partly cloudy pattern with plenty of brilliant sunshine moving about, calling you outside.  More often, you get bright blue skies for at least part of the day.  Any heavy clouds that roll in typically are part of a front, either from the northwest or southwest, frequently clashing like cymbals with warmer or cooler air and turning rainy weather from the gloomy and mundane into the exciting.  Like a rodeo.

It makes you feel alive.  I know, I've said that many times. 

Another difference is that the short, dark days of winter in Northern Virginia fall in their rainy season, making the days all the more gloomy and turning lawns to mud since the grass isn't in its fast growing season and able to heal assaults by dogs and human feet.  In contrast, November through February in Oklahoma are the dry months.  The Bermuda grass is dormant and the days are short but they begin and end with breath taking sunrises/sunsets (that you can actually see) that brighten and extend the day. 

By the time the big Oklahoma spring rains arrive in April or May, the hardy Bermuda grass is already bullying anything that gets in its way, including paltry dog trails or a flower bed near enough to the ground that the Bermuda can jump in and cuddle.  Or assault.  Bermuda is an overbearing plant - some say a noxious weed - that resists boundaries and doesn't understand how to play in the sandbox with other plants.  It is a thug, rude and lacking empathy.   For the gardener tending a bed of precious blossoms, I can see where Bermuda grass would be considered the enemy.   As someone with doggie feet to clean and who enjoys stomping out in the yard and pasture, I call it a blessing.  It is like a thick carpet covering the earth.

You can't reasonably expect the critters, people, weather or plants to be tame in Oklahoma. 

Now that we have reached mid January in Oklahoma,  we won't be surprised by 2 - 3 more winter storms - but only one will be of any consequence and the results will generally be gone inside 2 -3 days if not hours.  Typically this time of year, we'll get 2 - 3 consecutive days with highs in the thirties or, more likely, forties, alternating with a day or two or three of highs in the fifties.  Once we get to February, the average high - average, mind you - is in the mid fifties.  That means that late in the afternoon it is often light enough and plenty warm enough - 60's or even 70's - to sit on the back patio with the girls and enjoy a glass of wine or a beer.  It is also dry enough and the days are bright enough that you don't mind stomping around in the yard since you aren't slipping and sliding in mud.  The exercise keeps you warm even if the air is sometimes chilly.

By late February and early March, that pattern shifts to an average high in the sixties (which means that many days are 15 - 20 degrees higher.  By that time, you don't really need to exercise to keep comfortable - long sleeves are plenty unless you are out in the early morning.  

By mid March, Spring will have firmly arrived, actually as well as astronomically, notwithstanding a few days here and there that remind us to wear a jacket.  Oh, you might get an occasional dusting of snow even as late as early April but by then, the ground has already warmed so much that it doesn't stay more that a few hours.  Note - the GROUND has warmed - not just the air.  I always enjoy the first few mornings when it is light enough and warm enough that I can sit on the patio in short sleeves, drink my first cup of coffee and feel the south wind promising a warm day.

Won't be all that long, now. 

Of course, in fairness and full disclosure, I should mention that we also get some nasty early spring storms.  Last year, for example, we had a blizzard on the first day of spring.

To quote from when I posted about it last year:

"Yesterday was the last day of winter but it was 69 degrees at 7:00 p.m. We sat out on the back patio with a glass of wine (husband had a beer) in short sleeves enjoying watching the birds play. We knew a front was on the way so wanted to take advantage of the nice temperatures while we could. The wind had been teasing us all afternoon and before we retreated inside, we could feel the cool mixing with the warm air. Within an hour, the last gasp of winter started barreling through like a freight train, scaring poor little Pearly to death. She isn't wild about loud noises or noises she can't identify. "

Northerners would laugh at the "storm."

We are coming off a cold snap that froze my fingers when I went outside.  That's so wrong.   I set up my birdfeeder and the bird cam. 

I should have set it up before I left for NYC a week or so ago but I was negligent. 

This morning it is actually foggy and overcast, making a liar of me on the cloud cover but it still feels almost springlike.  Last February, my friend Julia bought her two Samoyed boys, Blind Willie (who really is blind) and Tarka for a visit and we are looking forward to a return trip late this afternoon.  In the meantime, I am working on several quilting projects.  I'm making some progress on another baby quilt:

 

I am working on a border with lots of color but it is going slow.  The black lines in the border will end up being a half inch wide and that makes stitching them a pretty close operation - like trying to swing a hammer in a crawl space:

I am also longarming my paper pieced quilt.

I think the colors are a little muted and weird.   I also ran into some trouble when the batting pleated.  That has never happened to me and caught me by surprise.  The batting had been stored in a folded position and I obviously didn't do enough to get it flat.  I had to do some frog stitching. 

 

I need to come up with a name for it. It was a challenge quilt from the HGTV message board.

We just finished the Oklahoma Winter Quilt Show and they had some fabulous quilts.  My friend, Ranette, won first place for her traditional quilt - it is breathtaking.  All her work is.

As you know, if you read this blog regularly (not that I have been blogging regularly), I began working on art quilts about a year ago.  When I started, there weren't all that many making the rounds of shows.  I don't mean to say they were non existent but the last year has resulted in an explosion of art quilts in competition, no matter where you are. 

Hmm.  Dangerous thoughts, ahead...

I found that as I was looking at the art quilts at the art show, while very, very impressed with the colors, workmanship and designs, I found myself getting a little...bored.   I feel awful writing that.  Even thinking that.  

In my opinion, all gorgeous quilts are by their nature a little self indulgent.  I get that.  We take pride in our workmanship, the colors, the design, and we love to show them off.  We'd be lying if we said otherwise.  And if we didn't take pride in them, we wouldn't put such effort into it unless we were just idiot savants.   But here's the thing that strikes me, today:  Traditional quilts/bed quilts "literally" touch us.  That means that even people who know nothing about what goes into making a quilt can still appreciate them on a physical level.  There is much to be said for the ability to enjoy the textures found in fabric, even for people who don't quilt.  And all quilters understand the pure sensory delight that comes with touching fabric.  It is almost sick, frankly, but that's a whole different post. 

I used to think the attaction of traditional or bed quilts was primarily the result of the sentimental emotions they evoked.  I assumed they were treasured and were desirable by nonquilters primarily because of the tradition, the history, the love that came with it if made by your grandmother or just the very "idea" of a quilt.

But having worked on art quilts, my view has changed, somewhat.  Physically wrapping oneself in a quilt is a huge part of the connection that is generally missing in most art quilts.  Wrap around quilts help heal the wounded.  It physically bestows solace to those lost in grief.  It provides warmth to the elderly or ill.  The wedding quilt on a newlywed couple, even if they have been "together" for years, seems to absorb the delight they have in each other.  Years or even decades later, it can take them back to that place in their lives.    It is a practical comfort you don't get from a wall hanging, which primarily, excites the visual senses of the viewer as a side effect of allowing the artist to be creative. 

As I looked at the art quilts at the show it seemed to me that they were lacking not color, design or creativity but that textile dimension.  Duh.   I guess what I am trying to say, at the risk of offending, is that in my opinion, wall hangings are great for kitchens and quilt studios but most people, while admiring them on someone else's wall, aren't going to put them up in their house unless their mother gave it to them and they have to.  While she is visiting.   To have something made of fabric you can't really draw comfort from through touch is a little like seeing a photo of a precious baby instead of holding it in your arms.  And now I will duck.

And now I am going to make some people really crazy.    Art quilt wall hangings are a little like Velvet Elvises.  Some of them.  Yes, I really said that.   And I hate to hurt anyone's feelings when I write it.  But in fairness to the people who paint Velvet Elvises  - I expect they love the texture, the color and the design and that inspires them to create them.   And shouldn't that be respected for what it is as opposed to the end result?   And aren't the motivations for creating them much the same as what we do when we make art quilts?  I know it is for me. 

I don't think art quilts are lesser creations - don't get me wrong.   As someone who has been working on art quilts, I am perhaps more aware than many of just how much goes into making them.  If you don't do them, even if you are a quilter, you may have no idea how difficult they are.  The good ones require, if anything, more skill than creating a traditional quilt.  So I am not suggesting they aren't wonderful or worthy of the effort.  I am saying that they are different from most wrap around quilts - relying more on the visual in their appeal than the hands-on textural aspect.

Many people do art quilts as part of a challenge or a class.   It is great fun to take an art quilt challenge and compare the different results.  I personally love doing that.  I think that is a blast.    But with art quilts, I think the journey is more important, by far, than the result.  Just my opinion.  An art quilt, like all art, is intensely personal unless done on commission and taking into account another person's preferences or created for commercial reasons.  Or for competition.   I think art quilts are more like abstract paintings.  They mean a lot to the creator and will be admired by many - but only a few actually love them.  Even fewer treasure them. 

Maybe it is just me.   I take my art quilts, even the ribbon winners, and dump them in a pile out in the barn.  I don't even treasure my own!

I don't mean to suggest that I am going to abandon art quilts and stick to traditional quilts, at all.  I think that cow is out of the barn and there is no going back.  But, for me, I think my artsy quilts will probably take a turn towards the functional rather than the ornamental - at least for now.  The soothing nature of something you can wrap up in is an element that, to me, personally, is fundamental.  That means I probably will still do an artsy design or method but concentrate more on wrap aroundable quilts that are soft rather than wall hangings unless it is for something specific - like a holiday hanging, a challenge, a table topper or a wall hanging for the kitchen  or studio.  Or just for fun to learn a technique or hold off mental illness (the real goal of textile therapy).

But don't hold me to it.
 
For what it is worth, after all that, here is a quilt I saw at the quilt show that I fell in love with:

Here are a few more art quilts that I thought were spectacular:

The above two are by Charlotte Hickman - I love anything she does.   Aren't her pieces wonderful?   I apologize that I didn't take note of the names of the artists that created the following but I loved all of them:

This one grabbed me by the throat and didn't let go:

 

 

A wholecloth quilt is on my short list of things I want to do:

 

The first six months or so after I returned to Oklahoma I had what I call "stress dreams" every night.  It was a continuation of the previous few years - dreams of rushing to catch a plane, hiding from a tornado, having a test I hadn't studied for and the like.  The dreams have blessedly stopped.  In the past few weeks, I find myself thinking about looking for a job because, frankly, I feel as if I need more to do - even though I really enjoy being able to get up and not rush to work.  I'm holding off looking for a job until after grandson arrives and I've had a chance to bond with the little darling.  With any luck, by that time, the insanity will pass. 

Happy Quilting, Penny, Evelyn and Pearl