iWonder

Dragonfly

 

This is how I imagine I will feel when I wear my jacket with wings...

 

The Dancer

The Dancer

The Dancer...

A shadow of a woman whirls and twirls in unison with her surroundings - wind blown leaves, a bit of trash, a passing stranger. She choreographs her movements step-by-step with a spirit to dance the city sidewalks another day.

I have probably sidestepped her many times on my walk to work, becoming another unsuspecting partner of this city dancer...

 

Boro Jacket with Wings

Phase 1

I want to repurpose this ancient sweatshirt cardigan with the missing buttons. It wears like a short kimono jacket, which I love. But it needs to be built up in front so I can close it at the neck when it's cold.  And maybe I can add just a little bit of extra length, to cover my behind.

The cloth I want to begin with has a history:

fabric and a stitched piece from Thailand that Mom brought back for me 20 years ago

cotton and linen pillow shams that came from Mom's when we cleaned out her apartment

embroidery on linen that I did when I was in high school 35 years ago (ack!)

I'll line the inside of this jacket with a shirt from my guy.  He had to buy this for a work function that had a tropical theme. He hates it. It fits the contours of my jacket like a glove.

Phase 2

I love dragonflies. I love the real creature. I love the symbolism. I love the stories. I've always said I'd like to come back as a dragonfly in another life.

So I have this idea, to give this jacket dragonfly wings...

 I'll have time to think about this and to dig through my stash while I work on phase 1... 

 

Bonz and Mike

Bonz and Mike

Bonz and his dog Mike...

He was a vietnam war veteran, a protector.  He returned a changed man.  Now he lives on the neighborhood streets where he grew up, doing odd jobs for businesses during the day, taking shelter in their doorways at night. He always has a dog at his side - every one of them has been named Mike. Everything he owns fits into an abandoned grocery cart.  The business owners don't mind where he parks it. And if Bonz runs into trouble, the neighborhood comes to his defense.

The protector, now protected...

Beauty Queen

Beauty Queen

Beauty Queen...

I only saw her once. She was dressed in a formal gown, with elbow-length gloves, a sash draped across her chest, a tiara on her head.  She walked along the city sidewalk at a regal gait, occasionally stopping to pose with a slow motion wave, then circling back to return to the other end of her sidewalk runway.  

She carried herself with the poise of beauty embraced.  

Trumpet Man

Trumpet Man

Trumpet Man...

I could hear him playing from blocks away. He usually stuck to the fringes of the city - the side streets - the park.  Often, I would hear him, but not see him - sharing sound space just the same.

I don't think I ever heard a song I recognized. I imagined him composing as he walked, creating an improv fusion of sounds that expressed his day, moment by moment. 

Music is the language of the soul...

Channeling Elvis

Elvis

Elvis...

I usually saw him come past a favorite city coffee shop.  He was dressed in a white polyester jump suit, a sequined cape, and wore goggles for glasses. He was happy. Always smiling, saying "thank you very much".  And he connected on such a grand scale with everyone at once. It brought him such joy to channel Elvis.

The sidewalk was his stage and we were his audience.  

 

Tinfoil Man

Tinfoil Man

Tinfoil Man...

He walks the city sidewalks wearing a hat made from tinfoil covered cardboard. It's a receiver of sorts. An antenna that facilitates connection - enables the serious conversations he is always engaged in - with someone, somewhere.  

I was in a card shop on my lunch hour one day, reading silly Gary Larson "Far Side" cards. You could say that I was in my own little world in that moment.  Some of the cards made me laugh out loud.  I didn't realize Tinfoil Man had walked in.  

"Stop laughing at me!"

For a brief moment, our worlds connected.

 

Statue Man

Statue Man

Statue Man... I saw him nearly every day on my city walk to work.  

Usually, he was standing on the sidewalk in front of the YWCA. I had time to study him while I waited for the light to change. He never talked. Instead, he rocked back and forth from one foot to the other, following a rhythmic cadence only he could feel. Sometimes, he waved his arms back and forth in a graceful, side-to-side sweeping motion. Sometimes he clapped.  And other times, he would stand in a pose, as if he was doing his morning tai chi.  

He was the calm and balance in the midst of city insanity.

Baby Bird Man

Baby Bird Man

Baby Bird Man...  I really spoke with him.  

When I lived in the city, I could walk to work.  One morning, a large bearded man wearing a ragged oversized canvas coat and khakis caught my eye. I thought he looked like a mountain man.

"Ma'am... I just buried a baby bird that fell from it's nest.  It didn't make it and I thought it should be properly buried.  Can you spare fifty cents for a guy that just buried a baby bird, to buy a cup of coffee?"...

I believed him...