Sewing with the Dead

“It’s Mason Capwell. He’s up to something. And Eden just left the room crying.”

“Oh. He’s a mean one. I think I like him best. Now let me see how far you’ve gotten.”

Then I would hold up whatever I was working on; a crocheted purse, a drawing, a sculpture for her to check on my progress. This is how our afternoons would go. I’d translate the highlights of the soap opera Santa Barbara for her as we worked quietly on projects she remembered learning in school or from her own mother. He-Man would come on shortly after Santa Barbara and my grandmother would disappear back into the kitchen to make dinner. We did this for years – for as long as I was living at the house. We did this for so long that I can’t quite recall the specifics of one afternoon, just the generals of many.

Even though she’s been dead for almost six years now, I still feel my fingers aching in the afternoons. I can’t help taking inventory of useful things in the house – scraps of fabric, pipe cleaners, shoelaces and plastic trays. My grandmother always had a secret store of things like these, was always on the lookout for something that could be transformed into a work of art. She grew up in the aftermath of dada-ism, where art or anti-art meant the metamorphosis of the mundane to the sublime, and vice-versa. And while we played games like the Exquisite Corpse and poetry exchange, to me it was never an abrupt departure from the spirit of folk art that celebrates the style and history of a people.

This is how my “Best of the Suite” anthology was born. Norwegian Culture: Activities for Children and Families features a selection of articles designed to guide you and your family through itchy-finger afternoons. These articles honor the historical and cultural traditions of Norway by giving them new flavor and form, with activities ranging from language games to sewing projects and shorthand sculpture. The anthology also includes reviews of children’s books engaging Norwegian themes and offers special sections on grandparents and un-born children.

When I am possessed of an irresistible longing to go back in time, to renew old family relationships with those who are no longer around, instead of calling John Edward or James Van Prague, I pick up a needle or a stick of glue and pass the time in quiet concentration, paying tribute to the dead. I can almost hear my grandmother asking, “Will you make one of those for me too?”

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