Cross Stitch on Water

The darkness of night still rules the new day as I board the first ferry boat of the day. I take my usual seat at one of the tables and take out my box of floss, the pattern, and the fabric that has the design growing across its width.

I am working on an ambitious project with 160 colors and a design that takes 8 panels of pattern taking an estimated 800 hours of work. I am making it for my mother and it is a labor of love. A man on the other side of the table watches me prepare to work and shakes his head.

"I could never do that. I don't have the patience for that."

I smile in an attempt of politeness, "It doesn't really take a lot of patience." He shakes his head again and opens his newspaper. Most people on this run sleep on their way across the bay, others read. Some talk. I can hear a woman at another table talking to her friend. I wonder if she knows we can all hear each word. I am not telling her. I want to know what is going to happen with her sister who was arrested for drunk driving last week. She is a walking soap opera.

I open the floss box and consult the pattern. I select 962 sweetheart rose. I would have named it Easter Egg Pink myself. I measure a length, cut it and separate out 2 strands. I find great comfort in the ritual of threading my needle, of the whole process of stitching.

I glance out the window into the darkness and see the lights of the refinery in Martinez. From here, the ugliness is hidden and it looks like a futuristic castle.

I begin to stitch, small neat "x"'s that follow a graph. I like how they nestle one right next to the other. Needle in. Needle out. I find the rhythm of the sticking, feel the smooth slide of floss through fabric. I suppose there is a Zen level to this. After stitching for most of 28 years, it no longer requires intense concentration. Needle in. Needle out. I finish that color, stitch under previous stitching to hold the floss. Snip. save the remainder of the floss and mark the pattern so I won't get lost.

We are halfway now and the sun is coming up. There are clouds today and they glow red and orange with the rising sun. I take out the next color, thread and knot.

It isn't that stitching takes patience, but that it gives me patience. Needle in. Needle out. I cannot make it go any faster . There is no speed stitching, no shortcuts; and while some might find that this requires patience, it is a comfortable set of known perimeters. I enjoy the steady, soothing rhythm. Later I will have enough hectic pace, situations that urge me to hurry faster and faster, but here I can move at a slower pace.

Needle in. Needle out. Needle in. I make a command decision to change an "x to a different color. This is my unique project. No one, even someone who uses the same pattern will have an identical product. The casual observer would say they are the same, but here and there, i have put my individual twist to it. I control this world of color and design. I may not be able to control everything else that happens to me, but this stitching is the world where I am a goddess of color and design. A bit megalomaniac but it is true.

Needle in. Needle out. Part of my mind goes over what I need to do at work. I am moving the needle and moving my mind toward the challenges of the day.

Needle in. Needle out. Stitch under. Snip. Alcatraz is on the right hand side. The Golden Gate Bridge almost glows with the morning sun while fog curls sleepily around its feet. The city almost trumpets its glory in front of us. I have enough time for one more color.

825. A blue that is so deep, it should have a better name than "very dark blue." Needle in. Needle out. People around me are packing the aisle to wait by the door in hopes that they will get a 30 second start over the next person. I notice that the man with the newspaper has fallen asleep.

The boat bumps against the dock. I fasten the needle into the fabric, close the floss box, make the last marks on the pattern. I am ready for the day, my mind at ease, my soul ready. Work will take all my patience. On the ride home, I will once again take out the floss and fabric and stitch away the stress of my day - mending my soul.

October 2000. copyright Elizabeth Armstrong

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Last Revised August 3, 1999: