Crazy as a Loom

Friday, October 20, 2017

Growing up

  That's me before my hair got gray......and a few pounds lighter, as well.
And that's my first grandchild, Nev.

In scrubs here, probably just home from work, looks like he was taking a break from riding his bike.

Now here he is, on his 20th birthday. All 6' 5" of him.
What I want to know is:  where the **** did that 20 years go????

So that was then, a whole lifetime of children, and grand children, and work, and life.
Sometimes, it seems like a dream.  Because after all, today is what we have.
But oh, the memories are sweet to dwell on, aren't they?

Now, I find my solace at the loom, I confess.

It really does sustain me some days.

I just sent a wrap to the Czech Republic.......these are photos sent to me by the mama I wove it for.

The wrap turned out well, but the pictures are amazing.

On the other end of the spectrum, I still have a 4 year old grand girl, and a 7 month old it appears I am not done yet.

Whenever she comes, she wants to hold a chicken.
And she loves it each and every time.

My first foray with peppermint thread..........the warp is navy blue cotton, and the weft is hand dyed peppermint.
It is the most luscious fiber, ever.
Super, super, soft.

And yes, that's me, caught by the Google cam car.

Let me leave you with a comment, from a four year old, to her 7 month old brother:

"I will never leave you in the forest."

I guess that's all we can hope for, isn't it?

Friday, October 13, 2017

Days and desperation

Autumn is a disappointment this year, the leaves are turning brown, skipping right over the usual lovely oranges and golds.  The sunshine is amazing though, and it's warm in the daytime, and cool at night.  That's perfect.  Guess I have to be grateful for the positives.  I do have lots of photos of October in previous years, in all its glory.

My recent weaving has been on a natural warp.  I always love it, it's like a blank slate, with so many possibilities.

I often sit on my park bench, out back.  It's a nice place to relax, and just be.

These river birch are part of the gift of trees my mother bought me several years back.

 This little maple is another.

And these two maples as well.
Every time I sit here, I think of her.

 One of her favorite poems was this one:


I think that I shall never see 
A poem lovely as a tree. 

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest 
Against the earth’s sweet flowing breast; 

A tree that looks at God all day, 
And lifts her leafy arms to pray; 

A tree that may in Summer wear 
A nest of robins in her hair; 

Upon whose bosom snow has lain; 
Who intimately lives with rain. 

Poems are made by fools like me, 

But only God can make a tree.
I finally finished the quilt for my grandson's birthday.  Here it is right before I put it all together.
It was a challenge, for sure.

And made more difficult by the fact that I cut the side of my fingertip off with a rotary blade.

Yes, I went to the ER, after it bled for about 8 hours.
It is better, but still incredibly sore.

It has slowed me down some, but it hasn't stopped me from weaving.

As if......

I had some warp left on the loom after a custom order, so I played some.  Actually, I played quite
a bit.

This morning L and I put a navy warp on for my next project.

Now for the threading.

My dyes have always been over my dyeing counter, but they were near impossible to find.  I almost had to get on a step stool to get close enough to them to read the colors.
So today, I had a brain storm, and I moved them.  I used those same shelves to store large cones of cotton and linen waiting to be dyed.

 My dyes are now on a shelf over the sink, much closer to someone looking at them, and much easier to deal with.

I am desperate for a day away, or days even........though I love my home, and my studio, and what I do, sometimes still I need some perspective: the kind you get when you leave it all behind for a bit.

A long drive in the country, good conversation, a leisurely lunch.

oh, well.
In the meantime, my zinnias are still rocking, and to see them is joy.

Welcome to my world.

Because every thread counts

Because every thread counts