Weaverly

Becalmed

Establishing a fixed routine seems to be a good idea these days. None of this lolling about in bed till 10 AM. Today I did my walk before breakfast. There weren't so many boy racers on the Trail. Here's where I pass under the highway. 

Since the Trail is a former railway bed, there are sections where it is quite elevated above the surrounding terrain. The views are interesting, kind of a birds' eye effect. 

Back at home, I am doing some sewing, as in garment making. I haven't made a garment in several years, and my skills are rusty. Here I am setting in a sleeve. Two rows of gathers, then pin, pin, pin. 

Then to the sewing machine and stitch carefully. This brings back memories of sewing class in middle school. At that time I was sewing my first blouse out of pink cotton broadcloth. Very unforgiving. There were a few random pleats in the sleeve cap when I was finished. That's a no-no. I brought the blouse home and my mother made me rip it out and redo the sleeve. I was furious at the time, but in retrospect I see that as an important milestone. 

Fast forward. I finished the new blouse and tried it on. Too small! I had made the wrong size. Three days wasted. But not really wasted. I did enjoy the feeling of sewing again, and will start another garment soon, this time measuring more carefully. Note to self: I am not the same size as I was in middle school. I'll give the blouse to my sylph-like granddaughter. 

Then there was yesterday's bread. It's the same recipe I've used several times before. What happened? I don't know. My buddy thinks I must have forgotten the yeast, but I don't think so. It looks like it rose high and then flopped. I sliced it up and put it in the freezer. It will be good toast.

My daily cuppa, usually at 4 PM, in my safe space. This is my new mug from East Fork. Best mug ever. A beauty, and it has heft. The mug mat is ply split braiding from Barb. Hi, Barb! The handwoven carpet was found by Phyllis in a Greek monastery over 50 years years ago. It's been from house to house to house with me, and is still going strong. Phyllis, where are you now?

 

A Cluster of Cairns

More walkers than bikers on the Trail this morning. The county workers are out mowing the grass verges. Scent of onions.

On a trailside bench, a man reading a book. A crutch is propped next to him. How did he get there? A runner alongside his small helmeted son on a bicycle. A mom pushing a stroller with an infant, her young daughter riding ahead on a pink bicycle. A gray-haired woman walker passes me. She's the same one I saw yesterday. Daily routines emerging here. A very tall guy in a beautiful yellow suede-like shirt. I longed to reach out and touch it, but I didn't. 

Some new cairns have sprung up overnight, or perhaps these are modifications to existing cairns. No matter. All messages welcome.

And here is a cluster of cairns! Or concatenation of cairns. Or a convergence of cairns. Or a community of cairns. Take your pick.

Of course there is more green than yesterday. A doubling of green. Every day there will be twice as much green as the day before. A better statistic than some others.

Back in the studio I continue to labor at the amalgamation project. I've had to scrap every word I wrote before my move. It's total c##p. Did a fresh new draft. Somewhat better. Now I have to decide what to do with the woven samples. I no longer have the photography setup with backdrop and lights. I will have to go with Plan B. The scanner perhaps.

And the drafts will have to be organized. Well, that's for another day. Click on this one to enlarge, it will look better.

Virtual wave. Here's lookin' at ya!

More Messages From Out There

I'm so glad the Trail is still open, and I hope the county will elect to keep it open. Folks are being very cooperative about social distancing, and I think everyone realizes that it's important to get out and exercise every day.

Today there are more cairns on the Trail - or maybe I've just been paying more attention. But it's like getting a message from Out There. So I wave back. Thanks, whoever you are.

It rained hard last night. I could hear it on the roof. The trees are about to explode into leaf. 

Sometimes I work on the rigid heddle loom while watching the news. It's calming. The weaving, not the news.

This is all handspun: the warp (except for the red silk tie-down threads), the ground weft, and the pattern weft. 

The darned spell-checker keeps wanting to change the word "handspun" to "hands-on". Gr-r-r. Bad doggie.

OK out there. Stay warped. Stay wise.