Summer rash

Windows 10 could really bother me. No checkbook; no problem. A blogger friend explained to me, simply be sure I had enough money in the bank before I spent any more. As an accountant in one of my former lives, I've found that to be all I really need.

The DNA site 23andMe has a service of matching relatives, and frequently sends me lists of new cousin matches. People who care to be contacted provide an email . I saw it as the perfect way to find some cousins from the Irish branch of the family that disowned my father. (That quest to see why my Presbyterian Irish grandfather married my Catholic Irish grandmother.)

This would be so simple to identify cousins, using the family tree I built through Ancestry.com. Another false trail, it turns out. Ancestry has no record, as it was jobbed out to a company called Family Tree Maker, when I did it in 2012. Family Tree Maker sells a plethora of programs to update the files on my computer to the current version, but will not answer my emails about what I need. They have no phone number.

And finally, I need to download new books for my MP3 player. But, now I have Windows 10. It recognizes my SanDisk, but I'll be damned if I can locate the correct version of Overdrive, to get the books I borrowed from the library. I can only find the version that plays the books on the computer, and a cryptic note to find a special version that actually transfers the files using Windows 10. My library tells Annie comes in after noon tomorrow, and is the only person there who can help me. The joys of small towns!

On the other hand, when Laura and I met in the kitchen this morning, we decided we needed a selfie before the day ended. And one of our card playing friends took the picture for us, this afternoon.

Broadcast to the wind

This is a collection of my thoughts on being an artisan. For all that I smiled and said “Thank you!” when customers raved about our ‘art,’ I’ve never lost track of Thoreau’s definition. Remember him, the fellow who wore his whiskers under his chin?

The Artist is he who detects and applies the law from observation of the works of Genius, whether of man or nature. The Artisan is he who merely applies the rules which others have detected. There has been no man of pure Genius; as there has been none wholly destitute of Genius.

I added the italics. I didn’t invent looms, thread or weaving, but I can make all three, and use them. I appreciate a great American genius has left me not wholly destitute of talent!

Several years ago I had the burning desire, to quote my grandson, to put a weaving studio back together, and I did. How satisfying to run the threads through my hands another time, thread up my trusty, utilitarian, towels, check tension, then sit and mindlessly weave, my ears tuned to music, books, lectures de jour.

How easily it all came together, how easily it all flew apart, as you may recall. But in the middle, stacks of towels. The kitchen towel drawer was topped off, as were children and friends.  And still the stack grew. What to do, what to do.

In a bit of genius, I sent them on the wind, into the universe.

One hallmark of the clothing we wove was folks’ reactions. They first would touch. That’s easy. Then wrap their arms around jackets. I really was selling “soft”. 

Towels would have stood the same test, but didn’t get it. They’re towels, for crying out loud. They live in a drawer, and are snatched out to dry dishes, wipe up counter messes, wipe the baby’s face, wipe the floor, dragged around by a foot. Towels are not sexy. They’re utilitarian.

Utility! Aha. My towels are the epitome of utility because they actually absorb moisture. I use ring spun cotton. That stuff I had to find all over again; sweater mills are gone, and the thread spun overseas is softened mechanically. Ring spun is stretched and compacted over and over. It is denser, and its ends are softened. It’s heavier than other spinning methods. It makes your best tee shirts. And the best towel.

Years ago I wove towels to experiment with weaving structure. Lots of open threads in the weave make towels super absorbent. But, they wear out too fast, or meet untimely ends in the washer or dryer. I came across and tried “draughts to increase journeyman ability” in old Dover reprints of fabric structure we barely know the names of these days. Plain, matt, rib, basket, twill.

Then I found the most clever structure, put together by the utilitarian genius of Shakers. It’s a plain, twill, grouped combination. I call it the Shaker Towel. All the action is in the railroad tracks that run the length. It’s a cord group, held together enough by the plain weave and twill sections. Then the plain weave, twill checks take over, and absorb more moisture. Or baby spit or kool aid. It’s just a damn fine towel.

But, no weaver would make towels to earn a living. Like everyone else, we set out to earn a fair return for our labor and material. Who would pay market value of a handwoven towel. They’re a loss leader, or a give away.

Those days are way behind me. I again can weave for the pure pleasure of watching the work unfold, the colors drift down the warp beam, the sunshine outlining the cat in the window. I cannot weave as fast, and I don’t care. I still can make piles of towels, then send them to the universe. It makes me happy. May we all live long enough.

Today I hemmed orange and garnet towels. I took the fabric from the loom, fulled it, cut it, hemmed it. I also gave some garnet towels to my card playing friends. Denim towels are on the loom now. See the difference between the woven fabric and the finished towel that has been fulled? Part of the magic. I think I’ll do purple next.

A wall bought with children

The price for denying the GOP a border wall is countless children. The justification grows feebler. Jeff Sessions truly is suffering the little children, though he is not among them. National outrage has not trumped this inhumanity. It can end only at the ballot box.

Twenty weeks left to midterm elections. Twenty weeks to changing the mindset of Congress; returning to principled actions, purging border patrol agents who say only citizens can ride a bus.

Please find something you can do to help. Google a local chapter of your congress representative’s office. Find where they stand on immigration, health care, drug cost, free trade, wages, DACA—all these issues that are our lives. 

If your representative does not represent your point of view, call the opposition’s office. Volunteer to do office work, maintain files, man the phones.

For the first time ever, I’ll be on the phone for my Senator, Sherrod Brown.

I think the most important thing we can do for this fall, though, is get high school children who are old enough registered to vote. I Googled that, too, read the possibilities, and picked the League of Women Voters as my best way to get to the eligible young people and get them registered.

Look into an organization called Spread the Vote. It takes ID to move around this country these days, and many states require ID to vote. My state does. Years ago Ohio accepted a current utility bill. Now it’s a driver’s license or state issued ID. I took some of my grandchildren for state issued ID’s, before they had driver’s licenses. See if you can help at Spread the Vote.

I think the best way to spend the next twenty weeks is to prepare. We are the rear guard. Only November will show how well we are prepared.

(John Moore/Getty Images)

84 and partly cloudy

The weather has been near to perfect since school ended. Cool, rain overnight. Off to Seabrook Island and we took the weather with us. Cooling sprinkles, eighties (cool for South Carolina!).  Today, off to swim in The Quarry.

Laura and Annie

I watched two dives into the water and came up the hill and home.

Check the link for the cold, brown quarry Laura helped clean for spring.

In the event you've not been to Charleston

This is an unabashed plug for the Old South Carriage company, with the red sashes.

I asked the chatty carriage driver if he had to take a test of his knowledge of Charleston.

"Yes, m'am. Two hundred questions out of two hundred, right!"

It was a grand tour.

This woman filled the carriages with passengers.

 This friendly equine rested his head on my shoulder as I stood in line for the loo. The lav. You know.

Our hundred percent driver. Over his shoulder, the route assigner. There are five carriage routes, dispensed in order, to the next carriage company that sets out.

From here on in I know little.

An important old church.

Wrought iron work. Brick patio.

Church, cemetery, wrought iron, red umbrella in the cooling drizzle.

Pink tree.

Tree roots.

Arches and doors.

Wrought iron swords. Pretty cool house light, too.

Newly relaid driveway.

More wrought iron.

At last, a red door with the wrought iron.

Everywhere, the brick is covered by a plaster veneer. 

A tiny house. Street number is something like 100 1/4. I think it was a summer kitchen.

Wrought iron.

Same house, leaded glass.

Row houses.

A hawk. 

A selfie. The yellow shirt.

Laura had a good time, too.