Reading

Spending the day throwing a shuttle from hand to hand to hand could be exquisitely boring. I think back on Silas Marner and wonder what he did before Eppie came to him. Ever since I’ve been a weaver I’ve had some sort of feed to my ears, and a book playing on the current iteration of the Walkman.

I’m listening to a book so engrossing, so fascinating, I’ve listened to it straight through, twice. The book is The Salt Path, by Raynor Winn.

References to books of interest are everywhere, and I write the reference on my much abused desk note pad, and try to remember to follow through. The first time I searched my local digital library, The Salt Path was not even a twinkle in its eye, so I left my first ever, in many years of book downloading, lament for a book I’d love to listen to. Eventually it appeared.

Actually, I know nothing about the life cycle of a book. I suppose there is a longer time between the release of a book and the release of the recorded book. Finding the right reader, making the contract, getting a producer. And then the library must obtain a copy.

Another system beyond my comprehension is the lending of recorded books. They have a finite cycle, just like real books. The screen tells me how many recordings they have and how many are available. I borrow a digital book, and two weeks later the library virtually takes it back.

Once I had a hundred or more digital books, on CD’s. I donated all of them to the Peninsula Library when I moved from the big house. My reasoning was, they all were available to borrow. Here’s the mystery. Once I had the burning desire to have all my J.R.R. Tolkien collection back, just to have and to begin in the middle of the night, if I wished. I had no sense of thievery; I had donated the entire set once.

I began downloading, and my MP3 player ran out of room before I finished.  I released the recordings back to the library. So, I learned one or two obvious lessons. I also realized that once I’ve downloaded a book, I can go back and virtually return it, so someone else can borrow it. It still is mine on my PC for the lending period, and mine on my MP3 player until I run out of room.

The Salt Path engaged me from the first sentences. So many of its scenes resonated with my life and experience. Quickly I asked "Is this true”? When I asked Google, the question had been asked so often, its algorithm filled in the words.

That’s what I do when I weave. This is one book I did not set aside when I stood up to leave the loom.

Busy, busy week

In spite of everything, I've been able to give half a day each day this week to weaving. One day this week, a doctor appointment. Then a trip to the lab for a blood draw. 

This morning I took my neighbor to the airport. She has not been on a plane since the olden days. The person she's going to visit told her wheelchair transport was $25 per. She needs a wheelchair as much as I do, and of course I told her to get in the house and call her airline. She sent me a happy text later in the day.

Yesterday, when I had all day to devote to weaving, I spent half the day correcting two sleying errors. I saw them the first day, but left them to the end of the first run of towels. Anyone of you who is a weaver would see them at once. A bit right of center, see the two white "railroad tracks". The reed is threaded (sleyed) two threads per space, or dent. I inadvertently put four threads in those very white places, and spent the morning correcting the problem.

I persevered, and eventually carted a load of orange towel fabric off to the washer to be fulled. I came back and started in on the next batch, which will be blue.

The artist holding the open house wants high resolution pictures for her brochures. I've been turning that over in my mind this week. My phone doesn't make hi res. Then I remembered my camera, and decided between that and my little shooting tent, those pictures were the best she would get.

My sister called this evening with an accounting question pestering her all week, and when we resolved it, I tossed out my hi res photo problem. Would you believe, with the flick of a setting, her new iPad takes high resolution pictures! We're shooting on Sunday. I have a stack of orange ready, and certainly should have blue, and more.

So, the show will go on, and now it remains only to be seen, how many towels will there be.

Progress, nonetheless

I had an appointment with my cardiologist this morning, at 9:50. By the time alone, it is apparent this is an annual appointment and was set a year ago. 

I used to make subsequent annual appointments at nine, leaving much of the day open. Then I began making them at ten. Sometime this past year I moved to eleven. At the counter today, I hesitated, then selected one in the afternoon. How I've aged this past year!

There was an order for blood work in my hand when I left. Like many of us, I take a statin. It's not the responsibility of my cardiologist. However, my primary care physician left the end of July, and I still take the statin. The replacement PC ordered a refill without ordering overdue blood work. 

Then the replacement PC "left the practice". No idea. But my cardiologist cares about blood, so he sent me away with a fasting blood order. And yes, 9:50 was a good ninety minutes too late. I get out of bed to eat breakfast.

It was near lunch time when I got home. I looked at the loom, and went straight to the kitchen table to read some more weekend edition of my friend Lynn's New York Times. And lunch (a thick cucumber sammie), and an acetaminophen, because my back hurt so badly. If that appointment had been for one, I could have spent the morning at the loom!

I wove a total of four bobbins, about three towels, and quit at four in the afternoon. Progress, nonetheless.

My phone camera has a feature I'm supposed to appreciate, because it shows me pictures I took one, two, three, five years ago at this time. Actually, it irritates me when I notice it. And what was I weaving one year ago? Orange towels.

Isn't this pretty! Loops of threads, falling down from the back beam, as I as tying on. They resemble very long hair meeting a curling iron. Think Princess Kate.

Tomorrow is another day, as my elders used to say

It's only Thursday, thank goodness. I got up with the alarm and got to it. After cat business and my tasty breakfast, I watered the plants.

On the job! One earring is a feather, the other a turtle and a water lily, all from his grandmother's charm bracelet, according to the artist.

The mandevillas are still doing well, but this may be the last Gerbera of the season.

While I was out with the plants, the UPS fellow handed me up a package. The other day a sock went down to potential neverland.  I did find a yard stick to fish it out, but said Enough! and ordered a bridge gapper. Take that.

On to the studio. If you wonder what was the problem, the problem was all that stuff was scattered around the studio before this picture was made.

Then the winding of the bobbins. Fortunately only nineteen of forty needed wound. Still, they take time.

Then to the tension box. I'd left enough of the previous warp to tie on, and here I'm half done. It's near one in the afternoon, so I stopped for lunch, and to put supper together.

The rice is cooking for a stuffed pepper. I "parboiled" the pepper in the microwave. I also took a phone call from Ann. I realized a while ago, if I don't call her once a week, she calls me. "Just checking up" she announces, and then we exchange a week's worth of gossip.

I got back to work and ran into a problem turning the bouts onto the beam. The very first reed slot in the tension box is packing lint into the reed, and dragging on the threads. I will solve the problem; I'm pretty resourceful.

By five thirtyish I was pretty done, and retired for supper. That and taking the trash to the curb ended my day.

It's to bed in a couple of hours, and back on that tension box problem tomorrow.

Another opportunity!

A picture of the dish of Eggs Florentine Benedict I was served. I ordered one egg, on top of the lovely Florentine, and the other half of the English muffin, nicely buttered, lying to the left. The right would have been acceptable; I could turn the plate around.

The plate arrived, carrying the eggs in the oval serving platter, with an enormous pile of hash browns obscuring the view. I was so startled at the disagreeable presentation, I turned on the waitress. I only ordered one egg; where is the other half muffin; what is this pile of offal?

I believe any restaurant that serves hash browns only does so because they cannot make decent home fries.

She explained I would not be charged any less for only one egg, and she would take the eggs away and scrape off the offending egg. I said her obligation was to bring a new, correct order.  She simply whipped out the plate of hash browns and left.

The eggs were delicious, and Lynn gave me half a toast to mop up the yolk and sauce. The waitress came back to find my plate cleared save the extra egg, and smugly said she knew I'd eat most of it. I take patronizing poorly; nevertheless, I did not pronounce her doom aloud. But, I did do something I have not failed to do in fifty odd years. I did not tip her.

I hope when we go back, we have the same server. I'll see if she has learned to listen.

Down in the studio, I finished clearing off the bobbins of colored thread. All are sitting empty, so I can  fill forty bobbins of natural to commence winding onto the back beam. And not a minute too soon. 

Today I received an invitation to participate in another open house, for two Thanksgiving weekends. After selling out my old stock in the summer, I have nothing to do to be ready except weave, weave, weave. I'll give you a progress report soon.