A whirly week

The first week is over, except for the parcels waiting on the shelf for payment. Thank you all, it was fun. And such a learning curve. I will be calling more than a few vendors this week to see why they did not provide the service they sold.

The new loom sits in the exact spot held by the Artistat at the beginning of the week.The trade was initiated when I patted the little Artistat and ventured to my daughter I really was beating it to death with production weaving. 

Beth called Jessica, and Jessica agreed at once, "Your mom should have her loom back." I sent the Artistat down to Jessica. Look, it still has the door knob stoppers I put on to cushion the beater.

Here is the Mira, in no more space, but with four feet on the floor, and four spanners, and solid maple and a good Canadian pedigree, ready for a thousand towels. At minimum, more towels than I can ever weave!

The harnesses look all cattywumpus because they are not yet tied up to the treadles. I leaned over to do that Thursday night, and discovered I could not pull the treadle pin.

Beth called to see if she could come down this weekend to help.  I said only if she could bring an agile youngster to lie on the floor and tie up the harnesses. She announced she still can do that. Of course she can! She's in the vicinity of the age when I started my second career, weaving.

Today, after two doctor appointments, I loaded the spool rack and threaded the tension box. Tomorrow, first a trip to the post office, and then I will begin winding on the new warp.

Tom Stephenson asked how far it would stretch if I tied all the new thread end to end. I wondered if he would think I was evasive, saying I'd get back to him. I knew all the parts, but was far too tired to hunt up a calculator, or look up some distances for reference.

I bought 74 half pound tubes. A half pound tube of this grist has 1,680 yards. 74 tubes x 1,680 yards are 124,320 yards x 3 feet per yard are 372,960 feet. At 5,280 feet per mile, that is 70.64 miles.

I read that no part of England is more than 75 miles from the sea, and the English Channel at its narrowest is 21 miles wide.

Fortunately, when I tie the thread end to end, it is only to keep on weaving.

Since I can do absolutely nothing about it....

How strange this month has been, moving from one event to another. Now the month is a third gone.

I went to my small Boston Township Bazaar. The organizer offered to set up one of their standard six foot tables for my use. I thought that was perfect, until I considered spreading a few towels over six feet. I asked my sister to share the table.

It worked out very well. So well, in fact, she hopes to share a table with me next year, and have Tom along, selling his world renown back scratchers.  We knew artists from all over the country and some of the world, and anyone who spent the night with us went home with a back scratcher.

A lot of people had a good time, including some well mannered rain deer.

As you know, I was weaving away, planning my future, when my daughter surprised me by arranging the return of my wonderful old counterbalance loom. Having it would be worth the extra week it might add to my weaving schedule.

The opportunity arose for a good deed to be inserted into the moving of the Myra from Cleveland by inviting an old friend to move the loom. A friend from nearly forty years ago. A few extra days were added to my start-up, but what the heck.

Actually, I did suffer some mental "heck", because that's just how I am. Today I just tried "breathe in, breathe out" for several minutes. Tonight I learned the big switch would happen tomorrow. The universe heard I have enough thread on my shelves to weave 444 new towels.

I am so pisscited!

Years ago, exhibiting at a show in Virginia, a customer came in with a young girl skipping, twisting, looking, saying over and over as she clung to her aunt's hand, "I am so pisscited! I am so pisscited!" If it included a knot in her stomach and a little buzz in her ears, then so am I.

I have turned the towel business into two separate pages; one with instructions and one with towels available for sale. I hope it is self explanatory, but if not, please ask me. I set up a separate email account for towels, to be sure those emails do not get mixed into and maybe lost in all the other email.

everythingoldisnew2019@gmail.com

I just received a shipment from Brassard of thirty four colors to weave into towels. I have enough of each color to make a dozen towels.

That is the good news. The less desirable news is, I have no loom. I expect the big exchange to occur this coming week. I certainly hope so. This certainly is not the optimum start to a fledgling business, but, it is what it is. 

I will pack orders in the order received. I certainly expect to run out. There only are fifty six towels on the shelf at the moment.

If you see any glaring errors, or a way I could better say what I have to say, please feel free to suggest a correction.

Playing it by ear

Late, late last fall I took pity on the Gerbera daisy at the bottom of the steps.

It bloomed constantly all summer, and there it was in barely past freezing temps, overnight and all day long, trying, trying to maintain a new bud. Somehow I hoisted all twenty or thirty pounds of it, and got it into the house, one step at a time.

From then to now I have enjoyed the two red daisies, and trimmed the leaves as they yellowed.

I took my scissors this morning to tackle the dwindling number of leaves. and there are two more little buttons, peering up so hopefully. "Thanks for bringing us in from the cold!" Those two daisies have been in bloom going on six weeks now, in spite of the diminishing foliage.

It's enough to drive me to Google, for a crash course on my responsibility to the little thing. So far I have learned it has so many deep roots I probably cannot repot it. That wasn't going to happen, outdoors or in.

I should give them plant food regularly. I wonder if that would have kept their leaves growing? Another "it ain't gonna happen". When the blossoms are done, it may rebloom. It may not. And more useless information on the care and feeding of the gerbera I brought in from the cold.

Then I walked around back, in search of dead leaves.

And here we have new little daisy number three. I thought I was being kind to the extreme when I hauled those two current blooms in from the cold. Now, who's killing who with kindness? I expect in the end I will have three (or more) stalwart flowers, standing alone in a pot of dirt. Wait, excuse me, that was good potting soil.

My heart says "What an amazing trip!"

I knew my grandson was off to Vietnam, with his bicycle in a bag. He left Thanksgiving day. He intends to ride the Ho-Chi-Min trail. Today I thought, it's been a week, and give or take a couple of days in the air and clearing customs, France still must be a day or two down the road. So, I checked in. In irrepressible France mode, he's on day three. Or perhaps he's sleeping. 

France is an interesting and quirky fellow. I'd say he's a hundred years removed from his time, but he's too easy with the electronic world for that to be true. He will be celebrating his eighteenth birthday on the road. Christmas eve, in fact. You might be interested in his adventures, and he's putting his travels to electronic pen and ink.  We're just two days in, so go on back and start at day one. 

And back to my adventures, little to report. A few odds and ends to gather up for the Township Bazaar come Saturday, and a few more than that to lift the curtain on the little shop of towels and some more when I get out of bed on Monday. 

I think, since I don't get up any earlier than I must, I may lift the curtain on my way to bed Sunday night, and hope I am a real shopkeeper come Monday morning.