From Rags To Rugs

Day 110: Several friends contributed heavily to the project currently on my table loom. After cutting over a dozen old t-shirts into narrow pieces, my rug-strip box was so full, I could barely get the lid on. At that time, the loom was loaded with false damask, a time-consuming style of weaving if ever there was one, and when I finally reeled off the last piece, I wanted nothing more than to do something quick and easy. I loaded the loom with enough rug warp for three or four rugs, unsure how far my supply of strips would take me. With one done, the pile doesn't look a whole lot smaller, although the bright colours are diminishing faster than the darker ones, but I began with a disproportionate amount of black and dark blue. Any leftovers will go back in the rug-strip box for another day. I love rag rugs because they are heavy. They stay where you put them, don't flip up easily if caught by a toe, don't require backing and, best of all, they're a marvelous way to recycle t-shirts.

Hellebore In Black And White

Day 109: When I mentioned that I wanted to add more hellebores to my yard, maybe even create a space especially for them, my botany partner offered to share a root of his white one to go with the black one I already had growing in two places. I welcomed the opportunity although I was worried that it was a little late in the year to split it, but it seemed to be settling in, at least until the heat of summer arrived. The leaves withered, and I figured I'd lost it. However, hellebores are pretty durable despite not always responding well to being divided, and I was pleased when leaf buds emerged from the ground. It is now flowering, as are the black ones. Hellebore flowers nod, so I propped these up so that you could see their faces. Joe's has the additional appeal of light-veined dark leaves. I still want more varieties!

A Favourite Flower

Day 108: As far as favourite flowers go (excluding rare species), it ranks right up there with Wild Ginger (Asarum caudatum) and Skunk Cabbage (Lysichiton americanum) as far as I'm concerned. These teeny-tiny tufts go unnoticed if you don't know exactly what to look for, and when. I've been watching them develop on the Contorted Filbert over the last few days, hoping that it wouldn't be pouring down rain when they burst open. The pendulous catkins you see in the background are the males, the pollen producers on this monoecious shrub. In an experiment last year to see if my tree would produce hazelnuts, I caged several clusters of burgeoning nuts to protect them from squirrels and birds. Predictably, those not caged were devoured. There was nothing I could do about worms (a common pest which eats the nut from the inside out, having accessed the center of the ovary during the blossoming phase), but it appeared that the ones I had caged were developing. However, when I cracked them open months later, there were no nuts inside, nor was there any tell-tale worm frass. From this, I conclude that despite forming shells, the tree is not self-fertile at the very least, and perhaps sterile altogether.

Leftovers With Variables

Day 107: A quarter cone of the crimped yellow thread has been sitting in my weaving stash for about forty years, waiting for me to figure out what to do with it. It was something I picked up at a marvelous store in Portland (Oregon) called "Mill Ends" which went out of business shortly thereafter, and I'd used most of the thread to make placemats. There was too much left for my conscience to allow me to throw it out, but I was having difficulty finding an inspiration which would include it, given the limited amount. This morning as I was threading the table loom with warp for rag rugs, it struck me: break out the variable-dent reed for the rigid heddle and use it in combination with some of the leftover 3/2 cotton I'd used as weft in the King's Flower coverlet. The two yarns were close to the same size, so I arranged the sections of the variable-dent reed to have the 3/2 at the edges and in the center section at 10 epi, spaced apart by two inches of 8/2 (aqua) at 15 epi. I'll be working three towels in plain weave and 8/2, but the different weights of thread will give them texture and visual interest.

False Damask Projects

Day 106: When I was ready to warp the table loom with another round of false damask, I got a little carried away and measured off more than I'd really intended. The first banner (a sailboat, reversible) was a birthday present requiring timely shipping, so when I finished the weaving, I cut it off, re-tied the warp, and began the second project ("The Loom Room") with nothing particular in mind for the remaining warp. When I came to the end of it, I realized there was still a lot of warp left on the roller, so I began a third piece (the leaves and berries, right), but even after that piece was done, I still had warp remaining. I couldn't bring myself to throw it away or consign it to the thrums bag, but honestly, I was pretty tired of false damask at that point. It's a demanding weave with a lot of pickup and a lot of bending over sideways to be certain of a clear shed before throwing the shuttle. I decided to put a small area of pattern on each end of a fingertip towel, with the center portion worked in the twill. Now I just have to do the finishing work, turning/sewing rod pockets and twisting fringe. I think I'll take a break from false damask for a while. As much as I love the effect, it's a lot of work on a four-shaft loom.

Appearances Can Be Deceiving

Day 105: "Why has she taken a picture of caramels?" you wonder. Ah, as some are given to say, thereby hangs a tale. Let's set the scene.

My husband is driving. We're headed to Portland, and I'm in the passenger seat. We're about halfway to Oregon and my mother is opening a snack in the back seat, just a small nibbly because we're planning to go to Rose's Deli for dinner. I hear her rustling around and my own tummy expresses itself with a low growl as I turn to see her unwrapping a Kraft caramel. The temptation is too much, so I ask if she has any more. She passes one up to me and I unwrap it, failing to notice that the wrapper isn't as crinkly as it should be, or perhaps dismissing it as a change in packaging. I pop the caramel in my mouth. When I bite down on it, my taste buds are jolted by not receiving the anticipated sweetness, but rather a sour milkiness which makes me think that despite being soft, the cream in the caramel has gone off somehow since it was manufactured. I can't help myself. I say, "Ugh!" and spit the caramel out into my hand. "Did yours taste all right? This one is nasty!" I ask my mother. At this juncture, she's folded double, trying to keep from laughing. What she had given me was a piece of Norwegian gjetost, a caramel-coloured, tangy, firm cheese made from goat's milk which under other circumstances, I would have thoroughly enjoyed. My mouth had been set for a Kraft caramel, smooth and sweet, taste buds all standing at attention at the thought. It was quite a shock, believe me! To this day, though, I think she'd been laying for my husband all along. He was notorious for only consuming a limited number of foods, largely meats, potatoes, green beans and (oddly) artichokes...and, of course, caramels which were one of our favourite backcountry desserts on long hiking trips. That said, she undoubtedly knew exactly how he would react to the gjetost, but having me reject it in disgust was even better than her original evil plan. Gjetost is my favourite cheese...usually.

Lang May Yer Lum Reek

Day 104: Here, on the wrong side of the dateline, it is January 25th, causing a small amount of confusion as to when Robert Burns' birthday should be celebrated with the traditional Burns Night dinner. Mine will be tonight, and a number of factors have gone into my decision to make a "faux haggis," "mock haggis," or whatever else you want to call it. A few years ago, the owner of the local company where I have always bought my haggis exposed himself to be a racist in several comments on his personal Facebook account. I said (with some profane adjectives), "That does it for me. I don't have to have haggis, and I feel I must stand by my principles." I stopped shopping with him as, apparently, did quite a few other people. The shop has gone out of business. Since then, I've been on a haggis hunt (the little buggers should really be classified as endangered for as rare as they have become), but to no avail. I cannot abide the thought of a canned haggis, and short of mortgaging my house for the shipping fees on a fresh one, I have been unable to find any other supplier. Frustrated, I began searching for an alternative, and came up with a recipe from The Kilted Chef which sounds like it should approximate the real thing fairly closely in both taste and texture. It uses chicken livers in place of sheep organ meats, and seems to be much easier to prepare. A wee drap o' Glen Livet should level out any inequities. Lang may yer lum reek!

A Sure Sign

Day 103: And what is this I see? Why, it's the nose of Spring, poking out from under the covers, waking, but not yet ready to get out of bed. Timely that I polished off the last of the frozen rhubarb in a vitamin-C laden crumble last week, anticipating this year's crop, for that is what this is: the first leaf-bud of rhubarb, and a sure sign that the gardening season is on the cusp. My plant, given to me some years ago by a friend, has finally established itself with a vengeance. I too have joined the ranks of people who ask, "Do you want some fresh rhubarb?" of our acquaintances. Unlike zucchini growers, though, I know of no one who leaves bundles of this heritage comestible in the backs of strangers' pickup trucks or, like foundlings, on unattended doorsteps.

Exidia Recisa, Amber Jelly Roll

Day 102: I do love it when something new and interesting pops up right in my own back yard! My pussywillow tree had grown way too tall and in any event, wasn't doing very well, so we hacked it back in late autumn, hoping that a last-ditch effort might save it. It does seem to be showing signs of life, but even more exciting was my discovery this morning of Exidia recisa (Amber Jelly Roll fungus) growing on one of the dead branches. This particular species is distinguished by its preference for willow. The only similar species typically grows on birch or other broadleaved trees, but never on Salix. That information made the task of identifying it much simpler than it might have been. Two photos were duly submitted to the WTU herbarium image gallery, bringing my total contribution up to 220 photos encompassing 123 taxa. And here I thought this was going to be just another boring, drizzly day!

All The Trimmings

Day 101: I'm frequently asked, "What do you do with all those bands you weave?" Well, here's one example. I didn't have enough 3/2 cotton to finish out the warp I'd hung for the King's Flower coverlet, so I grabbed a skein of heavy cotton variegated craft yarn from my knitting/crocheting supplies and was able to get two perfectly-sized placemats out of the remainder (visible behind the vertical portion of the band in the photo). I thought they needed a little extra touch, and I was fortunate to find colours which came close to matching among my weaving cones. This band will be applied around all four sides of the mats when it's done. Quilters will understand what I mean when I say that it takes a lot more material than you might think to put a border around an item. I warped ten yards to be sure I would have enough trim for both mats. If there's any left over, it will go on a bag, a towel, a throw pillow, a table runner, or whatever else strikes my fancy.

A Scandinavian Favourite

Day 100: Marguerite Porter Davidson titled this crackle-weave pattern "A Scandinavian Favorite," so I chose to weave it in traditional red and white (natural). I had the warp measured and ready to go before I took the King's Flower piece off the loom, and jumped immediately into hanging it. At 24' in length, the winding occupied most of Friday, worked in short stints to spare my back and knees. Yesterday, I threaded the heddles and reed, but I could not go to bed without working a few inches to be sure I'd done it correctly. Half a block was all it took, having then cycled through all the treadling combinations. Crackle-weave is a type of overshot in that it is worked with two shuttles, one bearing the coloured pattern weft and the other, the tabby which binds the pattern in place. Shuttles are worked alternately, color and tabby, with multiple repeats forming blocks. The difference between crackle and other overshots is that the pattern thread never "floats" above more than three warp threads, giving the finished fabric an appearance reminiscent of crazed pottery. The reverse shows the colours in opposite. It is easier to weave than many other overshots because it is block-woven. This, then, will be that "holiday tablecloth" I had hoped to finish before Christmas...you know, the one which turned into King's Flower because it didn't look right. I'll just need some lefse and lutefisk to complete the project!

King's Flower Cloth

Day 99: The King's Flower cloth is off the loom, all 183 inches of it, and I am halfway through warping my next project. My original plan for this warp didn't work out, and I wound up having to change out the weft when the floats looked to me like they would be too long even after wet-finishing. I wove a sample piece using 8/2, but switched to 3/2 (the blue) for the remainder of the cloth. After washing the sample, I realized it would have been okay ("okay," but not ideal) if I'd stuck with it, but by then, I was well into this piece. I used up the single cone of mismatched blue dye lots, then switched to another weft to finish out the warp with two tabby-woven placemats. From start to finish, this was a "winging it" exercise, but hardly the first in my long weaving career. That said, now I'm faced with figuring out the best way to utilize five yards of King's Flower. I love the pattern, but this is not the cloth of my vision.

Dear Mr. Google...

Day 98: "Dear Mr. Google," I would like to write, "When I enter a search parameter, your first assumption should be that I know what I'm talking about. It should NOT be that I have made a typographical error." I'm sure you can imagine what came up when I was trying to find different styles of pirn, a pirn being a device found in spinning mills onto which a cop of yarn is wound. I suppose the search results could have been worse had I included the words "cop" and "wound," but they were bad enough with just "pirn." These, my dear Mr. Google, are pirns, and they have absolutely nothing in common with the material you suggested, except for three letters of the alphabet.

Pirns came up in discussion yesterday when a friend sent me a documentary video about one of the oldest operating spinning mills in the United States, and I promised her a photo. Of course, most of our yarns and threads now come from overseas and are spun in mills using very different machines and techniques. Pirns are still used to hold the cops in many cases, but wooden ones are something of a rarity in modernized mills. I would show you an example of a modern pirn, but I don't want to chance another Google search. One time down that road was enough.

Tippy Stakes A Claim

Day 97: I settled into the chair and began tying the fringe on the longer of two "Log Cabin Gone Mad" table scarves, and Tippy jumped into my lap and almost immediately began digging at the cloth. When he wants the chair to himself (it's his chair, mind you, not mine), he indicates that I should move out by digging beside me, but that wasn't what he was doing this time. He was digging at the weaving, specifically. When he had raised a fold of it, he burrowed in underneath, and after several more contortions, got himself comfortable and laid down. Why this particular weaving, and none before it? Was it the texture or the pattern? What was the appeal of this piece? I can't answer that, not being able to get inside the feline logic processes going on in that sweet little head. I just know that I may have to give up my "table runner" to a higher purpose.

Bigfoot And Me

Day 96: Bigfoot made several passes through my yard in the night, and because he outweighs me by at least five times and possibly as much as ten times, his imprints went right down to the sod. There's no mistaking this ungulate: Roosevelt elk. The tracks are larger and broader than those made by deer. Although I was fairly certain I'd correctly identified them from a distance, I felt a compelling need to check. The Big Kitty has been reported in the local area in the last week or so, and would have left pug marks of similar size. Needless to say, I was relieved to see the distinct outline of hooves rather than pads, although I'm still skittish about making after-dark forays for my mail.

Ten Foot Band

Day 95: I was so pleased with the new warping system for my Leksand loom that I was very anxious to start another band as soon as I took this one off the roller. I've spent the first hours of today hanging a new warp, and I've drafted a cute little shamrock pattern to carry me into St. Patrick's Day. This has been a good week for winding up projects and beginning new ones. Very shortly, I'll have both the floor loom and my 16-inch rigid heddle empty again. Planning! Planning! That's half the fun of weaving: planning the next project.

Ending At Full Tension

Day 94: With only a few inches to go on Jutta's current band, I am happy to say that the warp is still at full, even tension. I've struggled with slackness in the pattern threads on all but one warp, a problem which other Leksand loom users have mentioned to me as well. After trying half a dozen different systems, it finally occurred to me to direct-warp in a straight line much the same as I would for rigid-heddle weaving, but with one important difference necessitated by the Leksand construction: I anchored the warp about a foot away from the terminals (the two outer posts at the right) and extended the desired length out beyond the cloth roller (left, in front) and then reversed the path. Each thread was taken through its appropriate slot/hole/heddle during the warping process. The anchor point was then brought around and secured to the tie on the warp roller (rear), and the warp bundles were weighted as they hung over the cloth roller as I wound the warp over card stock to prevent it from sinking into itself where it crossed over. It might be too early to claim victory, but I think I have won the War Against Slack Threads.

Become A Better Birder

Day 93: The most important thing you can learn if you want to be a better birder is what to observe. Note that I do not say, "what to look for." If you spend the fleeting seconds before your subject disppears into cover trying to look for something specific, you will blind yourself to observations you might have made when shown the overall picture. Take for example the two birds in the top picture. A novice birder might conclude that they are the same species because they are both orange and black, but might fail to note that one has a white breast and a red eye, whereas the other has orange wing markings and an eye stripe. When partially concealed by brush, it would be easy to make that mistake. Seen without interfering scrub or grass, the two are much easier to tell apart. The Towhee's wing markings are white; those of the Varied Thrush are orange. The Thrush's breast is mottled; the Towhee's white beneath rusty sides. Learn what field markings commonly distinguish species, such as wing bars, crowns, eye stripes, tail feathers, the colours of eyes, beaks and legs. You will find that your cursory glimpse registers these features more readily as you practice. And be patient with those who might insist that either or both these birds are American Robins. Take those poor uneducated souls under your wing and teach them to be better birders.

End Of My Rope

Day 92: I've reached the end of my rope, which is to say that I have used one entire cone of blue 3/2 cotton, weaving it in the "King's Flower" overshot pattern. I have another cone, but the dye lot is different and does not match, so I will be finishing out the warp with another "ship's-hawser" cotton and tabby weave. I should be able to get two (possibly three) placemats out of the remaining warp. The mats will require another step: weaving a band to apply as a border on all four sides. I just happened to have three coordinating colours of 8/2 cotton in my stash to match the variegation. As to a purpose for the overshot, I haven't decided how best to use it. If you will recall, switching to 3/2 cotton was an emergency measure when my intended project wasn't working out according to plan. Weavers must be able to think on their feet when the vision doesn't correspond to the reality.

Following In My Footsteps

Day 91: This made me chuckle. As I walked out to the mailbox yesterday, I noticed that someone had been following in the footsteps I'd left on a previous trip. Five or six of my imprints each bore the same marks: two hops of a Dark-eyed Junco who had been travelling in the same direction. Perhaps the little feathered person tracking me had discovered that where the snow was already compressed meant that landing there kept their tummy drier and warmer. In any event, the hops seemed strategically placed, and deliberately so. Oh, to know how those little minds work, because it is obvious to me that there are thought processes going on, so far removed from those in our narrow, verbal human brains that we cannot comprehend the logic and concepts within them.

Snowbirds

Day 90: The epithet "snowbirds" has always intrigued me. It is used quite differently in different environments. To some, it means the people who fly south to warmer climates as soon as the first flake falls. To others, it means the influx of skiers to the slopes. Since both make equally good sense when applied to humans, I have resolved the quandary with an even more logical definition to eliminate any confusion when I use it in conversation. These are my snowbirds (some of them, anyway), the faithful winter companions who appear regularly at my feeders and knock on my window when the seed supply runs low. Spotted Towhees, Dark-eyed Juncos, soon-to-be-renamed Steller's Jays and Evening Grosbeaks ("Porch Parrots" in my vernacular) are among the most reliable visitors to my yard when snow lies on the ground. Let's hear it for the snowbirds who neither slalom nor suntan!

Significant Snowfall

Day 89: Compared with what they have received on the east coast, this barely seems worth a mention. However, it is a significant snowfall for here, especially since it all came down between 9 PM yesterday and 5 AM today. It took my power with it despite our electric company's heroid efforts to cut back branches. I had just gotten out of bed and was down on the floor playing the morning head-butting game with Tippy when the lights began flickering. They browned out several times and then failed completely. In my house, everything is dependent on electricity. Without it, I have no heat, no water (I'm on a well). I hadn't even brushed my teeth, although that doesn't fully excuse the foul exhalations issuing from my mouth. "At least let me get my first cup of coffee, dammit!" Expecting this, I had made extra, so I heated up a cup on my camp stove, and also warmed Tippy's breakfast. Then we settled in under a blanket to read by candlelight for the next two hours. Our little PUD is astonishingly swift at restoring power, and it's seldom out for longer than that. There's more snow to come, and it will be mixed with rain, making laden branches even more likely to break and fall on power lines, but for now I'm warm and washed, the birdies are fed, and I can just sit here and enjoy the winter wonderland outside my window.

Name That Object

Day 88: Name that object! There is a clue in the photo to put you on the right track, although I'm willing to bet only a few of you will be able to properly identify it without an assist from Mr. Google. It is essential to making proper Mexican chocolate, and as you will observe, it has never been put to that use. I bought it years ago solely as a decorative item, intrigued by the many rings and intricate carving on the body. The loose rings serve to agitate the chocolate into a frothy, light beverage as the device is spun or plunged up and down in the cooking pan. Bonus points to anyone who can supply its Spanish appellation. Give up? It's a chocolate muddler, known in Mexico and Latin America as a molinillo ("whisk").

Custom Coverage

Day 87: Well, it's not every day someone writes about a potty-seat cover. My old foam-backed one was shedding foam sawdust, and it was time to replace it. The thought process went like this:

I need to put "potty-seat cover" on my grocery list.
Seriously, don't just think about it. Do it, whether you want to or not.
Every time I say that to myself, I think, "Why don't I just make one?"
I could sew one up in half an hour after I take a template off the lid.
I really don't feel like sewing. I should just put it on the grocery list.
Dang it, just MAKE ONE!
I could quilt one.
Quilt? Waitaminit, I might have a test square tucked away which I could run a border around if it wasn't big enough. That'd get one thing out of the stash, too.

And then I dragged the quilt boxes out of the closet and came up with a Cathedral Window square which was even bigger than the lid, so I didn't have to "frame" it. It was a simple matter to pad it with quilt batting, back it with a piece of muslin, run a tube of blue fabric around the edge to hold the elastic, and bingo, job done, all from things I had readily to hand. It took a bit longer than the estimated half hour, but not as long as driving to the store would have done.

Rising To The Challenge

Day 86: I have to admit that when I warped Pippin with sewing thread, I wasn't quite sure that I hadn't bitten off more than I cared to chew. Fact of the matter is, I am enjoying weaving with fine thread so much that I will warp Jutta with it as soon as I have finished her current band. Sewing thread coupled with 10/2 cotton yields a finished product similar in appearance and feel to commercial trims, a weight and flexibility which would be entirely acceptable to apply to a sweater or other garment such as a nightgown or blouse. Admittedly, the weaving would go faster if I was working on a band loom where the sheds are controlled by my feet. On Pippin, the roller at the top of the castle is turned by hand to change the shed. But then, what's the hurry? Weaving should be an eminently pleasurable and relaxing exercise, not something to rush through.

Snow Line

Day 85: As someone I knew used to say, "'Almost' don't count, 'cept in horseshoes and hand grenades." Maybe a flake or two fell here in the night, mixed with rain, but the snow line cuts off roughly 500' above me, and that's as close as I've been to snow so far this winter. Now you might be expecting a rant on climate change to follow those words, but in fact, this is more like a normal winter than we've seen in years. By "normal," I refer to my personal recollections and more importantly, to my meticulously kept weather records. 2023 was a bit drier than usual, coming in on the low end of our customary precipitation total, but still within range. There have been many years we've gone without any snow at all at my current location, although that's been somewhat balanced out by the years we've received two or three feet in one weather event. The Pacific Northwe't may be rather on the damp side of the equation overall, but as a general rule, our climate is mild year-'round, grey though it may be. And of course if I want to see snow, it's only a short drive to the Park and a 14,410' Mountain with all the snow you could ever want.

Got Worms?

Day 84: Given the opportunity, most of us collect something, whether it's rocks, stamps, old letters, comic books, antiques, and I'd venture to say that most people have more than one collection. I certainly do. My very first collection began with a single "worm," as I have always called this assortment of worms and caterpillars. In fact, my very first "worm" was the guy in the top hat in the bottom left. My mother gave him to me for my first birthday, with a cactus planted in the hollow in his back. Is it any wonder I have a somewhat prickly nature? It would seem that my destiny was appointed in that first worm. Many of the ceramics in the "Worm Box" are almost as old; I collected at least half a dozen of them before I was old enough for kindergarten. Some have been lost over the years, some replaced, but others gone forever. My foster sister's cat ate one of the tiniest ones. The large character in the lower right was a "house-worming" gift from my husband. You'll see a few birds in the Box, the occasional cat, a couple of sheep, a frog, two dogs I inherited from my uncle Lee, and even a miniature mediaeval harpist less than half an inch tall. However, "worms" dominate the scene. Why worms? I haven't got a clue.

Signs

Day 83: Someone once said that fishing was "an endless series of occasions for hope." I feel that way about Spring. The first swelling bud, the first tip of green to burst through the soil, inspires me to break out the seed catalogs to begin planning my year's gardening adventure. These days, of course, my perusing is done on line which, if the truth be known, is much less satisfying than going page by page through a "wish book," but on the other hand (and I'm sure companies won't want to hear this), it keeps me from buying more varieties than I actually need, or daring to try something new. I order my tried-and-true favourites, and that's it. That said, there's not much room in my garden for annuals these years. My mother's wisdom finally soaked in, and I've let the perennials spread. All I really want is colour without a lot of weeding. A dense cover of perennials makes my job a lot easier.

Puzzle Season

Day 82: I'm taking a break from weaving today (well, more or less) to work on a puzzling puzzle I received as a Christmas gift. It was billed as a "mystery puzzle," one which has no picture to guide you along. If the puzzler gets desperate, there's a sealed envelope with the image inside, but that would take the fun out of it, in my opinion. In fact, it's coming along rather quickly. I've determined that the scene (a painting) is of a group of Canadian kids holding a hockey match on a frozen pond, with a neighbourhood scene of quaint buildings in the background. As usual, I sorted for edge pieces first and came up five short when I had the edge put together. That worried me, because I seldom miss more than two, but when I was picking out the most identifiable shop (red), I found four of them. And then I really did start to worry, because even after laying the pieces out on cookie sheets, the one missing edge piece failed to surface. "Patience," I said to myself. "The box says 'no missing pieces' on it. It'll show up eventually." The good news is that I found it...after putting together several buildings, most of the sky and horizon, and a large portion of the pond. Poor Tippy nearly leapt out of his fur when I yelled, "EDGE PIECE!" in triumph.

Project Lineup

Day 81: You might say that I have my projects lined up going into the new year, but in fact, my hearth nearly always looks like this, and actually, this represents only the current works in progress. There is organization in those baskets, and at any given moment, I can grab one to move it to a position beside my chair, putting everything I need within arm's reach as I settle in for a stint at a loom or the wheel. Today, I'm a bit behind my usual rate of progress, but the house is "de-Christmased" and put back in its customary orderly disarray. As much as I'd like to be weaving, knitting or spinning, I think a nap is more compelling.

Arbitrary Constructs

Day 80: The New Year has come 'round...or has it? The equivalent of "New Year's Day" is celebrated on widely disparate days by different cultures depending on their calendars which, after all, are social constructs in and of themselves. Time is an artificial construct as far as its measurement goes, and again, not all cultures regard it in the same manner as we do. We have created devices for determining time (or rather, duration), scientifically ticking off the increments with atomic regularity, but anyone waiting for a bus in the rain can confirm that some minutes are substantially longer than others. Time is relative, in more ways than Albert Einstein was able to quantify. A month in a child's life is an eternity; an octogenarian remarks on how quickly it passed. Perhaps that is what Salvador Dali was intending to suggest with his limp watches in "The Persistence of Memory," that time, the flexible, distorted rigor by which the bulk of us manage our lives and attempt to govern the lives of others, is not as fixed as we wish to make it.