Does anyone else get a thrill
when an idea that seems fixed
is suddenly turned on its head?
This happened to me just a few weeks ago
and I'm beside myself with delight.

I've been writing about PVC Pipe looms
since about 2003
when I first began to work 
​on my book Kids Weaving.
There, we used these looms
to weave inkle shoelaces, blankets,
scarves, bags, a ​tapestry dog collar,
​ and even knotted pile.

It's not a perfect loom by any stretch,
but it does have some serious advantages:
-- simple to make with readily available hardware store materials.
--easy to assemble (and disassemble),
--an adaptable design, 
-- inexpensive (esp compared with almost any other loom on the market)
--homely (everything you weave will look better than your loom)
--portable (you can weave almost anywhere)

I've blogged about them several times:
-October 2015: PVC Pipe Loom
-January 2016: Four Selvedge Tutorial
-February 2016: Long Warp/ Short Loom (continuous warping)

They are also an important component of Fringeless,
(the Four Selvedge class with Rebecca Mezoff),
and I use them regularly in my work.

For all these years though,
and in all these places, 
I've put the floating tension bar
at the bottom of the loom.
Then Judy Smith, 
who chose to build a PVC loom for the Fringeless Class,
put her tension bar at the TOP!
Judy shared a photo on the Fringeless private facebook group
and though I am not on facebook,
Rebecca thought I should see the fabulous work Judy had done.
She (Rebecca), thought she was showing me tapestry,
little knowing that I would get double the pleasure
when I also caught a glimpse
of the configuration of Judy's loom.

Of course I promptly had to try it --
and the reality was even better than I imagined.

The main difference is in the ease of set-up,
as the floating bar does not have to be
held in position with tape
while the warp is put on
(as shown in the third drawing at the top of this post).
It simply hangs in position
while the warp is wound on.

​Another advantage is that
 the weaving area is several inches lower 
so considerably easier on a weaver's back.
​
Also, the tension straps are out of the way
​leaving more room to work.

Alas, I don't have a photo of Judy's Loom and Tapestry
but happily Judy gave me permission to share her thoughts,
and here is what she has to say:
Love my pvc loom. I think I set it up that way because I was used to the top bar being tensioned when I did Navajo style weaving. A little more about that loom: most of the loom is made of the heavier pvc (#40 something) 1” size. It is all lined with the thickest wooden dowels that will fit inside in an effort to prevent bending. The “tension bar” is a 1 1/4” dowel. That will not bend. That bar just happened to fit into a slightly different pvc (must have been 1 1/4”) that both held the sturdy wooden bar and slid on the 1” pvc side bars. 
Love the fringeless technique. Being used to Navajo weaving, I hated dealing with fringe when a piece was finished. If weaving an actual rug (really going to put it on the floor), then I would want the toughness of the Navajo edges. But for all else- I sure love the fringeless.

Wow, Judy --
this is so helpful, both to me
and to anyone else who might want to try a PVC Loom.
Though I, too, have reinforced the PVC with interior dowels,
it is not a thing I've done for a while
and I appreciate the reminder. 
As for the position of the tension bar --
the idea is so wonderful and obvious that I feel a bit dense
for never having thought of it in all these years,
and can't thank you enough
for your vision
and for blowing my mind.
​Sharing ideas is just the BEST.

​One of these fine days I might get it together
to draw an instruction booklet 
on ways to warp this loom,
but for now, the links above will have to do.
Kids Weaving, though now out of print,
is also still a great source of information--
copies can be found at close to the original price.
And now we have Judy's idea 
that I get to add to the PVC Loom canon
and share here, with you. 

So now that I've waxed nostalgic
from looking at Kids Weaving
and thinking of the grand time we had
making stuff on those looms,
 I'll close with this photo
 taken in the late 1990s by Jodi Gear
(of the Pigment-dyed coffee filters I wrote about last week).

It feels astonishing to me
that I  still have the dress (if not the hair),
am still making yarn to weave with,
and happily,
still have a thing or two
or ten
​ to learn
​about all of it.

So just when I start thinking
that turning coffee filters into yarn
is interesting and satisfying
but not necessarily
​my absolute favorite thing in the world...

my friend Jodi Gear
sends the exquisite 
naturally pigmented coffee filters
she has used to make
 handmade watercolors 
(many of which I get to test--how lucky is that)?

She was going to throw them away --
the point, after all, was the pigment they contained--
but then fished them from the garbage
​because they were just so pretty.

​SO pretty, 
and springy
and joyous
that I was diverted from
the thrilling project I intended to write about today--

 to spend more time
with these colors
as snow falls from the sky--
again.

Happily, it turns out
that not only are the filters lovely 
but they are also easier to spin 
than the heavier brown ones I've used so far

Round rather than cone shaped,
they are also lighter in weight
so I get a finer yarn for a given width of cut.
They are also strong,
which made them easy to handle
when I dunked a few into an indigo pot
to get greens and purples. 
(Jodi has done a LOT of cochineal experiments!)

As I've written before
I'm a newbie at this business of spinning paper,
but nonetheless I thought it'd be fun to share
a technique for transforming
a round piece of filter paper
into a continuous strip
​that can be twisted into yarn--
​in case you want to try too.

1. Fold the filter in half.
2. Cut from one folded edge to 1/2 inch (1cm) from the other
following the curve.
​DO NOT CUT THROUGH at the end of the cut.

3. Make a second cut parallel to the first
and approximately 1/4 inch away
4. Continue cutting parallel  strips  as shown,
always stopping about 1/2 inch from the other folded edge,
until the entire filter is in strips joined at one edge.

5. Open out the filter with the uncut edge up.
6. Cut from top slit at an angle through to the edge
​making a free end as shown two photos down.

6. Cut at an angle from the next slit
to the one diagonally across from it
(offset by one as shown).

7. Continue connecting the offset slits in this way
until the entire circle is one continuous strip.
--It's probably a good idea to make sure it doesn't tangle as you go
​but I'm a little casual about this,
so have to be gentle when handling it.

The paper spins best when slightly moist
so at this point I've found it best to wrap it in a damp cloth
and let it sit for half an hour or so.
(hankie soaked in water and squeezed out really thoroughly).
Before I read about the Hankie Method
I misted it lightly all over with a squirt bottle,
tossing gently to make sure the paper was evenly damp,
but the hankie method seems to work better.
The amount of moisture is apparently unique
for every kind of paper
and every atmospheric condition
so I've had to practice and adjust...
Too much water and the paper falls apart in my hands.
Too little and it doesn't want to accept the twist.
Experiment!

The coffee filter paper is far stronger
than, say, the variable annuity semi-annual report pages I've used
but it still won't take a lot of pressure 
(too much 'suck' on a spinning wheel would snap it instantly),

so I've been doing most of the twisting 
with my Ashford Charkha, 
which has a very low drive ratio.
Other twisting ideas:
Charlotte, a weaver, has used her bobbin winder to great effect
twisting old sewing pattern pieces into yarn
My lightest high whorl Hepty Spindle (20 grams) works well,
and imagine a supported or Medieval spindle would also be great.

But back to the charkha:
I make a kind of purn 
by wrapping the spindle shaft with a piece of scrap paper,
 taping it at the overlap so it won't unroll while I'm starting to spin.
This allows me to remove the fiber from the spindle 
without unrolling it while it is still damp and fragile.
It's also a handy way to store the yarn.

Sometimes, if I'm in a hurry,
instead of winding the yarn onto a bobbin
​I even weave with these purns.
It's not particularly effective, 
(no tapping the yarn into place and sometimes they come unwound),
​but alas, I do it anyway.

This yarn from Jodi's filters
is the nicest that I've made so far--
almost as fine and and pleasant to use
as the samples that Velma sent me.

It's not my beloved wool, of course.
Nor, indeed, is it as blissful to weave with
as hand spun linen (though a damn site easier to spin).
But I like it.
It has possibilities.
I might eventually try to use it
for something other than tapestry.
Just what I do not know.
But most yarnish experiments are worth a try--
even when the precious materials
have been rescued from the trash.

And oh golly, these colors feel like spring.

There is so much richness in this material
I hope you will give it a try.
And if you do,
please keep us posted about your experiments, K?

Our house does not have a linen cupboard,
which means we only  have
one set of sheets at a time.
and on laundry day
​ they must go
off the bed,
into the washer,
onto the line,
and back onto the bed
before nightfall.

My husband is also a restless sleeper,
and wears out our sheets 
at what seems a prodigious rate
so over the decades
we've been through
quite a few.
And of course this makes me sad
as, being a textile person,
I get attached.

Happily however, though the cloth gives way
in the middle of a sheet
there are still many useful bits 
around the edges.
I've sewn many into bags
for shipping tapestries,
and storing clean fleeces.

Others, I've loved so much 
that I sewed them back together every which way
with bits of themselves or others
layer upon layer,
like so much flannel Boro
which can be used as an extra thick sheet
a funky quilt,
or even an indoor sleeping bag.

Still others have reinforced
my favorite bathrobe
(my only bathrobe, actually),
which grows thicker by the year
as the yummy old cotton wears away,
like sand on a coastline,
and is subsequently replaced
with the rich edges
of the most recent sheets
whose centers have bitten the dust. 

A few years ago I wondered
if actual linen linens
might last a little longer than cotton,
so splurged on two huge flat linen sheets,
on the theory that constant shifting
of bottom to top
and top to bottom 
and this side to that
might distribute the wear.
It seemed to work, for a while.
Certainly faithfully turning them 
has given me lots of good practice 
making tight hospital corners 
on whichever was acting as the bottom sheet.
But alas, even as they have grown
softer and more delicious,
the usual wear patterns still showed up
and the day before yesterday
as I hung them to dry from the beams of my studio,
I saw actual holes.
​Sigh.

Sides-to-middling is a thing
I've only read about in novels --
 usually used as an adjective 
to describe genteel poverty
or excessive thriftiness
as in "she has sides-to-middle sheets."
It's not generally seen as a compliment. 
But somehow it always intrigued me.
And it seems straightforward enough.
So yesterday I cut the sheet down the center,
​(the one with actual holes),
began hemming and patching the new (worn) edges,
and later today (I hope)
​will stitch the previously unworn sides
​together to become the new middle.
​It won't be fancy,
But I hope it can go back on the bed.

But my mending is rarely fancy.
There is no special thread
or elegant Sashiko stitching in this work.
Not that I'd mind if there were.

I just know that if I set up such expectations
the mending would not happen,
so I rely on plain old running stitch,
the occasional backstitch to anchor it,
whatever thread that is at hand,
(quilting thread, embroidery floss, all purpose in some color).
and sometimes a patch
​ (fat quarters are fun)
on the inside or out
(or both for the butt of my jeans).

The results, alas, are haphazard
since for me the point
is to extend the life of beloved
or particularly useful  clothing
so they (and I) can get back to work.

Not that mending isn't work.
Indeed, without me really noticing
​I find that it has become
an elemental component of my practice --
not only to extend the life of a handspun sweater
​or expensive sheets,

but also to honor
​some perfectly replaceable leggings
​that just happen to have come in to my life
​and fit just right

which makes them as valuable
as whatever spindle spun 
backstrap woven cloth
​I make while wearing them. 

as shovel-handle friction had its way
amidst the falling snow.

But LOOK!
It's not snowing now.
And I've already showed you
way too many photos
​ of the underside
of my textile rich life.
So back we go to whatever it is we were doing.
My needle awaits.
​As does the bed.

It's probably not the best idea
for paper tapestries
to hang out in the snow,

especially when said tapestries
are stitched 
into a hand made paper sandwich.

But it's very cold this morning
so the snow is dry.
And anyway,
​ Velma Bolyard's papers
seemed quite at home out there--
radiating warmth 
without actually melting anything.

One of the lovely things
​ about this little bookish project
was that every part
was made to be
exactly the right size.

The tapestries were warped
to match the paper sheets
(thanks  Four Selvedge Tapestry).

And  Velma made each sheet
 in its own tiny mould
so all I had to do was fold them.
​
Velma is the person
​who opened my eyes and mind
to the wonders of kami-ito (spun paper),
and if you want to learn more about it
I recommend both her blog and website.

Not that I was patient enough
to learn properly.
Indeed, 
I've felt compelled to add twist
to all kinds of weird scraps --
some of which I loved to work with
and some of which
has been  unpleasant
or downright impossible.
But that's what makes it so interesting, eh?

Imagine, however, the pleasure
 of weaving these tapestries
(or at least a good portion)
with Velma's hand spun kami-ito--

Yet another reminder
of the power
of practice
of study,
of reading,
and of repetition.

And it's also a reminder
that nothing ever happens
unless,
​ now and again,

a person
leaps out into the snow
to see how it feels.

A final note on the tapestry weft: 
Rebecca Mezoff just wrote a wonderfully thorough blog post on current sources for tapestry weft  which I highly recommend. She briefly addresses the use of cellulose fibers--paper, linen, cotton and the like--but since that is not what she uses, the focus is on wool. I dont' yet feel ready to make any definitive statements about using cellulose fibers myself,
but I have been messing around with them for the last year or so
and if you're curious how it has worked/looked over time for me,
​ check out some of the posts in the cellulosic experiments category of my blog.

When last we left our heroine,
she was planning to devote herself to shoveling 
and finishing her skirt,

Amazingly enough, 
​in the last week
she managed to do both
if not much else.

Pinning first,
then rough basting with cotton yarn

The basting made it easy to try on
so I could  measure and calculate
​ for the button band.

Truth be told, 
the buttons were the most traumatic part of this,
 including the sett drama at the very beginning.

Clearly I survived,
but it was not hard to notice my relative reactions
to the overwhelming abundance
of what is supposed to be a fabric store
and the joy of having one piece
of very plain cloth
waiting at home.

Brief aside about value --
When I first chose the values of yarn
I assumed I'd use the darker of the two
for the knitted panels.
But you can see that the button band above
(which I did knit in the darker value)
looks significantly darker than the woven cloth,

while the triangular knit panels,
though somewhat lighter,
blend in with the woven cloth
with more subtlety.
I can only conclude that the knitted cloth 
has so many shadows
that it reads darker than it is
thus making it blend in with the whole.
A good thing to note for future skirts --
sometimes those knitted panels
​might want to take center stage!

Sewing the buttons on
before replacing the basting with actual yarn/thread
allowed me to  adjust position
of hte woven and knitted panels
and thus the size of specific areas,
so that the skirt would drape just as I wanted. 

And yippeee!  It does!
Despite the 10 F temps yesterday,
(definitely a two sweater day),
​it was also wonderfully cozy to wear outside--
it drapes and stretches,
so I can take big steps but also not get tangled in cloth.

It is wonderfully cozy to wear inside too--

and after taking this pics so you could see 
a little more clearly how it fits.
I sat down on the floor
and spun cotton on my book charkha,
the skirt stretching where I did --
no binding or funky leg positions necessary.

So yes --
sartorial satisfaction is a thing--
and the flamingo and I are pretty pleased it ourselves.

Except I should also have worn some shades.
​It was bright out there!

And so as not to leave you 
with my smug expression ,
here's the view from the top 
(golly gee I DO love these textures)
and a few specs:
The Skirt itself is 32" long.
It weighs 405g  --approx 14 oz
Owing to the sett miscalculation mentioned above
I have another 75 ish inches of fabric left --
enough for a knee length three panel Sarah-Dippity
or a mid thigh length four panel one.
But it is snowing again.
and since I now have something cozy to wear,
it's time to get back to whatever I was doing
a couple of weeks ago.
​What was it again?

We're having a  thoroughly wintery week here in North Idaho--
cold and white and silent (except for the snowplows).
It is perfect weather
for the long tweedy Sarah-Dippity
I've been working on.
Except--

That I've been doing so much of this (see above)
that the skirt still looks like this (see below).

So, thought it's probably not how the internet works,
I'm going to declare today a Snow Day,
make another cup of Oolong,
and go stitch these yummy swaths
of knit and woven cloth 
into something I can wear.
See you next week!

One of the great things about comics

I only wish I could draw a picture
that could describe the weight and texture 

of these two swaths of cloth
(each 104" x 8.25" after washing/light fulling)

The sett issue of last week
really did end up working in my favor
as, not only did I get another two days of blissed-out weaving,
(this kind of cloth-making is super fast compared with knitting),

but I also have nearly 70 inches of fabric left--
enough to make a second 
(if decidedly shorter) skirt.​

The extra yardage also meant
another expedition downtown
(all of five blocks away),
to buy some more yarn
​for the knitting parts of this project.
Fresh from weaving yummy yardage
I just happened to notice
that there are quite a few possibilities
for future Sarah-Dippity skirts
in that store.

While there, deep in a discussion
of how mill spun yarn is finished
​and why I find the knitting experience
so much more pleasurable
​if I wash such yarn before knitting
(if not for weaving),
we conjured an experiment,
​the results of which you can see above and below.
The yarn is not only fluffier and shorter,
it is also distinctly softer.
Why wait till after the knitting is done?

At any rate, after several swatches
I'm now deep in the knitting portion of this skirt show,
where, given the length of the woven panels I just cut,
​ I am likely to remain for a while.

But that is no hardship. 
I do love to knit.
And it'll provide balance to the other enticing
(but less pictorially sharable), thing I'm working on:
​an article for the autumn 2019 issue of Ply magazine!
​Wheeeeee!

Indeed, I seem to be having an extra delicious magazine moment,
as I drew a cartoon for the new issue of Spin Off
which should be showing up at any moment.
I haven't seen it 'in paper' yet,
but am most excited. 
Has anyone received their copy?

I sure do love to be part of this yarnish world
and treasure absolutely everyone in it. 

Nope -- not the burn carbon,
catch a cold on the airplane
on the way to someplace else
kind of holiday.

That sun is shining
​into my very own studio.

Though  I did go somewhere --
me and my big black rubber boots
strolled through the slush
to The Yarn Underground (my local yarn store),
where I was dazzled by the abundance 
and walked home with 
8 skeins of Harrisville flywheel yarn.

 So did you know about this?
That you can buy yarn that has
already been carded and spun?
It's a little weird.
But AMAZING. 

(One of the great things about spending most of my time in the studio
is that am a cheap date -- dazzled and overwhelmed by
the local downtown shops.
Of course I'm also dazzled by dead leaves 
which is slightly less helpful to the local economy....).

But no matter how you look at it,
this feels like a mighty quick turnaround--
from a mad desire
​ for a long, dark grey Sarah-Dippity skirt,
to yarn in hand.
(if not exactly fast fashion, at least less glacial than my usual approach).

Said mad desire was initially generated
by a vision of the thing I wanted to wear that day,
the realization that I had the knowledge and technology to make it,
and a teensy bit of project envy generated by
 slipping Backstrap Dialogues zines into envelopes 
and mailing them to Sweden and Germany, Califorina and Kentucky
as Sarah-Dippity instructions are downloaded
to computers around the world.

At any rate, it felt (and still feels), rather marvelous
to take a mid winter break from my cellulosic adventures,
and start winding a warp almost before 
shucking off the rubber boots.

Alas, my starry-eyed haste
also led to a teensy bit of
of a miscalculation --
this mill spun yarn is NOT
​ as much like mine as I thought.

I stormed about a bit and felt like an idiot
for making assumptions, 
and for not weaving a sample --
or at least doing a yarn wrap.
But drawing this comic gave me an idea
(you might note that the little "but maybe if..." thought bubble
was written in with a different pen),
so I clipped together a ten dent rigid heddle 
from four Schacht Variable Dent Rigid Heddle sections, 
scribbled a new sketch for the skirt
and away I went.
(10 epi vs 12 epi  meant weaving two narrower swaths of cloth since I did not want to buy more equipment, which leads to the skirt being made of  four or maybe five 8" wide panels instead of three 12" ones-- though I don't have to decide for sure till later since the design is flexible and the final
shaping and fitting is in the knitting).

The broken threader was another bummer,
but this paper clip worked just fine-- 
​indeed, maybe better than the diz threader
I've been using for the last couple of years.
​Golly, I love makeshift solutions.  
​And I really love this loom.

The last few inches of the first warp
turned into cloth
​ just before I started to write this morning.

And there's a good chance
I'll start winding the second warp 
shortly after I hit "post."

Perhaps  next week I'll be knitting the skirt wedges
and my holiday will be done.
zoom zoom zoom!
But so restful.

And then back to real life.
​
If that is what this is.

I had a plan,
this morning,
to examine
form and function 
​as they relate to the book form.

Snazzy topic, eh?
I pretty much impressed myself when I thought of it. 
Not that I have the language or training for such a discussion,
but it has been on my mind.
After all, I've been building and binding little tapestry books,
putting the final touches on set of a PDF instructions,
and sending paper instruction/story zines around the world,
so it's  hard not to wonder
as I choose a design for each--
​ why this --why that?

I also read other people's books every day--
mostly the kind I can hold in my hand,
though sometimes those of the e-reader variety. 

And I have  yards of reference books.
​
How different then, are my feelings 
about books I read for their stories,

and those I open to a specific page to learn something?

In what ways do I relate to
books I've written (but not designed), 

differently from books I've designed and made?

What about books I'm in--
if long ago when my hair was still dark

and books that are in me--
often so demanding
that I have to create imaginary shelves
in which to house them. 

In addition, there are books I listen to,
as stories read aloud
and ​as part of insightful discussions. 

Then there are books that act as muse--

as vehicles for transport,

as objects in a still life.

And (she wails)
​what about the midcentury feminine middlebrow
my favorite book category of all ?

My plan,
​made early this morning while lying in bed
and thinking this up,
was to illustrate my as yet undiscovered 
but undoubtedly insightful thoughts
on these pressing questions
with a few images of the books
  I've drawn, painted, woven and built over the years.
​
It seemed a reasonable  approach at the time.
​Of course I hadn't yet had any tea.

Alas, once I got going, 
​ three things happened.

​First: a visit to the bowels of my computer
unearthed a crazy number of images, 
each of which stirred up all kinds of distracting memories.

Second: after devoting a good many of the subsequent hours
to tying myself in letter-ridden knots,
I remembered that I am not an academic
and really don't have the language for such a discussion.

Third: when I decided to untangle
​and rewrite one of those knots,
(heaven knows how),
the Weebly blog app,
in its wisdom,
deleted every word I'd written thus far--
for which action
I can only feel tremendous gratitude
(as, no doubt, should you).

So here I am at the end,
bowing to the wisdom of bits and bytes,
shelving the whole idea of codex deconstruction,
and leaving you with this:
​
Books are the best, right?

​ps.   Next Day Edit -- I've been asked about instructions for the wee blocky books, and all I can say is that, while I'm pretty comfy with weaving the tapestry covers, I'm still learning about paper and binding etc, so here are a couple of links to help further
--HERE is where I learned the two needle coptic binding.  
---Keith Smith's books -- Volume 1 of Non-adhesive binding; Books  Without Paste or Glue--where I learned the curved needle coptic binding I've used up till the ones in this post, 
--Velma Bolyard has also shared an enormous amount of book and paper related info, particularly information of kami-ito and shifu (spun and woven paper)
​

In October 2017,
I had an idea for a skirt.
My thought was to combine
shaped, hand knit panels
with my myriad backstrap experiments
to build a flexible and fitted garment. 

It was just an experiment.
​
Definitely a one-off.

Though not usually short ones--
or at least I haven't since the early 1970s
when my mother and grandmother tsk tsked 
over my desire to share more adolescent leg
than they thought fitting or attractive.

But attractive is as attractive does
(whatever that really means),
and anyway, the skirts are fun at any age--
to make and to wear.

The simple structure makes fitting a breeze--
the unbeatable texture of specially selected (or spun) yarn,
the underlying energy of hand woven cloth,
the built-in stretchiness of  hand knit panels
all work together to to make each skirt
as comfy as plain leggings--
and as long or short as I want
(​or fabric length will allow).

note: my skirts are mostly short because I made them 
using existing color and weave experiments
designed, warped and woven
with no thought to future leg coverage.

Anyway,
I've long wanted to share the idea
and fully intended to have these instructions done
shortly after the concept showed up.
Backstrap Dialogues,
(the instructional story zine that led to
the cloth that led to Sarah-Dippity),
was freshly out in the world
and somehow I imagined
that after a 56 page comic,
 a straightforward skirt guide
​ would take a mere few weeks!
​Sigh.

​But finally, after writing and re-writing,
drawing and re-drawing,
and overriding a firm decision
to shelve it permanently,
​(shows what I know),
I am beyond pleased
that Phineas reminded me
about the underlying joy
of the garments themselves--
(well, he bullied me just a bit,
​ as only a squirrel can do,
insisting that other weavers and knitters 
might well want
to cover their butts
​with their own magnificent cloth).

So HERE IT IS, 
freshly loaded into my web store:
a 16 page downloadable PDF guide
​ to using your cloth (hand woven or otherwise),
and your yarn (knit at a gauge that suits your hands and taste),
to make a garment that fits your body,
your life and your style. 

And to help celebrate the joy of hand woven cloth,
hard copies of Backstrap Dialogues
are now on sale for $13 
(I love prime numbers)
with free shipping.

Endless thanks to Phineas, for spurring me on,
and my ever patient reader/testers,
for all their support.