How else but with two aprons,
 to pick ​rapidly ripening raspberries

and carry a garden watering timer
​(aka phone)

when neither your linen shirt
nor the  hand-me-over-unfinished-skirt
you're wearing underneath
​has a pocket?

Not that I couldn't remedy that.
A nice patch pocket on the skirt
would be the work of a moment.
​
And the shirt
is a continual work in progress--
the fact that it already has
a teensy tapestry pocket on one side
no reason to neglect the other.

It's just that I wear the shirt so often--
 like every day I'm not wearing
  the linsey-woolsey one--
that I just haven't gotten around to it.

Yes -- it's hard to tell from the drawing
that I'm wearing the linsey-woolsey shirt.
But it is  only short-sleeved shirt I have,
so not a tricky deduction.
Besides, it was just a few days ago.

Also, though I occasionally
bend the absolute truth in my comics
(for narrative clarity only),
I generally aim for sartorial veracity--
if only because I love my clothes
and am oddly attached
to the idea that  future me
might like to enjoy seeing them too
(while remembering what. weenie I am about shopping).

It also helps with the laundry.
("I seem to have worn Sarah-Dippity Skirts
in almost every drawing for this entire diary--
definitely time for a bath!")

But I digress.
Paper pockets
were the topic of the moment.
And they might actually be
a compelling experiment. 
Though the coffee filter yarn
is itself pretty fragile,
especially as singles
(I can't imagine using it for warp for instance),
it seems to stand up remarkably well
 tightly packed in a weft faced plain weave--
at least to the wear and tear 
of life as a diary cover--
growing soft, pliable,
and almost leather-like
​(if a little grubby),
with daily use.

And true shifu,
(woven from hand spun washi)
has been used for clothing for centuries,
so the idea is not totally outrageous --
except of course, that washi
(and the resulting kami-ito)
is often specifically made
for strength and longevity
while coffee filters are (usually)
single use items.
Though expected to withstand
 boiling water and soggy grounds, 
they are definitely not​
as intrinsically strong as washi.
But who knows?
In case you haven't noticed,
my life is a constant work in progress --
my chief delights arising from
​experiments with the materials at hand,
no matter the source.

And as we all learn daily,
you never know 
what is going to happen.

Indeed, I'm super excited
about watching the evolution 
of this diary I just made.
Not only do I get to play
with the wedge weave tapestry
I wove last May.
(2-ply vs the singles of the last one)--

​but I also got (and get) 
to see how the dog bane binding cordage
(made in the fall of 2018),
behaves with constant handling.
It's pretty rough right now,
but super strong
even if I did have to punch
​extra large holes in my signatures. 

Now what was this post supposed to be about?
No idea. 
Undoubtedly something
satisfying and insightful
that would rock all our worlds--
though nothing could equal
the roller coaster ride
of real life just now--
my mind growing, I hope,
as strong and flexible
and welcoming of change and possibility
 as dog bane cordage.
So a bit of paper-induced absurdity
never hurts alongside, say, things like
the recent groundbreaking
 Supreme Court Decision
that almost half of Oklahoma
falls within a Native American reservation!

So I'll just end with this photo--
because it makes me happy,
and is a good reminder
to enjoy the hidden richness
in even the simplest
of moments.

​ps. Tiny chair carved by Linda Ligon's grandfather in about 1915 --
and though this chair didn't start
Thrums Books , Long Thread Media,
and the once-upon-a-lifechanging  Interweave Press,
Linda did, and all three make (and have made)
the world a better place for textiles
and their makers.

pps. Squash plant--a volunteer,
​grown by itself from a bit of compost,
whose contributions to my world
are blossoming even as I type.

ppps.  Because it has to be said:
​Fuck Trump

It's been a while
since I've woven on
a continuous warp,

​and had forgotten
​ how delightful
it can be
​to slowly swirl
​an emerging tapestry
​around the top and bottom beams

as the prickly plants
gradually emerge,
a letter at a time.
(The names I use for the plants, that is,
​since I do not know what they call themselves). 

The length of the thing
means there is time and space
to notice unexpected words,

It has also been fun,
just after writing
Tucking The Tails,
to find another place
where the practice
of working in the ends as I go
adds moments
of enchantment
to weaving:
getting to glimpse
the elegance
of letters in reverse
out of the corner of my eye--
to admire grace of their shapes-- 
to relish the confusion of
of thinking a 'd'
is a 'p'
and trying to figure out
what word I had
 inadvertently written.
​
And how not to delight
in the dignified nod
of two 'r's
(distantly socializing as now is normal)
as they pass by, 
one going up, one down?

I'm weaving the letters
with naturally dyed wool.
The colors were a surprise
as at first I thought 
I'd write all the words
with black and charcoal fleece,
and I really appreciate 
the indigo and madder,
weld and lobaria pulmonaria,
insisting that they, too
​ get to promote
 the loveliness
of some of the sharp things
in my world.

The two-ply used coffee filter yarn
also had its way with me,
​thank goodness.
For though it is almost
too thick for a sett of 8 epi
(and anything but smoothly even),
it is a pleasure to touch,
to tap into place,
​to think about,
to make,
and to photograph. 

Using the two fibers together
does take a little getting used to--
 the extreme difference
in how each packs into place
 a little disconcerting
especially when I'm trying to count passes--
but I'm getting pretty good at eye-balling
how much the wool will pack down
in relation to the paper,
and the juxtaposition
of warm brown beads of coffee filter
against the smooth fuzz 
of fine spindle spun wool,
is a continual source of delight. 

Even if you're less
easily amused than I,
how not to adore
the exuberance
​of an 'e' coming to life?

I am hoping to fit
two more prickly things
onto the last few inches of the warp
and though am not quite sure there is room,
( the shed will be tiny no matter what
and I haven't even gotten to 
my list of local burrs),
I'm still going to try.

And luckily (hopefully)
I can soon put on another warp
for  apparently
my beloved PVC pipe loom
loves a good continuous one
as much as it loves four selvedge--
and there are so so many more
weirdly wonderful prickles
to investigate,
a letter at a time. 


ps. And in case you care about such specifics
 the warp is that merino/silk,
I wrote about back in May.
As you may recall
it didn't race my motor 
in the cloth samples I was weaving then,
but it does make a glorious warp
as I had hoped (3 ply for this tapestry),
​and I'm delighted that I have plenty more.

Oh goody--
back to the blog
after a whirligig of a month.

Except -- 
this business of typing words--
​ I think I must be rusty.

(Listening to Rhiannon Giddens with Francesco Turrisi 
and here with Yo Yo Ma)

(Ki/Kin Pronouns from Robin Wall Kimmerer )

And oh yes,
a chemo holiday
​ is an amazing thing.

A few days ago,
weaving along and geeking out
on the continuing love affair
between plied paper
​ and wedge weave,

I  happened to glance down 
and notice
​ that the tapestry I was making
bore more than a little resemblance
to the clothing I had on--

colors, lines, squares,
and the underlying pleasure
of working with what is at hand
coming together in beloved jeans,
a tapestry in progress
and last summer's tabby-tapestry
linsey-woolsey shirt
(about which I just realized I wrote four blog posts;
if you're interested you can find them here, here, here and here).

Well, that was fun, I thought,
​and got back to work.

Imagine my surprise, then
when the next day,
as I carefully Tucked My Tails,*
I noticed it again --
not quite as marked, perhaps,
though the silvery-grey/brown combo
went well with the pieced linen shirt
 (prototype of sorts for the linsey-woolsey one),
if not the tattered trousers 
(almost as thoroughly mended as the jeans).

*readers of the guide might note the  use of passive weft in the top middle square above, and the tapered end on the top right one

By the third day,
though I did not make a plan,
​I was a little less astonished
when the same thing happened.

This is getting silly, I thought,
​weaving on and blissing out 
on the energy of the tidy little squares.

The day after that
the white hemp pants I chose 
(prototype for the worn out brown ones
and significantly more robust),
did not have much to do
with the colors I was moving into,

but I can't say I was astonished
when I noticed that I was wearing
a Somewhat Slanted Sweater.

The particular pleasure
of making angled squares
is apparently as irresistible just now,
​as turning compost into yarn. 
​
​And sometimes the colors work too.

It feels like I should be able 
to draw some important conclusion(s)
from all of this matchy-matchy
makey-mendy stuff,
but at the moment
I am actually caught up
in the drama of the triangles
that have suddenly shown up
here at the very end of  this long narrow tapestry--
for after the calm of the simple squares
the pointy shapes make my heart beat
in a disconcerting (though not unpleasant), way
and I want to see if what I weave next
will calm it down again--
or not.
And if it does,
whether the underlying wedge weave energy 
(currently contained by the warp tension)
will go even wilder
once released from the loom.
​Stay tuned!

ps.
the "skirt" of today's outfit
​is a hastily wrapped scrap
of a worn-out sheet that
ultimately proved to be beyond mending,
wrapped around my waist
to make a pair of leggings
feel like real clothing,
Because sheets are more real
than stuff I buy at the store?
Go figure.

So here's a question.

When a bunch of ideas
all show up at once,
is there a hierarchy among them--
 materials, tools, technique(s)--
​and if so, what is it?

Do the demands of one idea--

just to take a random example),​

After all,
that's what I used last time.
And I'll pretty much always choose (assume)
hand ​over mill spun yarn for everything.

Well, when the only two ply hand spun flax in my stash
is so rough and uneven that I have three breaks
 before I've woven an inch--
a choice must be made.

First choice: a post-warping application
of a flour and water size.
This tamed the hairiness but didn't thin out the thick spots.
Second choice: enlarge the heddle holes --
not possible without the risk of going through the side walls
given my super simple tools and rough construction approach.
Third choice: change either warp or heddle.

 Now were the warp yarn the most important/exciting thing
I'd perhaps have re-threaded,
as I think it would have worked just fine
with a plastic heddle's larger, smoother holes.
And I did considered it-- briefly.
But the other ideas rebelled.
I wanted to use, or at least try, the firewood heddle.
And anyway, I needed its sett of 8 epi
​for another part of the puzzle.
So a new warp of ​mill spun linen
​ it would have to be.

And a doubled warp can be a very handy thing--
as readers of Tucking the Tails now know,
(perhaps also noticing how, in the photo below,
I combined the wrapped tail and double warp techniques
to begin the wedge weave square).

Oh right-- WEDGE WEAVE --
that was one of the other unignorable ideas
I wanted to mess around with,
 a prime mover in my  'need'
​for a new heddle with a sett of 8 epi.

Though I'd never done it before,
just hearing the words "wedge weave"
as part of the discussion on Change the Shed,
led me to try a sample on the last bit of warp
from the  book of light and color--
and then again, somewhat more deliberately,
 with a four selvedge warp on a pvc pipe loom.

This second photo
(of the clean back of the four selvedge tapestry
as it is being released from the supplemental warps),
was supposed to be a demonstration
of the joys of Tucking the Tails
(if not four selvedge tapestry weaving as well),
but I forgot to put it in the post.

Too busy, I think, geeking out
about the weird and wonderful pleasure
 of a somewhat slanted weave structure--
and the love at first pick
between wedge weave 
and plied coffee filter paper yarn.

Unfortunately,
the two weaving samples
had used up all my plied paper.
No biggie to make some more--
except then came another idea.
What about plying the singles paper 
with some singles hand spun linen?
Would it create a wonderful yarn with linen strength
and the delicious hand of the coffee filters?
Or would I be doing a disservice to them both?
And, in the aforementioned
hierarchy of ideas, 
was that a question to ask, 
or a thing try? 
Try, of course.
At the very least, if I hated it
I'd get to cross the idea off my list.

In module 4 of her Tapestry Design Class
Rebecca Mezoff explores
the reciprocal relationship
between loom structure and design.
In module 5 (which just opened),
she talks about the interactions 
between design and materials.
​Who, or what, is in charge?
What choices do we have?
Wherein lies control?
And is control even a desirable thing?
How much adventure feels right
or is even possible given the grid of warp and weft?
How much subtle delight can a person stand?

It's fascinating stuff.
Except--that there are never any definitive answers,
at least for me,
beyond the ones I am experiencing
and the choices I am making in the moment, 
as this color, this warp, this tension, this sett,
this light, this position, this way of opening the shed,
this hand motion, this mug at my side, this bobbin,
this skill set that I have, this level of strength in my hands today,
this funny heddle notch where my thumb fits so perfectly,
all come together, randomly or no,
to help me make whatever on earth it is
that I am making today.

So that's all I know for sure.
And may the questions keep coming.

Though I'm super excited to show you
this tiny accordion book,
 it was not what I intended
​to write about this morning.

What I hoped/planned to do
was release the other
(​less colorful) little book
​I've been working on:

This second is not actually a book at all,
but rather a PDF guide--
though both (if you print the PDF),
are made of paper---
and this last week has seen me
bouncing between them
​to see which would be done first:
one moment glued to the computer
moving my drawings half and inch this way or that,
the next, comfortably tucked into my backstrap
putting color next to color next to color
in breathless anticipation
of what it would turn (or fold) into,
then off to the iPad to draw something else
that would perfectly explain just one more thing.

 I guess the accordion book won the race--
if race it was--
perhaps  because my tapestries
 are pretty much done when they come off the loom
while projects that rely on drawing and writing
can be shifted, adjusted,
ignored, changed and revised
​seemingly
f o r e v e r...

Tucking the Tails actually is very close to being done.
Indeed after months of  puttering along,
I really thought we (the zine and I), were ready. 
Except, this very morning,
I had a new idea about the layout
and of course I had to try.

And that trying
led to more experiments/ideas
and there went the time
I was going to use to set up
all the behind the scenes stuff
to make it sellable in the web store.
But hopefully, later this week?
Maybe?

Despite seemingly competing for my time,
​the two projects 
actually do relate to each other
in an elemental way. 
​
Tucking The Tails, if you can't tell from the title,
is a collection of the techniques I use
to work in the weft ends
as I weave my tapestries--
tucking them in as I build shapes, that is,
in contrast to 'needling' them in
after the tapestry is off the loom,
or, as I was taught to do,
leaving them to hang off the back of the work
to dangle... forever.

Making  my tapestries this way,
so that they are in effect two-sided,
is what makes possible such structures
as this little book I just finished,
the tri-fold tapestry behind it: Nowhere to Hide , 
​and, indeed, pretty much everything I've woven since 1994,
(whether or not you could actually tell).

One of the best things about all of them,
at least for me,
is that that when they come off the loom
a good deal of the finish work
is already done-- 
and finish work is not my favorite. 
(The other fantastic technique in the minimal-finish work realm
is  Fringeless, four selvedge warping
but I've talked about that a lot elsewhere).

It has definitely been the driving force
behind the mobiles, books, book covers
and other off-the-wall works
I've made since.

You can see more of this stuff  in  the Archive --
since I just realized that I wrote the post linked above
in 2016 -- and I've had a few new ideas since then.

And speaking of new ideas,
putting together this post
has just illuminated another REALLY fun aspect
to the two-sided, three-dimensional work:
taking PHOTOGRAPHS of it!

Photography, formerly a chore
(and often a very expensive chore at that
for the high quality photographs I needed),
has become an almost irresistible pleasure.
Not only do the tapestries get to play with the light,
but I get to play with both of them together.

And surprising pleasures
are things to be treasured,
​are they not?
I hope you have time to notice a few
 no matter what whacky (or terribly serious)
things you are doing--
wherever you are--
just now.

ps. I hope to get  Tucking The Tails into the store
before next Tuesday, and if so, will probably send out
an auxiliary newsletter so if you are already on my mailing list
you'll know about it. Otherwise, you can sign up with the form
on the top right (or the very bottom if you're on a phone),
or just check in to the webstore toward the end of the week
and hopefully it'll be there.
Happily, being a PDF, there will be no shortage
so no need to worry or hurry.
​XOXO

It has been a full week around here.
Not that I went anywhere (who did?),

but two fresh fleeces arrived from Montana,
and  fleece washing time 
is usually  packed
(especially when scouring delicious fine,
​seriously greasy, Cormo and Targhee/Debouillet),

Clean soft fleece + a pair of perfect spindles 
definitely equals contentment--
both ​for present and future me.

As it happens, however,
though I'll be drum carding for days
and happily spindle spinning
for months and years,
present contentment sometimes lasts
only as long as the time
between the completion of one satisfying task
and the moment of being
struck/taken over/flattened
​by a brand new and un-ignorable idea.

Ok, yes, I know --
the coracle/mask I wrote about last week
was also an un-ignorable idea. 
It, however (the pulled warp coracle),
did not grow to be a source
of long-lasting satisfaction,
​while I think this project will.

What's the difference?
You might well ask
since it is so hard to tell in the moment.
With the brilliance of hindsight, however,
I'm pretty sure that  I started the coracle/mask
as an attempt to relieve
 the persistent, pervasive, fearful angst
of this moment in time,
(no need to explain further, methinks),

while carving a funky 8-dent rigid heddle
from a scrap of wood I found in the basement,
was pure, self-indulgent  joy,
and joy, a rare and delightful thing,
is perhaps a more useful a source of angst relief
than all the reluctant mask-making in the world,
if only because it wells up from inside
rather than falling on one
like a mildewed, news-laden blanket.

At any rate,
hyperbole aside,
one way or another
making the rigid heddle
led me to a forward thinking,
elementally satisfying place, 
where in fact,
I already rather badly wanted to be:

that is:
​cross-legged on the floor,
weaving paper and linen
on a backstrap loom.

Not that I had a vision
of exactly that thing.
I've just been missing the feeling
of working on my backstrap loom,
and vaguely dreaming about
the kinds of things I might make on it--
while still cutting and spinning paper
with persistent pleasure--
and these two things
seemed mutually exclusive. 

Mutually exclusive, that is
until I saw the tiny rigid heddles
that Kirsten Neumüller has been carving
from a fallen juniper in her back yard,
and was immediately smitten.

Now, I did try to set aside
my instant  longing to make one myself
( "it's just an idea storm-wait it out").
But happily it was un-set-aside-able. 

Indeed, in the three days since I saw hers
the thing shaping up to be a source
of idea-consolidating calm--
an unexpected doorway 
to both immediate and long term pleasure--
like fleece and spindles
with the added benefit
of getting to make a half-assed
yet fully functional new textile tool.
​
And I am a total sucker ​for such things
as you may have noticed.

(If you're unfamiliar with Kirsten Neumüller's work, her beautiful, useful and charming book Mend and Patch: a Handbook on Repairing Textiles has just been translated into English, and though I haven't yet read her  earlier book on Indigo, I can only imagine it is  as good).

So that was my week
and this is where you find me today:
right  back  doing the things I have been doing,
with a slightly different perspective,
a cool new tool that keeps me planted in place
(except when I need to mow and dig in the garden)
and much less angst,
for which I am most grateful. 

How's your week been?

So I had an idea a few days ago --

--one of those un-ignorable
"must try this RIGHT NOW"
kind of ideas.

Can you guess what I was after?

It was not,
I have to say,
 the coracle it apparently turned out to be.

No, I was going for something
a touch more practical--
something apropos to the world
in which we now live.
Cuz everyone needs a face mask, eh?

Clearly, the idea didn't work.
At least as an object.
As a concept though....
​maybe. 

Pulled warp is something
I messed around with back in about 2003
when I was developing projects
for my book Kids Weaving.
The book includes several projects
for weaving on cardboard looms
including the Rag Doll Warrior you see here,
and I thought pulled warp would be
interesting and unexpected
(the turtle was adorable),
Unfortunately, it involved adding
another warping method, 
​so fell by the wayside.

What joy, then,
to suddenly remember
the existence of that long ago sketch
while chatting (via Zoom, as usual),
about the making of face masks
with some dear friends.
Would the idea be workable?

Not that I expected it to actually function,
or be a substitute for the 'real thing'
(whatever that is;
opinions, you've probably noticed,
vary widely--if perhaps not this widely).

Certainly choosing to weave my prototype
with used coffee filter yarn--
probably not the most
virus-proof material out there
even if  spun from a material
with the word 'filter' in its name
and designed to have boiling water
poured through it --
did not earmark it
to have a life in the real world

But I am a weaver,
and pulled warp is a thing,
(check out Susan Iverson ​and Sue Weil  ),
and I had a a PVC loom put together,
so why not try?

Wanting it to be a dense fabric 
(viruses etc -- even if I wasn't planning to actually use it),
I wove it on the PVC loom because
I could  work at 8 epi vs. the 4 of a cardboard loom.
Otherwise, cutting out the  template
and using the cut out bits as spacers
was the same as in the original.

It also tickled my fancy
to use the PVC loom
since I'd developed it
specifically for Kids Weaving--
(cuz really a subversive Adult book)

The loom, as I've said before,
is ​based on Archie Brennan's Copper Pipe design,
and skips all the hard parts,
like cutting (and mining) copper,
​drilling, braising, and using threaded rod.
It is also totally functional for tapestry.
​And did I say cheap?

Anyway, the weaving went quite fast
since I just made stripes.
It seemed counterproductive to put slits into the fabric,
though it has occurred to me since
that a series of little slits all around the edge
would make it easy to thread a ribbon 
for  head attachment.

I made the mistake of using
rather wimpy cotton yarn for warp
so had/have to be super careful
pulling it into shape
and can't do the kind of fine tuning
that might actually make the thing
a little more useful.
Seine Twine would be MUCH better
Because...nose shaping, anyone?

I also made it too tall for my face
though the width (aprox 9"), is about right.
Right, that is, 
if one were going to make one for real--
perhaps with a lining for security
and indigo dyed yarn
for the extra bit of magic
and some clever way to attatch it--
none of which 
I'm actually going to do.

No, what I'm going to do,
​when I have to leave my house
​(which I hope is almost never),
is continue to wear one of the
elegant pleated cloth masks
sewn by my dear friend Nicole,

let this lovely creature
use my experiment for her boat
(because a gal really does need a coracle),

then return my attention
to the ever increasing light
in the Northern Hemisphere,
and the making of
the perfectly useless
and entrancing
objects.

I do have a sneaking hope
that someone will take the pulled warp face mask idea,
 do something really wonderful with it,
so if you do, please let us all know!

Otherwise,
if you want to make something else,
since this seems to be a project-based post
and because Kids Weaving is now out of print
(link is to ABE books where you can find used copies
since I don't  make a penny from sales anyway--
never did, truth to tell),
I'm going to attach some pics
of the Rag Doll Warrior project
just in case you need them,
and end this super long post
and ridiculously long sentence.

Be well,
stay home if you can,
be careful if you can't,
smile as often as possible,
​cuz it helps.
xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

Well, if I hadn't just spent
half the morning
(and a good portion of yesterday evening)
​with my iPad camera 
pointed at this little tapestry,

​I might have gotten
to writing to you
​a while ago.

marveling at the light playing with its facets,
and noticing
how a slight shift of angle
could render it
 statuesque ​from one direction, 

Outside the frame of the camera
it is actually somewhat diminutive--
here is my friend Poppy for scale--
and though I made the darned thing,
the relative power of framing and angle
is still a surprise. 

At any rate,
I had a lovely time weaving this tapestry 
(on a PVC pipe loom as you can see--
one of my all time faves for some weird reason)
 though what I actually made
​turned out to be not at all
what I imagined when I began.

The original point
was to let each facet
explore some color theory idea
​and see what happened.

I planned to
mess around with
hue, saturation, triads,
split compliments,
or relative warmth--
whatever grabbed my fancy.

But as so often happens these days,
after only a few little squares
I was the one that was saturated
and almost unwove
those first busy reddish-orange shapes--
even though I loved them--
as it felt like it was going to be
just too much in no time at all.

But before I could begin undoing though,
I remembered a thing Archie Brennan once said,
about changing your perception of yesterday's red,
by adjusting the colors you weave with today.
Unfortunately, I can't remember the exact quote
(Archie was a supremely quotable fellow
and I'm sure he said it with with perfect pith and pointedness 
so if you read/heard him say it, please let me know his real words),
but the principle was just what I needed.

So on I went.

And now that I think about it,
my variations on a theme of cream
actually has a little analogous/value stuff going on,
so I guess I got in a bit of inadvertent
​color theory practice after all.

At any rate,
since Marjorie asked
for more filter cutting/spinning info
in last week's comments,
​choosing these colors 
gave me a chance to try
to film a few of the steps.

Naturally, I got totally involved in that idea
but not being a video gal,
 had to cut quite a few attempts at filming
before I had something that made sense. 
And then,
even though I deleted a lot of footage,
 realized it would take forever
to upload all the video onto this post
so put them into the
"highlights" of my Instagram page.
You can see them by clicking
the three little circles under my name.
(Start with the circle on the right).
Below are two snippets  to give you an idea
of what I was about.
At the very least, the sound of hte scissors
​is weirdly soothing.

For those who would prefer still photos
this blog post  also has some how-to-cut pix
that cover essentially the same territory.

And now I've gone on and on as usual,
but before I close 
I do once again want to say
how VERY much I appreciate 
your supportive, kind, and heartwarming comments
which are more helpful than you can imagine
in the midst of this double  (or maybe quadruple?)
c-word moment:
cancer/chemo/coronavirus/Covid19.
And to show you that for the time being
we're well protected (after a fashion),
I'll end with a photo of the freshly blocked
Somewhat Slanted  Suit of Armor
I just finished for Dan--
(huge though it is, at 2 sts/in the knitting flew along).
As you might gather,
he's a teensy bit taller than me --like a foot, actually--
but suddenly, I'm thinking
that with slightly shorter arms,
I could sure do with
​ a Somewhat Slanted Dress)

I hope you are well
and staying safe
(at home if you can be there,
at work if you cannot),
and send a silent cheer to you/us  all.

Frankly, 
I haven't the foggiest idea 
​what to write about today.

Not for lack of ideas --
Oh no!  
I've been awash with those.
I mean, 
a paper gansey dress?
a suit of Somewhat Slanted armor?
There is much to talk about
​in the realm of my making existence.
Yet this is actually my third try
at trying to be coherent.

Part of the problem
may have been
that "somehow"
all sorts of non-blog things
have arisen ​to take over my Tuesdays,
and, deciding to be efficient
the first two blogging attempts
were made yesterday.

What a disaster!
Not a single coherent sentence
​ could I write,
and most of the photos
turned out badly lit
or poorly framed-- 
poorly framed, that is,
unless your hearts desire 
is. to see a corner of my
Sarah-Dippity clad butt
and the bra/underwear pile
of my laundry-in-waiting?

Tuesdays, you see
are old lady (and gentleman) day at the Food Coop
(actually member over 55 gets a 10% discount),
and what with the layers of gloves
and careful spacing and all,
it seemed a good idea
to keep grocery-getting
and blog writing
​separate too.

Tuesdays are also 
my husband's new chemo day
(used to be Monday)
and since I usually try to  do a little tidying
while he's off getting infused,
 I figured if I wrote the blog on Monday
I could take my time
​with the scrubbing,
​the shopping
and the writing.

But Monday,
as I said,
refused to cooperate. 
After a bunch of confusion and angst
it became clear 
that while there are times
and places 
when thinking ahead
and being practical
(wearing  rubber gloves
out in the world etc etc)
is just the thing.

So Monday got to be
the thing it wanted to be,
full of tunes and pink coffee filters,
and I headed out to the Food Coop this morning
where,
be-gloved and bemused,
I had several magical moments of
distant socializing with dear friends--
our plastic coated hands waving madly
from one end of an aisle to another--
and also got to feel
​ a good solid sense of gratitude
for all the beautiful produce
and marvelous, helpful coop stuff
who are keeping us supplied
​for our once-a-week excursions.

And  the cleaning?
Well, I shook out a few rugs
but mostly skipped it entirely,
save for washing
and blocking
the coffee filter Gansey dress
because my imaginary elf self
wanted to wear it
and anyway
I can mop things tomorrow.

But that, the elf comment, reminds me
of what I really wanted to say today,
and why I was trying to take selfies yesterday--

which is that is that my friend Vicki
has designed the coolest hood
for the Somewhat Slanted sweater
and I finally get to tell you about it.
Somehow she managed to combine 
both the utterly practical
(cozy, easy, protective, snuggly),
and the utterly "im"--
(I get to be a wood elf
and a Monty Python Knight
​at the same time),
while making something that is
totally in the "make it as you go" spirit
of the sweater itself. 

Such a favorite, indeed, 
that I'm giving you a second opportunity
to critique my slovenly laundry ways,
my pink Sarah-Dippity butt,
and the polka-dotted apron I forgot I had on,
so you can see the whole thing,
backlit and all.

And speaking of Dan
(though he'd probably rather I didn't)
I do want to say
how VERY much I appreciate 
all your wondrous words and hopes and thoughts
in the comments in last week's post.
I was going to try to answer them all,
but it only made me cry,
and also feel so very grateful
that you are all there,
that we're all in this together
in many different
and many of the same ways, 
and that I get to write to you--
even going on and on
despite thinking I had nothing to say--
and that we can madly wave,
our carefully gloved hands
at one another
from across the world,
and the other side of town,
and feel connected
with our yarn
and our thoughts
and the joy
of the fragile,
​the lovely,
and the absurd.
So, ah,
​thanks.
​
And, onward we go.