Do you ever start to giggle uncontrollably, or outright laugh hysterically, while throwing the shuttle six, 18 or 36 times to weave an inch of cloth? In the second decade of the 21st Century, we thread one warp at a time through a small hole in the heddle, and a skinny slot in the reed, and we make them go up and down and, well, you know how it works.
Sometimes the silliness gets to me and I wonder what life means, my life, your life, one person's life time, what we're supposed to do, what we think we should be doing, and how much of it we should be doing. And the only conclusion I reach every time I start to giggle is that this silliness is a luxury, one weavers allow ourselves to do. And it's the closest thing to a SciFi/time-warp kind of experience I have.
My mom's blanket is off the loom, as is a second, white one in a thicker merino boucle, which I hope to put on my Etsy store when I get around to it opening it. I'm afraid Mom's may be mended/fringed/washed in Japan, and the white one after I get back, but I will be sure to take pictures. Mom's is much heavier, as Dot described, it will have a "substantial, soft texture", I hope. The white one is airier. In retrospect, I'm glad Mom's weft came in two dye lots; I suspect it's giving the blanket the extra tonal nuance I think it has; at least it's more complicated-looking than the white one. I also wove a tube-shaped cushion cover for Mom, thinking I had much more weft left on the cone than I actually did. It turned out to be a strange-looking tiny thing, so I'm not sure what I'll do with it, but it was fun weaving a tube, a first for me.
Meanwhile, I can come upstairs and show you, wherever you are in the world, what I just took off the loom 20 minutes ago. Imagine that! (Sorry, the pics are blurred; I can't seem to focus my eyes today, nor keep my arms steady.)