In the Intrim

I haven't been able to reach any emotional or practical for the pending "previous" post, which in turns has caused a bit of a backlog in my head and on the blog.

Meanwhile, I've been sampling and learning more about 3-tie weaves.  There is much to learn, and I'm enjoying vague ideas about new possibilities with complexities that won't require purchases of equipment, i.e. a loom with more harnesses, though I am thinking a second warp bean on the big loom may be a sane investment.  There is a guy in town that can do that, too, lucky me.     

I've also watched a few costumes films and listened to a few audio books taking place in similar eras, and have been thinking about this: what if we knew we would never meet a person again, not because either of us are dying, but because there is no technology available.  How would we treat our human relationships?  When I was a child, though international phone lines and telegraphs existed, the only means available to a child was the post/mail.  But say if you were a person of no consequence, (for example, a female,) say in the early 1800's, (so, not even the post at your disposal,) and you grew close to someone as friends, mentor/mentee, or in romantic relationship, but forces beyond your control were to separate you, how would we spend the last few days?  What would we do, and what would we say?

A relatively inconsequential character in an Australian soup opera died recently.  ("Thabo" in "Home and Away".)  I try to watch it because the first showing is at 5.30 when I should be cooking dinner; the rerun at 12.30 when I should be cooking or eating lunch, or when I could be cooking dinner.  Having said that, I haven't been watching it consistently for months, so I don't really know this character, but it his death touched me. Adults may feud and scheme and whatever else, (in this case his mother married a preacher so they can bring the boy to Australia to get medical treatment,) but when a child dies, well, when anyone dies, that's the end not only for that person, but that aspect in the lives of those around him/her.

* * * * *

Last Saturday was Unravelling's fifth blogaversary.  In addition to my current "issue", I felt sad because I was supposed to be in my mother's weaving/stash room on that day. 

I thank you for your company in this long and winding road called life, adorned by some spectacularly colorful (or not) bits of cloth here and there. May we weave happily and for a long time to come.


Dianne said...

So does that mean its 5 years since Randy Darwall's workshop? My time flies as I hope your shuttle is.

Meg said...

4 years 7 months since Randy, Dianne. Do you think we've improved in that time? I sometimes wonder if stash accumulation is the only thing I've accomplished!

Dianne said...

The short answer for me is 'no'. I don't seem to have extended myself, I haven't tried new techniques, I haven't learnt to say no to work I don't really want to do. Do I need a psychologist rather than a weaving tutor? :)

Meg said...

OK, how about this, Dianne. Get out a few items you wove before October 2006, and put them next to a couple you wove recently. What's different? And you know, they don't have to have changed in a "Randy" way, you know. Then, tell me about the changes you see.

Dianne said...

What an interesting thing to do. We'll continue this conversation later. I'm up to my eyeballs trying to finish things, um .. vacuum the house, and get organised to go to Auckland tomorrow where I'll do Maryann's workshop on Fiberworks then home for one night before Lace in Pirongia (south of Hamilton).

Meg said...

I hear no violins for you, Dianne; how lucky of you!! Have a GREAT time and I look forward to your report on your blog.