Sometimes I demonstrate spinning in public places. It might be part of an historical reenactment, or a craft fair or some other public event.

When I do, inevitably at least one child will come up and ask “can I try?”

I have to admit, I’m not really sure about this “Maker Movement” business (and it really has become big business, which is ironic, considering its origins). All of a sudden I’m hearing the word “maker” everywhere, and reading about “maker fairs” - and I’m like “making what?” So I Google the term, and I get this…

It’s been hot this summer. Really, really hot. And muggy. It’s this El Nino condition that’s doing it, but it doesn’t really matter why. What does matter Is the utter lack of ambition that accompanies this condition. But then it doesn’t matter - and that’s “ennui.”

I have a love/hate relationship with the word “stash.” It has a dirty, illicit connotation - in fact, the Oxford English Dictionary tells us that it is derived from thieves’ cant. Most of the definitions I’ve found include the word “secret” - as if we should be ashamed …

For me this journey started over 25 years ago. I had just taken my first weaving class, and was at a fiber play date at a friend’s house. An experienced weaver was there, and she brought the handwoven Christmas gifts she’d made for her family - she had a stack of beautiful shawls and throws…

When you get a group of weavers or spinners together, eventually the talk turns to the merits - and quirks! - of various types of looms and spinning wheels. Inevitably, someone will ask "how many do you have?"

Like millions of other people, I've lost a hero from my youth. And although at one point he insisted that he was “Not Spock,” things that I’ve read by Leonard Nimoy himself and others tells me that much we feel drawn to in the character of Spock was informed by Nimoy’s own experience and understanding.

Once upon a time, not that long ago as the ages are reckoned, I was more than a little intimidated by color. Not being trained as an artist, I knew very little of color theory beyond "mix blue and yellow, get green." The concepts of value and hue, tints and shades, meant nothing to me.

When working with my technical dyes, I try to treat them with respect. I like the the consistency of the results, but I am well aware that they contain potentially dangerous chemicals and certain procedures need to be followed.

Did you ever pick out paint, and the color looked great on that little swatch card in the hardware store, but when you put it on a whole wall it was all too much "more"? That same thing happens with yarn.

My great-grandmother, Hattie Story Sala, wove rag rugs to support her family. By the time I came along little remained of this legacy. The house with the loom in the third story attic was sold shortly after my birth.

Sewing Carpet Rags: Because it's hard to read on the image. Here's a transcription of the poem by Harriet Whitney Durbin.

Naps are one of my favorite things - rare but favorite. Best nap opportunities seem to happen on Sunday afternoons. When the weather is nice I like to nap on our front patio - but sometimes it gets a bit chilly when the patio moves into the shade. A light blanket is called for.

It was almost exactly 25 years ago that I started weaving. Even though I was struggling with the onset of rheumatoid arthritis that was nowhere near under control, I knew that weaving was something I had to do.

Weaving takes a whole lot of specialized tools. Here's a view from my living room into my studio.

I've been away from my own looms for a couple of months, while completing some spinning and weaving projects for others. Last Saturday, I finally had time to sit down and start weaving on a warp that had been on my AVL Little Weaver for a while. Before I did that, I knew I needed to download some software and firmware upgrades for the loom.

It's a beautiful spring day, and I'm inside weaving. Fortunately, I have a loom with a view.

When my parents retired, they moved into a farmhouse in a very small town - a village really, except that we don’t have villages in California. The house had a barn. It was small by barn standards, and I don’t know if it ever housed any livestock - possibly some farm equipment.