Matt,dammit, now I have to make a backstrap loom and I had to get this children's book called _Angela Weaves a Dream_ and how the hell am I supposed to go on with my journey into Scandinavian mittens (and how did I end up there? I hate Scandinavia. Only I don't. I just hate some of the weaving, for ghodsakes who makes dishtowels with twee little designs on them? Lutherans?)?
I suppose it would be a nice change for the summer, given that mittens lose some of their immediacy when it stops snowing. Assuming it ever does.
I spent Tuesday with Sarah' sister's dog Haylie, a 10-year old saintly Golden Retriever. She started having seizures last week. Her vet believes these are related to a tumor in her spleen or brain sending clots to to her brain -- such tumors are common in aging Goldens. I feel bad about this and I hardly know her. Sarah and her sister have grown up with her (and their mom has known Haylie longer than her current husband and she's had enough loss this year already). Fortunately the phenobarbital eems to be making Haylie feel much, much better. But they wanted her to have some company while it took hold, so I dog-sat Tuesday and Sarah went Wednesday.
So Wednesday, we had lab. After spending time with Haylie (a charming dog, but low in conversation ) and Sarah's being away there for Tuesday night, I was looking forward to lab and people and rocks. Dick, however, wanted me to scan about forty slides. This takes several minutes apiece, in a separate room. I did get the first three inches of my father's second sock done while the computer worked. (I am not sure how big the second half of the first one should be.) Doug brought me tea, which was kind, even though the computer room was about 85 degrees and the scanner kept overheating and crashing. Far away, I could hear merriment and laughter coming from the happy slave quarters as they washed and catalogued some rocks and tidied down to strata of flat surface I have never seen before.
Then Matt came in and asked how a loom works, anyway? He was reading about Aztecs. I knew they would be backstraps, and then I went Googling... I found some lovely sites:
and printed out the second one for him.
Because Matt likes to live dangerously he said, "But LAURA, I was asking about AZTEC weaving, and this is MAYAN..."
"Matt, would you like me to cut your heart out with an obsidian dagger?" I asked. Dick voice echoing from the next room offered, "I have one you can use."
Today I am going to have my tattoo tarted up and going to see my parents and measure my father's foot again. I am afraid the socks are going to be too big, and since I think I am ready to turn the heel on one of them...
[Later] I did have my tattoo tarted up, and I will have pictures soon as it has finished healing. Since it is not nearly so much area as the one on my other arm it is not as painful or so far itchy. My tattoo artist, Mulysa is fun to be with and I cannot think of anyone I would prefer to have hurt me (sorry, guys). Being tattooed on the shoulders hurts rather like the moment before you (or at least I) tell the cat to use velvet claws, dammit! only it goes on longer. But without getting any worse. The one just over my ankle hurt more. I got far enough on the second sock that I could turn the heel and find it needed another centimeter when I applied it to my father's foot. He made me lamb and served me fresh raspberries, and I got to see my mom's pictures of the Central Park Gates.