I’ve decided to pursue writing and art again (again). (It’s always “coming around again” round here.) If you don’t love my efforts, it’s OK. This is for me.
This blog entry is a celebration of many kinds. Here’s one: my computer has been broken for over a month. I’m writing tonight on my new one.
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“If you could read my mind, love,
What a tale my thoughts could tell.
Just like an old time movie…”
Today felt like a scene from a movie.
An absolutely beautiful fall day—not a dark and stormy night. The four perambulatory kids from next door (the fifth is still a babe in arms) secured permission from their parents to go on a walk with me and my two big Labrador Retrievers (Polly and Casey). I strapped the dogs to a leash around my waist; the eight-year-old boy (we’ll call him 8), six-year-old girl (ditto, her, 6), and five-year-old boy (5) hopped on their bike, bike, and trike. 3 was in the house getting his shoes on. He came running down the sidewalk after us—vehicleless. Last time he rode a pedal-less two-wheeler; I paused for a moment thinking he might enjoy himself more on that. Then I thought, “Nah, we’ll get on better without it.” (Last time 5 and 3 kept close to me the whole time, usually holding my hands. It felt like walking in congestion—two big dogs, two kids, two bikes, and me in the center tethered to all of them.) Read More →
Not long ago I wrote a post about something I’d learned from my Grandmother Hunter (whom I don’t recall ever meeting). Today, my sister (one of; “She has altogether too many sisters”) and I were talking online about a number of things—like sisters do once they get going… I started thinking about how life lessons are learned, well, throughout one’s life. They all come together—refusing to stay in separate file folders of the mind—to make us who we are.
After that platitudinous remark, I wish to write up an addendum to the lesson I learned from my Grandmother. This one is from my dad, Willard Wall.
The back of the photo says, “Wall, Willard 1st squad 2nd Platoon Co 7 OCS #1 class 6 Home town, Lyman, Wyoming” in my dad’s handwriting.
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Three and a half years ago, when I started pin loom weaving and subsequently learned to spin yarn, I didn’t know that one day I would arrive at exactly what I hoped to achieve.
These three handspun yarns all have one ply in common; the second ply is different for each.
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