Daryl's Blog

I got up early this morning to feed the dog, and was shocked to find my son on the couch, his nose dirty and bloodied and the splint from the surgery he had 10 days ago to correct the multiple breaks, missing.  I woke him up to ask what happened, and he painfully recounted having fallen in the driveway late, and landing face first, because one hand was on the cell phone and the other holding a cigarette.  The on call doctor chuckled, said this was Murphy’s Law at its finest, and told me  to have him ice his nose and more than likely the surgery will have to be redone.  I rolled my eyes so much I got a spasm.  Parenting…

Yesterday I decided, though I’m leaving for a 10 day trip to California on Wednesday morning, to tidy up my daughter’s old bedroom, run the vacuum, and change the bed linens.  That was my first mistake.

I looked back over my old blog posts, specifically from March of 2010, when I went into the basement to clean up my son’s room while he was in boot camp with the army.  I wrote this:

“I started by cleaning the lowest level of the house, which was my son’s room in the basement.  Can I say that cleaning the room of a child who has left for the military is as difficult as it is cathartic?  Each little piece of him I held and dusted, and occasionally rolled my eyes over, and then carefully replaced it .  It was an emotional couple of hours, and I was completely ready for a big bottle of wine!”

And so yesterday, what started out as a simple task of tidying and vacuuming my daughter’s old room, ended up an emotional day of scrubbing and holding all that my daughter use to cherish.  The things she left behind.  She is not a housekeeper, and nothing had been cleaned well since she moved into that room when my son vacated it in favor of the basement, so a simple vacuuming wasn’t going to cut it.  Each little piece of her I held, and dusted and occasionally rolled my eyes over, and then carefully put it away into a drawer, because unlike my son, whom I knew would eventually return and resume residence, I know my daughter will be moving forward into a new life, and any return home will be merely a short term visit.  It was an emotional day.  And I was completely ready for a big bottle of wine.

Before Brianna left, she asked for some postage stamps.  I thought that was an unusual request, what could she want to put a stamp on?  In this age of instant communications, and electronic exchanges and social networking (OK I admit that I check her Facebook page hourly…) what could she want to do with a stamp.  I asked her and she said, “But mommy, I love getting mail, I look every day in the mail box to see if I got a letter or card and it makes my day when there is something in there for me…”

OK, I’m shocked.  Old fashion letter writing trumps 140 character text/twitter posts?  Who would have thought…

I dug out stamps and behind the stamp folder was a second similar folder, and my daughter dug it out.  She asked what was in it while she was opening it.  She found the letters my son wrote to us while he was in boot camp. She exclaimed, “Mom, you saved them!”  Of course I saved them.  You can’t know what they meant to me…

And at the end of January 2010, I posted this blog:

“So, armed with his address at Fort Jackson, I sat down yesterday and wrote an old fashioned letter.  With the date on top, followed by Dear Eric.  As I wrote, I thought about how lost the art of real letter writing has become.  I sent him a newsy two sided note, on flowery stationery, which has been in my drawer for about 12 years.  It is sort of sad, to think that the art of letter writing is dying, but in this day and age, it is the only way to stay in touch with a recruit in boot camp.  I wrote him another letter today.  It made me feel good to stick the letter in an envelope, put on a stamp, and leave it for the postman (woman in this case…)”

After cleaning out my daughter’s room yesterday, I sat down and wrote an old fashioned letter.  With the date on top, followed by Dear Brianna, I thought about how glad I am the the art of real letter writing hasn’t died, that an 18 year old college student, well versed in electronic communications, can love a simple handwritten piece of correspondence.  It made me feel good to stick the letter in an envelope, put on a stamp, and leave it for the postwoman…

And why might you ask, is this post titled No Whining?  OK, my son broke his nose yet again (he told me it was his 5th break in less than 4 years) and he will more than likely have to have surgery again, but noses heal and he will move on from this, and probably break it again at some point.  My friend’s son though, was just sent home from Afghanistan with his legs blown off, 19 years old, this child’s destiny has been permanently altered.  I cannot even begin to process what he and his family are going through.

I continued to vacuum my very dirty house today.  The vacuum broke, and I’m not sure Sears is open to go and buy a new one, since the mall flooded.  But I have a house to vacuum, dog hair to scrape off the carpets.  I have carpets.  I have my house and belongings in tact with a little dirt.  Every time I go into town, there are people wandering around glazed and heartbroken.  So many in my town and surrounding counties have lost their homes and everything in them.   The flooding in this town has been historical, and my heart breaks for everyone who lost so much in this storm.  Gas lines and foundations have been compromised, wet debris piles up on woeful mounds on the side of the streets.  Roads are closed down at the moment because the president is coming to see the destruction.  My husband was coming home from the pool supply place because the pool vacuum broke as well, and was stuck at a Dunkin’ Donuts while he watched the president drive into town, and then drive out.

So on Wednesday, barring any storm delays, I’ll be heading to California for two more workshops. I’ll be distracted and doing what I love and what I do best.  I’ll be empowering weavers to create something that comes from their hands, and for a brief time, all of this will be behind me on the east coast.  I am grateful for distractions, and for things that keep me busy and creative.

Stay tuned…

 

I so did not want to write another aftermath of Irene post, even though the destruction has been unimaginable on the east coast.

We left NJ and Irene’s wrath, early Tuesday morning, to take my daughter to college up to UMass. The plan was to drop her off, help her settle in, and then take off for a couple days R&R with my husband before we begin the next round of travel, continents apart.  So far so good.

I was nervous about the routes we would need to take, but with only a couple of detours for accidents, we made it in about 4 1/2 hours, longer than it should have taken but there is no complaining on this end.  That we made it up at all considering the amount of washed away roads and bridges is pretty amazing.

I have to say here that I’ve never been more proud of my daughter and how prepared she was.  She watched the U Tube videos of dorm decorating for UMass and figured out how the room could be organized before she ever set foot on the campus.  She carefully packed everything she wanted to take with her (you have no idea) and cleaned out much of her childhood room.  One large duffel was just for winter clothes, which could be stored without unpacking until the cold weather set in.  She even remembered a tool kit. She brought lots of her craft materials, including an entire under the bed box of duct tape (you have no idea)…

And of course there was the loom and all the stuff necessary for weaving, like shuttles (mom do you need all these shuttles?  I need at least three boats for the fabric I’m weaving…) Apparently my daughter is too advanced for mere stick shuttles…

Not to mention that boat shuttles need bobbins and to wind the bobbins one needs a bobbin winder.  I do have an electric one, which is upwards of $300.  She wasn’t getting that.  I also have two hand crank Swedish bobbin winders that I’ve had since the 70’s, each with a different size shank.  I wasn’t parting with those either.  We looked online and found that there were only two available on the market that had a slender enough shank for the wooden bobbins she was taking with her for the boat shuttles I could spare, one was the Swedish bobbin winder like one of mine, and the other from Louet.  The Louet was a bit cheaper so I called Halcyon Yarn and ordered one a couple of weeks ago.  It hadn’t arrived as of Tuesday morning, so I very very reluctantly let her have my Swedish winder with the thin shank which also fits my lace bobbin winding attachment.  Very very reluctantly.  It was one of the first pieces of weaving equipment I acquired and oddly enough, I acquired it for lace making, not for weaving.

So we made it up to UMass, and because my daughter was so thorough and efficient, and because I owned so many large wheeled suitcases from all my traveling, we were able to get her unloaded, and set up in record time.  (I don’t actually know the record, but it seemed to go pretty smoothly…)  I also decided not to rag on her too much for all the craft stuff she was bringing when I saw some parent struggling to carry a 6 foot ficus tree up to the third floor.  🙂

When Bri unwrapped the carefully packed winder and screwed it to the top of the hutch on her desk, I felt a pang of regret, that she was moving on to a new life, and with it my bobbin winder.

Today my husband I drove north through Massachusetts, up Rt. 91 working our way towards Greenfield where we planned to spend the night.  I remembered one of my weaving buddies telling me about some place near Shelburne Falls that was lovely and if I was ever in the area…  I spent a bit surfing last night, looking up places in northwest Massachusetts that might fit the bill.  I remembered that the word Bridge was somewhere in the title.  I knew there was a Swedish weaving school up in that area, but this get away was about my husband, not about my fiber passion.  There would be other opportunities to visit fiber sites.

I found “The Bridge of Flowers” in Shelburne Falls, and suggested we take a ride.  The drive was lovely, but included some detours, it became apparent that the destruction from Irene was not limited to NJ.  There was a section of Rt. 91 that was reported to be closed.

We found “The Bridge of Flowers” using our trusty Google Maps and were not prepared for the destruction we found.  The Salmon Falls in Shelburne Falls had overflowed it’s banks caused some major damage, undermined the bridges across which were shut down for structural evaluation.  We gazed across the river and noticed lots of activity on the other side, and a lovely building that said in large letters on the side, “Quilt Studio” at an odd angle to the road.  And precariously close to the bank of the river.  I thought it was an odd place to put a building.  Apparently Irene didn’t think so.  Apparently after talking to a couple of local gawkers out to see the damage, the building, turns out, was washed down the street by the storm.

 

 

The Bridge of Flowers was closed off, but it looked beautiful from what we could see.  Imagine my surprise when I looked up and saw I was standing next door to Vävstuga, the Swedish weaving school.  Really Kevin, I didn’t plan this…

They opened at 1pm, and we were the first customers in the door.  While waiting for the store to open, we checked out the rear of the property which sits right on the banks of the river.  The fencing showed the water line and how incredibly close the water had some to the weaving center. The proprietress, Sarah, showed us around and explained all about the school.  She asked if I was a weaver, and I said yes.  Many members of my guild had studied there and I was always immensely impressed by what they had to show.

But what caught my eye was on the shelf in the main part of the showroom.  My bobbin winder.  Virtually unchanged since the 70’s, there it was, the slender shank, and though her computers were down, we were able to find the number for Halcyon Yarn, (yea smart phones…) and cancel my back order and I bought one right then and there, and I’ll swap it out with my original one when we pass by the University on our way home tomorrow. 🙂

Apparently Sarah overheard my giving my name to Halcyon so they could check the status of my backorder.  When I got off the phone, Sarah admitted that she realized who I was and read my blog.  We chatted a bit more and then I spied, laying on a shelf, the most unusual reed hook.  It was handled like a paring knife, and Sarah explained that a local knife maker made them and they were perfectly balanced.  But alas, the local knife maker was just flooded out.  I had to buy one.  Next to it on the shelf was a tool I didn’t immediately recognize for weaving.  Turns out it is a shed sword, for opening sheds of warp face bands like on the inkle loom.  Well, add that to my tab.  My husband was extremely patient, I think he was enjoying the interaction.  Later I let him wander through Home Depot and The Tractor Supply Company.  He found lots of guy wanna haves…

We had a lovely dinner at a locally recommended restaurant in Greenfield, called Hope and Olive.  Word from home is not good, the town smells like a sewer and the governor is there assessing the damage.  We will be home tomorrow night…

With my original bobbin winder…

Stay tuned…

See, it isn’t the hurricane that we were worried about.  We live on the Atlantic Coast.  We get hurricanes. It is the 10″ of rain that came with it on top of a record rainfall for August and already swollen rivers.  I live at the juncture of three or four major rivers that run through northern NJ, and we have been hit hard.  The flooding has exceeded record levels and hasn’t slowed.  My poor town. I can walk to all of these places, or at least I use to be able to…   It is really really bad…

My husband and my friend/neighbor Deb D’Andrea have been braving the flood waters to photograph some of the places where we shop and drink.  I am sad.

And yet life goes on.  At least for those of us who can get in and out of our houses and still have power and internet and all the things that we take for granted.  Tonight is my daughter’s last night at home.  Tomorrow we drive her off to college, to UMass Amherst, in Massachusetts.  The car is packed, and the loom is carefully on top of the suitcase that holds her computer.  There is barely room for me.  We drove around looking for someplace that was open that still served dinner, and found our old friend Columbo’s on Main Street, frazzled and running low on supplies, but still able to make a great pizza.  I am grateful for the small things.

So a toast to my daughter’s last NJ pizza for a few months anyway, and tomorrow when we leave, we will stop at the bagel place across the street from Columbo’s Pizza, I hear they will be open, for her last NJ Taylor Ham, Egg, and Cheese.  You can’t get them anywhere else.

Bittersweet…

The morning after.

Still have power. 🙂

Only an inch of water in the basement. 🙂

Sun is shinning. 🙂

A horrific part of my town is under water, including Main Street which is only two blocks away… 🙁

Storm central here.  I arrived home from California just in time to have missed the earthquake that rattled the northeast corridor but not the hurricane that is currently barreling up the coast.

And this time around, my wonderful husband is home from Saudi Arabia to help man the guns…

He was around when the hose came off the pool and it emptied half way down.

He was around when the electrical fire started in the basement.  He was actually standing there.  We both were…  Thank you God…

He was around to take my son in for surgery Thursday morning after I got in at 2am from the airport.  Nothing major, a scheduled nose fix, from multiple breaks, including one last weekend.  Boys…

He was around to pick him up after surgery and fill all his prescriptions.

He was around to help take my daughter for all her off to college shopping needs.

And now, he is around to clear the exterior of our house for anything that could become a projectile in 70 mph sustained winds, and to prepare the property for the onslaught of Irene.  This is a scary storm, no precedent, since the ground and streams are already swollen from record rainfall this month.  The 6-12″ of water has no place to go.  I’m expecting a flooded basement, by Lincoln Park standards that is so a nothing…  About 60% of my town is in the flood zone.  It isn’t a question of “if” it is a question of “how bad”…

We’ve brought everything that isn’t nailed down into the garage, and all the indoor trees that were summering on the deck have been brought back into the house, hence the 10 foot “ficus” in the kitchen, it is the only room with a high enough ceiling.  And in preparation for an extended power outage I’m cooking freezer cuisine.  This involves some butter and wine in a pan, and three bags of anything in the freezer that won’t survive a power outage.  Serve over pasta or rice and instant dinner.  Remind me why there are six bags of frozen corn and no other vegetable?

We are hoping to come out of this with minimal damage, and any power outages shortlived.  One can only hope.  At least my whole family is here. We are scheduled to take my daughter to school on Tuesday, but UMass Amherst is in line for the eye of the storm to pass by on Monday, so at this point, we are getting emails that say, “Don’t come until we tell you to…”

For all of my loyal readers in the northeast corridor, stay safe.  May this all be a media hyped event and nothing else.  I can wish, can’t I…

Stay tuned…