So pleased that the shuttles are flying again



So pleased that the shuttles are flying again

Hi R
Ooohhh  - feeling very nostalgic -  back 30 years to the days of the Niddy Noddy, where I learnt to weave in your studio / weaving store in Waukasha.  We had such wonderful creative times, weaving 'joy and happy memories', before we were 'liberated.'  You were a great teacher, very dedicated to the process of weaving.  As you say in your post  "I had forgotten how much I enjoy the whole process; winding the shuttles, listening to the rhythmical sound of the harnesses and watching the fabric grows row by row, inch by inch."



The Niddy Noddy


















This poem was given to me by my dear friend, Jane. I have carried it my wallet for many years resulting in the card being soft and fluffy around the edges.

The Weaver

My life is but-a weaving
Between my Lord and me.

I cannot choose the colours
He worketh steadily

Oftimes he weaveth sorrow,
And I in foolish pride
Forget he sees the upper,
And I the underside.
Not ‘til the loom is silent
and the shuttles cease to fly,

Shall God unroll the canvas

and explain the reason why.

The dark threads are as needful

In the Weaver's skillful  hand,

As the threads of gold and silver

In the pattern He has planned.

Anon.

Sadly, life got in the way of my weaving.  Maybe I can enjoy weaving vicariously through our blogs. Just at the time when I will have time, there is nowhere to put the loom, which is in pieces, with the frame under the house.  I need to put it back together and am working on G but it will take a miracle.
Clara
Click on 'comment' at bottom of page to have your say or email clara@babyboomerconnections.com.au www.babyboomerconnections.com.au

In the Loom of Life

Hi C
In these difficult times with so much unrest, destruction and sadness I find myself more than ever drawn to the comfort of creating. I hadn't worked at my loom for several years, but something was drawing me to it again. I admit I was afraid that the years of neglect would somehow have taken its toll, and I would not be able to weave. But with a little bit of loving care, some drops of oil, and a quick refresher from weaving 101, I was back at it. I had forgotten how much I enjoy the whole process; winding the shuttles, listening to the rhythmical sound of the harnesses and watching the fabric grows row by row, inch by inch. I'm weaving with hand dyed wool yarns in a simple twill pattern. My plan is fabric for a coat, but who knows. At this stage it doesn't really matter. Just the fact that I am weaving again makes me happy. From where I sit, I can see everything much more clearly. In the loom of life may you weave joy and happy memories.




R