It was not unusual to have students find their way safely through the intricacies of adolescence due to the so-called non-academic classes. It was in shop and electronics classes that the two Steves met at Homestead — and met Mac.

I met Mac only a couple of times but had heard of his teaching brilliance through colleagues and, of course, his wife. The first time I met Mac was when he came to our mountain top house to see if our shed would be a good place for a CB transmitter. He was involved in a radio network that communicated with distant lands in times of disaster. I do not remember him mentioning his two young students until later after they started achieving local notoriety. He then recounted their tinkering in his classes and their obvious joy in exploring new ideas.

I have often wondered if there would have been the same outcome without Mac. I would like to think he was the catalyst that triggered the super-dynamic reaction that resulted from combining two Steves to create a Mac.

I live at the intersection of technology and liberal arts.
–Steve Jobs

Another giant improvement included replacing my broomstick backstrap loom with the real thing—a genuine backstrap loom from Guatemala. Actually I received two in the mail in a surprise package from my friend Karen Piegorsch, the founder of Synergo Arts. She had purchased them in the Chichicastenango market several years ago, knew of my beginning attempts, and sent them to me. The wood is lighter weight than the broomstick wood, the beaters (swords) work better than the ruler I was using, and I feel more in tune with the whole world of wonderful weavers who use simple sticks to create items of incredible intricacy and beauty.

Two Guatemalan backstrap looms

My next project was a slightly more complex pebble weave band. Still only 16 warps wide, it presented some new challenges in picking up the pattern. And I still haven’t mastered setting up the loom with ease. Yesterday I finished yet another more complex pebble weave band. This time it is twice as wide with a more complex pattern. But there is much yet to learn. And today I will continue the trip.

               

Mary Lou helped found the Poetry Center San Jose and has published several books. I recently discovered her website and would love to share her poem. For those of you have been here, you know she has captured it perfectly.

Driving Bohlman Road

The last house on an unpaved road
looks over the mountain top,
a fire road to the reservoir,
the sharp drop of a ridge on the left,
greenery on the right. Goodbye

to good friends in late afternoon, goodbye
to two deer and the Steller’s jays harsh calls.
No time to ponder recent talk of poetry,
of haiku and lyric, of classic poems
reinvented, of Pound, Hicok, Bly.

The car makes turn after turn high
above the village. In the canyon below
a glimpse of vineyards.
Just beyond the mountain peak
the ocean, flat and silver.

Redwood branches droop. Oak leaves
touch across the road. Madrone, saffron
trunks bright against the green. Sword fern
fastened to banks sprinkled with fall red
of poison oak and brown of bark.

Passing the Scout camp, the oil
of eucalyptus trees on the wind.
A breeze changes shadows.
Sun’s shades of light and dark.
One white butterfly startles.

An orange truck on monster wheels
its grill a jailhouse door
side by side with a small brown truck
the size of Bishop’s moose.
Hazard lights blink white sparkle-glitter.

Both vehicles block the road. Halfway down
the long, winding road to town
no way to move, time at last
to dream and write,
more passenger than driver.

Intrigued by their intricate designs, I have been in pursuit of the techniques that they use. I have found sources that have led me to experiment with their patterns on a floor loom. But finally I have progressed backwards and discovered the backstrap loom.

At this point I need to give credit to Laverne Waddington, currently from Bolivia, who has finally revealed the many nuances that this simple, incredible, device has to offer. She has provided a link, electronically, to the wisdom of the people—past and present—who create beauty from what they have in hand and what they have learned from the ancestors.

All of this leads up to my first backstrap project. A broken broom handle and a few dowels (along with Laverne’s excellent tutorials and ebook) helped me put together a backstrap loom. I have just made a simple band in Peruvian pebble weave. I have learned a lot. I am using an old pillowcase as my backstrap, but my next project will be to weave a backstrap to replace this make-do backstrap on, what else? My backstrap loom, of course!

Imagine starting at a hundred-old-ranch in a rural mountain area and running along a ridge with views of row upon row of mountains running to the ocean. A local band is playing hot rock and blue grass while the church members are cooking up eggs, sausages, pancakes, and cutting up fruit and bagels to greet you on your return. Kids are gearing up for a fun run, and raffle prizes await that include wines from great local vineyards. Picnic tables surround a lake where three hundred runners/walkers of all ages relax, their cars parked in a neighboring field at the ranch.

This year my friend, Phyllis Karsten, came with me. Last year, at 85, Phyllis started walking and used an iPhone app to show her distance and time on her walks. She posted this information on her Facebook page. She was good! So I asked her if she would like to start doing 5Ks with me. Of course she was game. She now comes close to showing me up!

We both did well and had a great time. She is saying we should try a 10K sometime. I think she has lost her mind.

Words cannot describe how many things have gone wrong. Threading errors, sleying errors, breakage, tangles from unbalanced twist, too many warp chains because I ran short of warp, and anything else you can think of has plagued this misguided idea. I am too stubborn to give up. At last the warp is wound and I am now weaving.

My new best friend is fabric glue which I am using regularly when the slubby ply of the warp breaks behind the reed. Every few inches I stop, pull the broken ply forward through the reed and glue it firmly to the other ply. But I persevere. I will see this through!

September 20, 2011 – Dog Days

Off the loom and bathed, the dog was ready to be photographed today. It has a nice hand. We shall see what happens next.

The weather was perfect. There was a good crowd and, thanks to the support of many friends, our team raised $1703.08! for the Rape Crisis Center of the YWCA Silicon Valley. There are some great pictures below, but there were also some sobering, eye-opening moments for me.

Before the walk, law enforcement and victims vividly described what this event supports. The police chiefs of several local communities explained the vital role YW rape crisis counselors play in helping victims through a horrible ordeal. Not only have they been assaulted and violated, they have become “evidence” for the crime that has been committed and must undergo intensive investigation at a hospital in order to obtain clues about the perpetrator.

A women who was the victim of assault vividly portrayed the support role the YW played for her, both when she was raped and now, twenty years later, as her assailant was let out of jail. The YWCA provides advocates, 24/7, for victims at the hospital, in meetings with police, during trials, and in subsequent emotional healing. The initial assault trauma is followed by court appearances where victims must confront their assailant. The YW staff supports victims’ courageous decisions to find justice and prevent further assaults on others and offers support to see them through.

This event is a light-hearted way to focus on a serious problem that is too easily swept out of sight. And it was definitely a good time! See for yourself.

San Jose Mayor and Fire Chief	San Jose Fire Chief and Police Chief
The YW also has programs on two local high school campuses to help empower young men to speak out against sexual violence. They have a chance to discuss and examine negative stereotypes of masculinity and the connection to violence against women. Some of these guys participated and didn’t mind showing off their fancy shoes. Students from My Strength program

Although the event is over, the problem is not solved. If you would still like to contribute, our team website will be up and accepting support until July 27. And if this is not your first choice, I would encourage you to give what you can to something—earthquake, tornado victims, education, research, arts—all need our help. As I have learned, a little bit from a lot of people makes a huge difference.

Many thanks to all.

Friday, April 15, 2011

Although I arrived too late for a spectacular lunch at the country club hosted by the groom’s grandmother, I did arrive in time for the rehearsal and rehearsal dinner. To say there was ample food is a huge understatement.

Wedding Day – Saturday, April 16, 2011

The wedding was not until 5 p.m. on Saturday, so I had time to spare in the morning and afternoon. I needed space! After all, I was in Houston, a major space place.

So space it was until time for me to come back to earth  and blast off to a star-studded wedding. I practiced retrieving objects in space on a simulator, saw the original John Glenn claustrophobic space capsule (appropriate name), gazed at rocks from the moon, imagined the taste of freeze-dried strawberries sealed in in plastic, and marveled at the immense Saturn rocket.

Many of the stars in this wedding had appeared in an earlier Texas wedding. But the constellation had rearranged itself and some stars now were shining brighter. The bride and groom were the brilliant ones this time. But you can see many stars here on flickr.

Tomorrow Emily and Sonny go east to Charleston and I go west to California. But we’ll meet again with this day to remember.

Anna Ayers Williams, my dad’s mother, was a suffragette in the early 1900s who worked for a time at Hull House in Chicago. She married a widower nearly twice her age, who had come to this country as a young coal miner from Wales and eventually became a Baptist minister in small Midwestern towns. He died when my father was six. She became a teacher in one-room schools in small Iowa towns where she and my father often lived with the families of her students.

She lived with us before her death when I was six and taught me to read, among many other things. I was named for her.

Eva Graham Law was my mother’s mother. She too was widowed at a young age when her husband fell from the roof of a barn he was helping a neighbor build. She had children aged one, three (my mother), five, and seven. To support her family she moved home to Des Moines where she ran a boarding house while working full-time as a clerk in a title company. She too lived with us for many years after she retired.

Both of my grandmother’s always managed to find enough money to help the “poor”.

Past experience and research coerced me in the direction of a Honda. Probably a relatively recent Civic with moderate mileage. While a hybrid was appealing, the extra expense for minimal efficiency for our location in the mountains seemed foolish. I set out on the quest.

The ensuing events at Capitol Honda in San Jose led me down a different path. The result was the acquisition of a new Honda FIT for about the same amount I would have spent on a gently used Civic. This is the first all-new car I have ever purchased and so far I am not disappointed. The reviews are good and it seems to meet our need perfectly. I have already tried its cargo area. It is easy to get looms and spinning wheels in and out–and people too. We’ll see if it holds up over the long haul.

Trying to learn a little about this weaving, I found an article by Doramay Keasbey in a Handwoven magazine from January/February 2000 that explained how to do Peruvian pebble weave on a floor loom (instead of the backstrap loom commonly used by Peruvian weavers). I put on a long warp and started weaving bookmarks.

I used the designs from the article and then branched out to try other possibilities. The bottom bookmark is from a Chinese lattice design. Lattices made from wood were used in window openings in China for many years and have been documented in a book I acquired some years ago. I also found a pre-Columbian Inca design, which is seen in the bookmark on the left.

Intrigued by this complex pick-up weave, I came across a recent publication by Laverne Waddington, a woman who lives in Bolivia with whom I had earlier corresponded about the ergonomic benches for backstrap weavers being developed by Synergo Arts. Laverne, who is from Australia, is a teacher of English and weaving who is doing an incredible job of learning, documenting, and teaching indigenous backstrap weaving. She has recently published an e-book through Weavezine on Andean Pebble Weave.

I think I see a backstrap loom in my future and further exploration of this and other pick up weaves. I just received the most recent Handwoven magazine (January/February 2011) with articles by both Doramay and Laverne on pick up weaves. Too much to do, too little time!

Living in the mountains, our electricity often disappears during the stormy winter months. It did today for the first time this year. A good alternative for illuminating important activities is the Bogo light, a solar powered flashlight with a bright LED bulb.

BOGO stands for Buy One, Give One. When you buy a flashlight, another one is sent to someone in the world who has no electricity.

Of course I use it only for important tasks like weaving, cooking, reading, and feeding the cat. Here it is suspended on a cord above my loom. I also have found that I can thread my raincoat sash through the loop at the top and hang it around my neck so I have light wherever I go. It has the additional advantage of being flat so it can be set on a surface and pointed in the right direction without rolling around. And an afternoon in the sunlight will charge it for a good six or seven hours worth of light. I love it.

Give Bogo lights as holiday presents. I did two Christmases ago. Here we all are with our Bogo lights.

• 12 6-inch corn tortillas
• 1/2 cup vegetable oil, plus additional for frying tortillas
• 1/4 cups leeks, chopped
• 1 tbsp. cumin, ground
• 1 tbsp. paprika
• 1 tsp. New Mexico chili powder
• 1/2 tsp. cayenne
• 1/2 tsp. coriander ground
• 1/2 c. white wine
• 2 c. onions, chopped
• 1/4 c. celery, chopped
• 6 cloves garlic, chopped
• 3 lbs. vine-ripened tomatoes, chopped
• 1/4 c. tomato puree
• 2 tbsp. fresh cilantro, chopped
• 3 bay leaves
• 8 c. chicken stock

• Diced cooked chicken
• Diced avocado
• Grated cheddar cheese
• Chopped cilantro

1. Cut tortillas into 2- by 1/4-inch strips. Fry in 4 batches until golden and crisp, about 1 minute. Drain.
2. In large heavy kettle cook three fourths tortilla strips with cumin, paprika, chili powder, cayenne, and ground coriander in 1/2 cup oil over moderate heat stirring frequently, 2 minutes. Add leek, onion, celery, and garlic and cook, stirring frequently, 3 minutes. Stir in tomatoes, tomato puree, chopped coriander, bay leaves, and stock. Bring soup to a boil and simmer, covered, 1 hour.
3. Cool soup 10 minutes and in a food processor puree in batches until smooth, transferring to a bowl. Force soup through a fine sieve into cleaned kettle, pressing hard on solids and discarding them. Season with salt.
4. Serve garnished with chicken, avocado, cheddar, and cilantro

Don’t miss the video from my friend Ken to help you decide Dottie’s fate.

For openers there was a little brie to go on some crackers, some veggies (including a personal favorite, asparagus) with appropriate dips and some crunchable, munchable corn chips. Wash it down with a little champagne under a canopy of trees with a river nearby on a balmy autumn day–

Chloe, the dog, settled right in while we continued on with perfect barbecued chicken, two salads, and, of course, Dottie’s homemade bread. The table decor was not too shabby either, with light blue table cloth, blue checkered napkins, dark blue plates, and a few white cyclamens And dessert and coffee, a walk along the river, what more can I say. The day was not lost on either man or beast.
To our hostess, a thousand thanks for one day in a million.