Weaving the Memories

I've been so busy this weekend! I celebrated both of my parents' birthdays (Happy Birthday Mom and Dad!), and worked. But I've been so excited to get a few minutes to update you guys on how things went on Friday at the Working Center!

So, Friday. One thirty rolls around and I'm trying to convince my mother of all the reasons why I should NOT go.

Reasons like :
1) I'm tired
2) I'm cranky
3) They forgot about me before, who says they won't forget about me now?
4) I don't know what I'm doing
5)It's FRIDAY

But all the same I get in the truck and let my mother drive me downtown. "Drive around the block mom... please? Just in case no one is there again? I don't want to look like an idiot. PLEASE mom?" She just kicked me out.

I trudged my way upstairs, secretly hoping no one would remember my face so that when I came down 10 minutes later they wouldn't laugh. i went upstairs and turned the corner, and instantly my spirits lifted.

There were PEOPLE! Like 6!! I couldn't believe it! At last, I had found my colleagues. At last, I could blend in!! I introduced myself to Misha, who apologized for everything, but by that point, I didn't care. I just wanted to DO what all these other people were doing.

I'm gonna take a time-out here and tell the stories of a few of the people who joined Misha last Friday. Names, as always, will not be mentioned.
The first women that I saw was sitting, working the small loom. She was making a scarf. She spoke little English, but had a brilliant smile and was eager to learn every time Misha asked if she could show her something different.
Two younger women were there as well, making cards. It sounded like they were University students, but I could be wrong. I didn't listen too intently to their conversations.
One of the gentlemen that joined us was cutting and sewing together squares with another woman. He acted as a english-spanish translator between that woman and Misha. They worked quietly and diligently, and by the end of the 2 hours had created a beautiful pattern for a quilt. Another man was there as well, working alongside a woman with a broken shoulder. The woman didn't stay for very long. She was in a lot of pain, and she wanted to get time in home to watch the soaps. "There's gonna be gunfire today!" she told me with a smile, "I can't wait to see who gets it!".
We would have had another volunteer, but the woman came in looking very frazzled. She went up to Misha, and started apologizing over and over for being late. "I forgot to day was a P.A. day for my kids! My sitter couldn't watch them. They're staying with a neighbour right now. I should have called. I'm so sorry I'm late!" Misha sent her home to be with her kids. I couldn't believe the dedication that the woman had, wanting so desperately to help.

Okay, so back to me and Misha. So, I hang my coat up and Misha looks me up and down. this is when the panic sets in for me. I go over everything in my head. I'm pretty sure I've read up on everything. I doubt there will be any curve balls. She looks around the room and then smiles. "Can I teach you to weave?" she asks, and walks over to the giant loom. My jaw dropped to the floor. The only thing that I reserved for the VERY experienced volunteers. The only thing I didn't read up on. I'm pretty sure my mouth was still open as I walked over and nodded. Misha must have noticed (it's kinda hard not to, I have a REALLY big mouth), "It's not hard!" she said.
She gave me a series of directions and a couple of demonstrations. I watched carefully, and kept repeating the patterns in my head so that I would remember. I was so nervous. Misha assured me that I wouldn't break it, and I really couldn't mess it up too badly.

I sat down. I took the runner in my hands and fed it through. And instantly I knew that the loom is where I would love to be. She watched over me for a few minutes, and then slipped away so quietly, I didn't even know she was gone. I concentrated for a few minutes, making sure I did everything right, and then I just let myself fall into the rhythm.

Here's where I'll take my second time out, and tell you about the two visitors that we had in the Artspace. the first was a little girl and her mom. Her mom was showing her all of the things that we did. I had just run out of material, and was wrapping my runner, so instead she watch the smaller loom work. She mushed some of the pulp that was sitting in the bucket and then moved on. The next set of visitors were two women in their fifties. Of course, they made a bee-line straight to me. there's something about working a giant machine that just attracts people to you. I ran a couple lines through with them watching. "What a wonderful skill to have" said one. "Oh yes, and how nice to see a young person working it, instead of an old bat" said the other. They watch a little longer. "How long did it take you to get the feel for doing this?" Asked one. I stopped and looked up at her. Glancing at the clock, I told her that I had just learned today, 45 minutes ago. The woman was astounded. "Oh, how wonderful! How eager to learn! Keep going!" she said. And they moved on.

It has always been my experience that when I am working with yarn, I drift into a kind of trace. I don't even realize what I am doing anymore. It's what I do when I need to work out life's problems, or when I'm feeling upset and frustrated. i found this same inner peace sitting at the loom. After awhile, I began to remember old smells and sounds. And before I knew it, I was taking a mental tour of one of my childhood friend's house. I remembered eating dinner at her table and having sleepovers in her basement. I remember watching TV and crocheting doilies with her mom. I couldn't understand why I was tearing up until I realized that the rug that I was weaving was the same style of rug that had adorned almost every floor in her house. The two of us drifted apart after her mom died of cancer. She got pregnant soon afterwards and now has a beautiful son. Sitting there weaving that rug reminded me of how close we had been and how far apart we had drifted.

Part of me didn't want to leave at four. I finished up the last of the ball of fabric that Misha had rolled and slowly stood. I thanked Misha and walked out onto the street, suddenly so much more aware of life, and all of it's challenges. The obstacles that we face, whether they be the death of a parent or teenage pregnancy. And the people that we trust to help get us through those obstacles, our romantic partners, our family, our friends.

Needless to say, I felt wonderful after walking out of the Working Center on Friday, and I can't wait to go back this week.