Each morning I sit at my kitchen table and gaze out the window toward the massive trumpet vine that has overtaken the fence - and wonder if the hummingbirds are still here ... and they are! I smile as I see them darting amongst the blossoms - soon they will head south to places I’ve only seen on PBS specials. I love to watch them fly. And in that moment this morning as I watched them outside my window, I decided that the season of my grounding had come to an end - it was time for me to stretch my wings again and fly.
Deciding to do a thing and actually doing it are very different propositions. It took me the better part of the day to summon the courage to take flight.
First I had to find my shoes.
I use a hard-soled slipper when flying - the old-style jazz dance shoe is ideal but not easy to find. A ballet slipper will do in a pinch if the sole is stiff enough. Once the needed shoes were located, I headed into the hanger - also known as my studio. I have been grounded for the better part of five years - absent from my beloved studio. As I think back to those “why” and “what for” kind of questions I have a few ideas of how my wings got clipped. But sometimes the reasons no longer matter - it was time to fly again. Now.
I walked past my old friend Macomber and the Scottish double weave travel blanket woven in the style of the old Aberdeen Granholm Mills - this was not the place to start, as it requires concentration and equal amounts of skill and luck. I also walked past the Gobelin that has been waiting for the Advent Tapestry to take shape. Not today.
Instead I sat down at my beloved counterbalance loom - simple in construction with back hinged treadles that help my creaky joints. I fought hard for that modification back in the day...now it is a standard option on the new looms. But this old friend was the first of its kind - and it serves me well.
As soon as I sat on the bench I was surrounded by old friends. Myra reminded me to relax: “Don’t put your stress into your weaving. Breathe.” Virginia wondered why I wasn’t hemstitching the beginning of the blanket (she wanted everything hemstitched - even if it would have a traditional hem). Norman reminded me to use a stretcher and “beat on a closed shed.” Since he is the master (especially when it comes to Scottish Wedding Blankets) I always defer to his judgment. And Turid was quick to remind me not to advance the warp and move the stretcher at the same time - she was afraid that I had forgotten her sound advice during these years off the bench. How wonderful to be joined by these dear mentors who always have a place in my studio.
I picked up my shuttle - the one that fits so nicely in my hand - looked at the note I had left to myself five years prior (everything I needed to know about this project including that the beat I needed was somewhere between a light thud and a thwack) - and I was away! With each throw of the shuttle I gained altitude until I was flying again - almost like I had never stopped. I’m much slower than I was the last time I slipped the bonds of earth in my studio, but that is okay - it isn’t a race. It is instead this unique combination of dance and flight - with each throw of the shuttle I climb higher and higher until I catch a thermal and soar -
- it is such a satisfying feeling. A feeling of completeness. A feeling of peace. A feeling like in that moment I am doing exactly what I am meant to be doing - fully present and focused. Bliss.
I’ve tried to understand why I have this experience sitting at the loom, but that is another of those “why” and “what for” questions that remains unanswered (perhaps for the best). But I do know this - my time of being grounded has passed. Will I go back to spending at least an hour a day at the loom? I don’t know. But I promised Nilus that I’d be back tomorrow. And I always try to keep my word.
We must all do what we are created to do!
With tired arms and a joyful heart,
Kim
