About a week ago, I left my building to go to work, walked about 15 feet and was stopped dead in my tracks by this loom that was sitting on the sidewalk with the trash and recycling. One of the things I both love and hate about New York is the crazy stuff that people throw out. Back in the 90’s, over 75% of the furniture in our apartment was picked off the sidewalk -and some of it was really amazing. But this topped it all! I picked it up and promptly went back to my apartment. For a few minutes, I just sat there looking at it – dusty, but otherwise in perfect shape – marveling at my good fortune.
The event was startling because I had recently been thinking about whether or not to look for a loom. It has been over 15 years since I have woven anything, but I spent many hours of my college years in the fiber arts department. My courtship with my husband played out over the warping of a particularly large loom, and his willingness to help with the tedium of that exercise showed me that it was for real. But in those peripatetic years post-college and beyond, there was no room for weaving. Until now. The sudden appearance of this beautiful object makes me feel obligated to do something with it, but what? It’s a unique form of stress. Luckily, I still have some of the yarn from my former weaving days – having moved it from place to place hoping that it would be put to use again.