Yesterday I was supposed to post but didn't because I was out and about weaving. Learning how to do part of one type of weaving, I should say.

I have woven baskets in my life, which is fucking difficult and fantastic, and done plenty of knitting and crocheting and stitching and other kinds of woollen pasttime that generally gave me the sensation of doing an unpaid job.

Weaving, on the other hand—all that is best about mechanical timesaving. So much to contemplate: Penelope; that undergraduate lecture students get about how text and textile are the same thing; how treadles and pedals and lathes and the internal combustion engine are all related.

I made a mountainous moon scene:

You can't see him but I can just tell there's a little person on that distant mountaintop who is looking at us!

It was shockingly fun and absorbing and possibly emotional. I'm not sure. Weaving.