Tuesday, January 19, 2016
It has been suggested that I need to take more walks. It’s a mental health thing, possibly more for the welfare of my Hag-mates than for my own personal benefit. In my own defense, I was under the impression that I WAS doing a fair amount of walking, but apparently it’s not quite enough. We do live in VERY close quarters, so this is to be expected, I guess. There are interesting things to see around here, so maybe I will take the advice of these good Samaritans and amble around a little more.
This was laundry day, (again) as was Sunday, and that small fact is enough to push anyone over the edge. Along with the usual bedding, clothing, etc. I washed Dad’s wool for his rug braiding. This is not yardage. This consists of pieces of coats that have been disassembled. Not surprisingly, it does not appear to be exclusively wool. I know this because the edges of EVERY small piece of wool created fuzz, and things of undetermined origin unraveled. And then there were the knots that all those unravelings created. The small threads and fuzz made a considerable mess in the park’s laundry room. I cleaned up after myself the best I could, and vowed that the next time I embarked on this mission of my Dads, it would be under the cloak of darkness.
But this laundry made Dad VERY happy. This rug braiding is a process, and he was more than ready to launch himself into the next step. And that step would be a sorting task. Being the engineer that he is, he brought a multitude of paper bags along, and proceeded to separate the knotted up mess of fabric into bags according to their original origin. In other words, like with like.
After the initial sorting, he takes a bag, dumps the contents on a table, begins to cut the washed pieces into strips about 2” wide. He has a strip-cutting gadget to do this. The length of the strip depends upon the initial size of the fabric, so some are fairly short while others are a bit longer. When this cutting is finished he determines whether or not there are enough strips in the bag to use as a “color” for the rug. If there are enough strips, he will sew them into one long strip and then wind that piece into a ball. If there are not enough to make a decent sized ball, the pieces are laid out on a table and randomly gathered together into what Dad refers to as “Hit And Miss.” In my world, I refer to this as random. I don’t think civil engineers think in terms of random. Even my Dad’s version of random has a method. It’s all good. I’m just pointing out that there are two ways to look at the moon, if you will. And, if you haven’t deduced that the artist in me sees things differently than the engineer in my Dad, I’m providing proof.
If you are wondering how we are living amongst all of these projects-in-the-making, just know that we brought along a card table, two over-sized TV trays, a 6’ long table, and a multitude of chairs. We are ready for whatever happens. Actually, we knew what was going to happen before it happened. We have seen it. We have lived it. Everything we brought in the form of flat surfaces has been put into full-time use. And, if the truth be told, I could use my own TV tray. Once again, I have overtaken the dinette in the Hag. It’s for the best. Dad has a hard time sliding in and out of the bench seat, so we probably wouldn’t use it anyway. We simply eat together, separately. Dad enjoys sitting in the comfort of the recliner, Craig relaxes on the sofa, Stella rests in her comfy bed, and I sit on the edge of the dinette seat, if there is room. It’s a family meal; we’re all in the same room. No little children were harmed in the presentation of meals.