Beside Construction

I hate construction work. This is something I never really realized about myself before. I mean, few people actively like having their home under construction, particularly by outside forces--that is, those few people who actively like having their home under construction are probably those who like doing said construction themselves, who take a pride in their work. Most people, however, can to some extent tolerate construction. Me, I feel like I'm going stark raving mad.

This has had a positive influence of one sort however. I am definitely back in the ranks of the diurnal. The first week was partly miserable because I was waking to the start of the construction, waking to the knowledge that my chance for a shower was gone, that my opportunity to make coffee or anything else requiring running water was fast slipping away, to the knowledge that there were strangers in my home and I was in my PJs. And, of course, waking to chaotic noise, to screeches and crashes and pounding. I set alarms to wake up earlier...they arrived and began earlier still!

And even once I was up and dressed, I was trapped. Stuck listening to endless pounding, crashes and screeches. Stuck smelling the sharp scents of chemicals and soldered metal. And often stuck without running water or working toilets. Eventually, around noon or 1pm or so, I would get a chance to get out of the house. But by then, madness already had a foothold in my psyche for the day.

Today, however, I managed to wake to my alarm clock. Early. And then I was whisked away on the early bus (read: carpool) into town for several glorious hours of coffee shop splendor. Somehow the scree and whir of the espresso maker is soothing and familiar, the hubbub of voices a calming influence.

I did some job hunting. I worked on a weaving commission. I talked politics and public transit with perfect strangers in the cafe. A lovely morning.

Public Displays of Weaving

Construction began this morning on the front bathroom in the house we're staying and like yesterday, someone else stayed home from work/school (a different someone) thus putting a crimp in our plans for an at home "date"--the at home kind being the best because they're free. So much for having the house to ourselves.

Nevertheless, I figured I would try to be productive. But as the banging continued followed by odd chemical smells, I was driven to distraction. I grabbed my loom, my laptop and my husband and fled. Now Ron is trying to navigate DMV bureaucracy (poor man) and I am ensconced in Great Bear Coffee. I realized too late that by grabbing the lovely window alcove table which has the best natural light, I have cut myself off from all possible power outlets. This means my time on the laptop is really quite short. I'm already down to 36% and the last 6-10% is fictional on this laptop anyway.

It's quite amusing weaving in public. It attracts attention even when I do it at an SCA event. Most people there know what I'm doing, but the non-weavers usually haven't seen tablet weaving in action and the weavers drift over out of professional interest.

But here in the middle of downtown Los Gatos, people are mystified. And of course, I have all the people walking by on the street as well as those in the coffee shop. Some of those in the coffee shop actually come over and ask about it. With the most thoroughly mundane in outlook I find myself groping to put it in terms they understand. With the more open minded or quick witted I can give my usual spiel and answer questions pretty easily.

The people walking by outside are funniest though. There is a certain social dynamic to looking in shop windows that seems to spill over onto this. As long as I keep weaving, I can see them stop and watch me from just outside. But if I look up and smile, they may or may not smile back but they universally take it as their signal to move on. The window display just looked at them! Time to go! Hee hee.

I'm still having to backtrack with some regularity on the Birka. Anytime my concentration slips, I'm liable to forget to mark my place and then I'm doomed. If I'm unpicking I inevitably have to unpick about four rows before I'm sure where my problem was and where in the pattern I've ended up. But some of my early mistakes were more involved than that. Now I know what's gone wrong and how to fix it when I make inevitable errors.

I'm now using a paperclip to mark my place in the pattern, and moving it after every single row rather than each pair of rows--it was too easy to get momentarily distracted and then not know if I'd done the first row of the pair or now. I'm working it into my routine--check pattern, turn all cards, clear the shed, put the weft through, move the paperclip, repeat.

I just realized that given the blog I'm on now, those last couple paragraphs probably have less context than they might. I'll have to repost them on Playing with String later.