What Doesn't Work is Important, Too

“If you want to be a surfer, you’ll spend a lot of time paddling.
This tweet is not about surfing.”
—@Ryan Stephens, on Twitter

Sometimes it’s hard to see the value of paddling. When I reframed paddling as “research”—as in, “I am researching what works and what doesn’t”—I had a lot more patience for it, because the attempts that don’t work give me as much data as the attempts that do. It’s all about the data.

That’s as profound as I can be at 4:36 in the morning. (And Ryan Stephens is a good follow if you’re on Twitter.)

I am still wandering the rolled hem wilderness, although I think I’ve got rolled hems on woven fabrics dialed in. These are some of my class samples to take to the store.

I bought a yard of this textured woven because it reminded me of a knit-purl pattern. All of my textile interests have blurred together at this point. One yard of prewashed fabric yielded twelve 10” square napkins with a bit of fabric left over for testing. (I think a 10” square napkin is large enough for a meal unless you’re eating messy BBQ or something, in which case, you probably need a Wet Wipe. Or a hose.) I tried three different threads—one that coordinated, one that contrasted, and a variegated. I like the contrasting brown the best, but the choice is completely personal. The variegated would have looked better if the color changes had been planned out more carefully. The blue and yellow changes are obvious, but they are followed by a long section of what reads as a muddy dark color. Bleh.

I’ve moved on to rolled hem lettuce edges on knits with mixed success. They are easy to do on some kinds of knits but more challenging on others. I’m in the midst of trying to figure out why that is and how to compensate for the difficulties. I’ve got a few ideas to try out in the next research session.

I should note that this is not what I had planned for this summer, but I think we all know by now how that goes.

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The husband has lots of wonderful qualities, but one that I cherish most is his ability to make me laugh. Over dinner the other night, he said he had a funny story to tell me.

The husband was pouring concrete that day and two of the mixer drivers came down to stand in the hole with him while they waited for the concrete to start coming through the boom. The first mixer driver—we’ll call him Bob—said to the husband, “Hey, did you know that Rich” (the other mixer driver) “just got married?”

“Congratulations,” said the husband. “Did you choose the right woman?”

Rich looked confused by this question, so Bob helpfully chimed in with, “Schuster’s wife brings him a cold beer every day when he gets home from work.”

Rich (who seemed relieved that it was not a trick question), said, “Yes, my wife does that, too,” to which the husband responded, “Good, it sounds like she took my wife’s online course.”

—at which point I burst out laughing, because I have no idea where he comes up with this stuff. Also, I find it hilarious that I am some kind of paragon of womanly virtue among the mixer drivers. I do bring the husband a cold beer every day when he gets home from work, but if I were out working in the hot sun all day, I’d appreciate it if someone did that for me.

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The peas are about ready to pick. It won’t be a bumper crop this year, but I still have some frozen from last year. I am keeping a close eye on the raspberries; the canes look okay, but I am worried that the berries are going to shrivel up in this heat, so I’ve had the sprinkler on them every day. The zucchini tsunami is approaching and the gooseberry bush is just loaded.

If it works with the husband’s schedule and he’s home on Saturday, I might make a quick over-and-back day trip to Spokane. I need a road trip and a change of scenery. I am reluctant to leave with the wildfire danger growing, which is why I’d prefer to go on a day when he’s home.