At the Homestead

Nothing I love more than a good challenge, especially where looms are concerned. I love returning a loom to operational status, taking it from unused to working again. Recently, I've been challenged to help get the barn frame loom  at the Daniel Boone Homestead functioning again.  I know very little about these great old ladies we call "barn looms" but in my recent research to glean more information, I am starting to learn some valuable pieces of information. For one, these looms are more appropriately called "barn frame looms" because of their construction, not because of the wood coming from a barn (as I had been told) or because they were used in a barn (as I have heard people say...brrr. Can't imagine weaving in a barn!).  

Daniel Boone Homestead's barn frame loom has been sitting unused for almost five years, at their best guess.  It was in decent condition, but dirty.  There was a warp on it, but it was old, filthy and stretched out, so we began our day cutting off the old warp...

...which made the ol' girl just a little bit unhappy. I reassured her she'd be feeling much better once she was clean and re-dressed.  From there we vacuumed up the big chunks of dirt and grime, followed by swiffer floor clothes and swiffer dusters to get into all the nooks and crannies.

2nd layer of dust removed.

Lastly? We filled a bucket with water and oil soap that is designed specifically for cleaning wood. We used barely damp sponges, carefully avoiding any metal parts, to remove any remaining grime.  We all stopped sneezing by this point, stepped back to admire her glory, then congratulated ourselves for a job well-done. The final result was a loom that looked so much better, and so much prettier. 

Removing the last little bits of dust and dirt

That was only the beginning of our day.  We still had to re-dress this beauty, so we used a warp that had been hanging off the loom for display.  Diane, a fellow spinner who had enlisted my help for this project, had taken the older warp home and cleaned it for this purpose. We were a bit challenged with a mystery warp,  but not for long.  After taking a few minutes to count the number of ends in the warp, we had a better idea of what we had to do next. 

we tied up the lease sticks, raddle was removed by this point

In hindsight, if I had known what we were facing when we set out yesterday morning, I would have brought some boards to clamp to the frame, attaching the raddle down to the board.  We took one look at the back of the loom, scratched our heads and said, "Huh, there's only a warp beam, no back beam. Hmmm..." We got creative with some carpet warp and figure out a away to suspend both the lease sticks and the raddle.  It worked, even if it was a bit awkward at times.  After we had the warp beamed, we set out to thread the string heddles.

And of course, after threading heddles, we brought the warp through the reed.

Through the reed.

   Sadly, I was foolish and didn't take any pictures after the warp was tied on.  I became too wrapped up in problem solving, and forgot to pick up two children from after-school activities.  Oops.  Clearly photography was even lower on my list of priorities.
 
   Whenever I am dealing with a loom that hasn't been used in awhile, I find I need to put on a test warp to check all its moving parts. I can do a visual examination and get a good idea of what to fix, or what to adjust, but it's not the same as sitting down and trying to weave. When things don't go smoothly in the weaving process, I know something is off and then I set to problem solving.  I figured this same method would work well for the barn frame loom.  For me, a loom is a loom is a loom, and the mechanics, more or less, are the same.  Sure, each loom has their own 'personality' and sometimes a weaver has to accommodate for that, especially where older looms are concerned.  However, part of my problem solving process is to determine what is a 'quirk' of that particular loom and what can be helped with some minor adjustments.

Through dressing the loom and weaving a little bit, I've already discovered some things that are possibly not quite right. I will most likely need to do some minor adjustments from re-arranging the string heddles, to testing to see if the batten (hanging beater) is put on incorrectly.  It seems odd that I would have to push the batten back a full 6" while stepping on the treadle to make a shed so I can throw the shuttle. And while this is not my first antique counter-balance loom, this is my first barn frame loom, and I'm going to need to do some more research.  Earlier in our day, we had already discovered one part that had been put on incorrectly: the brace that held the built-in bench was attached vertically on one side, but correctly on the opposite side of the frame.  The bench board is completely missing, so we hope to restore this in the near future.   This discovery alone makes me suspicious about the placement of the batten. I have a feeling I'll be doing more research on barn frame looms here in the near future. 

Oh! And by the way, if you see my family passing out fliers with my face on it and the words, "Missing, Reward Offered," you'll know where to find me.  I'm at the Daniel Boone Homestead getting to know a new "old" friend.

My Foray Into Felt

I tip my hat to those fiber artists who use felt as their medium.  My limited experience with felting was enough to tell me I would not ever be one if I could help it. A felt artist, I mean.  It also gave me a huge appreciation for those who work with animal fiber, manipulating it until it becomes matted and formed into cloth.  I just don't have the patience.  Or apparently, the fortitude.

It was most likely my Fibers II course at the University of the Arts when felt and I were introduced.We were given some raw wool, which meant we had to start from the very beginning. No luxury designer, pre-dyed roving for us. Oh no, that'd be too simple.  Step one, I learned to my dismay, was to remove the dung tags from the wool (of course, I didn't know that's what they were called at the time).

There was no advantage of using a washing machine and some netted lingerie bags to wash the wool either.  I was instructed to set out several buckets with hot soapy water. The wool soaked in one bucket, then was transferred to the next and then next and the next, allowing the wool to soak for a bit in each bucket.  The dirty water was emptied and refilled and the process continued until the dirt (among other things) was gone.  Twenty years later, I can't remember how long it took, but I can honestly say, I've since learned many better and less labor intensive ways to wash wool, now that I'm a spinner. 

After which, I decided I wanted colors in my felt piece. So I dyed the wool in a very basic rainbow of hues, since my mastery of colors and dyes were rather limited at that stage of my artistic career and learning.  After transforming the plain into bright electric colors, the wool was picked and then carded into batts.  And finally, I was ready to begin felting.

I believe there are various ways to create felt, and some that I'm not even aware of, but my instructor had us use netting to hold the batts in place. I laid the batts down on my army/navy store purchased mosquito netting, layering them perpendicular to each other.  I cut out shapes from the colored batts, and laid them on top.  Sticking some cord in amongst the layers, I thought I would make some textured ridges in my felt.  I was wrong.

 I sewed loose X's throughout the length and width of the piece to keep everything in place. It seemed the process would be fairly labor intensive, all that rolling and agitating that I was told felting involved.  Thinking I was going to be using copious amounts of hot water, soap, and agitation, I decided my apartment bathtub was the best place to conduct felt making, and made the dimensions of my piece accordingly.  Rolling and unrolling, squishing, soaping, and yes, even stomping on my wool, I attempted to pound those batts into submissio...er, felt.  After about ten minutes, I was weary.  After twenty, I was exhausted and annoyed.  And after an hour, I gave up.

I probably could have gone back to it the next day. I might have, I can't recall.  And I'm sure I received a less than stellar grade for it.  To this day, I'm not sure what I was thinking when I laid it all out, if I was thinking beyond my typical 20 year old attitude of  "just get this done, and get it over with." The colors were unspectacular. The design was a fail. And the wool was just barely felted.  There's more than a good chance I went about felt making the hard way, as I almost always do everything the hard way.  But then again, I wouldn't have gotten this absolutely fabu pic of me standing in my bathtub, now would I?

Me, a Bathtub and My Ugly Piece o' Felt.

To Cut or Not To Cut...That is the Question.

Fabric, hand stamped, then painting in all the white spaces

Before I became a weaver, I dabbled with the idea of becoming a textile designer. At least, on a more home-made front, I contemplated designing hand-dyed fabrics for others to purchase for their own use and pleasure.  I spent hours printing, stamping, and hand-painting yardage, only to realize the fabric became too precious to me. I could not, would not cut into it.  At this point, I was still practicing the technique. I was no where near good enough to sell hand-stamped cloth, so I figured it might be best if I found a new area of study within Fiber Arts, which led me to weaving.

Above fabric, completed, and lining handwoven bag

On the rare occassion I could overcome the need to save every two to four yard swath of hand-dyed fabric, I cut it up and re-sewed them into a liner for a bag, or maybe a custom shower curtain. So it was no surprise to me that I resisted with all of my being cutting into my screen printed cloth.  Naturally, I chose the fabric I liked the least, and paired it with a panel that was always meant to be cut out. It felt better that way.  And of course, this meant I now had a major challenge. How to make these two elements work together, since I pulled them out of my stash, not because I thought "YES! THIS WILL BE AWESOME!" but because I went "WHEW! If I screw this up, my heart won't hurt."

Collaborative with Sheila Shuman.

I am a moderate planner, as far as my working style goes. I usually plot and plan things to a certain point, and then I allow serendipity to take a part in the creation of one of my pieces.  In other words, I allow unplanned things to happen and even change my direction totally in a piece, even if I'm half way through making something.   In the beginning of screen printing week, I had no plan other than "what happens if..."  By the middle of the week, I began drawing some mild inspiration from my doodles. I doodle eyes in the margins of my papers all the time. I doodle cartoonish human outlines.  For some strange reason, I thought it was a good idea to combine the two.

The result of stencil and stamps on silk screen

Meanwhile, we were supposed to be practicing pulling stamps into our screen (I used an eye) and freezer paper stencils (I made a human form).  When we arrived at the quilting portion of the course, I stood and studied this panel which was a bizarre combination of eyes and marionette-like figure, and wondered, what on earth am I going to do with this? Then it occurred to me. This is inspired by doodling. We're supposed to use the stitching as we would a drawn line. Hmm. What if I doodled over top of the man?




I took some heat and bond, and ironed it onto the back of a piece of light blue fabric.  I then cut out the same stencil shapes of the figure on the screen printed panel.  Finally I ironed those onto a piece of yellow fabric, and proceeded to draw lines using a sharpie marker.  This was my test.  Placing batting and a backing under the mock-quilt-top, I began to experiment. I tested my free-motion foot. I experimented with the regular presser foot to make lines. And then I decided how I was going to create my 'sketch.'  After a bit, I was rather pleased with the results, so I figured it was safe to begin plotting out my quilt.




I decided the panel would be attached to the background as an applique. But how would I make it look integrated?  Once I pinned the panel to the background, and pinned that to the wall. I stepped back. Interesting. The panel almost disappears because there's too much going on in the background fabric. So I decided to see what it would look like with a small strip of color edging one side of the panel.  All I had on hand at the moment was a little bit of pink.  Crazy enough, the pink actually worked! So I kept it.  I love it when stuff like that happens.

Letting the quilt tell me where to stitch

Attaching the applique to the background with basting stitches, I then added my batting and backing.  Where to start? The center of course.  I noticed the background had subtle oval shapes hidden amongst all the chaos.  I decided I'd turn these into more eyes.  The rest of the stitching would just happen as I went along, changing colored threads on a whim.   I chose a purple thread to do my 'sketching' of the figure.  However, it wasn't turning out as I thought it should.

"Well, you know, a sketched line has thick parts and thin parts depending on how you hold a pen or pencil and what angle the tip is at when you make that line," Barbara said to me, as I was mulling over how to fix it.
"You know, I think that's exactly what I'm missing," I said.  I sat down and began going over some of my lines until I had thick areas tapering into thin areas. The more I worked, the more I liked what I was seeing. However, it was costing me a lot of precious time.  True to myself, I chose to be over-ambitious with my project.









So as usual, I spent extra time in the studio, trying to get as much finished as I could.  Unfortunately, I didn't complete my quilt by the end of the week. But that's O.K.  Now I have something to work on at home in the evenings, much to my delight.  My sewing machine fits in a corner of my kitchen, so it's not as if it's in the way or anything. Well, the husband might disagree with that statement, but I told him at least it's not a floor loom or a spinning wheel. He just mumbled something and shook his head as he walked away from the pile I made in front of the corner hutch.    Besides, I have to finish it so I can be sure to post a picture of the completed quilt when I'm done, regardless of how it turns out. :)  After all, what's one more pile of fiber arts supplies? Right?

work in progress

 ~melanie

It's Sew (not) Easy!

During the first week of my course, the annual Kutztown Folk Festival was occurring across the street where one could browse stand after stand of handmade items and food, most created using very time-tested  traditional techniques.  Before we could begin making an art quilt, Barbara Schulman instructed us to walk across the street to the Quilt Barn and check out the more traditional expression of the art of quilt making.

quilting fabrics

For me, it was as if I had stepped backward in time. I spent most of my teen-labor years working in a Mennonite run quilt shop called Hayloft Fabrics which overlooks Martin's Country Market in Morgantown, PA.    At one time I knew how much yardage of 45" cloth it would take to back a queen sized quilt, how much was needed to make the binding, what 1/4 of $3.79 equaled,  along with other various quilt trivia. All lost over the last twenty years as my limited fiber attention span flitted from this to that.

One side of the Quilt Barn.

The Quilt barn brought back some of those memories as I looked at Lone Stars, Log Cabins, Flying Geese, among others.  While some were hand quilted, and others machine stitched, seeing them all on display in one large area created a visually stimulating assortment of colors and fabrics.  Nostalgia filled my lungs as I took a deep breath and sighed. Wasn't it only yesterday I was a kid wielding scissors, and straightening bolts of fabric? 





The following day, we cleaned up the room, eradicating all traces of screen printing.  After which, we had to set up our sewing machines and work spaces.  Now, it was time to get down to business.

The studio

Making patches

  First, Barbara demonstrated how to piece a simple patchwork block.  For those of you who quilt, this might not be a huge dealio. For me, it was a revelation. I don't know why I never learned to sew strips and then cut those down with a rotary cutter.  Then to re-piece them as rows of squares, seemed pure genius!  Not only that, it had never occurred to me to even try something like this. Quilting, despite my misbegotten youth, has always been some what mysterious to me. I reveled in having the mystery unraveling before my very eyes.

Machine stitched applique

Next came applique, a technique that allows a quilter to attach fabric shapes to the front of their quilt. When I worked at the shop, I vaguely remember learning to attach the appliques to the quilt top using tiny hand stitches, while turning under the 1/8-1/4" seam as I worked my way around the edge of the shape.  In this class, I learned a really clever trick using light interfacing to turn the edges under.  Yes, indeed,  it was one revelation after another for this fiber artist. 

I used to live by this stuff to make custom patches for my jeans.

Last, we learned about products such as Heat and Bond,  a product that allows a anyone to attach fabric to fabric, much like a patch one would buy to fix a hole in a pair of jeans.  The product is ironed on to the back of the material, after which, the sewer can cut out any shape imaginable. Peel off the paper backing, and then iron the shape onto another piece of cloth. It's that easy.  Finally, it was time to put all these methods into action and play!  I put two pieces of material together and just began running my machine stitches all over the front, trying to get the feel of my machine.


Now, I have two confessions to make: one, I am a partially self-taught seamstress.  Rebekah (my mother) taught me the basics, and taught me well. But for whatever reason, probably my overflowing over-commited teenager schedule, we never moved beyond those basics.   So, the rest of my sewing knowledge has come from me doing whatever worked, and most of the time, it's probably been the wrong way to work. Confession Number Two:  I've owned my machine for twenty years, at least, and I learned how to operate it better in one week of classes than I ever did in all the years I've owned it.  I'm almost embarrassed to admit it.  What did I learn? Well, for one, I found out my feed dogs can be dropped.

Inside Don Kauffman's Sewing Machines

I get my machine maintenanced and repaired at Don Kauffman's Sewing Machines in Temple, PA.   On one of my many "how on earth do I work my machine" visits during the Art Quilting portion of the course, I asked if I could buy a free-motion presser foot for the machine.
"Do your feed dogs drop?"
"I don't think so," I said.
"Well, is it a free-arm machine?" he asked
"Um, I don't think so, " I repeated.
"Can you take something off or drop something down on your machine to help you sew pant legs?" He asked.
"Oh HEY! I CAN do that!" I said.
"That's a free-arm machine," he said, patiently.

I probably turned twenty shades of crimson. So this is the second thing I learned: what exactly is a free armed machine.  I had never known. Now I do, and I feel smarter armed with this information.

feed dogs

"So if you have a free-arm machine, you most likely have a lever or a switch in the back that will drop your feed dogs," he told me.

I could hardly wait to get back to class. I HAD to see if my feed dogs dropped. Lo and Behold, with great rejoicing and angelic music ringing through my head, I found the switch and dropped my feed dogs.  I did a poor imitation of the butter churn, and might have danced a little off-rhythym jig.  Just maybe.

 Why did this excite me so much? Because I was no longer constrained to straight lines, corners, and gentle curves.  The feed dogs are the metal 'tracks' on the bottom of the machine that feeds the cloth through while the needle jumps up and down. They keep the stitches even, and the fabric moving.  Why would I want to drop the feed dogs? Because if I want to do any kind of free-form stitching, it's necessary to take away the mechanism that controls the movement of the material. I want to control the fabric.

free-motion foot

So I attached my new free-motion foot and stuck a sample quilt block I was using for practice under the foot and went crazy. I mean really really crazy.  WOWZERS! I mean, this was super-duper-looper exciting!   Literally. I could make loops.  Lots and lots of loops.  I gained a greater appreciation for people who make amazing free-form stitched quilts.  It's not nearly as easy as one would think to make the stitches even. After all, there are no feed dogs to push the quilt through at regular intervals. I mostly made scribble-y messes with my stitches. OH, but it was fun, as in, insanely gleeful, mad-scientist-fun.


Now came the hardest part of the course. What, of my lovely hand-made fabrics was I willing to cut into? Oh the heart-wrenching decisions. How could I willingly hack into one of my precious pieces of printed cloth?  But that's another post for another day...

~melanie

Respond

As a student, I sat through so many critiques in college, that it became hard to just sit and give a general response to a work of art.  I was constantly picking everything apart.  In studio, at the conclusion of a project, we would discuss what worked, what didn't work, what we liked, what we didn't like, what could be improved, what couldn't be improved upon, what might the piece look like upside down, inside out, vertical, horizontal...and I could go on.  The point of critique for me (beyond the obvious learning tool) was to unbend my artist's mind. A very important process, because I see something in my minds-eye, and then I execute it, sometimes exactly, sometimes not.  And by sitting through a critique, I'm forced (sometimes...sometimes I'm grateful) to hear what other artists think or see about my particular piece that's up for discussion. Sometimes it's a critical response to the craftsmanship or technique. Sometimes it's a reflection upon the emotion or symbolism evoked by the art. Sometimes it's neither.  Either way, critique can be helpful and instructive as much as it can be brutal to the artist.

During the first week of our class, Wendy Osterweil put a new twist on the critique. At least it was a different way for me to think about the art.  We were to respond to another person's printed fabric, using adjectives, short phrases, and describing words.  Because it was disjointed, I really disliked the first fabric that my classmate, Sheila Shuman, and I printed together. The top part (mostly directed by Sheila) was great, in my opinion. The bottom half (where I made most of the decisions) was just a mess. Or so I thought, until I heard the response to our cloth.

seemed like a mess to me, until I heard the response

The response:  energy, finding nemo, sea-like, wild, sick, random, separated, earthy, free, unity, abstract, growing, polarized, organic, complimentary, fuzzy, moldy, eroding, natural, contrasting, dynamic, infinite, rotted, deteriorating, mysterious.

After hearing those words spoken out loud, I gained a new appreciation for something I would have completely dismissed. In fact, I fell in love with the bottom half of this fabric, and used it in the quilt I'm still working on!   At the time of our "response" I was almost too embarrassed to put it up there amongst all the other wonderful printed fabrics.

all of our 'firsts' hanging up for a 'response'

So I re-learned a simple fact that I apparently had forgotten. Sometimes, it's too easy to call art "Good" or "Bad" or to say "I like this" and "Wow, That's terrible art! How can they call that art?!?"  I know for myself, from now on, when I look at a painting on a wall, or a quilt, a weaving, a sculpture standing in a museum, or anything, I will make a list, in my head, of all the words that come to mind.  And maybe, just maybe, something I disliked previously, will take on a new respect and understanding.

~melanie

The Week My Brain Blew-Up

...or maybe "Melanie Takes a Class" would perhaps be a better title.

It started out innocently enough. Barbara Schulman, my fiber-arts professor from Kutztown University, stopped into our Gallery on the last day of Size Matters.  "How's retirement?" I asked.

"Well, I'm not quite retired yet." she replied. "I have one more class to teach, a summer institute..."  She began to describe the class: one week of screen-printing taught by Wendy Osterweil, and another week of quilting from our homemade fabrics taught by Barbara.

As I listened, my eyes goggled, I'm sure of it.  I might have even drooled just a little, but Barbara was kind enough to not point that out.  Instead she offered to see if I could somehow squeeze into the class for non-credit.  Two weeks of non-stop fiberlicious-yummy-goodness?!?   Two. Whole. Weeks. To myself. With no interruptions??  I practically spontaneously combusted on the spot from my excitement.  Of course, this was the week before the class was to begin, and of course, by the time I found out I was allowed admittance, I had two days to gather all my supplies before going away for the annual Fourth of July Family Holiday Weekend.  But really, was I complaining? Ok, maybe for just a nanosecond when I trudged in and out of the heat from store to store. However that was quickly dispelled by my over-abundant enthusiasm.  Such a small sacrifice for so much fiberlicious-yummy-goodness was totally worth it.

Portable Print table

Monday arrived, and Wendy displayed a variety of her fabrics and a few of her quilts. Wiping the saliva off my chin, I couldn't wait to get started.  She began by explaining how she makes her portable print tables. Lightweight and extremely easy to make, my mind went "WHOA" which began the 5000 revolutions per minute that didn't let up until, well...at the writing of this post, I'm still in class, so I haven't stopped thinking once. I might have even pulled a brain-muscle. And I'm fairly certain there has been smoke puffing out of my ears for the last six days.

prepping the screen

 From the print table to the pinning of the fabric, we were now ready to get rolling with our printmaking.  I assumed this would be a very tradition kind of screen printing, and was I ever wrong.  Wendy demonstrated how to pull textures onto our screen using dye which acted as the resist or barrier, for the first couple of prints. But after two or three passes of the squeegee on the screen, the dye on the screen would mix with the dye pressed through the mesh and magic would happen.  I mean, MAGIC. Pure, unadulterated, no-tricks-up-my-sleeve, magic.  My heart pounded nearly out of my chest with excitement.  It had been way too long since I last took a class. 

My screen, prepped for printing. I used an old weaving as the main texture.

The first print through the above screen.

Dyes

Sitting in the middle of the workspace, we had a table full of dyes in plastic containers. The whole rainbow was at our finger tips, and it only needed our creativity to unleash it onto our cloths.  We mixed, and experimented, tweaking this, adjusting that, like mad-scientists standing over our creations.   When we were finished with our colors, they'd be returned to the middle table to either be used, or transformed into yet another hue. Between the multitude of textured objects and the varied and sundry colors, the printing process continued and sustained itself throughout the week with infinite combinations and permutations, each maintaining its own unique unrepeatable existence.

On the second day, we were shown how to pull the carving from a stamp onto our screens, allowing us more direct imagery than we had the day before.   Using this technique, we were able to print positive and negative images which would begin to mutate with each print.   Like an addict, I was hooked.  I raced to the mega-monster-craft store to find some rubber stamp material to make my own carved blocks. 

Wendy demonstrated using her own blocks.

The block "stamp" images on the screen

We learned how to make a stencil using freezer wrap on the third day. Between the textures, the stamps, and the stencils, the mind boggled over the insane amount possibilities. All week, I found sleep elusive as I turned over one idea to another, tomorrow I'm going to work with this color.  I wonder if I did this, what would happen? Could this work? I can't wait to try that...

one of my fabrics, in progress.

 And yet, I struggled with the serendipity of the printing each and every day.  I wanted to understand what was going to happen so I could predict what my next move would be.  Gee, I guess that's why it's called "Free Form Screenprinting."  I couldn't let go of my need to anticipate what was going to end up on my cloth.   While there was a level of predictability to the experience, I found that I was completely unable to respond to what was happening and make adjustments as I went along.  But with each pass of my squeegee, and each fabric I printed, I felt I gained more and more successes. Not necessarily in the aesthetic sense, but in the ability to just roll with the printing. And as I re-invented my artistic self throughout the week, I found I enjoyed the results of my screen printing more and more.  It no longer became a matter of "This cloth is Good" or "This cloth is Bad" because I began to see the value in the parts and pieces as well as the whole.  

I used a scrap of handwoven material to experiment on

One of my favorite cloths I printed

 

Hanging our fabrics for the end of the week 'response' time.

While the sand slipped through the proverbial hour glass on the fourth day, my mood transformed into a desperate need to finish "JUST ONE MORE" printed cloth.  I had to keep reminding myself that just because Wendy was returning to her studio, it did not mean I would never ever ever  print another piece of fabric. In fact, I have great plans to make a print table, buy some the materials to make more screens, and set myself up once our 'wet studio' is finished at 'some things looming.'  But before that can happen, I have to do the scary part: cutting into "my precious," one-of-a-kind-can-never-be-duplicated fabrics for the second half of the class: Art Quilts.

The class' fabrics, hanging out to dry

...to be continued, next week...

Stalled.

We had just completed a successful and very pleasant dinner meeting conducting 'some things looming' business. I was feeling rather pumped up. We agreed on the name of next Spring's exhibit, mentioned some Saturday Sampler business, discussed some things about Handmade Holidays, and basically talked shop for about three hours. Good stuff. So when I got into my husband's eleven year old manual transmission car and I couldn't quite get the gear shift to go into reverse, I did what every normal human being does: I pumped the clutch a few times, and kept trying, ignoring the warning bells flashing in my head.

I got out of the Applebees parking lot, navigated past the mall, on to the highway, and was cruising along when suddenly, my car was in neutral and the stick shift had no resistance. At this point, I should perhaps explain that many Pennsylvania roads have little to no shoulder, even on the highways. I'm not sure why, other than perhaps terrain dictated the roads eons ago, and we just paved over top of the horse trails. Managing to roll my husband's car into the excuse that passed for a shoulder of the road, I was dismayed to see half my car still sticking out into the lane. I was even more dismayed to discover my cell phone battery was nearly dead; just enough life in it to make one phone call.

I tried home first, figuring the Mr. would be home by then, or at the least, The Boy would pick up. I knew he was home, and then he'd give the deets to his father. I figured wrong. On the sixth ring, I hung up, and prayed that my phone would hold out for one more call. I called my father, Floyd. "Hey Papa, you think you can come rescue me?" Every time a car swooshed past, my car swayed side to side, "I'm not in a good spot," I said, and then proceeded to give garbled directions in my hyper-adrenalinized state. In the meantime, I dug through my purse, brilliantly remembering my Tom-tom was there, and the charger for that would work for my phone. I dialed the husband's cell phone, and miraculously, he had it on him, and it was charged.

"I'm stuck on the highway," I said.

"Oh no! What happened?" He asked.

I explained in detail the clutch, the stick shift, the rolling to a slow stop on the 'shoulder' and my precarious position. "Can you call Geico? We have roadside assistance. They'll send us a tow truck."

Shortly after I hung up with him, my father called looking for me. Apparently, my directions were lousy. Another five minutes, he pulled up behind me, assessed the situation and decided he was going to walk up and around the bridge I was facing to see if there was more shoulder on the other side. I was close to an off-ramp, and he figured that there might be more space as a result. "I think I'm going to use my truck to push you a little further so your butt isn't hanging out on the road anymore. It would make me feel better," he said.

"It would make me feel better too!" I said enthusiastically. I had just spent a good part of ten minutes imagining someone rear-ending me.

I watched as my father's truck slowly inched towards my rear bumper and felt a gentle nudge. After the third tap, he called out his window, "Do you still have your emergency brake on???" Oops. I took the brake off, and we began limping our way down the "shoulder" which was narrowing down to nothing the closer we got to the bridge. Calling out directions, Dad directed me around the bridge and on to a much wider shoulder. I was now at least a foot away from the lane where vehicles were still swooping past at incredible volume. "Where on earth is all this traffic coming from at 10:00 at night?" I asked. Meanwhile, my mother, who had just returned from our meeting to find no sign of my father began frantically calling his phone, my home phone... She came home to find signs of life, but no signs of his person. It was an understandable reaction.

I hadn't heard from Jeremy, my husband, in awhile, so I called the house phone. He was still on the line with Geico, who was still trying to find a tow truck. I wondered if it would have been faster to just find one ourselves and pay for the tow, rather than use road-side assistance. I hung up and told Dad what was going on. Leaning into my drivers side window, we talked about this and that for a good fifteen minutes before my phone rang. "Ray is coming to save you," Jeremy said.

At ten forty-five, my rescuer came with his big hook and flashing lights. He took my information, and my credit card number. Dad and I piled back into his truck and he drove me home. I walked into the door, greeted by my wild-haired husband. I could tell he'd been having a time of it at home. 

"If the situation had been reversed," he said by way of greeting, "You'd have fallen apart."

"Gee thanks," I said. "As if what I went through wasn't traumatic?"

"No. It gets better. The lady on the phone was from Georgia."

"In other words, she has no idea where Reading is, or what it looks like, or where I actually was located on the highway. It was probably like playing whisper down the lane."

"Exactly." He said as he smoothed down his hair. "I had just gotten in the door, I hadn't had dinner, and I had a most pressing need to use the bathroom when you called. That alone would have made you a mess."

I had to concede that one.

"So while I was on the phone listening to the hold music, I noticed the toilet water was low and I flushed."

"It over-flowed."

"Exactly."

"And then I noticed Josh was still dressed and not anywhere near ready for bed. He hadn't taken his medicine, he wasn't in his pajamas..."

"He was still playing his video game,"

"Exactly. And since I had the girls with me at band practice, they were ALSO just now trying to get ready for bed..."

"And you were still on hold with the nice lady from Georgia."

"Yes. So after a bit she came back on the line and I asked her how many places she had called, and she said '38'" He imitated her accent perfectly, I'm sure. "And then I asked, 'how many more on your list?' She said, '42,' I said, '38?!? 42?!? Seriously?' " He flipped back into his Southern Belle Accent as he continued his story, "And she said, 'Well, a lot of them told me they refuse to drive in Reading at night' I said, 'seriously.'"

"The irony is, I wasn't any where NEAR Reading. I was on THE HIGHWAY. My best guess is that she was calling towing places and saying 'Can you tow someone in Reading?' and they tuned out," I said.

"You're probably right." Jeremy said, "So after a bit, I asked how far away she was calling for a truck. She told me as much as fifty miles away. I said 'fifty miles?!? That's practically Philadelphia! That's like an hour away!' So she told me there was this one for-pay place, and I said 'take it. I don't care if we have to pay up front and then submit the claim. Just take it.' And so she called Ray."

"I'm so glad you said that. I kind of wish we had realized sooner what was probably happening. I might not have sat so long. I'm pretty sure anyone would come to the rescue on the highway."

"I know! If she had called someone from out near Philadelphia, you'd have waited another hour."

I shuddered at the thought.