I started weaving class tonight, and it was immediately apparent that I am not manually dextrous. I am also not so comfortable with a loom strapped to me. My excellent teacher Norma was startled by my poor skills, but she was patient and helpful nonetheless. My classmates can talk and weave. I cannot. My classmates can make beautiful designs with the fabric. I am learning to make a diamond, but it took me nearly thirty minutes just to add in the turquoise thread to make the diamonds out of. I often cannot remember when I am supposed to take my (wooden) machete out, and the thread incessantly ravels from the stick that is my “needle.” My poor classmate has been struck by my machete so many times that I no longer offer a “Lo siento” (I’m sorry).
I leave weaving with a great sense of relief that I do not have to make a living using these hands for anything more than typing. Norma reassures me that the next class will be better. I believe her, although I have little faith that I will see my diamonds take shape.
shewhodaresnothing 