Robin's Loom

Several years ago, I went to my first Renaissance Faire and there, amongst the jugglers, turkey legs, and beer booths, was a weaver. I was immediately smitten and at that moment I knew that I was a weaver without a loom.

A short time later Jill called. Her sister-in-law had passed away suddenly. "I have Robin's loom and I'm trying to get rid of it," she said. The loom was beautiful, dusty, and mysterious. It was a tangle of wood and wires, and had turquoise and lavender lengths of yarn attached to it, woven into a small rectangle. It was what Robin had been working on before she passed away.

I was still convinced that I was a weaver at heart, but the loom was large and intimidating. I didn't know where to begin, so I didn't. My loom sat collecting dust day after day, month after month, year after year. I admit there were times I thought about selling the loom and giving my sister the money. Many other times, I forgot about it completely.

Seven years after receiving the loom, I was at a winery that was hosting an event for local artists. I began chatting to one of the vendors and I mentioned my loom. She pointed to the booth next to hers. "You should talk to Linda. She's a weaver and I think she gives lessons."

I talked to Linda, then went home and checked the Internet, and found several weavers in the area. My husband helped me clean out the garage and we lugged the loom from our storage unit to the newly emptied space. A weaver came to the house and gave me the basics. Now the loom is less mysterious and I've begun to work on Robin's long ago project.