Things I swore would never happen

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I live about two miles from a river, on a hill overlooking a floodplain.  Every time the news reports flooding in my area, my mom calls breathlessly to see if I've been flooded out.  I always scoff and tell her that, at 1000 feet elevation, if I'm flooded Seattle is under water.  So unless she hears that on the news, she shouldn't worry. But what did I see when I got up this morning, after a night of pounding rain that melted the three feet of snow we had on the ground? A lake.  In my back yard.  (Husband added for scale.)

In the eleven years I've lived in this house, I've never seen anything like this.  (Do you think I should call Mom and tell her she was right?)

On a more textile footing, one thing that I swore I would never do is bobbin lace.  I've seen it a couple of times and it looks insanely complicated, with all its loose bobbins hanging all over the place, dozens of pins, and fine threads twisting together in incomprehensible ways.

  It seemed a sure invitation to disaster, if not outright madness. On a recent trip out this way, Laura Fry demonstrated bobbin lace to me and I inwardly said to myself: "Yep, that's one fiber art I have absolutely no interest in learning.  Don't gotta learn them all.  And that just made the no-way, no-how list."

Do the gods of irony follow me around?  Or do they just have an impeccable sense of timing? 

Shortly after that silent vow, I found myself obsessed with bobbin lace.  Late at night I found myself furtively scouring the internet, secretly looking up information and ogling lace bobbins on ebay. When folks asked what I wanted for holiday gifts, most of the answers were bobbin-lace related.  A book here, a bobbin or two there, and a bobbin lace pillow. 

I didn't really expect the last, both because it was a bit spendy and because my husband has for years balked at buying me anything fiber related.

Our gift-related conversations usually go something like this:

E: "So, what do you want for [insert gift-giving occasion here]?"

S: "Ooh, what I'd really love is a sectional warp beam for my Baby Wolf!"

E: <silent pause> "Um.  Are you speaking English?"

S: "You know, those boards with the little fingers on them that you screw onto the back of the loom?  I've wanted a set of those for ever so long."

E: <edging away slowly>  "Are you sure you wouldn't prefer jewelry?  Maybe some perfume?"

S: <absolutely stunned> "Um.  No."

(I'm in no way against jewelry or perfume.  Have even indulged in these pleasures a bit in the past.  But I'm guessing that you of all people will understand that not even the finest Tiffany diamonds or Chanel #5 will help you get a warp on a loom.)

So in years past Eric, completely perplexed by a woman turning down what his mother and sister had trained him to believe were approved female gifts had reacted by either:

A) Trying to convince me to make a selection from the approved-for-females list, and finally, in exasperation, simply throwing money at me.

B) Purchasing me a gift from the approved-for-females list, in the hope (?) that I might come to my senses and realize that I really didn't need any more fiber-related equipment in my life.

So it was with shock, delight, and surprise when I found he'd bought me this: The very bobbin pillow I'd been yearning for.  I'd put it on my wish list, but not really expected to receive it both because it was too weird and obscure, and a bit spendy. It is the epitome of lovely.  It's a 15-inch half-round pillow with a  burgundy velveteen cover, and a rolling bolster with a locking gear.  It's from The Lacemaker.

Look at this adorable hedge-hog pincushion they threw in as a freebie!

I didn't have enough bobbins to do the "beginner" project in the book, so I made some out of polymer clay and bamboo skewers.  They're not 100% lovely, but they do the job.  I plan to add spangles (a circle of beads at the bottom) later.

These are two "proper" English bobbins off ebay. 

Eric was so cute and proud about the bobbin pillow.  He admired it with me when I opened the box. When it took me a day or two to block out time to sit down and figure out bobbin lace, he'd occasionally nod his head at the pillow and say "I can't wait to see you using that."

What made this gift so special, is that not only did my family pitch in to buy me all the accoutrements needed for me to take up bobbin lace, but that my husband—who has so often railed at my "fiber clutter"—bought me exactly, perfectly, what I wanted. It's more than a pillow. 

It's him finally accepting who I am.   And that's a gift greater than diamonds.