minx moon
minx (n.) 1540s, mynx "pet dog"1
minx: a delightful word in which every letter begins on a flat fell with a serif—
— at least when weaving from bottom to top.
This, unlike the word:
oops n. (colloquial); a mistake or error (from oops (interj.) "a natural exclamation" [OED] of surprise at doing something awkward, attested from 1933 (compare whoops).2
oops: an awkward word whose every letter begins with a curvy cradle.3
To be sure the the p (or —oops—q), has a serif at the actual bottom, but still needs a carefully constructed curve for its belly. 4
And speaking of curvy letters, how is it that a physically sinuous word like edge has such pointy antecedents?
edge (n.) Old English ecg "corner, edge, point,"5
Sharpness was definitely not the point of weaving it.
Rather I was fixated on the word selvedge/selvage (n.) also selvege (early 15c., selfegge, "edge of web or cloth so finished as to prevent raveling," apparently literally "its own edge," a corruption of self + edge (n.)6
For what weaver does not think of her selvedges all the time—especially when there are (or are going to be) four of them?7
Felt, of course, doesn’t have selvedges in the same way as woven cloth—and after reveling in the wonderfully wavy sides of my new felt vest it was a bit of a wakeup call to return to the pvc loom and once again focus on every pass to keep my selvedges as smooth and straight as I can.
The difference, I suppose, between a thing I make to look at and a thing I make to wear?
wear n. 1. the act of wearing or the fact of being worn 2. things worn or to be worn; clothing 3. durability under use 4. gradual loss or damage caused by use
I have been wearing (verb) the vest8 nearly every moment of every day since I made it—and it is already showing signs of such wear (noun): a little fuzzyness, some pilling, and several distinctly grubby edges—especially at the pocket where my hand slips in.
But I guess that’s life isn’t it. Between making and mending, wear is the point.
And there is always the wash.
Also (at least in my world where all white garments end up blue), a nice dunk in a dye vat.
Indigo has too many letters to weave, but woad awaits. And why on earth have I not yet woven make and mend? After all, mend is a noun as well as a verb (this is the 99 noun series after all), and I just learned that make, though usually seen as a verb, also has an obsolete Old English use that means: 1. a mate; companion; friend 2. a match; equal— so there is nothing to stop me.
Nothing, that is, other than that
both, like minx, begin with the extremely fiddly letter m—
—and
2. my marvelous (and very patient) minx make, having had about enough of this word weaving business for the time being—
—has urged me to enjoy9 the suddenly, scarily, irresistibly unseasonable weather.
Even if, alas, what she had in mind for us to do was not what occurred to me.
I guess I’m a slow learner. But I’m trying.
Who, after all, can resist the wisdom of a moon minx?
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from etymology.com: minx (n.) 1540s, mynx "pet dog," later (1590s) "a young, pert, girl" The definition goes on, branching in various directions, but I was only interested in the first part.
Also, the January full moon is sometimes called the Wolf Moon —so this is a variation of that.
oops (from etymology.com). None of the definitions I’ve found indicate that oops is a noun, but in speech it is used all the time so I decided to go with it. Indeed, it so happened that I wove a couple of these words in company and that turned out to be hard on the concentration. In other words— there were myriad oopses. Including in the creation of oops itself (beyond the p/q reversal).
And speaking of definitions, when a backwards p becomes a q the word oops becomes ooqs, which makes me think of the librarian at Unseen University (Ankh-Morpork, Discworld), who speaks a complex (and apparently perfectly understandable and nuanced), language that consists of the single word Ook. For Terry Pratchett fans I need go no further. If you’re not yet a fan but are curious, may I suggest beginning with the first of the Tiffany Aching series, The Wee Free Men, or the first of the Granny Weatherwax series, Equal Rites.
And don’t get me started on the awkwardness of weaving a decent s.
Or do get me started! On 21 February I’ll be talking live with Anna and Irene of Nearly Wild Weaving about everything tapestry — and if you’re there you can also ask questions! Tickets available HERE.
edge (n.) Old English ecg "corner, edge, point," also "sword" (also found in ecgplega, literally "edge play," ecghete, literally "edge hate," both used poetically for "battle"), from Proto-Germanic *agjo(source also of Old Frisian egg "edge;" Old Saxon eggia "point, edge;" Middle Dutch egghe, Dutch eg; Old Norse egg, see egg (v.); Old High German ecka, German Eck "corner"), from PIE root *ak- "be sharp, rise (out) to a point, pierce."
I chose this word in part because e is one of my least favorite letters to weave and I’m always looking for some way to like it better somehow—and the only way to do that is to focus— so what better than a word with one at each end? Naturally, it was the word I wove just before oops…
British spelling: selvedge. American spelling selvage. I almost invariably choose the first. I mean it is an edge after all. Here is more of what etymology.com has to say:
selvage (n.) also selvege, early 15c., selfegge, "edge of web or cloth so finished as to prevent raveling," apparently literally "its own edge," a corruption of self + edge (n.); on analogy of Middle Flemish selvegge. Compare also Low German sulfegge (which might have influenced the English word); Dutch zelfkant, from kant "border;" Middle High German selbende, German Selbend, literally "self-end."
fringeless: four selvage warping—the class I teach with the amazing Rebecca Mezoff
Once upon a time, winter willow weaving was thing I did every December and January. For a while I focused on larger than life figures (including, once, a three person string band). Also tiny house/tardis things (for a fundraiser at a local nonprofit gallery). More recently my favorites have been these random weave orbs—the ones in the old blog post far better (or at least rounder), than the unfinished one currently rolling around my back garden.
Ya know, if next week you wrote about weaving the word "rocket" because you'd built one to soothe a yearning to traverse the moon, I wouldn't be the least bit surprised.
Love the felted vest and again word weaving, you bring me enjoyment 🙏💓