Bunk Bed Ladder

Day 324: Bunk Bed Ladder

I wish I had a photo of this bunk bed ladder when it was clothed in needlepoint yarn. It was a writhing sculpture. A wicked witch with psychedelic hair. An invitation to touch and stroke, ten thousand strands of color, streaming like a waterfall.

The bunk bed ladder was the vehicle that brought Suzanne's yarn to me, by way of my sister, Suzanne's daughter-in-law. I am grateful that three daughters and a daughter-in-law never took to needlepoint, and so I inherited the yarn from a woman I hardly knew. The needlepoint yarn was a legacy of her lifetime of art. From the yarn flowed to idea to make my own patterns, which transformed needlepoint for me from paint-by-numbers to an effort of self-expression. For an art history major to begin to make her own art - however amateur the design - is a radical shift.

The bunk bed ladder was better in concept than in reality, though. I find the yarn easier to manage separated into a couple dozen color-coded transparent boxes. The yarn gets less tangled that way. I can carry the box to the light and choose the exact right color of cream, or light blue, or pink. Strands don't come loose and entangle themselves in the vacuum cleaner. They don't get dusty, or faded.

I'll miss having the profusion of color throbbing from its corner of the attic. But it's function over form for me. This time, anyway.