Hector’s room was an Aladdin’s cave of magical machinery. It was a place he shut himself away in for hours to peer down microscopes, write stories, take pictures, or make placemats and table runners on a loom the size of a house. Sometimes I hid under the loom, camouflaged in its mechanical guts, waiting for the shuttles to dance, and the heddles to open up the threads … Continue reading The loom