Move over Bacon

... the kid is moving into the sewing room :)

With Special Thanks to Karen, who hooked said kid up with a machine of her own. And logic dictates that said machine will be followed by fabric stash of her own and pattern stash of her own and... well, let's just say it's time to clean house.

So this is my stash, bared for all to see. I honestly feel a little naked.

It's still in a messy state, I'll make it all neat in its new home. I had a "before" picture showing fabric oozing out of every crack and crevice in my sewing room, but then I remembered my parents occasionally read this.

It was that bad.

For now, it's just piled according to colors.

I evidently have a thing for stripes - not a polka dot in the bunch!

and no yellows. I wonder what that says about my psyche... Do you think that's a profession out there somewhere? Stash Therapist! Can you imagine the implications of the snake skin?























The scraps and recycle projects have been contained - I even got all my scraps sorted into baggies.

I also discovered I have a good variety of lining on hand.

I have an extremely rough (kindergarten art) sketch of a storage system I'd like to craft. The way I see it, there are 4 essential elements to the fabric storage *working right to left:

1. bins for scraps, 2. shelves (preferably with glass doors) for fabric that is best stored folded, 3. vertical roll storage for large yardage, and 4. horizontal bars to accommodate hanging smaller yardages of fabrics that shouldn't be stored folded. I think of the old fashioned tiered newspaper hanging bars at the library.

My muslin station is already pretty cool. That's tracing paper on top, and there are muslin scraps in the gift bag. You can just see my rulers hanging next to it. Note the glasses ;) !!!

I hear IKEA calling, so there will be more pictures as the stash storage develops.

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I finally came up with an idea to practice my smaller silk painting in a portable way.

I used one of the styrofoam packing inserts from a toaster oven box as a mini fabric stretching frame. It can be placed flat over the design for "tracing" and keeps the fabric raised. The silk scarf, courtesy of Dharma Trading, is stretched across and pinned, it's the perfect size.

Speaking of other nifties, during my quilt making I discovered that the plastic template sheets that JoAnn's sells for $5 are the same as the 3-pack of flexible cutting mats you can get at the dollar store. (Cidell, hope you're reading this!)

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And send me all your lovin' and positive energy, because I think I may have found my dream job*. Fingers and toes crossed.

*Karen, no it's not what we talked about ;)

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And speaking of daydreams- have you ever dreamed about what your Project Runway audition video would be like! Come on, I bet you even chose music!

Sew, Interrupted

Captain's Log:

It's been twelve days now, stranded on this desert island- and there is no sewing in sight. The camera batteries died over a week ago. Lighting McQueen Bubble Machine and Kid #1's tv remote tried to donate, but they just weren't compatible. I fear it wouldn't matter anyway. There is nothing to photograph.

On day seven I spied a hope off the shore- it was the JoAnn's weekend sale. But alas, despite my shouting and frantic arm waving, I just couldn't flag it down. It sailed on by.

I have been scouting the island for anything that could be used in constructing the Amy Butler bags, but nothing here has a strong enough fiber content.

Kid #2's fever has finally broken after three days of madness and things too horrible to describe. I was forced to let another ship sail on by- the Jomar pleasure cruise. Through my makeshift lens I spied crazy knits, 2$/yard prices, and a deck party that included Karen and Kisha. Floating over the water came decadently bitchy laughter. I knew it from somewhere- Project Runway season one, perhaps? But the big ol' ship turned abruptly into the sun and disappeared.

I am separated from base camp, where the leather skirt is hanging, awaiting a major dart reconstruction. Even if I could cross the wasteland back into that region, I doubt I would have the strength to perform such a delicate operation in such an unpredictable environment.

I don't know how long I can hold out here. If I could just get those sleeves basted into the jacket, I'd have a chance at escaping... but everytime I make a move I am thwarted by the natives. I have yet to decipher their language- it's almost as if I am a god and a slave to them (especially that big one). I've discovered that they are distracted by high levels of ice cream and Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson movies. I'm hoping that tonight, after cover of nightfall, I can make my move.

e out.

Captain's Log, supplemental:

Note of Meritorious Service, K-9 unit:

I was stranded alone with Kid #2 during the height of his sickness. After witnessing the carnage, the dog turned to me. "Get help" I said.

That dog dodged house bombs and climbed a flight of stairs, and proceeded to knock Kid #1's door open with his head. He alerted them immediately and backup arrived just in time.

see how his eyes reflected the light? I think he was rotating one eye away from the flash at the shutter moment.

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