blah blah blogging*

*not sewing related.

I've been blah blahing about autism, in case you'd like to know.

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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.

***

The Queen Mother - A sewing backstory

Sometimes, almost as striking as the woman herself, can be the way others are transformed in her presence. Can you feel the goose flesh tingling in the photographer? Clearly, he reveres this woman.

That's my grandmother, Pell. Pell. Isn't that the coolest nickname? It's a blend of hers and my grandfather's names, christened WAY before the Brangelinas and Bennifers of the world spawned. I always thought it sounded so avant garde, like Wallis Simpson.

And, yes, the photographer (my grandfather) reveres her. Everyone does. She just has that royal thing about her. Feminine, yet fierce. She does only what she wants to, and those around her are only too happy to help her reality along.

Remember when Rudy checked for scuffs on her shoes because Whitley raised an eyebrow at her foot tapping? "The true mark of a lady is a clean heel". That was me with my grandmother. I watched elbows, tilted my chin up, generally tried to emulate the grace I found oozing out of this woman. In the fourth grade, my grandmother gave me handwriting lessons, and I was geeked beyond happy. And yes, it's quite lovely to this day, thank you. She taught us how to greet dinner guests properly. She also taught us the importance of being free-spirited. Only last year she burned her leg on my dad's motorcycle when she jumped on it in her golf shorts and keds. Like I said... fierce.

And like all fierce women- she sews. I've only been witness to some of her later projects, but they are exquisite. I've only recently gotten up the courage to ask her if she'd pass along any sewing stuff she may have stashed. I always love reading about other blogger's history pieces, like Karen's deep stash fabric. My grandmother made this dress for my daughter, the collar is lace from her wedding veil.

Sewing was always a strange thing to me- aside from my dad's uniform patches, I didn't see a sewing machine around my house. And sadly, it never occurred to me that sewing could be learned. I figured it was like math, you either knew it or you didn't. I'd heard the legendary stories of my grandmother's sewing. During a vacation at their house when I was about 11, I asked my grandmother if she would make me a dress. She replied that we would make the dress. I knew better than to show any sign of disappointment, but I really doubted my ability to make this a real dress. I'd seen the machine in her sewing room as I lurked from the doorway- she'd never let me touch that thing.

I remember looking for a pattern. I was all about the fabric. I just wanted to pick the prettiest fabric, and I recall my grandmother guiding me toward a little rack. Now I realize she must have been steering me away from some silky prints or some difficult chiffon I would have naturally been drawn to. I picked a pink and purple teeny floral printed quilting cotton. The dress pattern had buttons all the way up the back, with a low scoop neck, full skirt, and cap sleeves. I wish I had pictures. I can see it so vividly. I also remember grandmother's expression at seeing all those buttons. Now I have a better idea on that, too.

And not only did she let me use the machine, I pretty much remember doing the whole dress by myself. I couldn't believe she was letting me use this stuff! The serrated tracing wheel (won't it cut through?) and the seam ripper amazed me. And the dress was actually nice. But when I got home from vacation, it was back to real life, and sewing was never a part of it.

This two week period was lost in the recesses of my mind, only slightly nagging me when I went shopping looking for the perfect *fill in the blank*, and came home disappointed, wishing that I could make my own. Finally, 20 years after the dress with the buttons down the back, I remembered that I could.

Check this out

http://www.philly.com/philly/news/local/20090207_Karen_Heller__Boys__Bobbins_and_Beer_stitch_together.html

I had to do a "did I just read that right?" head shake.

So close, yet sew far away.

That's the view from where I spend most of my time. It calls to me. *sigh*

9 years ago, I'd glance wistfully over at my toddling daughter, and she'd look up from her little toys and wave. Today, the toddling son- well, let's just say as I type this he is straddling my lap, manipulating the skin around my cheeks with his fingers, and smashing Lucky Charms into the keyboard with his toes. Add in negative nap (that's something akin to negative ease, if you get me), and that means I cross the threshold into the sewing room rarely.

I do, however, get to spend a ton of time thinking about sewing and doing kidsafe activities. Enter the crayons.

I thought the idea for the personalized croquis in Sew Stylish spring 08 was brilliant. Unfortunately the picture I copied didn't have feet. Make sure you get the feet- the whole outline is essential in establishing nice garment proportions.

I'm going to play with this for a few days, but already I'm getting an idea that I should avoid certain lines. I also like the idea of using a pattern sketch to "try on" the dress before you commit.

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I loaded up the kid with waffle fries and headed into JoAnn for some snooping in the home dec fabrics to use in the Amy Butler bags. I peruse them only slightly more frequently than the quilting cottons, which is next to never, so I was a bit lost at first. I did manage to find a couple of combinations that caught my eye, but I'm not in love yet.

Oooooo I can't wait to get started on them :)

Why men shouldn't design pattern instruction sheets

... so he can remember which one I am?

I was trying to get started on the camisole in this McCall's 5651, but I'm so darn distracted by Paris and Nicky smiling up at me every three steps that I need a breather.

I mean, really. Who at McCall's fell in love with these girls' faces, and why am I being subjected to their glazed adoration? That has testosterone written all over it.

oi.

No soup for me.

I kind of chuckled the other day when I read Dawn's blog that mentioned her trashy soup can weights. I use frosting.

I love using tubs of frosting for two reasons. One, something about the weight of it and the rounded plastic edging lets it glide over the fabric nicely when I need to move them. And two:

Happy sewing :)

Sacrifices to the Gods

The sewing gods, that is.

At one point during the Hairy Vest construction, I struggled with pinning the hood properly where it met the neck opening. Finally!!! I got it just right- and pinned my fingertip in the fur sandwich, too. And not just that fleshy outer skin, either. After a split second's contemplation, I just ripped that sucker right off - praying in the meantime that I could escape the fabric before the blood appeared. I chuckled as I blotted, remembering my side-seam scars from making Beth. I wonder what other crazy sacrifices people have made out there in the sewing gods' domain... Apparently the sewing gods are a bit bloodthirsty.












And needle-thirsty. I broke about 5 needles during the hairy vest. At one point my machine grinded to a halt and I had to use pliers to break the needle and extricate my fabric. Much praying during that episode. Things got a bit... hairy.













This is the official fur-working tool of the trade: And as is my wont, I got S I C K right before Christmas. This was on the heels of the kids being sick the week before. Loosely translated, this means 36 hours of pure unadulterated sewing time were completely lost. And that means I finished the handwork on the Hairy Vest in a side room after the Christmas feast while the others exchanged their gifts, and my sister received it with one measly snap basted on about two minutes before she left for home. It also means that The Tie (s) will now be making nice father's day presents. *note to self: Start gifts before December next year.

And Beth is splitting seams again after her nip and tuck. Time to bust out the masking tape and the running shoes. Jeez- Beth, me, Oprah... it's like an epidemic.

I hope everyone is enjoying xmas recovery as much as I am in my NEW JEEP!!!!!! woohoo :) And guess what Karen? It's got cargo space!!!- so we don't need to debate leaving a passenger at Jomar in order to fit the bags :)

Peace and Light to all :)
see you next year!

Method to my Madness

These ladies peek over at me as I sew. I wonder if I could incorporate those dress details into my coat...

**********

The first vest is complete (can you hear that Halleluiah chorus?) I didn't know what to expect with the fur, but it wasn't all that bad.

I feared pressing it, not only because the lining material morphed disturbingly under heat, but I noticed on my test fur piece that pressing took away some of that great swirl the in the nap (is that a shearling-look?). I used my grandmother's crystal ashtray as a press- you've got to lift it with 2 hands- to weigh down the darts and other protruding seams. My sewing machine looks like a lazy girl's legs in winter, but I'm waiting until the entire tribble invasion is over before I bother with too much cleanup.

The second, much hairier version is underway.

The Tie and I are still not speaking.

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When I was little, my favorite thing to do was to sneak out to the living room at night and put the tree lights on. I'd fall asleep on the sofa staring at the tree. I loved the stories in all the ornaments.

My daughter calls our tree "The Memory Tree". More than a few of them aren't really "ornaments", just momentos we fitted with a bit of string :)

One of my favorite ornaments is this Christmas bell ringer, engraved "Elizabeth" on the skirt and "1979" on the bell. I think her little face is precious.

A week till Christmas...

Just keep sewing :)