Wednesday, November 11, 2015
The warm beam hugs my small frame as I lie on the floor, stocking feet swinging in the air, chin perched on tiny hands above elbows planted in rough gold carpet. The crowd from the tv screaming behind the roaring white noise of jet engines and oxygen circulation systems, as though even an Airbus can yell, "go Pack, go." My mother cheers. The man behind me snores. I ask my daddy for some more popcorn. I take another sip of my hot tea.
The bright light creates rainbows on my paper at the edges of the window's shadow, rainbows on the golden carpet fibers enthralling my curious young eyes. I glide my hand, smoothing the paper, watching a hundred dazzling, sparkling stars dance and twirl on the plastic wall and someone else's seat, my aging eyes behind corrective lenses still enthralled by the magic splendor of prisms in the sun.
Outside, the dark ridges of the Appalachians flow under a sheer veil of mist as a river winds off in the distance. Outside, the world is brilliant in the gleaming white of a Wisconsin winter, clear and cold. Skies of the brightest blue.
I am grateful to be tucked inside, in my sunbeam, warm and glowing, from the love around me, from the memories inside me. In my mind. In my heart.
Sunday, November 8, 2015
“Mommy, can we do the umbrella class at Bungalow?” “Well, ok,” she said, neither of us realizing what we were getting ourselves into. I don’t know what we thought making an umbrella entailed. A couple hours? Some scissors? Magic? Well, it turns out to be a little more than a couple hours, a little more than some scissors, and no magic.
The hardest part was choosing the fabric. I had a concept in my head, but nothing was singing out to me, and the fabrics I kept finding myself drawn to didn’t match a thing in my wardrobe. Mommy, however, little over achiever that she is, found her fabric right away. She was a good deal of the way into assembling her umbrella before I had my fabric selected.
Mommy chose two complimentary fabrics: a cute print on white with 1950s-style Parisian women doing things around Paris, shopping, sitting at a cafe, standing by the Champs Elyse or near the Eifel Tower; and a large grey polka dot on white.
I chose a black and white print of cityscape silhouettes, people in business clothes going here and there with briefcases interspersed with large round clock faces and park bench scenes. I liked the modern, busy city feel of the images combined with the old-fashioned simplicity of black & white. It seemed perfect for a busy city like D.C. I had some trouble choosing a complimentary fabric, but eventually went with a black, grey and white flower on a variegated pink background. I hedged a bit, looked at lots of fabrics, and pretty much just went with this combo because I was tired of looking and race-horse Mommy was on her third lap. And being the little trouble-maker that I am, that wasn’t enough. I decided I wanted a binding along the bottom and picked black with small white polka dots. Mommy and the lady helping us, Peggy, cut the polka dots into strips and ironed it into double-fold bias tape.
First step to making umbrellas is to cut out your 8 panels. Then – here’s where things seem a little backwards – you hem them each individually. Since I was putting on binding instead of hemming, I had to sew each bias strip onto the bottom of my panels while Mommy hemmed hers (well after Mommy hemmed hers cuz I’m a slow poke).
Next, you sew all the pieces together, being sure to leave an opening at the top for the umbrella post. You also make a strap to wrap around the umbrella and hold it closed and stitch that onto the umbrella. It turns out those are the easy parts. Then, you put your machine away and take out the hand needle. Oh boy.
The umbrella frame is kind of scary on its own, like a giant pokey spider. It comes with 9 parts to be assembled onto the frame, 8 little metal tips and 1 cap. The metal tips are sewn onto the umbrella covering and then lock onto the ends of the metal frame. The tips are sort of like little metal tube socks. At the top end, there’s holes in the metal across from each other for stitching the tips to the umbrella. It’s a little tricky at first, and it helps a lot to safety pin the tips to the umbrella covering and slip onto the frame first, then slip them off the frame one-at-a-time to sew individually, removing the safety pin after a few stitches. The really cool part about this step is you get to see how your umbrella’s going to look!
We had to go home before I got to sewing on the tips, but Mommy was able to finish her umbrella during the class. After she sewed on all the tips, Peggy helped her glue the cap onto the top of the umbrella.
Voila! A beautiful umbrella.
Mommy’s going to spray hers with waterproofing so that it can actually be used as an umbrella. I want mine to be a parasol for the hot D.C. summer sun, so I’m not spraying it with waterproofing. I originally wanted to add lace to it, before I picked out my fabrics, and am still toying with the idea. But for now, here’s my parasol.
Wednesday, November 4, 2015
So yes, this year, I was an okapi. My second-favorite animal, after a giraffe. Okapis are actually the nearest living relative to a giraffe. They have shorter necks, but very long tongues. Look ‘em up; they’re pretty neat.
Here’s an okapi.
And here’s me dressed like an okapi.
As is the custom, I made my own (um, custom) costume.
I ordered a brown sweater dress from Amazon, figuring at least when I’m done I’ll have a nice new sweater dress. I wear my sweater dresses a little longer than was suitable for okapi-making, so the first thing I did was tack the hem of the dress up quite a bit. (Right: actual length of PattyBoutik Women’s Cowl Neck Long Sleeve Knit Dress.)
I had ordered women’s brown tights and white leg warmers from Amazon as well, but the leg warmers were cream and the tights were dancer-leg brown, so neither of those worked. I decided to go with an old pair of brown tights I had even though I was originally thinking I wanted something thicker. They worked. (Left: Okapi legs.)
For the bottom of the legs and the forearms, I used little girls’ tights. I got size 12-14 for the legs and toddlers’ 2-4 for the arms. I cut the feet off (and hemmed them and sent them to Munchkinhead) and cut leg lengths suitable for their purposes. Then, I cut rings out of the rest of the leg. It worked really well.
For the bum stripes, I used the top of the toddlers’ tights because they had the cable-knit pattern all the way up to the top, unlike the girls’ tights, which had a sort of control-top looks-like-tightie-whities thing going on. I hand stitched the whole thing with big stitches in back so it’ll be easy to remove without snagging the dress. I sewed the bum stripes with the dress on my dress dummy to ensure everything would stretch correctly once on me. First, I sewed the top down on the full piece. Then, I cut one stripe, sewed it’s bottom and the top of the next. Then cut the next stripe, and so-on and so-on. (Right, above: Okapi bum stripes in progress.)
Lastly, I needed headwear. Mommy and I realized while looking at photos of okapis and the stuffed okapis in her zoo, that okapis have horns. I needed horns and ears.
Monday, September 14, 2015
It may have been the worst pattern I’ve ever seen, but it is one of my favorite skirts.
That’s the summary on the wrap skirt I made; my first fully-Bungalow project. I don’t remember if there was one on display, or just the picture on the pattern envelope, but whatever I saw looked cute and I went for it.
The wrap skirt is reversible. My goal was to make it something that would go with most of my blouses so that when I’d come home from work, I could take off my suit and have a house skirt to throw on over my slip instead of changing my whole outfit.
I chose black with medium-sized white polka-dots for one side and then looked around the store for another fabric for the reverse. I found a fun print with lions and India-looking circles and leaves. I thought the fabric was grey with black leaves (like it looks in the picture). It certainly looked that way in the store light, but when I got to Mommy’s, I discovered it’s actually beige with blue leaves. Blue and beige don’t really go with black and white. I tried to remedy this by picking a sash fabric that goes with both. I chose light grey and white chevrons, which I fear instead goes with neither side, but whatever. It works well enough.
The “pattern” was a sheet of paper with two parts of a trapezoid printed on top of each other. You can’t even cut them out separately and tape them together! You’re supposed to trace each part onto freezer paper and then tape the freezer paper together. On top of that, this pattern was designed by a quilter. That trapezoid doesn’t include any seam allowances! And, the instructions tell you to stitch half-inch seams. What nonsense is this?! I could have – should have – skipped buying the pattern and just drawn my own trapezoids on the fabric with chalk.
Being a garment sewer, I gave my skirt proper 5/8” seams when I made the skirt. I also had to lengthen it several inches as the “tea length” version barely came to my knees. Apparently this quilter is also quite short. She may also be a little on the chunky side as this “one-size-fit-most” pattern gets just small enough for my waist when the ties are pulled as tight as they go, and at 5/9” and 165, I’m not exactly tiny
Crazy pattern and instructions aside, the resulting skirt is quite cute. I don’t quite wear it the way it’s designed. The ties are super long so that the ends of your bow hang down almost to the bottom of the skirt. I prefer to wrap the ties all the way around my waist. That helps keep the skirt up.
Monday, September 7, 2015
They say Costa Rica is beautiful, and it is. But what they don’t tell you is the most beautiful part of Costa Rica cannot be seen. From the moment you step your first foot outside, it is there. Wrapping you, swirling around you from your ankles to your neck. The thick air. Draping over you, like a smooth cotton sheet, gliding over your shoulder and slowly dropping to the floor, brushing over every nerve, making even the tiniest hairs dance, warm as it touches you and cool as it glides away. Neither hot, nor cold. Dancing past you, over you, around you, tip-toeing across your back, whispering in your ear, sliding down your hair and tossing it free.
Sure, the scenery is gorgeous, too. Tall palm trees reaching high into the sky. Green fronds rippling before the stars, seeming to touch the tips of fluffy clouds whispering by. Bushy trees with their wide leaves and squat, spread canopies of cover.
Bromeliads peppering the ground, popping up among a group of ferns or grasses, piercing orange, hungry bromeliads. Banana trees, mango trees, papaya trees, fruits hanging low on heavy branches, plump and waiting for the last days of ripening. Birds soaring, perched on tree branches, spray-painting the sidewalk an unmistakable white. Green feathers that disappear into the magic decor that is “green season.” Black feathers, glistening like oil in beads of water splashed down their backs. Tiny birds of the most royal blue. And the chirps and peeps and the squawks. Oh, the squawks!
Or the people, the welcoming, sweet, pleasant people, who seem only to know happy, at least to strangers, and are considerate and courteous enough to somehow make a pattern of wild, narrow roads with few traffic signals work. Who greet you cheerily with a “Buenos Dias” or “Buenos Aires.” Who smile patiently as you try to mutter through very broken Spanish and who respond to ever “gracious” with an enthusiastic “mucho gusto!” These things are all wonderful, too.
But, to be still, to just be, wrapped in that blanket of air, is the most beautiful part of all.