An Adventure in Structured Knitting

I had to wonder if I’d made a bad decision.  We were only five minutes in and I was already thinking, “crap; this is going be one of those types of things.”  Whatever those is; does anyone ever know when they say that?  I’m not sure I knew, but it is what I was thinking.

This month, I started a new knitting class.  Actually, it’s my first ever knitting class.  The yarn and fabric store next to the office that I mentioned the other day offers knitting, quilting and other sewing classes.  Mommy’s gone to a few quilting ones and enjoyed them, so I thought I’d give a knitting one a try.

This class isn’t an entry-level class, but it’s still simple enough to be a good beginner’s program.  The idea is that each month we’ll learn a new knitting technique by using that technique in a single square, and at the end of a year we’ll put all the different squares together into a blanket.  We’re using a book called Building Blocks by Michelle Hunter. 

And we are following the book.  Rules.  Rules and me, we have a special relationship, one of those ones where you’re so close you know what the other means despite what they say.  The Rules say, “do this.”  And I say, “ok.”  And I know what the rules really mean is, “do something kinda like this that gets you a similar, better or good enough result.”  And the Rules know I mean, “I sort of will, but I’m totally going to experiment.”  And we’re all good.   Except other people, they don’t really get mine and Rules’ close special relationship.

The way this class started, I thought Rules and I were going to be beefing.  Everyone began casting on their project, except me.  The teacher had taken my yarn away.  No, I wasn’t trying to eat it.  I had bought one of those skeins were it’s not all put in a nice center-pull ballish shaped thing.  She said I couldn’t use it like that.  I usually do, until it gets super knotted and I pause to wind the rest of it into a ball.  So she took it away and had the store lady wind it into a cylinder on a machine.  Pout.

Once I had my yarn, I was ready start.  Cast-on here I come!  Except, the book said we had to do a long-tail cast-on.  Long-tail is the first cast-on I learned, and my least favorite.  Bigger pout.  I dislike it for a number of reasons, it’s hard to judge how much of a tail you’ll need so you can wind up having to start over multiple times or waste a lot of yarn with a big tail left over, my cast-on stitches tend to come out too tight and uneven, and I always forget how to do it.  But, the teacher said we were using this method for a reason and I was here to improve the knitting skills in my arsenal, so I peered over my neighbor’s shoulder and started casting on with a long tail.  It’s uneven. *shrug* Maybe next time will be better.

This particular square is a tweed pattern done completely in knits and purls.  By the time class ended, my square was more than half done.  I was very happy. One thing that worried me when signing up for the class was how much other knitting I’d be able to do.  Would the class project take up all my knitting time?  (I only spend so much time at church, watching football and sitting on public transit.)  Looks like I’ll be able to keep most of that knitting time for other mis-adventures.

The other thing that worried me about the class is what I’d find there.  I’d like to say I didn’t know what to expect, but honestly, it’s more that I had preconceived notions of little old Midwestern ladies with lots of medications and aches to talk about, and I was fearing I’d be right.  I was wrong. Yay!  There were seven of us, all ladies, spanning a good range of ages.  The class is taught by Mrs. Eileen Waldo who’s living the retired woman’s dream, hanging out in a yarn store, teaching classes and offering her fiber expertise to all those who need it.  Sadly, one of the other younger ladies decided she’s really more of a crocheter and won’t be back for this particular class.  She did sell her book to someone in the store, so we’ll at least have a new person.

I’m missing the next two classes because I’ll be out of town for both of them – opposite coasts.  But, I’m excited to rejoin the group in February.  …Unless I go on that Mission trip.  Then I’ll be back in March. … Unless that’s the weekend I’m supposed to be in Sacramento.  …Well, April, at the very least April.

My square at the end of the first class.

Be Careful What You Ask For

They say, “be careful what you ask for.”  Especially when asking God.  He’ll give it to you, and not always in the way you expect, or want.

I was sitting around, having one of those imaginary conversations in my head like I like to do, this one in English, explaining to some imaginary person about why I went into the Peace Corps.  It got me thinking about times God’s answered my prayers, and it made me think of one particular instance that always makes me laugh.

In the summer of 2007 (a year conspicuously missing from this blog), I did a 6-week study abroad summer program with Vandy in Venice, Italy.  Classes during the day, excursion trips here and there.  Very fun.  There was a large group of us, I’d guess around 20 something, in the program.  We all booked our own flights and found our own housing arrangements.  I shared a flat with a delightful couple and another friend.  It was wonderful.  Photo above: our group at a winery tour.

In this group was one particular classmate that had driven a lot of us nuts throughout our first year of classes.  And now, here he was again, in our very small and always together summer program class.  Ugh.

As the weeks of class went on, I found myself being rather mean.  Probably not to his face - though I honestly can’t claim that for sure – but, definitely snide in conversations with my friends where we’d talk about how obnoxious he was and how much he annoyed us.

I didn’t like this me.  I don’t like being mean, and I don’t want to be a mean person.  So at night, when I’d get ready for bed, I’d tack on to my prayers a request for patience and for me to be nicer to him.

I don’t know what I expected.  To gradually just start having more patience?  To magically become nicer without any work on my part?  For him to become less obnoxious or annoy me less so I’d be nicer?  It doesn’t work like that.  No, not at all.

As the program wound down, we were all excited to head back and start our first summer legal internships.  I was also relieved to be getting away from the group, and particularly that guy.

We were pretty much all leaving on different days, depending on people’s schedules for their internships, extra tourism plans and whatnot.  As I mentioned above, we all booked our own flights.  On my departure day, I headed to the airport to fly home.  I boarded my flight, this giant jumbo jet to go across the ocean, and who’s sitting in the seat next to mine?  That guy from my class.

Me and that guy from my class for the next 7 or so hours, with only each other for company, in a sealed metal tube hurling above the ocean.  “God, this is not what I meant!”

It turned out to be a great flight.  He’s not truly obnoxious, just highly energetic and genuine in a way that’s so unusual it can come off as fake if you’re too full of your own thoughts to pay attention.  We had a wonderful time and by the time that plane landed, I considered him a friend.

It makes me laugh because I never would have prayed “God, please let me be trapped next to this guy for 7 or 8 hours so I can learn to like him.”  But that’s exactly how I found myself being nice to him, and I then didn’t need the patience I’d asked for either.

If I Can’t Be a Housewife, I’m at least Dressing like One

“Mommy, Betty White’s wearing my dress!”  I exclaimed into the phone.  I’d been watching Life with Elizabeth on the Roku’s Pop Films Classic TV channel.  - I love that show; Betty White in 1954, amazing.  Anyway…  Just a few weeks earlier I had finished this fabulous new dress and here was Betty White, 60 years ago, wearing a dress of the exact same cut.  I was thrilled.

I found the fabric first.  In the new knitting and quilting shop that opened up next door to the office.  Danger Will Robinson, DANGER!!!!  I can’t remember what I’d actually gone in there for.  Perhaps to finally see it.  The building had been built my great-grandfather as his store front and home when he was a Roundy’s salesman, well before being elected to the judiciary.  Unlike all the other buildings he built, I’d never been in it.  The ladies at Bungalow Quilting & Yarn have done a great job incorporating the original feel of the building into their shop.  It was while I was admiring this that I also found myself admiring some fabulous fabric. 

Pattern-colored, with pattern instructions and images sprawling across the fabric.  A nice, soft, light cotton.  This place isn’t your standard big box discount store, so I gathered together some resolve and left the store without it.  Then I got a coupon in my email a few weeks later.  I knew exactly what I wanted.

“What are you going to make with it?”  “I want to make a dress, use this for the bodice.”  The lady looked at me skeptically.  “Let us know how that turns out.”  I can’t blame her.  I’m sure “dress!” is not the first thing that comes to most people’s minds upon seeing that fabric.  But then, I never claim to be most people.

Mommy and I took the fabric and headed to JoAnn’s to find a suitable pattern and a coordinating fabric for the skirt.  At first, I was thinking maybe a pattern similar to the one that’s depicted on the fabric, but honestly, that style doesn’t work well on my jumbo-muscle thighs.  Instead, I picked out a fabulous Retro Butterick pattern from 1950, B6055.  We perused the general cottons, blends and quilting fabrics looking for something that would go well with one of the colors in the bodice fabric and me.  Mommy found the most delightful and perfect fabric, mint with large white polka dots!

I’m sort of notorious for messing with patterns.  Altering the sizes, the style, the embellishments.  This time, the only alteration I made was to leave off the pockets.  They looked as though they’d be an awful temptation for creating cell-phone destruction through gravity. 

I suppose I can’t really claim no pockets as the only change since I also slightly modified the belt.  The belt called for a 1” buckle.  We couldn’t find a 1” buckle at JoAnn’s or in Mommy’s stash, so I improvised.  Instead, I put two  button holes in the belt, one at each end, and secured it with a large cuff link.  I love it!  It looks awesome and the cuff link seems to keep the belt from spinning around my waist.   The belt currently isn’t size adjustable, but if I ever need it to be, I can just add another button hole at either end.  I also made the belt double-sided so it can match either the bodice or the skirt.

Oh, and I also added a skirt lining.  I guess I messed with the pattern more than I realized at the time. The polka dot fabric is pretty thin, so I added a slip-style lining with natural-colored muslin from my large bolt.  Basically, I cut the skirt out of both fabrics, assembled the lining and skirt separate, basted them at the waist with wrong sides together and sewed the bodice to the whole skirt unit. 

After wearing the dress, I also wish I’d have lined the whole bodice in the polka dots instead of just doing the collar with facing like the pattern says.  Then I would be able to turn up my sleeves and have little polka dot cuffs.  I may go back and add some false cuffs to it.

I love the dress.  I love how it turned out.  I love that it fits me pretty much perfectly.  And I really, really love, that I just happened to already have shoes in the exact right color and style.  It also goes great with mouse ears and pearls.

LA Should be Beautiful This Time of Year, All that Snow

We were standing next to the empty tracks shivering, Munchkinhead and me.  “Which sleeping car is it like?”  She asked me through chattering teeth.  “The second one,”  I replied bouncing up and down to stay warm.  We laughed.  No one had mentioned White Christmas, but I knew exactly what she was referencing, what she was asking about.  We’re sisters; we work like that.    At MKA Amtrak Station after Mommy dropped us off.

It was the start of our great #Schultzsters Adventure, a hashtag created for us by the darling Meg&Jack who rather adorably assumed we already called ourselves that.  We do now. 

The dates had been announced nearly a year ago.  The next California State Bar Intellectual Property Section Annual Intellectual Property Institute would be held on November 6th and 7th.  Our Executive Committee meeting would be held the day before that, on the 5th, exactly one day after Munchkinhead’s birthday.  When the location was announced, there was only one idea in my head.  The Orange County Hyatt at Disneyland.  “Hey Munchkinhead, wanna go to Disneyland for your birthday?”

Before long, we had a sleeper car room reserved on the Southwest Chief, going from Chicago through Kansas City to Los Angeles.  Through Kansas City?!  A little bit longer and lot bit prodding later, Alfred had a ticket to join us.  And we were off!

Munchkinhead and I started in Milwaukee on the Hiawatha and switched trains in Chicago.  Thanks to our sleeper car – and thanks to Amtrak’s fabulous reward miles program for that free sleeper! – we got to hang out in the fancy lounge where we giggled with anticipation as we ate peanut butter sandwiches out of a Victoria’s Secret bag.  Ah, lunch on the road.

We left Chicago just before 4pm and by 10ish, were in Kansas City, eagerly running around the platform looking for Alfred.  When she and Munchkinhead spotted each other on the platform, there was running from both directions and a giant group hug in the middle of the main walkway.  And chatter.  So much chatter.  Alfred slept in coach that first night and we traded the next night so she could have a bed, though I heard Munchkinhead made her climb into the upper berth.   Munchkinhead in our Sleeper Car, excited for the adventure.

 Schultzsters

We hung out together in our room and in the observation car, knitting, cross-stitching and watching the landscape run past.  At smoking breaks, where the train stops for longer amounts at a station and the passengers can detrain for a bit, we drank in fresh air, took pictures with the station signs and stood together singing “Snow. Snow. Snow. Snow. Snow!”  Apparently we were all trying to be Judy.

Me and Alfred in Albuquerque

Munchkinhead in San Bernadino

By the time we reached our final destination of Fullerton, CA, I think we were rather infamous among the train passengers.  Munchkinhead had been wearing her special Birthday Star plastic canvas crown around the train, especially to meals.  People not only wished her happy birthday when she had it on, they wished her happy birthday or asked if she was the birthday girl when she wasn’t wearing it.  The people near Alfred’s coach seat knew about our adventure and were very nice when I swapped places with her.  And then there was that thing with my phone.  It slid off the seat into a narrow crevice between the seat frame and the shelf/stairs for the upper bed.  It took two guys 20 minutes, a knife, a folded paper bag and a crowbar to retrieve it.  I’m still rather amazed they managed to do it.

We had a fabulous time riding the train together.  The trip seemed super short.  We’ll have to find somewhere to go together that takes longer to get to, and maybe to somewhere that actually has snow.

It’s Cold Outside…

You’re either now singing a Christmas tune or the theme song from Red Dwarf.  Me, I’m doing the later while dancing in my fabulous new pink flannel jammies! 

It seemed like a very silly project to be doing in August, but in Wisconsin, August quickly gives way to chilly fall nights.  Mommy and I found the pink checked flannel on a trip to JoAnn’s.  Since my two pairs of jammies – both satin jammies from Vickie’s – are falling apart after years of year-round wear in the Bay Area, I thought it’d be nice to have a new set.

The pattern wasn’t too hard and there was a surprising amount of room for creativity and fun because we didn’t purchase any piping.  Instead, we raided Mommy’s boxes of piping packets collected by various grandmothers and such over the past 50ish years.  We did the same for the buttons in the time capsule of button tins.

The pajamas have piping on the sleeve and leg faux cuffs, along the collar edge, down the front opening and on the pockets.  There wasn’t enough of any one piping to do everything, so I mixed and matched.  The legs and arms have black.  The pockets have pink.  The front opening has a fun bright robin's egg blue and the collar has a slightly peachier pink.

I don’t remember how many buttons it was supposed to have, but we found three big, flat pink buttons so Mommy put 3 button holes in the placket.  I sewed the buttons on.

Personally, I think the jammies turned  out really cute.  And they’re so warm.  Perfect for snuggling down into bed on a chilly night.

Pattern: Simplicity 2371, same as Monkey pants I made for Mr. Trizzle; Currently available for sale here.

Ivory’s Adventures in Canada: Banff

It’s like the Dells meets the Pacific Northwest.  Tiny little tourist shops stocked to the gills will all sorts of silliness, surrounded by  pine forests, towering mountains and valleys of rushing water.  Banff.

Jack’s a huge fan of Banff, so of course we had to visit.  I can see why.  It’s like his own home town bit of paradise.  The area is extremely beautiful.  The vibrant colors energize your soul.  Pale green grass with a touch of tan peeking through from the dry dirt below gives way into deep green pine trees covering the mountainsides like tightly packed brillo pads.  Near the peaks, a special type of pine tree that turns gold in the autumn shimmers as though Midas himself has climbed every one.  Jutting above, the grey mountain tops loom as shadows against the bright blue sky.

There’s a particular mountain you can climb, Sulfur Mountain.  It reminded me of Table Mountain in Cape Town, the way you can ride a gondola up it and how the top is set aside for tourists regardless of their physical prowess.  We didn’t climb this one.  I’d have liked to, and I bet we could have if we’d had more time.  The path was a little clearer and more subdued than the trek up Table Mountain.  Instead, we took the gondola up, gliding high up above the trees.  At the top, we hiked around the paths and over to a neighboring peak where we climbed up to an old cosmic ray station that now serves as a sort of mini-museum display.  It was pretty neat.

Me and Jack atop Sulfur Mountain

We also explored nature back down in the valley, walking along a rushing river, watching a wedding party take photos on a beach downstream.  There were people everywhere, yet somehow the place still felt secluded.  I guess tall pine trees will do that.

The day’s adventures also featured browsing many of those trinket-filled stores, picking up a few nifty things here and there, including giant footed, onsie pajamas for me!  Yup, for gigantic tall me.  Canada certainly does some things right.

  In the evening, we toured this huge castle-looking hotel.  It was enormous.  I felt like a princess walking through the tall, dimly-lit halls, the flame-shaped light bulbs reflecting in mirrors along the corridor.

Windows reached from the floor to high above my head, giving spectacular views of the starry night sky.  In the old reception area, a crackling fireplace warmed guests at medival looking tables while the craziest taxidermist moose I’ve ever seen lolled down from an inset in an arched door frame.  And there are some things Canada does … strangely.

I’m very glad we got to spend the day exploring the area, both inside and outside.

Standing on one of the lookout areas near the old Cosmic Ray station; the town of Banff down below in the valley

(Of course I wore my hiking boots, why would you even think otherwise?)

Shaina’s Scarf

I like to have a fiber project in my purse.  Something small to work on when waiting, sitting with friends or generally lolling around in a situation where I might otherwise get myself into trouble.  During a trip to DC for Mzzzz Jones’ baby shower, I was working on my sparkly purple stockings. 

Mzzzz Jones commented that she liked the yarn very much and would love a scarf made out of it.  I’d gotten the yarn on clearance at JoAnn’s and only had one more skein or so left.  It would have to be a very lacey scarf to be of any decent length with that little yarn.  She said that was fine.  So I went for it.  It turned out gorgeous (if I do say so myself, though Mzzzz Jones also said she loves it).

I decided to do a fairly basic knit pattern but with large needles in order to give the scarf lots of space and a sort of lacey feel.  The yarn calls for size 2 needles; I used size 15, the largest bamboo needles I had.      Scarf in progress.

I tried a garter stitch at first, to get an idea of what it would look like.  It was underwhelming.  Then I tried a one-stitch wide rib.  That worked fabulously.  It gave the scarf a very symmetrical look; there’s no front or back.  The ribbing also gave the scarf depth, making it appear and feel very thick despite the thin yarn and loose stitches.  And best of all, it made the scarf extremely bouncy and stretchy.  Baby J can pull on it all he wants and not strangle Mzzzz Jones.

 

yarn: Vanna’s Glamour by Lion Brand in Purple Topaz; listed for size 2; 96% acrylic and 4% metallic polyester

Needles: Takumi bamboo straight needles size 15

Ivory’s Adventures in Canada: 5 pin bowling

In early fall, I took an unusual sort of trip for me, a straight up vacation.  No conference, no coffee meetings, just a visit to my friend Jack.  We had a lot of fabulous adventures full of many, many new-to-me things.  Canadians sure do things goofy!

 

One of those goofy adventures was 5 pin bowling.  I’ve done plenty of bowling.  Heck, I even have a bowling skirt.  But, I’d never done 5 pin bowling before.  The pins are the same, except it’s only the front ones.  The balls are different.  They’re about the size of a softball and rather light compared to a full size bowling ball.  There’s less pin action because the pins are on strings, like puppets, for resetting.

The play and scoring are a little different, too.  You get 3 chances instead of 2 and pins are worth different points depending on where they are.  The head pin is 5, the next two out are 3 and the end two are 2 each.  There’s still strikes and spares and they work essentially the same.  There’s no bonus for taking 3 balls to knock down all the pins.  The max score per frame is 30.  I have no idea what a decent game score is.  All I know is, I beat Jack both games.  Hee hee.

My first couple rolls were terrible because I tried rolling the mini ball like I do my regular ball, straight down the lane.  That didn’t work because that roll relies on the size of the ball and closeness of the pins to knock things into other things.  Then I tried throwing it with a hook using the movements Mr. Trizzle had taught me for a curve roll.  It worked beautifully.

It was a lot of fun.  I kinda wish we had 5 pin bowling down here.

5 pin bowling in action

Africa in the Middle of Wisconsin

I turned off the D’banj song and exited my car.  “Baby girl….” D’banj’s lyrics kept going in my head, “I love the way you make your body twerk…”  I stepped into the lobby and was greeted by a 6ft tall cast iron elephant, palm trees and thatched roofed kiosks.  This place is called Kalahari, but the Africaness of its environment hadn’t really clicked as a possibility.  “Oh dear.  What have I gotten myself into?”

The key card clicked in the door, but I hesitated before turning the handle, unsure what I’d find inside.  Every place I roamed in the resort, every first encounter with a new area, a new wall, a new menu, was filled with hesitation.  The Kalahari is simultaneously disappointedly what you’d expect of an African-themed hotel in the middle of Wisconsin and surprisingly delightful.

My room looked like any other hotel room, save for the two framed West African masks hanging near the balcony door.  The hallway outside had also been almost non-descript, save for the wood poles strung overhead like a strange dropped ceiling.  I decided to venture out and take a look around.

A long skywalk connected the building where my room was to the main building with conference center, lobby and waterpark.  A detailed mural stretched the full length.  It, like the rest of the hotel, was a combination of “that’s awesome” and “what the?!”  The mural began with a map of Africa.  Missing South Sudan, but otherwise pretty decent.  And a little did you know blurb.  For example, did you know that Africa is almost completely surrounded by water?  Maybe because, oh I don’t know, it’s a CONTINENT?!

A sort series of blurbs, almost tweet-like in their brevity give a small glimpse into a handful of tribes.  Beyond the Intro to Africa section, a trail of Adinkra symbols from the Ashanti culture interspersed with ads for area restaurants and attractions leads you across the skywalk.  “Compassion & Protection are represented in this symbol of a person who teaches another person with patience.”  “CARNIVAL CAFE 24 LANES OF BOWLING, LIFE SIZE BASKETBALL, FOOTBALL AND HOCKEY!” “Humility . Readiness to learn and to develop wisdom are signaled with this Adinkra symbol.”  “TOMMY BARTLETT” “Consideration & Tenderness are represented in this Adinkra symbol of a stylized comb.” 

One particular ad caught my eye, for the Ivory Coast restaurant, located somewhere within the hotel.  I wanted to find that restaurant.  A small, likely foolish, part of me thought it possible that the Ivory Coast restaurant might have African food.

As I explored, I found the entire resort complex was filled with art, both African-inspired and authentic African pieces.  Yoruba masks, Kente cloth, bead works, wood carvings, wax prints; you name it, they had something.  Each hallway was a new adventure.

In the evening, after the State Bar of Wisconsin programming was over (you didn’t think I just upped and went to the Kalahari cuz I missed Africa, did you?), I had a chance to explore the water park.  I felt a little odd walking through these art-decked hallways with my citenge wrapped around my swimsuit.  I always pack a citenge when I travel, but if I had known the hotel would be such a mix of Africa and African stereotypes, I wouldn’t have packed the one with the Zambian village scene on it.  I half expected someone to stop me and ask which hotel gift store I got it at.

The water slides were a lot of fun, despite leaving my muscles aching from the thrashing about. And I did eventually find that Ivory Coast restaurant.  There wasn’t a single African thing on the menu, not even some fried plantains.  At least the fun on the water slides and my delight at a real squat rack and bench in the fitness room almost made up for the disappointment on the food front.

Old Fabric, Old Pattern, New Skirt

Over the years, I’ve collected a bit of a stash of fabric.  Nothing, I mean nothing compared to what Mommy’s got, but still enough where I feel like I ought to be doing something with it.  One of my favorite things to do with stash fabric – whether mine or Mommy’s – is look through old patterns around either of our houses to see if I can find something good.  And that’s exactly what I did.

I had a delightful grey suiting fabric.  Light weight but rather decent quality.  I’ve been having the most miserable time finding good business clothes that fit me, so I thought I’d make a skirt for work.  I dug through Mommy’s patterns and found an old 1982 skirt pattern that she’d used to make a skirt for her Mommy.  Thank goodness!  That meant it wasn’t her teeny-tiny pre-kids size.  I had a shot at this working.

The pattern was old-school size 12, with a 26 1/2” waist.  That’s still a little smaller than mine, but not by too much.  I utilized resizing tactics that I learned in a book that is currently at her house where you add inches to the sides by pivoting the pattern piece out from an anchor at the center top. I added a bit to the waist and a bit to the hips. 

I also sort of added down the sides by carrying the expanded line most of the way down the pattern.  I should not have done that.  It would have worked better to blend the extended line into the existing pattern.  The skirt’s a bit wide at the knees.

The hardest part turned out to be the pleats.  I was so proud of myself.  They turned out absolutely gorgeous the first time, with amazingly straight top stitching.  I was so excited, I ran down to the kitchen where Mommy was cooking dinner so I could show her, only to realize I’d put them on the wrong side of the fabric.  Mommy always says, “as ye sew, so shall ye rip.”  I ripped.  Boy did I rip.  It took a long time to get those pleats right.  Let’s just say, third time’s the charm.

The pattern didn’t have a lining, but I like my skirts lined.  So, I found a bolt of black lining fabric in Mommy’s closet – I think it’s left from Alfred’s bridesmaid dresses.  I used the quasi-assembled skirt as a guide and cut a front and 2 back pieces.  I stitched the side seams all the way and the back seam up to about the bottom of the zipper on the skirt.  Then, I basted the lining to the skirt and stitched the waistband to both.  It worked well.

  For the zipper, we dug around in Mommy’s zipper drawer until we found something that was close to the called for size.  It’s a fabulous old metal zipper on black zipper tape with a wide zipper pull.  Gives some great edginess to the rather classic-styled skirt.

In the end, it may not be perfect, but I have a nice dress skirt that fits me pretty darn well and works nicely with my existing wardrobe.  (But not necessarily the part of my wardrobe that I was wearing the day I finished it.)

Pattern: Simplicity 5749 (old school)

Which Country am I in?

A Cali trip a month keeps the… oh, I don’t know what, probably keeps me insane.

In August, I flew down to San Diego to attend and present at the State Bar of California’s Annual Meeting.  As a speaker, I could get one complimentary room at the conference hotel, the beautiful downtown expensive fancy hotel on the water.  Not really wanting to stay there for the other 3 nights and feeling the State Bar keeping the couple hundred bucks was better than me moving back and forth during the week, I booked a room for myself at a nearby, less fancy hotel.

I knew it was fairly bare bones.  The room I booked was billed as “twin bed, no tv.”  But hey, I lived in a mud hut, I don’t need much.  Plus, all 4 nights at this place were the same as one night at the conference hotel.  I figured it’d be good enough.

And it was, for me.  But see the thing is, I had told Mr. Trizzle, “hey, if you want to come to this conference too, I already have a room.  Just let me know and I’ll change my reservation to a room for two people instead of one.”  Mr. Trizzle took me up on the offer and I upgraded to a room with a full size bed.

Thanks to some Southwest malarkey in Vegas, my flight was delayed.  Thank goodness it was!  Mr. Trizzle got to the hotel an hour before me and had some time to calm down before I got there.

You see this “hotel,” which was billed as “the oldest hotel in San Diego,” used to be a YMCA.  Basically, a homeless shelter.  We were on the fourth floor, up a beautiful grand staircase and then some extra flights of fire stairs.  Only one of the two elevators was working and it was so slow that I generally opted for the stairs.  There was a delightful patio area on the first floor and a full service kitchen severely lacking in any sort of cookware or dishes.

The room was about the size of a single dorm room.  The full size bed, which was pushed as far into the corner as it could with the radiator pipes sticking out under the window, left about 3 feet of room on one side and 3 feet at the foot.  There was no headboard or footboard.  On the side of the bed, most of the space was taken up by a large wooden wardrobe.  At the foot of the bed, most of the space was taken up by a small desk.  There was no chair.  There was no room for a chair.  There was free wifi. :)

The walls were cement, with an accent wall painted a sort of faded lime green.  The floors were covered in dark carpeting.  There was no air conditioning, but the large wooden window opened wide to reveal a screen-less bastion of airflow.  A ceiling fan hung above the bed.

The bathrooms were down the hall aways.  Quite a good number of them for the number of rooms on the floor.  And they weren’t shared bathrooms like at a hostel.  They were individual self-contained rooms with shower and toilet facilities, and there was soap, body wash and toilet paper provided in them.

I loved it!  With the hot humid air heaving in through the open window, the sounds of traffic below and the general surroundings, I felt like I was back in Africa.  And I was impressed that walking around on the carpeting barefoot didn’t turn my feet black.

Mr. Trizzle was less impressed, but he impressed me further by managing it alright for the full 4 nights, despite pining for a lotion bar and a hot in-room shower that did not have flies hanging out on the shower walls.  We went to CVS the first afternoon there and picked up some almost-fitting flip flops off the end of summer clearance rack for the showers.  That helped a lot.  And I put myself in charge of quietly killing any cockroaches I saw.  That would have been more helpful if he hadn’t seen one or two on his own.  They were so tiny compared to the ones in a Zambian pit latrine.

We were pretty well located, a beautiful walk to the conference hotel and an easy walk to the gaslight district restaurants.  I would definitely stay there again if I were to go back to San Diego.  Mr. Trizzle, probably less likely.