A Little Homework

Garage after things moved out. Lots of work still to do.

 

Living with other people would be simpler if only we didn't come with so much STUFF! I gave away 18 car loads of things before moving my mother from Texas to Ohio 5 years ago.  My house went from slightly under furnished to bursting at the seams.

Our fabric stashes, her vintage quilts, her lace collection, furniture from her garage that I grew up with and wanted to keep, boxes of photos she inherited from sisters, my modern doll collection (I collected nothing older than hard plastic until one day I decided I'd rather have pictures of dolls than dolls), her pottery collection, my books -- they all vied for space and all lost. 

My mother took two cats and an assortment of possessions with her to Texas last week and left stacks of things to be taken to Goodwill, and  now I've  got space! I can see my floors! I can CLEAN my floors easily, without moving things in puzzle formation. I can and do mop and remop some areas that probably didn't get cleaned more than twice in 5 years. I've got the space to overturn chairs and get a good adhesion with the nylon sliders. Hey, this is a big deal for me!

In the formerly crammed to the rafters garage, I can move a couple of boxes, and sand a bookcase or a night table. When I had no time and no space, I occasionally bought a can of spray paint in an intriguing color: dusty grape, French rose, teal blue.  Now I wonder why I stopped at one can, because a can of paint will cover a wooden chair or an end table, but a 3 x 4 foot bookcase takes 2 cans.

Why spray paint for bookcases? Because it dries quickly. Regular latex paint takes 3 weeks to cure hard enough that  books won't stick to the paint. The first time I heard this horrible fact, I didn't believe it. I also didn't believe that someone would endure 3 weeks without books just to have bookcases painted in a color, and 3 more weeks after they covered the latex with clear polyurethane.

I have hopes of moving my books (My name is Mimi, and I am a bookaholic) from boxes in the basement to bookcases on the first floor. Some people can read a book just once and never go back to it. If it is truly satisfying, I hang onto it because there will come a day when I NEED a very good book, as opposed to a competent book or a collection of words masquerading as a book.

 

Discovery: Krylon's idea of plum is actually screaming roaring Dayglo purple. My idea of plum is a black with purple overtones. Discovery: Kilz primer in a can comes out as lumpy foam no matter how long  and how often you shake the can. It dries quickly and requires oodles of sanding.  Discovery: the can for 5-year old Behr paint holds up well but does not protect the contents.  The paint inside is a hockey puck. Discovery: the can for 6 year old Valspar rots around the rim. After opening the paint and stirring it up, I must use it on everything because that can is never closing again. Never ever.

Country White is everywhere, on a formerly depressingly dark bookcase, on a putridly pastel green bookcase, on a desk rescued from an alley and given with new legs. There's no shine at all, but it's a thick paint that covers well. Every brushstroke shows, but wet/dry sandpaper and a lot of elbow grease will smooth the paint. I am contemplating spraying on a polyurethane for a small gloss, simply because glossy paint doesn't seem to attract and keep as much dust. I'm sure there are learned studies somewhere on dust adhesion and paint surfaces, but I have not consulted them.

Some of the pieces I've been sanding, scraping, refinishing, reeling in horror from.

Relearning -- sewing for myself

After 25 years in which the only sewing for humans was mending, I am seriously sewing-impaired. I have distant memories of being able to cut a patterns and sew the item within hours. 

In the early days of my return to sewing for people, I created neatly sewn items for small, young relatives. This didn't help me adjust to my larger size. Then, threads were trimmed and facings were neatly in place. Now I sew with basting stitches and slash and whack with abandon, more or less creating my garment as I go along. The result is clothing that fits, but don't look at the seams. And don't look in my trashcan, because there are far too many broken needles scattered among the shreds of thread, tissue paper and fabric. Oh, don't look too closely that the clothing either, because threads dangle and there may be a pin somewhere.

I'm averaging 1.2 needles per zipper. If I remember to change the needle position in time, then I hit the metal glide stops. It is possible that with care and attention to detail, I will move beyond my current role of Doom to Sewing  Needles. It is possible that if I follow the instructions in the zipper package enough, they will begin to make sense. It is also possible that I will go back to hand basting every zipper the way I used to when I was 12.

I should not complain. If you don't ride bicycles for 25 years, it takes awhile to get your balance. I can't expect to sew nicely for myself after 25 years of sewing only for dolls. Dolls are one fifth my height, and made of plastic. They don't complain about fit. They have yet to demand that I use  invisible zippers. We won't even talk about comparative weight.

My expectations are out of whack. I want my home sewn creations to fit better than store bought.  I've achieved that. But I also want them to be free of dangling threads, and I want all the thread snarls to be invisible. This is not going to happen, because often I get entranced by a fabric and want to use it regardless. My gauze shorts have more seams than they ought to, and each seam is double sewn and zigzagged.  My Eddie Bauer wrap skirt became shorts, and yes, there are pieces left over, but Oh, it was close. I had to piece the rear. Well, I won't see the rear when I'm wearing the shorts, and they do feel good.

I know I ought to fold and pin and use the machine hemstitch on hems for my shorts. Instead I  folded and topstitched. Twice.

I wanted a waistband that would accommodate  normal expansion when I sit. It does. It stands out around me when I stand, though, and must be hidden under shirts and  blouses. The jury is not in on whether a comfortable waistband that looks like hell is better than a waistband that looks good as it strangles one.

My pockets are patch pockets that I don't even cut out until the side seams work properly. Someday this will bother me.

What bothers me at the moment is that it took a revolution for me to get back to sewing for myself, as if sewing for myself were somehow selfish. In fact, it is necessary. The feeling of accomplishment that comes from finally getting something to fit is good for my soul. I may be a better human being because I have a visible result. I am a happier one, now that I no longer have to settle for the least offensive commercially manufactured clothing.

Wedding Guest as Sofa Cushion

I created the perfect outfit for a  garden wedding: flowing floral skirt, blouse whose print matched a flower in the skirt print, buttons the shape of the flower.  I created it for someone who is roughly six inches taller than I am. I discovered this when I tried it on in front of a mirror.

The first set of culottes was more like gauchos, and I abandoned patterns of my own drafting for a more skirt-like commercial pattern, which turned out to be skirt like only in front. I redrafted the back to be skirt-like and was thrilled with it until I paired it with the blouse, which works very well with the gaucho silhouette and not at all with the skirt. At least not on me. The blouse looks fine with the gauchos but as casual attire, not as anything to wear to a wedding.

I contemplated adding poufy sleeves, so my blouse would more closely resembled the one the pattern front paired with its culottes. I drafted a sleeve pattern on tissue, folded and pinned it, slid it on, and abandoned the entire concept. 

It was now the day before the wedding. I could hem the trial dress of my dreams and wear it. Wear a dress made from upholstery fabric? Wear a dress whose fitting errors were quite visible?  In the end, that's what I did, because the colors are nice and the shape is good. While we were out in the heat and humidity, it was fine. Indoors, in air conditioning, I wished I had worn chinos and a tshirt. 

Upholstery fabric rendered as dress. Yes, I wore this to a wedding.

Two Weeks To Go

Dress of my dreams

The wedding is 2 weeks away. I have made  three successful muslins, and two that needed modifications. The A-line dress works but bores me. I made it with a lower oval neckline and have an urgent desire to fill in the neck. I've gotten the modified nomad dress pattern to fit, but that's it. The high waisted dress with neck and sleeve band, the dress of my dreams, hangs in the closet with its zipper half sewn. 

I have abandoned  the entire idea of wearing a dress. A heat wave encouraged me to think along the lines of shorts, gauze pants, and culottes. It encouraged me to think of clothing made from ice cubes and battery operated fans, if you want to be picky about it. Divided skirts and culottes are probably  more socially acceptable than  ice coatings.

5 yd. culotte

2 1/2 yd. culotte

Using my tried and true shorts pattern -- the pattern that works up  differently in every fabric, so it is always new to me but eventually fits -- I devised a divided skirt pattern and sewed it in a striped twill. Looks fine in front but is too skimpy from the rear. I tested my less than satisfactory pattern up against a Butterick pattern that promises to be more skirt like. I think I may even add more flare, making it more like the Simplicity culotte, but using fewer than 5 yards of fabric. The purpose of the culottes is comfort, not creating scandal.

Eighties fashion was bizarre and oversized, but I do like those puffy sleeved jacket/blouses paired with floaty culotte skirts. I love the combination of a fitted waist and loose sleeves. It goes with my belief that in summer, clothing should touch on the shoulders and nowhere else. My 2nd hand pattern has everything but the sleeve piece. I'm not worried. I can draft my own sleeve, but I probably have a sleeve pattern somewhere that will work. 

What is the ideal summer blouse? Tshirts collect sweat and cling stickily. Gauze shirts come in such horrible colors. Muumuu tops and baby dolls are cool but they sure don't fit my idea of wedding attire. Camp shirts  do touch on the shoulders and nowhere else, but they have collars that collect sweat. Urk. 

What about a shirt with no collar, an elongated shoulder line, and a waist shaped by long tucks? This has possibilities. It sounds almost 1940's-ish. Looks that way too. Yes, there is a definite air of movie star about this shape.Either the red (no lapels) or the yellow ( lapels).

Progress

Those Hawaiian missionaries had a good idea with muumuus. They touch on the shoulders and nowhere else, the perfect clothing for days when the humidity is high and there's no rain except your own sweat.

We're in a heat wave. I found myself wanting to wear my nightgown all day long, so I hauled out  the  Pretty Blouse pattern by  Amanda  from the Modern Marigold blog 

for its second use. The first time I lengthened the straps and made the yoke wider for use as a nightgown.  The verdict is that long straps are good, wider yoke, never again. Sorry, no photo of my work, but follow the link. The designer's work is wonderful.

This is a dandy pattern. Even with dithering, it is no more than 2 hours from  deciding to make a blouse to wearing it. Next time, the straps will be 3/4 of an inch longer, and instead of lining the bodice, I will use bias tape. In fact, I may deconstruct the blouse in order to use bias tape.

Shorts

Thanks to the good example set by bloggers with my figure who took pictures of their struggles, then added a back yoke when a pants pattern didn't work out,  I have a wearable pair of shorts from a commercial pattern. The fabric is a magenta striped sheet that had been holed once too often by cats. The weave is so dense that getting pins to go through was almost Mission Impossible, so I'm not sure how the cats managed. The back yoke is not very deep and needed inches removed from its middle. For the future, I added tissue to the pattern. Before I traced it off in shorts length, it had been a pants pattern.

Through trial and error and stubbornness, I managed to turn a pair of too tight gauzy pants (formerly Gap) into a pair of loose shorts. They were one-seam low-waisted jobbies with a drawstring. At first I thought I would just add another gauze to the sides, and had sliced the legs. Then the heat and sanity got to me, and I chopped off the legs to shorts length and  used the chopped bits to widen here and lengthen there. I love the stripes of my new shorts, which are less low-waisted and have non-roll elastic.

I have come to the conclusion that sewing pants is like writing -- it's all in the redoing.

Onward. I'm using the altered pattern from the loud striped shorts as I chop up a wraparound skirt and try to turn it into shorts. Why bother? The skirt is linen, which is cool in hotter than the hinges weather. I'll have to piece the fabric,  but I love it. I was about to toss the skirt into the Goodwill bag when it occurred to me that I might be able to make shorts from it... and I desperately need shorts.

If You Would Like To Sing

Maybe it's the odd pairing of  New Orleans of the 20's & 30's and NYC of the 80's for Paula Vogel's The Oldest Profession. Maybe it's a line in the audition notes: "If you would like to sing, you should have 16 bars of something prepared to sing. "

Off I went, imagining a playlist of contemporary and vintage songs. Kiss & Say Goodbye by the McGarrigles is a heavy favorite. Jimmie Rodgers' Any Old Time is a close second. What do you mean, if I would like to sing. I'm always ready to sing. Try and stop me.

In any case, since the Dayton Theatre Guild first mentioned its plan to stage The Oldest Profession, I found myself thinking about it at odd moments. The director included a link to a site featuring actresses over 60, presumably so those under 60 will know how to age themselves. It's no surprise that a lot of these actresses got better looking with age. It's a little hard to imagine these actresses as aged prostitutes whose beaus have all died off.

It's also hard to imagine 1920's clothing as sexy. Yes, I know the term "cocktail dress" came into being in the 20's. But  the women were covered from ankle to neck in mostly straight swaths of fabric. Shapelessness was in vogue. How is that sexy? Beaded tulle over satin was lovely, but it tends drip beads and silk shatters and rots, so there isn't a whole lot left and what there is would not be suitable for heavy use. Before I read the play but after looking at images of one of the productions, I thought perhaps that 30's clothing would do, and this provided a theme for recreational shopping at thrift stores. I've ended up with brighter summer clothing than usual.

I've discovered that not all shoes with high heels are instant pain, but also that no one my size gets rid of  wearable high heels. (What? You thought I'd dash out and buy a pair of spikes from an actual shoe store? My recreational shopping destination is secondhand stores.)  I do not need a pair of spikes to take up space in my closet. Carmen Miranda wedgies, maybe, but not spikes.

It's the music that grabs me. More than once it's been midnight before I shut down the computer, because wandering through the videos of vintage songs I lose all track of time. I listen to 6 or 7 versions of a song, take side trips to lyrics sites, sing along with the videos. Richland Woman by Maria Muldaur on You-tube is nowhere near as sultry as the versions she sang in clubs in the 70s.  And in a much lower key.

The music propelled me into the basement to look through available fabric and patterns. Fortunately, I wore a pair of high heeled shoes to do it, and came to my senses in half an hour. I am NOT going to cut and sew a dress, torture my toes and my hair just to sing 16 bars of a song and go home. There are limits. And yet...the music swings, bounces and teases.

Truth in Pattern Sizing

I want truth in pattern sizing. I also want pattern companies to give a pattern a number and stick with it. B0454 is also B5108. I found this little trick annoying enough in craft patterns, but could understand it, sort of. I won't bore you with my rationalizations, because at this point they sound irrational, even to me.

Connie Crawford's line for Butterick is billed as "Modern Fit with Ready-to-Wear Sizing." The pants feature a mock fly front with elastic in back, and the back rise is indeed longer than most. Connie Crawford's instructions are impeccable.  Her styling is delightful. 

But somewhere between the design and the printed pattern, sizing was changed. "Ready-to-Wear Sizing" means to me that a person who wears size 10 jeans in manufactured clothing would wear a size 10 in this pattern. Not so. Because right there on the pattern back is the proof. The measurements given are the standard Butterick measurements. 

Wishful thinking beats logic every time. I went ahead and carefully folded the lines on my multi-size pattern to get the smaller size, and I cut the fabric for the smaller size. Then I let it sit for 14 months. Last night, the truth came out. Bored for the simples while waiting for my room to cool down enough so that I could fall asleep, I sewed the first UFO that came to hand. There it was, Butterick 0454, fabric and pattern neatly in a gallon Ziplock bag.

As I unpinned fabric from tissue, I thought, "This looks awfully small.What the heck, I've put together things that were funny looking before." It went together very nicely, and I was delighted to find a construction quirk of mine repeated in Ms. Crawford's instructions. I rarely follow instructions to sew the zipper into the front of the pants before sewing pants together, but I did this time. Ms. Crawford's instructions and design gave me a nice flat zipper front.

As I sewed, I told myself that the human body is a geometric shape and that pattern pieces of different shapes can hold the same body. Technically  it was a muslin, but a muslin made of print fabric captured at Goodwill. The pants looked wonderful, sewed up and flat.

Usually, when a pair of pants is too small, I know by time I've slithered as far as the thigh, and there is no chance that the zipper will zip. I slithered. The pants zipped. The side slit pockets poked out, and the pants fit like wallpaper. I was unhappy.

I held the pants pattern up against one the computer says will fit me. There's an inch difference. At first I thought I would add bits to the fabric and make it fit that way. Then I thought I must need my head examined. I need to cut out the pattern a couple of sizes too big and take it in.

I wonder what "Modern Fit with Ready-to-Wear Sizing" really means. It does NOT mean buy the same size you would in a store. It does not even mean, Buy your hip measurement for a pair of pants and your bust measurement for a top.

What makes the fit modern? The fact that the pattern was issue in 2007?

And while we are at it, why do the measurements on the pattern back show XL and  XXL as being  smaller than 1X. I'm delighted that Ms. Crawford  cared enough to redesign the clothing for Plus size women, but if XL and XXL are both  smaller than 1X and 2X, we need to have measurements printed on size tags, or no one will ever be happy with their clothing. 

True, cutting out anything without  testing the pattern against something that already fits is a bone-headed move. Most people, given the line about RTW sizing, would make the same mistake I did. This doesn't make me any happier. People will misunderstand almost anything, and we've been lied to by pattern envelopes for so long that visible contradictions such as the measurements for an RTW 10 actually applying to a Butterick 12 don't sound a warning gong.

 I wish  pattern companies would  just tell the plain bald truth. Regardless of what size they say it is, go by the measurements, especially if you have more shape than a board. I realize it may be harder to sell  something based on  measurements, when RTW is based on whim and fancy. Today's size 0 is the size 6 of 40 years ago, and 40 years ago  a size 6 was too big. Now I'm muttering because a 10 won't fit, and it wouldn't have happened if I had cut based on measurement as opposed to a sizing system based on whim and flattery.

Listen up, pattern companies! I want truth in sizing. I do not care if you cringe at putting Hip 60 on a pattern front. Making a mistake in size for doll clothing is annoying, with a small investment in time and materials. Making a mistake for standard and large-sized people is enough to turn people away from sewing because the investment is much larger. If no one buys your patterns because you've lied egregiously and continue to lie and then lie about lying, what then, eh?