Nostalgia

IMG_5486,originally uploaded by JenNZL.

So after the granny-square blanket fiasco of last week, I came home and ruminated on why I want to collect other people's cast-offs. Why? Really?
Part of it is that whole craft-orphan thing - it doesn't seem right that something that had so much work put into it ends up turfed out in a bag destined for the Sallies. Who knows where these things have been? I mean that in both the "ick...who knows where this has been" sense and also the "wow...I really wonder where this has been" sense. Whose lap it has warmed at the end of a long life; who has it covered and comforted on the couch while watching daytime TV and pulling a sickie; what is the provenance of the scraps of yarn - what memories were evoked each time someone saw these little reminders of garments long since outgrown? I'm really drawn to the history of handmade stuff, since it is just that - handmade. It's spent so long in someone else's hands, being slowly and lovingly crafted, stitch by stitch.
Anyway, without wanting this post to end up overly sappy, it got me thinking. I particularly love the old crocheted blankets my grandmother and great aunts made, because they are imbued with meaning that is precious and specific to me, to our family. There's a bit of the fluffy pink jumper that Grandma made me when I was 6 or something, that ended up with moth holes through it. There's some ugly mustard coloured wool I remember from some 1970s crocheted monstrosity. There's fluoro wool...and if that ain't a memory of the 1980s, then I don't know what is.
So I decided to start my own little piece of history. The plan (a plan which resides on my very long list of "stuff I would like to do/have/be in a perfect world where I'm a domestic goddess and my tidy-but-not-OCD house is filled with lovingly handmade deliciousness and I bottle all my own fruit") is to make a simple, cheery, crocheted afghan to live on the couch, made from bits and pieces left over from garments I've made for the kids. I'm chipping away at it slowly, but that's ok. I've decided to embrace the slowness of creating it, since I hope it will have a long and fruitful life ahead of it.

How do I not fit thee? Let me count the ways...

I spent two full days without the kids this past weekend, which in itself was a rare and exciting treat, made even better for the fact that I spent it doing sewing-type stuff. Not actually sewing, but learning how to fit my patterns properly using the Palmer/Pletsch system. It was fantastic. It's such a straight-forward, intuitive way of doing things that makes so much sense, and doesn't require complicated use of body measurements - just a good eye for wrinkles (who hasn't got one of those at this time of life ;-) ?) and the very helpful text book. I was lucky enough to be the only one in the class, and so got one-to-one tutoring on how to fit first a basic fit pattern (McCall's) and then four fashion patterns which I had brought with me.

I'm absolutely itching to sit down at the machine and get sewing, but I have a small pile of jobs to get through before I can do that without guilt, so I'll have to wait, dammit. Not something I'm particularly good at, being an instant-gratification kinda gal.

Anyway, must sign off and get the small people into bed. 24 nappies are calling my name: I'm well and truly behind schedule and my nappy mule leaves for the UK tomorrow, so I see a late night ahead of me.

Op-shop avariciousness

A house full of people with dodgy tummies does not result in a lot of satisfying crafting taking place. A lot of laundry: yes. A lot of chicken noodle soup and dry toast: yup. But crafting...not so much.
Anyway, having survived the last few days, I had (courtesy of having a husband at home) some free op-shopping time today - meaning I got to shop unencumbered by kids and buggies, and I nearly, nearly scored big time. I found three granny-square blankets, and lugged them around the shop trying to decide if I really needed them or not. And...get this...I was stalked. A middle-aged woman followed me around the shop, fingering the blankets when I put them down to look at something else. Anyway, I decided on one out of the three, put the others back on the shelf (where they were immediately snaffled by my stalker) got to the counter and asked the price of the granny square blanket I had chosen. $25.00. Since when does anything cost $25.00 in an op-shop, let alone something with some slightly suspect staining on it? I mean, and I don't want to sound uncharitable, but that kinda thing totally takes the fun out of the bargain-hunting experience, doesn't it?
To be honest, the blanket was a tad on the ugly side, albeit in a homely, friendly kind of way. I really only wanted to buy it because it was sitting there, a lonely craft-orphan, begging me to take it home. Nothing that has that many hours of work put into it should be spending its retirement amidst the faded polyester sheet sets and dubious, hairy dog blankets in our local sallies. It's just not right. In the end I didn't buy it, though, because I really couldn't justify spending that much on it. Sigh. I guess the recession is getting us all.

PS the photo has no real relevance to the post, except that it serves to remind me of the good old days when op shop bargains were found for single figure prices. I found this wooden recipe card box for $3, a couple of years ago.

Half circle skirt

IMG_5430, originally uploaded by JenNZL.

Gotta love a skirt that fits even if you've eaten too many pies the day before, right? I made this half-circle wrap skirt from a cotton voile from Spotlight (a shop with which I have a love/hate relationship) and it's had heaps of wear this summer.
I started following the directions in the "Sew What: Skirts" book, then quickly abandoned that when I realised that the maths that they provided didn't work at all (or it did, if you were a person half the size of your measurements, IYKWIM.) So, good old pi and high school maths was dusted off from the far reaches of my brain (it was pretty dusty. I needed a lot of reminders of which equations to use, which was a little embarrassing) and the skirt came together really quickly. It's got a temporary overlocked hem, again because I couldn't find the manual for my overlocker to do a rolled hem. Will be definitely making another one...I'm trying to decide if it would work in a more winter-weight fabric, or if it wouldn't end up draping all that well. Thoughts?

A surprising success

Almost the best sort of success, isn't it, the surprising one? Y'know (in the immortal words of Dr Seuss) when you "practically, almost, had given up hope"...and then bam! Out of the blue, everything turns out ok. This was what ended up happening with my curtain skirt. Ok, so it's certainly not high fashion. But I like it- it's comfy, fits well (which was a real surprise) and I like the fact that by making it, some new life has emerged from a sad old pair of curtains that were languishing amidst the wee-stained blankets and drooled-on pillowcases at the Sallies.
The pattern is a very old and daggy Butterick (I can't remember the number, and I can't be bothered looking for it since it's probably OOP anyway). I did a centred zipper, rather than my usual invisible zip or lapped zip, and I think I'm a convert. It was so easy to put in, and doesn't have either the scratchy bit at the bottom that you tend to get with invisible zips, nor the issues with the upper edges not lining up properly that I get when I do a lapped zipper.
I'm particularly chuffed with how the trees line up across the back...it almost looks like I did it on purpose, when in fact it was just a happy accident. Probably shouldn't admit that.
On to the stinge-ometer: fabric: $4; zip: 70 cents from Geoff's Emporium; Binding & ric rac: $2 per roll from Kate Sylvester sale. Being a (cheap) surprising success: priceless.

Selfish sewing

I don't believe it. For the first time in goodness knows how long, I have the house to myself (well, by that I mean that I'm the only one awake and it's a respectable hour.) Kids in bed by 7:30, husband at work drinks. Hey...hang on...where are my work drinks? Sigh. Not only are us SAHMs unpaid but we're under-beveraged, as well.
I've got a fair few sewing plans afoot for this weekend, barring any disasters of the bread-knife variety. Mostly I have to sew nappies....a lot of nappies. 30, or thereabouts. While I'm very happy to be doing them (they're a gift for my brother & sister-in-law, who are expecting twins in a couple of months) I'll be pretty darn glad when they're all finished and shipped off to the UK, courtesy of a friendly relative with room in her suitcase. I like to call her my nappy mule. I suspect she wouldn't take too kindly to being labelled as such, so in the spirit of family congeniality I reckon I probably shouldn't 'fess up.
Anyhoo, said nappies have been hanging over me for a fair while, now (a slightly frightening image, isn't it; nappies hanging over you. Especially some of the nappies I was intimately acquainted with today...eewww.) Once they're done, I think I'll tackle a dress, something along the lines of the top in the picture above, but made to a slightly different pattern. The top is made from a teeny bit of the 6 or so metres of merino knit I got at the Kate Sylvester sale, $2 per metre. (You may be starting to think that I am a tight wad, since in every post I seem to refer to the bargain-ness of my fabric. You would be right.) It's a great pattern (Kiwk Sew 3593) - I really like how the front is gathered but the back isn't, so the overall look isn't too boofy, for want of a more technical term.
For the dress, I'm thinking something with some kind of pleats at the neck, rather than gathers; not too full, with 3/4 sleeves; in a heavyish charcoal/grey-marle type knit, maybe with some funky binding somewhere. And pockets. A girl's gotta have pockets (well, these days I do. Where else do you put your keys while you're buckling the baby into the car? If I try to do this without having pockets to put my keys in, I feel decidely discombobulated (love that word.) Almost like leaving the house having forgotten to put your knickers on or something.

What pushes your craft-rage buttons?

Before children, I used to love having time to get totally absorbed in a project, sitting for hours at the machine, really getting into "the zone", y'know? Now, it's a good day if I get half an hour here or there, and I'm having to develop new ways of doing things. I find it exceptionally frustrating, but I'm slowly learning to be content with just doing a few rows of knitting, or perhaps cutting out a pattern one night, and the fabric the next. Last night, despite getting two children into bed by 7:20 (trust me, this is a major achievement in our house), I only managed to baste the pockets onto my curtain-skirt, before sitting brainless in front of the television for an hour. I kind of lost my sewing mojo a bit when I realised after basting the pockets on that: a) the curtain-skirt is in fact starting to resemble an old faded apron from someone's 1950s home-ec project; and b) the pattern I'm using, which is one that I used to make exceptionally poorly-constructed mini-skirts from when I was about 16 or 17 is just maybe a tad snug around the hips. I suppose I should have realised that 2 children later things wouldn't be in the same place as they were back then. Bah.

Anyway, it got me thinking about all those little things that are energy-sappers in the creative process. For me, the main one is when something goes wrong. Major craft-rage ensues. It's so demoralising, isn't it, when you've carefully worked for ages on something then have a senior moment and do something like getting the middle of the skirt caught up in the overlocker and chopping it off.
There are plenty of other things that aggravate me, too...things like ironing interfacing onto things, or re-threading the overlocker, or pressing and stitching the final hem. Projects can sit for months with one of these things needing to be done to them. So, (and I guess I'm asking this of the one and only person other than my husband who actually reads this thing ;-) )...what pushes your craft rage buttons?

PS the little woolly pants in the photo still need to have the ends woven in, which is yet another knitting aggravation. They're from this pattern, and are knit in Cleckheaton Vintage Hues.