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Midland, Texas, United States
I write. I make stuff.


Thursday, March 26, 2015

Let's Try Dictation, Shall We?

So I thought it would be fun to try dictation since so many of y'all suggested that it would be a good way for me to be able to do blog posts without having to type and hurt my fingers and it's really weird to be sitting here talking to myself loudly and clearly and enunciate in every single syllable but it's worth a try if it will help and make things easier and if Wayne Newton can understand what I'm saying.

Okay so that whole first paragraph and the swing two [--this one, too--] was typed exactly as I said it there some comp is [commas]missing and the editor in he wants to change it but I think I'll just leave it like it is so you can see this is the very first time I've ever done this and it works pretty well except when it decides that I've said enough it just stops and then printed [prints it] out so I'm sitting here talking and nothing is happen [ing]

Ok. This is me typing now. You can see, above, that some things are kind of wonky, but that may well be my fault. I think there's a way to tell Wayne Newton I want punctuation, but I kind of tend to talk in long run-on sentences, anyway. Don't most of us?

It would be great if it would 1) show the words as I say them, instead of waiting until it decides I've said enough and 2) *not* decide that I've said enough and let me just keep going. But I think there's hope here, and thank y'all for encouraging me to give it a try. I knew it was possible, I just haven't ever played around with it.


Here's what I'm doing with the duster this morning.

 Before I did any more to it, I wanted to have a pattern of what I did in case I love everything about it and want to make another exactly like it. I laid it out, folded some brown paper in half, and traced around half the duster. This is a no-brainer, of course, nothing to it; the reason I'm showing you is so you can see how easy this is and be inspired to try something you've been thinking about but that seemed Too Hard. Eh. Start with something, start anywhere. The more I play around with this stuff, the more confident I feel. I actually caught myself thinking last night, "I can do anything!" with a little burst of oh-wow-excitement. Now, given that I don't know how motors or electricity works and can't remember anything at all from trigonometry except that it almost killed me, the chances that I can do *anything* are not too likely. But it feels huge, the possibilities out there.

The arrow indicates that it goes on for however much fabric there is, or until it's the length I want. That part is all variable because it doesn't affect the fit.
Since I didn't measure anything, I figured I'd better have some record of what size it was before I finished the seams and stuff. That's what I'm going to do now.

Thanks for all the suggestions—I really appreciate them, and you! XO

Wednesday, March 25, 2015

Quick Peek

I'm still trying to figure out how to share as much as possible in the shortest amount of time possible. It's not that I don't love y'all, because I do, and I really appreciate people stopping by and commenting, and I hope to provide inspiration. But writing posts takes up sewing time and, so much worse, is painful. Yes, I have gotten to the horrible place where typing hurts. It's my thumb, and I'm trying to come to accept that I'm going to have to Have Something Done. If it doesn't improve (not the arthritis improve, but the apparent inflammation that has made it suddenly a lot worse), I'll go visit The Hand Guy again. There are options, I know—NSAIDS, injections, replacement. Eeeeeeek.

Anyway, so less typing. Just some photos of what's exciting to me right, esp. this first one. {Note: we see, below, how well that idea works.]

I want to make simple linen dusters. I don't know why; I have enough already. But the challenge kept nagging at me, and this past weekend I found linen on sale. I went in to buy 2 yards of heavy black linen for an apron jumper thing, and it was 30% off. The woman at the fabric shop is a serious enabler, though, and she took me all around the store to the tables where the clearance stuff was, linen that was 70% off. So you know I had to get some, even though it was in colors I don't usually buy, like this black and grey striped stuff. I figured this was the best opportunity I'd ever have to just jump in and try it without the worry of ruining the fabric (normally, linen bought locally is $17-18 a yard; I try to buy all my linen from Dharma Trading, at less than half that, but 1) there's no immediate fix when you get an idea, and 2) they don't have black.

Anyway, so 2 yards was nothing, and I washed it and then yesterday laid it out and just jumped in, no measuring, no pattern. I did lay a Flax duster on top of the fabric, just to get an idea of size, but no marking. Just folding and cutting. Here's where we are now:
 Straight from the neckline kimono sleeves. I didn't know if the fabric would be drapey enough to make this work without the sleeves sticking out, but it's perfect so far.
 I'm leaving the sleeve ends and bottom raw, I think. I stay stitched the bottom to prevent raveling; the sleeves went to the selvedges

I'm planning to add pockets and then also a gore on one side. Today I want to finish the seams and the front edges.
 I've been playing around a little with possibilities for taking up some in the back, if I decide it needs it. Not having a plan or a pattern or any structural constraints is incredibly freeing, and the possibilities for experimentation are pretty exciting.
 Below you can see the sleeve shape:

 Then there's this Free People cotton sweater I thrifted a couple years ago, dyed purple (it was white) and wore a couple times. But it's oversized, and while I love that, theoretically, big boxy stuff just swallows me. I get tangled up in it, and it hangs funny, and it just didn't work. Plus I'd been wondering about cutting into a sweater and how I might stabilize the edges. I've done it before on the Yoolies, but it's been a while, and I thought it would be interesting to see if I'd do it differently this time.

Turns out, no. I played around with it, machine stitching and then cutting and then doing it over, a little shorter, and then whip stitching. Turns out I still like what I did before, so I did it again.

 Then there's my beloved 1930s-40s silk smoking jacket, made crazy-patch style with silk ties and rayon (I think) embroidery stitches. I got a great deal on it because it needed mending, and I worked on it back then and then washed and dried it (Yes: I wasn't wearing it because it creeped me out, even though it looked clean and had no odor at all), and then of course I had to work on it some more. This time I really got into it. I bought a bunch of lovely, kitten-soft silk floss and used that. I wanted brighter colors; there's no reason not to, as I have no interest in keeping it "authentic," whatever that might be.

 I used only the Cretan stitch; I love the way it looks.

 People have given me incredible snippets of silk; the one below has beads and metal thread, like wire.

 I used some ties, too. Just much brighter ones!

Below is a piece of velvet from the dress my mother made me when I was tiny. I'm finding homes for all the last few tiny pieces on various garments.

 I used some metallic thread over some of the patches that were stable but just butt ugly colors. I don't know how I feel about it. I love the shiny but not the rough, so I don't know that I'll use it again. Maybe. Just wish it were softer.
 I love this stitch, whatever it is. I need to look it up. Looks like a variation on a blanket stitch, doesn't it?
 I need to really work on the satin stitch. I'm not good at it. I love the silk floss so much I did a little on some of the worn places. Baby steps. I love the look of well-done, completely smooth satin stitch, but I think I'll have to adjust my expectations, since I've never been able to get there.
I want to rework the cotton velvet frog closures (move one to the other side, so they're both on the same side) and sew on the perfect buttons: made from shells. Not shaped and filed into buttons: actual shells, drilled with holes to be buttons. I don't know where I got them, but they're perfect.  So I can wear it tomorrow, maybe. It may be my last chance: it's been in the 80's this week, just gorgeous and sunny, but tomorrow's supposed to be in the 60s. Bleah, but a good day to wear this baby.

OK, NO MORE TYPING. See, this is my problem: I have all this stuff I want to tell you, and I get carried away, and the next thing I know it's pages later. It's why I do more and more on Facebook, never mind my love/hate relationship with it: I can share stuff, but it limits how much I type.

Anyway, thanks so much for coming by. I hope something sparks an idea for you! XO

Tuesday, March 24, 2015

Art Journal Quilts Going to New Homes

It's not as drastic as it sounds. The wall, which used to look like this:
now looks like this:
It's no longer a Living Room, with a wall of art; it's now a living room, a room where stuff is done, and it's got two sewing machines and is functional. And there are some of the Art Journal Quilts that need new homes. To that end, I'm biting the bullet, gritting my teeth, taking the plunge—all those cliches—and doing another (and, I hope, final) series of eBay auctions. Why? Well, I can't give these away because I sold a number of them when I was making them, and how wrong would that feel to the people who paid for them back then? Plus people have asked me about some of these, wanting to know if I was ever going to part with them. This seems like the best way to do it. There are 9 going to new homes, and I just listed the first one here. It's Art Car, about meeting Kelly Israel and his art car in New Orleans.

These began as an experiment to see if I could make art journal pages on fabric, and they sort of took on a life of their own. This one was a double page spread; most are single pages. I learned as I went along. This first one has fake flowers (on the VW's hood) and plastic ants and flies, and the photo transfer of Kelly's car is stapled on, just as I stapled the actual photo to a page in my journal. I carved the stamp of the VW for the border, and—well, you get the idea. Lots of work, lots of fun, lots of experimentation along the way.

Again, here's the link, and there will be 8 more after this, if I can stand the process. I have a real love-hate thang with eBay, so I may run screaming into the woods. Except there aren't any woods, and how scary is that?

Wednesday, March 18, 2015

Fun Stuff

For me, Fun Stuff most often involves, at least in the last several years, finding a good new home for something I wasn't using. In that regard, this has been an excellent week, indeed. I cleaned out my bead drawers and bagged up all the beads I'd somehow collected that were Just Not Right. Just not the right color (and omigod, there were some butt-ugly colors in there) or the right size (I don't need huge honkin' beads because those don't really work that great sewn onto clothes, not unless you're creating armor or something). So I gave away a bunch. Lest you feel sorry for me, thinking me currently beadless, here are a couple of the newly-organized and weeded-out drawers. The green beads:
 The blue beads:
 The purple beads.
You get the idea. It goes on. I'm not even going to show the drawer with all the silver beads I collected when I was doing Galaxy in Grey. So don't cry for me, Argentina: I still have some beads.

Then, to make up for the three new pair of Birkenstocks, I got rid of three old pair. I kind of cheated, though, because I dug out one pair from under the seat of the car. You know how you put a pair of reliable shoes in the car in case the shoes you're wearing lose their tiny little minds and begin to try to kill you? Or maybe you break a heel? Well, these old Birks, the first pair I ever bought (about 25-30 years ago) had been in there since the days when I actually owned Heels & Other Foolish Shoes. I don't own those any more so don't need Spare Shoes in the vehicles, Just In Case. So I took those and a pair of old brown suede Bostons to Goodwill and gave a really groovy woven leather pair to my friend Julia, and that kind of makes up for the new ones. Man, it's tough being this disciplined about shoes and bags and clothes and stuff. I felt bad about letting those old Birks go; after they got old and funky, I painted them with gold and purple and green Lumiere paints, and they were groovy+. But OK, here I'm going to make a confession: I wore these shoes a lot when we traveled—all my old Birkenstock Arizonas—and they'd get dirty in New Orleans and sweaty and maybe gross, depending on where I'd worn them and how careful I'd been about where I'd stepped (in Texas, for example, if you're not watching the ground where you're walking, chances are great that you're going to step in some cowboy's tobacco spit, which is beyond nasty (think phlegm, tobacco, and wintergreen all mixed up in a lovely, chunky stew). In The French Quarter, it's mostly flattened-out invisible horse droppings and pee that you've got to think about. Anyway—before I disgust us all any more than I already have—the shoes would get iffy, and there was no way I was putting them back in the suitcase to bring them home, so I'd wash them. In the bathtub. With soap and water. And you know, the first couple times you do this all is well. The shoes are fine, they have nothing horrific on the soles, the sweat from your delicate little flower petal toes is gone, all is well.

But, yeah, you know how it went: after several years of doing this, it began to show. Footbeds cracked, things began to peel up, leather got funky and stiff. I kept wearing them (and, I'm guessing) washing them, but eventually I wised up and got Keen's shoes that are actually, ahem, *meant* to be washed. Like, in the washing machine. Where had these been all my life?

Hence the ancient Birkenstocks living in the vehicle. Too old and sad to wear, but too groovy to part with. Until now, when I had to get rid of three pair to make up for the three pair I bought.

Oy is all I can say to that. Oy.

But the other part of the Fun Stuff is what I made yesterday. Oh, yesterday was one of those days: up at an ungodly (for me) hour, going with The EGE to the hospital for his regular colonoscopy, and—well, let's just stop right there.

I loathe hospitals. Who doesn't, right? I mean, we're all thrilled they're there when we need them, but nobody wants to have to be there. Because this one is a county hospital (and the only one in town), it has lots of people who use it as their primary source of health care, and there are kids running around and people hacking and what look like junkies but are probably just people who've been waiting so long in the ER they're lost half their body weight. Nobody speaks English as their primary language, if they speak it at all, and there are grouchy, abrupt staff, as you'd expect, and rushed medical personnel and blah, blah, blah. But the thing that drives me insane, the one biggest thing, is that damned tv going in every. single. room. I know, I know: it pacifies those waiting, the patients, the families. It's a familiar comfort. It makes the time go by more quickly and gives people something to do and AIEEEEEEEE. I drives me completely batshit crazy. Even with Pandora in my ears, I can hear the voices on the set bolted to the wall.

OK, skip to bringing the husband home. All goes well, and he thinks he's awake. He says we can go to Starbucks, and I tell him the dr. said to bring him home and keep him here. He says he's fine, he's awake. We get home, and he kind of wanders into the house (we've both had colonoscopies before, so this routine is familiar; every time he insists he's wide awake and ready to go do stuff), and I see that one of the cats has barfed, and I need to clean it up, and the husband is wandering around, sort of bumping into things, and I yell and tell him to just lie down already so I don't have to keep watching him. And it's like having a drunken toddler: he crosses his arms and says, "NO!" and then dives face first onto the bed, as if he's playing.

And then doesn't move for two hours, at which point he gets up and says, "I don't remember getting dressed." Yeah, I laugh at him. When it's my turn, he'll laugh at me.

Plus it rained all day, so we're stuck in the house, which is weird: any day that it's decent, he's going to be out in the yard doing stuff, pulling weeds, mowing, whatever. So it was a good day to do one of those One-Day Projects. Unfortunately, I didn't take a before shot, mostly because I had no idea what I was doing and doubted it would work out. I figured it would be one of those things for which I'd have to find a new home, actually.

It was a lightweight gray linen Cynthia Ashby shift/tank dress, ankle length, that I bought last year (second hand, third hand, whatever). I had thought to use it for layering, or I wanted to save it, or something. Frankly, I have no clue what I was doing when I bought it. Grey? A tank dress? It was funky, curved out at the hips and too tight in the chest, and let me just say: made to fit someone whose hips are that wide and chest is that narrow? I don't know what they were thinking.

The problems: too tight in the chest, weird fit from the hips down, too long, not wide enough to sit in cross-legged (a requirement for me). The neckline didn't lie flat and was pucker-y and the underarms had to be lowered. I started messing around with it—just took a pair of scissors and began cutting. I decided to use the part I cut off for pockets, and then I thought I'd make a gore on one side to give more room to sit, and I screwed that up (I don't really have a clue about making gores beyond one video I watched too long ago and don't really remember). I had to redo it, and then I thought, hey: I can cover up the still-slightly-problematic part with the pocket. The pockets are different sizes and different heights, and that's because I needed them to function that way. I hate construction that's all complicated and deliberately wonky just for show, but I like it if there's a reason.

So I worked on this throughout the rainy grey afternoon, and as soon as I was finished, I put it on and took a nap. And, surprise: I LOVE it. I didn't think I would, but it's comfortable (no longer hobbling) and has great movement when I walk (I like things that kind of billow and move as long as they don't impede the walking, and, yeah, I play with them). I'm wearing it now with—whoa—black leggings and a long-sleeved black t-shirt because that's just how rainy gray days make me feel. Even though it's not rainy today, it's still kind of grayish. Plus this is what I slept in.
 Please ignore the bins. I finally finished cutting up all 30 years' + of jeans and getting them all nice and neat, and now I need to re-lable the bins and get them back in the storage building. Also please ignore the wrinkles: I slept in it, and I've been wearing it pretty much ever since I finished it.

Below you can see the gore. Once I re-did it and hid the tiny bit of funkiness at the top point, I'm pretty pleased with it. It's part of the hem I cut off, turned at an angle and sewn in.
 The back, so you can see the asymetrical-ness:

 Since it's light-weight linen, I didn't want to use a binding and just turned the edges under twice, kind of rolled but folded. The edges were originally serged (I think that's what they did), and in some places I left that—on the hem, and on the tops of the pockets I made from the cut-off hem.
 Smaller pocket over the gore:
 Larger pocket placed to fit above the side seam I opened up:

The purpose of this post, besides sharing something that was fun for me and is just cool to me, is, as always: you can do it. If you embrace a sort of funky, loose aesthetic (and why wouldn't we all?), you can make stuff work. I was musing about this to The EGE last night when I was telling him I had to do this post to prove my point of If I Can Do This, Anyone Can Do This, about how once you realize that things don't have to be pressed and perfect and symmetrical and measured, you can make things work. To me, as long as it's not sloppy (no fabric glue, nothing safety pinned or worn just basted), as long as it's sturdy and functional, it works. I got a fabulous black tank dress on Saturday, handed to me by another woman who was shopping. She said it looked like me, and sure enough: it's perfect to layer over a tank top in the summer, very light and airy. She didn't buy it because she doesn't wear linen because she grew up being taught you had to starch and press linen. Women tell me this as if it's a badge of Having Been Brought Up Right, like knowing not to wear white shoes between Labor Day and Memorial Day (you're supposed to wear them only between Memorial Day and Labor Day) and where to put the fish fork when you set a formal table, sometimes with a tone that suggests that if I hadn't grown up in a barn, raised by wolves, I would know this, too. I smile and tell them my mother never wore linen for that same exact reason but that I got over it.

I remember being in a psychology class in graduate school where the professor showed up one day in a skirt that was a mass of wrinkles. I was appalled and wondered what had gone wrong in her life that day that led to this horror, but then I realized that she just didn't care. She was running a research lab and working on that project and teaching and grading papers and having a life, and you know? Whether or not her clothes were wrinkled was probably way, way down there on her list of concerns, if it was even a concern at all. And why should it be? What do wrinkles mean, anyway? A loss of IQ points? Slovenliness? An inherently trashy life? Women who refuse to wear linen because of the wrinkles will go out in deliberately shredded jeans that cost hundreds of dollars and artfully messy hair that's meant to look as if they just rolled out of a weekend in bed, with flip-flops (that many of us were not allowed to wear except at the swimming pool). Search for "messy hair" or "messy bun" on Pinterest and find dozens of deliberately messy hairstyles.

Yet really cool women, women who wear clothes even I like, refuse to put on linen because it will get wrinkled. It's a puzzlement to me. I'm guessing they hear their mother's voices in their heads. Time to change that channel, then.

I still haven't re-created the expensive vest, but I'll get to it. I've spent some time mending things (not artful mending, but necessary mending of t-shirts and things) and finishing up some stuff and working on the old silk jacket, and once that's done, then I'll start on new stuff. Every once in a while I just have to slow down and get some little piddly stuff out of the way so I can think.

Sunday, March 15, 2015

My $97 Folly. Or Not.

It depends on how you look at it. Even I can see it both ways. On the one hand, $97 for this thing, this Unidentifiable (what, exactly, is it?) Thing, made out of OMIGOD *acrylic* which I do NOT wear, and in this color, which can't be dyed because see above: ACRYLIC. Well. That is, indeed, A Folly (an expensive structure created purely for aesthetic purposes).

But on the other hand, I needed to buy it, and here's why.

Yesterday, Saturday, we went to San Angelo to my favorite stores. I hadn't been in almost 4 months because I said I wasn't going to buy any clothes this year. We see how long that lasted, don't we? But I did pretty well: I bought only 4 garments, one of which I plan to give to a friend (it's the kind of thing for which you get such a great deal that you can't pass it up even if it's So Not You, a Flax linen jacket in new condition that was originally $260).

Side note: I did buy three pair of Birkenstocks. I do not need another pair of Birks for as long as I live. I have given away enough pair so that what I have left fits perfectly in one of those canvas over-the-door shoe holders. But. But! If you find brand-new, still-in-the-box metallic Birkenstocks in exactly your size, and if you even have a choice between the two sizes you can wear because in the Boston you wear a smaller size, for some reason, and if those shoes cost $130 new but, if you buy one of each, you can get them for the unimaginable price of $20 a pair, and if you have a friend who wears your exact size and loves Birks, too, so that you know that if it turns out you don't wear them, you can give them to her. Well. What are you going to do, really? Yes, I justify shopping by the fact that I have friends who like the same things I do and will kindly take them off my hands if I don't want them any more. I think of it as saving things from languishing.

Yes, they are that shiny.

OK, back to the story of why I had to buy That Thing. So I shopped at one place and then went to the other place I shop, only now they have less and less linen and more and more polyester, more stuff that's either way too Mother of The Bride or way too Young & Hip. I didn't see a single thing I would have worn even if it had been given to me, and all this stuff is new and expensive and that's just sad. We were getting ready to leave, and something in The Bad Part of the store caught my eye. The Bad Part is the part where the polyester/acrylic/nylon stuff lives. It must be the brands, I guess, as I'm sure they don't deliberately segregate the shop by fiber content. I don't usually even look over there, seeing as how polyester makes me cringe. But there was This Thing, and I couldn't tell what it was, and I had to go look at it, and then The Ever-Gorgeous Earl, Man of My Dreams, got interested because it was kind of a puzzle thing (it was on the mannikin with the straps in the front, so it was odd-looking), and then I had to try it on to figure it out, never mind the ugly color and fiber. And once I did and saw how cool-ly it draped, my brain started buzzing with how I could make one of these but cooler. You know. You know how your brain always does that? Mine was racing: lightweight linen? Cotton jersey? How drape-y would it have to be? What about Alabama Chanin reverse appliqué?! What about using two of the heavy canvas belts I dyed but that The EGE has never worn, how about using those for straps? Oh, wow!
So you know I had to buy it.

Because of the placement of the straps, that part needed to be pretty exact. And the size is perfect, so the measurements need to be pretty precise. Now, I could have gone into the dressing room and photographed it and taken some measurements, but I couldn't. I know people do it, and I know the people in the shop wouldn't have said anything, and I know spending that much money on something you don't plan to wear is idiotic and beyond foolish. But if I like something well enough to want to copy it (for myself only: let me make that clear. I have no intention of knocking off Free People. This is just for me.) then I can jolly well spend the money and buy it and not feel like a sleaze.

So today I'm going to set up the big table in the front room (no longer a living room because it has two sewing machines and two sewing tables) and see what kind of pattern I can draft without un-stitching the straps. There's one little tweak to the neck in front, and I've got to figure that out (since I know nothing official about making patterns). Wish me luck; I'll report back~~

Thursday, March 12, 2015

Very Weird Jacket

I have no idea if I'll ever wear this, even after hours and hours and HOURS of hand stitching. It's impractical: the sleeves are too small to be lined, so they're thin linen and not going to keep me warm. It doesn't drape very well, esp. not since I lined it. But there's something about it I love, even though there's something about it that bugs me. Whatever: it was a fun exercise in figuring out how to add lining to something this large and then doing all the stitching. It started out as a grey pinstriped linen Cynthia Ashby Jacket. I showed it when I started lining it with various red t-shirts:
Miles of stitching later, here it is:
 I didn't line or quilt the pockets or sleeves. I think it was a size small, maybe even extra small, a little tight through the shoulders, and the sleeves aren't large enough to put in lining. Plus I hate, absolutely loathe, working on sleeves: hard on the hands to try to get inside there.
 Because the circles are different sizes, it's never going to hang symmetrically, esp. now. I have to learn to love that. Or not. It looks totally handmade when you put it on, like an introductory home ec project gone horribly, horribly wrong. I kind of like that a lot. The problem is that it's much heavier on one side than the other, so I always keep hitching it around on my shoulders. Bleah.
 Even with the red lining and red stitching, it was still pretty gray to me, so I added red wool felt appliqués. It's some wool felt I bought and washed years ago, making it really lumpy and funky, which I love.
 A heart on each sleeve. Trite—but colorful!

 I was going to do a lot more lines of stitching on the red cross, but my thumb joint, the carpometacarpal joint that is failing and giving me huge grief lately, hated it, so I had to give up that idea.
 Some couching with thicker cotton perle.

 The pieced lining:

 Here it is spread out so you can see the construction, to which I did nothing. This is why I had to get it and see what I could do: it was too odd not to want to play with it. Isn't that cool?
 Clarice and Lennie say, "Ooooh, for us!" Notice no question mark there; there's no question in their minds that it *has* to be for them.

 Would have been such a cute photo if she would have stayed still for me:

Clarice loves tents:

 Wrinkles might mean a huge rat hiding underneath!
She'd better investigate:

Here she is now, preparing for a nap if I'll just leave her the heck alone:
And you wonder why my clothes are always covered with cat fur. Huh.

Right now I'm working on something I hate: patching and mending my ancient (vintage? antique? from the 1940s) silk and velveteen crazy quilt jacket. I love it, and I'd hoped I wouldn't have to wash it, but I did, of course. And even before then some of the patches (neckties, I think) were beginning to shred. So every once in a while I spend some time replacing the old patches (covering over them) with newer silk from thrifted garments and ties. It requires lots of pinning, which I hate: pins and I = disaster. But it has to be done so I can wear it without it falling completely to pieces.

Right now an old wool sweater of my mother's, one I actually remember her wearing when I was very young, is in the washing machine. Very groovy off-white heavy-knit cropped swing sweater she wore when she was dressed up.  I washed it years ago to full it, but I tossed it in with a blue sweater, and it has an unhealthy blue-ish tint to it. So I put in a little bleach hoping to take out the tint and did a hot wash to tighten the felting so I can cut it up and make a bag out of it. We'll see how that goes; if it falls apart or something, that's OK: it was stuck in a bin in the storage building until last week, so anything is an improvement.

Today I also need to get out on the front porch and cut up more of the jeans from the half dozen bins sitting out there waiting on me. I want to get flat pieces of denim ready so I can use them. If they're still in jeans form, it's too daunting to try to figure out if there's enough to a particular project; I want to be able to go out to the storage building, grab a bin, and know I've got plenty of yardage. Seeing how there's almost 40 years of scraps and worn-out jeans and jeans people have given me, I have plenty. I just have to trim them into flat fabric. A little at a time, to appease the hands and fingers.

Thanks for coming by~~XO