A box of chocolate-covered cherries and some napkins, please August 25, 2008 17:25 3 Comments

So, my little blossoms. I am sure you are sitting out there, firm in your belief that I did not sew today. You think I was lazy, reclining on the chaise, reading French novels, eating trashy bon bons filled with cherries and creme. But you are wrong. Wrong. Wrong.
Sort of.
While I did not actually sew, I did have the strongest of intentions. The very strongest. I did. But. When I picked up my fabric, so very beautiful, anxiety attacked. I don’t really know how to do this. Really. I don’t.
Sure. I can figure out the casing. Sure, I know how to hem, albeit by hand. But how do I finish the side panels? This, I do not know. Do I simply press the sides and stitch? Do I topstitch? How? What? You get the picture. I’m sure.
Well. I shrank from the fabric like it was The Blob. I did. I tiptoed away ever so carefully, hoping it did not notice, hoping I did not arouse its wrath. I closed the door so gently, so quietly. Safe. At last.
All right. I exaggerate a tad. But only ever so slightly. Ever so.
So. When I ran my errands this afternoon, I picked up McCall’s M5346. The bed ensemble is too girly-girl for me — in home décor, I lean toward the modern — but the curtains have the simple casing at the top that I want. And I have read the instructions. Honey, I am armed, I am dangerous. I am ready to sew. Now.
One question, though. The instructions say “sew or stitch.” Or is it “stitch or sew”? What, I ask, is the difference? Perhaps I am not ready to sew. Perhaps I am ready to stitch. Heavens to Betsy. Help! Help. Please. Because it’s all so confusing. I am dizzy.

You better sit down. I have something of import to tell you. August 24, 2008 16:46 2 Comments

You’re sitting, right? If not, take a seat. Don't delay. Because you may well have the wind knocked right out of you by my news.

I cut out bathroom curtains today. I did. All by myself. Is that totally wow or what?
It was a spur-of-the-moment idea, inspired by a stroll through Linens N’ Things yesterday. His Bertness and I were out doing our weekly errands, when we (yes, you may interpret that as me) saw a huge store closing banner on our LNT. We needed a nonstick skillet, and I thought perhaps we might find a bargain there. Not hardly. However. I saw draperies while strolling through the store, and I thought, mmmm, I can do that. I can. I think.

So. Today, I searched through my fabric and found a pretty white crinkled silk (or faux silk). Perfect for the curtains. Absolutely. I did not have a pattern for the kind of simple curtains I want, and a Google how-to search proved fruitless as well. So. I decided to rely on my imagination and my brain and a Sandra Betzina home décor book — which had instructions only for fancier styles, alas. I ensured the fabric was on grain, and I cut. I cut! Without a pattern!

Now. I know you more skilled souls out there, as well as you bold and brave beginners, scoff. You snicker. But. For me — timid seamstress wannabe that I am — for me, this was one big deal. Huge. Monumental.

Now. For the bad news. I did not make the curtains. Yet. I did not even change the thread on my machine. Because my mission was interrupted by the Law & Order: Criminal Intent marathon.

You see, I have a yen for Robert Goren. Or as His Bertness calls him, somewhat rudely, I must add, Fat Elvis. And I will admit Vincent D’Onofrio has gone a few Twinkies over the line in the last few seasons. (Of course, when HB first deduced several years ago that I was somewhat taken — I can be so very, very understated — with Bobby Goren, his comment was “Since when do you like chubby-cheeked fat boys?” And that was before Vincent’s Twinkie binges. Men. Sometimes, they just do not get it. Do not. On the other hand, Bobby could lose the belly and the facial hair. In a perfect world.)

At any rate. Tomorrow. Curtains. Sewing. I may not have a pattern, but I’ll figure it out. I will. I’m certain. Little Train That Could. And all that.

By the way. Have I told you lately that I love you? (Yep, I’m still listening to Van.)

And can she sew a fine seam? We'll know. One day. Really. August 17, 2008 19:52 5 Comments

I’ve been at it again. Reading about sewing rather than sewing. (But I have a good excuse. Really. I’m waiting for His Bertness to move my sewing machine cabinet into my Designated Sewing Area.) And, of course, I’m reading about the step I am stuck on: cutting and marking. Well, actually, I’m a bit — a wee, tiny bit — beyond that step. I am. But not much. Alas.
So, “How to Lay Out, Cut and Fit,” part of the Sears Illustrated Sewing Series, shows two different methods of cutting notches. I find this quite interesting. Not that there is anything earth-shatteringly different in this 1964 booklet. But one method is slightly different from what I’ve read before. (Or at least what I absorbed before. Could be a retention issue. I should, I suppose, allow the possibility that I read this elsewhere, and it just did not stick. So unlikely, though. Of course.) But, at any rate, this booklet shows an actual inside notch rather than a simple clip. I’m sure this is a bore to you learned and practiced dressmakers. But. You newbies may find it as fascinating as I did.
Also — this brings up a question for the skilled dressmakers out there — the uncredited writers (shame on you, Sears) of this booklet say “seamlines . . . should be transferred to the material.” Is this really necessary, she asked in an ever-so-whiny voice. Must I? Must I? Must I? I’m eagerly awaiting your answers, as I am sure my fellow students of the art and craft of sewing are as well. Share that knowledge, please. I want to know. Because it seems like a lot of work. Tedious work. And if it’s not really necessary, I have laundry to wash and roses to prune. But if it’s essential to a beautiful garment, of course, recovering perfectionist that I am, well, I’ll just procrastinate some more. I’m quite capable of it. Absolutely. As you know.

Pass the Puffs, please: An unexpected benefit of friendship August 9, 2008 18:19 1 Comment

Yippee. Skippee. Let me repeat that: Yippee. Skippee. The muslin is complete except for the facings. (Yes, I know they will probably be pesky. But. No unpleasant thoughts now. Nope. Not now.) This, thanks to a gal pal’s help. Marti, a glamorous, exceptional dancer who also just happens to whip up most of her clothes, generously offered to help me with my muslin today.
So. I went to her home, and we sipped acai berry juice and sewed. And ironed. And chalked. And trimmed (correcting my jagged edges — you remember those, don’t you?). And we did this all under the masterful eyes of her alpha kitty, Sulis.
You dressmaking goddesses may not be impressed with my afternoon’s work, but I am pleased as punch. Yes, I am. I am darn near impressed with myself. I could look ahead to the facings and get nervous. Scared. Terrified, in fact. I could. But ya know what? I am staying in the moment. This moment. I am. I am going to enjoy my accomplishment today. Here. Now. Taking my cue from Ms. O’Hara. I’ll worry about attaching the facings tomorrow. Or Monday.
This dress is going to be fab. I know it. I know it. I do. Rhett Butler would approve. Thank you, Marti. I am misty-eyed with gratitude. Pass the Puffs now. Please.

Scintillating details about ironing and pressing. Really. August 7, 2008 06:47 2 Comments

I confess. More reading. (Isn't it a kick? You can learn so much. Really. Avoid that scary sewing machine. The bobbin that seems determined to jam.) So. I am going to share some tips from The Art of Sewing: The Classic Techniques, copyright 1973. I picked up this entire series of Time/Life books years ago at an antique store. I just knew, I just knew, even then that one day I’d try sewing, and try it diligently.
I thumbed through a couple of volumes yesterday, and they were both far too advanced for this novice. And how. But this volume is quite helpful. So much so that I simply must spread the knowledge. I must. Absolutely. I refuse to even try to restrain myself on this issue. Now, this information will doubtless be very old hat to you practiced dressmakers — so please, forgive me for boring you, please, please, please — but I think you other learners will wiggle your ears in delight.
So. Here ya go:
Ironing. Use a long, gliding, forward motion. Try not to move the iron backwards — you might put wrinkles back in.
Pressing. Set the iron straight down on the material with even pressure; lift it straight up.
Detail pressing. With your free hand, open up angles and folds in the fabric. Use only the point of the iron to press confined spaces.
OK, students: Didja get it? And dressmakers extraordinaire, please let me know if you disagree. I don’t want to learn bad habits. And I especially don't want to share them with my ever so appreciated readers. Nosirree.

The cure for the lower back sewing blues? Could be. August 5, 2008 02:22 5 Comments

So. I have decided I must get a sewing table. Must. Absolutely. A total necessity. Just ask my back. Ask my inner perfectionist who is very unhappy with jagged cutting lines. I perused the internet in between dealing with The Bathroom Drama, Part 3. (Won’t bore you with that ongoing saga today. But it could happen tomorrow. You just never know. I know you’re looking forward to staying informed. Right? Bated breath. Etc.) And while this gateleg table, courtesy of Martha Stewart, isn’t exactly beautiful (Martha, Martha, Martha, so unlike you! You’ve let me down, babe), it meets my budget requirements. It also looks like it would be easy to use for cutting. And Beloved Hubby can build it to suit, which means taller than 30 inches. What do you think? Any experience with this design, wise sewers? You can view a detailed description by clicking here: http://www.marthastewart.com/article/gate-leg-sewing-table. I think I'd like His Bertness to build mine counter height. Tell me whatcha think. Please. Bated breath. Etc. Really.

I'd throw up both my hands and holler, but I'm too tired August 2, 2008 18:01 6 Comments

I thought I would be excited. I thought I would be gleeful. I thought I would be exultant. I thought I would be skipping around the house with joy. Dancing on the ceiling in Christian Louboutins. I thought. Oh. Yes. I thought.
But what I am is tired. Exhausted. It took me 3 hours and 50 minutes to iron my (admittedly) cheap cotton muslin and cut it out. That's, yes, three hours and 50 minutes to cut out my simple 5-piece pattern and iron my fabric. You understood. Your comprehension is there. Gold star. (Oh how I love Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell. And how.) And I wanna show, I wanna show my appreciation . . .
Yes, that's 5 pieces. And, no, they were not easy. Thank goodness there was no chicken involved.
I did learn some things. The bed is not a good place to cut out a pattern. I repeat: The bed is not a good place to cut out a pattern. Not even when simply used as the support for a cheesy cardboard cutting board. Too wide. Much. The sewing books are right. Go figure.
And there must be something better than my ancient Dritz cutting board, which I've had since I was a teen. It's not stable. It skitters about like a pine needle on a windy day. Further, pins and cardboard don't mix. They’re not exactly oil and water. But still. And no lookin’ back for us . . .
I also learned that I do indeed need a better iron than our little Black & Decker. It does not do the job. Not even close. Even after an hour-and-a-half of ironing. (I watched both the CBS and NBC evening news. Oh, sweetie, I am so well-informed. Yes. There is still tea in China.) But, alas, my fabric still has wrinkles. Despite sprinkling liberally with water. Despite steam, pitifully weak though it was.
And I learned that sometimes stopping and doing a few yoga poses is a good thing. A very good thing. Excellent panacea for the aching back that leaning over the bed can cause. Especially the reclining hero and child’s poses. They give one the strength to go on. I highly recommend them. Keep that yoga mat close by when sewing. This I have learned.
But I do have a question. Or two. So, most knowledgeable dressmakers, answer. Please. After all, I want to be able to wear this frock. Not ship it off to Goodwill with the discarded humidifier and old true crime books.
1. I seem to be unable to cut a smooth line. (And my teacher was so proud of me back in kindergarten, because I had a natural gift for that. A talent lost. Or misplaced. Kleenex, please.) Will those little jags spoil the finished garment, or muslin in this case?
2. I also went inside the lines a couple of times. (And this so disappoints me when I am inspecting patterns for The Blue Gardenia http://www.thebluegardenia.com. Careless seamstress, I have been known to mutter. More than once. More than twice. More than three times, in fact.) Is my muslin ruined? Must I start over? Please say no. Puhleeze. My lower back screams in agony at the thought. Loudly. Insistently.
So. Let me know your thoughts. Share, please. Please. I intend to stitch this up tomorrow. If I finish my paperwork, that is. I hate paperwork. Ugh. Ugh. Makes me wanna holler, throw up both my hands . . . Drat. Drat squared.
Fingers crossed. Send those positive thoughts my way. And all that.

Hit the road, leaky roof & slipshod contractors. Now. July 29, 2008 19:49 1 Comment

I don’t care. I don’t care. I don’t care. I have thrown up my hands. I am done. Done. Really.

Recall the leak we had way back when (I exaggerate) during The Bathroom Drama? When His Bertness thought the leak was caused by a toilet? Then when that proved not to be the case, he decided it was the gutter? Well. Then. Guess what? It wasn’t the gutter! No. Beloved hubby then decided it was the roof. Bingo. The third time is indeed the charm.

(Oh, is this the point where I beg your tolerance for going totally off topic? OK. Here goes. I had good home training. Please, darling, much appreciated readers, be patient. Let me vent. Let me share my woes. You do not have enough in your own life, I’m sure. You need mine to make your day complete.)

So. My job in this process was to call roofers for an estimate. The first 3 numbers I called (In business for 40 years! Family-owned for 20 years! Locally owned, locally operated, 27 years!) were disconnected. Out of business. Gone. Gone. Gone. I left messages at two others. One returned my call within 24 hours. I cannot tell you how rare this is in Prescott.

(Sewing is involved in this post. Really. Have faith. Keep reading.)

Now let me go back, dear readers, back, back, back, way back to two years ago when we had major rehab work done on the second floor. Nearly all of the roof was replaced. I thought the contractor did a lousy job on the roof at the time. The shingles on the roof edge stood straight out, like Louise Brooks’ bangs after a night of tossing and turning. Back then, way, way back then, I asked the contractor about this. He assured me in that way that only good ole boys in cowboy boots with radiant smiles and irresistible Lab pups can, that his crew would be back in the summer when the composition shingles were more malleable. Then, with the Arizona heat, it would be a cinch to arc the shingles. Knowing nothing about hip roofs, I believed him. Beloved hubby, knowing precious little more on this subject, thought it sounded plausible, too. Summer came. The roofers didn’t. I called. The story this time was that the shingles would eventually curve on their very own. The hard-working life of the shingle — I bet you didn't know. Again, hubby and I thought mmmm, sounds credible. We have lives. We got busy. We didn’t forget about the shingles, but they were a hassle we didn’t want to deal with. And guess what? The shingles still haven’t the slightest arc. They are as flat as land in southern Louisiana.

So. The new roofer showed up today. On time. Early, actually. This is so rare that he deserves a street with his name. He climbs up on our roof — a perilous task, since our house is perched on a hill. And he pronounces our roof in horrible shape, says the folks who did the roof did a lousy job, says we should file a complaint — and pronto — with the state. I am totally pissed. Totally. Overwhelmingly.

So, it was in this mood that I opened the Singer Sewing Book, copyright 1949, and saw this picture, optimistically cutlined Your Sewing Machine Makes Decorating Easy! (Exclamation mark mine all mine.) Ummmm emmmm. I believe 'em. But. Love the gray. Love the jolt of green. Love the slipcovers. Love them. Totally. And this book proposes that the reader make them. Is that preposterous or what? Completely. I say. How the heck do you make — all by yourself, without aid of an upholsterer — slipcovers that are so beautifully fitted? That look modern. Sleek. Tailored. Sophisticated yet inviting.

I thought about slipcovers. How fabulous they would look on our den sofa. How clean they would be— after all, I could wash them, every day if I chose. This would make Henry Jones, our Lab-Dane mix, as happy as a pig in mud. He lives on the sofa, and he loves fresh linen. So do I. Slipcovers. Clean. Sleek. Inviting. Baby, I was lost in the dream. Lost. Totally. Then, alas, reality intervened. Jarred my
brief slipcovered reverie. Because how could I possibly make slipcovers? I’m having a hard time with my muslin for a simple dress. As you know. I’ve cut out the pattern. I’ve marked it with Sharpies. And then, fear. Stark, immobilizing fear. Fear 10, action 1. Denise trapped. Caught in between.

So. Later, after a nap with His Bertness, I visited Posie Gets Cozy, a very, very pretty blog http://rosylittlethings.typepad.com/posie_gets_cozy/ and one that I have taken to visiting frequently, and what do I see but her living room, so clean, so lovely, so complete, with pets who double as adorable photo props. One doggie. One kitty. Not a slipcover in sight, but there are pillows she made herself, and gorgeous draperies (she probably made them herself, too). I want that. I do. Yesterday. Now. After all, as a songwriter once said: "time hurries by, we're here and gone." It's true. It is.

So. There you go. My day. Bobby Goren from L & O:CI seasons 1-4, save me. Save me from leaking roofs. Save me from careless contractors. Save me from myself. Quick. There's no time to waste. None. Because time hurries by. We're here and gone. Etc.

Vintage tips for not so vintage dressmakers July 28, 2008 16:59 5 Comments

All right. I’ve been reading today. Searching the books for more muslin tips. And books, of course, are the fount of knowledge. I know you agree. Right? At any rate, I want to share, dear readers, some of the fun tips — paraphrased, of course, because I am not only in a most languid mood, but The Closer comes on in 10 minutes — I learned especially for the beginning sewer, all courtesy of McCall’s Complete Book of Dressmaking, copyright 1951:

1. Shrink your material if it is cotton or wool.

2. If the material comes folded through the center, press out the fold.

3. Press the pattern.

4. Lay the material on a hard flat surface. Not on your bed, which is too soft. Besides, you might disturb a napping hubby. And that, my friends, can result in the sudden appearance of Crabby Appleton. Not pleasant. Not at all.

5. Keep your eye on the arrow, because it indicates the grain direction.

6. Pin along the lengthwise grain of the material. You get a truer cut that way.

7. Cut out or mark every notch. No cheating.

8. Mark all the lines shown on the pattern pieces. For instance, waistline, darts, top of sleeve.

9. Cut out the entire garment at one time. You can chowhound those Bunny Grahams later.

10. Be careful not to stretch the neckline, waistline, armhole or placket.

11. Pin the pieces together before you baste them.

12. Baste before you stitch.

13. After stitching, remove the bastings and press. Press. For professional results, you practically sew with an iron in one hand. Stitch. Press. Stitch. Press. You get the picture, right?

14. Take your time! Do not hurry. This is the best sewing advice anyone can give you. I have taken this particular tip to heart. In a big way. As you know. I am clutching it to my heart, and I am not letting it go. So there.

And here’s a surprise, for this novice, anyway. There is less work on the bodice of evening dresses. Know why? Because the bodice is negligible. And there are just long seams in the skirt. Hence, evening dresses are a good choice for beginners. That’s what Marian Corey, who penned this fine book, says. And would Ms. Corey lead us astray? I think not. I hope not. And there’s more: Cotton lace is a good choice for beginners! Who’d uh thunk it? And this pic from the book certainly proves cotton lace makes a very pretty, very elegant frock. Especially if you add a gorgeous waterfall corsage. And I would, of course, because Mr. Gardenia is all about gifting with flowers. And, natch, he loves red shoes. As do I. Especially the luscious tomato shade the model is wearing.

So, seasoned sewers, do share your opinions about Ms. Corey’s advice. We greenhorns await your responses breathlessly. If Ms. Corey is off the mark, we need to know. Now. Not after we ruin our fabric. Pretty please with red stilettos on the top. I thank you in advance. I do. I'd send you a hand-written note if The Closer wasn't coming on in 3 minutes.

I made my muslin in a past life, and then my dog ate it July 27, 2008 17:43 1 Comment

Simplicity 4237
It’s happened. My life today was so devoid of focus that I am writing about it. That dreaded and overused blog subject: What I Did Today. Yes, that is my topic. I'm not pulling your leg. Is that total, complete conceit or what? No need to answer that. I can do it for you. Yes. A loud, bellowing yes. But what is, is. And there ya go.

So, I was actually, once upon a time, going to tell you about my muslin. I was going to show it to you. See? Isn’t it pretty? Isn’t it the most lovely muslin you’ve ever seen? And so on and so on. But I got scared. Make that sca-a-a-y-errrd. Many syllables. Draw it out. Way out.

And what does a good Southern girl do when she’s sca-a-a-y-errrd? Well, she goes to church. And then, feeling somewhat uplifted, she goes to see a friend who sews. Someone conversant with that strange and intimidating language of pattern instructions. Someone who could interpret. Someone who could tell me whether I should cut facings when crafting a muslin. Someone who could reassure me that my chosen pattern, which I know y'all remember is Simplicity 2925, http://thebluegardenia.typepad.com/the_diary_of_the_blue_gar/2008/07/and-the-winner.html was indeed easy. Someone who was wearing a pair of slacks that were the most. Slightly updated Carole Lombard. Sassy yet comfortable. Slacks that she herself made from Simplicity 4237. Slacks that she assures me are very easy to make. We’ll see. I remain unconvinced. Ever so.

I could also tell you about the rest of my day: cooking potatoes freshly dug from a bud’s garden; learning about past life-regression from another friend (I told you I was blue, didn’t I?), and going to see the latest Batman movie (isn’t it grand that Morgan Freeman is working so much these days?). I could tell you I added fresh dill to the potatoes. I could tell you I’m considering past-life regression, something that a few months ago I would have considered as likely as serving a platter of wriggling earthworms at a dinner party. I could tell you I find the blond good guy in The Dark Knight as abrasive as a brand-new emery board. I could give you even more details about my day. I could. But I think I’ll moisturize my skin instead. And think about tomorrow. When perhaps I will be less scattered and most certainly have softer skin.

Flaws, flaws, more flaws, and one delicious dream July 22, 2008 12:51 1 Comment

OK. I suppose I shouldn’t blog when I’m thinking of Armand Assante because I forget things. Important things. Things that mar the look of a finished garment. Things like the lack of a snap at the neckline.

Things like poor placement of buttons. Both of these garments http://thebluegardenia.typepad.com/the_diary_of_the_blue_gar/2008/07/why-i-want-to-1.html have buttons placed right above the waistline, and they keep the belt from laying flat. This particular flaw is both uncomfortable and annoying. It inspires continuous fiddling with the belt and button.

Things like the unsightly puckers along the front closing of the blue and gray cashmere dress. (Learned readers, please tell me what causes this blight so that I may avoid it on my own garments.)

Things like cuffs that fall down. I assume the lazy cuff happens because the wrong interfacing is used. Yes? No? Tell me, because I do not want this to happen when I sew.

Things like the glaring gap at the hemline on the royal blue linen frock. Again, dear and ever so knowledgeable readers, how do I prevent this mistake?

I await your replies with anticipation. Breathless, natch.

On a brighter note, on a happier note, in some ways it pays to think of Mr. Assante right before bed. I dreamed about the very luscious him. It was, of course, as most dreams are, strange. Very. There was a marriage proposal. There was a phone call. There was a knock at the door. There was a bad man. There was a storm. There was an apartment with two walls of windows. There was a closet filled with clothes and boxes. There was no sex. None. Darn it. No scarf. No mambo. No sex. And there was a notable absence of a sewing machine. Mmmmmm. You figure it out, you Jungians you. I, for one, simply enjoyed it. I could have it enjoyed it more. Of course. But of the dream I will not complain. Of these two dresses, well, that's another matter. Entirely.

Why I want to learn to sew: Reasons 4 — 8 July 20, 2008 17:59 5 Comments

View this photo
This pic, of two dresses from my closet — yep, my very own — illustrates many reasons why I want to learn to sew. Shall I list them? You’re holding your breath until I do, right? Therefore, sharing is a life-saving gesture. So, here ya go. (I’m such a selfless heroine. Just leave my Girl Scout badge at will-call. I’ll pick it up later.)

4. I love this pattern. It’s sleek. It has the 1950s feel, yet it also seems modern. It’s Lucy meets Donna Karan. It’s comfortable. It twirls on the dance floor like a lazy Susan in the hands of a bored 2-year-old. A local dressmaker made the royal blue one, and I liked it so much that I wanted another. That brings us to . . .
5. The dressmaker — let’s call her Elouise — was apparently having a very bad day when she made the gray and blue version. Very bad indeed. The collar does not lay properly. The buttonholes are a mess. Really. Stringy. Most unprofessional. Even though the fabric is a yummy cotton cashmere, I rarely wear this one. Now, if I had made it myself . . . It would look even worse? Did you really say that? Hush! Hush, hush, hush. Keep those negative comments to yourself.

6. And a major perquisite of patterns: If you like the garment, you can make another. And another. And another. And so on. Which eventually makes the pattern a bargain, even if you could have bought a house in Nebraska for the same price. And then there are the tears you won’t shed when you wear out a favorite dress, because, of course, you can simply stitch up another. In the fabric of your choice. With the buttons of your choice. And the belt of your choice. You get my drift, I know. You are smart cookies. That's why you read this blog. You cannot hide your intelligence from me.
7. You can personalize the dress, and not just with fabric and buttons. You can do fun things like add horsehair to the hem if you’re a dancer. A little horsehair makes the skirt really fly. Totally out there. You could add sequins. Or beads. Or ric-rac. If that's your thing.
8. You're not likely to run into your dress on someone else at your favorite bistro. It's unique. It's yours alone. It will show who you really are.

And, of course, I am one stylish and classy female. And I am not hiding my light under any bushel. And that includes my sewing talents. No giggling. No sneering. Stop it. Stop it! Now this minute!

Oh, enough about sewing. Enough about patterns. Send in Armand Assante. I'm listening to Linda Ronstadt's Frenesi, one of my absolute all-time favorite albums, and it always reminds me of The Mambo Kings, which always reminds me of that fabulous dance with the scarf.
Yeeeeeoooooooowwww. Let me repeat that. Yeeeeeoooooooowwww. You can have Antonio Banderas. The dregs, I know. The very bottom of the barrel. Oh well. Suffer. I'll think of you while I rumba through my dreams with Mr. Assante. Wearing a dress I made myself. Beautifully.

You've been warned: Some progress. A lot of whining. July 19, 2008 20:36 1 Comment

Today, I did it. I took Labelladonna’s advice and pinned my chosen pattern, which you, learned and informed readers, know is Simplicity 2925, to my very own body. It appeared to fit perfectly. I, of course, am quite skeptical.

For the photo, however, I was ever so protective of you (yes, I am a sweetie, it's true) and pinned the pattern to a dress form. I did not want to make y’all shriek in horror and run from the computer covering your eyes at the sight of me in my undies — even though they are rather cute — and I got rid of my leotards in the 1990s. Besides, this isn’t an X-rated blog. This is a blog about one woman’s desire and fear about learning to sew. What is that saying about feel the fear and do it anyway? You know, I wouldn’t have the slightest fear — well, perhaps the tiniest shiver of apprehension — about swinging on a trapeze. Bring it on. I’m not scared of whooshing down a towering, spindly roller coaster. That is exhilarating. But give me a needle, a sewing machine and some tissue paper, and I almost freeze with the fear that I Will Fail. Fail, what an ugly word. Or worse, that the bobbin will jam.

Now, I know. There’s a learning curve. Few people turn out a garment worthy of YSL on the first try. Do they? (And if you did that, please, keep it to yourself. OK? I do not want to hear that right now. I do not want to hear about any dressmaking prodigies at the moment. If your first garment was a suit that Chanel herself would be glowing with pride over, and you made it, no less, at the innocent age of 3 and in an hour and a half at that, tell me later, OK? I repeat: I do not want to hear it right now. What I want to hear, what I need to hear, are Little Train That Could type things. Please. Think Pollyanna.)

I will think positively myself. I will channel Norman Vincent Peale. I will. Really. I will pluck those doubts like unwanted facial hairs. I think I can. I think I can. I think I can. And so on. I can. Really. Don'cha think? It's going to be a gorgeous dress. Right? The compliments will pour like rain in Seattle. Right? Right?

Tweezers, anyone?

Good girls always win — if they pick up their shears July 15, 2008 17:52 1 Comment

I jumped. I shouted. I danced. I squealed in sheer glee. Why, you may ask? Because. Because I — gulp, breathe in, one, two, three, breathe out — took my measurements. Not just the basic hip-waist-bust. No, the detailed, excruciating measurements Kathryn Brenne touts as the basis for well-fitting garments in the August/September Vogue Patterns magazine http://thebluegardenia.typepad.com/the_diary_of_the_blue_gar/2008/07/hep-me-hep-me-h.html . Yes, it was painful. Where did that 38-26-39 figure go? Where? It’s hiding, you say. Underneath a little flesh. Around the waist in particular. No need to be rude. No need to point out my flaws. But. Forget that. Forget the padding. The important thing is this: I did it. Step 1, Step 1, Step 1 in the actual construction of a garment. Yes, yes, yes! Yes. Then I took a very deep breath and moved on to Step 2: I pulled Simplicity 2925 http://thebluegardenia.typepad.com/the_diary_of_the_blue_gar/2008/06/and-back-to-our.html out of its pretty envelope. Then, yes, sit down for this: Step 3! Yep, I started cutting it out. Naturally, I was so excited I had to come and share. That was after Henry Jones (my Lab-Great Dane) and I danced around the second floor. To Blondie, no less.

Satellites are falling down tonight
I see you far away
I’m floating into this inescapable bliss

So, yes, jump, squeal, dance. Celebrate. I deserve it. I do. Don’t you agree?

Hep me. Hep me. Hep me. Hep me. Puhleeze. July 9, 2008 17:19 3 Comments

OK. Today’s post is short. You decide if it’s sweet. Last night, I read “Measuring Up: What’s Your Correct Pattern Size” in the August/September Vogue Patterns magazine. Writer Kathryn Brenne says that one should choose one’s pattern by chest size rather than bust size. Chest being the circumference right under one’s arms, just in case you didn't know (but I bet you did!). She says one should make a full cup adjustment to a smaller sized pattern if one is, shall I say, bosomy. (Most patterns are made for B-cup femmes, as you, learned readers, doubtless know.) She writes with authority, and as a novice, I tend to believe she knows of what she writes. What do you think? Let me know. Please. I want to cut out my pattern. But I want to follow the proper cutting line. Naturally. Know why? Because I'm a good girl. A good girl who wants to look good. And there ya go.

Blood and dust in the sewing room July 7, 2008 18:11

I am itching. I am sneezing. My t-shirt and shorts and all exposed areas of my body are covered with visible dust. Why, you ask, probably with palpable anticipation. Because. Because I woke up this morning with a plan, a plan that I could not ignore, a plan that caught hold of me like a tick to a dog. What plan, you ask, eagerly. Why, a plan to organize my sewing books and rearrange my office to make room for a sewing area.

It sounded like such a good idea. Then. Hindsight. I’ve heard the saying regarding the benefit of that a time or two. Or three.

So. My plan involved much work. Much. It meant that the plays had to be moved to the top bookshelf, the detective fiction had to be moved to the shelf the plays were on, and finally, the sewing books had to be moved from the bottom bookshelf to the former home of Raymond Chandler and his ilk, an easy-to-reach spot and eye-level to boot. Of course, I had to dust. I had no choice. There were dustbunnies the size of the Incredible Hulk. There was even a spiderweb hanging from the top shelf. Heloise, help!

There was also blood involved in this unpleasant process. Seems His Bertness did not vacuum after breaking a jar of mustard in the storage room off his office a month or so ago. So, yes, I cut my palm while bending down to forage through some sewing books outside. He’s so lucky I am even-tempered. Especially since this is not the first time he has failed to properly clean up after breaking glass. He seems to feel that simply sweeping or wiping is sufficient. I am here to tell you that is not the case. A vacuum is necessary. An industrial vacuum is even better. I can show you my scarred palm to prove it. And the bloody tissues.

But amid the dust, cobwebs and blood, I found this gem of a booklet, circa 1956. It’s not only as cute as a puppy’s tail, it’s helpful, too. Basic, but I am a beginner, after all. Susan Khalje might not find it of much use, but someone who can barely thread a needle will find it immensely informative. And don’t you love the title? The Young Homemaker Learns Easy Sewing Skills. So retro. So adorable. So optimistic. So perfect for bedtime reading.

Nighty-night.

Fewer seams mean fewer seams to rip out July 6, 2008 17:22 1 Comment

All right. All right. I didn’t sew today. Do not attempt to make me feel guilty. I went to the movies. So there. But I did read a bit. Sewing Basics: Creating a Stylish Wardrobe with Step-by-Step Techniques (Aw, man, that title is a mouthful! A definite stress to those of us whose typing skills may not be up to the level of Della Street. She did type, didn’t she?) by Patricia Moyes. This comes from Taunton Press, who publishes Threads, the magazine most beloved by dressmakers everywhere. And dressmaker wannabes like myself. Ms. Moyes spends some time on pattern choice, and it seems she firmly believes the beginning dressmaker should select a pattern that is loose-fitting. Simplicity 2925 http://thebluegardenia.typepad.com/the_diary_of_the_blue_gar/2008/07/and-the-winner.html fits the bill. So. A pat on the head for that. And maybe a peanut butter treat.

Now, let me ramble. A word — or several — about the movie. Wanted, a compromise. I wanted to see Sex and the City or the latest Indiana Jones movie. My GF wanted to see Wall-E or Kitt Kittredge: An American Girl. Neither of us really liked Wanted. Isn’t that the way with compromises? Anyway, may I get my $5, 108 minutes (plus the time spent watching all the trailers!) and Cary Grant back? Please, oh great movie goddesses and gods. And gas cost reimbursement would be peachy, too. It surely would.

And the winner is . . . July 3, 2008 16:32 2 Comments

For your viewing pleasure, I offer a line drawing of Simplicity 2925,
the Chosen One, as requested by many of my treasured readers. (I love you, each and every one, yes, all five of you, even those of you who had no wish to see this drawing.) In addition, you’ll see the fabric for said garment — a luscious aqua silk-linen that I ordered from Leandro Fabrics (http://www.leandrofabrics.com) via long-distance, after much quibbling and hemming and hawing and general over-the-top indecision (thank you, Hope, you ever-so-patient fabric goddess). They’re having a half-price sale at the moment. So, naturally, naturally, I ordered fabric for several frocks. And yes, I quibbled, hemmed and hawed and was maddeningly indecisive over each fabric choice (bless you, Hope).

For those of you wise readers who warned that I should not use good fabric: I promise to make a muslin out of something cheap. In fact, the muslin fabric was very cheap, and I've already washed it. I am that eager! I am quivering with anticipation. Or perhaps terror is causing the trembling. Mmmmm.

Anyway, as I watched the last half-hour of The Young and The Restless, my favorite televised guilty pleasure, I could not help but note that femme fatale Phyllis (men are my granola) Newman wore a dress similar to this Simplicity number. It was, natch, out of a figure-loving fabric. Just so you know.