Do you think Mr. Blackwell ever tried a sunless tanning lotion? October 21, 2008 19:14 2 Comments

Mr. Blackwell, or as his momma tagged him, Richard Sylvan Selzer, has gone on to claim his reward, assuming there is one, in that fabulous fashion show beyond the clouds.

Camilla Parker-Bowles: “In feathered hats that were once the rage, she resembles a petrified parakeet from the Jurassic age.”

Martha Stewart: “She dresses like the centrefold for the Farmer's Almanac.”

Elizabeth Taylor: “Looks like two small boys fighting under a mink blanket."

He was actually rather clever. Imagine my surprise upon reading the obits.

I am tempted to share my recent experience with sunless tanning lotion with you, dear and beloved readers. So tempted. I am. But in honor of Mr. Blackwell, you're spared. Today.

By any name, it's packed with 1940s attitude October 15, 2008 18:38 3 Comments

Meet Gilda. Misnamed, I think. Frankly, it should be Gene. As in Tierney. This luscious wedge reminds me of the beautiful Ms. Tierney in Leave Her to Heaven. Sure. Her character was a manipulative witch. But what a stylish one. But. No matter what one calls it, it is delicious. Bewitching. Sassy. Elegant. And totally 1940s. Imagine it with 1940s slacks. I do. In fact, it makes me want to stitch up a pair right now. Oh, right. I have to learn to sew first. Which means I have to finish my home improvement project. So that I can restore order to our home. So I will have room to cut out fabric. So. So. So. Drat.

At any rate. I want this shoe. I am breathless with desire. All right. I exaggerate. Slightly.

However. It is too cold here for sandals now. It was 17 at my house Sunday morning. 17! In October. But. For spring, this is the shoe. The one. Be it Gilda. Be it Gene. No matter. It has my name on it.

If you feel the same, or just have a yen for shoes that look vintage but aren’t, check out Remix Vintage Shoes. Philip Heath of Remix says their shoes are made in Spain and Mexico, except for the Hollywood stilettos, which are made right here in the USA. In case you care. And I bet you do.

Inspirations: Happy days will be here again. Absolutely. October 13, 2008 17:37 3 Comments

Vogue Couturier Design 353, circa 1940s

This is, quite simply, a fabulous suit. It’s simple. It’s elegant. It’s multi-purpose. In sleek charcoal wool 120, it would signal “do not, under any circumstances, mess with me.”  It is fine armor for a trying business meeting. Protective. Absolutely. In black crepe with a black silk satin collar and a floor length skirt, it would quietly personify tuxedo chic at the most formal of affairs. And reference YSL. A favorite. In coral linen, it would command respect at the snootiest ladies luncheon. In navy silk, it would not only ensure the job would be yours, but it would command a salary that yesterday’s CEOs would not sneer at today. Can you live without this suit? It is a suit for precarious times. It will carry you through til better days. Sunshiny days. Happy days. Green days. Indeed.

Inspirations: Be it calm, be it brisk, you are ready. October 9, 2008 17:16 3 Comments

Vogue Couturier Design 242, circa 1940s

One weekend closer to sewing. I promise. October 5, 2008 18:35 1 Comment

Well. I can’t say this has been a typical weekend. Not at all. But. That, my dear readers, is a good thing. A very good thing. I won’t complain. Work was done. So. I am that much closer to sewing. Really.

His Bertness took some steps toward decluttering the garage. He built a new stand for the mailbox. He trimmed a ponderosa pine. Ever so productive was he.

And Mike the painter gave up his Saturday morning to paint the bathroom, so that Andrew the tile guy could work today. Yippee skippee.

And this all started because the roof leaked. As you no doubt recall. Because, of course, you remember every detail of my life with amazing clarity. Right?

And, yes. That is indeed vinyl flooring circa 1979 framing Mike. Brown vinyl flooring. Your eyes do not deceive. Please don’t tattle about it to my interior design instructor. Promise? 

Better than Botox: Our house is getting a facelift October 3, 2008 12:21

Warning: Totally mundane topic today. Totally. And today’s topic is  . . . swelling drumroll . . . house painting. That’s right. House painting. I warned you. But. This dull subject has me aquiver with excitement. It does. Truly. Our home was in dire need of paint. I do not exaggerate. Just ask the neighbors. There was peeling. There was flaking. There was fading color.

And now, thanks to Mike and Kerry and Juan, the house is taking on a glow. (Note to Kerry: Let’s not discuss politics. Please. We don’t agree. At all. Oh no. I hear you going at it with Mike now. Outside my office window. Oh my oh my oh my. No, Kerry. No. Don’t go there!)

Mike and Kerry, above, listen to a rock oldies station. All day. They play Alice Cooper. Alice Cooper. Isn’t that wild? I had no idea he still got airplay. None. Did you? “Eighteen, and I don’t know what I want. Eighteen . . . .”

Juan, going it alone on the front of the house, is much quieter than Kerry. Much. Mike is quieter than Kerry, too. Now that I think of it, a baby with a diaper rash is quieter than Kerry. Really.

So. There you go. File your nails. Sweep the garage. Put Perry Como on the CD. Go back to your exciting lives. I’m going to check on Mike and Kerry and Juan. Painting. A facelift for our home. An exterior facelift. Is that redundant?  Mmmm.

Forgive me, forgive me, for I have sinned. (And so has he. Lout.) September 27, 2008 17:36 3 Comments

Dear, dear Blue Gardenia customers, I have been woefully slow in shipping the last 10 days. I have been completely caught up in the work being done in the house. Feeling displaced. Out of sorts. Etc. That is not an excuse. It’s an explanation. Really. I am sorry. Completely. Absolutely. Abundantly. 

But. I have spent the day catching up on Blue Gardenia shipping, so if you have been holding your breath for your order to arrive, you’ll be able to release it soon. Those of you  who have been victims of my tardy shipping have gotten a complimentary upgrade to Priority shipping. And I beg you, on my knees, tears flowing: Please. Forgive me. I apologize. Sincerely.

On another topic, I have been pissed — excuse my language, please, darling readers — with His Bertness today. If you were looking toward Arizona, doubtless you saw clouds. You thought they were clouds. But. I am here to tell you, those were not clouds, my friends, those were great bursts of steam coming out of my ears. Out of my nostrils.

Recently, when we were moving things downstairs for the carpet installation, my beloved hubby removed files from a file cabinet drawer. When he replaced them, he did so carelessly. Absentmindedly. In a most willy-nilly fashion. There were files facing backward. There were files facing forward. And, natch, they were no longer in alphabetical order. Can you say asshole? I can. And I probably did today. And not just under my breath. I hate to file, you see. I do. Absolutely. But I do it anyway, because I have learned it makes life easier. (Oh, woe is me, little Wednesday's child.)

So. I discovered his transgression when I tried to file some recipes today. Oh oh oh oh oh. I was beyond angry. There was even — gasp! — slamming of doors. So unlike me. I am Obama cool. Normally. Truly. I am. But today, I wanted to scream "I hate you I hate you I hate you." I wanted to stamp my feet. I wanted to clench my fists. I wanted to yell. Asshole. Asshole. Asshole.

Now. All of you probably have perfect husbands, wives, girlfriends, boyfriends. Husbands, wives, girlfriends, boyfriends who would not think of replacing files in less than pristine fashion, neatly organized, better than before. Alas, that is not the case in my household. Yes, His Bertness is handsome. Yes, His Bertness is smart. But. Could he just respect the hours I spent filing? Is that too much too ask? Is it? Is it? Is it? I think not.

I feel devalued, she sobbed. Unappreciated. Invisible. Sniff, sniff. Sniff. Where are my Puffs? I want them. I need them. I am off to find them.

Shameless plug: I'm for sleek. I'm for slim. Tonight. September 24, 2008 19:26

It’s true: I have taken time this week from The Bathroom Drama — forgive me, I've forgotten what part - to add patterns to The Blue Gardenia. After all, I like to eat. Groceries are rather wonderful. Don’t you agree?

So. Without further ado, some of my favorites. (And I know you’ll notice that I am in the mood for a slim silhouette ­– at least for this particular moment. I'm fickle, so that could change tomorrow. Or even sooner.)

Advance 8616, circa 1950s, boasts a button-on bolero. And it has a collar that makes a statement. Does sleek get any smarter? Does slim get any sexier? I think not. On both counts. And. Imagine all those surreptitious glances when you begin to unbutton your top – in public. Won’t that be fun? Won't that be shocking? Absolutely. Yes indeedy.

Vogue Special Design 6100 is so very Jeanne Moreau. Very 1960s elegant. Very 1960s cool. Very very very. Put your hair up in a French twist or chignon, add a brooch the size of a saucer, don your gloves, and you are ready for dinner with your favorite suave heartthrob.  More than ready.

And, of course, there are many more ever so stylish patterns just added. Always located at the beginning of each category. In fact, you will find new additions in Accessories, 1930s, 1940s, 1950s and 1960s. Wow. That's a mouthful! 

And the site is secure. You don’t have to fax your charge info now. So simple. So easy. Life’s a dream.

Isn’t it?

Inspirations: He can poach your eggs. When the sun comes up. September 21, 2008 16:56 2 Comments

McCall 7026, copyright 1947

This is one of those nights.  A night without definitions. A night without boundaries. A night without categories.

You want to go out to dinner. Somewhere elegant. Somewhere spendy. With freshly starched white linen and hovering waiters and a pianist playing unobtrusively in the corner. And, of course, with food that makes even the most persnickety food critic salivate. Salad. Entrée. Bread. Butter. Dessert. Coffee. Fully leaded. You won’t say no. You won’t deny yourself. Tonight.

You’ll slink gracefully through the aisles. You’ll lean forward, chin on hand when he captivates you. You’ll shrug and raise your eyes when his comments make you skeptical. You’ll laugh. You’ll sneer. No games. You’re comfortable in your skin. You are who you want to be.

Sometimes, you’re ladylike.

Sometimes, you’re not.

And, sometimes, when the table is cleared, you want to let loose. You want to hit the dance floor.  You want to sway. To tease. To ronde. To twirl. To wink sassily at the lean, dangerous stranger you pass in the hall when you go powder your nose.

And this is the dress. The dress for dining. The dress for dancing. The dress for playing all night long. If you want to. Maybe you don’t.  But. Then again. Maybe. Maybe you do. You decide. You choose. You have no boundaries. Tonight.

Tomorrow. He can poach egg whites for you. He can make you spelt toast. But not tonight. 

No way.

Shameless (and short!) plug: You asked for it. You got it. At last. September 20, 2008 17:04

Down. Dirty. All business. The Blue Gardenia is now secure. Yes, it's true. You no longer have to fax or mail your CC orders to us. You may do it online. Isn't that fabulous? I think so. And I know you do, too. But, of course, I don't mind if you prove it. Just click here: The Blue Gardenia.

Who says there was no good design in the 1980s? September 18, 2008 16:57 1 Comment

Vogue American Designer 1958, Designed by Donna Karan, copyright 1987

As you, my faithful readers, know, I am no Martha. (And my dust bunnies will happily confirm this as fact. Stop hopping up and down, you little guys. Stop clinging to me. This minute. Go stand in the corner. Now. That's right.) So. I won’t bore you with yet another post about that. Not today. Promise.

What I will share with you is this beautiful Donna Karan pattern. Because, you see, while I was cleaning out the coat closet downstairs (don’t ask, don’t ask, don’t ask) I found the original dress, which used to be one of my favorites. I wore this dress, and wore it, and wore it, and not once did anyone say “oh, you’re wearing that again.” Not one single time. Why? Because it always looked sexy.  It always looked smart. It was always the most sophisticated and elegant dress in the room. Without a doubt. And it was comfortable. Ever so.  Absolutely.

I did not buy the coat. In Houston, Texas, trust me, there was little need for a coat wardrobe. Much too hot. Much too humid. I had one coat during my sojourn in Houston, and that coat was not only very lightweight, it stayed in my closet most of the winter. Or what one calls winter in the city on the Buffalo Bayou, which can be defined as the season that one's makeup only melts at midday. But the coat is rather terrific, as well. Reminiscent of Lilli Ann’s 1940s coats. Room to move. Room for flair. Scads.

One day soon — very soon — I will have the dining room cleared, and I can start sewing again. I am so eager. But. For now. More tossing. More organizing. Tossing. Organizing. Tossing. Organizing. Banishing clutter.

Ugh.

But the new carpet is gorgeous. Truly. I know. I’ve said that before.

The Un-Martha Chronicles. Or a Day or Two in My Life. September 16, 2008 19:02 1 Comment

Martha Stewart, I fear, would be most unhappy with my progress at putting the house back together after the carpet installation. Most. She might take me out behind the woodshed, in fact. Because. I took yesterday off to see The Women with a girlfriend. (Contrary to what one snippy critic said, I thought Annette Bening looked fabulous. But couldn’t Mary Haines have said “thanks, but no thanks” when that unfaithful lout of a husband begged for her hand again? And couldn’t the director have said a loud, emphatic “no, thanks” to that silly, manipulative birthing scene? Heavens to Betsy, it was endless. Absolutely.)

But back to my Monday and what I did and did not accomplish. (Because I know your day won’t be complete if I don’t share these scintillating details.) I did a yoga class. I finished an Ann Rule book. I made tuna salad. (When I said scintillating, I meant scintillating. Really.)

Today, I did a yoga class. And I did do a bit of work on restoring order to our home. A bit. A tiny bit. Not enough to win Martha’s smile of approval, though. Not enough for a gold star. Oh, well, there’s always tomorrow. Just ask Ms. O’Hara. Or perhaps I could beg Ms. Stewart to sprinkle some magic dust on me. Please, Martha. Please. Please. Please. I beseech you. I'm on my knees.

In my dreams, I'm the Martha Stewart of bloggers September 13, 2008 19:58 1 Comment

Remember the carpet? The new carpet? For upstairs? Well. It was installed. Thursday. And it’s gorgeous. Absolutely.

But. The whole experience has, alas, exposed my tendency to clutter. And that of His Bertness as well. His Bertness, who keeps ragged shirts and shorts, because he might wear them one day when mowing the lawn. Or pruning trees. That is, if he could find them in the furthest, darkest, scariest corner of a bottom drawer. If. And that, dear readers, is not very likely. In fact, it’s not likely. At all.

So. This is our dining room. Today. It’s the one room I usually keep spotless. Clear of detritus. Clean. My oasis. I know. You’re skeptical. So very.

But. It's the room that we stored everything in while the carpet was laid upstairs. Everything. Shoes. Hats. Books. More books. Boxes and boxes and boxes of books. Believe it or not, we’ve actually made progress on putting things back. Really. We have. It’s true. I cite this as my proof: The dining room box towers are only half as tall as they were Thursday night. I know. You're shaking your heads. Gazing skyward to underline your disbelief. Go ahead. I forgive you. The amount of stuff we crammed into the dining room was amazing. Astounding. Totally. Peter Walsh would be stunned.

He would, I’m sure, be pleased as punch that we are doing a clean sweep. We are. Truly. So far, we’ve filled three boxes with various items to donate. And we’ve filled a couple of trash cans, too. After all, does anyone really want a 20-year-old pair of Top-Siders, complete with scuffs the size of tire tracks? I think not.

So. Anyway. Back to the sorting. Back to the piling. Back to the discarding. I think I can. I think I can. I think I can. And all that.

This channels Gene Tierney. But it doesn't include her lips. Drat. September 10, 2008 16:37

Simplicity 4321, circa 1940s

OK, girls. OK, boys. I am doing this quick. I am doing this fast. I am doing this because I need a break. I do. And, you, my friends, are it.

Actually. Truth be told. I need a summer vacation. A real summer vacation. With the maps. The station wagon. The dogs. The roadside motels. The postcards that don't get mailed. I completely missed out on that American tradition this year. Really. Last summer, too. And the summer before. I am due. Or should I say overdue? I should. I'm glad you agree.

So. I am trying to get my upstairs clean.  Clear. Uncluttered. Because.  Tomorrow the new carpet will be installed. And guess what? The installers won’t move sewing patterns. They won’t move books. They won’t move pictures. They won’t move electronics. And that means I am doing it. Me. Myself. I. Along with that paragon of good cheer and eager-to-please attitude (not!), His Bertness.

But. If I were on vacation now, this minute, this very minute, I might be wearing Simplicity 4321 (great number, that). It’s made for a last-burst-of-summer retreat. Don’t you agree? I see it in strawberry ice cream linen. The shorts would be so cool, so fashionable for a stroll along the boardwalk in the afternoon sun. And one could always switch to the skirt for fried shrimp (remember I am a Southerner, and I like my food fried) at a seaside café when the night breezes blow cool. I might, perhaps, add a pair of earrings. Some that dangle boldly.

Ahh. Time to return to the toting. The trudging downstairs. Then back up. Once. Twice. Fifty times. More. I would complain. I would. You know I would. I am not afraid to complain. I am no Pollyanna. But. I look forward to the new carpet. And how. In fact, I so look forward to it that I am doing the heavy lifting with pleasure. Really. No fibbing. You would not believe how bad our carpet looks. Oh. My. Can you say nightmare? I can. And, trust me, I have. With relish. With drama. Oh so many times.

So, bon jour, dear readers. That’s the carpet pattern. And it's my wish for you. Of course. 

More about ironing. You were holding your breath. Don't deny it. September 8, 2008 17:42

So. I promised you Sewing Secrets from the 1939 book of the same name if you were good readers. And I always keep my promises. Always. Always. Always. Almost always.

Anyway. Since you were not only good readers, you were very, very good, I’m going to share four ironing tips with you. Yup. Count ‘em. Four. Are you jittery with excitement? Perhaps even panting? I know you are. So. Without further delay (and, be warned, I paraphrase at times):

23) Steaming a Hem from Right Side in Final Pressing.  To steam out basting thread marks or any shiny spots that may show on the right side side of a hem, wring a press cloth very dry, place over the right side of the hem, then place a dry cloth on top of that (does this seem excessive to anyone but me?) and hold a hot iron over lightly over the cloth. Remove cloths quickly. (Pretend you are a magician’s assistant! Won’t that be fun? Add a little spice to  the ironing? You betcha.) Brush with a fairly stiff brush.

24) Creasing Narrow Hems with a Warm Iron. Much time may be saved by creasing narrow hems with a warm iron before sewing. When this is done, basting is not necessary. (Think of the time you’ll save!) First, turn the raw edge crossing it with the iron as you turn it, then make the second turning shown in the nifty drawing.

35) Dampening a Seam with a Brush. Before using water, test your fabric to see if water spots it. (We absolutely do not want that! No spotting allowed. None.) Most seams may be dampened on the wrong side with a brush without touching the material on each side of the seam.

36) Using a Press Cloth. Place a damp cloth over the seam. Make sure the cloth is free of starch. If pressing woolens, place a dry cloth over the seam and dampen that cloth with a sponge. Remove cloth quickly (of course!) after pressing. Remember that you press with the weight of the iron rather than by sliding the iron.  (Do not slide – we all remember this from previous lessons. Right? Right. You got it.) If the print of the seam shows through on the right side of the fabric, place strips of paper under the seam edges when pressing. (Who’d a thunk it?)

OK. Is everybody ready to iron? Give me an I. Give me an R. Give me an O. Give me an N. Shake those tom-toms. Get those boards set up and those irons plugged in. There's no time to waste. Practice. I understand it makes perfect. And there will be tests. You know it.

It's my dress. My future dress. (And my hairstyle, too.) September 6, 2008 19:45 1 Comment

Today, while thumbing through Us Weekly (a guilty pleasure that I relish with all the joy of those gooey, sticky, syrupy, cheap Brach's chocolate-covered cherries that were a tradition every Christmas of my childhood . . . yum . . . yum-squared – I’ve probably mentioned these before because I love ‘em) what did I see but a pic of lovely Reese Witherspoon wearing a dress that’s so very  similar to my first project, Simplicity 2925. The neck and shoulder detail looks the same, with the addition of a bow. (This embellishment may be overkill. But. You know how I feel about bows. They are not for me. Too girly. Too. Too. Too. You know it. But if they are your cup of tea, drink up. I won't judge you. I promise.) The silhouette, too, looks the same. Love this dress. Totally. Still. Even after all these weeks. (Or is it months? Don’t remind me. I know I am a Gold Medal procrastinator. You do not have to tell me.) I am inspired anew. Really. I am. Completely.

I did move toward sewing today. I did. I took time from counting pattern pieces in prep for the next Blue Gardenia update to buy an iron. (And groceries. Love to eat. I do. My hips proudly testify to this fact.)

So. The model at my friendly Costco was a Rowenta Professional. I know several of you, my dear and beloved readers, have said this is a good brand. Obviously, this is proof that you have earned my trust. And. I trust that Costco made the right choice when they selected this model. Sort of. Kind of. Sort of. Kind of. You get the picture.

Inspirations: A tough, cynical dress for tough, cynical times September 4, 2008 17:41 1 Comment

So. I was determined to find a dress, a suit, a coat, something that I really wanted to duplicate on my sewing machine. Not tonight. Not today. Not next week. But one day, in the future, the distant future, when my dressmaking skills are there. And they will be, one day. Because I have intent. I have resolve. I just need to clear out the clutter. In my house. In my life. In my head.

But. Back to the topic. Which is this incredible dress by Nicolas Ghesquiere for Balenciaga. It is the absolute most. The tip-top. The cream. I love the sleeves, which allow for a few missed sessions at the gym. I crave the boat neckline. It's ladylike. Tough. Cynical. Sexy. All at once. I covet the peplum detail at the waist and hip, which references my favorite era, the 1940s. I adore the slit in the skirt.  I am sold on this dress. Totally gone. Wrap it up. I will take it.

And that is saying something, because, as you know, I am not one for modern fashion. I am fond of things vintage. Very.

Of course, this dress doesn’t really fit my small-town lifestyle. It doesn’t. So easy to be a fashion slug in a small town. A regular sloth. Deep sigh. Heavy sigh.

Still. I can dream. Can’t I? The ubiquitous they says so. And they wouldn’t try to fool me. Would they?

(And while I'm dreaming, I want to be a cock-eyed optimist, a Nellie Forbush in my next life. If there is such a thing.)

Inspirations: I prefer the sewing pattern. So there. September 2, 2008 19:14 1 Comment

Simplicity 1855, circa 1930s

Tonight, I played Dream Fashion. You know. You look at collections. You decide what you’d buy if money was absolutely not a factor. And, to be completely truthful — which is, of course, my nature — I was disappointed. Quite. The designers let me down. With a plop.

I did find this ensemble at Donna Karan. She has a way with luxe fabrics and details with panache. But. The fuzzy wuzzy cuffs on the sleeves are too, too Las Vegas for me. Shouldn't that glitter be stuck on a showgirl's butt? Or perhaps teetering atop her pretty make-up counter head? What was Ms. Karan thinking? Give me classic. Give me sleek. Give me the patience to learn to sew! Please, sewing goddesses. I beg you. Very politely.

But. I have rambled off-topic. So unlike me. Forgive me. Please. I'll go back to  the DK design. Right now. This minute. The jacket collar is gorgeous. Totally. So are the chiffon trailings. But this just isn’t as fabulous as Simplicity 1855. Not even close. Look at the shoulder details. Don’t stop there. Let your eyes roam. Ogle the pockets on the skirt that mirror the topper's curves. Oh my. Love it. Love it. The seam that climbs up the sleeve to the sweeping yoke. Yeeeeoooooww. The scarf that simply cannot be contained by the coat. I would make one tiny change: a slit in the skirt rather than the pleat. After all, a black stockinged leg is sexy. Very.

Now, imagine this ensemble in the wool and silk chiffon that Ms. Karan has used. Oh my oh my oh my. I’m getting goose bumps at the mere thought of it. Truly. Aren't you?

His Bertness sweats. Emma licks the camera lens. Life is perfect. September 1, 2008 19:43 2 Comments

So. Recall when I complained about bloggers with camera-ready lives? Perfect houses, perfect pets, perfect living rooms, perfect hubbies, perfect selves, etc. I know you do. How could you forget one teeny word from my lips? One minute detail of my life? Of course you couldn’t. Of course. And if you can, don't tell me. Let me live in denial. It will be my warm winter cloak.

Well. Naturally. I thought to myself: Stop complaining. Take action. Do something. Something. Now. But what? I don’t want to battle dust bunnies. They can be so unruly. They can. They defy me. And spider webs are art. Right? But there must be something. Some little thing that I can do to improve my life. But what? I puzzled. I pondered. And I decided the first step is to clear out clutter. Yep. You know. The journey of a million miles begins with a single step. Just one. Or something like that.


So. The first step. Moving many boxes of books, books that have lived contentedly in their boxes since we moved here nearly ten years ago, to our storage unit. This involved more work for Bert than for me. He sherpa’d. I took pictures of his toting and sweating. You can see he was less than amused by this division of labor. He looks downright crabby. But. What can I say? Taking photographs is hard work. Really. Getting the composition just right. The lighting. And the camera is heavy. Ummm hmm. My biceps feel firmer already. They do. I can feel them bulging.

Oh. That is our trusty steed, the Bronco II, in the foreground. A wedding gift from my parents. After all these years, I still love it. Smarmy hearts and butterflies alert: After all these years, I still love His Bertness, too. Perhaps even more now than on our wedding day. (Are you gagging now? I'm sorry. Or maybe you need a box of Puffs? I have plenty. I will share.)

I also had to keep our little canine friends away from the door. And from licking the lens. That’s Emma. Beloved and beautiful Malamute. She gets up early every day to put on her eye liner. Very influenced by Liz as Cleopatra. This pic does not show her gorgeous looks to their advantage. Oh well. Maybe next time.

And this is Henry Jones. Half Lab, half Great Dane, all attitude. If he were a dancer, his favorite dance would be the paso doble. (And, yes, that is my muslin in the background. Alone. But not forgotten. Rarely a day goes by that I don't think of it.) Isn't Henry handsome? He's the most. Just ask him.

And, of course, sewing intervened. In a way. We found this treasure in one box. It’s from 1939. If you’re good readers — very, very good — I’ll share some secrets with you. The tips are worth the sacrifice. There's more information about pressing. And ironing. Is that thrilling? Your hearts are beating faster in anticipation. Right? Say yes. Yes. It's the right answer.

Oh, my heart: It pulses with gratitude for the steamy details. August 29, 2008 18:31 1 Comment

Don't gag, but my heart is brimming with gratitude today. Absolutely. Guess why. Not the usual suspects: coffee, rain, the pups, His Bertness. Though, I am, natch, very grateful for each one. Of course.
And no laughing — oh, go ahead, laugh if you must — but I am ever so grateful that I now know the difference between ironing and pressing (see Scintillating details, etc. http://thebluegardenia.typepad.com/the_diary_of_the_blue_gar/2008/08/scintillating-d.html), because tomorrow — feeble drum roll, please — I'll be pressing my curtains. Truly. Boring though it may seem.
The ever-so-domestic act is prep for stitching that oft-heard about fine seam.
You remember the curtains. Right? For the bathroom windows? The bathroom with the leaky roof above it?
Anyway. The fabric is a crinkled silk (or maybe it's polyester), and I do not want to iron out the crinkles. Not under any circumstances. No way. No how. The wrinkles are bee-yoo-tee-ful. In the extreme.
So. Fingers crossed. I'll letcha know how it goes. Promise.

Shameless plug: Looks that will take you to the moon. And back. August 27, 2008 16:46

Simplicity 1771, circa 1930s

It’s that time again. Actually, it’s way past that time. Way past. A million miles past. All right. I admit it: I’m embroidering a bit. Again. I’m a sucker for hyperbole. I know. You'd never have guessed. It’s more like a hundred. Maybe 500 miles past that time. Maybe a thousand. Maybe.
What time, you ask, with excitement and anticipation? Time to update, time to add marvelous patterns, patterns that beg to be in your collection. Styles that will make you feel good. Styles that will make you look good. Beyond good. Naturally. Would I put any other kind of pattern in The Blue Gardenia?
A few of my favorites:
Simplicity 1764 is a 1930s interpretation of the peasant look. I love this look. Love it. I do. It’s comfy. It’s carefree. Can you ask for more?
McCall 6192 is one of my all-time favorite lounging looks. Absolutely. Wide-shouldered. Strong. Very film noir goddess by the fire. I’m independent, I’m my own woman, I don’t care what you think. That look. You know it. You want it. You can’t live without it. Can you?
Simplicity 1771 is one of those dreamy, elegant Irene Dunne looks. Fabulous sleeves. Fabulous, monumental sleeves you could use to smuggle your puppy. Unusual, haute couture pleats on the shoulders. This will get your motor running. And his.
So. Enjoy. I did.
And here’s the fine print: New additions always go at the beginning of each category, to make it easier for you, our loyal clientele (and our future loyal clientele). And, of course, you know that The Blue Gardenia takes American Express, Discover, Mastercard, Paypal, Visa and checks (yes, I know that’s rare these days, but I have a retro attitude, so there). Stop by. http://thebluegardenia.com/ Browse. Spend lots of money. Make me happy.

Inspirations: The dress for those high-class times August 26, 2008 17:29 1 Comment

Butterick 7085, circa 1930s

This is the dress of dreams. At least in my life. At least in my life in my small town that is rapidly being overdeveloped. But that’s another story. And it’s not a dream. Alas.
But I can daydream. I can. And in this dress, perhaps of black velvet, with a wrist corsage of bright pink peonies, I go to dinner at a sleek club, with an orchestra and a cooing chanteuse.
I channel Irene Dunne. Sophisticated. Soignee. Above it all. His Bertness channels Melvyn Douglas. Handsome. Clever. Divine in a dinner jacket.
I wear the short-sleeved version with the plunging back. It hints at the amorous while remaining so refined. So very very.
This is a glorious dream. Indeed. I think I’ll go to sleep now. Yes. I will. I'm yawning in anticipation.
Night-night.

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

My dream bathroom curtain. But shorter. And not so wide. Of course. I don't have a diva bathroom. Alas.

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.)