Feed on
Posts
Comments

I was on Flickr yesterday (a regular online stop for me) and was checking out the Home-Made Maternity group, because at the moment, it is relevant to my interests. This one woman had posted a really cute smock she’d made for herself of an olive-green diamond-printed fabric with orange, floral appliques. She had noted that she had taken the “Seamless Pledge” wherein she swore to not buy any new things while pregnant, but to thrift or make whatever she wanted.

It struck me that I’m doing much the same, though I had never thought nor known to formalize it in such a manner. I’m just tight with a penny and not overburdened with the cash in any event. I also love the challenge of re-purposing castoffs, which probably hearkens back to my teenage years of modifying hand-me-downs to fit my ironing-board figure and whimsical fashion sense.

A few years ago, a friend who left the corporate world unloaded a bunch of his old White Collar clothes upon me. Tailored wool trousers, beautiful silk neckties, and more blue-striped cotton shirts than you could care to count. Since then, I’ve used a lot of the woolens either in cycling caps, or in my own irreverent “jacketshorts” designs. Some of the neckties became a Grand Marshall’s sash for the annual tweed ride, some of the others have been fashioned into an oddball woven tunic, and others yet have been sliced into appliques for trim on various projects here and there.

Just recently, it struck me that some of those shirts will be great for making baby clothes, both for the pending kiddo, and, as you will see below, for gifts.

IMG_2903 IMG_2905
One of my friends has a fresh, new baby girl, and I thought I could do something cute in cotton for her. Back in “the olden days,” blue was considered a particularly fetching color for little girls, especially delicate pastel shades. It was associated with the Virgin Mary and was considered a particularly dainty and chaste hue.

Because this little girl is the younger sister to a proud, two-year-old Big Sister, I didn’t want Big Sis to feel left out of the fun, so I made another sundress for her, using somewhat similar stylistics, but scaled up, and just a bit different, ’cause every girl likes to have her own distinct style.

IMG_2908
I had some little cut-out Strawberry Shortcake figures I’d saved from some scrap fabric, figuring some day they’d make cute appliques. I thought it tied in nicely with the pink ribbon which forms the shoulder straps.
IMG_2909
For the back of this dress, I re-used the front of an old shirt, so that it buttons up the back. One of the ribbon ties serves to keep the top of the placket flat.

I had enormous fun making these, and foresee this as a future favorite for baby-shower presents. This simple bell-shaped tunic lends itself very nicely to embellishment via applique or other applied trim.

And speaking of re-purposing, I have made myself a second white blouse for work. I was getting really tired of having to wash my uniform top every day (because invariably I get something horrible on it while I’m working) so I decided to modify an old Simplicity middy blouse pattern to an A-line shape to accommodate the baby.
Simplicity 9922

The results don’t suck, I don’t think.

IMG_2915
As you can see, I modified it to short sleeves and topstitched it rather than using ribbon or braid trim, because I didn’t have any.
IMG_2914
Joel considers it to be in questionable taste and perhaps slightly unsavory, but hell, I’m pregnant. Maternity clothes are often stupid looking and undignified. At least I’m doing this under my own free will, rather than just having to cope with whatever I find at the thrift shop or on the sale rail at Old Navy.

I have concocted my own “Sailor Moon” superheroine moniker to go with this blouse. “セーラー スーパーマーケット” (Sera Supamaketto, or Sailor Supermarket)

Also:

McCalls 3562

So said McCall’s back in 1973, and you know what? They weren’t kidding. This little frock was easy to make and should be easy to wear. It’s essentially an a-line from armpit to hem, given shape by the crossover sash which is integrated into the neckline binding.

I made it a bit more complicated than originally designed because the sleeves that came with the pattern originally were no longer with the pattern. Somewhere in the passing 40 years, they went AWOL, so I measured the armscye dimensions of this dress pattern against some other patterns I owned and ended up commandeering the flirty split-sleeve design from a mid-1990s New Look blouse pattern I’ve owned since college.

IMG_2872

This sleeve is a bit more complicated than the one that had been designed with the pattern, but I think it is a good pairing stylistically, and it fit into the armscye with no modification required.

The total look is as follows:

IMG_2870
IMG_2874

I am so pleased with this fabric, I can hardly express it. These colors are just so cheerful, and it has a very nice drape to it. The floral print was from some fabric Mom’s friend Vi was clearing out of her workroom, and the goldenrod yellow contrast fabric is some crepe that I inherited from one of my sister’s friends’ mother. Complicated, no?

The pattern was one from my Grandma Helga’s stash – I think it might have been used for a dress for one of my aunts, but on the other hand, it might have come from Grandma’s cousin Brigitte, who is also a keen seamstress. Cousin Brigitte lived in the southwest at that point in time and made a lot of lightweight sundresses to help cope with the climate as stylishly as possible. One does, if one can.

And this one should help me cope with a summer pregnancy in the best of sunny, flowery fashion. And it is going to look ever and ever so cute with my red patent-leather sandals!

…to keep cocking it up this relentlessly. But I managed to persevere through my incompetence and produce what turned out to be an actually pretty dress:

IMG_2867

This finally turned out very well. The fabric and the pattern combined almost perfectly.

V8489fx

This pattern was intended specifically for moderate stretch knits. This fabric is not a knit at all, nor is it even a little bit stretchy. It is a basic, plain-weave Rayon challis which does have a nice drape and flow to it, so I figured it would work well for the gathered sleeves, bodice, and skirt. I sized it up two sizes to accommodate for the lack of stretch and for my expanded bust size. And do you know what? It works. Perfectly. It is a nice fit with sufficient ease for comfort, movement and a graceful bodyline. Given that I eliminated the back zip for a number of reasons which mostly boil down to extreme laziness, it’s actually not difficult to put on.

Pretty much every review of this pattern has commented about how extremely low cut it is, and I concur, this dress is damn near indecent. No problem, though. I have several pretty camisoles that I can wear to fill in the neckline a bit, and with it being black-and-white, I can put just about any color beneath it. I did trim it with red topstitching, but it is very subtle, and also fairly versatile. I have a gorgeous saffron-colored lace cami that is going to look really great with this dress, I think.

IMG_2868
The pattern has a shaped waistband that comes to a point at the lower back and provides waistline shaping in what would otherwise be an Empire line dress. I really like this feature and plan on making other versions of this dress, eventually in Jersey knit, as originally designed. There are options for making the neck and waistbands in contrast fabric, which is probably how I’ll style it for the next time I use this pattern.

IMG_2869
From the side, you can see that there should be plenty of room for expansion. And the gratifying fact is that I seem to be carrying low and pretty much all in front, so I can still wear clothing with some waistline definition and carry on with my personal preference for fairly structured garments.

I tried it on with a white, lace-trimmed camisole, a pair of mustard rope-sole espadrilles, and my latest thrift-shop score, a little raffia handbag with black patent straps and a lining of black-and-white polkadot cotton. There’s quite a bit of potential for chic with this cheap-n-cheerful summer dress.

Yesterday, when I was taking the dog on her run, I caught scent of a smell that took me right back to elementary school.

No, it wasn’t kindergarten paste, mimeograph ink, or cafeteria Sloppy Joes. It was, in fact, the aroma of sun-warmed tires.

You might be wondering what the hell sort of school I went to that the smell of old tires would be a memory trigger. Well, it was this one:

150_5002
The back of the school
Just a typical little one-room rural school in Northwestern Nebraska. One of a dying breed, though at the time, we didn’t know that. It was just our school. The student body ranged anywhere from eight to twenty kids depending on if any of the local ranchers’ hired hands had school-aged children. Typically, we had one teacher and a teacher’s aide, and if any kids needed something like speech therapy, a specialist would be scheduled to visit the school to work with him or her.

Since it was a small school serving an area of low population density and no especial prosperity, we were not exactly rife with all of the latest equipment, technology, methodology, and excitement. Which, I think, may explain why we children treated a bunch of old car tires as part of the playground equipment.

Sure, we actually did have a proper playground with the old-fashioned, exciting, kids-could-get-hurt sort of toys.

149_4987
Monkey Bars, from which we all vigorously hung upside-down, did daredevil jumps, and generally treated with a casual lack of caution.

149_4995
A teeter-totter, which all of us kids learned to walk across and balance, as you see me doing here.

149_4996
Merry-go-round, which we used to see how fast we could get going. Also, kids would stand up on the seats, grab the top support struts, and let their feet fly out from beneath them. We called this feat “flying” and it was widely popular. Surprisingly, nobody ever was badly hurt doing this. The one actual traumatic injury I remember from my school days was when Kelli jumped out of the swings (seen behind the merry-go-round) and somehow managed to fall backwards and break both of her arms. Which could happen to anyone.

Anyway, as you see, we had things to play on and with, but we also had a bunch of old tires. There were some old truck tires, some very old-fashioned tall, narrow bias-ply tires that must have once belonged to something like a Model A, and there were a few more modern radial tires. I’m not sure why there were a bunch of old tires at the school; perhaps someone had once donated them thinking the kids could use them as planters. In any event, we used them for many purposes the manufacturers never intended.

  • As you might expect, tires were used to demarcate the bases for Kickball.
  • Similarly, tires were used to indicate the goalposts for our signature anarchic games of soccer.
  • We sometimes built low walls out of tires to simulate a playhouse in games of Families.
  • We had tire races, where kids would stand a tire on end, and see who could bowl their tire the furthest.
  • And best of all, in the winter, when we built snow-forts, we used the tall Model A tires to make “gun ports” in the sides of our forts, through which you could hurl snowballs at passers-by.  You’d stand a tire on its side and pack snow all around it, to make a porthole in the wall.  Very stylish.
  • The modern radials were very bouncy, so they were in high demand to use as sort of individual-serving trampolines.
  • Around this time of year, when it was regularly very sunny, but still quite cold, we’d line up tires along the south side of the schoolhouse in the morning, and at lunchtime recess, we’d go out there and sit in the tires and warm our bottoms.  And that’s where the fragrance of sun-warmed tire took me yesterday.  To the mid-1980s, rural Nebraska, basking on an old truck tire in the midday sun.

 

It makes us sound like a bunch of pathetic urchins, but I can assure you that we were in the main, a crew of well-cared for, reasonably-mannerly, ordinary kids who did as kids do, and found a way to make just about any mundane object into a toy.

Untitled-Scanned-13
Here’s a mass photo of the student body (very badly taken, as I was the photographer) circa 1986.

Untitled-Scanned-37
Here’s another, slightly better one, from the spring of the same year, taken from the top of the monkey bars, again by me, with my old Instamatic.

Oops, I did it again!

Yesterday, I was grousing on Facebook about having an episode of numptiness wherein I assembled the sections of a shaped waistband upside-down and stitched them to the bodice that way, then wondered why the waistband looked like the top of a tent.

So, this morning I sat down, fixed the cursed waistband, re-installed it, did the decorative topstitching, and then proceeded to screw it up from another direction:

IMG_2863

Would that I could say this was an isolated incident, but I have photographic evidence working against me:

Wardrobe malfunction Fail Skirt

And because I had arrogantly assumed that my upside-downsy problems were behind me, not only did I stitch the sleeve in the wrong way up, I also zig-zagged the raw edges (in lieu of an overlocker, which I continue to refuse to buy) so now I have to pick out a row of normal stitches and a row of zig-zags. Which is still probably less of an ass-pain than undoing a serged seam.

Anyway, what I’m trying to make is a modification of the dress seen below.

V8489fx

I’ve added a bit of length to the skirt front, as it will be used for maternity, and sized it up a size-and-a-half because I am not using a knit fabric, nor am I installing a back zip, because I don’t have one of the right length and also I cannot be bothered.

The fabric, as you can see, is a black-and-white abstract floral print rayon challis, and I think it will be very pretty when I finally get my head around what direction is up. It reminds me a bit of some of the more restrained Marimekko prints. I’ve opted to highlight the shaped neck and waistbands with red topstitching. If I ever manage to overcome my current wave of incompetence, it could end up being a nice spring/summer dress.

If.

The Meetzorp Dream Barn

Inspired both by Petrol Blog‘s “dream barn” series and a conversation Joel and I had at dinner the other night, I decided to write up my own “dream barn” scenario. Basically, if I had the space and the money to do so, I’d probably own five or six completely ludicrous cars simply because I like them.

Of course the first car in the barn door will be my longterm project car, the infamous 1959 VW Type 1, last seen looking like this:
IMG_4147
Only because this is the Dream Barn, it’s finally fixed up. The rust repairs are done, the paintwork is gleaming, and the interior is installed and smelling nice, like horsehair, jute, rubber matting, and sweetgrass potpourri, which I’ve always liked to stuff in the ashtray.

Next on the list would be a debased and defaced vintage Jaguar. I really fancy a 1970s-era X-type with a Chevy 350 in it. There are two on Craigslist right now, and by god, if I were doing anything other than grocery-store clerking right now, I would absolutely buy the ’74, because I like the color best (it’s a beautiful wine red, as you’ll see below. The ’78 is white, which I just don’t like as much, and if you are pretend-buying a ridiculous car, you might as well buy the one in the color you like!)
74 Jaguar XJ12
I figure this would pass as a sensible car. 4-doors. Chevy reliability. And since the value of a Jag plummets when you’ve installed a non-stock powerplant, this is a car you could drive around without stressing that you’re somehow going to depreciate it further via use. See also Roadkill:

Now moving further into fantasyland, I’d love to have a fairly clapped-out, but mechanically sound-enough late-1970s Porsche 911. Preferably one with a bit of rust and a few parking lot dings, so that I would have no reservations about hooning it. There are three reasons why I’d like to have an older Porsche. #1, they’re just fucking beautiful. #2, as a VW-savvy nerd, I should be able to adapt my knowledge to maintaining it. #3, the engine noise. God above, that exhaust note:

Now the odd-bird selection, which obviously would be a Citroën 2CV. As I’ve mentioned recently, it’s a car that has long fascinated me, and since I’m obviously just daydreaming here, we’ll assume I was able to find one.

I know only the very sad will find this interesting, but I honestly enjoyed watching this video of a bit of a 2CV’s suspension doing its job. Four-wheel independent suspension on an economy car was pretty revolutionary.

And speaking of revolutionary, there’s always the Citroën DS, which is frankly, a lot more stylish than the 2CV. Seriously, isn’t that a swoopy, style-y, pretty little thing? Those indicator lights up in the C-Pillars! I love those little chrome cones they’re mounted in. It’s just so clever.

Now a car I know of that exists locally, and which I admire from sort-of-afar nearly daily is a particularly nice example of a 1948 Ford coupe.
191_9103
Sure, it’s got some weird dents in the roof, but it doesn’t appear to ever have been over and it certainly looks super-complete.
191_9106
My Dad had one of these way back in the day, and I have just always liked that body shape. I have no idea how I’d set it up, but I’d imagine it would be a mild resto-rod project. No crazy lowered suspension, no radical big horsepower, no insane, flip-flop paint jobs. Just a nice, functional, basically-driveable, old-fashioned car. Essentially, the Ford version of my Volkswagen, only 10 years older. This engine that likely came in this car originally made about 100 horsepower in a car that weighed around two tons. It was just enough oomph to get it up to about 80mph, which I expect, was plenty exciting, if 80 in the old VW is anything to judge by. One of the things I love about primitive old cars is that you don’t need a lot of speed to get a lot of excitement. If you simply drive it in ordinary conditions, with respect to its engineering limitations, there’s just the inherent challenge in coping with the road to keep you entertained.

I kinda like that sound, you know?

So, as I said, if I had the space, money, and time, I’d have about half a dozen completely impractical and ridiculous cars in varying states of decay or restoration, and people would probably say, “That woman is really an odd bird.”

Tom Watta Nightmare!

(NB: This is expanded from a comment I left at Fussy.org)

Untitled-Scanned-62
Look at this kid? Does she look to you like a young’n whose métier is selling crap, or does she look like a kid who’d slink off to one or another of several semi-secret hideaways and draw paper dolls or read Little House Books?

When I was a little girl, around about 10 (that’s 5th grade, right?) we had to sell stupid baubles and shit from some outfit called Tom Watt Showcase. We were given this horrible cardboard “briefcase” filled with gaudy christmas ornaments, shoddy toys, chintzy school supplies, and hideous, goose-bedecked household tat.

I was not one of nature’s salesgirls. I was already developing a rather wry sense of humor and had a pretty good bullshit detector for a kid. I knew the crap I was lugging from house to house was crap. I didn’t want to sell crap. I wanted to hang out in the warm corner by the chimney reading down my latest library haul.

Because my parents aren’t of the “joiner” persuasion, either, I hadn’t already been tempered in the fires of Girlscout cookie sales, Campfire candy sales, or 4H fruit sales. My parents also didn’t have the sorts of jobs where they could just take the sales flyer to work, post it in the breakroom, and rake it in. Nor did such tactics meet with their approval. If the school said I had to sell crap on behalf of the school, then by god I was the one to be selling the crap.

So, my Dad hauled me around to the houses of his various friends, and I grudgingly delivered my spiel, which was along the lines of, “I’ve got to sell this junk for school. It’s not very good, so I understand if you don’t want any of it, but I have to show it to you anyway.”

I’d proceed to unpack the lot of crap, warning people away from the egregiously shoddy items. I managed to sell maybe five boxes of christmas baubles and a set of colored pencils with little rainbows printed on them.

It was awful.

When I went on my most recent library run, Joel had a request for me: to pick up some about-pregnancy-and-babies books, as he felt he had some knowledge gaps which he’d like to fill in.

Of the books I picked out, only one of them didn’t elicit gales of derisive laughter, voluminous swearing, and heavy sarcasm. That book was the Don’t Panic Pregnancy Book which was concise, straightforward, sensible, and not full of nauseating cutesy language, patronising advice, and scare tactics.

However, it didn’t really offer any especially illuminating information. Because it is so commonsense, if you have a reasonably functioning grasp on how shit works, it is a bit superfluous.

Your Pregnancy For The Father To Be provided us with much hilarity. Mostly because it seemed that their favorite piece of advice, for just about any occasion, was massage. One thing about me is that I am not good at getting a massage.

I’m not very touchy to begin with. I’m not a huggy person. I’m a hell of a handshaker. I’ve got a good handshake, dry, firm, competent. No sweaty floppiness, nor any knuckle-busting aggression. I’ll high-five you any day of the week. But I have to remind myself that there are some people who hug and if I kind of sidle away I am being kind of an asshole. Therefore I do try to make the effort, but I’m afraid usually I do that sort of “dude hug” which mostly involves shoulders and a few pats on the back.

Moreover, I am absolutely crap at, like, making myself relax. I can relax when I can relax. There are some things I find very relaxing. A long, quiet bike ride. Sitting down by the river and watching fish jump. Taking photos. Weeding my garden boxes. Watching people blow things up on the Internet. Burning colored smoke-balls on the patio. However, when it comes to doing yoga or meditating, or submitting to a massage, it all goes wrong. I get self-conscious. I get the giggles. I get tense and stiff and anticipate the massage hitting a muscle wrong and making me cramp up. And then, of course I cramp up. And if the person giving the massage isn’t very good at reading nonverbal vocal cues, they might think my “aarghs” of discomfort are grunts of relief. So it usually ends in me asking, “I’m sorry, I know you’re trying to do me a favor, but this hurts, so would you mind if we just don’t?”

So, it becomes clear why a book which seems to offer massage as a potential sop to various and sundry discomforts of pregnancy would elicit a few stern glances from this member of the party.

I picked up The Everything Guide To Pregnancy Over 35, which, unfortunately I found equal parts condescending and alarmist, with a piquant garnish of irrelevance.

The part that really lit my bloomers on fire was a tsk-tsky section on preparing yourself for the financial, social, and personal life changes a baby will bring. Given that consideration of all of the above is a fair whack of what has delayed my entry into the motherhood gambit until the apparently doddering age of 35, I would say that I have adequately mentally prepared. In fact, if I am honest, I rather welcome the excuse to dodge out of social events in noisy bars where shitty white-guy-blues bands may be lunking out their predictable sounds. I’m already resigned to being poor. Hell, I majored in English. I pretty much signed on a line 15+ years ago agreeing to have no earning potential. Kid’s just going to have to learn to live without violin lessons and hockey league. I’m 35 years old, for the love of mercy. I know, understand, accept, and welcome the fact that shit’s gonna change. I am aware that my introvert side will probably struggle with a diminished amount of “alone time” for recharging, but I’m sure I, like many other hermit-moms before me, will learn to cope.

The Active Woman’s Guide to Pregnancy was the other book I checked out. Thought it might have some useful info on some stretching and strengthening exercises to help me deal with the hip, groin, and butt pain I’ve been experiencing lately. It didn’t offer much beyond what I’d already been doing, and, in fact, was essentially 282 pages to say what I’d already read online in about eight paragraphs.

Which boils down to: “if you were already active and athletic before pregnancy, carry on, just don’t push yourself into anaerobic territory. If you were sedentary before pregnancy, try to begin a gentle workout schedule, but don’t go too crazy and stress your body out. Do pelvic tilts, cat-and-cow yoga thingies, and stuff like the butterfly stretch to help strengthen your core and all that. Swimming is good. If you can afford it, you should go swimming or take a pregnant-ladies-water-aerobics class.” It gives risk assessments for various activities at various stages of pregnancy, which is helpful, but I found the book a bit windy on what is essentially a pretty simple subject. Move it, don’t push it.

So, I will continue on with my daily bike ride to work, basic bicycle-based errand running, my yoga-ish-stuff-for-people-who-get-the-giggles-and-fart-too-much, and your basic school-gym calisthenic stretching. May have to revise some of the bikey stuff in a few months, when and as my belly becomes more obtrusive, but you know. Bridge to be crossed when encountered.

Honest. But I wasn’t feeling real good for a couple of days, then I got distracted this afternoon.

You see, I was perusing Bangshift, as you do, and came across this article about a nut who put an old aircraft engine into an old Toyota MR2 and raced it in the 24 Hours of LeMons.

Which, of course, made me think of Bill Cosby’s routine about Fat Albert’s Cessna-powered car. So I had to dig up a link to that monologue. For your listening pleasure I bring you:

That is all.

Sewing for two?

Well, I made a bit more maternity-appropriate clothing in the past week or so. The following dress was made up from some fabric that is so pretty I may well wear it even after the baby is born.

The pattern is Simplicity 5034 from 1973.

Simplicity 6024 1973

With sleeves ganked from another pattern contemporary to it, as I wanted short, flowy sleeves, since this is to be a summer dress.

This is what I ended up with:

IMG_2805

IMG_2806 IMG_2809

This configuration had been used once before, when I was a college-student and very inexperienced seasmstress. I’d used a rayon challis which was very pretty when pressed, but would rumple up into horribleness pretty much immediately.
What I made with this pattern in college. blue1973b
I either threw or gave away this dress years and years ago. It was virtually un-wearable.

Also, to my enduring shame, I once used a variation on this pattern to make myself a Ren Faire dress.

Ren Faire Dress Untitled

I was in College. You experiment during those years. You make decisions you later cringe about. That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.

The other thing I recently made, which isn’t as pretty, but is of immediate use is a new work blouse.

IMG_2818

We have to wear white blouses, black trousers, and some sort of scarf around our necks as our work uniform. As my boobs are now exceeding the capacity of any of my extant blouses, and I expect my lower abdomen to start making itself obtrusive in the coming weeks and months, I figured rather than fucking around and buying other boring, white blouses a size up, I’d just go whole-hog and make a proper pregnant-lady smock of the old-school style.

Vogue 8709
I used Vogue 8709, which is a contemporary pattern which has elements of the Yves St. Laurent for Dior “Trapeze” line. This was the silhouette favored by ladies of my grandparents’ generation while they were making the Baby Boom. Watch second-series episodes of I Love Lucy, and you’ll see what I’m talking about.

In this case, I used elements from both options in the envelope.

IMG_2815
I used the collar of View A,

IMG_2813
And the sleeves of View B.

IMG_2812
The peplum has a weird little offset pleat in back which I don’t really love, but didn’t really feel like drafting out, either.

IMG_2811
What I do like is how the peplum wraps all the way around from back to front and becomes an integrated part of the draped pockets. I am already loving having the pockets in my work blouse, as I can keep a chapstick, my log-in ID card, my extra “paid” stickers, etc., right close and handy.

It’s not the most beautiful or exciting garment that one could make and wear, but it will do very nicely for what I need. I’ve determined that I am less in favor of the “enhance-your-bump” style of maternity fashion, and more in favor of “wear-a-colossal-tarp” dressing. It just feels more private.

« Newer Posts - Older Posts »