The Doublet - Part Two

When I last reported in, I only had a muslin mock up. Now I have nearly a fully completed doublet. The only sad part is that this isn't the one he's going to be wearing! It's practice, mostly.

First off, I traced the corrected muslin onto some heavy paper-stock so I could have a new pattern to work from.

Then I made a new muslin from the corrected ("new") pattern. . . spent the weekend knitting, and didn't fit it until Monday night.  It worked beautifully!

Cut out the fabric - $2.50 from Goodwill I might add!

Before I could sew the lining (the corrected muslin) in entirely, the pattern needed me to make up the tabs that go along the waistline.  So I blithely stitched along not realising I had sewn them backwards.  Luckily I only had seven to rip out and re-sew as opposed to another doublet pattern which calls for several hundred little tabs.  Re-stitched, turned right side out, and ironed within an inch of their scrawny little lives, the tabs were ready.

I pinned them on, to make sure that the unadjusted tabs would still encircle my adjusted waistline, and they did absolutely perfectly.  I sure lucked out this time!

With the tabs sewn securely to the body, I was then able to stitch the lining along that lower edge and turn the whole deal right side out again, pulling it through an armhole.  I ironed it so all the seams laid the correct way and it was smooth and nice for the arms to be stitched in later.  I also stay stitched (a line of stitches to keep things in place) around the arm holes to keep the lining and fabric in the correct place.

Yummy perfectly lined up seams.  This is the first time everything has fallen perfectly into place in a sewing project and I couldn't be more chuffed about it all.  I am hoping the second one goes just as smoothly. * crosses fingers *

Yesterday I got the sleeves put together (after A LOT of fiddling to figure out which side goes where to make it all pretty once I flip it right side out! oy.) and the wings.  Those are the crescent shaped do-hickies you see in the above picture.  They sit on top of the sleeves and are tucked on top of the shoulder.  Kind of like epaulets, but Tudor style.  I would have finished pictures to show you, but I was happily "borrowed" by my brother and don't regret it.  The day was fun.

TO-day however, it's nose to the sewing machine and I'm going to have finished photos tonight!  And maybe still have time for fabric hunting.  There is an upholstery shop not far from my house and I want to scope out what their prices are like.  Three weeks till Faire, people! :)

The Hope Project

I haven't written about this idea before, so don't worry if it suddenly sounds new to you. :) It's been percolating in the back of my mind and on my heart a lot lately. Since I spend the bulk of my time alone all day, there is a lot of time to think, and sometimes that thinking isn't terribly productive. It's often revealing of what's on my heart though, and this is how Project Hope was born.

Last October I lost my first baby and it was traumatic, horrible, and scary. I have hoped for so very very long to finally have a child, and here I was, loosing that which I desired above all else. I did what any self-respecting student of Elizabeth Zimmerman would do and knitted. I made a little tiny hat for someone who would never wear it. I wrapped it in tissue paper, stuffed it into a box and tried to forget how much it hurt. Here I am, ten months and twenty days later, still knitting. I am drawn to baby projects, I admit it. I want to knit tiny baby things to soothe myself. At first I considered this idea idiotic, why knit baby things for a baby you don't have? What not knit baby things for other people's babies? I do sometimes, but it's always with the knowledge that I still don't have one. My baby hat is still empty, my heart still has a baby shaped hole in it, waiting for that beautiful day when I can finally hold my child in my arms.

Then I caved. I made booties. Tiny, perfect, little baby booties for feet that aren't here yet. These languished for a while on my crafting table waiting for a time when I'd finally put buttons on them. Yesterday I did just that. I tucked away all the little yarny ends, I sewed buttons on them, I took the obligatory knitting-blog photos and something in my heart changed. Project Hope was born. I don't want to be bitter (It'll never happen), or scared (What if I loose another one?), I want to knit on with confidence and hope, through all crises, until I reach the day where I can pull out the bonnet and put it over a little head, until the day when I can tuck tiny baby toes into handmade booties. I want to hope for that day, and in so wanting, I allowed myself to knit. I permit myself to knit things for my babies to come because it's theraputic for my soul. Other things for other babies will be made, but there will also be extra special things just for my babies, to be tucked away in the box labeled Hope.

The Doublet - Part One

Almost a year ago, my honey asked if I would help him make a doublet for Ren Faire. I, of course, said yes thinking it would be good to practice sewing something considerably more difficult than little bags and things. December 2009 I cut out most of the pattern pieces in two different sizes in hopes of fitting my honey. Fast forward to this spring when I dug out the languishing pieces to study more closely. The pattern is by Period Patterns, and while it's super historically accurate, it's also super difficult to understand. There are 14 different options in one packet, historical notes, and no concise directions. My pattern directions go something like this; 1. Follow 1,2, &4 from View I. 2. Follow 14 & 17 from view V. etc. I tried writing them all down in order, marking them as I need, but have given up and just popped from one direction to another.

This is certainly the most time consuming project I've undertaken. Today alone I spent two hours cutting out and piecing together the muslin mock-up. Then another two hours with my honey pinning and cutting away material until it a) fit him and b) could provide the amount of movement he's going to need in his Faire endeavors, mainly lots of upper body movement so he can sword fight and march about with pikes. While this is all just a tad frustrating, it's also very educational and fun. I'm going to end up with not only a lot of knowledge, but a good piece for my portfolio.

Etsy Love

It's fascinating what you can find on Etsy if you search for "bustle". Everything from historic steel boned bustles to the more Steampunky ones that are work outside your skirt. . . or they are your skirt! These caught my eye and I thought I'd share.

Featured Shops:
Boudoir Noir
Crescent Wench
Petey the Troll Apparel

Busy little bee. . .

"Olive's Afghan from Knitalong"

I don't remember when I began this project, but it was a while ago. Perhaps spring of '07? Something like that. An utterly darling and pretentious project for myself at the time because it was huge. It's an afghan. They are enormous and intimidating, only this was was clever. It's divided into easy-to-cart-about panels in two colours, and then stitched together to form a dazzling array of colourful chevrons, only updated from the mustard yellows and avocados of the 50's when chevron afghans were quite popular. It has been a journey of colour experimentation. This will reflect what colours I truly edge towards and really love. Purple, Green, and Grey first and foremost, followed by Blue, Yellow, and Orange. No red, no pink, no pastels, just rich saturate colour.

"Mostly Skully adapted from S&B handbook"

Um. Cookies!

Happy Father's Day

Keep it Simple. . .

Elizabeth Zimmerman used to sign most of her knitting newsletters with this sweet and oh-so-wise bit of advice: "Knit on, with confidence and hope, through all crises." This wee phrase has stuck with me for a long time and it proves true time and time again. Like yesterday.

I find myself with such a huge amount of time on my hands I've forgotten how to use it all in an effective manner. I'm also looking for a new job, so that takes priority. I hope on the computer first thing, cup of coffee in hand, and troll the interwebs for employment to get me through to September when school starts and I have a work-study position. Once I've applied for at least one job a day, I am allowed to spend the rest of my time as I please. Yesterday was a disaster, to say the least. I was forcing myself to work on a project for which I had no gumption to do much more with. As an artist sometimes you have to force yourself to finish something, but this was supposed to be for the pure pleasure of crafting and there wasn't any joy in it. Wisely, I abandoned it before I got to sewing and frustrated, cleaned up the apartment a bit, sat down and knitted. I watched two movies while my fingers flew and the tension in my body eased. My knitting tension was just fine, in case you're wondering. ;)

The day ended well, with dinner of delicious grilled salmon and lots of snuggles from my honey. Today I begin with what I learned yesterday in mind, take it easy, keep things in perspective, and go for walks. Simple!

The Dreaded Doldrums. . .

Sometimes I get a crafting "blah". I believe this happens from having too many projects on the plate at any one time, and sometimes a full crafty plate in addition to a full emotional/every day plate. This is the reason for my blah at the moment. I have SO much in my little apartment, SO much in my head, and a lot on my heart it causes me to graze aimlessly from project to project and get frustrated at the minimal production I end up with. So I take a "brain-break" by going for a walk to the art store, the park, just around the block even to clear my head. Usually that does the trick and I can dive, refreshed, back into what I was doing. Right now I feel flat, like soda that has lost it's bubbles and is without that initial zing. I feel listless, like those stick summer nights before the cool breeze comes where all you can do is sit before the fan and moan softly to yourself. That's it! I'm in the mental doldrums. Oh dear.

Julia Cameron would have a solution to this problem. She's snarky like that, as well as being a sort of therapist for artists. (She wrote The Artist's Way, btw) She would probably tell me to go on an artist's date and stop dreading this last week with my job. That's the other thing that's getting to me. I have one more week left with my current job and nothing else has (YET!) fallen into place. Something will, because I'm looking, it's just the waiting until then that gets to a person. The nail biting and floor treading that occurs just before the utter relief of knowing you'll be okay for a while longer.

It's not as if I haven't anything else to go on. If I don't (and it's highly unlikely) get anything I can make things and sell them until school starts. This is the very bohemian answer to my current problem, it's not necessarily practical, but it's optimistic, and one way to beat doldrums is optimism! Or at least that's what I'm shooting for. So now it's off to a cup of tea, and something crafty to comfort me until I have to face my final work week.

Etsy Update: Earrings!!

Not all of these are in my shop, but stay tuned as they trickle in during the next few days! Also, any helpful hints for writing copy? I feel that mine is always cheesy. :)-->> SHOP

Status Quo

One would think, in this day and age that old stereotypes wouldn't prevail quite as much. For example, women can't do everything that men can. I work for a coffee shop and deal with every kind of person imaginable. Snotty business folk right down to homeless old men who crap in their pants in my store. Every colour in the human rainbow.
Because of the liquor store nearby, we get lots and lots of people who just ask for a cup of ice. As long as they don't cause trouble, yell, swear, or mess up my store, I don't have much problem acquiescing to their request. I don't like giving them ice because I know they're just going to drink for what ever reason they need to, but I do deal legal addictive stimulants, so cut me a little slack.
Then there are people who come in looking for a fight. They're having a bad day and they just need some poor bastard to yell at, or someone's store to thrash a little before security is called and they are kicked out. Take the guys who came in today for example. Carlos and his buddy, whom we can call Bob. Both are men of African American descent, and while skin colour doesn't matter one whit to me, they took offense when asked to leave by white girls.
It is in times like this where I wish I had one big burly bouncer sitting in my back room that I could ask to come out and settle matters. Truth is, I really don't. It's just us. My work has security, but it's comprised of older men who I have no doubt know what they're doing, but they are comfortable in what is mainly a desk job.
It's up to me and my co-workers to settle most matters in my store. We are the ones who quietly ask folks to leave, to stop swearing, to stop yelling, to stop being disruptive. Why are we the ones who have to take the slack so the suits can have their stupid cup of morning joe without any goundlings to bother them? Do any of them know the shit we take? Not many.
I just had to rant a little and express my admiration for my female co-worker who went out today and told two large black men they needed to leave. Who took their subsequent mouthing with a serene countenance and much grace. Who I am very grateful to call my friend.

Time with my Mama (Hi Mama!)

Nearly every Wednesday night I head over to visit my parents and brothers. Sometimes it's all four of them, and I have to dole out my company carefully while other times it just me and my Mama getting to catch up and gab for a while. This week it was spent pouring through a veritable treasure trove of books sent up to us for pleasure and safe keeping. These tomes traveled all the way from Lake Tahoe and were such a lovely surprise. Reading books from 1900, Autograph book from 1880, a much abused math book from 1912 gave my mother and I such pleasure to read over. We would read the best bits aloud to each other, amidst commenting on curious little notions from the different Cyclopeadias, school child scrawlings and treasured signatures from old friends.


This was my favourite.

And then I was blithely commandeered by this young fellow to help with his new "Smoke Bombs" for his on-going project of his Zombie Movie. I assure you (Mom and Dad) nothing actually exploded, but things were rather smoky and loads of fun. It's such a pleasure being a part of the young lives of my brothers. Both boys are becoming young men so rapidly, it's sometimes difficult for me to keep up with what new activities they are doing. Evan is writing scripts and making movies while Levi writes story snippets and bangs out metal marvels on the backyard forge. I am so honored to call myself their sister.

The MAC Sweater, part 2

Several years ago now, I had grand delusions of knitting up a sweater version of a British Lieutenants jacket circa 1805-ish. It was in the throes of my Master and Commander phase before I really knew what I was doing in terms of designing my own sweaters. Five years later (if not more) I found myself with an okay little sweater, sorely lacking the original vision. I didn't want to rip it back for the millionth time and let it languish for several years more. It wasn't until today, when I was rummaging through my things that I picked it up with notions of just sewing on the buttons to see if that would help. This led to picking up a decorative band along the button edge. It didn't work, and I set to crocheting a picot edging all round, and picking up for cuffs with picot edge. It's turned out decidedly darling with a steampunky feel now and I haven't taken it off since I finished tucking away all the little yarn ends. So finally, the MAC sweater has found it's happy medium and will most likely be worn frequently. Hurrah!

One Week Ago:
Yesterday marked the first day of having to take medication to treat my depression. As much as I think I'm on the right path and it's the best treatment for me right now, I hate it. I don't want to be sick, yet I am. I don't want to cry because I hurt inside, yet I do. It comes and goes, but when it's here, my black dog gnaws at me and disrupts my regular life and it's time to stop that.
I wake up feeling like I'm in a fish bowl and I go to sleep knowing I will get no rest. Ways to end my life pervade the corners of my mind while I go about my daily routine.
Before you begin to worry too much, let me say that I don't want to die before God calls me home. I have too much to live for. I have promised myself and my fiance that I won't hurt myself any more, I won't cut my hair, I will eat my meals, and I will get help. So I'm taking medication.

It's making me a little groggy, but I'm doing okay. In three weeks I go back for an evaluation to see if this is the right treatment for me. Until then I'm slipping from one day to the next, an insomniac for the most part who is exhausted but cannot find much rest.
If you have a spare moment, pray that I can find a way around this and that I can achieve healing in the end of this journey.

Today marks the day where I up my medication, and rather than keep the negative attitude about it (groaning to myself each time I look at that little pill in my palm) I've come up with a little mantra. "You don't have to take this forever. Just for now, just until you're better." So I want to work harder at fixing this sweet silly self of mine and get to the feeling better part. Soon.

Have you met FrankenBlankie?

So several years back, I discovered I had a plethora of little squares, rectangles, and knitted scraps. As a knitter you cannot throw away this evidence of beginning projects, or bad early knitting. You save it, in that box of shame you keep under the bed. One of those days where you pull out said box and dig through the memories, I had the idea of sewing all these little scrappy bits together. Why not? It would give them purpose and, rather like quilts, keep the story of each scrap out for plain view. For the first incarnation of this blanket I only ended up with one little not-quite-lap-blanket-square. Later another square that created a lap blanket sized piece, but never quite enough for a blanket-ey thing. Until lately. I am working on an afghan (Olive's Afghan from knitalong)and subsequently changed my colour scheme and was left with one slightly awkward pink and chocolate brown bias-knit strip. This was quickly assimilated into the scrap blanket and Franken Blankie was born.
I'll add more to it as more scraps show up, but for now I'm really enjoying looking at the history in stitches as it keeps me warm whilst I read in bed.

Invasion! :)

My Men-folk came for a visit last week and it was delightful. They brought lunch, I cooked, and they commandeered my dishes! We tramped around my neighborhood not quite as much as I would have liked, but it was fun all the same. More excursions for other visits.

A box, labeled Hope.

Indulge me in a moment of reflection and sorrow.

I don't know why it's on my mind so much, but I look at friends, blogs, women who are going to have their first baby and all I can do it miss the one that I lost. Perhaps it hasn't been long enough for the emotion to ebb fully, not that it ever really should, but you know what I mean. To recede to the point where I can be happy for the other women and not feel that little nagging voice that says, "You almost had this." As if I never will?
That is not the case, I counter. I will have children, just not now. Not anytime soon. I want to finish college, and find a stable job in theatre, or teaching theatre and then, when I have the means and the peace of mind, then I can try again. I can try at all.

For now I tell myself that I can't and all it does is make me sad. It makes me worried. I pray for peace, I beg God to make it go away - the wanting so very, very badly - make it go away until I have the time in my life. I can't afford to want a sweet baby right now. It's not an option. It just doesn't stop the wanting inside. So I knit, I keep my life busy in a good way, I spend oodles of time with my honey. And wait. With deep breaths, with patience, with love, I wait. I send prayers up to Heaven to the little one that almost was, telling them I loved them while they were here, and the family that has gone ahead of me will love them until I am there.

*sigh*

And now back to your irregularly scheduled knitting and theatre drivel. Thanks.

~A

A post : in two parts

The show is going nicely. Director Mok is making magic with the first cast and we're adding in more of the second cast where we can. It's crazy good.

And there's some of this:

I am an unabashed self portrait artist. I love taking pictures of myself because it causes me to look at myself from my own eyes. Other people take my picture and I pose for them, giving them a face that is happy and carefree when, perhaps inside, I am not. It makes me admit things. Makes me contemplate and decide.

I admit I have depression. I decided to go to the doctor today and see what I need to do to get on with more of my life instead of sitting around feeling sorry for myself. I want to beat this deamon as much as I can. Summertime helps, being on my own helps, the love of my life helps the most. I am committed to him. I promised him I would seek help, seek healing. I am seeing a doctor and looking into therapy. I am not cutting my hair. I am not hurting myself. I am fighting, deep in the trenches in that erie lull before the shit hits the fan and I have to grapple with my deamon again. This time I have armor, this time I have re-enforcements, this time I am prepared to fight back rather than merely sit by and wait for it to pass. This time, I am ready.

Slowly . . .

It seems that I should be more excited about my life at present, but with the onset of a nasty throat/head cold I find myself only wishing to sleep.
Monday night I landed my first "I did it all by myself" theatre gig with a company called Breathing Space Ministries. No, wait- Nate found the gig, but I landed it. Credit where credit is due.
Breathing Space is doing a show about one woman's journey towards knowing Christ as a series of "episodes". This being episode one, and the others not yet written, it's going to be an interesting experience. Rehearsals are in full swing right now, and because of my cold I haven't gotten to one yet. Tomorrow night if I'm feeling up to it, or Friday night, for sure.
It was the first time in an interview situation that I felt utterly confidant of myself and my abilities. It was amazing. At one point the director and the writer looked at each other and said, in hushed stage whispers, "I like her. We should hire her."
"Me too. Let's."
Then they look at me, smile and say, "So,do you want the job?"

Heh. Do I? Of course! It doesn't pay, but it's an outside credit for my resume before I go off to school in the fall. The more I can get under my belt in the real world, the more I believe school will take me.

For now, I'm taking it easy, drinking LOADS of water and hot tea, and eating soup, like the Pho steaming away at the top. So I'm off for now, my dears. Take care!

Open your eyes, dear child, your dream has arrived.

I feel like I'm living in a dream. Which, oddly enough, is true. I have dreamed for this moment, this turn in my life for years. Years and years and years. I have longed, hoped, wished, and cried many silly tears to reach this turn into adulthood. I am engaged, but in my mind I already think "wife". In my mind I call my fiancee, "Husband" and it makes me smile. Husband.
To have a man who loves me so very dearly to want to share his life, the rest of his life with me thrills me to my very core. I admit to not thinking very highly of myself. To discrediting my talents, my personality, my beauty - even that word applied to me gives me pause. I am beautiful. Four years ago I would have scoffed at such a statement. Pretty, maybe. Beautiful? Please.
Then I met my love. He looked into my eyes and told me I am beautiful. I am wanted. I am worthy, I am loved. A year later I believe it. Mostly.

It has been a whirlwind three weeks. One week I was moving in with the darling man, the next we were engaged and now? Now we're setting in to living with another person. I'm settling my things into his apartment, he's adjusting to having a "roommate" for the first time in eight years or so. Lots of adjustments.
Lots of small flickerings of temper ending with a conversation of better understanding. All couched in crazy love. It makes me happy to know that while we're both driving each other batty, we can still look at the other with a knowing smile and say, "You're crazy, but I love you."

A wise man once said, "the greatest moment is when you're living your dreams, awake." It is so very true.

Image:Stiletto Heights

Pure Squee. . .

My apologies for the poor lighting, but I'm just too chuffed to really care. He proposed. It was the cutest proposal in the history of cute proposals, and of course I said yes.

I'm also still pinching myself. I can't quite believe it, and then a glance down at my left hand and start grinning like an idiot.

In the meantime, there are Christmas gifts to finish knitting, Thanksgiving to prepare for, and many many things to be thankful for.

Cheers dear friends!

The Pirate Sweater

Voila, Mon Coeur

Life is crazy, and wonderful all at the same time right now. I feel older inside, crazier, different. Top it all with a generous helping of stress, and I wake up tired, I go to bed tired, I work all day tired only to fall into bed, and repeat it the next day. One of the things getting me through all the crazy is this man. The one who holds me when I cry (frequently), who kisses me when I'm lonely, who is becoming my best friend and trusted buddy. He is the one who cooks me dinner when I'm sick, and follows me into yarn stores when I need something to knit.

I cannot tell him how much I love him. There aren't words, but that's okay. We have the rest of our lives to say "I love you" and that works for me.



p.s. knitting update to eventually follow.

A Tussle and The Status Quo

If you haven't noticed, I struggle, fight, and tussle with depression. Only I don't call it that. I call it my Black Dog, in reference to the incomparable Winston Churchill. During the spring I grappled with the Black Dog, and I won, for a little while. It's a constant war with minor battles going to one party or the other. And now I find I have turned my back on him for too long. He's bitten me again, only it's gentle. There's no blood, just a bruise. Just his teeth on my throat reminding me he's always there. Only this time I don't feel the overwhelming urge to wallow in uselessness, I am merely saddened by events in my life. They aide the Black Dog in catching me with my guard down. They put me in bed in tears for all that has occurred, for all that I have lost and am missing. I almost, almost didn't go to work yesterday for want of staying in my bed. However I find my spirit is strong and stubborn, two factors that have helped me fight the Dog for so long. I stubbornly walked up the hill to where I catch my bus, had a cup of coffee and wrote in my journal for the better part of an hour and a half. It eased the ache inside, just watching my hand put letters on the page, pouring out my inner thoughts and emotions. I was able to go to work, and perform decently, and was blessed with laughter. Sweet, carefree laughter. I would have rather gone home to my lover that night, than to my own bed, but not yet.

I woke today to see that Fall has officially arrived. The leaves turned without my knowing. The fog blankets Puget Sound, and all is chilly and perfect woolen sweater weather. Perfect to curl up with a good book, a cat, some knitting, hot cocoa and company and just be. Take time to be.