Posie Gets Cozy

A Dogwalk, Later

This season feels like sort of an interlude. Spring comes slowly, in a way — it's green but cold; it's sunny but muddy; it's lighter out later, but we're still not outside. All around town big clumps of daffodils cheer me, and I plan, once again, to plant some in September. Why don't I ever do that? Eight years in this house, and the only bulbs I've planted were a few pink tulips, in the wrong place, later to be replaced with candytuft and sweet woodruff. But this year we have a fence, and I have visions of little, nodding drifts of pale yellow greeting me on the house-side of  the pickets, so I must make a note to myself to remember how pretty these daffodils look right now, and do it right this fall.

I did get a daffodil-yellow spring coat this year (from the Gap; the umbrella is very old, from sadly now-gone Daisy Kingdom) that is making me happy. I'm ready for my dogwalk. Our girl Clover Meadow has gotten so big; I'm hoping we'll get out today and I'll take her picture. Last night her boyfriend Bennie came over for a playdate. They romped, a small tornado, through the house for fifteen minutes until Bennie found a bone that he liked better than he liked Clover. Clover was flabbergasted. She did everything she could to get his attention, including clambering on top of him, then lying four feet away and barking in his face (this dog has the loudest bark I have ever heard), then just looking with total bewilderment at us — what was this guy's problem? Couldn't we see? Bones are boring! Sigh.

Today we'll take a walk and see what's blooming; the magnolias are starting to unfurl as the daffodils turn crepe-y and gold. I hope we can get into the woods this weekend. There's so much to do all the time that we forget to go, or it's pouring rain on Sunday, or who knows what. Before I can rub my eyes and blink in wonder a whole season has lapsed and I've only been around the block a few dozen times. But I'd like to go out and see some little snowdrops, wild violets, maybe find a four-leaf clover. I'd like to get out of the neighborhood a little bit.

Picnic Skirt

I finished my smocked skirt yesterday, stitching up the sides and hemming it, attaching a strip of bias tape to the waistline, adding a zipper. I'm very happy with it, though it's still too cold to wear, I think (in spite of camellia evidence).

This skirt is from a different Japanese craft book than the bag and the apron; this one is ISBN 4-277-31151-2. But basically, this skirt is simple — just measure your waist and cut two panels using that measurement as the width, one for front, one for back. Then smock them all the way across the top for about four inches; my pattern gathers the 1/4" gingham fabric to about half of what I started with, but it's not exact, so I made sure to remeasure each panel before stitching up the side seams and putting in the zipper.

Then I just zoomed around the top and attached a strip of purchased bias tape for the waist band. You could add a regular waistband here, too; that's how it was in the book. But I hate it when those things fold over (ahem) when I'm wearing them (ahem) so this little strip is fine. What I noticed when I tried it on is that it really had to fit kind of high on my waist to look right. I wound up having to take it in a little more before adding the bias tape to finish. It's not a hip-hugger skirt, it's more like a dancing skirt. It will also make your can look huge. Huger.

The embroidery across the bottom is a classic thing called Chicken Scratch you see on a lot of vintage gingham aprons. It's just three strands of white floss, and straight stitches; to make what looks like white circles, you make sort of an open-cross shape with a white square in the middle, then go under each leg of the cross, around in a spiral, twice. For such a simple treatment, I think it looks so pretty. If you do this, I would definitely wait to do the embroidery until you are sure you've got the side seams right; since I had to take the skirt in further, after I put the zipper in (whoops), my embroidery is a bit off center. You can't really tell since it's all so gathered, but I'm waiting to do the embroidery last on the light blue one (yep, already doing another). Welcome to Alicia's Smocking Blog! I know, right?

Prairie Smock

Over the weekend, I made a different kind of smock. A smocky tunic blouse. This is New Look pattern 6707 (* bought it and the fabric last fall and just getting around to making it now, so it might be discontinued but available at this link, I think). I combined views C and D. D had the shorter poufier sleeves and the ties in back. The C had no tucks on the yoke. I wore it all day yesterday and got some weird looks at the mall. But I guess this isn't really a mall outfit. It's what you'd wear while walking through a wheatfield, or with Wellies while carrying a basket of freckled eggs, and not shopping at Sephora? Maybe shopping at Crabtree & Evelyn. I could see that. I wish Laura Ashley still had stores in the U.S. I miss Laura so much. She's very different now.

This blouse/dress reminds me of a dress I got at Pier One about twenty years ago when they used to have clothes. It was the summer between high school and college and I was working at TravelHost magazine in Chicago. It was a very rainy summer morning and I woke up very, very crabby. And late. And tired. Which was pretty typical of me then. My mom was going to drive me to the El. TravelHost was in a great location, at 6 N. Michigan Ave., and the Wabash El was only about two blocks away from the office. Not important. So my mom was waiting for me in the front yard, and I had on a new dress, long, cream colored with Indian embroidery. It was the first time I was wearing it. I crankily came out onto the porch, opened my umbrella, started going down the stairs and then immediately slipped and came crashing, loudly, with my umbrella and lunchbox, down the rest of them, landing in a muslin heap on the sidewalk. "Waaaaahhhhhhhh!!!" said I, mournfully. "Oh my gosh!!!" gasped my horrified mom, and ran over to help me up. My dress was sopping wet and muddy, and naturally I had landed right on top of an enormous red earthworm (sorry worm!), which smooshed into a big, bloody, gooey smear all over the front of my dress. So it was back inside to change out of the new dress, and I will tell you that the earthworm stain never came out. And I do seem to fall down on the porch a lot what is that.

Usually I don't like things that tie in the back, but when it's sort of long like this over something it's kind of aprony and that's okay. I used little covered buttons in the contrast fabric. I also did all of the buttonholes by hand which I can tell you takes at least 417 times longer than doing them by machine. I am soooooooo bad at doing buttonholes by machine that I just parked myself and spent pretty much an entire movie doing the buttonholes, and I have to say they look very nice. I don't know if it was worth it, but I thought I'd give them a shot, just to see. Will probably try to get better on the machine, though. . . .

I have gotten more for-myself-inteded sewing, smocking, and embroidery done in the last month than I have in the past four years combined, I think. I'm starting to feel very guilty about it, not to mention very, very broke since I really need to update my web shop with new stuff, but I can't seem to stop indulging these impulses. This week, though. Must change. I kind of knew this would happen. The minute I finished the book it's like I just went completely berserker and started fourteen things for myself in about five minutes. I have finished quite a few things at this point. In order to get this much done, it's quite helpful to have no life whatsoever. That's pretty much how I do it, for those who have asked.

The dress . . .

. . . and the engagement story is here.

Those shoulder things were actually organza and they wrapped around the back and tied in the big bow, like an apron. The shoulder things were not practical, but they were cute. I think there are other pictures of the back somewhere. The bridesmaids all wore different shades of pink, simple boatneck bodices, gathered skirts, and sashes tied in wide bows in front We all carried snapdragons and zinnias from the Oak Park farmer's market. So that was sort of Montana-ish, at least. And we saved about a zillion dollars. Which I wish I'd used to hire a wedding planner. That's the one thing I'd do over.

I'd like to do that whole day again, with everyone there, again. That was what was important to me and why I wanted the wedding — I wanted everyone there, altogether, back home. I'd like to do it all again. I wouldn't even care what I was wearing, that much. Ish. I mean, if I could have everyone there, I'd wear a burlap bag. I'd put some darts in it, but I'd wear it, if everyone could be there.

Curry-Colored Daisies

Isn't this a cute shirt? I ordered it a few days ago from eShakti.com. I was listening to the new Wilco record, which sounds like the Grateful Dead to me, and then I was thinking about how much fun it was to go to Dead shows back in the Midwest, and that reminded me of those little cotton Indian skirts we used to wear all summer, and the little cotton shirts, and then I started searching for them on-line because I never see anybody wearing those anymore, and that's how I found this cute daisy tunic. Only $29.95 and it comes in a million sizes with a bunch of different things you can customize. They have a whole bunch of cute tops, so I ordered a few of them, but they haven't arrived yet. I think they take several weeks to come.

When this one comes, I'll make some yellow curry, or, wait — Chicken Tikka Masala. And find our old bootleg tapes. And possibly it will be warmer than 50 degrees. . . . What happened to summer around here? Guess I'd better keep dreaming.

French (and a Little English) Fashion Fantasyland

I don't have much to offer today, since I literally did nothing but frog and recrochet yesterday's sweater again (sleeves this time) and I think we all know how that went (lots of sighing, lots of  swearing in second person ["You little %$#@!"], lots of Thai-iced-coffee-consolation, lots of Audrey looking nervous). Naturally, it was all sort of for naught, since I wound up ripping everything again, and taking the simplest approach after all. The pretty lilac-y sweater on the cover of the spring/summer issue of Rowan magazine was motivating me to get there, I must say. All these pretty pinky-purples! It's not normally a color I prefer, but sometimes when you are designing for other people's publications, they choose the yarns and the colors and even the design details. Sometimes you get to choose, sometimes they choose. For the sweaters for Susan, I chose the yarns (Baby Cashmerino and Cashmerino Aran) and she tweaked one of the colors to go better with the other stuff in the book. I have a little baby dress coming out in Crochet Today! magazine this June, and for that the editor chose the basic design of the dress (based on one of my other originals) and the yarn and the colors. It was not the yarn I would've chosen, but the magazine has its reasons, and the dress came out really cute, so sometimes it's kind of fun to have those things determined. Breaks you out of your tendencies.

Anyway, I do love Rowan magazine so much. It's just so beautifully produced; it's not really a "magazine" at all, it's a 190-page perfect-bound book on beautiful paper with 60+ beautiful things inside. This is a little halter felted out of an old Aran sweater, trimmed out with crocheted edging. Isn't that a great idea? I think it's so pretty. I told Jane yesterday that her Paris trips always seem to happen right as I'm beginning my French Fashion Freakout every season; this spring I'm motivated entirely by the movie Passion of Mind with Demi Moore, whose character lives in a small French village and wears braids and overalls and tiny-print calico dresses and aprons and rubber boots and generally very milkmaid-ish clothes but in a cool, mud-on-her-cheek, almost-real way. I personally can't follow the plot of this movie, but I watch it entirely for the scenery and Demi's wardrobe. Jane suggested Brodeuses, so I'll go get that today and plan out some more of my imaginary shopping-spree. I went real-life shopping on Sunday for a few things and was absolutely horrified when I went into a dressing room (rarely do I do this) and saw what I had on. It was so pathetic, I shouldn't have left my own basement, let alone my house, in it. This is how I convince myself that I really do need more clothes: go out looking like I'm really jockeying hard for a spot on What Not to Wear, then catch a glimpse of myself in a mirror. I'm so often determined to turn this around, somehow. Like Demi and her split personality (in P of M) I am often appalled at how my real-life appearance doesn't match my imaginary appearance, and if I would put even four minutes of effort into this each day I am convinced that I really could turn things around. Unfortunately, this ambition only seems to last for about a week at the beginning of fall and the beginning of spring, when I have the little French Fashion (conniption) Fit and go out and buy four blouses, wear them four days in a row, flirt French-ily with anyone around, wash them and then lose it all in the depths of the laundry room (in favor of the tee-shirts, ubiquitous capri-sweatpants, and cranky un-cute attitude) forever. Like, until next season.

Vanessa Bell Smock

First, I needed the right shirt to wear while sewing. This is a rough draft. It looks a bit maternity. But I was going for Bloomsbury Artist at Charleston, in fact. Like this, but not for $68. I just took a t-shirt and cut off the front part below some random line I drew. Then I hemmed a piece of knit fabric an inch longer than the piece I cut off (to account for the hem and the seam allowances), then gathered it across the top, and attached it. I cut that front piece inside the seams (and kept the original side seams) and then just attached my new piece up the side. I think it's kinda cute, and it was easy.

If I do it again, I'll cut it so the yoke is much higher. As it was I was trying to go under the sleeves. But I think it would look better if the yoke was shorter (higher), and I cut some room for the bottom half of the armhole out of my new fabric. (Or maybe if the gathers stayed more toward the center than the sides.) I think I would keep the whole sleeve intact and just top-stitch my new fabric around the armhole, so all the original t-shirt seam is there. If that makes no sense, just ignore me. I can see it, I just can't write it. Hopefully I can sew it. Then I'll just show it.

Thank you for all the embroidery-transfer talk yesterday. Here are some comments with further ideas you might want to know about (hope you guys don't mind that I pulled these up):

I have a good tip for a makeshift lightbox if people don't have one. It's much less expensive and works pretty well. Just take one of those florescent light strips that plug in (you can get them at Lowe's or Home Depot or where ever) and upturn a clear, shallow plastic tote over it. Put your items to be traced on top and voila! Lightbox!

Posted by: Sarah

And you forgot to mention my type of light box. Everyone has one, so it's free! I tape my pattern to a window on a sunny day, then gently tape my fabric to the window on top of that. I'm not much of one for fancy gadgets, so I just use a simple very sharp No. 2 pencil and trace the pattern. Works perfectly every time and doesn't cost me a cent — well, maybe a little time to wipe the smudges off the window when I'm done!

Posted by: Thimbleanna 

I hate, hate, hate transferring an embroidery pattern! Something I do that I find SO HELPFUL is to iron on some freezer paper (shiny side down) to the back of your fabric for stability. Then I tape (with blue painters tape) the pattern to the freezer paper. It makes tracing SO much easier. I also use a brown Micron pen (the finest point) to draw with. I've run into some disappearing pens that didn't disappear. Plus they draw "fat". I have a friend who swears by Jelly Rolls pens for the tracing. I'm going to try it the next time I transfer a pattern.

Posted by: Monica (Happy Zombie)

My marker is white with pink caps, and it says "Disappearing Ink" on one side and "Mark-B-Gone" on the other side — one side disappears with time (supposedly) and one disappears after washing (supposedly). I don't know who makes it, but it's probably Dritz. But I like that idea of the Micron pen. Gotta get one of those. Thanks, you guys. Those are great suggestions.

Also, Auds has been walking around here with a (regular) pencil and a tiny clipboard, getting my family and friends to sign some little "petition." I don't know what it says because she's not speaking to me, but I'm guessing it has to do with being replaced by a jelly roll. I think she snuck in and read yesterday's comments when I was at the store and felt she had a good shot at staging a protest. I think I'll have to give that good girl her own category when I redo all these. Bloglines peeps, I'm just warning you — that day is coming soon. I can't find anything around here myself. And this dog, she's very persuasive (as you know).

Good Day, Sunshine

Popsicle colors this morning. Gotta catch them quickly — it all changed even in the two (cold) minutes I was out there. Phil says spring is quickly on its merry way. Why did I again forget to plant bulbs last fall, darnit? It all goes by so fast, even without the added acceleration of global-warming warning.

I'n't he (this is the Wiki groundhog, not my groundhog) cute, all stretched out, lounging? He's like, "Aaaaah. Sunshine. Stretching. Yeahhhh."

I might think about spring this weekend, and sewing. I'm declaring war on my wardrobe. I've had it with you, Wardrobe. As if. As if a giant pile of sweatpants and long-sleeved solid-colored Merona t-shirts could be called a wardrobe. You're going to have some competition around here, real soon, you.

Springtime in Paris (and Not So Much)

I just bought this but now I want these in red for when I don't go to France but pretend I do. I used this to save up for that.

Frenchified and Forever 21 (if Only on the Inside)

I took the whole day off. My friend got back from France less than a week ago and I was lucky enough to have her all to myself for a few hours yesterday, for shopping and lunch. (We said to our waiter, simultaneously and inappropriately, "Hi handsome!" and "Hey, good looking!" followed by "Wow." I'll say she said the "wow." He looked like he just stepped off the runway, or the pro-football field (as in quarterback, not defensive end). We were flirting in the French way (actually I would assume the French are far more subtle and sophisticated, but I'll tell you, even our dork-attempts worked, because we got excellent service), just for the Frenchified fun of it.

She was wearing a little black top with tiny polka-dots on it and a cute neck-bow thing and it was totally clear that it was from France. It was adorable. Unfortunately, my behavior was not, and it was a typical American Alicia Paulson–ish conversation, resulting in the following appalling content-analysis: 50% Alicia talking about her five-minute trip to France fifteen years ago; 10% Shelly talking about her two-week trip to France FROM WHICH SHE RETURNED FIVE DAYS AGO; 40% Alicia falling off her chair and into her lunch trying to apologize for monopolizing the conversation with talk about herself, totally missing the irony that she is actually taking up even more time talking about herself. It wasn't that bad, but close.

Presents, as always, assuaged my blues. She brought me French buttons, postcards, a fleur-de-lis patch, and a little antique wire cage — a child's "cricket keeper." We went to Powell's and got my drawing books, then hit Anthropologie and coveted many, many, many, many, many, many, many, many things there. I'm sorry, but we did. Late last night while lying in bed in the dark I couldn't stop thinking about how much I love clothes. I stared up towards the ceiling and said to Andy, "Do you ever, like, just sit and think about clothes, about maybe what you'll wear or what you want to wear?"

He: "Um, no."
Me: "Never?" (Mind you, we have had this conversation about four hundred times so this is really just some kind of exercise in I don't know what — me maneuvering an opportunity to talk about myself again, I think.)
He: "No. I mean, I do think about them when I'm dressed inappropriately."
Me: "Oh, I love clothes so much!!! I love them! Sometimes I just think about them all the time!!!"
He: "Man, we learned so much about geology at school! The entire fossil record . . . paleozoic . . . [etc., I actually have no idea what he was saying.]
Me: "I mean, how do they make all these clothes? Where are they coming from? Who's designing this stuff? It's so cute! It's so cute. Ohmigosh, there was this jacket, with an empire waist, and these big buttons and little pleats, and, seriously, it was adorable hun, and . . . "
He: "ZZZZzzzzzzzz."
Me: "Darn."

After Shelly dropped me off at home, I couldn't sit still. I went back out to the regular mall to see what was happening there. Not much. Except for at Forever 21. I don't know where I've been, but HAVE YOU BEEN HERE? Good grief. Can I just say that all of these pictures are from Forever 21, and everything is between $18 and $34? That dress, above, is less than $23. This store had more clothes than any store I've ever been in in my life. There were clothes stuffed onto racks, falling off shelves, so many clothes you just wouldn't believe it. (At least at Clackamas Town Center.)

I don't know a thing about this place, and I am clearly nowhere near 21, I can't stand it when clothes are on the floor, I try not to shop at these big chains, but I couldn't get out. I could not get out. I was sucked into the vortex. The music was great. It was like a museum of cuteness. Everywhere I turned I was assaulted with something cute. Look at this little jacket. Please. Hello Mia Farrow. How cute would you be sipping cafe au lait in that!

The stuff is small, and they have an insane return policy — can't return, only exchange or get store credit, and you have a small window of opportunity to do so. But I got two shirts and let's just say I am feeling much, much better about fall.

Forgot to say: If you want to pee in your pants laughing listen to David Sedaris talk about Paris on This American Life from July 28, 2000 (episode 165). I listen to this every couple of years when I remember to and it is one of my favorite ones, especially the part where he sees Judge Judy. . . .