The fun in function

Came a long way to get derailed. 

Machine pieced, front and back and edges with monkey tongues. I had a lot of them just hanging around from some long ago project. 

Sandwich making - getting the layers together evenly - took a very long evening. 

This morning I sat there looking at the Janome for ten minutes trying to remember the setup for free-motion. 

                        Tip~Life is short, ask for help~

 And there it was, under the front edge of the table, a hole that Jim drilled through the wood frame giving me access to the sliding mechanism that controls the feed dog. He sanded the edges of the hole so I wouldn't get splinters, bless him.

The "clunk" of the shift was so familiar. Did I have a free-motion foot? No. Hmm. Did it really matter? Tinker here, tinker there. Shit was not happening. 

Oh well, fall back to straight topstitching. Reset. And fail. Feed dogs would not re-engage. All indicators point to an overdue trip for service/repair.

Let's see how hand quilting feels. Two+ layers of commercial print cotton and a quarter inch of Warm&Natural cotton batting? The best I could manage was about five brutal stitches to the inch and I have tough hands. Hand quilting is out of the question.

Tomorrow, I'll saddle up the 99K and see if I can get this project off the deck. I have faith in Singer. 

 

The turn

This one is all mine.

Have you ever dropped into a curve on the highway faster than safe?

 Maybe you were taking in the view or your mindscape had your attention and, in a split second, you had to react to avert disaster. 

Or not.

Ten and two. Steady. Hold Steady. 

No braking. 

Power through it, just enough. 

You made it.

Keep rolling 

 

Fail, give or take

 

A few minutes ago I spent an hour ironing this tablecloth. The intention was to build a winter robe. Long ago I learned the hard way that old damask can harbor weak places that don't bode well for garment making. 

I measured, made my mark, and a small cut in preparation for a big rip across the width. 

In the middle of the tear, that straight line took off in opposing diagonal directions like a bolt of lightning. 

Failed the garment test.

The only way to describe the color that flashes across this cloth is Opalescent.

Opal is my birthstone but I've never had one for very long because they are so fragile. So happy birthday to the stitching world, this opal cloth is now stirred into the scrap bin. 

And Liz ! Now I know where I got the curl I put in so many of the hearts.

Mostly reflexive

 

I'm just the recipient of these two shots. Colin keeps strange hours in wide open spaces. No mention of any drones or UFOs yet. 

He put this nativity set together for the neighbor (who likes the solar Christmas lights still up on my mailbox from last year.) It came with a timer and I was watching when sundown triggered the lights. I thought she was barbecuing Baby Jesus & Co. It's ablaze with lights and has made her so happy. 

I have been spending more time with my main characters. Building them into scenes that have to fit like a good jigsaw puzzle. 

And let us not forget the spectral influencers, Sam and Hope. 

And the other book, the Monkeytown Murders, is growing a plot like moss on a log. 

There will be a lot more writing.

I have just about used up all the cottons - dyed and commercial prints- on a two-sided quilt. I'm guessing it's 60x56. 

Now to find a place with a floor big enough to lay it out, batt & baste it. Hardwood or vinyl. 

When we lived in New York I built a king-sized quilt on the floor of the gym after school hours. Thinking about that makes me tired.

Sometimes the backside is more interesting than the front. That tells me I should try painting again. 

This is all machine pieced, of course. And I plan to free-motion quilt it with a special selection of text... in cursive. I might get it done by Christmas.

Thread ends

 

Wish I could recall where I first saw this mending technique. It's always been fixing holes or covering stains on knitted things and always a beautiful "save" of something beloved. 

Here I'm covering up places where the warp or weft is worn away. The generally good condition of this vest made me suspect these few odd places were sanded to mimic wear and tear like the jeans with the thighs rubbed pale. Stupidest fashion take ever, in my opinion. Always made everyone look like they were wearing salami skins. 

I made a point of not sewing the pockets shut. How annoying would that be? 

And somehow, none of this repair is in keeping (beyond the colorways) with the flying eye on the center back. 

Thanks to everyone who ordered thread sets today...I'm off to the post office with them now. 

Nightscape

With all the web willies going on about drones, I thought I would grab a quick shot of the almost full moon because the clouds are due to smother it all. If I didn't tell you that it's the moon, a streetlight and the road illuminated, plus my neighbors homes, you might see a massive mother ship landing. 

Back in the 80's there was always local gossip about the Hudson Valley UFOs flying in slow, silent formations. Witness here. A v-shaped wedge of lighted, radio controlled models, low and slow enough to sound like a distant flotilla of lawn mowers. There are a lot of people in the NE with more money than sense. Drones are the latest toy and they are playing at will. What amazes me is that some yahoo hasn't yet shot one down. Any minute now. 

Then again, if it's drug dealers making deliveries, could be word has been passed that intercepting their coke might be frowned upon. Again, a case of more money that is good for a person.

 

On a much finer note, the Cativerse has decided that House Lacativa NE should be blessed with this little bundle of energy and love. Lady Nibbler Lacativa, 8 weeks old. They decided she and I should share a birthday. I'm honored.

the hoard to the front lines!

Years ago, before I became a dyer, I hoarded commercial prints. A friend and I used to drive three hours one way to a fabric store where we would make the trip worthwhile. 

There was another place, more local, that actually pushed piles of surplus cloth around with a bobcat. Nothing that a good washing machine couldn't fix.

Once I started dyeing, I also started torturing some of those prints with discharging, overdyeing, and adding textile paints. Batiks and Timeless Treasure prints were favorites.

I've hauled them out of the cloth closet and am busy putting them to work. Something about the shrieks of ripping cloth sends the cats flying from the room. Too bad they leave so much of their hair behind.

Once I uncovered the work table (thanks for the shove, Kitty) the Janome was up and ready from the small lingerie projects of the summer. Batting is on the way.

There will be free-motion text here and there. 

 

inner life

I finally convinced last year's gift, the turntable, to hook up to a wireless speaker adequate for the guest bedroom's size.

We spent some time listening to his records. He reads the covers for the copyright year and the liner notes for the lyrics. We searched for the science behind making and listening to records. 

Artie Shaw's "Begin the Beguine" sparked a discussion on the years before WW2. This was my mother's music that I probably heard in utero. According to him, that makes me a time traveler. 

Later he showed me a documentary on Disney+ titled "Beatles 64". It opened with a reminder to me that the Beatles first came to the US only four months after the JFK assassination punched the nation in the heart.

Before they plunged into Beatlemania, there was a brief overview of JFK's presidency (he'd heard his speech about going to the moon in school) and the assassination and funeral. Even though I knew he was watching my reaction, I could not keep from tearing up seeing the riderless horse and the little boy saluting the passing coffin. I was fourteen that year. 

The documentary interviewed several women my age trying to get an explanation for the screaming. Even the Beatles didn't seem to know.  One woman said something like, "We needed to be joyful over something." I think she was onto something. 

 I remember being ten, the year I read Hiroshima - the year that humanity revealed its cruel and dangerous side. He's ten now and you can see that he's gotten a glimpse of that since the election. 

 I take some joy in that he knows that one person at a time, we can do good. Be better. 

death dealers

 

both of them. 

I've misplaced my tiniest Ginghers. Slippery devils, they are probably wandering around in my car since the sewing tote has an open top and always has too much in it. I'll check later when the sun's been out a while. Below-freezing temps in Georgia are a shock. 

I'm switching over to these for now. If they ever had any kind of point guard, it's long gone, so they are just going to stay on the table beside the stitching chair.

I bet the characters read: Watch out, stupid. They're sharp as hell!

What do you think about when you are stitching alone? 

What do you talk about if you are stitching in company?

My mind wanders. Oddly, some say.

And have you read "All the Colors of the Dark" by Chris Whitaker? If you liked the True Detective TV series, you'll love it. I did. 

the OG selfie

 

Grace started it wonderfully.

My hat was bright yellow felt. The dress was a simple rayon A-line with long bell sleeves. Pink, turquoise, and yellow print on white. 

Getting four instant pictures for a dollar was such a deal. The making ready in the usually greasy mirror. Hold your breath...or not. Laughing out loud and spoiling two out of the four. Then standing outside and waiting for the grumbling grind to spit the strip into the slot. Don't put your fingers on it!

The photo booth was in Grand Central Station, NYC. Spring 1967. I was on my way with my portfolio for my first interview at the School of Visual Arts. Alone. I got in. At the time, the school was uncredited. They needed my money.

I remember her well. She had no illusions, no goals, and no expectations. Every day was new and wide open to whatever happened next.

Many years later, I discovered that I had gone to classes right around the corner from where our friend Michelle had lived for several years. We probably passed each other on the sidewalk and nodded, friendly-like. I was never much of a New York City girl. Ever the tourist from the country.