restingmotion

Monday Miscellaney

Today has not gone as planned.  But it is still Monday so let’s get on with it.

Finally, I finished the first of three dresses that I cut and started during my March sewing retreat.  This dress was almost finished; it simply needed a little adjustment in the lining seams and hemming.  The initial plan had been to finish it immediately, but the world shut down and there seemed no need for a new dress.  I started sewing masks.  When I finally put the dress up on the sewing table the hem looked so wonky I couldn’t believe it was right, even though I knew in my head it was.  Yes, the point is that the dress look straight and balanced and even when it is on me.  And so it does.

I wore the dress to my birthday brunch with my step-daughter’s family on Sunday.  In fact, it was comfortable throughout the day, which was hot and humid, and I was very happy. This was meant to be an “everyday” kind of summer dress, one I could wear running around town in hot humid weather and it serves that purpose well.  I did line it, although the Japanese quilting cotton is opaque enough, primarily because this allows the dress to hang more nicely and not cling, bag, or rumple excessively, problems with the original J Jill dress I copied.  The silk habotai lining is light and cool even in humid weather. 

After brunch we walked around Market Square and stopped for a chocolate fix at Coffee and Chocolate.  I had one piece, this beautiful almond praline truffle.  It is almost too beautiful to eat, but that did not stop me.

Over the weekend I also finished knitting the pieces to the summer sunset sweater.  Actually, I finished reknitting.   Initially the whole thing got tossed in my bag in a fit of pique when I realized I did not have enough yarn to finish.  I refused to think about it at all for several weeks.  When I pulled it back out I realized two things:  First that I had lost my mind and knit the two front pieces about 2 inches too long; and second, that I failed to take into account the changes I had made to the pattern due to gauge issues.  My altered pattern used about 15% more yarn.  Not surprising then that I would not have enough.

 

The pieces are finished but the sweater is on hold until the yarn arrives. Since the yarn is hand-dyed Prism linen lace-weight, I do not expect to receive it right away.

 

I cannot begin to express how happy wearing my purple dress made me yesterday. To wear a cool, comfortable dress that in a color I love, that fit perfectly, and which I made myself brings its own kind of happiness.  There is so much joy in that statement that I just want to dance.  Alas the kind of stitching that I had in mind for today is not what came to pass.

Near the end of my walk this morning, I somehow managed to trip and fall.  I actually thought I had an instant of foot drag and I stumbled over some unevenness in the pavement. Before I knew it i went down, knees, wrist, face.  My nose took the brunt of it.  Here I am after attempting to clean myself up but before going to the doctor.  I wondered if I was over-reacting and did not need to go at all. Not so.  I broke my nose and dislocated the septum.  I will see an ENT on Wednesday.  I got a series of stitches for the cuts on the top of my lip. 

 

I look worse now.  There will be other days for stitching. There is nothing quite like starting a new year of life with a bang, even if it is not the kind of bang I might have preferred.  Hopefully things can only get better from here.

Prepwork

Today is all about prepwork:

Parties, sewing projects, travel...

Perhaps, when I find time to catch my breath, I will tell you all about it.

Family Week

Spent a great Thanksgiving week in San Antonio.

 

The impetus for the trip was my aunt’s 89th birthday and it was a lovely celebration indeed.

But I also had time to walk along San Antonio’s River Walk and spend time with both of my brothers and their families.  

 

I was back in Knoxville on Sunday; the first Sunday of the month is Altar Guild Sunday, at least for my team.  It was the first Sunday of advent, the anniversary of my uncle’s death, and the kirkin’ o’ the tartans.  Somehow I think Uncle Ted would have loved that. I sponsored the advent greenery, and although I played no role in the selection, I think it was perfect.

It amazes me sometimes how things sometimes all fall into place in unexpected, and unexpectedly perfect, ways.

Pockets of Bloom in the Midst of Construction

Not many words again today.  I have indeed strained my eyes, and I am supposed to be resting them.  Yesterday I was to abstain from all reading, watching and driving, and I did, for the most part.  Only a few minutes here and there, less than 10 minutes over the course of the day.  It has made a difference and I can tell when my eyes grow tired.

Instead today I shall show you flowers.  Yes a few things have survived the men in boots and heavy machinery, and they dare to bloom in the midst of chaos.

 

I can definitely see a big improvement today.  I do have to go out this morning but the excursions are short, less than 2 miles each direction.  I'm not sure which is worse, driving or looking at my phone to call an uber, so I will opt to drive myself and see how my eyes hold up.  Then I will know if I can drive downtown this evening for the symphony, or if I should  uber or call a friend instead.  I can close my eyes while I listen to the music.  In the meantime I am knitting (yes, with my eyes mostly closed) and resting as needed until my eyes recover. I will be back to this blog next week.

 

 

 

A New Christening Outfit from Old Lace

I've spent the better part of 2019 so far playing with lace, lace and fabric.  I was making a christening gown for a little girl, using one of her great-grandmother's old cocktail dresses.  Although the skirt was full, Great-grandmother had a tiny waist and there were many seams and darts, seams and darts sewn through many layers of lace and fabric and tulle.

The first order of business was to deconstruct the original dress.  The lace was delicate and fragile, disintegrating in places. I am sorry I didn't take any pictures of the full dress, but it was strapless with a full skirt.  There had obviously been a pink ribbon at one time, threads remained where it had been tacked in place, and several areas of the lace had pink stains.

Once the fabric was in pieces, repairs were made, where possible, by appliqué and embroidery, layering lace motifs and creating new lace chains as needed.  This was the longest part of the job, but in many ways the most enjoyable.  

A week before the baptism, which was this past Saturday, I was given another dress.  The dress was mostly tulle, but there was a panel of embroidered organdy on the front of the dress. Unfortunately the organdy was very white, and the original lace was off-white with a yellowish-green cast.  The two did not look good together and I could not quite figure out how to combine them in one dress in a way that would satisfy me.  I decided to keep the dress out of the original lace, and use the organdy as a coat.   I also decided to use a third shade of white, an off-white silk satin organza which was sitting in my stash, as a lining for both pieces.

The organza was a remnant from Miriam's wedding, and as I hadn't yet used it for anything, I decided that it had been waiting for just this occasion.   It was off-white, with a beige-cast, more yellow than the white organdy, but not as yellow as the lace, although you can't quite tell that in the photo above, taken late in the evening under artificial light, before the dress was finished.  The firm hand of the satin organza also provided stability and protection for the lace.

Both garments were finished with a simple bias binding at the neck.  The dress was tied at the back neck with a ribbon, but I could not find a ribbon to that worked with the hybrid color of the coat, at least not on short notice. The coat remained open.

The coat was made in a simple, sacque shape, and was really the simplest part of the outfit since no great efforts were required to preserve the fabric.

But the two garments worked together, and better yet, looked adorable on Annalyse.  

 

(all photos are mine except for the last photo, from the baptism.  This photo was used with permission of Annalyse's grandmother)

A Few End of Year Projects

This will be my last post for 2018.  My mom is here until the end of the year, and although we aren't doing anything significant, just hanging out, my thoughts are elsewhere, not on blogging.

 

I have been entertaining myself with small knitting projects however.

First, I started this cowl for myself, using some yarn in my stash, a skein of Manos del Uruguay's Wool Classica in the deep wine color, and a skein of Colinette's discontinued wool, Skye.   The cowl started with different yarns and a pattern.  My original yarn choices didn't really work and I ended up ripping and restarting the pattern several times because I didn't like the way the color bands were turning out.  Eventually I modified it into something I liked.  Consider this my practice cowl.

About the time I figured out what I was doing, and just before the final ripping and reuniting of the wine cowl, I decided I needed to change up my planned gifts for my step-daughter Miriam and knit her a cowl.  Family Christmas was on the 23rd and I made this decision around mid-day on the 22nd, so off to the yarn store we went.  I picked four yarns, two by Luisa Harding (Trenzar), a variegated yarn by Auracania (Alumco) and another blue yarn for the background.  I've already lost the tags so I have no idea what yarn I used.

I tend not to be drawn to high contrast, and I was a little worried, as I knit this,  that there would not be enough contrast in the final fabric.  But we are both happy with the results.

Family Christmas was a lot of fun.  Mom carried on the family tradition of wearing one's bows.

I restarted, and finished my cowl.  Historically, I tend to knit cowls and scarfs on a whim, often inspired by a particular yarn.  Apparently there is a theme.  It seems that all of my scarves, except the grey one I knit earlier the year, all fall in the same color family.  Luckily my coats are wine, grey and taupe, but I do think that perhaps I should. branch out, just a little bit, in 2019.

 

See you next year.

 

 

Giving Thanks

It is the time in this country when we take a day to give thanks.  And so we do.  We go overboard preparing too much food, occasionally eat to excess, watch football and parades, spend time with family and friends.  Some of us rise early the next morning and do battle seeking material excess at low prices.

 

Some of us, those whose hearts are perhaps too big, who take the worries of the world too greatly, secretly fret about whether or not we should really be celebrating excess when there is so much tragedy in the world:  people who have lost loved ones, families displaced by fires in California, hurricanes on the gulf coast, towns devastated, people who have lost everything. The tragedies of the world seem unimaginable, our own comfort and security shallow.  

 

But of course it is good to have a ritualized day of Thanks, a reminder that there is always something to be grateful for, although we may not always see it.  Perhaps it is human nature to wish for whatever it is we do not have, what we do not see, as if wishing would make it better.  But I'm not sure we wish for the right things.  Yes, wishing for rain to put out fires may seem good.  But what if it rains too much?  Mudslides, flooding.  The world rarely seems to work in the way we humans would imagine it to be.

 

I have been remembering a book I loved as a child, Half Magic by Edward Eager.  Children find a coin or talisman that grants half a wish.  Misadventures ensue.  There are parts of the book that are difficult for today's readers, yes, but I am not certain the we should abandon that which is good because of that which makes us uncomfortable.   Easy answers often ignore difficult questions, and life, human life, is nothing if not complex and often contradictory.  And so it is good to be grateful.  It is good to be reminded that the things we wish for often have unintended and unimagined consequences, and that true magic can happen in the most unexpected and unanticipated ways.

 

Be grateful.  Be kind.  Do something for someone else, no matter how small.  Have a wonderful day, by which I also mean take time to breathe in the wonder.  Give thanks. Then, having stored up all that goodness, share it with the world.

 

(the painting is by Joseph Delaney.  I originally posted it, and wrote about it, last August, here.)

 

 

 

 

Knitting Reboot

I am knitting again, knitting regularly and consistently.  Sitting and knitting, usually while I am watching TV, is incredibly calming and settling, but it is also energizing and exciting simply because  the process of knitting, although actually slow, rhythmic, and almost meditative, also allows time for my brain to wander, depending on what I am knitting of course, not in a frenetic way, but in a smooth, swirling way, an underlying babble, like the purling of a small stream.

I have resumed the process of unpacking the sewing room, and my small cutting table has been cleared.  It is in use today for blocking a sweater, the pieces of which are shown above.  

 

I am somewhat appalled that it took me 8 months to finish this sweater, it is not difficult, but I will also admit that I ripped the first piece three times before I completely wrapped my head around the bias short rows and the technique.  With time I also realized that my knitting space at the house was inadequate.  I was not knitting, not due to lack of desire, but due to frustration and discomfort. I can't say it was an oversight, but it was definitely a miscalculation.

 

The previous owners of my house had the TV downstairs in the living room, which is not what I wanted.  I had planned, all along, to turn the two smaller bedrooms upstairs into a library/television room but I wasn't ready to begin the remodel when I moved in May of 2017.  I needed to live in the space, get a feel for it before making any final decisions.  I have no regrets about the delay itself.  Admittedly, I also questioned whether or not I wanted another large tv, if my viewing warranted it. I hadn't really been knitting much in the old house either, and television watching had become of something of a soporific, a tool for numbing an agitated mind. I moved in with only a small TV, placed in a corner of my office with a single reclining chair.

 

It actually took me most of that first year to realize that I had in fact made a mistake to admit to myself that I missed my large TV. In order to see on the small TV I actually had to watch it, and pay attention, I couldn't knit simultaneously.  The corner absorbed sound, the small screen absorbed detail.  I could either look at the tv or my knitting but could not really do both.  I also, eventually realized, that the chair was a terrible knitting chair, that attempting to knit induced a crick in my neck. I wanted to knit; I dreaded knitting.  The situation was untenable.  

 

When I moved to the apartment I went ahead and bought the new large tv.  I have a comfortable sofa to sit on, with a table nearby where I can put a pattern if I need it, good light.  All of this is planned for the new library/tv room/office as well.  And I love knitting again.

 

I purchased enough yarn to make a triangular shawl to match the sweater, and I am working on that now.  The sweater, shown above, will be dry enough by this afternoon to begin seaming.  Once the red sweater is off the board I can block the scarf I shared with you last week.  Blocking will meld the stitches together and make it look "finished".  Then I have a hamper full of projects that have been abandoned in various stages of partial completion.  I look forward to occasional spelunking forays into that hamper, to finding and reclaiming relics of knitting past.  Starting to knit again has simply been the first step, and it will not be the only fiberly pursuit, just the opening thread.

 

 

Five, mostly revolving around a recurring theme.

The view of clouds coming out of my apartment Thursday evening on the way to a party.

A second trip to see Candide.  I was very tired the first time I went and although I thought, and still think, the production was fabulous, I appreciated the second act more the second time around.  The first time it just confounded me, but as I said I was tired.  The first act remains my favorite, probably because it is closest to the actual work.  The second half cherry-picks episodes and tells a completely different story than the last two-thirds of the book and although I appreciate the musical as entertainment, I think temperamentally, I much prefer Candide as Voltaire wrote it. I continue to be a person who does not want to be spoon-fed easy answers, even as entertainment.  I also confirmed that I still don't love the score.  I appreciate it more having seen the production, but it is not something I would sit and listen to.  Again, this is me, and I am aware that my opinions are in opposition to the mainstream. I have no regrets, and am happy that I made the effort to see the production again because I was able to relax and let go of my annoyance with the score and enjoy the performance itself.  This second viewing allowed me to concentrate more fully on the musicians themselves, the acting, the timing, the sets, all the things that made the performance magical.

New floor tiles for the front hall.  

 

I went to a fund raiser for Ijams nature center last weekend.  The event is usually outdoors on the lawn but due to the threat of rain it was held in a series of connected tents, which proved wise.  I thought that the darkness in the tent and the lighting around the symphony was beautiful, as was the performance.  I've been to many symphonic performances in tents and the sound is often awful.  This was not.  When I could hear, the sound carried quite clearly.  Notice the word "when".  I could not hear the music initially, and in fact the orchestra was well into the first piece before I could tell they were playing. It rapidly became clear however that the issue was not the fault of the organizers, but with the audience itself.  Very few people in the second tent stopped talking throughout the first portion of the program, which focused on the classical repertoire:  Rossini, Beethoven, Haydn, and Copeland.  However, the instant that RB Morris began to sing all sound stopped.  You could have heard a pin drop.  Morris was excellent, and the sound of the orchestra in the final third of the concert, revolving mostly around popular show tunes, was beautifully done.  Yes, I sat peacefully and calmly through the overture to Candide.  Would that my fellow attendees had had the courtesy to do so during the initial portion of the program.

When I came home from my second performance of Candide, I picked up my (new) copy of the novel.  My older copy fell apart earlier this month.  I still have it in French as well, but my ability to read French has atrophied over the decades.  Enraptured, I stayed up far too late reading. The excesses of Candide are indeed ludicrous, but there is humanity in the story, and a wisdom about human nature, suffering,  and what is important in life that I felt was more of a gloss in the play.  

 

And now I must go tend to my own garden.

 

 

 

The Common Blue-Banded Booby

I believe this was the first time in many years that I did not post on Independence Day. I spent much of the day outside. It was a privilege and a joy, even though I did not spend my time at any Independence Day celebrations.  This has not always been the case.  In the past few years I have gone to cookouts,  spent the day boating with friends,  watched the Farragut Independence Day parade, gone downtown for the festivities there, watched fireworks, heard the symphony. 

 

This year I celebrated my independence of choice.  I celebrated the privilege to work, to work at projects of my choosing.  In fact, the idea of privilege itself was a constant in my thoughts, and will perhaps be overused in this post. I thought about those who came to this country, many fleeing oppression of many kinds, seeking the freedom to choose their own lives, their own paths, their own work, their own religion.  This is actually what our Declaration of Independence celebrates, the legacy of choice, the legacy of hard-working souls who insisted on their right to choose their own path.

Actually I wasn't doing anything so lofty.  I worked in the yard, despite the fact that it was obnoxiously hot.  I did some gardening early, mostly weeding, and then moved on to other projects.  Yesterday felt like the first day of summer to me, although it wasn't really, but it felt like a day set aside, a day with no obligations, no interruptions, a day to do as I pleased.  And I was pleased to wash and paint outdoor furniture.

 

This was not the first time I painted the Panton chairs.  I refreshed the yellow chairs a few years ago. Apparently the colored chairs wee not meant to hold up outside, although they held up beautifully for years in Hyde Park.  In Knoxville, after one year, they were pale faded versions of themselves.  I don't know if it is the stronger sun, the longer humid season with its greater mold-producing tendencies, the pollen, or what.  I spray painted them my second summer in Knoxville, and kept them in a protected spot afterward.  But they went back outside here, at the new house, and were worse for it. They are not good outdoor chairs for Knoxville, and will not remain outdoors for any length of time in the future. But first they needed refurbishing.

 

I chose a color called lagoon.  Four chairs were painted.  There are no flat surfaces on a Panton chair, which means that it takes multiple steps to paint them, and it took much of the day, although there were periods of painting, and periods of waiting.  I had lofty ambitions of cleaning the garage during the waiting periods, but it soon grew too steamy.  I needed to run a couple of errands, and while I was out I decided to paint a table as well, a fairly modern black steel table that was looking worse for wear and was destined for the donation pile. I spent the remainder of the day washing and painting outdoor furniture, working in the garden and garage, and coming inside to work when I would get overheated, which was frequently during the middle of the afternoon.  

 

As the afternoon waned, and I was out until nearly 9 before everything was finished, I would listen to various bursts of fireworks around me.  I've not lived anywhere where so many fireworks went off, not at least in my adult life, although I remember going out to the lake or the countryside to set off fireworks with my parents when I was a child.  I don't recall setting off fireworks at home, but I don't know if fireworks were allowed in city limits or not.   In Hyde Park we could occasionally sit on our deck and watch the display from a nearby town, but often we went down to Poughkeepsie to see the fireworks display first-hand.  Although I love professional fireworks displays, I have no interest in setting them off myself.  In fact I love parades and fireworks, but somehow this year did not feel like going by myself, despite the fact that I knew I would see people I knew.  I always see people I know.  Not family however, I am the only one among my remaining local family who enjoy an occasional  pyrotechnic display. 

 

This year my intent had been to work and then go downtown, but I quickly realized that to leave would mean the work would be unfinished, and I chose to finish.  I was content with my choice,  reminded to once again to thank my own privilege, the privilege to choose to work, but also the privilege of keeping a cool house, the privilege to go inside whenever I felt overheated.  These are luxuries not to be taken lightly.  As I put the last piece of furniture in place, I saw the flash of some neighborhood fireworks through the trees, and I thought about what a happy fourth it had been.  But I also thought about fireworks and parades and barbecues, and the many ways we celebrate the fourth of July, and that the very ability to do these things is a privilege, a privilege earned for us by our forebears, who were all immigrants to this place.

I am happy with the results of my labors.  Two chairs remain outside, for now, but I will keep them here only a few days.  The chairs will move with me to my apartment during construction.  I'm not sure about the blue table yet.  It is an inexpensive thing, the finish is peeling and flaking off the bottom, but it can go in the garage during construction, delaying the decision until next spring.

The table turned out well and I am newly entranced.  It seems I am always drawn to color.    I still don't know where it will go once the new deck is finished, as I want a larger table, but I love this light green.  The pale blue chairs are not mine, we gave them to my step-daughter's family when we moved here, six years ago. It is hard to believe it has been so long. But they do look pretty with the table.

The other two Panton chairs are inside, in the morning room, with the twin to the now-green table.  I did not paint this one as it always has a cloth.  This table, and all four chairs will move to my apartment, as the dining space is not large enough for my dining table, even without the leaves. Looking at this photo, I see that the curtain needs to come down now, at least if I am going to leave the table in the corner, even temporarily.   The curtains will come down anyway as I will be moving in less than a month. 

 

But what about the "blue-banded booby"?  I am the booby.  Well, I actually believe we are all boobys at times, and in this instance I am not referring to the bird, but the other meaning of the word, although I am saying it with love and humor.  Actually bobby's were so named because the sailors who named thought they were stupid.  They weren't of course, perhaps unexperienced with humans, but they learned.  I think that is something to remember, that we often make judgements based on incomplete information, that one seems stupid in one context may, in fact, not be stupid at all in another, and that we all, at some point make mistakes.  Mistakes are actually what makes us human.  Mistakes are probably the secret of our success, and the source of our greatest discoveries.  We are all boobies and  we should not take ourselves too seriously.  It seems that much of the wisdom of age seems to revolve around holding things lightly, even mistakes.  

I am the blue-banded booby.  It was a very calm day, but at one point in the evening a breeze came up, and a few specks of dust got stuck in my wet paint.  I can live with that.  But I apparently did not realize that I was, at one point, downwind of the spray paint.  It was late; I was tired; mistakes happen.   Unfortunately, by the time I realized what had happened, the paint was sufficiently dry that it did not come off easily.  I shall consider it a badge of honor, honoring my humanity, and a birthday gift to myself, although only a temporary one.  Within a few days all remnants of blue shall be gone and only the memory will remain -- memory and perhaps a gentle smile.