I had planned on writing about some wonderful progress in my sewing life, I got a new sewing machine, my serger was fixed, and I just finished a beautiful coat for Operation Clothe Margie. That was what I was going to write about, until death and destruction hit.**
Every morning I wake up and take Velcro and Timmy outside. Before hitting the back door I glance out the mudroom window at my beautiful pond, grab the fish food and while Velcro does her morning ritual, I feed the fish. Today was no different. I bounded out of bed, very excited to start my day and before grabbing the koi pellets took my initial glance outside.
FUCK!
I jump through the door and before I can even take a close up look at what used to be my pond I am greeted by several bunches of grapes on the patio. What the hell went on here whilst I was sleeping? (I am currently reading Wuthering Heights). I turn the corner, stepping over the fallen bunches and am hit full on with my worst gardening nightmare.
FUCK!
Plants were EVERYWHERE! The pond was strewn with debris! The water itself looked like a bubbling vat of spa mud. Falling to my knees I wished for the best and started fishing out, no pun intended, my fallen plants, hoping to find some signs of life…
At this point tears are rolling down my face. I am trying hard not to look around me and just to focus on the pond, but it is so hard not to just drop my head into my lap and cry. Most of the plants were ruined. One was thrown, or dragged all the way to the shed. Our beautiful expensive lily had all of its pads shredded, or pulled out from the underwater planter. Several loose slate slabs that had previously flanked the pond, were now like sunken treasure at the bottom of the murky mess.
Please let my fish be okay. Please let my fish be okay. Please left my fish be okay.
I had scooped every bit of plant life left in the pond out. Alas. Nothing. Oh, but wait. Was that a flash of orange? Handsome Rob?
I get up from my praying stance and begin to assess the damage. Not far from my vantage point shiny flashes of scales, much like confetti dot the yard. I follow these trails, noting their color. That must be Ira. Oh, and here are Marie’s. Apparently when Raccoons go to the fish market, they like to take their purchases out of the store before they eat them.
Fins. Entrails. Scales. That is all that is left.
I am just devastated. Manny offers to come home and help clean up the mess. I can handle it on my own. The water is so murky, I have a hard time finding plants, most of which when I do find are torn to shreds. The pump has been disconnected. My rose bush has been trampled on. Several roses are crushed, or broken. Grape bunches have been pulled down. Apparently someone was going all out last night. Candle lit meal. A splash in the pool. Roses. Grapes.
I am a mess. And it only gets worse. I have salvaged what plants might make it, repotting what I can and I hear a cry I have only heard once before. Whipping my head around, Timmy is slinking off towards the bushes with what appears to be wet leaves in his mouth… no, but wait. Several birds are crying in distress above him, following his every move!
FUCK!
Covered in mucky pond, wet from head to toe I am chasing Timmy around the yard, baby bird in his mouth. Am I on a fucking African Safari? He doesn’t know what to do. This is his first bird. Please let it live!! By the time I catch him and when he finally drops it, I get a close up view of the young starling. It still had its downy feathers. White and grey and soft.
So there you have it. Mother Fucking Lion King. Circle of life. Fucking predator vs. prey. I buried the starling under the rosemary, choked out a little speech of “now you can give life again, becoming part of the soil.” I cleaned up the mess. The pump is re-attached. Plants back. I hope Handsome Rob did survive. I’ll never spend money on expensive Koi again, even if it is my birthday. I refilled the bird feeder. And just a moment ago I peered out the mud room window, hoping to catch a flash of orange, and a beautiful bird was bathing in the spout of the pond.
Nature has returned. I only wish my sanctuary would too.
**Side note, I just peered out my office window and caught a glimpse of my back fence neighbor without his shirt on…ewe. There are two kinds of men out there, the ones that take their shirts off, and the ones that don’t. I prefer the latter.
My evil twin was in town last week, Madge. Some might call us doppelgangers, others, sisters separated at birth, but today I shall call her my evil twin. I don’t get to see her very often, but the few times a year she graces my homestead, we have a grand-ol-time.
This visit, as like many, she prodded me to make some clothes for her. And unlike other visits, money changed hands and I started sewing. The commissioned series I will call “Summer Fashion Madge 2007”. Summer Fashion Madge 2007 will consist of four pieces. A coat, a jacket, a fancy blouse with bow and a handy knit pullover (wrinkle resistant, of course).
Now, for those who know me, I sew many of my own clothes, which is easy, because I know my shape and size and I can just start cutting. When it come to other figures, and figures come in many shapes and sizes, it becomes a bit more difficult, so sewing from a pattern comes in handy, as patterns have already solved the fitting crisis for me. I have become savvy enough throughout my sewing life to figure out how to alter patterns to work for my taste, and so the last three pieces I am making for Summer Fashion Madge 2007 I am going to work from a pattern. However, the first I am not.
Two or three years ago I created a jacket inspired by my brothers six years serving in the US Army. When he returned from his fourth tour overseas he gave me one of his name tags, I set it aside and used it as the jumping off point for the jacket below.
Madge, whose family has strong military ties, immediately pushed me to make her a similar version. And so, the first piece for Summer Fashion Madge 2007 was an easy decision. Not having a pattern makes it a bit more difficult to re-create, but I think I can get close. I have a dress-form, which makes sizing a bit easier, and a few hours before her plane left I was able to get her into my studio for a quick fitting.
Thus is the progress so far:
Unfortunately, as I was rocking out to the new Interpol yesterday and serging the inside sleeve to remove excess fabric and create a smoother line my serger plum stopped working. Did it not enjoy this indie New York foursome? I don’t get it. So I was making great headway… and BLAM, a wrench was thrown in the works. I am hoping it will be an inexpensive fix, cuz I am itching to continue!!!
So until it is up an running again I shall make some more flower arrangements (look how much this one rocks!!!!) You should smell it too. Chocolate cosmos, pungent roses, bright California poppies and fuchsia… who could go wrong???
Does anyone know of a cheap deal on a serger?
Who am I talking about? Killah. The Killah herself.
Let me explain. Last week was a tough week to be rollin’ in the yard. It was knee deep in thugs, ya know what I am sayin’? And Killah was the biggest threat of all!
She has been on house arrest ever since we brought her home from the reform school, aka, the Humane Society. We had just removed her ankle monitoring device a few years back, since she showed remorse and kept a low profile around the crib. That was until last week.
See, I was maxin’ out, relaxin’ by the pond with all my homies: Big Tim, V-to-the-ELCRO, Madam Marie, Left Eye, Handsome Rob and Iz-Ira when I felt like Killah could handle the responsibility of chillin’ with us all.
The moment she stepped into the hood I should have know she was gunna be trouble. She came out the back door all guns a blazin’ with her bling hangin’ low and a gat in tow. Scanning the perimeter, she walked back and forth against the fence, casing the joint. Then she started talkin’ mad shit with some of the neighborhood birdies.
“Don’t you be lookin’ at me, bird brain! I said, DON’T YOU BE LOOKIN’ AT ME!”
Moments went by and then another outburst.
“DON’T YOU LOOK AT ME TWEETY. I AM COLD GUNNA COCK YER ASS, MOTHER-F-ER!”
And then it went down. BLAM BLAM BLAM. She pulled out her gat and straight up busted a bird. The whole neighborhood ran for cover, Big Tim, V-to-the-ELCRO (she didn’t need to have another thing added to her record) and Killah just watched, feathers still hanging from her mouth.
Not but 20 minutes went by before there was a death in the yard.
When the head hancho got home I made him bury it. Then we went out and erected a monument in honor of the dead birdie, even going as far as pouring some seed on the ground for the birdie that wasn’t around.
Needless to say, Killah is on house arrest again. Peace has been restored to the Hood.
Good Day Bitches!
This week has been exceptional for me. I have the old spirit back and a pep in my step, and I think it was my birthday that inspired it. I know, birthdays aren’t supposed to inspire, but depress, and this year it didn’t!
It started with a dinner with me Ma and Pa, chicken wings of course. Ma slid a card over to me with a crisp hundo. Lucci baby! I knew right away what I was going to spend it on. Last summer I sewed a dress for k simon. Let me tell you, I have learned a lot from that experience, mainly to never sew for free. Sorry k simon, but I have grown quite a bit since then, and that free-bee was the last. I love you babe, but that endeavor was way beyond the call of friendship duty.
It was the hardest thing I have ever sewn. Over 30 pattern pieces, some of which need to be cut over 4 times. Two zippers, boning, two linings, horsehair braid, silk, topstitching… the list continues, but it was the most beautiful dress I have ever made, and k simon looked AMAZING in it.
So it was an easy decision to spend my cash monies on fabric to make that dress again, this time for myself. I wanted to give it a rock vibe, so I chose a striped silk and cut it at an angle to really rock it out. I still have the corset to do and the hemline, but so far…
Another birthday push to inspire was my new best friend, Connie’s, Bastille day party. It was a Sunday lunch to shame all other lunches previous to. All of my favorite things, and I am not talking about brown paper packages tied up with string, I am talking Pink Cremant de Alsace, antique crystal champagne glasses, gougeres, unpasturized French cheese, PATE-mother-f-ers, escargot, salad nicoise… the list just goes on!
Because of Connie, I am blogging today, as well as doing some serious cooking. Check out the shittiest plum tart:
It is wrong in so many ways. The crust is hard as a rock… I won’t even begin to list all of its faults.
But besides sewing and cooking I have been spending a lot of time in the garden, watching my presents from Frank-n-beanie. Aren’t they beautiful?
I also have been making beautiful arangements from flowers in my garden... check out this mornings... I love pink and red!
Alright bitches, go back to what you were doing, my blog time here is done!
It has been awhile. Hiatus. Emotionally drained perhaps. Creatively bound.
But the bitch is BACK! And don’t you know it; I have a good story to tell.
I sew. I print. I write. I scream. I paint. I draw. And at the moment I SEW. My creative outlet changes every six months or so, when I burn out, I switch. When I hit a wall, I take up a pen, when the ink runs dry, a brush, and if I sit too long not spending time creating, I short circuit. Two years ago my energy was fried, my spark plugs acting more like flaccid, Travolta hair plugs, I was feeding myself negative thoughts and spending more time in my pajamas. Muy Esposo picked me up and bought me a plane ticket out to see a friend. That vacation rejuvenated my spark and I got back on the production train.
But I digress, this post isn’t about a meltdown, it is about a motivator. To be creative, I have found, I have to motivate with inspiration. I know this sounds cheesy, a jesus post card, a poster slogan with cats hanging from a tree: “Motivate with Inspiration,” or perhaps even a feminine hygiene product, but this is my new slogan.
I was feeling a bit stuck with my sewing and needed some Inspiration, a class or a new tool, or some great fabric. Well I got all three. The local fabric store had flyers about the “2007 Sewing & Stitchery Expo” in Puyallup, Washington. I nabbed my only other sewing friend, RED, who is quite talented, and talked her into taking the charter bus that left from said fabric store at 6:30 in the morning on an adventure to Puyallup.
At first it was only going to be a shit giggling trek, the two of us on a bus with a bunch of Blue Hairs talking thread and quilt patterns and singing hymns, but the more research I did on this EXPO the more excited I became. “Over 200+ exhibitors, 60+ seminars daily, hands on demonstrations, famous people….” Yeah. And when I began to look into the seminars, I was thrilled that they actually had some classes that would be interesting and thought provoking, and WORTH ATTENDING!
Descending from the Charter bus stairs into the crisp, cool air was our first dose of reality. It was a sea of extras from the movie Cocoon. Standing in line to buy our entrance tickets we overhear two Blues (what is what I will be calling old ladies from here on out) ranting about the lack of senior discount:
“Do they have a Senior Discount,” croaks Rose.
“No. What they should have is a Youth Discount!” replies Blanch.
“Oh yes, look around!” Rose chuckles.
The sea of Blues giggle in a golf clap kind of fashion.
Red and I roll our eyes, cough up the $10 to get in and BAM, the EXPO has begun!
After EXPO, Red and I went over our experience, breaking down the pros and cons into added or decreased enthusiasm percentages. Such as, when we first climbed down from the Charter we were at 50% enthusiasm. 50% being: Alright, we are here, it isn’t raining; the ladies are funny, so far so good. Entering the first building, percentage points began to wane… Was this place built in the 1850’s? Is every thing focused on quilting? Is there only 50 booths? No one is handing out schwag? We were now at 25%!
Red and I found a place to check our bags/coats (30%), asked for some help (35%), found out where to sign up for seminars (40%), found and entire other building that didn’t feel like a church basement due to it’s bright, airy, brand spanking new construction (50%) and signed up for the seminar we were both the most enthused to see “Couture Denim” (60%)!
The “Couture Denim” class ROCKED ASS! The presenter was hilarious, spunky, wasn’t showing you how to make mom jeans, went through the process STEP by STEP, even pointing out brand of thread and which booth you could pick it up in… We were glowing when we left, ready for the next seminar! (100%)!
“30 minute Serger Tops” however, didn’t rock ass. This seminar was held in a hot tent that smelled like burning plastic. (90%). The sea of Blues, probably over 100, looked like a gang under the light. The seminar speaker was the gang’s leader. And the only way Red and I could fight back was with High School trouble maker mentality. We giggled. Passed notes. Drew pictures. Giggled some more. Although it was fun being ass holes, not worth the time, nor the $5 fee. (75%).
Luckily the seminar went fast, and we were free to shop. And that we did. Buying cutting mats, a rotary cutter, patterns, marking chalk, tote bags, doo dads, and the greatest thing about it was how helpful everyone was (85%). When you go into a fabric store, you can get OVERWHELMED with the selection of tools and supplies. Here, people gave the answer of why this works the best with this. Why this mat is superior. Which thread. What scissors. And even though we were the only young lasses there, they didn’t treat us like punks! Even though I was wearing a ½ naked cowboy shirt!
We left tired. Most of the spending money spent. Bags full. Energy drained. And Inspired. (125%)! Will we go next year? HELL YES! Will we ride the charter bus? HELL to the NO! Will we stay the night and do two days? HELL YES. Will we attend more seminars? HELL TO THE YES! Will we seek out Couture Denim lady and force her to have drinks with us? HELL TO THE HELL YES!
Sew there you go. Geek am I, yes.
I had planned on writing about some wonderful progress in my sewing life, I got a new sewing machine, my serger was fixed, and I just finished a beautiful coat for Operation Clothe Margie. That was what I was going to write about, until death and destruction hit.**
