Hot Mess

My experiment with a self-selected challenge fabric has come to an end, and in the nick of time before my brain exploded.  

Which, one could argue, is what this looks like.  But the old thinker was smoking in a good way, a way that forced me to (gee, I hate this phrase but here I go using it) think outside the box.  Or employ the opposite, non-dominant hemisphere, or, like, whatever.

I do enjoy hacking things to pieces, though, ever since I cut up my mom's best girdle in an attempt to make a "cheerleader skirt" when I was yet a toddler.  Or so I'm told.  I have no specific recollection of that event, although I do remember giving myself a haircut just before a family vacation when I was three.

Ah, the good old days, before outlet covers and toilet locks, when sharp implements were accessible to all members of the household.  Remind me to tell you about the time I slipped a butcher knife into my mom's old purse and headed off to the neighbor's to terrorize their chickens.  Well, I may as well finish the story now that I've started it.  I got about halfway there when the noon whistle blew and the toy factory across the street let out for lunch.  With all those fine folks walking by and smiling at me, I had a pang of guilt about the steel I was packing, so I ran home and returned it to the drawer.  Suddenly, harvesting a chicken didn't seem like such a good idea anymore.

And in case you're wondering, I made it through childhood and adolescence relatively unscathed, with no guidance counseling involved and never having harmed a live chicken, unless eating KFC counts.

Where was I?  Oh yeah, cutting up.  I cut this piece down once or twice more since the last post.  It ended up 11 x 14 finished.

I pieced the back with one of the scraps.  I almost like the backside better than the front.

You can see the loopy quilting in variegated thread better on the back.

In these grayish, depth of winter days, a little splash of bright is a picker-upper.  And if anyone spills on this, it'll blend right in!

Dye-saster

One of these things is not like the other... (remember that Sesame Street song?)

Norm thought I should go more red the next time I colored my hair, so instead of the usual Light Brown, I bought Light Auburn Brown.  

It looked nice enough on the package, but I should have taken a clue from the words underneath Light Auburn Brown, as in CHERRY Praline.

As in FUCHSIA, actually.  It is hard to capture in a picture, but believe me, when the light hits it, it's fuchsia.

So I am getting used to my pink hair this morning.  Wondering how it will fade, as it always does.  To a brighter pink (nooooo!) or straight to brassy brown (one can only hope)?

Oh well, it's close to Valentine's Day.

Assembly (Disassembly and Reassembly) Required

Scene:  The basement on a Saturday morning in November.  The husband, clad only in his tidy-whities, sits in a black leather office chair, watching his wife, clad in fleece PJs, pound nails—lots of nails—into the backing panel of a bookcase the two just spent far too much time assembling.  

Assembling incorrectly, that is.  The realization dawns on the wife as she notes the pre-drilled holes for the shelf supports on the outside of the bookcase, the one she just pounded lots of nails into.  She is a peace lover, this wife, but give her nails to pound and it becomes apparent that she enjoys the task perhaps a bit too much. 

Words are uttered, first by the wife and then echoed by the husband.  Some words have four letters.  None rhyme with "good" or even "okay" because they mean, in fact, the opposite.

Disassembly ensues.  This involves tools not on the instructions included with the bookcase.  Tools which include a pry bar, an exacto-knife (not pictured), a fork, and an ancient putty knife from the last millenium, which breaks under the stress.  Some of these tools would probably not have been necessary had the wife not been so zealous with her nail pounding.  But what's done is done, and now must be undone.

Wife methodically works the exacto-knife around each nail head, trying not to imagine other things she would rather be cutting out at this time.  She proceeds cautiously with this fussy cutting, as she does not wish the events of the day to include an emergency room visit, thus adding insult to injury (or vice versa).

Reassembly ultimately occurs as the errant board is righted.  Husband wears wife's garden gloves because his palms are sore from turning the screwdriver.  He is wearing garden gloves and tidy-whities.  It is a sight to behold.  Or not. Wife is sweating, and not in a good way.

No more bad words, the couple is joking and laughing.  The wife says she will have to blog this.  Husband offers his two cents for the post.  Wife does not listen.  She is happily pounding nails again—lots of nails.

* * * * * * *

And, um...voila?

I started folding fabric earlier in the week.  I have much more to fold, but this is a start.

The tchochkes are placeholders for now.

One bookcase down, one to go.

In addition to shelf construction/deconstruction/reconstruction, there has also been some sewing happening in the sewing room this past week.  For example, I made his and hers pillowcases for the holidays.

Alexander Henry's "Hurry Down the Chimney" for me, and "The Great Outdoors" for Norm.

I also started a table runner from a Moda "Swiss Holiday" charm pack I won earlier this year, using my Scrap Block Challenge idea.

I may do a tutorial for the table runner, if there is interest.

Linking up with Sarah today, ready to share the whoop-whoop-ing with others!

Sunday Sundry 7-22-12

The Good, the Bad, and the Owie

Good:  Look what came in the mail yesterday!  Cynthia of Home Matters 1st made me a shirt!  It is cute, cute, cute!  

She did such wonderful embroidery with the little owls and their sewing accessories.  Aren't they adorable?

The shirt color is one of my favorites, and it fits perfectly!  

Never mind my weird expression.  I was yammering at my husband giving him tips on how to take a decent picture, to let the camera auto focus before mashing down on the button (impatient much?), stand on the same level so he's not looking up at me like the Statue of Liberty (he didn't listen), and don't snap the picture with my eyes closed or mouth open (to which he responded, "Well, shut up then.")  Hmph!

But back to the shirt - I LOVE IT!  Thank you so much, Cynthia, for your thoughtfulness, time and talent, and generosity!!

Bad:  Well, it's not that bad but just to keep it real, I thought I'd tell you a thrifting tale that didn't pan out the way I expected—a thrifting fail.

In other words, not every pick is a winner.

Stopped at the St. Vinny's yesterday and found they were having a 50 percent off store-wide sale.  I actually didn't find much, but I did spy an interesting piece of framed art that appealed to me, first of all, in its colors and, secondly, in its primitive/folk aesthetic.  It looked, from this side of the glass in the frame, to be an original signed watercolor by someone named "Doris," which was all of the signature I could read because the mat seemed to be covering up the rest of it.  Being that it was priced higher than just about every other piece of framed art, I was obviously not the only one thinking along those lines.

It had some condition issues, but I dunno...my mind started churning up all those Antiques Roadshow stories where some lowly piece of folk art found in a dilapidated barn somewhere fetched megabucks.  I don't usually let my imagination run wild, but it looked like a signed original watercolor, and did I mention 50 percent off?

Well, you can probably guess where this is going.  Yep, took it home, out of the frame, only to find that it was a print, maybe from a magazine, not an original.  It had been glued (the never-going-to-come-apart kind of glued) onto foam core board, and the colors had badly faded to boot.

I do still like the subject of the piece and found out a little about the artist, full name Doris Lee.  I'm sure the lesson learned and knowledge gained is worth at least what I paid for the piece, but it's sure not the find I can retire on.  Dream on!

The print is going in the garbage and I'll keep the glass frame to reuse.  I do still like the colors, faded as they are, so I'll keep the photo of it for inspiration.  Seems like they might work well together in a quilt.

Owie:  Do you say "owie" or "ouchy"?  It was early morning when I banged my left toe on something hard and immobile, so I bit my tongue rather than say anything.  I just winced and tried to walk it off, thinking that'll be another bruise.  Mind you, it doesn't take much.  I bruise like a banana.

As the day has worn on, it has gotten worse.  I sit here with ice on my left next-to-pinkie toe and am pretty sure I broke it.  It hurts like a (mother- or son-, you fill in the blank) and is swollen and turning colors.  I don't think there is much one can do for a broken toe, according to Dr. Google, except ice and stay off it.  Oh, and whine to the internets.  Check, check, and check.

By this time next week, (in addition to my toe feeling better) I hope to be done working on the project for my dad and ready to make some noise in the sewing room again.  It's been nothing but *crickets* in there.

When to Quit

How do you know when it's time to quit sewing for the evening?

a) When it's 10:40 p.m., and you told yourself you would knock off at 10:30?

No.

b)  When your bobbin runs out right about that time?

Nope, minor inconvenience. 

c)  When you sew through your finger?

Works for me.

Whatcha Gonna Do Now?

It seemed like a good idea at the time.

Years ago, a friend and I took the roundabout way home from downtown at 2:00 a.m. We just kept walking along and talking. Suddenly, a 10-foot chain link fence appeared before us (as obstacles do when one has been immersed in conversation and cheap tap beer). Our destination was within view on the other side of the fence.

What to do?

My friend, being a compact, agile fellow, scampered up and over the fence in about 10 seconds flat. Me? Not so much. First, I had to shuck the wood-soled Swedish clogs I was wearing and pitch them over. Then I climbed up in my sock feet. Once at the top of the fence, I made the executive decision to jump down.

Not the smartest move.

My buddy did the sensible thing when he saw me heading toward the ground. He got the hell out of the way.

Fortunately, the only thing injured was my pride.

While I mulled the next action on the Climbing Lanterns quilt, I decided to launch into a different project.

Why not use the group of yellow and black coordinating print fabrics I bought at W@lmart a year ago?

Why not make a bento box quilt?

Why not wing it without a pattern?

Why not ignore pesky things like color and value?

Why not ignore scale while we're at it too?

First, the fabric. It's 100% cotton, but thin, like it was probably meant for a summer blouse. Did I think about that when I bought it? Not for a second. Nope, not even a blip on the radar. I have since used some fine quality quilting fabric and, well, I am learning there is a difference.

Why not forge ahead anyway?

In the interest of full disclosure, there are some decent fabrics here. The orange flowered print is okay, as is the black and purple print. The white print is the best quality; it's Alexander Henry.

I liked each of these blocks individually as I sewed them, before I cut them into fourths. But then when I rearranged them, bento box style...

Ew.

They do not play well together.

What to do?

I think the sensible thing would be to just let the project free fall. In fact, I am kind of looking forward to using this "fail" for free motion quilting practice.

You know, drive all over it and leave tracks.

Old Enough - The Raconteurs