Iron, I Love You

I always hated ironing, but since I've started sewing, I find it both enjoyable and relaxing. I have a lot more crisp cotton in my life, and I enjoy making an item that is freshly laundered look freshly laundered. (Confession, I'm terrible about hanging the laundry once it dries.) Turns out ironing is even better than pinning when sewing. I can measure as I go and make sure things are nice and even. If I iron correctly, I don't have to pin. If I don't have to pin, I don't have to worry about stabbing myself or about remembering to take out the pins. Yay, iron!

Rack'em Frack'em $@#(!

For the first time in two months, I was able to sew. I ironed out the hem of a poorly thought-out first attempt at a skirt waistband, adjusted it, and started sewing. Everything was going smoothly, when halfway through the bobbin thread started to pull through the top. Mind you, the thickness of the fabric hadn't changed from the first half of the waistband. Nothing at all had changed. I tightened the setting from 4 to 5 and it got worse. At this point I realized it had been so long since I'd sewn that I'd forgotten how to trouble shoot; that was an emotional blow. So I got out my book, learned that it needed to be loosened, and so set the tension to 3. Giant snarl. I set it back to 4. Giant snarl. 4 again. Bobbin thread pulling through. WHAT THE HECK, SEWING MACHINE!?! YOU CANNOT HAVE OPPOSITE PROBLEMS AT THE SAME SETTING!!!!

By this time, I'd picked the waistband out at least four times. I wanted to scream, throw my sewing machine off a bridge, and punch a bear in the face.

Between this and my utterly disastrous attempt at a berry tart yesterday, this weekend is the opposite of domestic bliss.

Life Gets in Life's Way

It's his fault. I haven't sewn for a month because we got a new bunny, Java. Trouble is, Java and Mocha, the rabbit we've had for two years, don't get along. This means that they have to be closely watched when they're having their separate play times so they don't start nipping each other through the cage bars.

It's a cute, cuddly problem, but I have three skirts downstairs in various states of creation. A weekend wherein I'm not the primary bun-sitter would be nice.

Where Am I?

I haven't posted in a month because I've been busy covering Fashion Week (a misnomer as it's really four major fashion cities showing one after another) for Fashion Me Fabulous. Because of this, I haven't been able to spend time sewing. This season's been a little interesting since I've taken up sewing. I noticed the seams more than ever. I cared about the fabrics and draping more. Poorly cut pants made me more nervous to try them.

Quick Thoughts for the Week

I made a second Charm Pack skirt this weekend both to apply what I'd learned and to see how much faster a project would be the second time. Even with a couple unforeseen problems, the second was finished in under two hours. We won't talk about how long the first one took. (This is also why I'm posting something so scatter shot instead of a "look what I made!")

Working on this project has really built my confidence. I catch myself looking at lots of clothes and patterns now and thinking, "It's just some straight lines and some curved lines. I can do that."

I just realized that the Charm Pack skirt pattern can be altered using strips of fabric instead of squares in a light organza. Voila! Petticoat.

While on an excursion to Goodwill this past weekend, I picked up some men's shirts to make into skirts. (See the excellent photograph to the left.) Very excited.

When I cook, I look up several recipes and pull from each to make my own version. I've been doing the same with sewing projects.

I put in a tutorials tab to keeps tabs (ho, ho! punny!) on cool things to try. You're welcome.

I'm upping my level from super beginner to beginner. Break out the champagne!

On Learning to Sew

I'm writing this on a lazy Saturday morning. My sewing machine is staring at me over the top of my lap top. Had it a tongue, no doubt it would be sticking out. The little bastard and its army of scissors, seam rippers, bobbins and rulers taunt me.

Hubby got me a sewing machine for Christmas because I wanted to be able to hem my own pants, to make my own curtains, to play with pillowcases. Then life got busy and it sat around for months untouched.

But a few months ago, unhappy with where I am in life, I decided sewing was my way out. That if I worked at it, I could follow in the footsteps of millions of women (my grandmother included) who used their needle and thread to earn an income.

I spent evening after evening practicing stitches, learning how the fabric moves with the feed dogs, feeling the tautness of my bobbin thread. I also spent countless nights lamenting my wobbly cuts, yelling at the gnarl of thread caught in my machine, crying over a task that seems insurmountable when I can't even sew a straight hem.

It's not all been defeat. I was able to put a blind hem in a pair of jeans. I've made some good progress on a tutu. ("A tutu will be easy," I thought. "I won't have to hem!" Let me tell you, tulle is a slippery devil.) The mystifying buttonhole foot finally makes sense.

My husband has quietly accepted the fact that he will never see the dining room table again and that though the sewing bric-a-brak has been untouched for weeks, he should not ask me about my progress. I'm not giving up. That idea of having a marketable skill, of having even a bit more freedom is too sweet. But I'm frustrated, and my sewing books can't always give me the insight I need. Now that my busy time at work is winding down, I think I'll call up a seamstress from my church and see if she can be the Yoda to my headstrong, gimme-it-now Luke.