Moments of Pedantic Meander

I should be grading, or finishing my next book due to press . . . but I haven't dicked around on this blog in nearly a month, and I need to brain dump.  On what, I have no idea.  Normally I sit down and shit--often shit  I should squirrel away from in sheer embarrassment--just pours forth for your reading enjoyment.  Tonight, I have little of anything swarming in my deluded and deranged mind.  Okay, well I do . . . but it concerns the page margins, rules for citations in Chicago Manual of Style, and how much I hate the hell of press formatting.  Yet, why do I do it? I'm  a vain bitch who loves seeing her name in print.  On the cover of a book is even better.  This isn't my first time at the name on the book cover rodeo, so you think I would have a system down.  I do.  But, sadly, my pocketbook and health would revolt at that much bourbon.  Though, I wonder if there is enough to drown me on this side of the Mississippi? Pfft.  I'm not really willing to cross the Mississippi to find out.

Of course, last week as I laid awake with a toothache and the folds of sleep alluding me entirely too many things crossed my mind.*    Literally, the chicken in the fridge, the ungraded student exams and papers, the book near completion, the dirty laundry, and  . . . well, you get the picture.  Yet, somewhere in the chaos of an untrapped mind moments of the past crossed the lines of consciousness.

Memories of Maysville, KY in spring and summer emerged with flashes of dancing in a circle, with a girl named Whit, around the then-newly constructed fountain in downtown.  Why that moment came to conjure I have no idea.  Shortly after that, my delusional mind decided to revisit falling down the stairs at the New York Public, in a damned above the knee (not mini) skirt flashed in my head like it was happening all over again.  Yup.  That was a prime moment of graceful ease, aided by the comfort of . . . Birkenstocks.  Yes, I tripped in Birks at my house of worship . . . yes, my dears, I have spent so many hours there reading old magazines and documents that I often have to refrain myself from carving my name in a wooden chair.  Though, I think I should own one by now.  There is also the creepy thought of how many photo albums I am in from all those tourists taking photos of people in the reading room.

Aside from the jacked moments of non-sleep, I've graded until I broke my brain and edited manuscript pages until I've seen more than triple images.  So, what's a girl to do to release? Well . . . there's running shoes and a sewing machine.

Runs in the park, while the air is still chilly, should be safe.  But, there is a dude who decided to say "You aren't going fast enough to count." My response, "You obviously aren't going as far as I am." There may or may not have been a NY bird in there too.  Of course, we had a couple of lovely warm days.  And yes . . . shirtless, fat, Greek men came out in abundance.  Ugh.  I never miss that in the long, cold winter months.

As for the sewing machine, I've been making some love to that as of late.  Why? Hell, sewing clears the head bitches.  My favorite skirt, from Colette Patterns, is the Meringue.  I fished around the web for notes from other people, and saw this one here.  My lame ass then fell freakishly in love with the print and I spent two hours scouring to find the out of print delight.  I scored, bought three yards, and made this little lovely.

No, my ass is not ginormous enough to need three yards of anything.  Instead, I made said skirt, made another Cosmo bag to replace my dead one, and I still have a smidge left over.  I think that is getting made for the infamous Tanfer, as she drooled from Turkey over the pics I sent her today.  For that skirt, it fit like a dream.  Since I used quilting weight cotton, I did need to line it.  I had some leftover purple lining from wedding stuff, so I used it there.  And, if you are wondering, use a small stitch (like a two) on the scallops . . . gives better control) and hand tack the inside scallop . . . it takes no time and the payoff is top notch.

So the rest of the Alexander Henry Fabric went for Amy Butler's Cosmo (shush, we all know I have an AB problem).  Here's the first one I made in December 2010, after two and a half years of wear, the beach, and seeing the world.  Yes, the pics are a little crappy as I didn't want you to see the full state of disrepair.  Don't judge.

And I long ago forgot the maker of those prints. 

She roomy, right? Well . . . my shame:

I wore holes in my weekly shopping bag at the market, my let's go shopping in Izmir, and let's see how much CHOCOLATE we can bring back from Italy that everyone else can eat but me!  For the record, I still had some patches of scrap from making that bag.  I made myself a headscarf, so in a way she will be with me.  Naw, really I just like to run about my house looking like a punk meets hippie meets hipster.  Do rags are great for days of writing, or sewing.

But, rest assured . . . another was born.

It's an Amy Butler bag, so if you have ever made one of those you know there are about a thousand yards of interfacing to cut and iron on.  Yawn.  I didn't put on the button tab closer, as I never used it on the now retired one.  Besides, this beauty sits right under my arm, and in the sweaty summer I'm fairly certain the fear of heat-strained summer pits will detour freaks from trying to reach in (and seriously, they can't).  That inside fabric is also Alexander Henry, his Smoke print.

I also delved into the box of scraps and made my own pressing ham and sausage . . . from scraps.  They work well:

Stop judging the sad, sad state of my mini ironing board cover and the dying iron.  They do for now.  But, I've got the coolest pressing ham and sausage on the block.  Mr. Fairytale came in the office and picked one up off the top of the file cabinet and said (weeks after I made them), "Hey, you could hurt someone with these they are kind of heavy." Well . . . I stuffed them with scraps of projects gone by.  In many ways I guess you could say that they are like little time capsules of my sewing adventures.  Oh, why were they in the office? I'm a NYC apartment.  My machine is stored in a case under my kitchen sink, and half a bookshelf in the office is sewing books and fabric, the top of the file cabinet, and one cabinet drawer.

There's been a few more skirts, one Colette Ginger that I have to replace the zipper as I made it perfect and then the damned zipper broke on me, and of course I splurged.  All this sewing made me think of two things: A) this expensive hobby makes me happy so I need to sew at least once a week and B) I'm not buying clothes for the next year so I'm getting labels.  Seriously.  I decided that in January.  I've only bought a stack of wife beaters, in an array of colors.  I'm also collecting AB scraps to make another quilt.  We all need variety. 

And that's the Amy Butler Barcelona Skirt, layered, in a Lotus print of hers.  Yes, pink.  Why? It was snowing in March and I was delirious from winter fright, lack of Vitamin D, and fresh fruit beyond apples (we've been making a conscious effort to eat 90 percent local).  It really needs to warm up so that I can wear this one, at least once before I decide that pink makes me look like an incarnate of the devil.  

And that my dears, is a mini brain dump and a suckage of your bandwidth with all my pics.  Don't fret, I'll post more of the wonders I make in the coming weeks.  Your bandwidth is never safe with me around the virtual corner.   

* In case you are wondering, I've never been a spelling bee champion.  Just asked Mr. Fairytale how to spell laid.  He spelled it correctly.  My response: "Just like you do for sex." Yea, I've been living with a boy for awhile now.  Can't ya tell?