Cooler than You: Stupid Things I Say and Do

Fall has long come, and with it arrays and shades of golden color the sky, trees, and ground.  This week, as the temperatures dropped--a decided crispness enveloped the air--I finally got to pull out two projects I long ago finished.  Layers, wool, spun yarn crafted into fabric of its own signal a sadness that the last short sleeved days of the year are gone, yet at the same time there is a melancholy delight writer's like myself find in the cooler months.  Words and clicking keys acts as perimeters of distance between night and day, and in someways I know when the pages turn--the faster they do--my next destination and season will arise.  Though, as much as I take rhythm with the colder seasons I will say long and brutal ones, making you forget what summer weather is, take their toll, defeat you, and crack the line between a productively cold winter and a failed start as the battery froze and engine failed to start after six long months of running.   La...

Once upon a time there was a girl who loved fall, blazers, jeans, and boots. Yea, me.  Blazer, boots . . . skirts and jeans.  All fall, winter, and spring long.  Fall especially  as they stun afainst the blissful fiery backdrop . . . also known as the ghetto end of my block. Along came my pattern stash and some leftover wool from that failed coat of last year.  Fail, you say? Eh, look at the overly puffy sleeves that cave in? And fail, for sure, as I tried her one and OMG just put me in a bonnet, give me a wicker basket, and off to the prairie I go.  Last year she fit.  This year she's atrocious and big. McCalls 5188 came on que.  I plotted this one, using my tailoring guide, making notes . . . I drafted the muslin. Here I need to note that a muslin is a piece you make to find the fit.  Muslin are not clothes you wear, unless you make them from clothing fabric as a "wearable muslin." I usual...