First sign of spring and zipper practice

Well, around here anyway. Remember how we planted that pea? The seed has germinated!


Let's take a closer look, shall we?


Can you see him there in the middle? I even forgot to turn the sun on for him yesterday. I think I might be enjoying this grow bulb almost as much as my little green friend here. And I think this is the first time I have grown anything myself since we stuck carrot tops in some water in Sunday school when I was 4. Hooray for new life!

In other news, I had a fun day of zipper practice last weekend. I started out with a mess of inherited 7" zippers (not the right size for the Cynthia Guffey zipper technique, she recommends using a 9" zipper):


I made 10 faux mini skirt back samples, marked tailor tacks and clipped, notched, etc. I did 7 of them, the first 3 using copies of the checklist I made from Cynthia's zipper book so that I could walk myself through the steps. When I ran out of checklists (my print cartridge croaked), I kept missing one step and kept having the same problem, so I learned something once I thought about it for a bit and realized why the steps have to happen in the right order. I also identified which steps gave me trouble and where I need to be more careful to hit it just right. A very good experience. I have 3 more to finish my practice; I'm going to do at least one of them by hand. I have also devised a way to practice waistbands, so that's my next task that I'm setting for myself. Now I just need to make myself a detailed waistband checklist. I love the checklist!

Takin' the Snap Pea Challenge

I am not a fan of dirt. But I have become a loyal reader of Jenna Woginrich's blog, Cold Antler Farm, in which she recently issued a challenge, and I heard the call. Here's what I did this morning in the name of eating local and taking control of our food supply.

I got The Professor to bring me in some supplies. Compost:
Vermiculite:
Peat moss:
(Not eat moss. That would be gross).

Some rocks and a pot:

I mixed up the first 3 ingredients and got this:


I put it in the pot:



I took a seed from the pack:



Just one little seed:


I laid him on the dirt:

He's there in the middle, can you see him?

I put some more dirt on him and gave him some water:


I built him a ladder:


I installed some faux sun:



And I've welcomed him to his new little home next to me:

Here he is on Day 1.

I'll take another photo when he looks like something. Stay tuned!

And a huge thank you to Jenna, because if she hadn't issued the call, there is no way I would have spent part of my Sunday messing around with dirt on the kitchen floor.

Revelations

Friday I was working on sewing myself a skirt, again, and even though I didn't finish the skirt, I did have a mess of Useful Insights that I wanted to share. I usually tend to avoid writing about something that feels so personal, your basic fear of revealing the inner self, but I've been so moved by some other people's sharing in this way that I am taking the leap and doing it. Please be gentle with me. I feel like I've made a great breakthrough figuring out what has kept me from sewing more and achieving my goal of a wardrobe of custom-tailored one-of-a-kind clothes that I made myself. Yes, that's my goal. I admit it. I am vain, and not only do I want to look fabulous, I want to reply to all those future compliments with a casual, "Thanks, I made it myself." I chalk it up to my Venus in Leo in the 10th house, but call it what you will.

I haven't talked too much about this goal because, well, did you read it? It sounds awful. It doesn't sound noble or worthy or like it will help save the planet. But you know what? It's mine. It's one of my dreams, so I'm coming out of the closet and telling the world. I want to look great in clothes I made myself. I want to be freed from the depressing shackles of ready-to-wear bullshit clothes that are made to fit heaven knows who. I want to decide the exact colors and shapes that go on my body every day: classic, well fitting and perfect for me. That's my goal, one of the most pressing ones I have these days, even more than figuring out What To Do With My Life, because whatever I do, I'm going to be so much happier doing it if I'm dressed nicely. There, now you know the truth. I feel better.

So, I am working away at this skirt on Friday, a simple A-line skirt, a real beginner project, nothing fancy. And it was No Fun At All. I was not enjoying myself. I kept going because I have a deadline, finally. This wonderful woman who is a Home Ec teacher and who I met at a draping class last fall is meeting with me first thing Monday morning, and by God, I am going to have a skirt to show her. At least most of one, my hope is total completion, as in I am wearing it over there, but I would settle for everything but the hem. The good news is, even if I don't finish it, she will hold my hand and/or crack the whip (or some combination thereof) so that I can finish it when we get together. I am so blessed to have found this generous woman.

In the midst the slow slogging away, though, my mind was churning. And I wondered, do I even like sewing? Maybe I was wrong and I don't even like it? A few years ago I took a bunch of woodworking classes, even made a little wall cabinet and a very nice end table, even bought all the fancy power tools so I could keep making more furniture (confession: I also want to live in a house filled with beautiful, handmade, custom-designed, one-of-a-kind furniture; are you sensing a theme here?). And you know what? That wall cabinet is still sitting in the basement needing to be sanded and finished. The end table is only done because The Professor finished planing and sanding and finishing it for me. Turns out what I like about woodworking is coming up with ideas, designing the exact piece to meet the exact need, with just the right size, shape and features. I'm scared witless of the table saw and want no part of using it. Sanding is just boring hard work, and I'd rather save my wrist energy for knitting or typing. Measuring and assembling, I'm down with those, but they make up so little of any project. Luckily, The Professor has taken to woodworking like a duck to water, so the investment in setting up shop hasn't gone to waste, thank heavens. I was wrong about woodworking, maybe I was wrong about sewing?

But no. I have had loads of fun sewing things that I can sew. I made this sweet little bag a while ago just on a whim, and I had a blast doing it, because it was in my comfort zone and because it didn't require me to follow instructions, just do some math, a little bit of planning and thinking and then go.

But making a garment is a different matter. There is a lot more pressure to get it right, because if I don't, it won't fit, and then it misses the entire point. But also, I don't really know what I'm doing yet. I have only sewn one truly successful garment in my life, and that was done under the close supervision of my mom. She came to Philly for the weekend and babysat me while I sewed a dress for my high-school reunion. It came out great, but with no motherly safety net, I have been scared to take a step. Because even though this nice Home Ec teacher is taking me under her wing, I just don't feel right calling her with every silly question that stops me the way I would feel okay calling my mom.

But I realized Friday it was more than that. I have been classifying sewing in my mind as fun, play. An enjoyable hobby, a self-indulgence. You know what? It's not. It's work. Me making clothes for myself is, at this point, a chore. Because I'm not just sewing for fun, I'm sewing because I need something to wear. It's been so long since I've had a comfortable pair of pants that weren't sweats. My body has changed since I moved to Ohio, and my wardrobe has yet to catch up. It's embarrassing.

And on top of that, I'm not just sewing, I'm learning to sew clothes. Learning being different from just doing, and clothes being different from any other kind of sewing. And not only that, I haven't been learning in the way that's easiest for me so far. I like to learn from a real live human, a person who can answer my questions and help me when I get stuck. I have taken excellent classes, and I have a mess of sewing books and videos, but you can't ask a video questions, and my class notes don't cover every hiccup I encounter.

So no wonder I haven't been sewing. When I am deciding what to do with my down time, I'm just not going to pick an activity that is more work, even if it's only my subconscious that perceives it as work (or perhaps especially if it's only my subconscious). If I treat sewing clothes like the chore it is, I will schedule it for when I have more energy, and it will get done. And if I honor the truth that I am still learning and that I need more support than I've been giving myself to learn this new skill, I bet it will go a lot better.

Another embarrassing truth is that when I have to do something, I just don't want to do it. A rather immature trait, I know, this chafing at authority, even when it's self-imposed, but here we are. And the fact that I refuse to buy clothes from the store because of their overall suckiness combined with not having anything left from my old life that fits means that sewing clothes is one giant have-to. No wonder I haven't been sewing.

Another helpful thought that occurred to me is that a year ago, I didn't know how to make bread. Now I can walk into the kitchen and make a double batch of whole wheat bread without even looking at the recipe. So, it took me a year, but I mastered bread making, and the other night I even tackled pizza dough. I feel more hopeful about my potential for sewing my own clothes when I think about bread. It's just going to take time and practice and patience with myself, and probably a little more outside help than I've been allowing myself. What a burden lifted to realize these things.

And actually, what a burden lifted to write out these thoughts and share them with you, dear reader. Thanks for listening. I sincerely appreciate it.

As promised

Well, I said I would come back and report on what we did for the Feast of Madelyn, so here I am. In the morning I called my godmother, and it was nice to catch up on her life, hearing about her recent visit to my godbro, Jay, and his lovely wife, Andrea, seeing their lovely new house and going whale watching. I also called my Uncle Timmy, who is an adopted uncle and my mom's oldest childhood friend. Tim is always interesting to talk to, and I always learn something new. Like, I had no idea Smucker's jam was made here in Ohio, or that Wisconsin is actually more known for its swiss cheese than its cheddar. Maybe those things were obvious to everyone but me, but at least now I'm all caught up.

As or the evening, well, it was a bit of a bummer. I am so not my mother. With nothing planned and The Professor getting home unexpectedly late, I didn't manage to figure out anything that seemed worthy food-wise (ie, not leftovers). My mom could make a feast out of anything and make even the simplest meal special, but I tend to choke under meal-related pressure and wind up eating standing up at the sink or out of the pan I cooked in. I'm not proud of it, but there you go. Cooking is something I'm trying to get more into, but it's not my most favorite activity the way it was hers.

The Professor did manage to whip up some super delicious pina colada smoothies (anyone know how to get the tilde over the n?), and we're planning to have a belated Feast of Madelyn meal this weekend, perhaps even tonight. I think the best part of the day for me was reading that other people participated and celebrated the memory of my fantabulous mom. Thank you again to everyone who commented on the last post and to everyone who just did something without writing about it. I wish I could hug you all in gratitude.

Your help needed

This year the date snuck up on me, and I didn't plan any sort of gathering or celebration in honor of my mom, and I didn't even realize it until I woke up at 3 am that today was what I've taken to calling the Feast of Madelyn, aka the day seven years ago that my little momelet checked out. So, in that unwelcome wakefulness, the idea came to me to ask anyone who reads this post to do me a favor and join in me in a virtual celebration wherever you are by either:

a) eating a delicious meal or

b) spending some time with a friend.

Food and friends were my mom's big things; she was always organizing parties or book clubs or golf tournaments, and just about everyone who knew her, including me, felt like she was one of their very best friends. Heck, you could just raise a glass of wine in her name, or call someone you haven't talked to in awhile, and that would be enough. Just come back here and tell me about it, to bring all the separate little actions together in one place. Let's celebrate the Feast of Madelyn all over the world. Anyone with me?

I haven't figured out what The Professor and I will do this evening in her honor. The easiest plan would be to go out for a meal, but after unexpectedly having to pay for three new tires yesterday, I think we'll be eating at home. I want to call some people today that my mother loved just to connect with them, like my godmother Joan, who is the one on the left in the photo. I'll come back and report, too.

In other news, I started exercising again today for the first time in I don't even remember how long, which felt great, and in a couple hours, the nice man from the women's shelter is coming to take away the dining room set my wonderful aunt and uncle donated to me when I moved in to the house. We've rearranged things and have a different place to eat now, and someone else who is starting over with nothing could no doubt make better use of it.

Thank you in advance to anyone who helps me mark this day. To Madelyn!

Book: Falling into Manholes

Subtitle: The Memoir of a Bad/Good Girl

By: Wendy Merrill

I can't resist a memoir, especially one that reminds me of my own monk/party girl split. This book was easy to read in a day, in 15-minute intervals interspersed with doing chores. It was definitely on the depressing side, and the writing style was annoying because it felt like the author was just trying too hard to be cute and clever and show how many little plays on words she could invent for any given situation. It comes out very late in the book that her little word games are a coping mechanism, which almost makes the fact that she wrote practically an entire book of them even more depressing. I mean, I do long division in my head to cope with stress, but I wouldn't publish a book of it.

I wouldn't recommend this book unless you are a diehard memoir fan like me or have an interest in stories about recovery. One thing I would say is pick up the book if you are in the store, and look at the author's photo. She is a knockout, but as the book describes, she has major self-esteem issues. It just goes to show that it doesn't matter what you look like but how you feel about yourself. Yesterday at the dentist the assistant asked if I ever had braces or wanted them and I just said, "Who am I, Julia Roberts? I do not need perfectly straight teeth." I mean, ability to chew? Check. Let's move on to more important matters. But skip this book.

Book: How Starbucks Saved My Life

Subtitle: A Son of Privilege Learns to Live Like Everyone Else

by Michael Gates Gill

A decent book. I did at one point wonder whether it was his idea to write it or one of his Starbucks supervisor's, because it reads at times like a giant ad for the corporation, interspersed with backflashes of shameless namedropping. The overall story is a good one, though, and interesting to someone like me who is fascinated by people's journeys to earn the money to buy food. I would recommend this book mainly because it is such a quick read and because the basic story, summed up adequately in the subtitle, has a good message. Money isn't everything, and the trappings of success are sometimes more of a trap.