Sewing: It's Only Fit

It is only fit, my sister, that you turn to your needle, a steadfast occupation such as this will never cause others to doubt your worth.

  from "Lady Lizbeth's Sewin' Chronicles

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Sewing: It's Only Fit

So much blue-skying about the Never Too Many White Shirt Project. Hey, I finally got down to brass ( or is that tailor's?) tacks! It's only fit that I start with fit. 


A great chance to learn to work with one of the Burda Style Patterns. For a study break yesterday, I began figuring out how to trace from one of the magazine pattern sheets. In the past, I've been too intimidated by the hazy, crisscrossed, maze of lines on the Burda sheets, but I'm getting there. I taped together three sheets of waxed paper. A sharpie seems to work better than a thin tipped marker. I got the whole back and the significant part of a sleeve cut out. I love waxed paper.


Decided to start my shirt project with a blouse (I remember that the Sew Forth Now podcast where Lori interviewed Barbara, Barbara said - "Your shirt might be a blouse". Well my first one will be). This is a collarless, rounded-v neck blouse (I think it's Burda Style 412 and I think it's a fall 2010 Burda Style magazine) with, some asymmetric ruffles, and an elbow length sleeve that pleases, though I'll be fooling with how I want that sleeve end to be. 


This go 'round, I'm mostly going to concentrate on getting the torso to fit in a way I like. I took measurements in cm. A little unsure about where I bravely cut the pattern back and where I didn't. Well - that's the point of the muslin. Next time I'll focus on outlining the front - need to tape up more waxed paper - then onto finding the scrappiest muslin or ancient destined-for-the-rag bag material to try out the basic fit. 


Onward.

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This entry represents one sewers progress 

in the 

Never Too Many White Shirts Project at http://sewingontheedge.blogspot.com/

Baylands Bounty (Nature and Travel Silicon Valley, San Francisco Bay Area)

Some of us have to really put our heart into searching for supper.

I'll just stop by Trader Joe's on the way home.

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A lot of folks don't know about how close you can get to our baylands area, when they come to visit Silicon Valley/Stanford University/Mountain View. We always take international and U.S. visitors out there because it's a very short, easy drive from the suburban towns like Palo Alto, Menlo Park, Mountain View, etc. (about 10 minute drive from any of those). Flat, easy walking, wheelchair/elder accessible. Also different ramps and bridges (somewhat less accessible with mobility issues - but may be possible) get you even closer to the salt marsh.
Also lots of people bike out there.

San Francisco bay scenery, bird life and plant life up close and personal and nobody trying to sell you a tee shirt (I like tee shirts and tourist stuff too!). 

There's also a big golf course and small plane airport on the way out there (some noise from planes, depending on time of day).

Here's a clip from the city web site. "Bounded by Mountain View and East Palo Alto, the 1,940-acre Baylands Preserve is the largest tract of undisturbed marshland remaining in the San Francisco Bay. Fifteen miles of multi-use trails provide access to a unique mixture of tidal and fresh water habitats."

A few other Baylands Bites from this journal have included:

Baylands: Believing

Feb 15, 2011

When you eat like a bird, that's the difference between survival and raising your family and not making it. Today I vote for believing mixed with a heavy dose of being pushy. 

Baylands: Sarcocornia pacifica recovering from overindulgence

Jan 11, 2011 

I’m partial to a pickle myself. S. pacifica likes that salty taste even more than I do. 

A Baylands Bouquet

Jan 02, 2011

California buckwheat,. Eriogonum fasciculatum var. foliolosum. Please click on the picture above to immerse yourself in the detail of this lovely buckwheat bouquet. What's so great about the. BaylandsNature Preserve? ...

Baylands is for the birds

Jan 09, 2011

I think this gentleman is trying to nerve himself up to go in. I'm like that about lake swimming. I know you're supposed to be tough and jump right in, but....

A Taste for Tidal Salt

Jan 03, 2011

Pretty delicious, particularly if your name is Pickle Weed, Cord Grass or Salt Marsh Harvest Mouse. You may also enjoy A BaylandsBouquet. ... to enjoy this really salty repast.

Time Travel Trip, My Heart Beats Faster in Past Times : Russia Bound (part 4)

 My friend Judy Gosnell, who has visited Russia six times(!),

 took the original photo for this illustration.

She has, very kindly, given me permission to use her work here

Have you missed any of the

 Previous Journal entries

for Russia Bound Time Travel?

Part 1: Trip Planning

I found my old spiral notebook from Russian class when I was cleaning out my closet today. Gospadee Boza Moi! Isn’t that what we used to say? It’s been over thirty years and I’ve forgotten so much of what I learned. That notebook had a Peter Max design on the cover. I’d forgotten how much I loved him when we were in college. Remember the poster of his we put up when we were freshmen, and what that gross boy down on the second floor wrote on it? I’m so sure he’s either incarcerated or else working for the prison system now.

 * Time Travel Trip, The Samovar's Story: Russia Bound (part 2)

Jan 13, 2011

Part 2: The Samovar’s Story

 Note To Self:Keep a low profile. Do not cheese the Empress off.

* Part 3: The Winter Palace: Russia Bound  

I put up one hand to the gaping bodice of my Worth-like costume, in almost a parody of feminine modesty, feeling suddenly breathless, and not only from the corset. It was as though an electric current had passed through me with the entrance of this man.

*  *  *

 Part 4: My Heart Beats Faster in Past Times 

"Bozhe moi, it's only you Vasil!" She smiled at me. "Goodness, I mean. I thought my fiancée had walked in on us, and he knows nothing about what I do for Period Pilots. But instead this is my brother, Vasily. He knows all my business."

The big man walked slowly forward and bent low in a courtly bow. "It is only her brother, Vasily Fyodorovich," his voice was low, a basso profundo I thought, "who knows all about everyone's business." He straightened up and smiled down into my eyes. His were almond shaped, and bright green. I returned the stare, for a little longer than normal. What could there possibly be in a pair of eyes and a deep bass voice to make me feel a sense of immediate connection to a man I knew nothing about. The cool air of the church hammered against my lungs.

"Sergei is out in the church, Alina. And he's asking if I know where you are. Perhaps you might waylay him while I help out here?"

"Oh, I haven't seen Sergei in two weeks!" His sister's cheeks were flushed with excitement. "Could you help out Larisa here? She just needs her dress fastened behind. Don't worry, Lariska. Vasil is an expert at hooking up. He's done it for me a hundred times." Before I could protest, my tour guide had scurried out to meet her beloved.

I felt a flush of my own mount as Vasily moved around and began to fit the hooks into their eyelets. "So, Larisa Aleksovna, I read all about you before you came. I know your name in your own time, and your profession. I know that you live alone, except for your dog who is being well looked after while you are gone. You are a balletomane with a great admiration for "The Sleeping Beauty". In fact you've gone to see it danced seven times in the past few years. I also know that you read a great deal of history and that you sing and play the cello."

I doubted that my closest friends at home knew that much about me. "And you Vasily Fyodorovich. I know nothing about you, except that you have a sister and both of you have something to do with Period Pilots. Do you help all the women travelers like your helping me now?"

He stopped placing the tiny hooks and tapped one finger gently against my back, causing a pleasant frisson to migrate gently down my spine. "I keep house with my sister, but I am not engaged nor", he paused, "do I presently have an, er-  connection to a woman in any time. Second," another large finger caused the same lovely sensation, "I too sing, and my instrument is the french horn.”

He moved in closer and something pressed hard against my backbone. I didn’t move away. He stepped back. “I afraid I must beg your pardon. I keep putting this in the wrong pocket.” There was a thunk as he laid a pair of pince nez down onto the table nearby and moved back to resume his position behind me.

“I am also an admirer of ‘The Sleeping Beaut’y. Thirdly," I held my breath, waiting for the next finger to do it's job, “you are the first of Alina's customers to need my attentions. I don't work for my sister's employer. I have matters to attend to here." Large fingers fumbled with one of the hooks as he resumed his task. "They are matters that her employer helps with however."

"Matters that have to do with the Romanovs?" I felt bold speaking this way to a man who was attending to my clothing in such an intimate manner.

He paused in his work and was quiet for a moment. "I have an occupation, of sorts. There are things I do that might make a difference for one or two people in the times to come," he admitted.

"And so, you are here, for now, Lara Aleksovna." Again the soft low timber of his voice sent a tremor throughout my body. It seemed to resonate in every part of me.

"I am, and perhaps you could tell me how I can help you tonight, in your work to help those one or two people."

He laughed deep in his chest, and the sound sent another funny sensation through my body, that had nothing to do with corsets.

"Malodetz! Good for you!" He finished fastening the dress and turned me around to face him. I found we were standing very close together and that his large hands were still holding me gently, but firmly, by my whale-bone constrained waist. All thoughts of experiencing the reality of court life suddenly vanished. Only a pair of brilliant green eyes seemed important.

"You wish to help me? Do you have a good understanding of the political situation at this time?"

"Well not exactly. You see back at the university-" I was interrupted by a melody floating through the great chamber outside.

Vasily dropped his hands and stepped back. "The evening bells mean that the courtiers will be assembling. You and my sister need to go." He stepped over to the door into the darkness of the church. "Alinska!" he hissed. There was a flicker of a glance from the green eyes. "But we will meet again, quite soon." And then Vasily Fyodorovich was gone and I stood waiting for my guide to present me to the Imperial Russian court of 1896.

When the Locals eat there, You KNOW the food is good! (San Francisco)

Please click on the picture for  a lovely detailed version of

Pigeons Behaving Badly

Ferry Building, San Francisco, California

Take Some Time To Catch Your Breath (February Calendar Page, printable)

Please Click on this Picture for more Lovely Details

And, feel free to drag it to your desktop 

to print or use as a monthly calendar

What am I seeing here? - Nevada, Mining History

Photo: D.A.John
Click on the photo for  more detail

What am I seeing here? 

Nevada, Mining History

This is one of the areas that Mark Twain refers to in Roughing It, the vicinity were he and his comrades put off filing their claim just a tad too long to become millionaires. 

Bodie Hills, Nevada: Altered andocite with a vein of iron-stained quartz running through it. 

Prospectus Vein-- Aurora mining district--discovered in 1859?

This particular vein, just on the edge of the town site, was an early vein found here. The Old Esmerelda vein was the one that caused people to start mining gold and silver here.  

Mining Activity: 

Two Major Periods, with sporadic mining attempts between

1860 - 1870's - underground

Renewed mining mid 1980's, 1990's  - Open pit

Last mined around 2,000.

Art Journaling: Hey even Jane Austen needed to Perform!

If Jane Austen, were alive and kicking today, she’d be keeping a journal like this online, with light pieces of her own writing, snippets of parlor music, and illustrations created by herself and her family. She’d be reading excerpts of her stories out loud to Cassandra and Fanny in the evening, listening to her nieces play and sing at the pianoforte, and turning it all into a podcast. She’d take regular rambling walks and create illustrations in Photoshop. She’d be developing apps.

Daily life still has it’s own Romantic flavor.

from the iTunes Store podcast, "Unpolished Performances”

The Simple Romantic’s podcasts are now on iTunes!

 (yes, of course they are free)

* * *

Art Journaling 

Hey even Jane Austen needed to Perform!

I know people who can keep a private journal. 

I’m not one of them. 

Privacy is fine for times when I’m looking seedy, taking a nap or snuggling a dog. It’s not that all appealing when I’m creating a legacy. Art journaling, my little performance on the pianoforte of life, shows how I’m making sense of that life. I need to know that someone is looking at my pictures, reading my romantic notions and listening to my tunes. I need my journal to be public.

Who has not been inspired to keep a journal of some kind, and how many have I started since childhood? Eventually I ditched the decorative little volumes, begun with such determination, when the sight of the remaining intimidating white pages was just too much for me. I never quite knew who I was writing or illustrating for. But I always wanted to create a journal. I was inspired by the English novelist D.E. Stevenson (a niece of Robert Louis Stevenson) who turned her own journals into some of her early novels. I’ve been repeatedly checking Stevenson’s works out of the library since the 1980’s. They’re particularly good to re-read if I’m stuck in bed with a cold or getting over a root canal.

Her “Mrs. Time Christie” books are written in a journal style, which I would imagine follow the lines of her own memoirs. They tell the story of a regular woman’s life: including humorous anecdotes about her husband and children, hardships – many are set in wartime Britain, and her prejudices. The entries display her sense of humor and show how she enjoyed herself. They make the every-day life of a woman in 1930’s and 1940’s British Isles look romantic.

When I call Stevenson’s books, ‘romantic’, I’m not talking about an “I wuv you THIS much!” greeting card. I mean romantic in the sense of Jane Austen, the definitive Romantic era character. The definition of the character traits required for a good Romantic, are personified in the heroines of each of Jane’s novels, and in her letters to her sister, Cassandra. Early nineteenth century Romantics, like Jane, gloried in the beauty of the natural world, admired a simple close-knit family life style, and persued education for it’s own sake.  They read and wrote voluminously, developing their writing style in letters, journals and stories. They sketched and painted. They entertained themselves, their families and friends with musical performances, at whatever skill level the household inhabitants had achieved, using their own voices and whatever instruments the household possessed.

Evenings in the home, with no house-wide lighting system, television, radio, mp3 players, or dvd’s had an entirely different character in the Romantic era, than it has today. In typical middle class style, Jane’s family, focused their energy on lighting and heating one room, where they gathered together or, sometimes, entertained small gatherings of friends. Today we’d probably call it “green entertaining”, if we overlooked the carcinogenic, overabundant particulate matter spewing forth from those aromatic massive hydrocarbon emitting logs smoldering in the fireplace.

It was there, in the parlor, that Jane, her siblings, nieces, nephews, and parents, read aloud: family letters, journal entries (the idea that a journal is totally private is, of course, more modern), poetry, novels, and their own writing. It was, in the parlor, that the family played the pianoforte and sang. Romantics like Jane were motivated to create because they had a place to share their work.

My childhood journals had no purpose because they were private. I began keeping my online art-journal as an extension of conversations and illustrations I was posting on facebook. Social networking and blogging, gave me an audience, someone who’d stop by my digital parlor to read my thoughts on hiking or walking downtown, listen to my piano and voice pieces or look at my latest illustrations. 

The pages in my art-journal are filling up now, because I have a place to perform.

. . .

Please stop by the iTunes store and listen to Unpolished Performances, an extension of this art journal