A (mostly) clean, (kind of) well-lighted place

Yesterday afternoon I put the final touches on what I can now refer to as my "studio."

Laughingly, mind you. Laughingly.

The impetus for finishing was telling Amy that I'm starting up quilting again.

"That's great!" she said. "You have to make me a quilt. You made Erin a quilt, but you never made me one."

"I made you a quilt," I protested.

She scoffed at me. "A baby quilt! You never made me a big quilt, and you did for Erin."

And she's right. I did make Erin a big girl quilt, but by the time Amy was a big girl, I was not quilting. So now I am tasked with making her a blue and purple quilt out of sturdy enough fabric that it can be hauled about and thoroughly mauled without falling apart, but also soft and cuddly.

Will get right on that. Bought the tools, chose the pattern, now I just have to get the fabric and get to work.

But I realized that I lacked a working space. I mused this issue, lying in bed Sunday morning, and I remembered that the best working surface I ever had was actually an old door laid over two book cases. It was supposed to be temporary, because it was so ghetto, but in actuality the sturdiness of the door made an exceptional working space and I kept it for years.

What a shame, I thought, lying there, that I don't have a stray door n--SAY!!

Turns out we did, in fact, have a stray door lying about, the door that was at the top of the basement stairs, which I took off its hinges as soon as we moved in (it blocked a window and was never going to be used).

I was in business.

I no longer own half-height file cabinets, but there were other possibilities: book cases, for example. I didn't want to spend very much money, however, and found myself strapped with Golidlocks issues - this one is too low; this one is too high. Eventually, "just right" turned out to be a 4 shelf storage rack from Home Depot, made up into two units in what they call the "work bench" configuration.

( Pictures of my basement: scaaary. )

The room is also the laundry room, which is actually quite handy for prewashing fabric. And there is a large double-sink washtub, so if I ever get back into dying fabrics this is a very convenient setup. All I'm really lacking is storage space - not a problem now, but I know quilting. It will be.

What you can't see is that Ferrett's drum kit takes up a large corner of the room, off to the left of the first picture. He has not been using it at all of late, and unused space in a sewing room soon becomes comandeered. My mind's eye can already see shelves and cabinets there, brimming with bright-colored fabrics. Because, after all, if he's not actually using it....

Consider yourself warned, my love. Quilting brings out a mad streak in women.

And while I'm picture-ing

Quick shot of me and misia in our back yard when she was visiting. Just look at how everything has grown! I need to get out there with a machete!

( Killer Wisteria Attacks Innocent Women )

Art is never easy

Part 1

A #10 quilting needle is a tiny filament of wire just over 1 inch long. It is not much thicker than a human hair. When you first hold one in your hand, your reaction is, "This is impossible! I can barely see it, let alone work with it."

High quality cotton quilting thread is thicker than regular sewing thread, so that it has the strength for its exposed stitches to hold up to wear and tear without tearing the fabric of the quilt itself (this is why you never quilt on cotton with standard polyester thread if the finished project is to be used as a blanket).

Now, anyone who's done any hand sewing may be able to see an equation issue here: teeny weeny needle eye, + BIG THICK THREAD = near impossibility in threading needle.

And yet, back when I was in my quilting heyday, I could easily thread #10 quilting needles without the aid of a needle threader, glasses, or magnification. I was GOOD, baby.

Whereas...

A #20 tapestry needle is a thick, blunt needle with a large eye. This needle is designed not to pierce fabric but to find its way into the holes in the weave, pulling multiple strands of brightly colored embroidery floss in its wake. Comparing a tapestry needle to a quilting needle is like comparing a wire coat hanger to a lead pipe.

And yet, I now cannot thread a tapestry needle without the aid of glasses and magnification, and pride alone is the only thing keeping me from breaking out the needle threaders.

Getting old sucks.

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Part 2

The shelves that make up the support for my new sewing table go together simply by hooking the cross bars of the shelves into the keyhole openings of the uprights and then using a hammer to tap them into place.

In theory.

The first one went together all right, but as I was trying to seat the upright for the second one, I manage to pound the side of my hand with the hammer. I didn't get much of the hand; just that little bulge of skin that sticks out on the side when you make a fist. I slammed the hammer down on that, smashing it into the narrow metal rail below, splitting the skin. Blood spurted from the wound, and in that first dizzy moment of flashing pain, I thought it might be stitches-worthy. But all it required was ice, peroxide, and a bit of tender-loving attention from my hubby. It's very bruised and tender to the touch, and of course I keep bumping it into things. I didn't bike this morning because I can't lean on the handlebars.

I've suffered for my art, and I haven't even started making anything. How's that for efficient?

Doin' me part for the cause

Don't ye be fergettin', mateys, that tomorrow be Talk Like a Pirate Day! Afor ye board yer vessels and head out to plunder and pillage, practice a bit so ye sound authetically pirate-like. Or you'll be food for the fishes in Davy Jones' Locker!

Arrrr!!!!!