The Right Trousers

No Wensleydale shall enter into the lists.

Trousers have rarely been my friend. When I was a child I was so skinny my mother bought me boys' slim ones and they were still too big. When I became a young woman, the gap in the back was, and remains, the problem - the extreme waist to hip ratio.

So I decided that for work, when I need trousers sometimes, I would make my own. I chose an old pattern - Folkwear 218 (Palm Beach Pants, as it used to be, now Hollywood Pants, #250.) I have made the culottes (now tap pants in the re-issue) but never the trousers or knickerbockers. The trousers are a nice straight cut, falling from the hip with no pleats, and a side zip. I figured, wide legged trousers, perfect for all my figure problems - the waist-hip thing, sway back, knock knees. What fun!

Even so, I fiddled for a fortnight with the muslin, trying to get that extreme waist to hip ratio thing corrected. Even had the off-the-cuff (so to speak) consult of my friend's new hubby, who just happened to have studied design. It finally came down to pivoting the huge immense darts into the side seam and making one smallish dart in the side fronts. The problem with this is that one doesn't want the side curve to be extreme. But unless you want to emphasise the difference by two or even three darts, that's your best shot.

Now, with all the bugs worked out in the muslin, I am on to cutting the fashion fabrics - one wool gabardine and one linen. Lined. With self-bound underlining. Swish. Worthy of my mother.

For instructions on how to do underlining (on a jacket, but the principles are the same) see

Line and Underline in One Step from Threads magazine.

Pictures in the next installment

A Day at the Races

Bless my Alumni Association! I was invited to the races at beautiful Golden Gate Fields, on a completely gorgeous day, and I went with my old friend Cathleen, who had never been to a live race meet. I went because of a lifelong love of horses and riding - and because it was a chance to swan about in Ascot worthy gladrags. In fact, the hat I wore was inspired by one worn by one of the Court ladies at this year's Ascot.

Several ladies accosted me, early and late, saying my dress and the hat were wonderful. Great for me as I trimmed it myself, and my daughter Brigid thought it completely outre, always a good thing.

American race meets are a little weird to me. I am much more familiar with Irish races, on courses and strand racing - if that doesn't give me away. And I promise not to sing The Galway Races.... But Cathleen did bring up 'The Quiet Man' and the race on Dingle strand. That bit of the film always amuses me, as our own little beach here in Linda Mar is just like Dingle strand - which is I guess why I live here in Celtofornia.

Me in the outrageous hat





Cathleen



The horses of one of the races, and the racecourse grounds. I had a wonderful time studying their conformation and temperament and judging how they would 'go'

Update Pet en l'air

If this were a tarot card, it would be The Tower.

I arrived home to a package notice from the Post Office. An Express Mail Must be signed for package. I hoped it was the toile. Called post office national customer service. The thing MUST be signed for in person by me. No signature cards.Only the sender (my little client) can request the signature be waived. I was informed by lady at PO number that this may or may not be granted. She didn't hold out much hope. Client could not phone til Monday anyway as that office is closed. Roman buereaucracy! Informed client of situation. And let it be known that I was beside myself that another week would be stripped from the sewing time by this delay.

It all rather blew up, and the little client's mother wants everything back. In dressmaking parlance, this is known as firing the client, and deadlines are always a big issue here. So are interfering mothers. In this case, the little client was a young woman of 18, who has a job, which is why I took the commission; she has a job, which she has had for some time, and paid for the dress herself in insallments, ergo she could follow through and get things done on time. This is the same reason your employer cares if you have a college degree. Any college degree. Nevertheless, I did keep the mother informed also. You can see what good this did. I figured, okay, so she's letting the daughter have a little life lesson here in responsibility, letting her fall on her face by sending everything so late. Nope. Just self-absorbed. And nasty when I gave the little client a reality check.

My sister, who is also a costume nerd, advised me after my first stint at burning the midnight oil not to overtax myself (I have Addison's disease) as I had waited for a month already. She also advised not to let myself be taken advantage of, and cited several personal examples. But there was NO way I could get it done if I didn't push, so.... caffeine here I come. Won't do that again.

This commission was not for money, but for love of the thing, and the girl. I am sorry it has gone so badly. But dear clients: when your dressmaker tells you it wil take at least a month to complete a project, believe her; it is based on experience. Do everything in your power to get the fabric and other necessaries to her as soon as possible so your item may be completed well in advance of your deadline.

The modiste is most unhappy.

Pet en lair Update

After receiving the fabric much belatedly, I am now scurrying to unpick the detachable train and cut and sew two jackets (with detatchable sleeve ruffles) in time for a date some three weeks hence.

The train arrived being a fully lined and interlined detatchable affair - an overskirt, really - rather than a swath of fabric from the bottom of the dress as I'd imagined. It had velcro at the top - attaching under the bodice, presumably - stitched and restitched and understitched. Much too much for the organza. And it is organza, not taffeta, which is good and bad; more delicate, but less prone to show stitches that have been unpicked.

The pleats, to which the ornamentation is attached, are sewn down to withstand the most severe stress imaginable, straight through the underlining. The ornamentation is also machine stitched. The modiste is not happy. Too much machine sewing can be a very bad thing.

Adventures in Henna, or Goldilocks

I have been hennaing my hair with a 4-to-1 marigold blonde and red mix since I began doing so again, about a year ago; this gives a nice approximation of my natural colour with 'sunstreaks' (the white bits). However, I have always wanted 'marigold hair' - about the colour of my son Gawain's hair. Everyone calls him a strawberry blond, which he hates, and which isn't true as he is more a strong golden blond with a reddish tinge. We all think strawberry blond is the other way round. We are also very pernickety about whom we consider redheads, in my family; a tinge will not do; a golden colour will not do. It must be red, gold-red or auburn to count. Such is the privilege of we 11% of the world's popularion, though my boys have it, as my uncles do, only in their beards.

But I digress.

What I am looking for is the shade of marigold that is just the colour of a faerie my daughter Brigid painted years ago, which means more gold and less red, please. Eventually I mean to fade to blonde but I should like to go through the golden stage first and not that sorbet colour of women of a certain age who tint their hair in the manner of poodles. Oh we are snarkey today, aren't we?

So, first I made a mix of lemon juice and honey water, to remove any demarcation, and sprayed it on, letting it sit for about 45 minutes. Meanwhile, I mixed up a 5-to-1 ratio of marigold blonde and red henna, with about a teaspoon of sea salt, two tablespoons of lemonjuice and a strong cup of black tea and chammomile. The latter give yellow and gold highlights.This, having sat and infused for three quarters of an hour, was a lovely golden brown colour. Promising, Glopped stuff on hair per usual, covering with plastic and a towel. Set timer for two hours, rather than one, which is the point at which your humble servant finds herself now.
We shall see.

I have ever had any luck whatsoever with merely marigold blonde on its own, hence the smidge of red and other ingredients. The salt is a new addition (so is lemonjuice) courtesy of Anthony Morrocco's Method. Be it well-noted that henna of any kind will not lighten hair; but some of us have light enough hair to begin with. If you wish to lighten you can try the lemonjuice and honey water routine - 2 tbs lemon juice. Ditto honey. And 3/4 cup cold water. Only don't heat any of it as this will kill the fomenting of natural peroxide in the honey.

More anon, when the two hours are up. Time now for a small something.... Ah, another analogy - WInnie the Pooh coloured!

Update:
amazing gilded glowing Pre-Raphaelite hair!

Princess

I am making a red taffeta sacque backed jacket for a dear girl for her prom, to go over a smashing red gown. It's nothing my own daughter would wear, worse luck, so I like being able to make something with frills and furbelows. It occurred to me yesterday that this jacket - with a hood, where it was called a Cardinal - was what Little Red Riding Hood was based on.

I drafted the pattern yesterday, and did all the cutting and sewing of the toile today, which took six hours. It was all just machine basted, as I have to send it to the recipient for a fitting. But yesterday I got some silk gauze for the sleeve ruffles, to which I will add some French gilt lace from my stash (I love saying that!) It needs a fastening, as it has no stomacher, so will have a little rhinestone chain under the bust. The bodice of the dress is encrusted in beautiful crystal and bead work.



I was a little apprehensive, as I haven't made a sacque in a long time - and actually looked at my yellow sacque polonaise to make sure I remembered how I pleated it. The latter I stitched largely by hand. I will not do with this, as there is a time constraint.

The selfish part of this for me is that this is my entre to my long awaited first mourning gown, which is a sacque. Finding the bombazine is going to be a chalenge, but I'm up to it. The taffeta of this jacket doesn't scare me; I've done a lot of taffeta gowns and dresses. And it pleases me to make something smashing to go with that gown

Update 24 March:
I still have not received the toile back from my little client, though I am informed 'it fit perfectly!' - what a testament to the modiste's art! I have her measuarements, made a sloper, et voila!

An Old Woman, the re-enactor version

When I am an old woman I shall wear calico
With a chintz cap that doesn’t go and doesn’t suit me
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and crochet lace
And buckled shoes and say we’ve no money for cable
I shall sit down on the front stoop in the summer evenings
And gobble up samples in shops and ring fire bells
And run my stick along public railings
And make up for the modernity of my youth

I shall go out barefoot in the rain
And pick berries from the hillsides
And learn the squeezebox
You can wear six layers of unmatching patterns and be more forthright
And eat a whole basket of peanuts at a go
Or only cornbread and picalilly for a week
And hoard ink pens and sealing wax and teacups and pairs of pockets

Tasha Tudor

One of the hazards of living simply and not having much to do with 'outside things' is that you hear things later than other people. I have just learned that Tasha Tudor died last month, on 20 June. God rest her, beautiful lady. May she be at home in heaven in her 1830s way, with her friends and corgis. She has been a huge influence on my life, a tremendous inspiration.

The following is from her New York Times obituary:

Tasha Tudor, a children’s illustrator whose pastel watercolors and delicately penciled lines depicted an idyllic, old-fashioned vision of the 19th-century way of life she famously pursued — including weaving, spinning, gathering eggs and milking goats — died on Wednesday at her home in Marlboro, Vt.

She was 92, if one counts only the life that began on Aug. 28, 1915. Ms. Tudor frequently said that she was the reincarnation of a sea captain’s wife who lived from 1800 to 1840 or 1842, and that it was this earlier life she was replicating by living so ardently in the past.

Her son Seth confirmed the death. He suggested that his mother’s more colorful remarks might be taken with a pinch of salt.

A cottage industry grew out of Ms. Tudor’s art, which has illustrated nearly 100 books. The family sells greeting cards, prints, plates, aprons, dolls, quilts and more, all in a sentimental, rustic, but still refined style resembling that of Beatrix Potter.

In her promotion of such a definitive lifestyle, Ms. Tudor has been called a 19th-century Martha Stewart. Books, videotapes, magazine articles and television shows illuminated her gardening and housekeeping ideas.

For 70 years her illustrations elicited wide admiration: The New York Times in 1941 said her pictures “have the same fragile beauty of early spring evenings.”

Her drawings, particularly the early ones, often illustrated the almost equally memorable stories she herself wrote. Some details: Sparrow Post, a postal service for dolls with delivery by birds. Birthday parties featuring flotillas of cakes with lighted candles. Mouse Mills catalogs, for ordering dolls clothes made by mice, who take buttons for pay.

The Catholic Library World said in 1971 that Ms. Tudor shed “a special ray of sunshine” with pictures that carry “the imagination of children into history, into the human heart, into the joys of family life, into love of friendship itself.”

Two of Ms. Tudor’s books were named Caldecott Honor Books: “Mother Goose” (1944) and “1 Is One” (1956). Ms. Tudor was just awarded the Regina Medal by the Catholic Library Association.

But it was her uncompromising immersion in another, less comfortable century that most fascinated people. She wore kerchiefs, hand-knitted sweaters, fitted bodices and flowing skirts, and often went barefoot. She reared her four children in a home without electricity or running water until her youngest turned 5. She raised her own farm animals; turned flax she had grown into clothing; and lived by homespun wisdom: sow root crops on a waning moon, above-ground plants on a waxing one.

“It is healthful to sleep in a featherbed with your nose pointing north,” she said in an interview with The Times in 1977.

Starling Burgess, who later legally changed both her names to Tasha Tudor, was born in Boston to well-connected but not wealthy parents. Her mother, Rosamond Tudor, was a portrait painter, and her father, William Starling Burgess, was a yacht and airplane designer who collaborated with Buckminster Fuller.

Ms. Tudor could not remember a time when she did not draw pictures or make little books. She was originally nicknamed Natasha by her father, after Tolstoy’s heroine in “War and Peace.” This was shortened to Tasha. After her parents divorced when she was 9, Ms. Tudor adopted her mother’s last name.

In an autobiography she wrote in 1951, Ms. Tudor said she did not start school until she was 9, although other biographies say she began as early as 7. She attended the School of the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, for a year, but said she learned painting from her mother. Her art was often framed by ornate borders like those from a medieval manuscript, but more whimsical.

Partly to protect her from Jazz Age Greenwich Village, where her mother had moved, Ms. Tudor was sent to live with a couple in Connecticut, drama enthusiasts who included children in the plays they put on. She soon developed a love of times past and things rural, going to auctions to buy antique clothing before she was 10. At 15 she used money she had made teaching nursery school to buy her first cow.

In 1938 she married Thomas Leighton McCready Jr., who was in the real estate business. A fiddler played the wedding march. Mr. McCready encouraged his bride to put together a folio of pictures and seek publishers. She was repeatedly turned down before her first published book, “Pumpkin Moonshine” (1938), was accepted by Oxford University Press. It was the start of a flood, many still in print.

Ms. Tudor’s favorite of all her books was “Corgiville Fair,” one of several she wrote about the Welsh corgi dogs she kept as pets, sometimes 13 or 14 at once. Her 1963 illustrated version of “The Secret Garden,” by Frances Hodgson Burnett, tells of children enraptured by a mysterious garden. The volume of Clement C. Moore’s “Night Before Christmas” that she illustrated remains popular.

She rebuked those who said she must be enthralled with her own creativity.

“That’s nonsense,” she said. “I’m a commercial artist, and I’ve done my books because I needed to earn my living.”

She and her husband moved to a 19th-century farmhouse in New Hampshire that lacked electricity and running water, but did have 17 rooms and 450 acres. Ms. Tudor painted in the kitchen, in between baking bread and washing dishes. She created a dollhouse with a cast of characters, two of whom were married in a ceremony covered by Life magazine.

Ms. Tudor was divorced from Mr. McCready, who later died, and from a second husband, Allan John Woods. In 1972 she sold the New Hampshire farm and moved onto her property near her son Seth in Marlboro.

In addition to Seth, Ms. Tudor is survived by her daughters Bethany Tudor of West Brattleboro, Vt., and Efner Tudor Holmes of Contoocook, N.H.; another son, Thomas, of Fairfax, Va.; eight grandchildren; four step-grandchildren; three great-grandchildren; and her half-sister, Ann Hopps of Camden, Me.

Ms. Tudor, who could play the dulcimer and handle a gun, once promised a reporter for The Times that she could find a four-leaf clover within five minutes and came back with a five-leaf one in four minutes. She kept a seven-leaf clover framed in her room.

She told The Virginian-Pilot of Norfolk in 1996 that it was her intention to go straight back to the 1830s after her death.

Rest in Peace, lady.

Boiling Clothes

These last three weeks I have been working on a book (a novel) about plain living in Idyllwild (CA) in the 1970s - it is DONE! huzzah!- and one of the things that came up in it was how to wash clothes when you have no electricity, no hot running water, and no vitreous china bathtub. (I have washed clothes in the bathtub in my college days.) Well, you boil them, a'course! and according to those that know, it gets them cleaner and whiter than anything, even bleach, especially socks and men's shirts (no offence, lads).

Noodling about the net, since I have all kinds of time on my hands now... I came across this conversation over at A Purposed Life:

Do you boil your clothes? Silly me, I know how ridiculous that sounds, you are probably thinking, "Are you crazy, I slap them into the front loader, sprinkle a little soap and walk away!" Well, normally I do too, but occasionally that doesn't work for me!

Around here socks can get REALLY dirty, sometimes dish towels smell sour even after washing and drying, and hubby's pillowcase can still look dingy after washing with bleach! For these hard to clean items, I boil them...really!

I put whatever I'm wanting to sanitize into a huge pot, saved only for this purpose - just wanted to clarify so that I didn't scare our recent dinner guests, and fill with water. When the water reaches a boil I add a cup of OxyClean and the items I'm washing and turn the heat down to medium. I put a top on it and let it return to a boil then I turn the heat down to low and let it go for an hour or two. After the boiling I then toss the clothing into my machine as usual! This typically cleans these items REALLY well and I'm quite pleased with the results. Yes, you will need to stir the clothes around and keep poking them back into the water, and yes the water will be BLECK! but your clothes will be CLEAN. The first time I did this I wanted to rush right out and build a fire, put a black cauldron on top and boil all of my clothes, but I didn't! Oh and just so you know, no, your house won't smell like Christmas doing this, but by golly, your clothes will be SOOO clean!

I have never had a problem with this but I always keep a close eye on whatever I'm boiling because I would hate to tell hubby, "Oh I forgot about the pillowcase I was boiling and burned down the house." That wouldn't be too great of me. Try it, but don't blame me if the house burns down, I told ya to keep an eye on it! =)!

Cherish the Ladies! as the song goes.

Moe's 24

Celestial Seasonings' original herb tea blend, Moe's 24 Herb tea is not made anymore. But I read a story (from the man in question ) about a guy who wanted the recipe to make up some for his wife for their 32nd anniversary, because they drank it when courting. He wrote to wrote to CS asking for the recipe, and they gave it to him.

(What a hubby!Bottle and sell him!)

Here's the recipe:

Ingredients: Hibiscus flowers, raspberry leaves, eucalyptus, peppermint, spearmint, strawberry leaves, chamomile, anise, rosehips, alfalfa, rosemary, papaya, blackberry leaves, mullein, comfrey, nettles, golden rod, blueberry leaves, elder flowers, catnip, plantain, sage, yarrow, and red clover tops.

Sweet!