Stitching stitching stitching.  I have to clothe the masses, and I have to do it right now.  My yearly sewing freak-out has been much delayed by the release of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince.  I read it last Saturday and Sunday, and immediately felt compelled to read the rest of the series.  I’m finished the second and third and started the fourth, and I think I’ve convinced myself that I don’t need to read four hours a day, since I’ve read these all before.
Put the book down, crazy girl, and go make some decent food for dinner.   Hear that spooky air in the background?  It’s the song of the corn dogs.

I’ve been quiet because of the reading, but I’ve also been spending a fair amount of time in the sweatshop.  A-see?

It may not look like much on the hanger, but it looks fiiiiiine on my fellah.  It’s a handmade linen del, which is what Mongols wear. Skutai, the sudden Mongol, will wear it in living history land.  I can’t wait to see it as part of the full kit.  Many many hours of hand-sewing went into it, and I made the cord for the button loops and the closures inside with my lucet.  Which involved lots of whining.  Using a lucet hurts my knuckles.  And there’s a little bit of detail on the back, see

Fancy schmancy, no?   This whole obsession with Mongolia is allowing me to make much more interesting clothing for Scott.  I’ve never been able to convince him that plaid is a neutral, but after watching House of Flying Daggers, I may be able to convince him that silk brocade isn’t just for girls.  Manly brocade, of course.   Really, as long as I can continue using sewing projects to make him wander around shirtless between fittings, I’m happy.

I also made this ruana:

the plaid is linen and the green is a silky wool blend, and it’s lov-er-lee, and covered in leeetle tiiiny stitches which I made while watching episodes of Homicide while reclining on the couch.  The cat is very angry that he wasn’t able to sit on me or the ruana while I was working on it.  Scath hates hand-sewing.   Anyway, I’m not sure whose it is.

And, better yet, I’m almost done with this ruana:

Which is a stash-busting project.  That jarringly bright stripe?  That’s the center-line, and once I finish the body I’ll shape the neck.  This was meant to use up all of my leftover yarns in blue, green, and purple colorways.  I’ll still have a ton left when it’s done–I sense an afghan in my future.   I don’t know who gets this one either.

In addition to the sewing and knitting, there’s been some successful hunting and gathering.
I tasti bei:

ed il plaid garish:

e la tela blu sottile ed il cotone striato rosso

e la combinazione dispari

Enough with the crazy moon language: half of the buttons and the last pairing of fabrics are preparing to prepare to turn into something cool for our pal the bootmaker.  I think.  The fabrics aren’t set in stone yet.  I think.

The weather has been abysmal.  No, wait, an abyss would actually be much cooler.  It’s really hot and nasty.  And between the bad weather, the reading, the sewing, the knitting, and that dumb full time job, I’ve been distracted enough from the garden to allow the alien poke weed to firmly establish the toe-hold it wanted so badly last year.  This is maddening.  And embarrassing.

The previous owners of our house allowed their adult son and his wife to live here for a while.  I’m sure they were nice people, but they weren’t gardeners like the owners were.  And if you allow a flower bed to lay fallow, the invading species will really appreciate it.  I’ve spent much of my time outside evicting several species since we bought the place.  I’ve made some serious inroads against the English ivy, that pestilential harborer of rats, that poisoner of songbirds, that dismantler of houses, that tree murderer.  Two rainy years in a row have increased the challenge, as has the increased sunlight afforded by the removal of a dead silver maple and a threatening white pine.  I just can’t keep up.  I don’t like the poke.  I don’t like the ground-ivy.  I hate the poison ivy.  I think I have no choice but to call in chemical reinforcements–something I’ve never done before.  But now that I am officially allergic to poison ivy, I don’t feel like I have any options.  I have to kill the stuff.  It will eat my skin if I don’t.

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