The pain.

i.e., sewing through your finger with a monster sewing machine.  I don’t recommend it.  I don’t recommend it at all.  Thankfully, it actually sounds worse than it is.  I didn’t hit the bone or the nerve pad.  It doesn’t hurt as long as I keep the broken nail stabilized.  And yes, I am keeping it very clean and covered, and yes, my tetanus shots are up to date.  I’m crazy, but I’m not stupid.  It will be a pain trying to pack and make camp with a bum finger, but it should be healed up within the week.

All of which is balanced by the adolescent joy of showing people my injured middle finger.  Wanna see?  Do ya?

Sorry, no, just teasing.  No photos of yuck, and no photos of me flicking anyone off.  We’ll leave the yuck to web md, because they have so so much, and the flicking off to Johnny Cash, because he was so amazingly cool.   Sniff sniff.  I miss Johnny Cash so much.  Let me go put  Folsom on.  That’s better.  Where was I?

Cassie sent me an awesome book on Bolivian weaving.  Woot!  I can hear it calling me, right now.  It wants me to leave the sweatshop.  It is a temptress of a book.  But I am fully entrenched.  At this point, I can count the remaining seams I need to sew on my un-injured fingers.  That makes me very happy.  I still have a lot of handsewing to do, but I can do that while we’re camping.  And if I play my cards right, I may even have time to make myself a truly decadent dress out of some teal silk dupioni.  And maybe another one out of the two-faced linen I showed you.  Maybe even some apple green linen pants for me me me.  But I certainly don’t need clothes, so I’m feeling much more relaxed about the next few days.

Cassie also asked if I could post some pictures of all of these wacky things I’m making here in the sweatshop.  And the answer is yes, but not yet.  So far, I’ve made things that don’t have people to wear them yet.  They are owner-less clothes.  I posted some photos of un-modeled finished garments last year around this time, and they just seemed so, well, empty.   I promise to take as many photos as I can of my friends wearing these items I’m making once we get to camp.  I hope to also catch some of them wearing things I’ve made for them in the past.  Lots of the garments I make are relatively basic, since I’m normally making iron age clothing, and the folks we study didn’t make intensely complicated garments.  But I have a few gems out there, floating around on my friends’ backs.  I hope to make another gallery, specifically for things I make for our community.

And because it’s that time of year when I try to parse out the dividing lines between one vacation and another, having spent two weeks every year in the same campground with the same weirdos since I was 16, with time running together and sleep deprivation and too much hilarity for words . . . I’ll show you something from the way-back machine.   I made this a few years ago for our friend Roderick and the rest of the staff at Mandrake armory.   Lots of us play a relatively violent stick-fighting game, and Roderick and Richard and their handiwork keeps our bones whole.  Roderick made me a sweeeet helmet back in the day before my shoulder went kablooey and I had to quit fighting, and I’ve since given that helmet to John the Farrier, so his head will not crack open like a melon.  Richard then made me a repro sweeeet helmet just cuz, and he made Scott a gorgeous Mongol helm that is the talk of the field.  More importantly, some of the best times we’ve had over the years have been in Roderick’s shop at our fun summer outing.  Many of our favorite people have worked with him over the years, and our cabal of friends has, well, we’ve made a habit of making grand gestures just to entertain each other.   So, in the spirit of kindness and, um, smart-ass-ness, this is a banner that I made, using an illustration from the Krotchpunt, a send-up of a fectbuch.

In detail:

So, yes, it’s a funny ha ha.  And it’s hand-stitched embroidery on silk leftover from a tunic I made for Scott and another I made for Richard.  And you can’t see the detail too well, but those are little hand-tooled Green Boots as weights.

We just learned that Roderick and his wife Gretchen have decided to sell the business.  We wish them all the luck in the world (when we aren’t cursing their blasted free will).  And we’d also like to point out that if we see you any less frequently just because your job no longer has to do with protecting us from big sticks, we will hunt you down and give you such noogies.  You cannot hide, Hoghead.  You cannot hide anywhere.

Accomplishments.

• lots of good sewing on fabric
• one very bad stitch through a finger
• some excellent bandaging and general first aid
• some shopping with the lovely Ruadhan, whom we all love
• some list making
• a good deal of fretting
• some excellent procrastination
• plans for more and stranger hats

Off to sew.

5:45 am: feed Kayo

6:00 am: report to sweatshop

8:00 am: released from sweatshop to eat breakfast, clean kitchen, and listen to Car Talk.  Discover entire dog’s worth of fur under Hoosier-esque cabinet.  Decline to spin said fur.

9:00 am: return to sweat shop

10:17 am: blow circuit by attempting to iron while air conditioner is running.  Unplug AC unit, reset circuit breaker, and gain renewed insight in the term “sweatshop”

12:00 pm: lunch break

12:30 pm: furloughed from sweatshop to mail package to Cassie.  Curse self repeatedly for neglecting to bring knitting.

12:40 pm: attempt to use Carnivale-esque Avatar skills to force two very slow, clearly incompetent patrons out of the way.

12:48 pm: failing that, attempt to kill a yak at 40 paces with only my mind-bullets.  Lacking mind-bullets, yak, and, apparently, avatar-ness, recite Irish in head, trying very hard not to recite Irish out loud.

1:20 pm: discover Carnivale DVD in mailbox.  Rearrange all plans to watch final two episodes of Carnivale Season Two.  Weave and lazily hand-sew two necklines during episodes

1:45 pm: start laundry

2:45 pm: curse HBO for canceling the Best. Show. Ever.

3:00 pm: introduce Scott to my new invention, a Marconi, which is what I’m calling a Negroni made with vodka

3:05 pm: listen to Scott declare that a Marconi is the most terrible drink he’s ever imagined, and attempt to explain enjoying the taste of Campari, just this one way.  Contemplate the dangers of drinking two Marconis in a row.

3:06 pm: put Scott’s Marconi in the freezer.  Open bottle of Sprudel instead.  Start watching Carnivale bonus material.  Continue with non-machine sewing tasks.

5:30 pm: attempt to account for disappearance of day, and also for blazing inferno outside.  get back to sweatshop

6:30 pm: venture out to Todai, strangely terrifying new sushi bar.  Decide that hours of sweatshop labor do not prepare one to arm wrestle determined patrons over grilled jumbo shrimp.

8:30 pm: return to sweatshop.  Use Alton Brown as an excuse to avoid sewing machine and stick to hand work.

9:30 pm: panic that not enough machine work has been done.  Blog as avoidance technique.

9:54 pm: return to sweatshop before evil boss finds me slacking

Accomplishments:

• One clean kitchen
• 38″ of 4″ wide weaving
• 6 garments completely constructed and ready for hand-finishing
• 20 garments partially constructed
• 2 garments mended
• 1 gift mailed
• All 2006 fabric purchases recorded in ledger
• Two very curious new cats  successfully kept free of iron burns, pin sticks, or other sweatshop related injuries.  Stitcher denies all responsibility for any injuries said cats impart to each other.

I have a dozen partially completed garments.

I have another dozen cut garments ready for sewing.

I have entered a very dangerous place though, my friends, and we are all in peril. 

I should preface this by saying that gin makes me mean.  That’s a problem.  As some of you know, I acquired the nickname "Meangrrl" when I was around 16 and was still a straight-edge.  I keep it mostly under control, even when I do decide to have some drinks.   I haven’t purposely made anyone cry in years, and I thought that risk was mostly erased from my oeuvre.  Mostly, I’m Nice Lady,  and many people don’t understand how I could ever have such a nickname.  But sometimes the Queen of Mean still makes an appearance.  So if you take a Meangrrl, and you add gin, which makes a Lanea mean . . . imagine the consequences. 

Mario Batali apparently introduced Anthony Bourdain to a cocktail called a Negroni.  I learned about this drink and Batali and Bourdain’s relationship to it in a webchat with Mr. Bourdain, who knows more about food and adventure than most.  He listed the Negroni as his current favorite cocktail, and then railed against Batali for getting him hooked on a drink made from three things he hates.  Three things I also hate.  It would have been easier for me to ignore the sharp, rusty, toothy trap if
a. I didn’t think Mario Batali was a genius
2. I didn’t know Anthony Bourdain was a genius, and a freaking rockstar.
iii.  Bourdain didn’t hook me first by talking about Guinness in Dublin, where it’s still a live beer.    Nectar of the freaking Gods.  Nectar of the Gods, I say!

Here’s the exchange:

Alexandria, Va.: In all your travels around the globe, please name your favorite beer and spirit?

Anthony Bourdain: Guinness. A pint of Guinness in Dublin. Must be consumed in Dublin. Favorite spirit? I’m into Negronis lately. Three liquors I hate: gin, sweet vermouth and Compari, yet together they’re wonderful. I blame the evil Mario Batali for introducing me to this lethal habit-forming concoction. He will surely burn in hell. His red plastic clogs melting over his cloven hooves for what he’s done to me.

People, cower in fear.  I’m drinking gin.  And I’m afraid I’m a like me some Negroni.  Bitter orange and bitter herbs and horrid vermouth poured into the throat of a bitter, deranged woman. 

Now the sewing can really get underway.  Onward to mayhem.  Mu har har. 

Wooooot!  A peat-cutter found a 1200 year old manuscript of psalms in an Irish peat bog.  And he did the right thing–he immediately covered the book back up, so it wouldn’t dry out, and he got in touch with the National Museum staff.  Atta boy.  If I knew his name, I’d make him cookies.  And maybe even a sweater.  It’s the most important linguistic archaeological find in Ireland in about 200 years.

Irish Times

BBC

Mr Peatcutter, sir, I owe you a pint.  And some cookies.  And a sweater. 

That’s right–I’m betting I’ll stitch a mile sometime in the next while.  Not a short while, mind you, but it will happen.  I wish I had started measuring way back in the way back.

I am in the sweatshop as much as I can stand to be in the sweatshop.  I do need to go to work five days a week, and I’m not going to go as crazy as I normally do with the sewing, but I may extend the crazy sewing season so that the fabric I’ve bought doesn’t eat my studio.

The sweatshop, at this point, includes both my studio and the living room.  Back before Scott and I traded rooms, setting up a cutting table in my studio was not an option.  Now it’s an option, but it’s one that makes me batty.

So, this weekend’s tasks included some more fabric shopping (another 30 yards or so, though much will be saved for later), putting some finishing touches on the log cabin blanket, warping up my inkle loom to make a gift for a friend, washing and pressing about 60 yards of fabric, and cutting out a few garments.  I have much more cutting to do.  Cutting is the worst part, by far, and it occasionally pushes me to the edge.

I’ll assume you know what it looks like to do laundry.  I did really a lot of it over the weekend.  If you don’t know what it looks like to do laundry, don’t be silly enough to point that out.  We will raise a mob, and we will make you wash many many skivvies, Mr. Shirky-Pants.

First: the blanket received a new baby’s name:

Saxon was born to our friends Anna and Sean last week, after a period of reluctance.  Scott, who does not read Stephanie’s blog, wondered allowed at one point whether Saxon was waiting for his blanket to be finished before he’d come out.  I assured him that I neither want nor have that power over anyone’s labor, and that I would have added the name sooner, but Anna and Sean were exercising their parental rights to secrecy.  All is well now, Anna is recovering from a c-section, and Saxon is sure to take over the world with his blinding cuteness.
(I have to add a disclaimer–I really am excellent at embroidery.  This looks bad.  Embroidering on knits is a whole new chore for me.  I will improve.  I will self-flagellate.  I will write sentences if I must.  But I know Saxon and his folks will be happy with this as-is, so I will not dwell.)Update: The blanket has made it to NYC, safe from wool thieves.  They love it.  They, being normal, loving, sane people, had nothing negative to say about the embroidery, and instead said lovely things about generosity and beauty and snuggliness.  I did discourage their inclinations to turn the AC up really high so they could wrap Saxon up in his new blankie.  I don’t want the kid to be cooked (hear that Aes–I am arguing against cooking a baby–the treatment is working), particularly because, if he is cooked, I will be incapable of convincing him that the blanket I made is the best thing ever.

Right.  So.  Warping up an inkle loom.  First, grab the loom.  Mine is from the folks at Brush Creek Woolworks.  It’s rock maple.  This is one of the oldest types of loom in the world, and it basically allows the weaver to put the weaving down and go do other stuff from time to time without losing tension or otherwise causing problems with the weaving.  You can achieve the same results with a backstrap loom, no problem, buy your cats will see your weaving as prey, and you’ll feel pressured to weave the whole thing in one sitting.  I mean, I did.

Next, select the inkle-food.  It’s needs to be relatively strong stuff.  If you have weak or underspun fibers, consider card-weaving instead.

I’m making another all white inkle.  This is where an adult beverage is required.  I made the first for Richard a few years ago.  He asked me for one without ever intending for me to turn it into a terribly difficult task.  I made it very wide and with bratty yarn.  And he loves it, and repaid me by giving me a handmade repro helmet.  And he bragged on it so much that Drac asked for one.  Drac gets one because he asked me right after he gave me a delicious beverage and told me his wonderful wife was pregnant with their first child.  And also, he gave me one of my favorite strands of amber like seven years ago because he liked one of my songs.  That’s forethought.  That’s plotting.  Triksy, that guy.  Here, you see some really fat two-ply homespun from Williamsburg (the bitch of the bunch), some silk lace-weight I double-stranded, some Knit Picks white Wool of the Andes, and some Irish mule-spun that’s inaccessible from the US.

Inkles are warp-faced weaves.  So the way you warp up the loom sets the pattern, and if something isn’t right, you have to re-warp.  No two ways about it.  You’ll see what I mean  . . .

I normally start the design with a band of whatever I plan to use as weft.  That way, the little weft bumps blend in nicely.  In this instance, it’s the WotA.  Cheap, strong, basic.  This will just make a plain stripe.  Since I prefer symmetry, and most of the weavers in the ancient world preferred symmetry, I’ll warp up a pattern, put in one center strand, and then warp the mirror image of the pattern on the other side.

After the plain stripe, I start making checks.  You’ll notice some of the strands above are going over that bar, and some below.  That separates out the sheds.  If the top and bottom sheds are the same, you get long stripes.  If you alternate one yarn above and one below, you can make horizontal bars.  If you switch the top and the bottom yarns every few passes, you get checks.  Sensible stuff, really.

I add the heddles as I go, but lots of weavers don’t.  Heddles keep the sheds sliding past each other as you weave.  These are plastic heddles.  Plastic as in flexible, not plastic as in the stuff-that-makes-Lanea-foam-at-the-mouth.  Many looms use rigid heddles.  These heddles are just tied bits of crochet cotton that I loop over the upper shed strands

And then under the heddle bar

And hey presto, sheds are established.  This is a tabby weave: one upper, one lower, all the way across.

My original plan was to have one band of the fat homespun in the center of the pattern.  My original plan sucked.

See that–there’s no fixing that warble in the center with a shuttle, no matter how sharp.  And the thing is, I made the exact same mistake the last time I made a white inkle.  So I had to re-warp from the center out.  There was some inspired cursing at this point.  Bardic cursing.  If the inkle had intestines, they would have coiled up and blistered.  But rewarp I did, because I made a promise, dammit, and I keep my promises.  Onward!

Also, a lot of the yarn became mysteriously tangled when I went to get more coffee.  The cats made no comment.

The fix caused some loom-wide tension problems.  Luckily, I am a tool user.  And I buy burly skewers.

Once that was done, all I had to do was the rest of the hard work.  Weaving wool is more of a challenge than weaving, say, nice smooth mercerized cotton.  I’m also weaving something really wide for this loom.  And the loom hasn’t been tightened in a while.  It’s like I’m playing Civilization on Emperor level, but with inkles.

Normally you can open a shed by just using your shuttle to lift or lower the right set of strands.  Here, I have to separate the strands with my fingers each time I want to pass the shuttle through the warp.

And then I have to beat the hell out of the wool with the shuttle to make the weft line as clean as possible.

In the long run, though, I think it will be worth it.

Dude, I can see inkle for miiiiiiiles.

The pattern is set now, and working.  Band of plain, followed by sets of checks, followed by bands of thick and thin, and then the same in reverse.

Right.  So that little task took many hours, and it was interspersed with periods of washing, drying, and pressing.  Lots of pressing.
Lots and lots of pressing.

When I hefted that pile, I think it weighed about 25 pounds.  Hubba hubba.

I can stand to iron that much because, well, the crazy.  But also because I made myself a mammoth cutting and pressing table a few years back.  It’s a standard folding table, around 6′ by 3′ or 4′ I think.  I covered it in lots of batting and a few layers of tightly-attached fabric.  It saves my back and it keeps most of the pet hair off of the things I’m working on. 

Here: the first marks of the season.  This is some cranberry Onasberg.  You can’t tell from the photo, but it has a great texture and will be a nice, cool thing for someone to wear in the August heat.  Even better–this color is one that we know was produced way back in the way back.  Ahhhhhh.  Some red and brown linen have also gone under the knife, and some silk-wool check is saying some very provocative things.

Tonight: more cutting, more weaving, and some sewing.  Maybe I’ll even eat something.

There’s been a trend lately, wherein knitters take up sewing.  Lovely aprons and skirts and summery tops are popping up all over the blog-o-sphere.  Grand! 

Which makes me think, maybe not all of the new stitchers have been given all of the secrets.   I started sewing costuming when I was 14.  By 16, I was pretty darn good at it.  Once I got into college, Crazy Lanea’s was firmly established as a time-shredding hobby.  And since it’s crazy sewing season for me, I figured I should share some of what I know and show you all how I work.  So here goes.

Step one: Buy good fabric. 

• I know it seems obvious, but beautiful hand- and machine-sewing is almost entirely dependent on the quality of fabric you’re working with.  Just about every sewing disaster starts with bad fabric (except when the sewer in question has some machine killing curse). 
• Since I make primarily historic costuming for myself and for my friends, I work almost exclusively in linen, wool, silk, cotton, and blends thereof.  Those fabrics were all available to the wealthiest insular Celts in the part of the Iron Age we recreate, and they are all wonderful to work with, so we use them.  Natural fabrics wear well, they’re washable (I promise–we’ve been washing wool for thousands of years), they take dyes beautifully, they breathe well, and they feel good in the hand and against the skin. 
• Perhaps more importantly, because the clothes I make are worn either in hot weather or around fires much of the time, it’s important that I not encase my loved ones in anything that will keep their sweat from evaporating or melt if briefly exposed to fire.  No acrylic, no nylon, no poly, nothing made from petrochemicals.  Never ever ever. 
• If you are sewing for children, please don’t dare make anything from melt-able synthetics, I beg you. 

Step two: Since you’re already at the fabric shop, buy a freaking drawstring pants pattern, already.

• I make a lot of pants, in part because many people I know have terrible luck making their own pants because they refuse to buy commercial pants patterns.  Don’t be silly, folks.  Pants patterns are cheap, and since we’ve already broken the rules by using commercially made fabrics that are woven on looms far wider than the Celts used and dyed with chemical dyes, using a pattern is no cop out.  There is a special little trick to making the crotch of a pair of drawstring pants, and Butterick or McCalls will teach you that trick four $4.  The curve at the front and the curve at the back are different.  I promise you.  And it’s hard to duplicate the curve correctly without a pattern. 

Step three: Buy the right tools and notions.

• Make sure  to get good thread.  Your seams will last longer.  What thread you need to buy depends on what sort of fabric you’re using.  When in doubt, talk to someone who works at the store.
• Get good shears, and don’t use them on paper or leather.  Your hands will thank you. 
• Buy some tailor’s chalk–it is incredibly useful. 
• Get good pins, and lots of them, in a few sizes.  You must must must pin things.
• Get and use an iron and an ironing board if you don’t have them already.  Whattareya, raised by wolves? 
• Get some good small needles for hand-sewing.  Thou shall not machine-hem clothing for living history. 

• That seam will save you money and time.
• You will lose much less fabric to fraying; fabrics will get less knotted up on the dryer, and thus dry more quickly; and it will be easier to iron everything later.  Linen is particularly fond of fraying. 
• I experimented last year–I bought two 3-yard pieces of linen in the same weight from the same source.  One I tossed in the wash without that quick line of stitching, the other I sewed up, proper like.  I dried both in the dryer, and then pressed them.  The one I sewed first was 2 and 3/4 yards once it was pre-shrunk and pressed.  The other one?  2 and 1/4.  $5 gone into the trash and the lint filter.  For a person like me who makes probably 30 garments a year, that’s $150 plus wasted. 
• To make matters worse, all of that frayed mess that comes off fabric you don’t bother to prep may decide to either destroy your washer’s motor or clog up your waste-water line. 
• Also, yes, I am telling you to prewash all of your fabric, no matter what the label says.  All of it.  Yes, the silk.  Yes, the linen, and certainly the wool.  Your wool will full a bit.  That’s good.  That’s what both Celtic and Viking weavers did with their woolens.  They were smart about fabric, because it was so much more valuable to them than it is to us. 
• Once it’s all clean, machine dry all of your fabric that is not woolen.  Yes, I said it–throw everything but the wool in the dryer.  Treat it roughly before you put any effort into cutting and sewing.

Step five: Pull your fabric out of the dryer when it is still damp and iron it immediately.

• It will be much easier to press, and all of your prep work will be done. 
• If you decide to take a break from sewing and the break lasts four months, you’ll be able to start cutting knowing that all of the boring stuff is already taken care of.
• If you’re working with wool, line dry it until it’s fully dry, and then press it lightly. 

Step six: Think before you cut.

• Think a lot.  What’s cut cannot be uncut.
• Consult decent patterns or costuming resources before you do anything drastic.
• Get good measurements of yourself or your victim subject.  It doesn’t matter how well you can sew if you can’t fit a garment.
• Find the grain of your fabric.  If you’re new to sewing or your eyesight isn’t great, mark the horizontal and vertical grain with your tailor’s chalk.  Cutting pieces off-grain will cause you lots of problems later on–patterns won’t line up, hems will never be straight, you’ll get funny puckering where you don’t want it.
• If you’re using a pattern or a finished garment as a template, give some thought to the most efficient or appropriate way to lay out your piece before you cut.  If you’re using a pattern, you’ll need to figure out how to match it up before cutting. 
• Make sure you are leaving yourself decent seam allowances, particularly when working with fabrics that like to fray.  Linen really likes to fray.
• Also think about whether you intend to wear the garment against your skin or as an outer layer.  If it’s likely to be layered over other pieces, give the pieces extra ease.
• If you’re making a tunic or dress, remember to leave enough fabric for a neck facing.  Neck facings are grand things.  Use them.

Step seven: Think some more before you cut.

Step eight: Cut safely and cleanly.

• Keep your pets away from your cutting surface.  If your cutting surface is the floor, vacuum it before you lay out your fabric.
• Lay out your pattern pieces carefully and pin them in place.  If you’re not using a pattern, draw out your shapes with tailor’s chalk, making sure to pay attention to the grain, to any stretching that may occur as you draw, and to any folds and selvages.
• Before cutting, look at the pattern pieces or drawn cutlines carefully from several points of view.  Stand back from your work and look some more. 
• Keep your fingers out of the way of your shears.  Seriously.  Lots of people cut themselves badly while cutting out fabric.  Don’t do it–it ruins the fabric.
• Make sure you are about to cut the right number of backs and fronts, the right number of sleeves and legs, the right number of facings, etc. 

Step nine: Pin pieces together before you start sewing. 

• Just trust me, here.  Your sewn curves will lie flatter, your pants-legs will match up top and bottom, your hems will be easier.

Step ten: Remember that there is such a thing as a seam that is too strong.

• Many of us want to sew things so strongly that they’ll be indestructible.  It’s impossible.  Stop thinking that way.
• Think instead of how to sew things so that they can ultimately be repaired.
• If your seams are too strong because you used too heavy a thread or reinforced them too much, when a stress point finally tears, it will be the fabric that fails instead of the seam.  It’s no trouble at all to resew a blown seam.  It’s a pain in the ass to patch shredded fabric near a seam.

Step eleven, twelve, and thirteen:  Press your seams as you go.

• Again, just trust me.  It will be much easier for you to sew seam intersections, like those in the crotch of a pair of pants.  And your finished garment will lie better against your body.  And you will go to heaven.

Step fourteen: Try the assembled garment on before you start pinning up hems.

• Too short is bad. 
• Uneven hems are bad.
• Having a friend to help measure and pin up a skirt hem is wonderful.  If necessary, bribe a talented sewing friend with baked goods or silk.

Step fifteen:  Pin your hems carefully, and sew them by hand.

• I sew hems by hand on almost everything I make, whether or not it’s for living history. 
• Machine stitching is ugly and it’s inelastic. 
• If you want the hem of a skirt to hang beautifully, sew it by hand. 
• If you want people to notice the beautiful texture and color of your silk noil instead of the robotic staccato of machine sewing, sew it by hand. 
• If you want a neck facing to lie properly, sew it by hand. 
• Hand sewing goes slowly, sure, but that leisurely pace allows you to tweak things ever so slightly in ways you won’t be able to manage while chugging along on a machine.

Step sixteen: If you don’t want to do all that stupid hard work, bribe Lanea to make your clothes.

• I like amber, fabric, yarn, silver, hand-cast bronze things, handmade shoes, money, vacation homes–you can find a way to get me to sew for you. 
• Unless you’re a jerk to someone I love, that is.  And then there’s no hope for you or your wardrobe, and you will have to buy plaid drawstring pants at Wal Mart and hope for the best.  The best will never come.  Move far away, gone guys, and don’t come back.

Step seventeen: Be kind to your handmade garments.

• Don’t leave wet garments in a pile to moulder–if something is wet and dirty, hang it up so that it can at least be dry and dirty.
• Use the gentle cycle with cold water to wash them.
• Soak stains out instead of scrubbing them too much.  If you’ve got a stubborn stain, consult a stain–removal guide.
• Hang your clothes to dry: it’s good for the clothes, the environment, and your electric bill. 
• Don’t leave dark or brightly-dyed fabrics in the sun too long–they’ll sun bleach. 
• Don’t use chlorine bleach: bleach eats wool completely away, it yellows linens, and does cruel things to most other natural fibers. 
• Don’t wash just a couple of garments at a time in a machine: the less stuff in the tub, the more the stuff gets beaten up.
• Use dye magnets when washing red or blue garments that are relatively new.
• Fix tears and holes as soon as they occur.  If I made you something and it’s damaged and you’re not confident about fixing it yourself, ask me to help you.
• Don’t wrestle or fight in any fancy-schmancy stuff I make you, or I’ll cut you off. 

Coming soon: A day in the sweatshop. 

I don’t know where you were on Wednesday, but, damn girl/boy, you should have been with us. 

Claudia wanted to see the Indigo Girls for her birthday.  Dami, in her own Dami-like way, started buying tickets and threatening to buy more tickets and possibly kidnap people and make them have fun, if it came down to it. 

As is to be expected, we met up at the gates and just started laughing.  I think at least one of us was laughing at a time for the next five and a half hours.  Oh, and sweating.  The sweating stopped around 9:00.

We got a great spot on the lawn, and Claudia and Heather appreciated becoming land-owners in Fairfax County, however short the period of ownership:

And maybe they laughed a bit at our very own feral Scott,

Seen here protecting us from some very dangerous shrimp cocktail, if I remember correctly. 

We enjoyed the rest of our dinner and a few adult beverages, and were joined by Jeanne (behind a camera as usual) and Davey and Jenne:

Who had to join the hilarity for a while before the show started. 

We had to encourage Scott to distribute our surplus food to the neighbors.   You know who is happier than a lawn full of (mostly) ladies waiting to see a legendary folk duo?  That same lawn full of ladies eating Heather’s hazelnut brownies. 

We spotted really nice handknits there in the wilds:

I actually tried to get this girl to come over so I could look at her sweater more closely, but I think she thought I was nuts.  I don’t know why:

I was  just sipping my wine and knitting a sock.  One of the girls behind us was a fledgling knitter, and she was both intrigued by the sock knitting and really puzzled that the stranger wouldn’t come play with us as soon as I started calling out for her to come let us see her sweater.  We agreed that the girl with the great sweater had probably received it as a gift, and maybe should have to hand it over to the Birthday Girl Claudia.  And then our knitting neighbor offered to go get the sweater from the undeserving stranger.  Atta girl, neighbor on the lawn.  You are ready to truly lose yourself to knitting.   Unlike most of us, you will really need the bail money I offered you.

I fell hopelessly in love with Natasha’s hair, because, really, who wouldn’t


The color!  The crimp!  The staple length!

Dami got a lovely shirt:

And it’s influence made her even goofier, if that’s possible. . .

And, well, we had a fine time.  A fine time.   

Here are the updated Ring guidelines, as developed on Knitter’s Review.  Please follow them, so we don’t have to move you into the queue:

1. Link to this page with the words "Knitters Review Member",  "Knitters Review Webring", or the ring button.  Don’t link to Molly’s old KR Ring page.

2.  Include, at a minimum, a back and a forward button so people can scroll through the ring.

3. Put your ring code somewhere obvious.  If you put it at the bottom of the page in a footer, you’re not being particularly kind to those people who surf the ring or to me and the other ring checkers.  Rings are fun because they are easy to surf–help the folks on either side of you–not just yourself.

4. Post about knitting and/or spinning regularly.

5. Post something at least once every two weeks.

6. Use the correct code.

* The image link in my code links to my copy of the button image.  Yours needs to link to your copy of the button image.  I am a kind, loving person, but if folks steal my bandwidth (aka, hotlink) unrepentantly, I will toss them out of the ring right quick-like. 

* In the "previous" and "next" links, my number in the ring appears.  In your code, you need to list your number.  If your code is currently working correctly, you should maintain this number as-is.

Several of the kind members of Knitter’s Review are helping me check code throughout the ring. If you would like to pitch in, email me, PM me on KR, or leave a comment below.  More hands lighten the load. 

And now, the official disclaimer:

Disclaimer: This ring is not affiliated with Knitter’s Review. If you have problems with the ring, do not contact KR or Clara. Although she has given us her blessing to have this ring, she is not involved in anyway. Concerns should be sent to me at "lanea AT cox dot net."  Thanks.

Scott just saved a squirrel.  It had fallen off of our roof into a trashcan full of rain-water.  We don’t normally keep booby-traps around to torture the wildlife, but these floods and storms keep getting ahead of us.  Our hero was outside grilling up some burgers and just happened to check to see if any of the cans had standing water.  The poor little squirrel was trying his best to swim–squirrels aren’t the best swimmers, apparently.  When Scott tipped the can, that poor little rodent zipped up a tree and just sat there panting for ages.  I bet his little squirrely life was flashing before his eyes.

I’m expecting he’ll get back to ransacking my pitiful, water-logged vegetable garden any second now.  He’s got some strawberries to finish.   Take all you want, little pal.  I’d offer you a towel, but you seem to need to keep yelling at the empty trashcan.  Take your time.

And for his next trick, the intrepid Scott. . . .  installed the window air conditioner in the sweatshop, no, studio oh, who am I fooling.  Sweatshop.  Woot!  I am sitting at my desk and not sweating.  Life is good.

I finished:

Some very warm socks made out of Rowan Cork

Some blue Trekking socks:

Which reminded me that my grafting has gotten sloppy:

That little ear and ridge will drive me even crazier.  I should read up.

Also, I thought I was done with that log-cabin blanket:

But it had a bad corner:

Which demanded, and received, some attention:

And will be flying the coop someday very soon.

And I did some more experimenting with the sewing machine that ate New York.  The thing is a beast.  It has repaired canvas tents and sewn double-layer super-tarps.  It has sewn deerskin as if it were calico.  I’m pretty sure it beat the crap out of a rampaging bull last week.  It sails through layers of denim and felt and cotton and whatever else I decide to sandwich into a potholder but, well.   . . .  I still hate machined applique.  I hate it like poison:

What can I say?  I’m a girl who thinks machine-made things are inherently uglier than hand-made things.  My Mom, however, really loves the scattered-leaf motif, and she wants this.  And more like it.  And who am I to say no, since it’s so easy to do this way?

Holy crap.  With that kind of attitude, I’m going to start hot-gluing my seams and bedazzling purses.  I’m going to turn into one of those people who lies and says they baked cakes they actually bought at the store.  I’m going to become, dare I say it, less crazy.  Send help.

I swatched and swatched for Print o’ the Wave, and I think I actually have made a decision.  Wonder of wonders.  Proof forthcoming.

But the knitting is in the backseat for now, because I have to make the piles and piles of clothes, and I have to do it now.  I got a lot of linen:

When I say a lot, I mean nearly 20 yards.  I would have gotten more, but apparently they still let the masses shop for fabric during my official season.   Sheesh.

I also got a few good patterned pieces:

The one in the center is a linen blend I’ve used before, and I love it.  Very gauzy, and the pattern is particularly striking in firelight.  The bottom:

Is a really lovely wool silk.

The best bit, though, is that top fabric.  It’s a bi-color linen–green on one side, blue on the other:

I love it so much I want to eat it.  I don’t think I’m willing to share this one.  I’ll tell folks where it came from, though, if anyone wants some.  It’s on sale and everything.

Tonight: a proper post with evidence of knitting, fabric acquisition, and possibly even weaving.    My studio has officially turned into a sweatshop, and it was just too hot to work in there last night.  Tonight, we should be able to put in the window AC unit.  Fingers crossed. 

So I can’t show you what I’ve been up to yet, but I will say that I now own about 30 yards more fabric than I did on Saturday, and more than half of it is linen.  If you’re wishing and a hoping Crazy Lanea will produce you some clothing in time for Celtic summer camp, then start hinting more loudly.  I’m making fewer garments than usual this year.  If you’re really smart, you’ll give me your measurements.  With measurements,  I make folks like Richard and Scott look like they have their own tailor.  Because they do.   Because the former pays with bronze, and the latter is my main squeeze husband. 

Without measurements, Crazy Lanea’s turns into a wacky grab-bag of handmade clothing, wherein I make lots of pants in standard sizes and some tunics to fit people whose dimensions I know well, and maybe a ruana or brat or skirt or dress here and there; and you fret and pester me to let you get to the basket first, and I explain that you have to wait for Richard to finish, because he pays with bronze;  and no you can’t have Scott’s new del; and put down the linsey-woolsey dress now, dearie, cuz it’s mine; and No I can’t make you something from scratch here and now because I’m trying to be on vacation too. 

All of that had a very loving, patient tone.  I swear.  I love you wacky kids, and I love dressing you.  I just hate summer weather.

But let’s get back to the point of my missive. 

This morning: invitations.

A yarn shop map: http://www.frappr.com/yarnshops
A few of us have been adding shops to this, and all y’all should add your favorite shops too.  It’s relatively easy to do, and it makes it fun to plan road trips around fiber.   

A Print o’ the Wave Stole Knit along, which requires no blog: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/wave_stole/ 
This is a wonderful pattern we’re working with.  I am still in the indecisive swatching phase, because I apparently hate to knit lace on any and all of the needles I have.  I’m not sure what to do about that.

Update: It looks like I’ll be taking over the Knitters Review web ring.  Watch this spot for the official spiel. 

Join on in.  And let me know if you really want something pretty to wear.  It is almost time for camp, and I can’t wait.