never stop stitching

work has kept me MIA for the last couple of weeks, and my poor blog has been sadly neglected. i've been up to my elbows in stewardess hats and animal ears and tails for a new stage adaption of 'Martha Speaks'. fun, yes, but it left me little time or desire to tackle my own projects. the show ships out on Monday, so at last i have some time to myself. and what do i do? i start stitching. yup.

i made a pair of pants for one of the characters in the show and loved how the pocket was put in, so i decided that i needed a new skirt with the same detail. after all, spring is coming and my wardrobe could use an update. but was it enough to make a new skirt? oh, no. of course not. so out came the long needle, crochet cotton thread and my G hook. time to make some fancy edging!

the first step was to stitch to the hem of the skirt a nice embroidery chain stitch. in this case, in a multiple of 8. when that was done, i single crocheted all the way around to create a nice foundation for my intended lace border.

to create this particular trim, follow these 2 simple additional row:

Row 1: Ch 1, sc in same space, ch1, skip 1 st, *sc in next st, ch 3, skip 1 st, sc in next st, skip 1 st* continue around, join at end with slip stitch.

Row 2: Ch 1, sc in space formed by joining sc. in next ch 3 space: triple crochet, Picot 3 (for picot: ch 3, sl stitch in 1st loop of chain, creating a tiny loop) create a total of 4 tr/picot combos, then tr once more: there should be 5 tr topped with 4 picots total.

skip next ch 1 space, sc into next tr, skip next ch 1 space.

repeat this pattern all the way around, skipping all ch 1 spaces and alternating the picot/tr cluster in ch 3 spaces with sc in ch 3 spaces.

join at the end with a slip stitch.

admittedly, i'm a bit obsessed with embellishing these days (there was an earlier post on this blog of a skirt i made and created a shell stitch edging when i first learned the technique). but what a fun way to refresh a spring wardrobe! and there are endless possibilities when it comes to crochet borders. aside from many excellent books bursting with edgings and motifs, the internet is lousy with them. then there's the option of going rogue and experimenting. the nice part is, you can always frog what you've done and start over, no yarn wasted and no harm done. and now, i'm off to dig through my closet to assess the possibilities for my 'new' spring wardrobe.

joining worlds

so, as established, i love needle crafts. i love vintage objects. and i love crafty reference books, the kinds that have collections of stitch patterns, motifs, and edgings. this weekend, i found a way to combine these loves. magical!

i've long been a collector of vintage pins. maybe because my mom had such a great assortment in her jewelry box as i was growing up and, as a result, they felt like the item to complete any smart outfit. or it could be because they're a bit of a neglected bit of jewelry, unless they are to indicate the support of a cause or involvement in an organization. whatever the reason, i've always been a fan and they're one of my favorite things to find at rummage sales and second hand stores. for a while i was fascinated with circle pins, which were worn to indicate the purity of the wearer. i also love enameled flowers, chunky and cheerful. i generally wear them on sweaters, or to help keep wrap dresses modestly closed. i also have them as decoration, pinned to a piece of calico fabric on a dowel that hangs in my bathroom. they've even been known to find their way onto my cocktail hats.

this weekend, i was trying to think of other ways they could be worn and thought, 'what about on a crocheted collar?' i've seen collars being worn as necklaces, so i took up my hook and some crochet cotton and started perusing one of my edging books. as i worked, i found that by hooking my foundation row through the back chain loops, a natural curve formed, perfect to go around the neck. and, of course, once i started, i couldn't stop. it's a perfect instant gratification project: each collar took me about 30 minutes and allowed my to really practice my chart reading (i'm less advanced in reading crochet charts than knitting).

the next part was even more fun: pairing the perfect pin with each collar. aside from the joy of looking through a beloved collection, seeing how well suited the pins were for the collars was a lovely discovery.

at some point, i need to write the patterns out and add them to my Ravelry shop, i just need to find a way to create the charts. this has quickly become my new favorite project, and i'm kind of excited to debut them in the world. there's something so charming about these necklaces, and i feel very inspired to play around with other closure and lace options. maybe a drop charm in the center front, with a jeweler's closure in the back? i think there's some experimenting to do!

i don't really have anything philosophical to say in this entry. really, it's just a bit of a show and tell. and i do plan on posting the patterns soon. who knows, maybe i'll start a new trend! or maybe it will just serve as another quirky clothing choice of my own. in any case, it's a super fun project. and now, i'm on the hunt for more pins. hey, at least they don't take up as much space as yarn!

the absentminded crafter

my evening started with a successful quest for an electric knife. i'm an avid baker, and have been especially interested in homemade bread this past winter thanks to a late-in-the-foodie-game discovery of the wonder that is no-knead bread. the only problem with this bit of deliciousness is slicing it. for a while i was looking for a slotted slicing guide, but on the advice of the internet opted for the aforementioned electric knife. and i was thrilled with the result, easily and neatly slicing through a loaf of cheddar chive bread i had made the previous day.

being in my small and cluttered kitchen with yet another nifty appliance, i decided to sort through some large Ikea baskets that had been living on top of my kitchen cabinets that served as storage, possibly since i moved into this particular apartment some 8 years ago. i had a vague memory of having been given my mom's old mandoline slicer and i decided it was about time i dug it out. in the basket was a treasure trove of old thrifting finds from the many rummage sales mom and i had gone to in years past, from an adorable squat electric coffeepot to some fun printed tea towels from vacations past. i was amazed at myself for having neglected these nifty objects for so long!

but then came the shock of all shocks: last year i had gone to my boyfriend's mother's birthday party, where her italian landlady had brought a plate of homemade pizzelle to share. they were beautiful, delicate and delicious and i was filled with baker's envy. that night, i searched for pizzelle makers online and was saddened to see that the price wasn't one that i could justify for an appliance with so specific a use. i considered asking for one for christmas, but soon forgot when other items that would be more useful came to mind. the pizzelle maker remained a wistful dream. that is, until i pulled down one of those huge, heavy baskets and discovered I ALREADY HAD ONE!!!!! yes, i had apparently picked one up at a yard sale some years before for something absurd like $5. it was in perfect condition. i called my mom to tell her of this foolishness, and she said she had a vague recollection of me buying it. now there was only one thing left to do: make some pizzelle.

because i'm THAT girl, i already had some anise extract. i went to the King Arthur Flour website and found their recipe, after doing a general search that suggested that most people made pizzelle in batches of 100 or so (one recipe called for 18 eggs. 18!!!). because i like options, i decided to split the batch and do one half as anise, the other as orange. i found the appliance's manual online and skimmed over it, then promptly disregarded the instruction to use vegetable shortening to season the surface (hey, it had a non-stick coating, what was i supposed to think?). the first 2 cookies stuck, and i took a break to scrape them off and take a look at the instructions again. armed with my Crisco, i gave it another try. by the end of the batch, i had just about gotten the positioning of the dough right to make the cookies spread evenly.

they were as pretty as i had hoped, and super tasty. and now i'm obsessed with the flavoring possibilities...it's like an empty canvas, open to so many variations. and as a child who grew up learning recipes with instructions like 'add shortening the size of an egg', i'm always happy to have the option to add my own spin. my mother is really the one responsible for my love of cooking, and i will be eternally grateful to her for that.

now if only her memory for my thrift sale purchases had been better than mine. think of all the pizzelles i could have made over the last 8 years...! it's kind of heartbreaking.

crafting for it's own sake

sometimes, i feel like my craft work is like a compulsives tic: i simply cannot be sitting idly without my hands working on something. it could be knitting, sewing, crocheting or any number of other hand crafts, but wherever i go i carry a project bag with a variety of options. sometimes i have something specific i'm working on, but these days i'm usually carrying a random assortment of cotton yarns and a set of crochet hooks. 

i've joked in the past that crochet is a gateway craft. at least it was in my case...i started out with crochet because it seemed less intimidating that knitting, but i eventually moved on, following the knitting with spinning and some weaving. for a long time, i left crochet behind me like an abandoned toy and my best friend said in jest (or was it...?) that i had betrayed the craft, become a snobby knitter and now thumbed my nose at my 'hooker' friends. however, in the last few months i've developed a renewed interest and have started to accumulate an increasing number of crochet motif and edging books. i've fallen back in love with the granny square and my favorite thing to do is crank out piles of them, along with various flowers and other shapes.

however, i've noticed something: i've been making them just for their own sake. they don't have a purpose, they aren't intended to be anything in particular. they're all just samples of new technique. one new shape or stitch after another, piling up, becoming default coasters, filling empty bowls and baskets in my apartment. sometimes they find their way onto a pin back or a hat, or i feel motivated enough to make a sufficient number of one shape to create a strand of bunting. maybe they get sewn to a pillow or tossed to one of the cats as a new toy. but for the most part, i'm just making them to do it and i'm finding it to be a very satisfying process.

i guess i'm just a sucker for new techniques. i really enjoy learning new ways to manipulate materials, and it can often be very inspiring when it comes to creating a new pattern. really, the more techniques you have in your arsenal, the more possibilities you find opening up to you. and once again, i find my crafting philosophy making for an excellent life philosophy. the more we study and learn, the more we can see opening up before us and the more satisfying our lives become. when we stay stagnant and refuse to expand our minds we can become very isolated and closed to new thoughts and experiences. 

there is a wonderful sense of fearlessness that comes with learning something new without setting a goal to it. when we try something just to try it. it takes the pressure off and makes the process of learning as fun and satisfying as the outcome. i've heard it said that the journey is often more important that the destination and i believe there to be great truth in that. if we put all of our focus on the end goal, we miss all of the wonderful experiences that lead us there. so i'm going to remember that when i make yet another flower that doesn't have a home picked out yet. and i'll try my best in the journey of my life to smell the real flowers that i pass along the way.

the blame game

i was recently commissioned to make a hat for a knitting publication. it's been a very exciting process of having the pattern accepted, looking over contracts and ultimately receiving 2 hanks of gorgeous hand dyed merino wool in the mail for me to make the sample out of. as i held the beautiful bundles of softness in my hands, i thought, 'and i'm getting paid to do this??? i could get used to this...' heavenly. 

not the yarn in question, as i have to keep it quiet until publication, but instead some of my own handspun as a place marker. yum!

i put the first hank on my swift, threaded it into the ball winder, and turned the crank. it went without a hitch and by the next evening, between my subway commute and lunch break i had a completed sample, ready to ship to the publisher for photographing. perfect! i still had a fair amount of yarn left from the first hank and was told that i could keep whatever was left as long as i sent along a bit for editorial purposes. i started a second hat so i could have one like the one that was going to be in the magazine.

again, a place marker: this is a crocheted hat i designed ,  1920s inspired.

once again, i set up the hank on the swift and started winding the ball. i was slightly rushed, as i was driving out that evening to visit my mom and wanted to get on the road. much to my horror, the yarn started to snag and twist all wrong. my first reaction was to think, 'who wound this hank on the niddy noddy??? clearly, they twisted it crazy and didn't fix it. what terrible quality control!' i started feeling kind of stressed and angry, cursing the manufacturer as every attempt to remedy the situation made it worse. finally, i decided i needed to leave it be until i got back from my weekend visit.

as i drove the familiar route to mom's house, i thought about my tangled mess of yarn. as i worked out how to fix it, i realized something: i was actually my fault it got tangled. when i thought the hank was on the swift properly and cut the threads holding it, i must have looped some of it in the wrong direction because i was rushed. i started thinking about how tangled our minds get when we aren't paying attention and rush ourselves, rather than slow down and simply think and pay attention. i also didn't fail to notice that my first impulsive response was to blame someone else, rather than consider that maybe i had made a mistake. again, this can happen when we're rushing. we jump to frustration and want to justify that feeling by making someone else responsible.

the funny part is, i like untangling knots. i find it soothing and satisfying. and if i hadn't had somewhere to be i would have fixed a cup of tea, put on a marathon of some sort of paranormal investigation program and untangled to my heart's content. so i tried to take a life lesson from this experience: there's no need to succumb to the drama in your mind when something doesn't go the way you expected. minor, and even major, inconveniences are always manageable if we choose to see them as manageable. and in the end, we can untangle our messes. then we can start to knit, which is the fun part. and that's what makes the tangle worth it.

precious

i love my sewing machine. it's a 1942 singer, purchased at a yard sale some years back. the previous owner was an elderly woman (who was present for the sale) who had maintained it perfectly from the day she bought it. every attachment is still in the original box, as well as the instruction manual and the tube of grease that came with it. the only piece that is missing is the original wooden case, which had been replaced with a newer, sturdier one. it was a steal at $50.

in my day job, i work with industrial machines (some of which actually date back to the late 19th century, though have of course since been motorized). they're powerful and purr like a kitten when they run. the first time i used my new old machine, i was stunned to realize that it ran like an industrial. of course, a clue may have been the fact that i could barely get it up the stairs to my apartment, as it is one solid piece of cast iron. and i knew from years ago when i worked as a tour guide at a living history museum that in the past, buying a sewing machine was like buying a new car. it was a necessary piece of equipment for the home and was built to last.

the yard sale where i had purchased it was in NJ, on a vist to my mom's house. she commented when i tested it out at her house that the smell of the machine as it ran brought back vivid childhood memories of  my grandmother working on her own machine, mending and making clothes for her large family. it's a really pleasant smell, kind of sweet and homey. a warm smell. and even though it isn't a scent from my childhood, i still find it strangely comforting.

of course, this ties into my love for obtaining objects with a history. this machine was so lovingly maintained, and was obviously quite precious to it's previous owner. who knows how many dresses for daughters and granddaughters it made, how many trousers for little boys were carefully stitched together. how many quilts were sewn with the scraps of garments that had outlived their usefulness to clothe, but went on to provide warmth in another way. my mind boggles at the history and lifetime this machine has seen.

tonight, i came home with pieces for a quilt that i was making. i was just going to prep some things, but i was instead possessed to complete the top and cut the appropriate size of flannel backing. i'll do the finishing after hours on one of the machines at work, but my little workhorse served me very well tonight. i'll admit i've been browsing around, looking and some fancier machines that do all sorts of embroidery and specialty stitches, with touch screens and memory sticks and designing software. and i am hoping at some point to get one for other projects, but that will be my 'other' machine. i will always turn to my beautiful black and brass Singer as my primary tool. i'll use that amazing 1947 buttonhole attachment that makes the keyhole shapes. because while bells and whistles can be fun and exciting, sometimes connecting with simplicity can be far more satisfying.

come to think of it, that sounds like a good principle to live by in general.

everything old is new again...to me

i think i've always been drawn to things that are vintage. maybe because we had a significant number of family heirlooms around when i was a kid that i had free access to. some were objects, like my great grandmother's stereoscope and i decent collection of cards for it. but many were family photos, dating as far back as the 1880s.some of these were pictures of people i never knew, and many were ones even my older family members couldn't quite identify. my favorites, of course were of my mom and grandma.

Grandma and Grandpa at Asbury Park in the 1920s. When you could rent a swimsuit!

mom in high school, back in the 1940s

forgotten photos are always being unearthed, but there are a bunch that i would look at again and again when i was a kid...mostly of my mom and dad when they were in their 20s. mom worked in the accounting department of a pharmaceutical company for 20 years, starting when she was just 18, and didn't marry until her late 30s. as a result, there are many wonderful pictures of her as a single girl from the 1950s, and i've always found her style of dressing from back then to be incredibly inspiring. her hair and makeup were always perfect, and her dresses were to die for. ah, if only those were still around as the photos are...

i suppose that's why vintage styles are always reflected in my work, especially my millinery. when designing for myself, i am frequently drawn to the eras captured by those photographs, from the 1920s - 1950s. i love going through photos from vintage catalogs and recreating what i see. the colors are often left to my own interpretation, but i try to stay in the range i see in actual samples from the time. it can be a challenge, as a photograph doesn't let you see exactly how things are put together, but that's often the fun part.

Mid 1920s toque, silk and velvet, based on a photo from a Sear's catalog. Photo by Jivelle Callendar

1920s straw helmet cloche. Photo by Jivelle Callendar

1940s inspired hand draped wool cocktail hat. Photo by Jivelle Callendar

i have a goal: to create a hat from every decade, starting around 1900 and working forward. some decades may call for more pieces, as fashion tends to evolve quickly over the span of 10 years. i sometimes go through periods when i get stuck on a certain era, where i'll obsess about veils or flower placement. but i suppose there are worse things to be addicted to than fashion magazines from the 1940s...

cocktail hat with vintage veil and flowers

hand blocked miniature wool fedora. Photo by Jivelle Callendar

feathered fascinator with vintage flowers. Photo by Jivelle Callendar

this could be a lifelong task. every time i do more research, i see a new and sometimes unexpected style. i'm constantly finding vintage bits and pieces to add to the mix. it really is an infinite process. but i can think of little better to do with my time than reconnect with all of that history that came before me and honor it in my own small way. one feather and flower at a time.