perfect pants

As I mentioned in an earlier post, I sew - but not always successfully.
I stumbled upon some sewing blogs - created by women with not-model shapes, but with a love for clothes and sewing. How inspiring!
And did I mention that many of the pants in my closet are getting worn out? So I grabbed a pants pattern, and began making it fit (This started a while ago - the first fabric I attacked was a wool tweed in browns.) I made a pair, and they were (of course) unwearable. But I made some notes about what had to change, altered the pattern, and sewed up a second pair. These are good enough, and I wore them several times already. I did throw them in the washer and dryer, and they might have shrunk even more -

I made further changes to the pattern. It's just a no-pocket, elastic waist pant - you'd think it would be a no-brainer. I do add a pocket inside the waistband, because pants without pockets are not practical, but this way, there is no gap-open. Last week, I sewed a pair of pants from dark gray dollar Wal-Mart fabric. They fit me perfectly! So I made a pair of dark chocolate stretch gabardine, and they are a joy. Yesterday I cut out stretch denim in a dark blue with a pinstripe. I bought an avocado twill for another pair. My wardrobe is looking up.

About two weeks ago, I had a new pattern and the fabric I am going to use - a batik cotton in greens. I had them in my hands. Now I can't find them anywhere. sheesh!

I also began adjusting the pattern that I use for a plain top - over the head, no buttons, zips or snaps. You'd think again, that not much changes are necessary. But I made a dark-blue-on-teal print knit top that looked crummy. I changed the sleeves and shaped the sides to curve a bit - very minor changes, and now the top looks good. I have two gorgeous pieces of silk dupioni - a copper color and a green, and as soon as I am brave enough to cut them, they'll be done in a flash.

I love to sew, and in the time I spend in three different stores trying on 14 things that don't fit, I can make an item that fits and flatters.

water droplets

or, what I did to my porch

first picture is my screen porch to the south - second is the view to the west- third is the view to the north from my screen porch

We love living in the woods. BUT...
The &*()(&d@%#$ elm trees spread these long hanging jewels of pollen fronds that are perfectly engineered to get caught in our porch screen. Each late spring, early summer, I have a thick dusting of this powder over everything , and the screens are so clogged that it is actually blurring the view. I have to VACUUM my porch screens, and vacuum the little gaps between floor boards, and vacuum my metal mesh outdoor table. And you can see the trails on the screens where I have and have not vacuumed. I don't even want to talk to you about how this mess affects my allergies and sinus.

I knew there had to be a better way.
Earlier this summer, I decided that I was feeling a lot more energetic, so I bought a pressure washer, and cleaned my porch. Sounds easy, doesn't it? Well, let me start with the fact that I had never used one, and never seen one used, and the outside spigot is MILES (well, really...) from the porch. Let me also add that , at the time, the yard had not been mowed THIS YEAR.

So I was wearing myself out, sweating profusely, just trying to extract the hose from the thigh-high weeds, because apparently, a kink in the hose won't allow it to build up any pressure, and you might as well just sprinkle water from a cup, and take back the &(**(@$& thing, and get your hundred dollars back, and...

So I finally got some pressure built up, though it was an hour and a half later before I actually got to use the thing. It really works!! I can actually SEE the difference in color of the boards where I wash. I thought the graying was attractive, and a natural aging, and irreversible. I just wanted to get rid of the green, mossy-looking parts. But, no, the gray IS reversible, and I can see the GRAIN of the wood on my porch!! And it takes forever, because every porch baluster has THREE SIDES that I have to wash, and each side of each piece of wood needs MORE THAN ONE PASS, because I can't seem to hold the wand steady for more than ten inches. And I have to wash the screens too, because, again, you can see the trails where I have washed and where I have not.

I was already tired - did I mention that I have no stamina - so I finished the thing a couple days later.

We've lived here ten years, and this is the first time I've pressure washed anything, but it leaves the wood beautiful, and I never want to do this again.

The directions say you are supposed to let it dry for two days before sealing. (Sealing????)

Hoping that a wood sealer would mean I don't have to do this again.... All of them are tinted, apparently, so I pick up a gallon of honey brown, and buy three paint brushes, and .... did I mention that I have to paint THREE sides of every baluster, and FOUR sides of the ones down the stairs, and the stairs, and the stair rails, and.... I ran out of oil stain.

A week after I bought the washer, I finished the porch. It is gorgeous, and it is water resistant, and I have seldom been so physically tired in my life. Now, how do I enter this in my exercise log? It's very physical - moving, bending, stretching, in the heat, sweating.

The next week I started the other porch, on the west side. They took hours, and three gallons of oil stain, and probably three gallons of sweat, but they are beautiful.

handmade ice cream

A recent question on the Spark People Breast cancer survivors team was about your favorite ice cream. Mine isn't a flavor, but an experience.
We used to live near Woods Hole MA, and for a few years they had an annual town festival. A couple of times my husband and I and another couple made hand-cranked fresh fruit ice cream. We made about four freezers full beforehand, and had another four going all afternoon. The little kids would get a free taste if they cranked for a while. It was so much fun! And delicious! I think the best might have been real peach.

Then, near where we live now, a little park used to have a fourth-of-July picnic. At least one year they had the kids making their own ice cream in ziplock baggies. You put your ingredients in a pint size. Then you put that bag and ice and salt in a gallon size bag. Then you mash on it. It's magic! I don't remember it being quite so delicious, but the kids will never forget it.

What I learned from Tyra

I hate Tyra Banks.
So why am I addicted to her show?

All these scrawny 18 year olds who think that the most important thing in the world is to look beautiful - and to look more beautiful than the other 12 girls in the room. I am disgusted by their anguish over a nose that isn't quite as small or as straight as they want. I am astonished that they think they should win just because they want it so much.

And I am pondering plastic surgery, myself. I may allow someone to cut me open, readjust tissues, and insert drains that I will have to clean for a month while the scar slowly heals, and then feel pains for a year while nerves regenerate awkwardly.

And it is because of vanity. And because I want so much to win, and this surgery may be a symbol to me of winning. I want a breast again. I want to be balanced.

she's a killer

Caution - for anyone reading this who has a weak stomach - skip this one.
You see - there's nothing like the smell of entrails in the morning. Well, really - they didn't smell at all, out on the porch in the damp breeze. But the sight was quite a shock. I won't describe it in detail. Let's just say - way too big for a mouse - and not, well, I know not a rabbit. (see post about the farm.) I'm feeling all CSI about this - decoding clues.

So, we have entrails, and blood spots - just two really, dry, and bright red.

(aside - I always thought that the CSI, Bones, whatever, scenes where the blood is still bright red were so fake - they should be burgundy or bronze, or even dull brown at an hours-old murder scene. But no, these were dry, but bright, crimson, cherry, red.)

So we have entrails, and blood, but what drew me to the porch to begin with were tiny drifting puffs of fur. Not cat or dog hair, which I know intimately from the froths that fly up when I pet the cat, and from the random smattering left on my clothes after the dog, who I thought was not shedding, gets off my lap. (oooo CSI again) No, these were wild-animal colored, smaller than my smallest fingernail, softer even than my cat, and not attached to - anything (Thank God!) I reached down to pick up one, then another, then I suddenly saw a dozen, no, twenty fluffs in the wind or against the screen. And then I saw the entrails.

She's a killer.

I knew this.

My cat has brought me several presents over the last year. It started with whole, unmarked, tiny shrews, left on the mat outside the kitchen door on the porch. I was proud of her - I think an animal needs to express its instincts. Cats hunt. That's how they live. And she was giving me gifts of her love, of her skill. They do that. I was proud.

Then, unfortunately, only half of a shrew. Then, half of something else - I think it may have been a flying squirrel - its tail was long and fluffy - but not as long or as thick as a squirrel - perhaps a baby squirrel? No, I raised a baby squirrel once - and its tail, even when it was small, was relatively long and fluffy.

Then, more unfortunately, half of something else. Judging only by the haunches and long tail - maybe a baby rat. But the tail wasn't really a rat's tail. It had hair. quite a bit of hair - It had been a male.

Now, let me stop here and explain that I am not a scientist. But I have an enquiring mind - love all the SCI/Forensics shows, all the Medical examiner books, am almost as analytical as Bones (not as smart, of course, but nearly. -- 8^)] ---) And I have lived on a farm - killed and cleaned chickens and rabbits and geese and goats. And yes, I ate them, and I decided that if I was going to eat meat, I'd better be able to kill it - but that's another post.

But never entrails. Until today.

Of course, there was that one time she left me something that really looked like a kidney. It was small - about the size of my thumbnail, and firm, and not moist, but not dried out either - but not bloody - and no entrails. Bloody entrails on my porch in the morning before I've even had coffee - that's not really a gift, honey.

So she's a killer - and a gift-giver - but no more entrails, please!

mouse n the house

So a few days ago, late one evening, my cat was acting strangely.
The porch door was open, so she can come in and go out as she wishes.

She came in, went to the back of the couch, and seemed to be smelling or watching. Then she ran around to the front of the couch, and tried to get her paw under it. Then back around - you get the idea. Suddenly I realized that she was hunting something. I may have already mentioned that she brings me small gifts from time to time. Always before, they were non-moving. I went over and raised the couch so she could get it. She missed. It ran under the loveseat. I lifted the front of the loveseat, and it ran back. We did this a couple of times. It's a big, heavy couch, and I was getting madder.

Finally it ran to the fireplace and climbed up a few inches. My stupid cat now COULDN'T SEE IT, although it was only about 4 inches above her head, so I pointed it out. I was beginning to feel like a Keystone Cops episode. Then it jumped and ran over under the tv stand. The cat was running from one side of the tv stand to the other, again, doing the ineffective clawing the air trick. Again I tried to help her, because it was beginning to look like I was going to have a live mouse in the house otherwise.

I got on one side of the tv stand, trying to scare it over to her. But there are a lot of wires back there, and she seemed even more ineffective. The mouse, tired, now, probably having heart palpitations, scuttled into the corner on MY side. I realized that this could go on for a while if I didn't intervene. My arm was JUST long enough, and to my total surpruise, I was able to grab the mouse's tail, and whip it out from under the tv upside down.

My catwas beside herself, and beside ME, and she just about tripped me trying to get to the thing. I headed straight for the porch door, and flung the mouse out into the garden. I have no idea if it survived, but I didn't see any evidence that she got it again. (See note on entrails)

I went straight to the bathroom and washed my hands for five minutes solid, shivering every now and then. I'm not afraid of mice, but this one was either stupid, rabid, or wounded, and I TOUCHED IT!!! Erggggh!!

I no longer leave the porch door open.
And, yes, I was too busy to get a picture!!