I like patchworking. For some time it’s been small(ish) things I made, and only few required quilting.
I like once in a while to make something big, though. So when my Mum talked of buying a new bedspread I jumped at the chance to sew her one. Heaven knows she made plenty of clothes for me as I grew up harbouring a strange notion that I could not wear jeans, only corduroy trousers. I have no idea how many pairs came out of her sewing machine. I just know I loved every pair and wore them all out.
I generally don’t mind quilting big things either. Granted the first fem lines or knots are a bit of a hassle to get done. The rest of it is plain sailing because I dutifully baste together the three layers including the stuffing before I start quilting.
And that part is the biggest obstacle. Bacause as I have no table big enough nor any frame I have to lay it on the floor, sit down with straight legs under it and baste with one hand over and one under. Even though I stitched together more than 400 patches by hand that process feels as if it takes far longer time. My lower back screeches in pain, I stab myself constantly with the needle, and I have to wear my thimble which I otherwise never do for want of feel of the needle.
At least I’m done and can start quilting. This time it’ll be in points, strewing buttons on the pattern at random.
Hence the kisses from Peter Pan: Buttons and a thimble. Oh, how I wish they felt as good as my husbands’ …
Yesterday was St. George’s Day. It may not be of much significance to most people. One exception are English patriots and churchgoers as St. George is England’s patron saint.
Another exception is scouts. As steady readers of this blog know I’m a scout, and though I belong to a non-denominational scout corps we still celebrate St. George’s day. We hear or re-enact the story of George before he was a saint and just was a soldier. He slayed a dragon and so saved not just a village but also a fair princess about to be sacrificed to the dragon. And then he turned down her father’s offer of half the relam and her hand in marriage because a good man does not help for personal gain. He helps because it is his duty to help his fellow man (and princess!)
So we tell the scouts that story and remind them that helping others should always be second nature to a true scout.
Then there’s the part they all look forward to: The handing out of stars.
When I was a girl scout in the YWCA they were real, metal stars. Nowadays they’re just embroidered material that you stitch on to your left uniform pocket. On the star the number shows how many years you’ve been a scout.
My new star says 8. And in my group there’s a custom that once you get that you get no more stars. Instead you just tilt it to show the sign of eternity.
So: Should my star stand up or bend over?
Think I’ll leave it standing. And next year break group consensus and swap it for my old “6”. Upside down, of course.
While it’s all well and good that someone wants to sell my patterns it also means that I have to make cut-out-sheets with all the different parts. Which is far from easy. And all the while my neighbours’ moronic son plays extremely loud, extremely rotten “music” going right throuh two walls, a hedge and several yars of garden.
I tried the Brian Wilson-cure. No good. Instead of Good Vibrations it was more like
“(I’m picking up): I’m seeing these big frustrations / it’s being exasperating” – repeat ad nauseam.
Only when I pain-stakingly made grid after grid in the different sizes of some of the parts did it help. In part. Because I obviously can’t get two grid next to each other in spite of ample room. And I can’t draw up all the parts because a grid does not allow for a diagonal line.
It seems it’s back to hand-drawing, scanning and clip-art. A hassle, in other words.
Oh yes and of course I just got a rejection from one of the two still possible publishers. I see more grids looming.
Perhaps I should just call up the other publisher, ask him straight out and then start selling those patterns individually.
Some of them are actually easy to draw up. And an opening in one shop could be openings in other shops too.
And once those pattern pieces are made I just need to store them safely. Yup, I could be cathing a few Good Vibrations too.
I write. Not just this blog (and another one in Danish) but also fiction. Sometimes I write non-fiction too when I describe some of the patterns et c. I make for various craft projects.
And when you write you get – at least some people get – the notion that someone might want to publish your writing. So you send off a manuscript to veraous publishers, big and small.
And then you wait. Watch your mail box for at least an auto-reply that tells you that your heart and soul reached their destination. And you wait some more.
From time to time you loose patience, often as not only to wish you didn’t because the long-awaited answer is a refusal.
And then just once in a while you get a chance. This just happened to me even if it was in disguise: I wrote up descriptions with lots of snaps of a select number of patchwork patterns and looked for publishers specialising in the field. Then I wrote to those publishers. Finally I posted in a patchwork group on Facebook if others had good suggestion of “never fail always good books” from a specific publisher.
That was when chance entered the equation. A group member with a shop wrote to me because she could well want to sell my patterns in her shop.
The lesson I learned from this? Just the usual: Timing is what makes chances occur.
I’m not sure how much it reveals about me that I – often as not – think of titles of songs or movies when writing a title for a new post. This time it’s 10 CC.
The thing I currently do for love is basting. Usually when I sew my box of pins is all I need. To me basting is just a way to waste time sewing seams twice. Yet now I do precious little but baste.
The reason is the bedspread that popped up in two posts already. But hey – since I hand-sew my patchwork I have to baste them into correct size first. Which takes time because there are 468 of them.
Bringing me back to things we do for love: It’s for my darling Mum. She deserves all the love I pour into the work.
I’m a scout. And not only that, I am in the Danish Scout Corps.
Though it may sound that way this doesn’t mean there’s only one scout corps in Denmark. There’s the YMCA which also has girls. The old YWCA which has only girls. Tha baptist scouts which are a minority. A parallel to the Boys’ Brigade which aren’t really scouts and whose certain-shade-of-blue uniforms earn them the nickname “the Smurfs”. And then there are us. Non-denominational and gender-mixed.
I know from big camps with guests from the world that the uniform is generally taken seriously. Kept clean and pressed, badges only there for one year.
We take our uniforms more loose.
Camp wrist bands on the back, old yearly stars on the collar, a wolf’s paw print, an activity I half-failed and another I found half-dull on the yoke. This bit of embroidery on the right sleeve:
Left sleeve is even worse, filling up with tour and camp badges. This garment represents a LOT of hand-sewing. And the uniforms in general? Just as personal as this one.