Cats!

Right in the middle of my hemming!

And I wonder why sewing takes so long.

Icing

I have a mental list that resides in the back of my head. It's full of all sorts of cool stuff that at some point I want to a) try and then b) become really good at. Somewhere on this list is icing cakes. Icing cakes is a deceptive art. While you would expect it to be finicky, which it is, you would not necessarily expect it to be temperamental. There are some times when you just can't get the icing to adhere to the iced cake or it's gotten too warm so it's not holding it's shape or the colour is not at all the shade you needed. But also, it is surprisingly expensive. It's one of those arts where you need quite a bit to start up and while each piece, in themselves, are quite reasonable, the final bill is not.

So when I discovered the tips on sale at a local culinary store at a mere twenty-five cents, I carefully chose to ensure that I got nearly one of each style. The fact that all the basic ones were gone and I was getting the exotic tips did not bother me. I could still buy the basic kit and not duplicate what I already had. I ended up buying just short of twenty. I was thrilled. Until I realised that I had neither the coupler nor the bags. These were not on sale and as it was a proper store which sold better quality icing bags, they were more expensive than your normal run of the mill bags. In fact, they were German made and guaranteed to be heavy duty and long lasting. The bags and the couplers cost much more than the tips.

I only have two bags. On a proper cake, two different colours is not enough. Icing bags are a pain to wash too. This I remember. There's enough fat in the icing that the bags continue to feel greasy after they've been washed and rewashed. You don't want to be washing bags to change colours in the middle of a cake.

No matter, I told myself. I only needed two to practice. It wasn't as though I was going to be washing a cake anytime soon. I didn't even have icing sugar.

So I made sure I bought icing sugar just in case the whim to practice cake decorating hit me. As far as I was concerned, I had everything I needed.

Then it did hit me - I was baking cookies and decided that I could practice my decorating on them. Practicing on a tray is such a waste.

So I pulled down my cook books to look up the recipe. I discovered to my horror that the recipe called for egg whites. Great, now I was going to have egg yolks which cause problems in themselves, because you have to use them up. This normally leads to making something ridiculous like Bernaise sauce. I needed three egg whites. I didn't want three egg yolks. I contemplated making a third of the recipe but decided not to.

I did however still want to decorate my cookie. I'd made it especially large on purpose. So I decide to make sugar paste instead.

I'm pleased to say that it turned out quite well.

Although I still have to practice with the icing bags.

Soap

I realised this morning that I have a relatively large amount of soap. Not only do I relatively have a lot of soap, it's rather good in quality. The nice thing about good quality soap is that, as long as you choose wisely, it smells really nice and lasts a very long time. These two qualities are what got me hooked on expensive soap in the first place. I reasoned that if it lasted practically forever then the higher upfront cost was offset by the lower long-run cost. Instead of having to remember to buy more soap every month, I would have the luxury of forgetting about it for months at a time. Furthermore, I would have the better scent and feel of an awesome bar of soap.

My mother introduced me to the joy of quality soap when we discovered that Winner's or Home Sense carry quality lines of soap at a cheaper price. There's something rather nice about deciding whether you prefer Rose to Lavender, or whether you like Mandarin Orange with or without Ginger, how you feel about Bluebells, Lillies,, countless other flowers and combinations of flowers, Linen, Oatmeal, Milk, baby powder, cocoa butter; if you would like freshly milled, if you wish it molded or in bars, the size of bar.... In fact you can spend quite a few minutes sniffing lots of bars of soap looking for the right combination of all the factors. Once you've made your decision, then you have a wonderful sense of expectation - the joy of a new bar of wonderful soap. It is critical to get it right however. For if you don't like it, you will be stuck with it for what will seem like an eternity.

Lush also has wonderful soaps. These tend to be less classical in texture and scent but rather appealing in their brightness of colour and fabulous scent combinations. I had never indulged as I always deemed it to be on the expensive side. Then they had a tremendous sale. Three for the price of one. It was too good to pass up. I choose three in a reasonable size. They recommended cutting a slice of the main block to prevent wastage from the soap sitting in a puddle. I happily cut off two slices from two separate types and put the rest away.

In the morning, I now have a wonderful choice. Do I wish to use my traditional and very girly rose soap, my perk-you-up-as-you-would-rather-still-be-in-bed citrus soap(which has had the added bonus of stinking up my bathroom, in a good way, ever since its arrival), or the spicey can't-remember-what-the-scent-is-supposed-to-be soap? I spent a couple weeks enjoying the array of choice.

However, this morning it struck me that none of these lumps of soap was in any way noticeably diminished. In fact, except for some bubble residue, they were pretty much the same size as before. I did a mental check of my stock of soap and suddenly realised I had a massive stock pile of soap and I only had a few bars.

It turns out that one aspect of nice soap is in fact one of its worst qualities. My small soap pile will last a very very long time. I haven't been able to precisely determine how long it will last. Right now, it seems that by showering twice daily and three times on the week-end, I might be able to justify buying more soap in a year or so. And that's an optimistic outlook. Perhaps, I'll justify it away by calling it a soap collection. Which would also enable me to buy more . . . . hmmm.

Shirt Making VIIII

The problem with using Roman numerals is that when you approach the X, it's taken too long to do whatever you're doing. No list should hit X.

My shirt now has two finished cuffs. One was finished a long time ago. The other one is newly finished. I wish I could say that it was done without a hitch. It wasn't. As the fabric is gray and all the seams are flat felled. I can't tell the wrong side from the right side unless I look at the plackets. I edge-stitched the cuff and the line was a bit wonky. It wasn't wonky enough to justify ripping it out, not when I was determined to press on. Then I realised that I had sewn on the wrong side so that the seam had to come out. The new seam, sewn correctly, was an awesome seam. I was glad that I had to redo it.

Tonight I have attached the collar. It's not quite finished. I have to press, trim the seam, press again and then edge-stitch. The instructions called for the inside of the collar stand to have one side sewn up - an effective hem. However, hemming anything curved invariably leads to a pucker. I couldn't tell why this seam needed to be sewn there so omitted that stage. So far so good. However, I shall soon find out if that was a mistake.

All that remains is the hem and the buttons. Hems don't count. They're not difficult. Buttonholes and buttons do count. Screw up a button hole and you've screwed the entire garment up. Sewing buttons on by hand takes forever. I'm always scared that I won't sew them on tight enough. The whole process calls for a stiff drink.

Retail Therapy

Recently work has been a bit much. Quite frankly, as far as I'm concerned there's been too much coming my way. I've started working through lunch, which leads to my mind getting zapped and more mistakes being made. I've also ended up working late. I defy anyone to say that I haven't yet entered the real world. I have and I want out.

My latest Burda magazine had come in so at lunch I went to get it. My theory was that taking time off would save me time in the long run. On my way to Darrell's, I started musing about indulging in some retail therapy. As far as I could tell, it would not be hard to justify. One of my friends had attended a training course and described to us how utterly awful the experience had been. She finished her story saying, "And then I walked through the mall on the way home and I was feeling so bad I went into Banana Republic. I bought a skirt, a pair of pants, two tops and a sweater." We looked at her aghast. The mall was the shortcut for the way home, going through the mall was entirely reasonable. To our tentative questions, she gaily answered, "no guilt. That's how bad it was. I mean it's been several days now and no guilt. Retail therapy."

I need a new pair of jeans. I mused about indulging in a good pair this week-end. Except that finding the perfect pair of jeans comes closer to torture. I wasn't in the mood for more torture. I couldn't think of anything that I wanted. I knew that retail therapy was in order and I couldn't think of what would make me happy.

At Darrell's, I was relieved to find that there was no fabric that tempted me. I have enough fabric and unfinished projects at home that I wasn't going to add more. So I flipped through the magazine and bought it. Then as I stood there talking to Darrell, my eye glanced at the linings behind the counter. Ohhh. The paisley lining for the jackets.... The rare and will never get it in again paisley lining for the jackets.... They are gorgeous.

"Are those the linings?" I ask, "Can I see them? Don't let me buy them." Darrell pulls them off the shelf. Amazing.

He's starting a jacket course in a few weeks which I'm not taking. I know that everyone in the course will buy the patterned lining. There will be none left. This is a problem. I want these linings. I just don't want them now. I want them in several months. I start to think.

It's only two dollars a metre more than the regular lining. Ah-ha. And I need less than two metres. I would totally pay five dollars more to have a lining like that. I'm just not making a jacket anytime soon. But this is totally classic. It will never not be elegant and sheer amazing. This is an investment. In a trance, I say I'll have some of this one.

Darrell cuts it, chattering away. He says how this is the slow time so he could ill afford to buy it himself but he's never seen anything like it since he's been in business. Like me, he knew he had to get it now. He carefully folds up the piece. He catches me eyeing one of the other ones. He looks at me and raises his eyebrows. I nodd.

So he cuts that one too. He talks about how he was at a recent event for his partner's work and how well-dressed the men were and how poorly dressed the women were. There were the awards for the best salespeople and those winning them were making insane amounts of money. A woman won an award for the top grossing sales. Darrell pauses for emphasis, "Kim you would have died. She was wearing a black polyester backless dress with a fake feather boa. I mean . . ." he goes off slagging her outfit. "No one there was wearing silk. It was all synthetic. All these women making all this money and they can't dress. It was unBELiVable." I quickly mention my new all wool skirt, lined with cotton.

And so we chat and as we chat, I can feel my spirits lifting and my mood improving. We spend a good chunk of time, just passing the time talking about nothing in particular. When I had left work, I had felt awful. I now feel so much better. Retail therapy works wonders. And the fact that I now have two new incredible linings doesn't hurt.

Shirt Making VIII

With some trepidation, I put the presser foot down, held the threads to the left with my left hand, while turning the wheel with my right hand. I gently pushed the pedal. With a slow soft whirling noise, the fabric started to feed through the sewing machine.

I guided the seam carefully, apprehensive about not keeping the correct margin. I held my breath as I turned the corners and as I carefully backstiched the seam. When the seam was finished, I slowly exhaled. A slight feeling of elation followed. I had done it.

At some point, my machine had gone on the fritz. It started skipping stitches and the tension was off. I had tried to fix it but I had been unable to notice either an improvement or a deterioration in the situation after fiddling around with the knobs. In the end, it had become apparent that I needed to take the whole machine apart, clean it, grease it and put it back together.

Over a period of time, I had done the necessary google search to ensure I knew what I was looking for, and I had bought the correct lubricant. I had taken the machine to bits, cleaned it and miraculously gotten it back together again. Even more amazingly, the machine had still worked once I had reassembled it. And the tension was once again correct.

Yet still, I did not dig out my shirt. I had a challenge for my sewing group that took priority. After hours of considerable consideration, I had chosen the pattern, cut out the fabric and assembled the skirt. As always, the skirt did not fit. However, I decided that when the group next met, they could help me to fit it. Then to my astonishment, the leader of the group decided to cancel the group. I had spent hours to create a garment that did not fit and I had no means of getting the necessary help to make it fit. I shall bypass the extreme mutterings that I uttered.

It was around this time that I got my knitting back out. I'm in the process of knitting an afghan. It doesn't have to fit and there is no chance of a mechanical failure. I began to understand why my mother had seemingly gone off sewing and done more knitting.

Then earlier this week, in a sudden burst of energy, I rearranged my apartment. I managed to squeeze in a sewing corner. A table where I could leave the machine and the work. An area where I would not have to clean it up but could leave it for when I had a spare moment to sew a seam. Tonight I pulled out my machine and set it up.

I got out my shirt and looked at it. I looked at the notes from my class. They were as clear as mud. A mild sense of panic started to form. I was so close to the end and I had no idea what I was to do next. Well, I did know what I was to do next but I didn't know what to do after that. I was tempted to put the shirt away again. I was scared that I wouldn't be able to hold the seam straight. I was worried that the machine would start acting up again. I felt that I wouldn't be able to do the precise sewing that was required. In short, I imagined that I would not be able to do it. Even worse, I knew that I wouldn't be able to do it.

I had a slight dilemma. I decided that the next seam was not that difficult and I could do it. I had to do it. So I sat down and I did the seam. That's all I did. I haven't trimmed it or pressed it. I haven't done another seam. However, I think that I can do the next seam. I'm not as scared anymore. The machine didn't skip or eat my fabric so I no longer need to worry about it.
I stopped after my one seam to celebrate my tiny victory. I decided to stop while I was ahead. Tomorrow, I'll do a little bit more and maybe the day after, I'll do another seam or two. In fact, some day, I might finish the entire thing.