Stacyverb

Quality vs. quantity

Last weekend, I boxed up a bunch of clothes to drop off at the thrift store.  Among them were quite a few me-made garments.  In the past, I've been reluctant to get rid of handmade items.  But my standards seem to have gotten higher, and now I just want these things gone.

 

Here’s a me-made blouse I've been wearing since 2005 or so, despite several problems that I kept rationalizing.  Such as: I sewed the cuffs on backward (oops).  There’s a little stain in front (I can just wear a sweater over it).  It doesn’t actually fit right (oh that).  This was one of the first "tailored" garments I made for myself, and I was quite proud at the time (backward cuffs notwithstanding).  But let's be honest: it's poorly tailored.  The whole body is too wide, and the shoulder seams hang way below my actual shoulders.  In the years since I made this blouse, I’ve figured out how to deal with my very narrow shoulders when I'm sewing.  So now I’ve finally reached a point where I look at this garment and go, NO.  It has too many problems.  I no longer feel cute in it, just sloppy.

 

Speaking of sloppiness, here are three skirts I've been wearing with safety pins taking in the waistbands, because they're all way too big (the downside of regular exercise).  Yet I continued to wear them.  The orange one in the middle is me-made, and I’ll need to replace that soon, because my summer wardrobe depends heavily on having an orange skirt in the mix.

The other two came from thrift stores anyway, so why cling to them?  I almost got rid of the black one during a previous closet purge, but I thought, "No, you need a black skirt!"  As if another black skirt (that actually fit) would be so hard to come by! 

The white flowered one I shouldn't have bought in the first place.  It was too big when I bought it, but I was blinded by its beauty.  And it was $3.29.  I figured that judicious use of safety pins would make it work.  Ditto a pair of me-made black pants (not even worth photographing).  I've kept “making do” with all these too-big garments that wanted to slide right off my body because I figured, hey, I'm sitting down anyway, so there's nowhere for them to go.  Ugh!  I’m now realizing just how many of my garments are wearable only because my wheelchair holds them onto my body.

Anyway.  I'm tired of making do, and no longer interested in keeping clothes that are almost fine.  And honestly, although my sewing skills have vastly improved over the years, I'm clueless about alterations.  So these things are going bye-bye, to make room in my closet for new things that fit and are flattering.

Do you hang on to clothes unnecessarily?  If you make your own garments, do you find it harder to get rid of those, even when you know they're not working?

Scenes from a wedding

This weekend we had the pleasure of celebrating the wedding of one of the coolest couples we know. Thanks, Joe and Rebecca, for inviting us to this fabulously fun party.  May your marriage be filled with this much joy and laughter for many years to come!

 

Author Talk: Anne and Sam Lamott

Last night, as part of the Dekalb County Public Library's Author Talks series, I went to a reading by author Anne Lamott and her son, Sam.

When I learned about the event a week or two ago, I debated about whether or not to go.  Lamott's book Bird by Bird is a classic about the craft of writing, and I've owned a well-loved copy of it for years.  But to be honest, I haven't read any of Lamott's other books and wasn't particularly interested in the topic of the talk, the new book on which she collaborated with Sam about the birth of his son and her own transition into grandmotherhood.  So I was torn, but in the end I decided to go.

 

Sam and Anne Lamott

 

The Lamotts took turns reading passages from the new book, Some Assembly Required, and bantered a bit in between.  The readings were funny, and moving, and the familial chemistry between mother and son was clear: these are two people who genuinely not only love, but like each other.  After the readings, they took a few questions from the audience.  Some were about this book specifically, while others were about the craft of writing.  It was nice to see that I wasn't the only one who came to the event because of BbB.

Following the Q & A, the Lamotts signed copies of SAR.  As the crowd began to form a line, Anne made her way to the signing table and passed by where I was, and stopped to chat with me.  She saw I was holding my copy of BbB and graciously offered to sign it (so often, authors won't sign anything but their current book, let alone a dog-eared paperback copy of an old one).  She was very kind, and before she continued on toward the signing table, she thanked me for coming and gave me a hug.

 

Anne Lamott and me, now BFFs (well, okay, not really)

 

Hearing Lamott speak in her honest, funny way about writing reminded me that it's important for me to make time for literary "stuff" in my life--writing, reading, and talking to others who love those things.  Even just flipping through BbB while I was waiting, re-reading passages I'd underlined long ago, I found myself nodding a lot and thinking, "YES, that makes sense."  I'm really glad I decided to take a chance on this event.

Snapshot: Mermaid Access

Restroom at Harbour Bar & Fish House

Finished: "Magic Beans" Simplicity 2614

Those of you who come to this blog for sewing content haven't had much to see in a while.  But today, I present to you my fourth version of Simplicity 2614! (Here are my first, second, and third versions.)

This time I decided to make the short cuffed sleeves from View C, although I didn't make View C's tie neck.  The tie neck really isn't my style, plus I'm trying to focus on making tops that are more simple and less fussy in the collar area.  During some of the me-made challenges in the past two years, I kind of became known as the authority on wacky-print, button-down blouses.  It's a mantle I bear proudly, but I also think there's a fine line between having a trademark look and being in a rut.  So for my spring and summer sewing at least, I'm aiming for no collars, and fewer buttons.

Simplicity 2614 is the perfect answer.  The views without the tie neck have a simple, faced (collarless) neckline, and with the fabric cut on the bias, the top has enough give to pull on over the head without any buttons or zippers.

 

The fabric selvedge said the name of this print is "Magic Beans" by American Jane for Moda Fabrics.  I got mine at Whipstitch, where they also had several other colorways in stock.  After I bought this fabric with S2614 in mind, I briefly had second thoughts, because with such a definite stripe, the bias-cut sections would end up looking diagonal.  But I'm glad I went ahead with it, because I actually really like how it looks.  In different parts of the garment, the print looks variously horizontal, diagonal, and vertical.  The print becomes much more dynamic instead of just being a static repetitive stripe.

 

Oh, Simplicity 2614, how I love you!  Readers, I have a feeling you haven't seen the last of this pattern on this blog.

I just know some of you out there have made this top.  Leave me some links to your versions--I'd love to see them!

A dream of the 90s, part 2

[If you missed "A dream of the 90s, part 1," you can read it here.]

So there I was, driving toward Atlanta.  My route wasn't direct.  I made some stops along the way, exploring, and visiting friends who were living/working/going to school in Washington, D.C., and Maryland, and Virginia.  It was a great trip.  

When I left PA, there were dirty snowdrifts on the ground and I was wearing a heavy coat over various sweaters (this being 1994, there was probably some flannel in there, too).  I peeled off layers of clothes as I traveled south, watching the snow gradually disapper, until I arrived in Atlanta wearing only jeans and a T-shirt.  It was February 15, and the trees already had tiny buds on them.  I felt giddy and disoriented, like I'd landed in a completely different world.  My plan was to hang out for the rest of the winter and maybe spring, and then figure out what to do and where to go next.

Well, within a few days, I'd bought tickets to some upcoming events, so I had to stick around for those.  And before long, my friend's roommate's boyfriend recruited me to work part-time for his boss.  I made some new friends.  My part-time job turned into a full-time job.  Then another friend arrived in town needing a place to stay, so we became roommates.  Then I met the guy who would eventually become my husband.  Someone offered me another, better job.  And then, and then...you see how it was.  I came for the winter and ended up staying for the past 18 years.

That's how life works, right, folks?  You can't plan this stuff.

Looking back on that period in my life, my immediate thought is: that could never happen now.  And sure, part of the reason it could happen then is because I was so young, and unhappy, and had nothing to lose.  But even more than that, it's because things were different then. 

Many people have stories like mine about the 90s.  When money was tight and we wanted to fund something special or expensive (like a long-distance move), we just picked up a second job telemarketing or waiting tables or stuffing envelopes, and saved up the money.  No big whoop.  It was a time when you could move to a new city with no job lined up, and feel sure that you'd find something.  Maybe something crappy, but that was okay, because when you got tired of it, you could just move on to something else. There were plenty of jobs available if you weren't picky, if what you did to make ends meet did not define your life. 

I'm really glad I reached young adulthood then, and not now.  It was a much more hopeful time, I think.

What were the 90s like for you?  Did you take any big chances you don't think you could take now?  If you were a kid then, how do you think growing up during that time affected your outlook as you reached adulthood?

A dream of the 90s, part 1

After posting my new About Me page the other day, I got some requests to tell the story of how I ended up in Atlanta.  So here it comes.

In 1993, I was 24 years old and living in a small west-central Pennsylvania town where I seemed to be the only person under the age of 25 (notable exception: my neighborhood McDonald's was staffed entirely by pregnant teenagers).  I had just endured one of the coldest, snowiest winters in the history of weather, followed by one of the hottest summers, which I survived in my eleventh floor, un-air-conditioned apartment by wearing a wet t-shirt to bed every night and aiming a box fan directly at my face. 

My social life was practically non-existent.  The only friend I had in this town was a woman I worked with, who was very nice, but also old enough to be my mother.  Occasionally she would invite me out with her and her husband to catch some friends of theirs play Simon & Garfunkel covers in the lounge of a Days Inn off the interstate. 

I had a couple of romantic flings during this time.  One involved a series of dates at a Moose Lodge.  The other consisted largely of watching MTV and sipping Zima, then adjourning to the room my guy shared with some other dude.  Right: my beau was a 22-year-old man who slept in a bunk bed.  (Being near my age, obviously he didn't actually live in my town, either.)

Keep in mind, these were the things I did that passed for fun.  Because my job, the place I spent more of my time than anywhere else, alternately bored me to actual tears and/or made me want to stab people.  So yes, I was miserable, and eager to get the hell out of that town.  I spent a lot of time studying road maps and plotting my escape.

Around this time, my college roommate/BFF had gotten a job in Atlanta.  Although I'd never thought about living in the southeast before, Atlanta met all the criteria I was looking for right then: a) a large city, with b) warm winters, where I c) knew someone.  So, in February 1994, with $800 to my name, I loaded most of my belongings into a 10-year-old Buick and hit the road.

TO BE CONTINUED...

About Stacyverb

Well, it only took me three and a half years or so, but I finally got around to posting an official "About Me" page.  You can access it from my sidebar, or by clicking here.

You found me

Every so often I like to take a look at my internet stats to see what's driving traffic to my blog and from where.  My latest findings were quite interesting.

By far, and I mean BY FAR, the number one thing people are looking for when they come to Stacyverb is a "summer cocktail."  A rambling post from June 2011, which started off being about a failed sewing project and ended with me on my porch drinking tequila, is currently about 600 times more popular than anything else I've ever posted.

(Suddenly my blog is reminding me a lot of college: I went there to be a writer, but along the way ended up being known for my amateur bartending!)

So, congratulations to "summer cocktail" for unseeding what previously had been my most popular search term for many months:

"kitten belly"

 

While "summer cocktail" is sweeping the nation (nay, the world), folks in eastern Europe specifically are hungry for pictures of a "featherweight cardigan."  I can't fault anybody for loving the Featherweight Cardigan--I love it myself--but why are people in the Czech Republic and Poland the ones coming to Stacyverb for it?  It's a mystery.

 

Welcome, former communists!

 

But perhaps most mysterious of all is the sudden influx of readers from South America looking for "zombie babies."  In the past two weeks, this blog has been receiving daily visits from baby zombie seekers in Chile and Brazil.  One person even specificially looked for "zombie baby Atlanta."

Always remember, South America, you purposely came looking for this.  And now you can't unsee it.

Stacyverb: proud to be the blog of choice for cardigan-wearing zombie hunters who enjoy an occasional refreshing adult beverage!

The good things

Stupid cancer.  It came back to our sweet Little Kitty again.  She had surgery today to remove two small lumps from her breast tissue and is now, as they say, "resting comfortably" at home.  The cancer could come back, or not.  (Let's go with not.)

In the meantime, Little has no idea there was ever anything wrong with her, and we'd like to keep it that way.  Except for finding that bumpy place (we check her regularly, since we knew it was likely to recur), we wouldn't have known either.  Little is a content, playful, affectionate cat with a good appetite.  She loves looking out the window (aka "watching cat TV"), getting brushed, and chasing the laser pointer--when she's not napping in a sunbeam or on her favorite fleecy couch blanket, that is.  Simple pleasures.

 

A typical post-breakfast nap

We, too, take simple pleasure in having Little as part of our family--enjoying the feel of her soft fur, the sounds of her happy purr and sassy meow, the hilarious way she frantically chases the red laser dot.  Sharing your life with a pet is a privilege, and one that I don't want to take for granted.

I keep thinking about a passage in Ann Patchett's novel Bel Canto, which I read recently. 

"Carmen prayed hard....What she prayed for was nothing.  She prayed that God would look on them and see the beauty of their existence and leave them alone."

That pretty well sums up my attitude toward life in the past couple of years.  I no longer bother to wish for great things; I just wish for nothing to mess up the good things I already have.  And sometimes, I just wish that not too many terrible things will happen all at once, and that's all I can hope for.

Have I lowered my expectations, or just developed a deeper appreciation for life's small joys?  I'm not sure.  Either way, this evening Anthony and I are reveling in the joy of having our beloved kitty home, purring on her blanket as she recovers.