What Doesn't Kill Us....

For several years I was a member of a local re-enactment group, of which I spent many happy hours living part time in the 18th century.  When I finally got a real job working for an 18th century tavern the need to both play and work in the same field lost its appeal.

 Sadly I am no longer a member of that group but hold fond memories of it- both good and bad.  One of the most striking was the weekend I spent in Williamsburg, in a tent, in the rain.  It was my first trip down there in many many years and I was exciting to be there.  Then the rain started.  And boy, did it rain. I remember walking all the way from the Capitol building to the DeWitt gallery to watch a concert.  About half way through I felt an odd sensation...could it be?  Was I actually DRY for the first time in three days?!  Ah, the memories.

Then there was the memory of the first day I showed up in camp in one of those lovely 'French' bodices. You know those vests which try to pass as jumps, be we all know they are just a vest.  In fact, mine was a vest!   Now in my defense this is almost 18 years ago before I knew better.  I had seen enough of these men-like garments on camp women before actually joining a unit myself, and let's face it, it was the Battle of Monmouth- or for those of you who aren't familiar with it, the Hotter Than Hell weekend.

So I dragged out an old 70's man's vest pattern and made myself a yellow linen bodice.  At least it was hand sewn.  Anyway, the women in the unit nicely tried to explain to me about the bodice and all its horrors.  I pooh-pooh them out of embarrassment.  But what it did in the end was to make me interested, truly truly interested in the proper garments and how they were worn.

But that's not what this blog is about.  This blog is about knitting.  You see one of those very same women, in another happy memory, actually challenged me in a way that I still apparently struggle with today.  The ladies were knitting in camp and I was admiring their work.  I myself did not knit.  When I said I always wanted to learn but never did she said "oh, you can't learn as an adult".  Oh really?  was my thought.  I promptly went to the library, got every book on how to knit and, damn it, if I didn't teach myself to knit.  Now, she wasn't being mean in any way.  She is a lovely person and it was just a passing comment.  But boy did it spark the competitive side of me.

All I have to say is thank god for Stitch and Bitch or I would have given up.  But I didn't and I can passably knit.  Made a really nice huge stocking which I now use for Christmas (I don't recommend that for a second project by the by).  Made several pairs of fingerless mitts where one is always a little bit bigger than the other (why count when you can guess?).  Made my two sons Harry Potter inspired scarves (Hufflepuff and Gryffindor).  I even attempted to make a shawl but sadly gave up when I couldn't fit anymore stitches onto the needles (circular needles?!  Scary). Needless to say, like their creator, they are not perfect, but perfectly accepted by their recipients.

I bought this beautiful book on shawls a few years back.  I long for one of those lacey, warm, dreamy creations wrapped around me (when I'm not dying from a hot flash).  So last week I took up a new pair of circular needles, bought the correct weight red yarn and started in on a Victorian Peddlers Shawl.

How hard could it be?  Knit one, yarn over, knit a bunch, yarn over, knit 1, yarn over, and knit some more and so one.  Ha.  I had to restart the darn thing nine times. Yep, nine times.  I can whip together stays that will last a lifetime, spin the most beautiful yarn, but knit without mistakes?  Nope.  Not me.

I became obsessed, like a crack addict.  Mistake, rip out, mistake rip out, mistake rip out.....finally I swore that if I made one more mistake I'd stop and just buy one on Etsy.  You know what happened right? Mistake. But I continued, after all it was for me and don't the Amish make mistakes on purpose?  One must rationalize when in compulsive frenzy.  Finally one more mistake.  Several years ago I would have cried. But not this time.  My American Girl Doll sitting on my dresser.  Why, I thought, she looks cold. and so now my dear dolly has a new shawl. So you see, whatever doesn't kill you, or defeat you, will make you stronger. I am a stronger person to accept that I will never be a perfect knitter. But that's okay. It's okay not to be perfect.  It's time we all realized that.  My doll and I are very happy....and who knows, maybe it’s a new niche on EBay?

Here She Is....photos of the hand sewn, hand draped gown.

I did it. The gown is finished. Well, it's finished to the point that I can wear it but there isn't any trim on it yet. One minute I was washing up some dishes and the next I was marching upstairs, picked up the gown, marked the new cutting lines and boom, it was done.

The skirts are nice and full, evenly pleated in the back. They are pleated heading to the left from the back center to the curve of the back side seam and then to the right from the front skirt openings to meet at the back side seam. This is different than my normal practice of pleating them all heading to the left beginning at the front gown opening to the back center seam. Also the sleeve was placed into the armscye differently than the normal roll and pin technique. I'm not a big fan of this new technique but at least I tried it once.

With only scraps left I may just have enough to do a reverse box pleat trim around the bodice neckline and the sleeve bottoms.

Now what to do about a petticoat. Normally I would have made a matching petticoat since it is a chintz print. And with the dollar being so weak and the fabric now even more expensive than before I'm forced to come up with a new plan. I'm thinking a red silk petticoat, perhaps quilted. I quilted a petticoat last winter based on one in the Williamsburg collection. Or maybe just a plane cream linen.

We shall see. For now I'm just pleased to see it standing there waiting for the opportunity to be worn.

Can't Cut It

My intention today was to finish fitting the front of a draped gown I started in a workshop way back in November. Let me say this gown has become the bane of exsistance for a few reasons. The biggest is that the fabric, all five yards of it which believe me is not a whole lot for a period gown, came all the way from Holland. Den Hann and wagenmakers have the most beautiful period correct chintz prints you could ever want. I remember standing with my nose pressed up agianst the glass of the shop on my one and only trip to Amsterdam...left drool makes! I bought it when the Euro was higher than it is now, costing me in the end $140.00 plus. Now I'm not going to complain about that, the fabric is beautiful. But what the price of it caused me to do is to be afraid of it. Yep, afraid of it. I waited close to FOUR years before finally deciding to turn the nicely washed and ironed beautiful bundle into a gown.

So off to Virginia it went with me. What could be better than turning a period correct piece of fabric into a custom made gown? I know how to drape gowns, been doing it for several years now but one really can't drape upon one's own back. So what a better way to turn this into something special than bring it with me?

Well, let's just say things didn't go so well. I don't know what happened between Saturday and Sunday, but by the time I sewed it together and put it on it was at least two sizes too big. So I've been trying to make myself cut at least four inches off the front edge closure in order to make it fit.

The problem is I just can't seem to get my hands to grasp the sissors and cut. The gown went on today with the stays in the correct spot, bum roll on. It was pinned, checked and double checked. And then...nothing. Can't do it.

Oh, I know I can fix it, that no one will know (except you now) and that it will be just fine. But deep down in side that "I told you not to do it" voice is screaming in my head. I can always take in sleeves, re-pleat the skirts and rework trim to the cows come home. But if I mess up the front of the bodice I'm gonna ruin the whole gown, all $140+ class + hotel + gas of it.

I know it will be okay. It always is. I've seen enough Frankensteined 18t century construction to know that whatever I do it it, it's already been done. Now if only I could convince my right hand of that we'd be okay.

And so with the new year begins a new blog. I've decided to take one toe out of the 18th century world I live in and gently place it into the very modern 21st century world everyone else inhabits. That just made me sound like a nut. I must admit I am quite an eclectic person and lead a very eclectic life- with most of it spent in some kind of costume. But there is balance between the 18th century woman who cooks in a hearth and wears stays, has beef tongues in the freezer and is excited to find real Sago, and the modern one who works in retail and is planning new bathrooms for the coming year. This blog then is an attempt for me keep track of all my projects, programs and doings of my 18th century life inside a very modern world. With the memory not being as good as it once was I thought this would show me where I've been and where I'd like to go.

I actually was inspired by my food blog. For one year, beginning on January 1, 2009 right up until midnight yesterday I wrote down everything I cooked for an entire year. Sometimes if we went out to eat I added that too, but for the most part it was my year long venture into finding out what kind of a cook I really am, how much of the past creeps onto our modern table. To be honest I am quite proud of myself. Think about it. Do you remember what you ate last week? or even yesterday? It was sometimes a labor of fortitude and deep introspective thinking. If I let a week go by, which sad to say sometimes happened, I would sit staring at the wall thinking so hard you could hear those proverbial gears turning, trying to remember what we ate. Did we have gravy and macaroni (sauce to all you non-Italians) on Tuesday? And what the heck did I eat on Sunday?! Are there leftovers in the fridge I can go look at in order to jog the noggin? In the end I did it though. I remembered every blessed day. Every fajita, every chicken cutlet. So, what does that have to do with my 18th century life? Just that it has given me the 'atta girl' pat on the back, the knowledge that I can write every day (or at least several times a week) something important to me. It's given me stick-to-itvness. Is that even a word?! Who cares. I love it just the same.

So tomorrow I start in earnest with my projects and plans for this here blog. I am working on a draped gown that has become the bane of my exsistance, mostly due to the 21st century perfectionist wrestling with the 18th century "my fingers are tired" sewer. One of them is about to loose. More to come.....