Throwback Flares

Well, hello, Thursday. How YOU doin'. What's that, baby? You wanna throw it back? All right mama! I got you! It just so happens I have a handful of pictures and a mouthful of words all ready to go, from way back in spring of 2016. Lay back, Thursday. Let's #tbt this.

Take it away, voice of Marcy past...

HI PEOPLE FROM THE FUTURE!

Lemme get right to it, I'm not sure how long my time travel layover will last. What we have here are the Birkin Flares, done up in a non stretch denim. I KNOW! This is my third dance with this beauty of a pattern, and I have yet to use the actual suggested denim weight. What can I say, I fall in love with a fabric, and I make it do what I want.

And I fell very hard for this fabric: a lovely, medium weight, all cotton denim that looks like it went through an Instagram filter. It hails from Chic Fabrics. (Future Me would like to note that they are indeed still open, go and give them some love. I wish I'd bought the whole bolt, because Future Me would also like to note that I NEVER run across denim like this. Le sigh of hindsight.)

In order to accomplish this zero-stretch matchup, I cut two sizes larger than my suggested size, and used 3/8ths SA. I find this gem of a pattern to be very fit-as-you-go friendly, so I just used basting stitches at the appropriate time, and then did a good amount of testing by walking around Ye Olde Apartment: sitting, squatting, karate kicking…after an hour or so with booty & side seams still intact, I sewed them up for real, complete with periwinkle topstitching.

Only I kept the basting in at the knee down to the hem, because I planned on absolutely covering the lower legs with flowers.




Would that I could have basted-in my first embroidery try!! I decided on a heeeoooouge vase full of holly hobby-ish flowers, and at, oh, about the second to last color change, I realized it wasn’t the look I was going for. Many an instagrammer lamented the impending carnage that was about to happen with my trusty seam ripper, but I knew what I had to do. 

My next route was a collection of patterns from Embroidery Library: a handful of beautiful free floating blossoms, which I merrily hopped back and forth betwixt. Basically, I painted with thread wherever I wanted. 

Watching those flowers appear was like a magic show.  I didn't want it to end! Yet, just before embarking on the other leg, I recalled the hours spent ripping out poor embroidery decisions (y'all, I even went at it with a shaving razor). I quickly consulted my own personal Tim Gunn. “More? MOAR??! SHOULD I DO THE OTHER LEG?” I panted, drunk on embroidery. It was Rob’s opinion that the cacophony should be confined to just one gam: “Otherwise, it would be clear that you bought these instead of crafted them.”




This gave me pause.

WHOOOOOSH. Oh, bye Past Marcy! Bye Girl! That's where you stopped typing! You take yourself too literally, Past Marcy. But thanks for coming by! Now let me tell you what, y'all... Present Marcy is seriously considering ripping out some stitches again. The denim is perfect...the flowers are perfect...but the variegated pastel thread makes me melancholic. MELANCHOLIC, I TELL YOU! There's enough melancholy out there, yeah? Who needs more on their jeans?!

So. You may agree with me, you may try to talk me out of it, but you should know that all versions of me are quite stubborn. But I'm open to suggestions before I grab my razor...

alice + olivia + oona + marcy

Ahh, little mesh embroidered top. Hi, you. Snapped on my bod in the 70 degree days of February, stuck on a hanger in the 10 degree days of March. 

I have a feeling we'll soon be seeing an onslaught of blog posts entitled 10 Ways To Seasonize Your Wardrobe! and Temperature Tricks With Goop! or Climate Change Your Closet! It'll become the next thing we're all "doing," like Kondo-ing. Ugh, Kondo-ing.

(Deeper and infinitely more terrifying ugh, CLIMATE CHANGE. Not so much ugh as silent unending scream. Alrighty. In the interest of getting a day of sewing in, I'm going to stop that rollercoaster train of thought there before I careen down the first of many slopes, and talk about this little top.)

Lately, I've been wanting everything to be pretty, and fancy, which in my mind precludes "everyday wear." At least in the eyes of the general public. Mind you, I will gladly go out overdressed every day, if permitted. And when I get my hands on a fabric like this, my tendency is to really go for the gold and make something ridiculously complicated, meant for full-on party mode. 

However, I’m glad I reigned myself in on this one, because this fabric is a garden party right off the bolt. I only had one yard of this Alice + Olivia embroidered mesh to play with, and eventually went with my first instinct of crop (ish) top. Yes, I had to talk myself down from wiggle dress... sheer skirt... bell sleeve jacket. I'm glad I did! Methinks I've struck middle ground with this little fancy every day top! I'm not sure yet, since its only test drive was that weirdo springy winter day. But, drugstore/grocery/errands wearable, yes? I DON'T KNOW YOU'LL HAVE TO TELL ME. I'm wearing it everywhere when the climate allows.

Going simple was also the right choice for a complicated fabric like this. Even for a little self-drafted top, there was a lot of (HIGHLY enjoyable) work involved. The seams were stitched up with tear-away stabilizer, then trimmed & bound in a wonderful flocked velvet ponte from Chic Fabrics. After much deliberation on creating a cutaway neckline to mirror the hem, I decided that a defined outline on the neck was best– it’s encased in the same ponte. (And when I say deliberation, I mean I spent several hours trimming and pinning and placing flowers all around the neckline on my dressform, took two steps back to admire my handiwork, and realized it didn't work. What was surprising is that I didn't mind that it didn't work-- I tried it, I enjoyed the trying of it, I made a different choice. Not long ago, I would have gnashed my teeth over all that work and forced myself to keep going. 

Grown-uppery.

For the sleeve, I carefully cut the mesh away right up to the embroidery. The sleeve hem is the border “print” of the fabric, that brown embroidered motif ran parallel to the selvedge. As for the hem, I cut away a free form path, and appliquéd extra flowers in where needed (that little white daisy at center back, and the extra flame-y orange & yellow leaves at center front, for example).

So, I promised the showcasing of this baby's guts when I posted over at The Mood Sewing Network for my February fabric allowance project, but that's going to have to wait a minute. Mea culpa, I'm going full-tilt during the week, so I'm saving a great big chunk of my weekend time for creating! Details, like Spring, will come. Just not on a promised schedule. (Much like Spring).

Sleepwalking

Last night, I fell asleep walking through my Nan's apartment. I loved my Nan's apartment. I can see it clearly in my head, though I can't remember if the color of the two family house was yellow or green. It may very well have been blue or beige, but I lean towards yella in my head, because it was her favorite color. 

The entryway boasted three locking doors, which it had no business doing in such a tiny amount of space. There was a main front door, and once through, you could reach out and smack Nan's door to your right, or walk headfirst into another locking door protecting the staircase that led to the second story apartment. This was easy to do, since the tiny entryway was always in shadows. (This could also be a misremembrance. I might have put that third door there in my mind to keep Nan's space separate from the quiet, but unknown to me, strangers upstairs.)

Each time Nan's personal front door closed, the enormous spindly room divider in the living room would wobble in response, as would all of the pictures and keepsakes displayed on the open shelves. The questionable unit looked like it was made out of old thin table legs, with three large cabinets at the bottom to anchor it. A mini stereo system held pride of place in the center spot. She played Engelbert Humperdinck and Billy Ocean.

A growing collection of stuffed animals and dolls sat on one end of the amber hued, floral couch, several of us having found out in later years that Nan loved stuffed animals and dolls. You mean, all this time, we could have been buying her dolls?! We made up for missed opportunities at every chance, and our seating options suffered for it. The only other perchable spot in the room was a dusty blue recliner, right in front of the small TV stand, and that was Nan's captain's chair. 

We had several small TV trays for tiny spaghetti and meatballs, or cut-up-hot-dogs and beans, or yes, those special frozen dinners with the brownie dessert in the upper right-hand corner. We could eat those kinds of meals in front of the TV, but we always ate real dinners and any kind of lunch in the kitchen, at an old solid table that took no shit. You know the kind of table? You'd get a bruise the size of a baseball if you knocked into it. That thing didn't budge.

The floor of Nan's kitchen shucked and jived all over the place, like a ski slope. The vinyl tiling on the floor made this highly enjoyable, especially in socks. The sink took up about half of the kitchen, along one long wall, a big old set-in ceramic sink, with never a dish in it. I think she magicked the dishes away. Or maybe I was just unconcerned with the housekeeping details, as I ate my ham salad sandwich. Or maybe Nan did the dishes while my eyes were fixed on the basement door, which faced my spot at the kitchen table, and needed CONSTANT guarding. Though really, the steps leading down into that darkness were so creaky, our ears would have alerted us long before any visual evidence of monsters. 

The fridge was always stocked with jello, fruit suspended in the middle, and orange juice, which I would only drink for Nan.

A teeny bathroom barely existed at the far end of the kitchen. It was enough space to turn around on yourself. Even for a kid, it was ridiculously small. A shower somehow appeared when needed, through some kind of rip in time. I don't even know where Nan found room for her favorite (and only) tube of lipstick, but she did, because she'd always emerge with her color on. 

(When I grew to adult height, I spied the tube tucked away on top of the old, rusted medicine cabinet, which, like everything else in her house, was ridiculously clean, even if rusted shut and no longer useful.)

Although the solitary postage stamp sized bathroom made this next fact ridiculous: two bedrooms stood at the back of the house. One was a revolving room for uncles and cousins, always available for days, months, or even years when needed. My brother and I never slept in the second bedroom when we stayed over, even if it was empty, because it really wasn't an overnight guest room, it was a room ready for family to live. The room felt more substantial than a sleepover. There was a small antique drafting desk, a metal standing double door locker, a bed, a heavy chair which was lugged out to the kitchen table when needed. Also, the second bedroom housed another locking door, which led to an outside staircase that wailed at a steep psychotic angle down to the super creepy, wild backyard. No one ever used this staircase. If you didn't die on the staircase, you probably would in the backyard. 

So we slept in the living room on the sofa bed, opening our eyes on Easter to giant baskets, or in the middle of the night to thoughts of the creaky stairs leading up to the basement door. 

Come to think of it, every room in that house, except for Nan's bedroom, had a locking door leading to foreboding stairs. Could easily have been a kid's nightmare factory, but Nan overruled the cliches. 

Nan's bedroom was a magnificent shade of blue that was so deep it seemed like you'd never be able to sleep for the color radiating off the walls. Little shuttered green porch doors, the kind that ask for fingers to get caught in, kept her room mostly hidden. She had a bed, and a dresser. Maybe a night stand. Once, I spent the night there with her--no idea why I wasn't on the sofa, maybe my brother and I had grown too old to share the sofa? But I remember being transfixed by that blue. It was impossible to close my eyes. Another time, the louvered doors were slid to one side while Nan chose a scarf for an impromptu trip "up the street." She had a small array of silk-like scarves behind the door of her dresser, and always tied one around her neck when we went out, which was pretty much every time I visited. They were part of her armor. You have to get up in the morning, take a shower, do your hair, and be ready to do something every day, even if you're not. That's whatcha gotta do.

Today is her birthday. I'm not sure of how old she would have been, much as I'm not sure of most of the facts in this story, except that all of them are true because the creaky stairs and beaten cabinets and vinyl floors of that first floor apartment were made different by her presence. This sleepwalk might not be for anyone but me and the people who loved the woman who lived in it, but I'm positive that on her birthday, the most important thing on her mind would be wishing you a Happy Valentine's Day--as do I. 

And now I gotta go do my hair, and tie on a scarf.