Wednesday, October 19, 2011

Who Is Number One?

No one told me that sewing would lead to harder drugs! Yes, I’m talking about QUILTING. It starts innocently enough, with the so-called “mini quilt": perhaps a quaint American flag with a teddy bear appliqué, followed by an antiquing soak in a tea bath. Then you move on to ninepatch, log cabins, and star blocks, followed by courthouse steps and the notorious bear’s paw! Before you know it you are shopping alternately at three different fabric stores weekly so that each one doesn't sense your longing desperation.

I’m hardly an addict—yet. Last night I made two coasters. I don’t have smaller rulers yet, so I’m finding it hard to precisely cut the fabric. Wonky, but charming. As I noted previously with my primitive stuffed bird, if a blind Amish woman missing an arm made these, I could sell them on Etsy.
Holds one glass...

Big enough for two Pimm's Cups!

Another recent discovery is Pimm’s Cup No. 1. Don’t know if there’s a No. 2 or if it is equally delicious. Picture, if you will, an English meadow at twilight. Then, add  a smidge of the West Indies circa 1760, 25% alcohol, and a few drunken peasants. Yes, it tastes that good. I mix a generous fingerful with ginger ale. Then, after a few delicate sips, I guzzle it.
Aperatif, or mother's helper? Does anyone care?
Other projects: a sewing machine cozy, the concept of which I adore. You can make a cozy for almost anything, or anyone, for that matter. I’m measuring my children so I can sew cozies for them while they are not in use but I still want them to retain their general shape. Along these lines, cozies are perfect for items you may be a bit embarrassed about. How about a Pimm’s No. 1 bottle cozy? We already have a beer cozy, though designed to keep the beverage cold as opposed to hidden. A dog or cat cozy could keep shedding hair contained. An enema cozy? I've gone too far.
Sew cozy!

I’m taking a sleeveless nightgown class on Thursday at Spool. Hopefully, this will turn out better than my pajama pants: I measured incorrectly so they fit me more like unbelted prison pants than playful loungewear. Why do my sewing projects always end up as evil caricatures of their intended selves? Beginner’s luck, I guess.