Sunday, January 26, 2014

Reproduction 18th Century English Trim Loom and Muffin Kitty

Toy? Or not? Mmm, probably a toy.
No more than a few minutes after I'd started weaving on this new 18th century style English trim loom, Miss Blueberry Muffin discovered its string. We had a neat couple of minutes together as she explored play possibilities.

Wait, what's this? Is this a tape loom I have here? Why, yes it is. It arrived last Tuesday, during the Big Delightful Snow Storm and the Boys' Endless Week Off from School.

Specifically, the loom is an English trim loom, modeled after one at Colonial Williamsburg. If you look carefully at some of the photos of the mantuamakers at the Margaret Hunter Shop, you will see them working on a quite similar loom, making floss fringe trims. 

Sarah Woodyard of Colonial Williamsburg uses a tape loom to make
floss fringe trim.
Tape and trim looms show up sometimes in art. When John Singleton Copley painted Thomas and Sarah Mifflin in 1773, he pictured her weaving fringe on a trim loom.

By John Singleton Copley, American, 1738 - 1815 (1738 - 1815) (American), via Wikimedia Commons
You can make regular fringe on them too, narrow gimp and other passementerie trims for dress and household. Of course, you can make the ubiquitous tapes that anchored 18th century dress as well as household items: apron strings, cap ties, petticoat ties, bindings, garters, ties for bags, loops for doors, anything that needed a strong tape. 

I first saw a tape loom years ago and was instantly fascinated. There are lots of kinds of tape looms, some of them quite ancient, and the Scandinavians wove gorgeous tapes on them with handsome patterns. They produce a product with a warp face...that is, it's the warp you see, the up-and-down threads, not the side-to-side weft threads. By picking up particular warp threads, you can build the pretty patterns.

This loom is handmade, gorgeously so, by Jonathan K. Seidel. It's made of walnut, and shows all the fine details of a careful craftsman: the tiny wire than helps keep the little drawer closed, the brass rod on the warp reel, the subtle shaping and the fine finish of the walnut case, and even the little shaped felt feet on the loom's underside. It's a work of art and I am glad he signed it, for I hope to pass it down to the next generation.

Getting this loom has been quietly in planning for it for some two years, ever since getting the idea that I wanted to hand sew an 18th century sack gown, complete with homemade floss fringe and gimp trims, and all tapes used inside the gown also homemade. Learning to weave on it is just one more step in the long, multi-year journey that this project is becoming.

Weaving tapes is relaxing, and slow, but it does take practice to make an even tape. Consistency in tension and how the threads are held is key, and I have yet to master it. Mr. Seidel prepared the loom with a partly woven tape to get me started, and provided clear, full directions for both "dressing" the loom and plain weaving. 

If you look at the rows towards the top, you'll see that they're wider than those near my fingers. Why? Because I haven't figured out even weaving yet.

Mmm, play, please?

Got it!

So sorry, didn't mean to snag your tights. You'll forgive and pet, right? (But of course.)

So, forward! Yes, I owe you a post on the cap-seaming process, but also a report on the plans for the entire ensemble, and the steps to take along the way.

Want more kitty cat fun? See Miss Blueberry Muffin's cousin Miss Felicity, the Dreamstress' feline friend in New Zealand as she tests thread in "Thread Inspector".

Wednesday, January 22, 2014

Journal Journey into the Year 1811: La Belle Assemblée, January

Would you like to take a journey this year back to 1811? Yes? Well, what if you could fly from Weimar, Germany, off to Paris and then to London each month, and find out what colors and baubles fashionable people were sporting? What if you traveled with four friendly guides, happy to unravel with you the mystery of the Spanish hat, or why bugle beads were so last month, and able to translate for you if you didn't speak the language? Really, we've got your ear? You're interested?

Then come with us a Journal Journey into the Year 1811. Each month Sabine, Alessandra, Maggie, and I will spirit you away into the fashion pages of four well-known journals of the day: Journal des Dames et des Modes, Ackermann's Repository of Arts, Literature, Commerce, Manufactures, Fashions, and Politics, La Belle Assemblée or Bell's Court Magazine, and Journal des Luxus und der Moden.

As any fashion guide will -- must, really, since after all we can't help ourselves-- we'll comment on what we read, speculate on the meaning of terms, highlight trends and little pretties we think especially interesting, and we'll whisper our translations from German and French straight into your ears. We hope you'll want to talk with us, too, making our journey that more enjoyable.

So, find a comfy seat, curl up, and let's start!


Your journals and your guides for January:
Cover of January issue of
La Belle Assemblée
La Belle Assemblée
This month we have three articles over two pages, nos. 44 and 45. You might wish to know that Her Royal Highness Princess Amelia had lately passed away, and the gentle society was in mourning for some weeks more. Therefore, like the stripped trees and frost-bleached grasses out of doors, and the snowflakes in the air, the Court, and those connected with it, were clad in black, and grey, but also in scarlet. Everyone was dressed as warmly as Dame Fashion allowed, which to my mind, wasn't warmly enough.

Another point you'll want to mark is that this magazine reports on the fashions for the next month, not the current one. So these are fashions for February, though this is the January issue.

Full text of fashion pages. Transcribed from La Belle Assemblée; Being Bell's Court and Fashionable Magazine journal, accessed through Google Books.

Footnotes marked with numbers.


A pelisse of scarlet Merino cloth (1), buttoned down the front and up the arm with small gold buttons; the collar and cuffs of purple velvet; but during the mourning (2), of black, striped with scarlet; an ermine tippet pointed in the back (3) and muffs of the same. A bonnet of scarlet cloth (4), turned up with velvet, and formed to come over the face; the veil passed through the front and brought round the neck. Boots of scarlet cloth (5) trimmed with velvet.

Plate No. 1: Walking Dress

A round dress of white satin, sloped up in the front (6); with small train ornamented round the bottom with velvet in a scroll pattern (7), vandyked at the edges, and dotted with black chenille (8); the velvet during the mourning should be grey or scarlet; the bosom, girdle (9), and sleeves of this dress are ornamented to correspond, in the form exhibited in the plate. A turban cap (10) of white satin; looped with pearls, and edged with velvet; the hair combed full over the face, curled in thick flat curls (11), divided on the forehead. Necklace, earrings, and bracelets of gold and pearls blended (12). White kid (13) shoes and gloves; fan of white crape (14) and gold.

Plate No. 2: Evening Full Dress


(1) "Cloth" in English terminology normally meant specifically wool cloth.

(2) This plate and its description include more colors in it than prescribed by mourning. That's why there's the notation that during the mourning period, the color would be replaced by black. This outfit then could be made up and worn after mourning was over. At first I puzzled over this, wondering if the plate had been decided upon before Princess Amelia had died, and all the text changed to reflect the situation, but since the entire fashion section is devoted to dealing with fashion during mourning, decided this was not an afterthought. It makes one wonder how the writing and publication process worked. How far in advance, and how much room for change? It also raises the question of where these fashions come from. Other magazines, such as Luxus und der Moden, and the eighteenth century Galerie des Modes and The Gallery of Fashion, purport to report on fashions they actually see. Does this one, too?

(3) "Ermine tippet pointed in the back": so far as I can tell, construction would be two long pieced sections of ermine, sewn in the center back in a vee shape so that the tippet would like flat in a vee at the back of the neck. Unclear whether the tippet was tubular or single-faced and backed with something like silk.

(4) "bonnet of scarlet cloth": scarlet wool. This would not have been felt, would it, because if so would that not have been specified? Could the bonnet cloth have been treated with a stiffener to help it hold its shape?

(5) "Boots of scarlet cloth trimmed with velvet": wool cloth boots, not leather. Not terribly weather proof. Indoor or good weather wear only? Every Lady Her Own Shoemaker (of a later period) says that shoes could last a matter of weeks or months. At that time fabric shoes were common, so perhaps these boots were not meant to have a long life.

(6) "round dress of white satin, sloped up in the front". Interesting construction notation that needs investigation.

(7) "ornamented with velvet in a scroll pattern": this must have been a very bold appliqued trim.

(8) "dotted with black chenille": it may be that the satin is woven with chenille such that it forms dots on the right side. These would appear in some relief.  However, it may be that it was cut into tiny lengths and couched down with matching silk thread. The term chenille means caterpiller in French, a reference to the fuzzy look and feel of the thread. It was made of a silk core thread twisted with thousands of tiny silk threads into the fuzzy result they knew then and we know today. De St. Aubin, author of The Art of the Embroiderer (part of Diderot's Encyclopedia), which came out in the latter half of the 18th century, says that it was usually couched down with matching threads and that it was a delicate embroidery, easily spoiled. It could also be pulled through fabric, such as with tambour stitch, but this tends to loosen the fuzzy threads so that they fall out, so that's less common. I worked with 100% silk chenille embroidery on tightly woven silk chantung, couched with fine spun silk thread, and report that couching is simple but that yes, it's delicate and pulls out easily. I have found examples of chenille work in the early 19th century, but it fell out of favor in women's dress.

(9) "girdle". Another interesting term that needs investigation. The bottom of the bodice is embroidered but it is unclear if it is actually a separate piece, a waistband, or just embroidery.

(10) "turban cap": notice the phrase includes the word "cap". Does this mean that the turban was not wound on from a length of fabric, as it would have been in the 1790s, but pre-constructed? Most assuredly yes.

(11) "flat curls": so therefore, very shaped, set, and unnatural, not springy natural coils.

(12) "gold and pearls blended": it would be nice to find samples in among extant items.

(13) kid: leather shoes, not fabric shoes.

(14) "fan of white crape": not a paper fan. This would have been crape silk. It's unclear whether the gold is meant to describe the decoration of the crape or of the sticks. The gold could have been in spangles (flat sequins, not cupped sequins), or painted, or possibly gilding (if referring to the sticks).

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Article number two from the La Belle Assemblée fashion pages.


A long feather in front of the hat, and a bow of ribbands with long ends on the left side. These are two articles of fashion generally adopted. At the commencement of this fashion the feather was worn immediately in front of the hat; to-day it may be worn a little on one side. In the first instance it was worn in a straight and upright form; but to-day it is admitted to be a little inclinded; a white bow of riband may likewise be worn, or one of pink, but what is most admired is a mixture of both; that is to say, a ribband composed partly of pink and partly of white; or if you prefer, yellow and white. At first the ends of the bow were placed in an opposite position to the feather; but now it is worn on the same side. Borderings of gold embroidered on bats of black velvet are considered the summit of elegance, but the embroidery must be extremely light; it must form only a narrow border, for the broad would be considered vulgar. Pearl and coral beads are the grand resource of milliners; yes, pearl and coral. We have said that the pearls have taken precedence of bugles. It is not the same with the coral; they have taken precedence of the pearls.

+ + + + +

The last article from theJanuary La Belle Assemblée fashion pages. Of interest here is that the magazine, which publishes information about happenings among the higher levels of British society, very plainly supports the notion that fashion emanates from the socially privileged and that reporting on fashions coming from any other portion of society isn't necessary, or proper. This statement somehow feels to me like a rearguard action by writers concerned about the rise of a moneyed industrial and bourgeois class...something that was already occurring in Britain. How different from Parisian journals such as Galerie des Modes, which even back in the 1780s had fashion plates which appear to show women of the demi-monde.


Our readers are doubtless informed that the mourning for the late Princess Amelia does not expire until the 11th of the present month, and that the Court has extended it three weeks beyond that period, in complement to the deceased Queen of France.

As the mourning habit admits but of small variation, we have again but little of novelty to communicate. The few remarks we have to make respect only the form of the dresses, and of those articles that compose them, which are considered as most correspondent to the order issued by the Court.

Were we to detail the different dresses worn by numbers of people, we might still fill our pages with the enumeration of varieties, and hold up something of gaiety, though not of splendour; but those who compose the Court, or are connected to it, and are therefore the surest models of fashion, afford us no such source; they still continue to adhere to their sable garments.

In morning dresses black sarsnets or lustres (1), either high in the neck with crape ruff (2), or in the pelisse or wrap form, seem most prevailing, buttoned down the front (3).

For dinner dressses, the long sleeves of sarsnet give place to those of crape; the bosom is cut down and the neck shaded by a small tippet of white crape or lace; in public, tippets of swansdown are very numerous; on the parade, sable seems most admired, and best adapted to the smoky atmosphere of the metropolis (4).

Evening dresses are most elegantly appropriate when made of black crape, and worn over white satin. We have also been compelled to admire those in grey crape, trimmed with white bugles (5); black lace dresses are also very frequent, but they are not mourning. Gold is much worn on the head, either in the form of bands or nets; pearls also, in every device, are very generally worn, and contrast extremely well with the mourning garb.

For the promenade, cloaks in scarlet Merino, or grey cloth (6), black velvet pelisses, lined with gray sarsnet, wrapped plain over with sable tippets; Spanish hats (7) in velvet, or cottage bonnets (8) in black, grey, or scarlet cloth, or scarlet.

In respect to the fashion for jewellry, all ornaments, whether rings necklaces, earrings, brooches, buckles, &c. are worn much smaller.(9)

There are no colors worn but black, grey or sarsnet.(10)


(1) "black sarsnets or lustres": sarsnet is a thin silk, lustre may be another term for "lustring", a thin, papery, rustly silk. Note that the recommendations are silk only for morning dress. No longer are journals recommending mostly muslins, as they did a few years previously. Fashion is moving on from the early Regency preoccupation with the Greek look.

(2) "crape ruff": crape is translucent, so this ruff would have let a good bit of skin show. It must have been starched or wired to retain its shape.

(3) "wrap form": would like to investigate the potential closure lines of coat-like garments at this date.

(4) Tippets, tippets, tippets! The must-have accessory in wintertime. Down and fur for their warmth, lace for its looks. It is too bad few have survived. I am especially looking for lace tippets, in order to understand their cut and length.

(5) "white bugles": white bugle beads. Napoleon and the Empire of Fashion features a dress beaded all over with lines of white bugle beads.

(6) "cloth": once again, they mean wool.

(7) "Spanish hats": looking into this.

(8) "cottage bonnets": here is a fashion that would last decades: the little, deep-brimmed bonnet. They are described as being made in wool or, most likely, sarsnet (thin silk), not "scarlet". 

(9) The jewelry is smaller in scale than years past. This fashion would last for some years, in keeping with the delicate flouncings and small-scale embroideries in dresses then fashionable. I am wondering what effect the Napoleonic Wars had on jewelry; there are probably publications about this. In Europe, at any rate, large amounts of older jewelry were melted to sell. See Napoleon and the Empire of Fashion for more information.

(10) First, I believe that there are two typos in this article: the end of the "For the promenade" paragraph probably should be "sarsnet", while the end of the last paragraph should be "scarlet". The two words have been transposed. Second, mourning has made colors other than scarlet not only taboo, but non-existent. I 

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See you next month, as we explore February, 1811. Let's see if our investigations bear any fruit. Let's also see what I learn about the journal itself and its readers.

Your journals and your guides for January:
Alessandra in ParisJournal des Dames et des Modes
Maggie, in London: Ackermann's
Natalie, in London:  La Belle Assemblée

Sunday, January 12, 2014

A Dormeuse Cap, Part 3: Finishing the Cap

About an hour ago, I finished the cap. Then I tried it on, without being in costume and with hair put up in the quickest manner. You know, the cap functions pretty well. Perhaps the back is a little high, and needs to come lower down towards the neck, but otherwise the sizing is right, and the cap sits up and away from the brow as it was so often worn. It weighs nothing and therefore would be appropriate for summer wear.

It's just as airy and transparent as I had hoped, too, and with a ribbon set with a shaped bow to the front, should be pretty to look at. It's apparent why women made gauze caps: they hide, and they don't, simultaneously.

Oh, if you like, you can read about the initial research and the first part of design and construction

Our back yard, seen through the gauze of the cap. It should be clear (urp) how transparent
the silk gauze can be.
My goodness, what a process it was to complete it. Will I ever use lapped seams again to attach the wings to the rest of the cap? Never, never, never. What a royal pain, plus nearly impossible to keep the individual stroked gathers in place. If I ever make another cap, it will be with rolled and whipped seams, without a iota's doubt.

The cap closes in back with narrow cotton tape from William Booth, Draper. 
Quick edit, on Tuesday: Oh, for Pete's sake. Look at that back, will you? In the grand hurry to be finished, I forgot to create the ties in back as originally planned: there should be an eyelet in the middle of the caul's tape channel. The two ends of the tapes should be sewn to the far ends of the caul, the other ends pulled through the eyelet, then pulled to tighten the caul, and tied together. So I am not really done. Bother.

Well, enough at looking at pictures and enough complaints. Let's cover how I actually did the work. Watch out: long post ahead...

The Process of Finishing the Cap

Note: this section was written along back when I made the cap, but for some reason languished in unposted form, probably because I wanted to add more research. Now it's many years later, January 2021. I found the text, edited it as well as I could, and have republished the post. In the intervening years, Larkin and Smith published several highly researched cap patterns and American Duchess published its Guide to 18th century Dressmaking book, including cap patterns with detailed instructions. Both are highly useful, although Larkin and Smith (At the Sign of the Golden Scissors) patterns are hard to find. As of last week, their site seemed to be taken down, and how sad I was to see that.

Therefore, what's below is clearly experimental, and like any experiment, I critiqued my work and found it wanting.)

Let's look at the construction of the gathered double "wings" or ears that make a cap pretty to look at and pretty to wear. Let me repeat that the construction here uses 18th century seams and stitches and concepts. However, since I don't own or have access to either an 18th century cap and only limited photos that are in high enough resolution to make out what's going on, here I am going on a combination of photos and secondary research. That means that what I did was speculative. Photos are nice, but oh, they do not replace actually seeing an extant garment.
Remember our inspiration cap.
Now to discuss why I did what I did, and why it's not the popular way to go now, and rightly so.

The Band

At the time I made the cap, it was still popular to make caps with a band two layers thick. The caul would be fitted in between the band pieces and sewn down. The wings would be treated the same way. It's simple but results in a rather thick and opaque effect.

As I was using silk gauze, having a two-layer band would show very obviously and make the cap look less airy.

Sue Felshin, an experienced 18th century reenactor, who wrote "How To Make a Cap", last updated 2001 and available on the 18thcNewEnglandLife site at She wrote: "I don't know of any 18th century cap artifacts where the band is doubled (i.e., lined), although I have to say that I know of very few cap artifacts of any kind." 

Well, that settled it. My band was a single layer thick. and it would retain its airy look.

It was lap-seamed to the caul, with hem stitches on each side.

Constructing Doubled Wings: Needlessly Fiddly

First I had to figure out how I was going to make those pretty rounded "ears", another term for the pair of wings that sit on each side of the front of the cap, without having to hem the outer edge. As a rule, I rather like hemming, but hemming silk gauze? Eeeeooouuu! No fun. It's like hemming flyaway hairs on a cat running headlong.

So I ran an experiment. I cut a wing as a long straight piece. Then I sewed a curved line of gathering stitches in an approximation of the elongated oval of the ear shape, then gathered the wing, watching as the wing curved by itself into the pretty ear shape.

Aha! If I cut the inner edge in a curve, where the gathering is done, rather than the outer edge, then the outer edge wouldn't need hemming.

So I removed the gathering stitches, stretched out the fabric, and made a paper pattern from it. That problem solved. That's how the wing pieces got their curved shape.

Each set of doubled wings (ears) was of course treated separately. I cut four wings, all matching, from the paper pattern. On each piece, the straight edge is the selvage; the curved edge is the one that was to be gathered. On the curved edge, the wider part is lower on the face, near the cheek, the narrower part is at the top of head.

I layered two wings and dealt with them as a single unit. That meant that I had two long raw edges sitting one atop the other. Raw edges are anathema, so I turned a very narrow hem on each, and sandwiched them together so that the raw edges were inside.

Then the resulting pair of edges were stroke-gathered as one. Talk about fiddly! It was not enjoyable work, especially with silk gauze.

Double-layer wing with two rows of gathers, in the process
of being stroked and gathered to fit the band. 

Then I turned under the front edge of the band. You can see that in the photo above -- it's the piece of fabric in the top left-hand portion of the photo. The completed gathered edge of the wing layers was laid underneath the band and back-stitched in place. Back in 2013 as I was constructing the cap someone -- oh, who was it? Gah! I no longer know -- published a blog post about their new 18th century extant cap find, and I was chuffed to find that their cap used a lapped seam between band and wings. That's what made me decide to use a similar effect on my cap.

Double-layer wing one gathered and pinned to the band.
Note excess bulk at seamline. Not what we want. Bah, humbug.

The result is functional, but definitely not optimal for a transparent fabric. If you examine the cap you can see the inside raw edges of the wings through the gauze, and added up, the work is about 1/4" wide. That's fine if you put a ribbon over it, but it's too messy to be a viable solution for a garment that might be cleaned. It was not the right way to go.

What I Should Have Done

It's likely that seams could be handled in a number of ways, but the way that's most popular now is based on research such as that from the researchers/mantua makers at the Margaret Hunter Shop in Colonial Williamsburg, Larkin and Smith of At the Sign of the Golden Scissors, Sue Felshin, and others.

The lovely Samantha, the Couture Courtesan, wrote sometime before I constructed the cap a Livejournal post that no longer appears to be live, titled "A Correct Cap". In it, she wrote "This cap is made of single layers of silk gauze, with all the edges finished (rolled hems in this case) and whipped together. This is the way that the vast majority of caps I've seen were made--not using two layers for the brim and then sandwiching the ruffles or pleats and caul in between the two layers. The single layer method is a bit more difficult, because hemming anything curved is the biggest pain in the neck, but it's what's correct and I think it looks lovely." She should know, since she interned at the Margaret Hunter shop. As you know, this is the way most people construct caps now.

Why didn't I choose to do so, too? Well, I liked lapped seams, and I was used to stroke-gathering, although I was used to whip-gathering, too... 

Just to confuse things, I own an early 19th century cap, the band and the frill of which appear to have but one seam. The band edge appears to have been whipped at the same time as the frill. Huh, years later I can't figure out where my head was at the time. Suspect that many of you have had similar experiences.

Look carefully at the seam between the band and the frill. I see one seam, not two.

Well, the cap's long done and remains function and pretty. However, I never wore it. Not long after, Larkin and Smith published their cap patterns and I bought one of their kits, and never looked back. Perhaps someday the poor neglected thing will get a handsome blue silk ribbon to cover its seam sins, the back tie will be corrected, and I can wear it.

Monday, January 06, 2014

A Blanket for the Big Freeze

Binding pinned, so I can hem it while near the heat of the fire.
If it's cold and you know it, wave your hand! It's nutty cold here. Holding at about 3 degrees Fahrenheit currently, and expected to head into the negative digits tonight.

Such cold weather is uncommon, especially here in Kentucky, and so the schoolchildren are home, including my boys, and except where the heating vents are, our house is on the chilly side as the cold air seeks its way in through the old walls. Over by the kitchen window the floor is frigid; wonder if we forgot to put insulation in there when we renovated this room.

When my dad was a boy, my grandmother wrote his name in all capitals, in ink, on a piece of twill tape and sewed it to a dusty rose-colored wool blanket, just at the pink binding. He took the blanket to camp, I understand. A few years ago Dad and Letitia passed the blanket on to us, since they live at the beach and don't exactly need much wool there. Over the years the binding had worn to shreds with use and it was clearly time for me to remove what was left and put on a new one.

I wonder how many folks still do this? Good wool blankets are hard to find, and anyhow many people prefer synthetic fabrics since they go through the washer and aren't scratchy. (Christopher snorted just now. He has the other wool blanket and while he likes it, he complains it scratches him.) Yet I love wool: it breathes well so you don't feel all perspire-y underneath, and they are warm and toasty and not physically heavy. In combination with a nice fat down duvet, you have the definition of a toasty, toasty, heavenly sleep.

Boys in between smiles, on the blanket, denuded of the old binding. The boys were somewhat at a loose end, and yes, Mom, Christopher was made to take off the binding from around his neck.
These past few days, then, I've been slowly hemming a new binding to the blanket, which shall now belong to Noah. The color matches perfectly; what were my chances of coming across such good vintage binding? Fortune smiled. It's been a family project: Christopher waxes the thread, and hands me pins; Noah hands me pins too, at whiles, when he thinks of it and stops reading a moment, and asks when the blanket will be done. His understanding of the speed of handsewing is somewhat rudimentary, methinks, despite the years he's seen me at work. Ah well.

Here's hoping the blanket will be ready fast, before the Big Freeze lifts! Although, if the Arctic air decides to return to Arctic Circle early, we'll be happy to see it go. It didn't bother to bring the Northern Lights with it.

Muffin nested on the blanket last evening. No sewing at that point. Who could be so hard-hearted as to move such a
sweet-faced purr?
Poor little Miss Blueberry Muffin. This was her favorite blanket, the one she gravitated to almost daily, sleeping hours on it as it lay atop our master bedroom bed. Now it shall live on Noah's bed, under his bedspread. I'll be needing to find something else soft and scratchy for her.

Next time, the cap! It's finally almost finished.