Kertyschoo! The First School Bug Hits

Achoo! Sniffle. We all hab codes in de dnose.

Last week marked the first week of school and a couple of cold viruses decided to make a bold entrance, and drop near the entire class with sneezles and wheezles. Parents and siblings too.

Ah well. My mother remembers going to school with a cold, and I certainly do too; the rule in this town is that you're in school unless you have a fever or something nasty like roseola, etc.

Hunh. I know our nation hopes and expects our children to grow up to be well-educated, helpful and responsible citizens, but does that include passing around germs so that their families, parental workmates and colleagues, fellow parishioners, and store clerks everywhere share in the sneezy joy, lose both sleep and equanimity?  Especially while we gain bad moods, exhaustion, and general whininess all around?

I am well aware that staying home with sick children make parents who work lose work hours or adds to the burden of grandparents or sitters. I am aware of the chaos that causes, because I work part-time.

How can we balance this? With quarantine rooms at school, for all the sickies who cannot stay home?

I just do not know. Our society is so complex, and so unbalanced...



Are we expecting too much of little five year olds?

Steampunk Black Dress: Petticoat Progress

I had some unexpected time this week, and was able to turn out the most part of the bustle petticoat!

The pattern is the sensibly designed Truly Victorian Underskirt pattern, TV201. It can be used for petticoats, too.

It's been easy as pie to do. All skirt seams are left raw or are pinked, the skirt hem is 1" deep and machine sewn in straight stitch. The placket is simply hemmed. I checked Reconstruction Era Fashions, by Frances Grimble, and sure enough, the Harper's Bazar petticoat pattern therein directs the seamstress to hemming it with a narrow hem, and overlap the closure 1-2 inches.

The flounce is an antique. I had a heavily damaged petticoat in my possession with a massively gathered flounce on it. Most likely 1890s or Edwardian, the embroidery nonetheless recalls that of earlier decades. Therefore, I removed the flounce, undid all the gathers, and voila, more than enough for the bustle petticoat.

The petticoat has seen lots of use: the eyelet embroidery on the bottom had been trodden on or caught on things so often that parts are missing or torn. I will back those spots with plain muslin. Another part shows a large mend where a hole had been patched. I am making sure that the new muslin base skirt is long enough to protect the flounce.

I've pinned it in place, mostly, a fiddly process since the flounce is still whole, not in a long strip. It's laid flat in front, and will be laid in tiny gathers in back. The raw top edge is turned over.

It's been fun doing this project so far. See you next time!

Farewell to Babyhood

Tomorrow, Kindergarten. Farewell, babyhood, farewell.

We've visited each babyhood haunt, we've hugged and kissed and looked deeply at them, willing our minds to embed their moments into unfading memory, we've had our favorite meals and treats, we've read our favorite books.

They've already left most of babyhood, of course, yet as they step through the double doors tomorrow, it's the ceremonial step into a new world.

Farewell, babyhood, farewell.

We will hug you and kiss you and guide you and help you learn responsibility and the Golden Rule that is the essence of all good living. We will learn to let you fly on your own, bit by bit.

Oh, it's so hard to begin letting go!

An 1870s Steampunk Black Dress



"On the Grass", by Berthe Morisot, 1874.

Not steampunk, but it is black

and in a setting dear to a

mother's heart.

 Ever since 2008 I've had a First Bustle era bustle all made up and waiting for me. At last, it's time to use it, because in October we are going to have a Steampunk Sunday Tea! A whole bunch of us, including Jenni over at Living with Jane, are getting really excited about the possibilities.

Anything goes at this event, and my ensemble will be much more about inspiration and fun, and much less about being a stickler for perfection. Plus, it has to be unfussy to make, with little or no handwork, because family life is so busy. Pinking shears, I need you: no handsomely finished seams this time...

Out comes the treadle, of course, and out come the Truly Victorian patterns that have been waiting, and the "I'm-not-sure-it's-really-cotton-gray-broadcloth", and the Hancock's Halloween black muslin, all of which date to before the twins' birth. The only thing to purchase? Some black ribbon. I even have thread.


Scene from "Stardust", a steampunk-
fantasy, complete with fallen
stars, flying pirate ships,
and witches!


The look? Chic, restrained, a study in gray and black and cream, mattes and satins, in honor of the season.

Well, well, that's all nice, but what about the details? Let's start with the all-important overskirt, a defining element of the early 1870s aesthetic, other than the bustle itself, of course. Let's look at some options and see where they lead.

Warning: wordiness ahead: I have been thinking things out around bedtime for awhile, now, and have been tippy-typing on the computer as ideas occur. Lo, it all piled up.

Those of you wondering where the sleeveless spencer went? Please be patient, it will get there. Meantime, I am off playing during this silly season.


Split Pannier Tunic Overskirt, March 1870

Here's an idea for an overskirt, from Peterson's, 1870:



The description:

The pattern and how to put it together. All I need is the tunic part. I can attach that to a waistband.


If you look carefully, there is a sash worn on top: it's attached to a belt. Sashes were considered "indispensible", as Peterson's put it, and could be easily changed out. The belts hid the joins between bodice and skirt.

Well, it's sweet, but the overskirt is too short for my taste. Let's look again.

Black Double-Aproned Dress, Sometime in 1873



Image courtesy Fashion-Era.com

  There we go, that's better. It's the figure in black, second from right, that pitty-pats my heart. The front and back apron design is exactly what I was looking for, and the underskirt effect, the train, everything. The only thing I am not sure about is the jacket styling of the bodice. I'd prefer a plain bodice with a belt.

Let's look at an extant piece to determine how to make it up. Here is an 1870-75 walking dress, accession number, 2009.300.1900a–c, from the Met. The back has a large bustle effect, and is a little boufier than I want, but the seamlines clearly show the number of panels needed to create it. I have used colored lines to indicate the panels.

There are a total of 8 panels needed, 4 to a side:

• The front apron needs a front panel (#1), gored, with two side panels (#2), also gored. The back of the side panel is drawn up almost to the top of the overskirt; the drawing up is hidden by the side "tie" trim. The bottom of both gores is shaped into a curve.
• The back needs a gored panel #3, slightly curved at the bottom, and the back is composed of two panels, cut on the straight and pleated at the top.
• In this case, the waistband to which all panels are attached is hidden underneath the bodice.

To create it:

• A short front apron, using a variety of the pattern from the split pannier tunic, up top. I may or may not need multiple gored pieces, depending on how I can cut the fabric.
• The back piece: made of one panel, but doubled fabric to make it double wide), pleated at the top and with a curved hem. When cut out, it would be shaped like a very wide, long "U", I think. The upper part lined with net or "crin" to help hold the puff. The puff would be pulled up into shape with an interior cord. 
• The overskirt is trimmed with knife pleating, with header. The details are unclear in the image, but a narrow satin ribbon can cover the join of pleating to the aprons. Follow Heather McNaughton's directions to make them.




Miss Blueberry Muffin, outfitted by nature with her own bustle and train.


• I will have to make up the underskirt first, then drape the overskirt on top. Both front and back should be lined with plain white muslin, so they hang better, so I can drape the shapes using that plain muslin lining.

What About the Underskirt?
The 1873 Peterson's underskirt is just beautiful The upper part of the skirt appears to be scalloped, or perhaps it's ornamented with ribbon or soutache cord in scalloped shapes. I can find no detailed image to tell. The double layer of knife-pleated flouncing without headers, is streamlined. Love that.

Here are detailed instructions on making it, written down now so I don't forget!

Cut a black muslin lining, using TV201 as pattern, and adding a wee train. Face the back with another layer of lining, to about 6 inches deep, cut from the same pattern. Cut a third from iron-on interfacing. Turn right sides together, sew, and turn in the facing. Stitch down the top of the facing. This makes a fine strong hem that will not catch on anything, and was done during the period (although crin or other stiffener was used instead of the commercial interfacing). It helps hold the skirt to the right shape.

• Mount a short top layer to the lining.
• Use the TV201 pattern, but cut the pieces short, to mid-thigh in front, to knee-level in back.
• Line the bottom to a depth of four inches or so, but put the right sides together. Baste strongly.
• Using a stencil, cut scallops along the outer edge, through both lining and fashion fabric. Sew along this line.
• Turn the lining inwards, and tack closed. Top-stitch along the scallop edges if necessary to help them lie flat.
• Sew to skirt lining.
• Cut and pleat the flounces. To pleat, use Heather McNaughton's directions. Spray with vinegar and press to help the pleats hold their shape.
• Mount the upper of the double flounces to the lining. Sew it to the lining just up under the bottom of the upper skirt. Pink the top flounce so it needs no finishing. Mount the lower flounce the same way, plain hemming it for durability.
• Inside the bottom of the muslin lining, tack a gathered balayeuse.

Oh, and There's a Sash?

Yes, but of course! The design, to come.

How about the Bodice?

Much as I like the jacket look of the 1873 plate, it's too hefty, and would not have a square neck, of course. I want the square neck, and need a very fitted waist.

Therefore, a plain, high waist is best, using TV 400, but with elbow-length sleeves. Trimming the neckline and sleeves is the next question, and I will save that for another day.

This evening I leave you with another memory of the lake:



Silliness on the pontoon boat: we know Christopher loved his Fig Newton cookie, but what's with Noah?



Summer Interlude on a Lake

Splash, sigh, tre, tre, tre, tre, sighhhhh, sing the waves on the pebbly shingle.

Zzzhhhhhhhhzzzzzzz says the reel as the line is slung out into blue-green waters.

Chattering, the boys hunt for fossils.

Giggle-sploosh -- Mama and Noah in the warm, soft water.

Whisper, and sit under the sycamore at the old water's edge, and sniff the pure smell of summertime.

Sigh.

Sleeveless / Convertible Spencer: Proof of Construction!

Whee! Construction starts! Here's proof, in three pictures:

Turning in hem allowances along the armscye of one front piece -- pinning them in place prior to perpetrating a point a rabattre sous le main hem on it. Because the hem is curved, I needed a lot of pins. Otherwise the fashion fabric would have wrinkled badly.

Why is the stitching on top of Costume Close Up? Because I kept referring to it...

Hem sewing, in progress. Because I am left-handed, I sew from left to right. In Koshka-the-cat's version of the stitch, probably a more accurate one because it's faster, one makes a running stitch through the fashion fabric side of the work, but picking up a few threads of the lining hem when bringing the needle out. If one uses matching thread, this is fast and easy, and binds two layers and finishes the hem in one step.

I was concerned that my stitches be as even as possible, since I am sewing them in contrasting yellow thread for effect. Therefore, I push the needle upwards to the back, catching just the fashion fabric. Then I push the needle back through to the front, this time straight through both lining and fashion fabric. Doing so, I can measure the length of each stitch precisely. Slower, and therefore not efficiently mantua-maker-esque, but the result looks even, and nice from both front and back. Later I'll play with ways to make this stitch both fast and even.

Some finished hems. At about a hem or a lapped seam a day, it will take me a bit to complete the spencer, but it's about all the speed I can manage :}

Ciao!

Sleeveless / Convertible Spencer: Embroidery Completed!

At long last, eh? I started the embroidery in late April, and here it is, practically late July. The project started October 26, 2011. How's that for glacial movement?

Ta-da.

I've worked on the project in bits and drabs, obviously. Sure wish I'd kept careful count of the hours, but would say it varied from 30 minutes to 1 hour per complete motif.

Can you find the single blue motif? Why is there only one when the effect is so nice? I meant to use more of that color. Let's make up a myth to explain it. What shall it be?

The embroidery is sparse, similar to both extant spencers in the Metropolitan from which my design is inspired. It will feel tighter, however, when the seam allowances are turned and the pleating is added to the neckline.

American or European spencer, 1800-1830
Metropolitan Museum of Art

C.I.38.100.10

Late 18th century spencer
Metropolitan Museum of Art

1970.281.1

Now for construction, if I remember how to do it :}

Today I leave you with a bit of the silly season --

Three friends outside the entrance to the formal garden at Ashland Estate.

Will I Be There, or Not? The JaneFest Cliffhanger

La Migraine. Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons. My
favorite part of this picture? The maid running to
halt the little boy playing a big drum. Ohhh, the pain!

Our heroine holds one hand to the back or her neck, the other to her forehead, and lapses into a reverie. Will she take tea with friends the weekend next, not any ordinary tea, mind you, but four courses of delectables and multiple pots of proper looseleaf, piping hot? Will she happen upon a duel, attend a play and keep one eye on the stage while the other admires the company around her? Will she stroll meadows and allees under her parasol? Will she seek and gladly find the company of friends old and new?

Or will -- here her head drops to the marginal comfort of her crossed forearms -- will she lie in her chamber, the curtains drawn against excruciating light, her ears stopped with pillows to the ordinarily dear sounds of her own children, a heating pad under the neck and a cold compress on the forehead, wrestling in despair with the devils hammering at all sides of her head?

That moment lies in the next chapter, my friends, but if plot twists past indicate accurately, the abominable headache bed is as likely as the Jane Austen Festival. For our heroine and her family are prey to the migraine and to the spectre of overwork.

+ + + + +

Well, let's leave that grim scene, shall we? I've visited it too often in the last year to make writing about it any more than a barren pleasure.

So, if you see me next weekend at the Jane Austen Festival at Locust Grove in Louisville, with my twins in hand, let's celebrate together, for I've been looking forward to returning to the festival since last July. Bonnie Wise and all the staff and volunteers put on a really memorable Regency-themed weekend. If you don't see me, you will know that a) I am trying to keep the boys far from my husband's office, where he is working with few breaks, or b) the headache bed has reclaimed its victim and unseated the entire family's equilibrium.

If you do see me, you probably won't see this, at least finished and on my back:



The back section of the sleeveless spencer, pinned to the embroidery frame

It's the back piece of the sleeveless spencer, underway since last fall. Love you as I do, it's about time, Miss Spencer that you finished yourself up, for you're getting borrrrrring to your readers and realllllllllly boring to me, too. In fact, I wish you would finish yourself up, yourself, and leave me out of it, while I go work, or fold laundry, or weed the garden, or have dinner with my husband and boys, or picnic with friends, or pet the cats, or finish Blue at the Mizzen, or sleep, anything but see your pretty purple face, undone.

De Saint-Aubin's The Art of the Embroiderer, 1770

One final motif, at the bottom center of that back piece, needs doing. I am slowly getting better at embroidering them, especially with the assistance of a new book that's taken abode here, de Saint-Aubin's L'Art du Brodeur, or The Art of the Embroiderer. Hallie Larkin wrote about the book in May. I'd known of its existence of course, but only in French, and when Hallie Larkin said that LACMA had put out a facsimile version with English translation, in the 1980s, I was on the hunt like white on rice. Finally nabbed a copy at a quarter of the usual price. You all, if you embroider 18th century style, you have to have this book, and you must read it with great attention, and then compare text and images it to modern-day resources like Mary Corbet's Needle 'n Thread and 18th Century Clothing Techniques, then go muse and experiment.

For example, I could have been doing my flat silk embroidery with what is now known as split stitch, and have avoided the issues that have arisen with trying to do shading with laid stitch. Split stitch was the recommended method for embroideresses to use when doing shaded flat silk work. The stitch remains today, and Mary Corbet has an online tutorial about it, as part of her long-and-short-stitch tutorial, bless her.

Then too, de Saint-Aubin at last convinced me of what no one else could, that pinning my work to the impromptu embroidery frame may be fine for loose work on gauze, but not for silk. I need a real frame to get the proper tension and so avoid the puckers that bother some of the motifs. Now to figure out how to make one, because purchasing one is not in the cards -- erm -- wallet.

Finally, the book tells us how to work with silk chenille! At last, solid help in this area, for it's actually not as easy at it seems! Is anything ever as easy as it seems? Really?

+ + + + +

Ah, the current headache has lifted a little. It's not a migraine, just a run-of-the-mill bother, and I can at least write a bit. Now it's to work awhile. A deadline looms next week, and if I get a jump on it, so much the better. One never knows what the next day will serve up. 

A Slinking, Sneaky Vegetable

At first we thought the plant sprouting in the flower garden must be a sunflower from a seed scattered by birds. Then it grew sideways, not up, and we thought, poor thing, it snapped untimely, but let it be and perhaps new stems will grow from the stump. It put on wide leaves, and we thought it might be a cucumber. Then it made its first blossom, amidst now enormous leaves, and we thought, aha, squash. Then it tendriled up from the ground and slunk across the deck, and we thought, well, it's a hybrid: it's producing nothing. Then we left for vacation.

Not a hybrid. The theory yesterday, a watermelon, given the longish ovoid shape, and we did spit watermelon seeds that direction last summer.

Yes, spit them. I am an honest girl.

The theory now that I examine it again: pumpkin. That stalk, that shape, those stripes. The boys did leave their Halloween pumpkins near until just after a proper burial was due.

It's teasing us with dozens of blooms and lurches nightly towards far side of the deck and the fence, in the neighbor's direction.

I've not planted such a thing on purpose before, and acquainted I may be with misc. mesclun greens, gherkins, tomatoes, collards, cotton, peanuts, carrots, potatoes, arugula, lettuces and radishes, yet this beast is making me nervous. Not like the other sudden plant next the side of the house, cherrily bearing cherry tomatoes and so obligingly set by a messy chipmunk.

What is he, please?

Winner! Simplicity "Civil War" Patterns Giveaway

The boys pick a winner.

The twins say, "We have a winner!" This morning they wrote numbers on individual slips of paper, folded them up, and put them in a wooden box belonging to their blocks. I mixed up the slips, one boy drew out a slip, the other opened it, and they held up #10 for all to see.

So Jessie Schaefer-Winters, you have won the drawing! Please send your snailmail to me at L a d y b u g M i s s B l u e b e r r y M u f f i n at Gmail and I will send off the patterns in a bit.

Thank all of you for putting in your names, and for your kind comments. If only I had more of these patterns to share.
Congratulations again. I hope the patterns will be fun to make up, and I am so glad that they are going to a good home.

Another Giveaway: Simplicity "Civil War" Patterns, Designed by Martha McCain and Kay Gnagey

The cleanout continues. This time it's a batch of five Simplicity patterns for 1860s wear: chemises, corsets, hoops, dresses, apron. Four by Martha McCain, one by Kay Gnagey, which means they are well researched.

All the patterns are complete, never used.

Why are they going? The American Civil War is just too close for comfort. Our house is built on part of Henry Clay's former farm, Ashland (part of the estate is saved, thank goodness), and very close to here men fought each other and wounded and killed one another. Family members all over town argued and battled with each other because they took different sides in the conflict in this border state. People were bought and sold at Cheapside just downtown. Imagine the suffering. No, no, it's just too emotionally close; I cannot manage to evoke any sense of those years without sadness. I've tried, but just cannot do it.

Let me pass these on then, to someone who can enjoy this era to its fullest!

The patterns:

• 7212, size RR (14, 16, 18, 20, EUR 40-46)
• 9769, size RR (ditto)
• 9764, size RR (ditto)
• 7215, size RR (ditto)
• 2887, size US 16, 18, 20, 22, 24 (EUR 42-52) 

If you'd like this set of patterns, please leave me a comment with your name either in the body of the comment or in your name line. On Friday, June 15, at 8:00 p.m. I will pick a random name and announce the winner over the weekend.

Please spread the word: I want these patterns, and those that will follow, gone to good homes.

Very best, Natalie

Giveaway Winners: Maternity Patterns!

Since just two readers were interested in the maternity patterns and the embroidery kit, I felt sad just flipping a coin and only having one winner. Mrs. C. and Kerry, I have patterns for both of you!

I'll split up the patterns I have randomly between you, and add some buttons that would be fun to add to children's clothes! Again, I had meant to use these for wee toddler clothes, but never got around to making them. The ones to the far left are ceramic, and the ones to the far right are actually wrapped like leather buttons, but the "leather" is certainly ersatz. Still, that means it's useful in the wet :}

Edited 06/11/12: Thank you, Mrs. C! I now have your address and can mail you the patterns! Kerry, if you're still interested, please leave a comment and we will arrange to get your address.
May the patterns give lots of pleasure and happiness!

Next up, a set of five Simplicity 1860s patterns...four from Martha McCain and one from Kay Gnagey!

Giveaway: Children's and Maternity Patterns!

Christopher got not only a new bed, but a new, bigger room. That meant that I had to move the guest room to the smallest bedroom, and make it an office, too. That meant cleaning out the closet. That meant parting with items I no longer need or use.

What does that mean, in turn? Paying it forward, and giveways for you... I've not done a giveaway before, and it's fun to finally have an opportunity.

The first giveaway has to do with childhood and motherhood:  a set of four patterns and a DMC kit for embroidered sprigs.

(To see the image above full size, click on it. On the slideshow screen, right-click on the image again, and from the pop-up menu, choose Properties. Cut and paste the URL into a fresh browser or browser tab, and you will get the giant photo.)

 

Our tots in their little bear hats.

Top left: a DMC cotton floss kit with sprig patterns for napkins. Frankly, I think they'd look sweet on dresses or on bibs.

Top middle: cowboy and Indian costumes, size 2: they fit our three year olds, but can size up easily. The cowboy pattern has been used, but all pieces are there.

Top right: baby snuggies. I loved this pattern, though I only used the cap. It made such cute little bear hats for Noah and Christopher! Can't recall, but I might have made up the ears myself, and certainly made up the little bear paw mitts.

John-Johns in action, on Christopher, at right.

Bottom left: John-Johns! Some of the easiest-to-wear boy clothes ever. My boys wore them during summertime almost exclusively through their third year. John-Johns don't bind a boy's waist, so he can run and move unimpeded, and there's no shirt to get in the way, either. It's just about pure freedom for the boy, and pure adorableness for me. Checks! Stripes! Cute animals on the front! We had people stopping us all the time complementing us on how nice the boys looked, for they were fresh and trim and happy in them, even if up close you could see sweet potato stains. Yup, I am a big believer in John-Johns, and was delighted when dear friend Johnny gave me this pattern. However, I was so busy just raising those twins I never was able to make my own. Perhaps you will have more time than I will.

Wee cowboys.

Bottom right: maternity wardrobe, size 18-22 (bust 40, waist 32, hip 42) - (bust 44, waist 37, hip 46). Classic and good looking. From this pattern I developed my own, waistless dress pattern, simply by raising the "waistline" and gathering the skirt, but the base patterns are nice too. Alas, no pictures exist anymore of my favorite, brown and green spotted dress.

If you'd like this set of patterns, please leave me a comment with your name either in the body of the comment or in your name line. On Friday, June 8, at 8:00 p.m. I will pick a random name and announce the winner over the weekend!

Their Fifth Birthday: New Beds

Big-boy beds to celebrate a milestone. Five years old. Phooooo. Both climb into my lap as naturally as babies; Christopher's cheeks are still rounded and stained with that ephemeral young-child pink. Noah still says "Wes" for "yes", and I hope he will say so, to me, for years and years and years.

Yet they wrestle and bicker and Noah builds complex structures with Legos -- they have delicate pieces, he says -- and Christopher is mezmerized by baseball and can catch decently already and imitates the throwing position well enough to give me pause, as well as to make me giggle. They are boys saying goodbye to early childhood.

I love them so. They tell me that they will always be my babies and make baby noises just to please me. Before pinching one another just to annoy everyone in earshot. Hahhhhh.

Here they come, back from a bike ride with Daddy. They bang on the door!

A Different Kind of Embroidery: Treadle Sewing Machine Tambour Work

This afternoon, leaving me confined to the house by the aftermath of yet another illness, my husband and boys headed to West Liberty. Yes, that West Liberty, the little town whose downtown was largely wiped away by a tornado earlier this spring. Each year the extended clan visits family gravesites to clean and decorate them, and then sits down to a vast and delicious dinner, from hamburgers to soup beans (stewed pinto beans) to slaws and red velvet cake.

Test number one: linen thread. Boo. See below.

I wandered around by myself, unaccustomed to the silence and the enforced ease. This morning I'd tried some spring cleaning, little tasks that could be performed at a snail's pace and mostly sitting down, but was enjoined to rest this afternoon. Normally I'd nap: what a luxury that is, to wrap an arm around your warm, fluffy, purring Muffin kitty and drift away, but today dreams didn't come. Instead, an old idea kept jabbing at me. I've often wondered if I could imitate tambour embroidery on a 1910s Wilcox and Gibbes chainstitch treadle machine I've had for almost a decade now.  You can believe I've fabricated myself some pretty magnificent embroidered garments in those daydreams.

(Awww, Muffin is back. This time she's gone under the skirted table where I am typing and has settled on my feet. I can sense her purring through the fabric.)

Well, the machine was only a few feet away, I had a span of hours when housework and other musts were must nots. How rare is that, eh?

So I tried it. Starched a square of lightweight muslin, drew a few motifs common to the Regency period on it, eased an embroidery hoop under the needle bar, and threaded the machine for embroidery. On the Wilcox and Gibbes, you draw on the back side of the fabric, place that face up, and sew that way, because the chain shows underneath, while the top looks like a straight stitch.

To embroider, you move, twist and turn the embroidery hoop by hand to "draw" the shapes. It's all freehand -- on a treadle there's no computer guide. So a sure, slow hand is essential or you get dreck and the thread breaks, too.

Try number two: silk thread. Better but not good enough. For reference,
the motif is four inches long by two inches wide.

First I tested linen thread used for sewing stays. Ugh. The machine hated it because the thread has slubs, so it kept catching in the tension and in the needle's eye. Plus, I was using a big size 1 Schmetz needle, the only one whose eye the linen would (mostly) negotiate. Plus I had to set the stitch length short or the fabric would pucker.

Then I changed the needle to size 3 Schmetz, closest to the size 4 the manual desires, set the stitch length to the suggested setting, and used tightly twisted silk, Au Ver de Soie; the manual says Thou Must Use Silk, you know. I know why now: it's strong, very smooth, and can take the pulling and shaping. Ooooh, it stitched really nicely, so long as I kept to large curves or straight lines.

Results? Meh...

 Meh is right. Meh on several accounts.

1. The stitch lacks the subtle puffy quality that hand tambour has; the machine stretches the thread to an even tension each time and it's a little less round, a little more elongated than handmade work.
2. The needle creates visible holes in the fabric and the silk thread can't quite cover them up. Sure, a tambour needle is big too, but you can use fatter thread. Here we're pretty limited to needles size three and four.
3. The stitches are all the same length, and so small motifs with tight round curves don't work all that well, even when I hand-turn the wheel and lift the presser foot to shift the fabric. That's what you do on this kind of machine to radically alter direction -- you swivel on the thread, not on the needle. Wide curves and spikey shapes are better. So vines and carnations and to some degree, acanthus, shape decently; those tight rounded curves found in roses and spriggy leaves leave too many poorly tensioned stitches.

As you can see in the detail shot below, the thread tension goes wonky on curves. By the way, that is supposed to be a four-petaled flower, each of those petals is supposed to have three lobes. However, the lobes proved so difficult to do on the scale of 1/2" or less each that I decided to see how larger curves would appear.

Naturally, I could change up the design, introduce multiple rows of stitching to outline spikier forms, where smooth tension reigns, but the fact remains that the results are so obviously machine-made that the juice is not worth the squeeze for Georgian/Regency-era work. The embroidery still won't look real enough. At least real enough to me. Back to the tambour hook...

Those of you who want to do nineteenth or early twentieth century work? Give it a try! Any style that favors large, bold designs may give you just dandy results, and the machine-y look will be just like what they produced, since this sort of machine embroidery was coming into its own.

So that's that. The dream of oh, three-plus years went poof. Oh well, it was a thought.

More Embroidery Progress: A Carnation Acts Difficult

Dusk is drawing on and the sun is past the horizon, leaving rays of orange-cream pop light floating through the trees out back. The flowers in the garden obtain that luminescence they only get in the evening; they and the grass are glowing and I can hear an early cicada trying his wings. He is weeks and weeks out of his due date, I think, and he sings alone so far.

I've just finished my own, embroidered flower, and it too is luminescent, this time in a soft blue and pink that a carnation never wore, so maybe I'll call him a bachelor's button. He's another motif on the sleeveless spencer, and he struggled for hours to come to life.

Here's the motif in natural light.

His first two incarnations lasted only minutes before I cut them to pieces, poor things. I had the devil of a time with making the petals feel like they were really lifting themselves out of the stem. After all, you cannot curve sewn threads, only couched ones. The first time the petals came out looking like a child's drawing; angles everywhere and nothing alive. Trying him in long-and-short stitch was just as bad, for soie ovale shows spaces in between stitches like nobody's business, and I haven't had practice in that stitch for at least a decade.

The Met spencer's carnations didn't offer advice: the blown-up photos have lost any stitch details. Consulting my embroidery books and 18th Century Embroidery Techniques, and Seventeenth and Eighteenth Fashion in Detail helped very little either, for they illustrate no carnations close up; all I got was the sense that threads might overlay and fan to produce a growth pattern. My Pinterest files brought nothing; all my carnation images are in tambour stitch. Grr.

So it was pencil to paper to experiment, and finally I came up with stitch directions that seemed sensible. The third round I allowed to fan the threads a bit, allowed some threads to overlay one another at the base, and I followed the petal growth directions, but gently. I let the needle and thread paint, sometimes laying the thread atop the fabric where I wanted it to go to assess direction, before I poked the needle to the back.

The blue thread took on life and slowly a blossom grew, and with the addition of a few light pink threads to indicate the lower petal portions, and a few to suggest the flower base, I had something that breathed. The picture is weak; he actually swoops to the side, instead of stands heads up. So tilt your monitor and you'll get a better idea :}

The stem and leaves were another challenge altogether. The leaves are sharply pointed, something that's not easy to do in silk chenille. The first petal is wonky, but the second leaf came out okay, after I'd learned to shape and fold the chenille to follow outlines and to use couching stitches to create sharp corners. I'd tear out the first leaf except that the couching thread continues to the second leaf and I haven't the heart to redo it just now.

You can see the results of the last effort above. Once again, the laying tool was integral to shaping most stitches, and essential for finally smoothing everything. For a first carnation, I am pleased. Long may he bloom.

The B-29

I heard the sound in the distance while at work here at home Friday, what they call a drone, large somethings beating the air and slicing it into falling pieces. I knew it had to be a propeller plane and a big one. The drone grew louder and in spite of knowing that I had nothing to fear, those cut-up slices of sound falling from the sky were menacing.

She flew overhead, right over our house, quite low, and the sound resolved itself to one I've heard in the movies. There were four big engines driving the propellers, and snub nose, a silver glow, wide, rounded wings. She was actually quite beautiful, and she sounded close up like an army of giant beetles. From this angle I couldn't see the narrow rods jutting out that would be her machine guns.

I knew her name was Fifi, having read about her visit in the newspaper. She's the last Superfortress still flying; her sisters are all gone, the two most famous, or infamous, living in museums now, memorials to the nasty birth of the atom bomb.

Over the next two days she would fly overhead perhaps eight or nine times, and each time all of us who could would careen outdoors to listen and watch her. She is a living memory of an era so terrible and such a part of our collective human history that she must be listened to.

My husband and I took the boys to the aviation museum last evening in the hopes of seeing her up close, but the museum had already closed. So we hooked our fingers into the chain link fence and looked at her. On the ground she was menacing once again, although that didn't impair her beauty. It was the gunners' positions, the machine guns the only sharp edges on her, that gave her nature away, and the doors in her stomach that had let fall how many thousands of bombs.

This morning, they and my mother visited again, and this time they toured the museum and saw her up close. I was confined home with yet another cold.

I won't say more. What do you say to something beautiful that's also destructive, whose every silhouette is a mixture of sublime design and embodied proof of man's propensity to mix the hideous and the incalculably stupid with the heroic and the selfless?