Thursday, November 26, 2015


The Thanksgiving holiday didn't start out too auspiciously in our house.  Yesterday afternoon the cleaning lady told me that the kitchen sink was leaking.  Sure enough, the U-shaped trap had rusted through to leave a little hole at the bottom of the curve.  I griped about how much it was going to cost to call a plumber on the holiday, or how I was going to prepare the food I needed to bring to the holiday feast without water.

She helpfully unscrewed the rusted pipe and said "just go to Home Depot and get a new trap, and screw it in, and you won't even need a plumber."  Then she got the mop, which she hadn't even put away yet after doing the floor the first time, and cleaned everything up beautifully.

In retrospect I should have said, as soon as the leak was announced, "Hold it -- I will do emergency repairs until I can have the plumber come on Friday or Saturday."  I should have then gotten my trusty roll of duct tape and wrapped the leaky pipe ten or twelve times around, and used the sink sparingly.  Heck, we didn't even have to get ready for holiday guests, just bake a pie and make some cranberry something-or-other and take it to my son's house for the dinner.

But did I do the right thing?  No, I watched her unscrew the pipe.  And I sent my husband to Home Depot for a new trap.  Which was the wrong size, so he went back again.  Then we attempted to screw in the new one.  Sparing the gory details, it didn't work.  Except that I cut my finger on the threaded end of the pipe, a sure sign of cheap crap hardware.  (When's the last time you cut your finger on any threaded object?  Right.  Because you generally own decent hardware.)

After a while we decided to give up and have a drink.  We will call the plumber on Friday and see when he can come over.  If that won't be soon, we will eat out.

So instead of being crabby, I'm going to be thankful.  The leak did not occur after a dozen guests arrived for Thanksgiving dinner, nor did it flood out a kitchen floor full of switched-on electrical appliances, books and magazines, or five-year-olds. It will not prevent me from baking a pumpkin pie, just from washing the dishes afterwards (and have you ever noticed that dirty dishes are patient, just as dirty on Monday as they were on Thursday morning?)

I'm thankful that we can afford to call a plumber, even if it's going to cost a lot more than wrestling with the cheap crap pipe from Home Depot, and that we can afford to eat out if the plumber can't come till Monday.  Thankful that the leak was in an easily accessible, totally visible pipe, not hidden inside a wall.  Thankful that we discovered the leak within minutes of it appearing, not upon returning from a month-long vacation.

Thankful that we didn't lose our power for a week after a storm, or have a tree fall on our roof. Thankful that nobody has a terminal disease, that those with serious ailments are under treatment, and that everybody can see a doctor -- and pay for it -- when they need one.

not our house, thank heavens

Thankful that we have not had a foreign terrorist attack in the United States since 2001 and that most of our fellow citizens are willing to extend a welcome to refugees from terrible wars around the globe. Thankful that despite the petty annoyances and frustrations, we still have a pretty fabulous life, one that millions of people from other countries would brave unspeakable dangers to try to achieve.

Thankful for art, both the art we look at and the art we make.   Thankful for friends, both in person and over the Internet, who make our lives so rich.  Thankful for the opportunity to connect with you all, and thankful that you honor me by reading my blog.  A happy Thanksgiving to you all.

Tuesday, November 24, 2015

Guilty blog pleasure of the month

Sometimes you happen upon a new blog and start looking back at all those previous posts -- and the next thing you know, it's time to go to bed.  You keep reading back, and clicking on internal links to old posts, and then you have to go to Google to figure out who she's talking about, and time passes....

That happened to me a couple of weeks ago and I am well and truly lost down the rabbit hole.  The blog is so different from anything that I thought I was ever interested in, but here I am looking for it first thing in the morning when I turn on my computer (and since it emanates from Europe, five hours ahead, it's usually there).

I discovered it on one of the sidebars on Sandy Snowden's blog.  And the winner is -- The Royal Order of Sartorial Splendor, which describes itself as "purely frivolous and perfectly harmless snark and admiration for all things stylish and royal."  It comes every day and keeps you posted on the public appearances of kings and queens, princes and princesses, dukes and duchesses, counts and countesses and lord knows what other varieties of royals.  You wouldn't believe how many of these are out and about, mostly in Europe but also in Asia.

Usually the blog talks about the clothing and jewels worn by the various fancy folks, with particular joy when they show up in tiaras.  The blogger is a fashionista, knowledgeable about designers as well as about clothing construction.  When a gown doesn't fit right, or a zipper pull is too obvious, we'll hear about it!!!

I have learned so much in the hours clicking through this blog's archives.  I have learned that a "parure" is a big matched set of jewels, such as a necklace, brooch, belt clasp, tiara, comb, bandeau, bracelets, pins, rings and earrings.  If you own one you can wear several pieces at once on fancy occasions.  Or you could mix and not match if you own a bunch of other stuff.  And often the tiara is constructed so you can take it off its headband armature and wear it as a necklace.  So convenient!!

I have learned that tiaras come in specific styles, such as these "kokoshniks," which echo the traditional Russian headdress.  Whether you wear your tiara up on the middle of your head (more height) or down on your forehead or partially buried in your hairdo makes a big difference in the overall effect.

(All photos from The Royal Order of Sartorial Splendor blog.)

I have learned that even royals have limited wardrobes, and wear their favorite outfits many times.

I have learned about wearing the sash of your noble order.  For both men and women, it goes under the belt, which is handy to prevent it falling off your shoulder or drooping into your soup (perhaps the reason why so many royal ladies choose dresses with belts?).  For men, over the jacket if your uniform coat is buttoned up, but between jacket and vest in formal dress and unbuttoned uniforms.

I have learned all kinds of gossip: which royal married a former almost-nude model, which royal didn't bother to get married until after the baby was born, which heir to the throne married her personal trainer, which royal had to step out of the line of succession because his sweetie lied about her relationship with a gangster.

Did you know that three European monarchs abdicated recently?  And that all three of the new kings have wives who are drop-dead gorgeous?  And a good thing, because queens have a demanding day job, which is to show up at various events wearing beautiful clothing and looking drop-dead gorgeous.  (A lot of queens happen to be taller than their kings -- just saying.)

The blog loves royal weddings, and had I not read it, I would not have realized that Prince William's red coat didn't fit right, causing nasty wrinkles around his right shoulder.  And if you want a whole lot of comment and opinion on royal wedding gowns, this is your place to go.

Why am I so transfixed with this blog and its subject matter?  Hard to say.

For one thing, it's lovely to see beautiful women wearing decent, beautiful clothes.  I am usually grossed out by the ridiculous hookerwear that is touted in the name of fashion, both on the runway and at entertainment-world events like the Oscars.  I am glad to see that big-name designers can also make clothes that you or I might happily wear out in public.

As a fanatically committed small-r republican, I have an evil fascination with the people who cling to the obsolete rituals of royalty.  Sometimes I wonder how ordinary people (usually women, but not always) allow themselves to marry into such formal and meaningless lives.  Could you stay sane and feel your life was worthwhile if you had to go open a senior citizens center today and attend a royal do in Sweden tomorrow?  On the other hand, do countries with royals get better hands-on attention to worthy causes than we do?

Too much to ponder.  I can hardly wait for tomorrow's dose of royal hemlines.  Check it out and see if you agree.

Friday, November 20, 2015

Those discharged sleeves...

I wrote yesterday about using dishwasher gel, which contains bleach, to discharge text on my quilt sleeves.  And realized from a couple of the comments that I had not made myself clear as to exactly where I put the ensuing fabric.

I said that I don't like labels, as customarily handled in the quilt world -- rectangles of computer-printed fabric that give lots of information about many aspects of the piece, its maker, construction, materials, inspiration and care instructions.  For some reason putting all that info on a label seems like a bad cross between the care tag on your dress and the "about me" section on your Google profile.

But I do think it's necessary to identify the quilt in a permanent manner, and what's so permanent as the hanging mechanism?  So I write my name, the title of the piece, and (usually) the year it was made on the sleeve.

Sorry, if you're walking through the quilt show and feel the urge to sneakily turn back that lower right-hand corner to read my label, you'll be disappointed.  But I'm not much on that practice either.

Thursday, November 19, 2015

Sewing sleeves

I have a bad habit, or perhaps you could call it a superstition -- I rarely sew the sleeves on the back of new quilts until they have been accepted into a show and are on their way out the door.  Sometimes I plan ahead sufficiently to make the sleeve, even if I don't sew it on right away.  But other times I have to do that too, just before the deadline.

Yesterday I had to deliver a quilt to a local juried show so Tuesday night I found myself in the laundry room, writing my info on the sleeve in bleach.

I never put labels on my quilts because it seems kind of bush league -- did Mark Rothko print out a neat little label on his computer, maybe with a cute little flower on the side, and affix it to the back of his paintings?  But since every quilt needs a hanging sleeve, I have turned that into my ID field.

I write my text with Finish dishwashing gel, which contains enough bleach to discharge beautifully.  I like this brand better than others because the gel is stiff enough to hold the bead perfectly rather than seep into the fabric and ooze into a blurry line.  I apply it with a standard ketchup squeeze bottle.  This time I needed to get some fresh gel to refill my squeeze bottle, and was delighted to find that it had enough oomph to start discharging almost immediately.

By the time I finished the second sleeve, below in the photo, the first one had already developed an enthusiastic discharge.  (If you use old gel sometimes it takes an hour or more before the reaction is complete.)  I let the gel dry for several hours before running the sleeves through the wash, because I don't want the wet gel to offset onto other areas of the sleeve, or worse, onto a Tshirt sharing the wash.  Ask me how I know this can happen.

Then it was only one trash TV program's worth of hand sewing to get the sleeve on the quilt in time to deliver it to the show.

You've seen the quilt before -- it's the bottom half of a larger piece that I made several years ago but just cut in two last fall and finished into companion pieces this spring.

Left Coast

Here's its twin:

Flyover State

With any luck, this one will get to go out in public too someday.  And when that happens, I'll have its sleeve all ready to sew on.