Another length of fabric transformed into something wearable, even if I do glow in the dark whilst wearing it. I'd kind of forgotten quite how bright an orange this piece of cotton voile was, but I still like it. More slow stitching with french seams and fifteen (yep fifteen!) buttons down the closure - a feature, donchaknow (yes, I needed a feature, as if the colour didn't already scream "Look at me! Look at me!"). The buttons all came out of the button box, which I'm beginning to believe has similar qualities to the TARDIS. I'm not sure where they came from and there may even be more little orange buttons in there, but fifteen seemed a reasonable number at which to stop looking. Even slow stitching, I suspect my patience would have worn thin had I needed to make another buttonhole. Though my Janome does make a nice automatic buttonhole, I must say.
I'd also forgotten, or never took any notice, that voile is, um, kinda fine. This means it will be cool in the (almost over, hurrah) southern summer, but it also means it's a little translucent. And guess who doesn't currently have a flesh toned brassiere? It turns out that black, or blue, or red undergarments are highly visible under voile. Even fluoro orange voile. I do have a camisole, though, so all is not lost.
I am pleased with the way all the buttons look. Funny aside: when I was stitching the buttons under the buttonholes, I finished number fourteen and couldn't find the final button. Hmmm, whatever could I have done with it? I could've sworn there were fifteen originally (I almost always use an odd number). Not on the table near the machine. Not on the floor. Don't think a cat would've swallowed it (and if a cat did swallow it, I don't think I want it back). I figured it would turn up. Or not. Wouldn't be the first time I've been missing the bottom button on a shirt.
It turned up - the next time I used the machine I took the buttonhole foot off and, lo and behold, there is the fifteenth button, still in the little gripper doodad that tells the machine how long to make the buttonhole. Duh!
I'm not really into the whole huntin', shootin', fishin' thing as such, but I find myself strangely attracted to images from that (probably) imaginary world that I loved so much in novels of the early twentieth century, that seemingly quintessentially English world of grand houses and weekend parties that always featured a hunt. Or Agatha Christie's stories of English drawing rooms and high body counts. This tablecloth came from Dandenong Savers for the princely sum of $4 (after Sunday student discount). I think it's printed damask, a nice weight.
I'm not sure if I'll keep it as a tablecloth, or treat it as fabric (as I do many of my op shop treasures - I gravitate instantly towards the textiles, and then the books) and transform it into a garment. It would make a great skirt or blouse, if I can creatively cut it to use as much of the pattern as possible.
Note that Bel chooses to sleep on the colour that best sets off her beautiful jet black coat. That's a lime green sari I'm refashioning into a tunic. She likes to curl up on the end of it while I'm actually putting it through the sewing machine.
"Perhaps if I ignore her, she'll go away."
"Perhaps if I wash the vulgar bits, THEN she'll go away."
"I shall kill you in your sleep. And eat your liver."
There's a Golden Orb spider resident in my front garden. Every day (or night, I think they're nocturnal) she spins a new web, attaching the anchor strands between the house and a tree, or my car and the tree. The web is not quite as huge as it appears here - this looks like it should belong to a people eating arachnid! - but is a good two to three feet across. The silk is incredibly strong if you walk into it.
A couple of weeks ago, an unfortunate door-to-door salesman had a very close encounter with Ms Orb. I'm not sure how he missed it on his way to the door (maybe cut across the lawn), but as he left he ran face first into the massive spider web. Poor man emitted a very high pitched, girly shriek. It was getting toward twilight and the spider was active: I saw her run across his hair, down his back and make her escape via his trouser leg into the grass, so at least |I could reassure him that he was spider-free (I didn't go into detail about how she escaped). He spent a good ten minutes sitting on my front fence, shaking, muttering under his breath and wiping spider silk from his person. I'll bet he has nightmares.
I quite like my spider neighbour. And yes, she has trapped me, more than once and scampered across my head. She's beautiful, and I like looking at her creations. They're small miracles of design and function.
I'm 48, female, just finished a two year course in Visual Arts, and am now back in the market for a job (boo!). I worked in the library field for the better part of three decades and two years ago took the plunge from a job that made me unhappy to go back to school. I've loved every moment of it and as soon as I have enough money to tide me over being a poverty stricken student I'm going back for more!