Experimental design

A finished project for me!

OMG SHE MADE SOMETHING FOR HERSELF!

… okay, now that we’ve got that out of our systems…

I MADE SOMETHING FOR MYSELF!

Erm.

Vintage Patterns

So you may recall that I somewhat wantonly purchased a couple of 50s patterns from New Vintage Lady just before Christmas—a cute dress and a blouse that could’ve been Sencha’s grandmother. Both really adorable, and both a size or two too small.

Well, I was feeling experimental on the weekend (and in the mood for something quick that would use up scrap fabric), and somehow in the digging through of fabric and patterns I settled on this combo: Using the McCall’s 6288 (from 1945, the year my father was born) in combination with the scanty fabric remains from my Birthday Dress.

Despite the size 12 (30″ bust) of my copy of the pattern (I’m more a 14-16 in the old sizing), pattern-measurement suggested there would be enough ease in the bust and even in the waist, especially if I omitted the little tucks from the waist. So, feeling bold, I traced off the pattern and set to.

The best styling (click to see full size)

Careful pattern placement, and a certain amount of fudging, allowed me to fit both sides of the shirt on the .5m or so of actual full-width fabric I had left. I will confess, I did something I have not done, I think, EVER—I fudged the grain-line on the back piece so it would fit. I’m hoping that the fact that it’s a small blouse means the off-grain thing won’t be too noticeable—I certainly don’t notice it, but I’m sure the sewing gods are glaring down in disapproval. In hindsight, I could’ve pieced the fold-over portion of the rear button placket in from the huge LONG, THIN piece of the leftover fabric, but anyway. What’s done is done.

I opted not to be stingy with the interfacing, using it on the neck facings and the rear button placket. Not least because I think it’s a really nice way to finish facings. This is the trick that went ’round the blogosphere a while back, where you stitch interfacing and facings right sides together (right side of the interfacing being the non-fusible side) along the outside edge of the facing, and then flip and fuse them. The seam encloses and finishes the facing edge nicely. This is white Armo-weft, by the way, which is far and away my favourite interfacing—lightweight, fuses well, doesn’t shrink or bubble. I mean, there’s probably better out there, but it’s the best I’ve found from what I have available locally. You do need to use a press-cloth, even though I try to pretend you don’t.

Interfacing

Anyway, at this point I had to break for the night, and took the instructions upstairs to read over before bedtime. Erm. Me being me, they promptly evaporated, and I was left to wing the rest of the construction. A bit of a bummer since half the interest of making up a *really vintage* pattern like this is checking out the instructions. They have since resurfaced, actually just as I sat down to write this post, on the computer desk where they were hiding under my daughter’s laptop. Grr.

So, without benefit of instructions, I set to the next morning, starting with stitching the shoulders (french seam) and then the neck facings into place. I even remembered to stitch the ties in place! Of course, no sooner did I have  everything nicely understitched, but I flipped it around and discovered a) my neck-facing was showing on the outside of my back button placket rather than being sandwiched between the two folded layers (leaving an unsightly raw and flapping edge) and b) the neck was WAY too tight.

Which, I guess, was a good thing, because it motivated me to fix problem (a) before re-stitching.

Interior

I lowered the neckline by a good 1.5 cm all around, which has brought it to the point of being just-barely-wearable, although it also means that there’s not much left of my facing.

I then decided I would do french seams on the side-seams, which was also not my brightest moment ever, since they don’t play at all well with the way the sleeve is supposed to be finished. It doesn’t really show when wearing, since the fudge is all tucked in the armpit, but it’s definitely not smooth and sleek. You can see it clearly on the interior photo.

Buttonliness

I made the buttonholes using my Greist buttonholer on the White, since I wanted to try the buttonholer on a machine with drop-able feed dogs. I must admit I feel a bit daft using a buttonholer on a zig-zag machine, but anyway. The White is really growing on me as a machine—I wasn’t initially thrilled, but it’s a sturdy workhorse. It took a few samples to get the tension and stitch-width right, but once I had that figured out it made my buttonholes quickly and fairly neatly. It’s the first time I’ve used the buttonholer on such a light-weight material, and it made for a rather different experience. They’re not all perfect, especially the fifth one which I added after and of course messed up, but they’re in and functional. Incidentally, the pattern calls for four buttonholes; the location of the fifth, now that I have the instructions in front of me, calls for a snap, presumably because that would be more comfortable than a button under a waistband.

The pattern also calls for small shoulder-pads. I don’t really mind skipping those. I think I look about as square-shouldered as the envelope girls without them, thanks.

More styling

So, verdict?

Well, it fits remarkably well. The bust is a wee bit tight (especially over a padded bra) but not as bad as I had feared—a pinch test suggests there’s just under 2″ of ease, which is pretty minimal for the bust. The waist fits well, although it would be more interesting with the tucks. The darts are a smidgeon high (like maybe 1 cm) but really not bad at all.

I really wasn’t sold when I first tried it on, but after throwing it together with over half my wardrobe in a shotgun approach to styling, I think it’s growing on me. I really like it with the shrug, I think because I like the brighter colour contrast near my face. The mix of colours in the blouse kinda blends into my skin tone from a distance. I also think it might be great in a more drapy fabric—crepe or rayon or (ulp) silk. For most of my wardrobe needs it’s also a bit short. You’ll notice one way you don’t see it styled here—tucked in. I tried, honestly—with my circle skirts and my Kasia skirt. It almost worked with the Kasia, but the colours are wrong. And, well. Blouses. I have Blouse Issues.

So, all in all, it was a fun experiment. Will I wear it? I’m not convinced—but I’m not quite as skeptical as I was a few days ago, so there may be hope. Especially with my cream capris and the vintage shrug.

A Syo-lytic leotard

I asked for a dance pose.

So I’ve been trying to start sewing down stash. I’ve been positively stingy with the new fabric purchases the last little while (which seems to mostly be resulting in pattern-binging, but that’s another issue). I’ve been avoiding Fabricland like an (insert clever, really annoying thing to avoid here).

However, the other day Syo had a doctor’s appointment across town at a location I wasn’t familiar with, and so I had built in an excessive amount of traffic/getting lost time, and so we arrived in the area with rather more than an hour to kill before her appointment. And I may not know that area well, but I do know where the fabric store is, so in we tromped.

And Syo found the swimsuit fabrics.

And they were having a big 50% off nearly everything sale.

And I’m officially the biggest pushover ever to disgrace mommydom.

So Syo scored a metre of pink, grey, and white leopard- and heart-print spandex. For a new leotard for her dance class.

Now, she is in sore need of a new leotard—the ones she has are mostly two or three sizes too small. But there is a dress code for the class (however poorly enforced) and I’m pretty sure pink leopard print isn’t on it.

However,

Kwik Sew 1670

Bring on Kwik Sew 1670, again. This pattern has previously been used (abused) to create the pattern for Tyo’s close-fitting shirt, and the leggings have been made before, but this is the first time I’ve made the leotard up as such. It’s the first time, frankly, that I’ve sewn with full-on spandex in all its slippery, stretchy glory.

That's more like it.

First off, I will say, a sleeveless leotard is an insanely easy project. Two pattern pieces, no facings, not even any binding. I started tracing the size 8 (a bit large on Syo but the smallest in my packet) at 8:00 and had the whole thing done before 10:00.

Hmm, swayback appears to run in the family

I followed the Kwik Sew instructions remarkably closely, although I don’t know if I’ll do the same next time. They have you measure out elastic lengths, stitch them into circles, and then stretch the circles to fit the various openings (leg, arms, neck). While the elastic lengths were good, I think I do just as well applying in the flat and eyeballing my stretch ratio. I’ll give it a try next time and let you know…

Triple-stitch zig-zag finish

Anyway, I stitched the entire thing on my Janome, as she has the best stretch-stitches—I’ve come to the conclusion (backed by a wee bit of actual research) that my 3-thread serger really isn’t intended for making seams, just finishing them. I’m not supremely in love with the overlock stitch on the Janome—the seams look a little wavy when you open them up—but it is very stretchy. For applying and then topstitching the elastic, I used the 3-step zig-zag. It’s a bit of a home-finished look, but not a bad once, I think.

Side view

Some of this may have been motivated by the fact that Syo got her costume for the year-end show the other day. Ah, 1992 called, it wants its clothing back. Black, neon, fishnet, paint-splatter print—an amazing blast from the past. All of which I paid $80 for. And it’s not exactly badly made, and I don’t begrudge the stitcher getting paid a living wage for her time, and she does have a coverstitch, which I don’t… but, frankly, I could’ve done just as well*. And maybe I needed to prove that to myself.

Gappy neckline

Syo is obscenely happy with her new leotard (not to mention how quickly it was made up). It is a smidge large on her, or at least the neck gapes a touch where I didn’t get the elastic pulled quite evenly, but I imagine that will lessen as she grows. As leotards go, it’s pretty modest, high-necked back and front—I’ll be really tempted to scoop out the back a bunch next time. The butt-coverage is decent, but I suspect it will become less so as her body takes up the excess length. The crotch between the legs seems a bit wide to me, but doesn’t appear to bother her. There’s no crotch-lining included, but I might try adding one next time.

The big question, of course, is what to do with the rest of the fabric, since I used approximately 30 cm off one side of the 150-cm wide, 1m length…

*I don’t think I have any ambitions to pursue a career stitching up dance costumes for local troupes, anyway. Well, at least not the kind of semi-mass-production this kind of costuming requires. Now, making someone a fabulous bellydance or flamenco costume… that could be fun.

My Image Again

Young Image

A couple of weeks back, My Image magazine (the new European pattern magazine) sent me an email offer I couldn’t refuse—get the two summer issues FREE paying only shipping. Sold!

I picked up a couple of issues last spring. Now, I have to confess, I have a bit of an issue with pattern magazines. On the one hand, I LOVE them. I trace most of my patterns anyway, so that’s not an issue, and there’s something so exciting about having all those looks to flip through. However, (as with a lot of my pattern purchases, actually) I haven’t made up a whole lot from what I’ve already bought. I bought one issue of Burda, once, and made one pattern from it, which was basically a fail. From the previous two My Image magazines I bought last spring, I made one dress from the Young Image, for my niece (and modified it highly). My most-used pattern magazine is actually an old kids’ issue of Patrones that the Selfish Seamstress (reluctantly) gave me, back when I was blessed to bathe in the reflected light of her glory. I’ve made two patterns from it, and there are a couple more that are on the KIDS WANT list.

No, instead I tend to make variation after variation of TNTs.

One of the awesome things about My Image is that you can actually look at the entire magazine (except the patterns) on their website. The only issue I have there is that they tend to make things up in fabulous and crazy prints, which look great but can make it a touch hard to see what’s actually going on. Although the shots are more clothing-focused than a lot of Burda photos. You can also order the patterns in custom sizes, although the price of a single custom size is more than the entire magazine. Still, I’m tempted to give it a try, since one of the things that puts me off making up new patterns is the annoyance of fitting myself.

Anyway, the magazines arrived in really pretty good time shipping from Europe (about two weeks, which is faster than anything I ordered before Christmas arrived from the States). And, in an attempt to get myself out of my current stall, I resolved to make something. However, the dress I most would like to make from the women’s issue requires a stable knit of the sort I don’t have in stash (a doubleknit would be perfect). And I’m REALLY trying to work from stash right now. To the extent that I’m actually *doing* anything, of course, as opposed to just thinking about it.

A very simple pattern.

More importantly, being too lazy to worry about fitting myself, I selected arguably the most brain-dead easy pattern in the Young Image, Y1201, a racer-back tank tunic/dress with flounces on the bottom, cute ornamental tie-on things at the shoulders, and an odd little collar snugging in the racerback.

A very, very bad photo of the line drawing. Sorry, my scanner is being a pain today.

My children being not so much the flouncy types, I left these off. Being lazy, I left off the tie-thingies, too. I did motivate myself to make the little cuff. Go me!

On first  impressions, I traced off the 116. The chest measurement is the same as Syo’s (or at least, the one I recorded for Syo last summer—she’s probably grown a bit but she also likes her clothes more fitted than tunicky). The “dress length” isn’t very long (it’s supposed to have a flounce at the bottom) while the shirt length ended right at the waist. I thought about cutting mid way between the two lengths, but ended up just going with the longer length, which worked out in the end. My Image pattern sheets are a dream to trace—there’s only 16 patterns, four to each sheet, and each pattern is in its own colour. Easy. The hardest part was remembering to add seam allowance to the sides, shoulders, and hem, but not to the neckline and armscye where I would be binding the edge.

Wait---that's not Syo!

For fabric, I dug through the stash (which despite being rather too big never has exactly what you’re looking for) and picked a cream rib-knit, originally purchased because it was on clearance and a good colour and cotton and I must’ve forgotten how much I don’t like rib-knits for general wear.

The instructions have you cut the binding for the neck and arm-holes on the bias, which I think is fairly silly for a knit, so I just cut mine on the cross-grain. However, this design has enough ease you could probably do it in a woven, in which case the bias binding would make sense.

I have to say, although I am overall quite charmed with the My Image product, the English-language translation remains pretty, um, amusing. What was actually worse than the odd word choices is that the language isn’t entirely consistent. The bindings are referred to in various places as “yokes” and “edging”. One or the other would be figure-out-able, but the inconsistency makes it tricky. Or as tricky as an insanely simple project like this can be. I can’t tell you anything more about the instructions because I abandoned them at that point.

My terrible binding. And my goofy daughter, who will probably never forgive me for posting this shot.

I used my dumbed-down version of Sherry’s excellent binding technique, which is to say that I do it like her except I make my bands extra-wide to start with, don’t overlock the edge, and just trim down the extra close to the stitching on the inside. You have to stretch rib-knit binding an awful lot to get it to end up smooth. I figured that out eventually.

Back "cuff"

They give you dimensions, rather than pattern-pieces, for the rectangular pieces like the little back cuff,   which I approve of thoroughly. That being said, I’m not entirely sure how the cuff was supposed to be put together. I settled for seaming the long edges, turning inside out, and then stitching the ends together and turning that to the inside of the loop before threading it into place and finishing the side-seams. My first attempt seemed a little too wide, so I narrowed it some mmore, and I’m now pretty happy with it although I think it could be a little shorter, too. I didn’t add any seam allowances to this piece, but then I did use 1cm seams, so if seam allowances were included, they may have been 1.5 cm. I dunno.

Full back

Anyway, once I was finished stitching it all up, I realized that the use of a rib-knit and the omission of all the frilly bits had moved it firmly into “wifebeater”*, or rather boybeater, territory. And the loose, tunic style of the original was not at all appropriate for a boybeater. I could tell from looking, however, that the size and length would be just about perfect for Tyo’s tastes.

Woo!

I was a little concerned that the armscye would be too high, but Tyo assures me it’s perfectly comfortable. And she hasn’t taken it off since I gave it to her, so it seems to be a hit.

As for the puppy hat, I have no idea.

*It occurs to me that this is probably one of those regional word usage things. A wifebeater is a close-fitting, usually rib-knit men’s undershirt, evoking the stereotypical image of the white-trash male sitting his trailer drinking a beer while watching the game and yelling at his wife. By extension, when a girl wears one, it is called a boybeater. Manbeater might be more appropriate, arguably.

I sewed silk!

Pretty dress

… In about the teensiest, most tentative way possible.

Last summer, we bought the girls a couple of shirred-top, recycled-sari-silk dresses at a stall at a street fair. They’re not exactly well-made, but they’re extremely pretty. The only problem was that they were strapless. However, a fortuitous accident illustrating the inadvisability of cycling in a long, frilly silk skirt provided a fair bit of mangled hem that needed to be sliced off. Fortunately there’s plenty left to frill around in—and now I had fabric to spare to make some spaghetti straps. Which didn’t stop me from putting the project off pretty much all winter, but finally last night I was bumming around the sewing room, poking dispiritedly at the mounts of *stuff* and not really feeling able to start anything major. Tyo pointedly suggested that perhaps I should GET THAT DONE.

Silk + Bike rear-wheel = BAD

Well, I got them started, anyway.

After sorting through the mangled mass to find a bit that wasn’t too shredded and melted, I very gently ironed a portion and cut out two strips, each about 3 cm wide. The ironing was very much NOT facilitated by the fact that I didn’t use a press-cloth when block-fusing Armoweft interfacing onto Osiris’s coat; Armoweft is the nicest interfacing I’ve found yet, but the glue does seep through when you’re fusing with it. So my iron’s foot was covered with gunk. I do terrible things to my iron, honoured readers, but this was unusually bad even for me.

But, back to the silk. My strips were cut on the bias, more because the portion of the skirt I I’d had to cut off had been cut on the bias than because I wanted skinny little spaghetti straps. I actually think these straps turned out a bit too skinny.

Anyway, once I finally got them pressed, I pulled out a brand-new, super-fine needle (65/9) and sat down with some scraps to play with my tension and stitch length. I was too lazy short of time to look up what kind of a stitch length is good for bias silk, (I know Sunni and Sherry have both weighed in on the topic), but eventually went with a short stitch, but pulling while I stitched. Which makes the fabric scooch all over the place, but anyway. When I was done, I had straps. When not being pulled on, the straight stiches actually look a bit zig-zagged. Interesting.

Spaghettie straplets. Also, never feel bad about your shirring again!

I used the bobby pin method for turning the straps. I love this method WAY over using a cord on the inside of the tube, but really for slippery silk I think anything would’ve worked. These were the easiest little tubes to turn, ever. And once I ironed and stretched them to maximal skinniness, they didn’t look half bad, despite my wonky stitching and general incompetence.

Some careful handwheeling got them nicely attached in the front, and now all I have to do is stuff a child into the dress long enough to measure the length to attach them in the back.

And who knows, maybe I’ll get some actual *real* sewing done one of these days…

Attached

A Belated Sew Grateful

Prezzies

Just in case I got your hopes up, this is not a giveaway. I’m not that organized (I am mail-ophobic) and I’m definitely far too distracted with Kingdoms of Amalur thesis-writing to come up with a  pattern or decent tutorial to share. Also Sew Grateful week was last week. See what I mean about organized?

This is, instead, a simple thank-you*, to Sigrid of Analog Me, who in a fit of mental instability generosity last month decided to send me some patterns she had kicking around and didn’t need.

The only one that might actually fit me is McCall’s 9752, a miss’s size 10. It’s cute and hits a lot of my buttons—1970s, empire-waist, shaped midriff, no darts. And it does have me yearning for Spring, not that there’s a shortage of 70s dresses in what passes for my mental queue these days (which is feeling more like a sludge, frankly.)

The modern pattern, Simplicity 2266, is the large kids’ size-range, 10 to 14. OK, there’s actually a possibility the 14 would fit me. It might be a bit twee, though, no? I do think it’s cute, although more in a three-to-five-year-old way than a tween-to-teen way. Also, maybe not made up in quilting cotton, yes? That would actually be a kinda hilarious challenge…

What’s really amusing me is that the 50s pattern on the right, Simplicity 2829, which is a size 10 in the old pattern sizing, has the same bust (28″) as the kids size 10. Interesting. Although Tyo’s still a couple of inches off a 28″ bust, she says she likes the 50s pattern. Except for the ruffles.

You will note, perhaps, that three of the four styles are ruffly? Sigh. One of the tricks of sewing for tweens is telling the difference between patterns they really like and ones they only like because of the illustrations. Oh, and the ones they would like if the illustrations didn’t blow.

Anyway, thank you, Sigrid!  I don’t know when any will be made up, but it’s always nice to have the inspiration.

*Obviously Sigrid is not the only person I owe thank yous too, current and past. Some of them I’m still working on getting out there. Some of them I’ve sent privately. Some of them I’m too disorganized to pull together. But I promise, I AM GRATEFUL!

Score(?)

Before I get distracted with anything else, thank you all SO much for your very kind words about our poor fish. They helped a lot, each and every one. Thank you.

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Hudson's Bay point blanket

Erm. So, I had thought my weekly thrifting-as-time-killer was a relatively harmless pastime. I mean, aside from the occasional sewing-machine acquisition. Most weeks I might spend $10, often nothing at all.

Well, this last one blew my streak.  I was being so good, too! No sewing books tempted me. The fabric section had been thoroughly re-stocked for the first time in months, but there was nothing I needed. I walked away from two Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles curtain-flounce thingies as they were $4 apiece for really not very much fabric. (I gotta say, a TMNT bedsheet dress would be da bomb)

And then, on a whim, I wandered through the blanket section. I don’t usually spend much time in there, if only because it’s always full of fluffy fuzzies and hand-made quilts I’m going to want to take home if I look at, despite not actually liking patchwork very much.

And then I saw red.

Wool.

Felted.

Could it be?

I pulled it open, heart beating quickly. That weight, of heavy wool, scratchy, boiled, and felted. There it was—the wide, black stripe. And where—yes, there were the points, four narrow black lines, and right below them, the label.

I had found a genuine Husdon’s Bay Company point blanket.

Points and label

For those of you for whom what I just wrote is complete gibberish, here’s the Cliff Notes. (I’ve also touched on this topic before.) The Hudson’s Bay Company was originally a fur-trading company, founded in the late 1600s, that traded across much of the territory that is now Canada. Trading posts were the front-line of European colonization, long before anyone was farming out west; and, perhaps unusually in colonial history, the native people actually had something the Europeans wanted other than land—skilled hunters and trappers, they could produce fur, especially beaver, which was in huge demand in the European hat trade. My own husband is Métis, a group descended primarily from white fur traders who married native women during their long deployments for the fur-trade companies. Since the late 1700s, one of their signature products has been the point blanket, so-named for the black bars woven into one edge, which denote the size of the blanket (my four-point blanket is a standard double size; more points=bigger). These points were important in the weaving process, since the blankets are boiled and felted after weaving, which considerably changes the size. The blankets are top quality and very thick—almost 1cm thick. Aside from their use as blankets, one of the most popular things to do with a point blanket was to make it into a coat. At some point during their transition from fur-trade company to modern deparment store, HBC hit on the idea of manufacturing their own blanket coats.

Label closeup

Which brings in my own personal connection. Early in their marriage, my father bought my mother a professionally-manufactured Hudson’s Bay blanket coat. Which I presume left my mom tickled pink, as one of her favourite jobs at that time had been excavating Fort Carlton, an HBC fur-trading post in Saskatchwan which burnt to the ground in the late 1800s. However, it was a dress-coat, and she never wore it very much, saving it for best.

I wish I had a better picture of this coat...

Unfortunately for her (and the coat), I had no such qualms when I got my hands on it as a teenager. I wore the crap out of that coat. I wore it until it cried uncle. I wore out (and patched!) the lining. I ripped the armpits. All of which might have been fixable, but my backpacks have worn the fabric so thin in the back that it’s probably beyond saving. I’m sorry, Mom. I loved that coat. Even though it was shapeless with a waist belt (not a good look for me) and the sleeves were too short (like every other storebought coat I’ve ever owned). It was the direct inspiration for my Czarina Coat.

So, it was only natural that, when I began sewing, I should price out some Hudson’s Bay blankets, just, y’know, for someday.

Ulp.

Um.

Let’s just say the price for a new HBC blanket is, um, a LOTTA beaver pelts.

Which brings me back to my thrift store moment. My heart sank as I fumbled for the price-tag. Value Village may be a thrift store, but they know what they can charge for the good stuff, and there’s no way they’d missed how good this was. Sure enough, $69.99.

WAY more than I was planning to spend that night.

But still about a quarter of the price new.

So now I have an HBC blanket, in my favourite red and black colours.

All I need now is the perfect pattern…

A (not so) brief interruption for self-pity

One Eyed Jack (left), Bandit (centre), Tigger (right)

I did actually motivate myself to blockfuse and start cutting Osiris’s  frock coat over the weekend. It’s going well, except that the iron has left marks which are showing through the right side of the fabric, and if they don’t even out when I finish the fusing then I’m going to be in trouble.

And that’s all the sewing there is in this post, so feel free to move on. Because this is where I get pitiful. Or perhaps pathetic. About, of all things, my goldfish.

Five years ago, just before we left our hometown, my husband got our children a small (10 gallon) tank and ten goldfish. Yes, this is way too many for the tank. His boss was evicting the goldfish from the tanks at his work, in favour of other, cooler fish, and the goldfish were either going to be flushed down the toilet, eaten by cichlids, or come home with us.

So, when we moved, we had ten gold fish, about seven small, three somewhat more medium-sized. To my utter surprise, all of them survived the move (which involved an eight hour drive in an un-filtered, un-aerated 1-gallon jar).

I am not really a fish-person. I am a cat- and dog-person, a cuddly mammal person. They weren’t the best-kept fish ever. But we had to give up our cats when we moved, as the new landlords were not pet-friendly, and so—fish. But I wasn’t overly surprised when a few of them died over the course of the next few years. Three of the smaller ones just—died. No idea what went wrong. One of the larger ones, a pretty multi-coloured one, seemed to develop an intestinal blockage. His sides got rounder and rounder, until his scales were sticking out. He was still eating but not, as far as I could tell, pooping. And then, one day, he was dead. Sad, but (for once) probably not my fault. But after that things really stabilized.  Six fish was still a lot for the tank, especially as they were all getting bigger, but we seemed to have weeded out the weak.

Fast forward until Christmas two years ago. We went home for the weekend (four days, a period of time we have left the fish alone for any number of times), and returned to the Great Filter Malfunction. The sponges in the filter (which I had cleaned not long before, I’ll add) decided to float up, so the water wasn’t being filtered properly, plus my husband left the tank light on (which heats the water a lot) and the house thermostat up, so the water was overheated. When we got back, one fish (Hook) was floating dead, and the others were not in good shape.  Over the next few days, as we scrambled to change water, we lost two more, and I fully expected to lose Tigger, our second-biggest fish, who was just sitting on the bottom, refusing to move, until his long, beautiful, trailing fins actually became warped from the pressure.

But, stubbornly, he didn’t die, and we were left with Tigger, Bandit (the biggest fish by far, although since he has short, stubby wild-type fins Tigger would actually be longer), and One-Eyed Jack, a small fish who had .

A little over a year ago, a friend lent us a somewhat bigger (25 gallon) tank, which we eagerly moved our fish into. Unfortunately, it was an upright style of tank, octagonal and deep—very pretty, but not really any advantage when it comes to swimming room. Even more unfortunately, it has an open top, and sometime last winter One-Eyed Jack took an ill-advised, and unprecedented, nightime leap and ended up on the floor. I blogged about that here.

So we were down to two, large goldfish (I’ll point out that my highly-in depth internet goldfish research suggests that plain-type goldfish require at least a 20-gallon tank for one fish, and at least an additional 12 gallons per additional fish. When well-kept, they also live at least 20 years, reaching a length of 10 to 12″). A month or two back, we finally decided that they were really, really to big to still be in such a small tank. Until we could find/afford a bigger one, we set back up the smaller, 10 gallon, tanks, and separated the two. Tigger, of the long, beautiful tail, thrashed during the transfer and ripped his tail, and proceeded to sulk on the bottom of the tank for the next week, refusing to eat, while the bit of his tail behind the rip fell off. In true Tigger form, despite my anxiety, he did not die, and eventually started eating again, but he still spent most of his time sulking on the bottom of the tank. Which, frankly, was his standard behaviour since the Great Filter Malfunction. The only time he really would swim around was when Bandit would poke and prod him. Meanwhile, Bandit, alone in his slightly larger tank with no one to pick on, took to eating constantly (I swear out of boredom) and bumping his nose into the glass every time I walked by. A bigger tank seemed like a necessity.

Ten days ago, while hunting on kijiji, we found a good deal on a 46-gallon, bow-front aquarium, complete with stand and filter and all that good stuff. Even a heater, which we’d never had before.

So we picked it up, set it up, and had our fish in it that very afternoon.

And my god, you have never seen such happy goldfish. Even Tigger, the sulker, bounced back and forth cheerfully. They swam and swam and swam.

Now, those of you who know about new aquarium setups know what’s coming next. A nitrogen spike is typical of a new aquarium setup. Nitrogen goes into the fish-tank as food (all protein contains nitrogen) and comes out the fish as waste, and gets converted through a few different formats by bacteria, but until the bacteria are well-established in the filter and the gravel bed, the toxic stages of the nitrogen cycle will build up. And I knew that too, and I was monitoring the ammonia (but not the nitrate or nitrite), and yes, it was elevated, but not THAT high, and we were doing partial water-changes every few days, which I thought would be enough. I mean, these are the fish that survived everything I could throw at them, in their teeny, overcrowded tank, for FIVE YEARS. I was expecting them to maybe be unhappy for a few days, but they seemed fine.

Until yesterday morning, when I discovered Tigger tangled up with the heater and the air-tubes, floating listlessly. I got him out of there, and while he was clearly alive, he was doing a lot of drifting and not really swimming strongly. But I mean, this is Tigger, he always looks sick, so I wasn’t really alarmed by this reversion to type. We did another partial water-change, though, to be on the safe side.

A few hours later, he was noticeably worse—still breathing, but drifting on his side.

By afternoon, he was dead. I wrapped him in a plastic bag, stuck it inside a cereal box, and taped it up, and tucked it in the freezer.

Osiris and the kids took a sample of water to the pet-store. No ammonia problem, but nitrite and nitrate were still high. We changed out even more water.

And just before bedtime, we realized Bandit—huge, fat, invulnerable Bandit, who’d nosed the ailing Tigger around the tank protectively—was acting listless. We pulled him out and stuck him back in the 25-gallon, which is still functioning, having been moved to Tyo’s room and stocked with some cute little orandas. He seemed to be doing a little better there, and we went to bed.

And this morning, when I went to wake Tyo for school, he was dead.

And I’ve had cats and dogs die on me and it sucks and I cry—frankly, I love my mammals a lot more than I love my fish—but here’s the thing. None of my cats’ or dogs’ deaths were my fault. They weren’t because I got them poisoned food, or gave them a lead-contaminated bed. The closest is a bit of guilt that Thea (the tabby cat) was allowed outside to be killed by the neighbour’s dog.

I measured Bandit just before I packed him in the cereal box beside Tigger. Even with his stubby fins, he was a full 10″ long, and fat. Good eating on that fish. Tigger was a smidge longer, but about 4″ of that was his prodigious tail.

How the FUCK can I keep two fish alive for years, years, in a teensy, grubby tank whose water quality was, frequently, shit—and then kill them both in less than two weeks in the brand-new, big tank that was supposed to make their lives better? Should I comfort myself that they had a week of great, fishy happiness in the big tank before it killed them? That they went together, just as they lived together for so long?

Dammit, why the hell am I crying over my freakin’ goldfish?

Give me a cat any day.

Where’s Waldo (Jr)

Tyo Looks Cute (in my tights and shoes...)

As I procrastinated my way through last weekend (as is my wont), I asked Tyo if she’d like a shirt from the remaining bits of my red and grey striped fabric. As I already have two shirts out of it, I thought a third might be overkill. Tyo was amenable, so I cut out another version of her fitted knit top.

I actually sewed this version with a straight stitch, then finished the edges on the serger. I may come to regret that, but it’s an awfully stable knit.

V-neck

I did an unusually good job of measuring the neckline for the neck-band (on my usual scooped necks I just sort of cut an approximate neckband and stretch as I go, but you have to put V-necks on in the round, as far as I can tell, so a little precision goes a long way. I also did one small but obvious thing, I made a tiny snip in the point of the V (before I started attaching the neckband) so that the seam-allowance can fold back. And, miraculously, I ended up with my first-ever, completely-non-puckered V-neck finish! Who knew? (Yes, I know, everyone who ever bothered to read up on inserting V-neck bands knew. We’ve gone over the stubborn-have-to-make-mistakes-for-myself part, haven’t we?)

Back View

Frankly, I was ridiculously proud of myself when I finished this top.

And then Tyo tried it on.

Well, remember I mentioned this knit has very little stretch? I mean, it makes it quite nice to sew up (evil rolling tendencies aside), and I like a firm knit. But this pattern which fit Tyo perfectly in the loose, giving jersey of the white version… is really, really snug. Even the shoulders are too narrow, although the part that’s bugging her is the sleeves. So we’ve been wrangling all week over whether she can cut the sleeves short, or whether she should just hand it down to Syo. I’m leaning towards the latter, preferring not to have my new creation hacked into, especially when there would’ve been a lot more usable fabric left if I’d decided to cut short sleeves from the beginning. Probably enough enough for a shirt for Tyo. Grroar. Of course, now that the pictures are taken, she’s still wearing it and not complaining… we’ll see.

Not sure how much sewing I’ll get up to over the weekend, but here’s hoping.

Front view

More thrifting…

Scores

Erm. So, those of you who have (or have had) kids of a certain age know what I’m talking about. You get in the car, drive across town, drop them at their dance/music/sport/insert enriching activity here, and then… what? You drive back home, only turn around and go get them right away (and feel like a first world troll burning wanton fossil fuels)? You stay and watch, and feel like the classic annoying and overprotective parent? You sit outside in your car, wasting even more fuel? (Trust me, up here sitting with it not running in the winter for more than a few minutes is not an option…)

My solution, when I’m feeling responsible, is to head to the grocery store. When I’m feeling less responsible (or once the groceries are bought…), it’s to head to the thrift store.

Which, as I’ve said, is a bit uninspiring at the moment, but you never know when that’s going to change, and popping in once a week is exactly the kind of persistence that nets you the occasional gem. Or bags of lace you’re going to call a gem because it’s been so long since you saw anything better…

Anyway, on my most recent visit, the entire Singer Sewing Reference Library was there. Again. I’m not sure how many people in my area bought this collection, but it must’ve been a few as there’s been at least three infusions of these books since I started haunting this particular thrift store (which is only in the last year and a half, frankly.)

The trick with the Singer Sewing Reference Library is remembering what you’ve bought already. Maybe that’s why so many end up at the thrift store… people buy things twice and forget? I dunno. Anyway, this time I picked up the tailoring volume (which I know I wanted but can’t remember if I found or not) and the pants-fitting volume, because, well, one can never have too many fitting books (especially for fitting pants!). Of course it focuses strictly on loose, dress trouser type pants that are fitted at the wasit… y’know, the kind I never, ever wear… But still, good to have, right?

But then, of course, like clouds parting in the heavens, like choirs of angels singing, I saw another book, just sitting right there on top of the big block of SSRLs…

Yessiree, the Advanced Dungeons & Dragons Player’s Handbook. (1995 edition)

Obviously this was meant to be.

… which would probably be more meaningful if I mentioned that my husband used to play in high school, and recently his buddies back home have started playing again (pre-midlife-crisis, anyone? at least it’s cheaper than sports cars…) and over Christmas I sat in and actually participated in my first D&D game ever and kinda had a blast, and of course if my husband ever did have a copy of the Player’s Handbook it’s long, long gone, and I was kinda in need of get-out-of-doghouse ammo that night and this was the perfect thing to bring home to make a sick and long-suffering hubby less grumpy with me and did I ever mention how I read ALL the Forgotten Realms and Dragonlance books I could get my hands on when I was like, nine, and this kid in my class told me I was in a cult for reading them (wtf?) but I never actually knew anyone who played becaue MAN that game would’ve been totally up my alley at that stage in my life when day-to-day reality was just about the most hellish it’s ever been…

Why yes, I actually am quite happy with myself. And I did sew up a Where’s Waldo shirt for Tyo over the weekend, but I haven’t got photos yet and may not get any before she takes scissors to the sleeves, which is a whole ‘nother issue…

Birds on a Wire

Birds on a Wire Tee

So I’ve been promising (well, promising Steph) pictures of this version for ages. I’m not feeling very photogenic lately (never even mind the camera issues)… and my tripod is missing in action, and I’ve been sick, and… well, motivation hasn’t outweighed laziness, is I guess the basic way to put it.

This is, if you don’t instantly recognize it, a dead knockoff of Steph’s original version of her Blank Canvas Tee pattern, including using her very own Bird on a Wire fabric. Which, I feel I should disclose, she sent me as a gift for agreeing to help test the pattern (and advising on electronic drafting, although I turned out to be absolutely useless for that in the end ). Since I drew her up a little technical drawing for the shirt, I almost feel like I earned it, although maybe I won’t admit how little time that sketch took…

Anyway, thank you, Steph, for both fabric and pattern!

This is the same pattern I made up before, except I scooped out the neck a couple of inches more—Steph and I share a love of scoop-necks. The length, you’ll recall, is extended, too… I don’t have a long body, but I wear my pants low, so I need my shirts long to cover them. I gather Steph has since tweaked the pattern to make the shoulders a little smaller, something I may follow suit in. The first version I made fit perfectly in the shoulders, but this version, in a knit with a bit more give, is a little large, and I have broad shoulders to begin with.

It’s a good thing I don’t have any navy blue knits in stash, though, or I’d be in the midst of whipping up yet another version, based on Steph’s first official pattern hack—a cute sweetheart-neckline, empire-waist, sailor-buttoned version.

This is my first time sewing with a Spoonflower knit (this is their organic cotton, if memory serves). It’s a nice weight and feels lovely. It does give quite a bit in stitching—I should’ve stabilized the shoulder seams—and the black print has grayed quite a bit even after only a couple of trips through the wash. That being said, you get your own freakin’ custom print. So, er, it’s probably still worth it. But maybe avoid throwing it in the dryer. Be a better person than I am.