I have been working on my Make-It-In-Two-Hours! dress for most of the entire day and I probably would have finished it by now if I hadn't decided to put pockets in it and the pattern did not come with pockets but pockets are easy. Of course I screwed up the pockets so half an hour with the seam ripper and then putting it all back together and by god, if I were in the eighth grade I probably would be done with it by now but I am not.
I am also remembering how much I hate facings. I hate those little fuckers. And they always end up screaming HOMEMADE DRESS! no matter how carefully you interface and trim and iron and sew.
My mother had a saying, "Ugly as homemade sin" and it is one of my favorites. In this case, I do believe this dress is going to be a homemade sin. And as ugly as that implies. Oh well. It can always be a beach dress, should I ever go back to the beach again. Or perhaps I will just donate it upon completion to a thrift store so that some bargain-hunting round woman with no taste can buy it for 25 cents and wear it to slop her hogs in.
At this moment, I hate sewing and besides that, the old, worn rubber belts of the antique and beloved Singer are going to come apart. They are fraying noticeably. I need to find some place to have the whole machine refurbished, belts and hoses replaced, tires rotated. I know that I at least have to make Gibson a name blanket and so will need it again although I seriously doubt I'll be sewing another dress in the near future. If one could still find beautiful fabric it might be a different matter but I think that day has come and gone. At least in Tallahassee. I hear you can buy fabric on the internet but how can you buy fabric without touching it? I have always bought clothing by feel more than by look. That is just the way I am.
Ah-lah. I have spent a Sunday, shoulders hunched over seams and seam-ripper, iron and machine and as I have worked, I have been listening to Barbara Kingsolver reading The Lacuna in my ears and so that is not a bad day, no matter what the dress ends up looking like. (Shit.) This is the second time I've listened to this recorded book and before I ever listened to it, I read it in print and guess what? I love it just as much as the first time. I love how Ms. Kingsolver does the voice of Frida Kahlo as well as the faithful secretary Violet Brown. She is a damn fine narrator, Ms. Kingsolver, and it thrills me to hear her voice as she gives voice to the characters she has brought to life with her writing.
So that has been my day along with a little laundry, even some hung on the line, and filling up the chicken waterers and that is about it. But I am not complaining in the least. It has been a day with little to no despair or anxiety, just a bit of normal frustration and also some guilt that I have not been outside more on such a beautiful day. The air has been of that sweet cool temperature and shade of moistness that foretells spring and whispers that the dirt is warming up, getting ready. False whispers, of course, but still, I could have done some trimming and tidying, cutting back and making ready.
But really- what does any of it mean? These are merely thing we do in our lives as the minutes and hours of them pass. We can play solitaire or bake cookies or paint pictures or write poems or repot plants or plant trees or make dresses or stitch designs into muslin or read or watch TV or study Latin if that is what we so desire. Some days are not meant for earth-shaking purposeful intent and we are but the tiniest of not-visible-to-the-naked-eye specks in the great river of time in this universe.
Or maybe I'm just a complete lame-ass.