Hemming & Hawing
September 23rd, 2011
I’ve just finished hemming a pair of pants for my husband’s new (blond corduroy!) suit. I did it in the nick of time too, so that he can look dashing at our friend’s daughter’s Bat Mitzvah tomorrow morning. As I stitched, I thought about another hem that’s been bothering me. Namely, the incorrect hem I put into my last petticoat, the one to which I attached my first crocheted edging.
Instead of a wide skirt hem, I did a one inch number, cleverly disguised as the third tuck. Then I whipped on the trim. I had a feeling that this was all wrong while I was doing it, but couldn’t find any actual evidence to support my vague suspicions. And since I had been a little chintzy when cutting my breadths for the petticoat, I was afraid there wouldn’t be sufficient turn-down at the top for balancing and went with the slim hem to be safe.
But earlier this week I found proof that I would have done better to risk a wider hem. More like three or four inches instead of one.
The web site selling both of these petticoats identifies them as late-19th century. But they could easily have been remodeled from earlier petticoats and/or petticoat trim. The first one looks mid-century in construction even, if you ask me. I’m less sure about the second, partly due to its narrow width, and partly for the pin tucks which I’ve never seen on a mid-century petticoat — not that that means anything. Regardless of their vintage, notice how they each have the crochet trim or inserting attached to a nice wide hem. Alas!
I’m far too lazy to make a new petticoat skirt for my finished edging. It will just have to languish in its anachronistic state. As reenactors are fond of saying in defense of their irregular underwear, anyone looking close enough to see the mistakes deserves what they get. But I do intend to do a better job for my current edging. I’m also toying with the idea of attaching it to an embroidered petticoat. Though I’d like to find a precedent for such double decoration first.
Row 5 Begun
September 21st, 2011
My latest petticoat trim continues to progress in an orderly fashion. This one isn’t nearly so quick to work up as the last, and by rights it should be taking even longer — I just realized that the pattern asks for size 16 thread, not size 10 like the first (crochet thread gets thinner as the numbers go higher).
Tonight, while watching reruns of Bonanza on DVD — come on, who doesn’t love Little Joe? — I finished the last four motifs and started on the first of three or four more rows that will join it all together.
If you will recall, this is the pattern from Peterson’s, 1855, that’s meant to imitate guipure — a type of embroidered thread and cut fabric lace also popular at the time, and somewhat interchangeable with crochet. I’m not sure how I feel about it, after reading the following in Miss Lambert’s 1848 treatise, My Crochet Sampler:
“The following six collars, though simple and unpretending, are in better taste and style than most productions of a similar kind, in crochet: they show themselves to be what they really are — a clever and ingenious method of producing an elegant and useful article of dress, without attempting to imitate, (which indeed would be but waste of time), lace, guipure, or any other manufacture. This description of work, if well executed, may rest on its own merits.”
Of course I plan to make all of the “following six collars” in the very near future. Though I think I will need to order some finer cotton and dig out my REALLY tiny hooks (or tambours as they were properly called in English, before the french term crochet, meaning hook, took over in the 1840s — I’ve also seen them referred to as crochet needles). I’ve been doing a lot of reading about the development of crochet in the first half of the 19th century, including other works by needlework greats Miss Lambert, Cornelia Mee, and Eléonore Riego de la Branchardière, to name a few. I’ve also found at least four new petticoat trims in crochet from the 1840s and 50s, including one worked the short way!
For now, back to my faux guipure.
More Words to Live By
September 20th, 2011
“On no occasion does a lady seem more lovely than when half occupied with some feminine art which keeps her fingers employed, and gives an excuse for downcast eyes and gentle pre-occupation. This sort of playing at work, and working at play, sheds a home feeling around the guests which no studied effort at hospitality can produce, and forms habits of usefulness which consumes many an hour of idle time that might be put to far more harmful uses.
“There is an air of tranquility, and a proof of innocent contentment in these domestic accomplishments, that have a beautiful significance in the family circle. It is only in well regulated houscholds that leisure moments are thus gathered up. It is only minds composed and serene in their joy, or submissive in sorrow, that can constrain themselves to the gentle monotony of work like this.
“The time which any lady gives to ornamental needle-work is usually made up of those leisure moments which would be lounged away on a sofa, or in a rocking-chair; and it is wonderful how many pretty objects start into existence, that, but for this taste, would be dreamed away into nothingness.
“Of course, no person of well-regulated intellect would make a business of this graceful accomplishment, unless compelled to exercise it for a subsistence. We advocate it simply as an amusement, like all recreation, to be indulged in only when the more serious duties of life are disposed of. But it has advantages not always recognized. Many a fine eye for colors has been cultivated into artistic perfection, by the nice discrimination necessary to assort the tints of a worsted rose. Grouping may be learned from a close study of patterns, and a thousand charming associations may be woven in with the forget-me-not or heart’s-ease, which we have wrought tremblingly into the canvass, which a beloved eye was gazing upon.
“Without a gift for needle-work, what should we ladies do for appropriate mementoes for our brothers, husbands, and friends, at Christmas time, and when birthdays come round, sounding their yearly remembrances upon our heartstrings? What should we do for wedding cushions, and christening robes, when our favorite cousins insist upon becoming heads of families, and useful members of society? What excuse should we have for casting down our eyes, when other people’s eyes become troublesome? Every lady knows how many heart-tremors can be carried off in a vigorous twist of the crotchet-needle; how many pleasant words may be innocently received in a sensitive heart, when all its defensive faculties are busy counting stitches? In short, we persist in it, that a feminine character cannot be quite perfect without a knowledge of all sorts of needle-work, and a down-right hearty love of it, too. For our part, we have buried many a heart-ache in the growing leaves of a silken rose, and blunted the sharp edge of pangs that would not be wrestled with by the sweet, calm mbnotony of a shining bit of steel.”
The Ladies’ Complete Guide to Crochet, Fancy Knitting, and Needlework. By Mrs. Ann S. Stephens. 1854, New York.
Words of Wisdom
September 19th, 2011
From Somerset Maugham’s own introduction to Of Human Bondage:
For long after I became a writer by profession I spent much time on learning how to write and subjected myself to a very tiresome training in the endeavour to improve my style. But these efforts I abandoned when my plays began to be produced, and when I started to write again it was with a different aim. I no longer sought a jewelled prose and a rich texture, on unavailing attempts to achieve which I had formerly wasted much labour; I sought on the contrary plainness and simplicity. With so much that I wanted to say within reasonable limits I felt that I could not afford to waste words and I set out now with the notion of using only such as were necessary to make my meaning clear.
I do not know that I have ever taken instructions for writing so much to heart as these few lines. What a clear path they offer — as fine as a razor to walk, but stretching out straight and true, without obstacle or stumbling block — provided of course that one is able to keep one’s balance and not listen too closely to the echoes of those who lost their way and tumbled off the precipice.
Well that was a mouthful. I see myself wobbling already.
Kusmi Tea, depuis 1867
September 18th, 2011
I can live quite happily without most indulgences, but the occasional tin (or two) of Kusmi Tea is one that I would be loathe to forgo.
I first tasted Kusmi’s Russian Evening Blend a few years ago at a cafe in Hell’s Kitchen. It was so enticing: complicated yet delicate, with a faint top note of roses. Having never seen the Kusmi brand before, I took the tag from the tea bag and carried it around in my wallet (it’s still there, knocking about in my change purse) so I’d remember the name. I resolved to look for a box on my next trip to the local coffee shop. To my surprise, they didn’t carry it. Neither did any of the grocery stores in our area. Yes, I know grocery stores rarely carry really good tea, but even the SoHo shops didn’t have it!
I mentioned my quest to an accomplice who also loves tea, and happens to be descended from Russian Nobility. He told me the story of the Kousmichoff family and their legendary tea house, begun in Russia in 1867 and later moved to Paris when it became politically expedient. I won’t attempt to recreate his version here, as I could never do it justice. Instead, I’ll point you to the official Kusmi Tea web site. By this time, my curiosity was thoroughly piqued. So I made it my quest to find a source in New York City. I eventually learned that only one shop (at that time there was but one — now there are more) in the City carried the Kusmi line.
McNulty’s, pictured here at Christmas, courtesy of someone who posted this photograph online, has been a mecca of the West Village since 1895. The interior furnishings are as old as the store — and equally charming. And they carry a full selection of Kusmi Tea, either loose in tins, or sewn into little muslin bags.
Russian Evening remains my favorite, taken either plain, with a little honey and lemon, or with a swirl of cherry preserves. I am also very fond of Russian Morning — a smooth and smokey blend beside which the average Irish Breakfast tastes like peat moss — best with a drop of cream. Now that I have my dear little single-serving teapot, courtesy of Miss R. K.’s recent sale, it will be even easier to brew a cup of Kusmi.
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