Hallowe’en, Age 16
May 2nd, 2012
I can’t remember if I went Trick-Or-Treating the year I was 16. I think I did, and this isn’t what I wore. But I do know that I made, and wore (what was I thinking????) this dress to my own Night-Before-Hallowe’en party at either age 15 or 16. Since I already showed you my actual costume from age 15, and because whatever I wore at 16 was thrown together and no longer exists as a costume per se, I’m going to pretend this was from 16.
I have a feeling this fits better now than it did then. I remember holding it together with safety pins, which I’d probably need to do again if I actually wanted to move around in it. I also didn’t own suede platform stilettos at 16. They add a lot, I think.
I vaguely remember drinking goblets of fake blood — perhaps while sporting vampire teeth — and attempting to use a Ouija board. Then we probably devolved into an endless string of Beatles songs and incense burning. Ah, to be young again!
Aprons, Part 4
May 1st, 2012
Here’s another installment from the never-ending supply of aprons. These two are both shades of pink, which may be about all they have in common.
The first is pieced, with a center panel of pale pink flanked by sides, mitered hem, and waistband/ties of a matching pale pink flowered print. There’s even a bit of deeper pink rick rack trim along the slanted pockets and around the center panel.
Like the gingham aprons last week, this one is hard to date. I know it’s not terribly old simply by feeling the fabric. Would it be a cop out to say it’s from the second half of the 20th century?
The second pink apron is decidedly on the older side. I could be persuaded to go as far as the early 1940s based on the item and what I know about my grandmother’s life. It’s a darker pink, and more simply made. All the stitching is machine-done, even the hem, with white thread and teensy tiny stitches. It’s a very close weave cotton and stiff, as though it had been starched many times. The fabric has begun to wear away in spots at the center front, and is a bit faded in some spots and shiny in others.
What makes it really splendid though is that the fabric is printed à la disposition. That means it’s printed with a design meant to be incorporated into the garment’s construction, like this decorative faux lace band along the hem for example. Cotton (and perhaps other materials too, though I’ve most often heard of cotton) dresses printed à la disposition were all the rage in the 1850s.
Spinet Desk
April 30th, 2012
I continue to make slow progress, setting up our house. Earlier this week I finally took out this beautiful writing desk, purchased for my grandmother by her parents in 1931. It’s now sitting proudly in the nook looking out of our prettiest bedroom window.
The glass ink & pen stand was a present from my mate last year, and the blue stationery I bought for myself at the museum where I used to work. I’ve since added a stash of cream stationery on the right hand shelves, plus more assorted stationery and a pair of silver paper scissors in the bottom drawer. There’s also my grandmother’s stamp box and a matching bowl that must be a pen holder.
Here’s the insignia from inside the drawer:
It’s called a spinet because of the shape — just like the case of the musical instrument. It was made in Grand Rapids, Michigan, less than 200 miles from Detroit, where my grandmother lived at the time.
I haven’t found my pens yet, or the final box of note cards. I still need a blotter — and perhaps a desk blotter as well, since it’s hardly practical to use a dip pen over a white linen dresser scarf.
So, anyone looking for a pen pal?
Hallowe’en, Age 15
April 29th, 2012
What 15-year-old girl doesn’t want to be a belly dancer? I had a great time sewing this set — a halter top, a bolero jacket, a wrap-around skirt, a paneled overskirt, and a coin-covered belt. I’ve got a metal belt covered in bells somewhere that I wore with the costume, but didn’t bother digging it out just to take a picture.
There’s a funny sewing story associated with this costume. While hand-stitching beads and coins onto the outfit, I suddenly decided that a real belly-dancer would have a pierced navel. And look, there was a needle in my hand! Never mind that it was threaded and attached to my project. I like to think I lit a match and sterilized it, but I do know for sure that I didn’t bother cutting the thread. Anyways, you can guess the rest.
I’m prone to fainting when people even talk about needles or blood. But somehow I managed to get the needle all the way into the ridge of skin around my navel before passing out. My mother found me unconscious and removed the needle. I still have the scar.
Needless to say, I finished the costume and wore it sans belly-jewelry.
Aprons, Part 3
April 28th, 2012
Cotton gingham was, and still is, a classic choice for women’s working clothes, including aprons. Originally a striped fabric from the famed Near East cotton regions, it was imported to Europe and eventually manufactured by the English mills, where (according to Wikipedia) it took on a checked pattern.
This pair of gingham aprons is hard to date. I’d put them anywhere from 1950 onwards. Machine-sewn from stiff (aka cheap) cotton or cotton blends, they boast “country” style decorations in keeping with the fabric choice.
Number one is lime green and white, with rows of white rick rack trim attached by hand using green embroidery floss across the hem and pocket.
Number two is lemon yellow with a blue star pattern cross-stitched over the gingham grid. The decoration runs across the hem, the pocket, and the waistband.
I can imagine wearing one of these as I ring the dinner bell out the back porch, summoning the field hands in to their midday meal. Cooooome annnnnd get it!
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