Death to My Mourning Bonnet
November 20th, 2011
A few years ago, I made a dress to wear to the faux 19th-century funerals that I host (does one host a funeral?) every year for the museum where I work. I spent weeks on the dress, crape-trimmed undersleeves, and crape-trimmed chemisette. But I didn’t think of making a bonnet until the night before the funeral. With no millinery supplies on hand, and just an hour or two until showtime, I scrounged around and made do.
Not bad, considering it’s made on a frame of…wait for it…two hanging file folders and packing tape.
It made crinkling sounds whenever I put it on, but no one ever discovered my secret. Unless I told them of course…which I did with great pride in my own ingenuity.
So tonight, realizing that I would never again run a faux funeral (yeah, yeah, never say never — but at least not for a while), I decided to kill my bonnet in a symbolic gesture. First I took off the ribbon though, which actually belongs to my Elvira Madigan dress (that’s what my husband calls it). Then I took up my sacrificial blade.
It was surprisingly satisfying to tear apart my work.
So, it is with a sombre, yet satisfied, heart that I bid adieu to my make-shift mourning bonnet.
R.I.P.
Cousins Jesse & Frank
November 19th, 2011
When I was just a little girl, my maternal grandfather — whose own life is the stuff of storybooks — began researching our family history. He traced the line back to the Hite family of Bell Grove Plantation. In the end, it turns out we may not have any real Hite blood at all. But I seem to recall he did find a few other remarkable characters dangling from the family tree. Including notorious outlaw brothers Jesse and Frank James.
For someone who is likely kin to the James brothers, I’ve displayed remarkably little interest in their exploits. I don’t really know what they did to become WANTED. Or even what became of them after they were hunted down. But tonight I settled in with my latest crocheted collar project and watched Henry Fonda, John Carradine, Henry Hull, Jackie Cooper, and Gene Tierney in The Return of Frank James. If the all-star cast weren’t enough to entice you, it was directed by Fritz Lang.
The film, made in 1940, was impeccable. And I learned quite a lot about the James legend (not to be confused with the facts of the case). Perhaps it was too impeccable. I’ve been on a horse opera kick lately, watching lots of early B westerns and glorying in every dusty, over-acted minute. The Return of Frank James was a mite too polished. It felt more like Twelve Angry Men than Stagecoach. Not that that’s a bad thing, just not exactly what I was expecting.
Me & Emily
November 18th, 2011
Last year, someone pointed out that I bear a passing resemblance to the great American poetess, Emily Dickinson.
What do you think? Could I play her in the biopic? I think my mouth is too wide and my face is differently shaped…but I can definitely see some similarities as well. Of course, given the choice, I’d rather be able to write like Emily Dickinson than look a little bit like her, but I will take what I can get.
“Because I could not stop for Death,
He kindly stopped for me.”
Corset Report
November 17th, 2011
I’ve been neglecting my blog lately. But I have some good excuses. And this is one of them.
On Wednesday, November 9, I took part in CINCHED: Historic Corsets & Modern Corsetieres. It was a production of the New York Nineteenth Century Society, with six corset makers, one master of ceremonies, one very efficient organizer, and an audience of more than 60 delightful (and hopefully delighted) onlookers. We each took turns, in chronological order from 18th through early 20th centuries, describing corsets that we’d made and detailing their historical backgrounds.
In addition to helping organize the event, held at Swift Hibernian Lounge (our favorite local bar), I also hand sewed a nearly perfect version of the 1855/57 corset. In purple silk!! Okay, I know purple silk isn’t historically accurate. Though I did find a very similar mid-century corset in white silk. I just couldn’t resist that purple. And it was wonderful to work with after six versions made from canvas duck. The fit is getting so close. In fact, I think I may have cracked the code with a new shape in the side seam — more on that later. For now, it just needs a few tweaks (mostly adding the extra half inch I shaved from the hip at the side seam into the stomach gore) and it will be a very wearable garment.
I guess the back needs a little work too, smoothing the remaining puckers. But it’s still close. Best part about wearing this at the event? One of the other corsetieres, and a professional designer, gave me some tips on making the gores fit better!
And yes, that’s me, parading around in my underwear in a bar. Again.
Photographs courtesy of Nidal Nasr, who generously volunteered his time and talent to document the event.
Plenty O’ Pumpkins
November 16th, 2011
The pumpkin is a native American squash, beloved for centuries for its sweet flesh and savoury seeds. American Indians dried strips of pumpkin during the fall harvest for use through the winter. Today, thanks to canning and freezing, we can eat pumpkin whenever we please. But for me, pumpkin is one of the few foods — like hot apple cider — that retains its exclusively fall appeal. And suddenly it’s pumpkin season!
In the past few days, I’ve found myself nearly swimming in pumpkin. Yesterday it was a slice of pumpkin pie with whole wheat crust at lunch and criminally decadent pumpkin and coconut ice cream (two different flavors sharing the same bowl) after dinner. Tonight, I treated myself to a box of fresh pumpkin ravioli from Raffetto’s* to go with the rest of my homemade sun-dried tomato pesto and a bottle of Wild Horse central coast pino noir that pairs perfectly with sweet and savoury.
And I mustn’t forget the two sweet pie pumpkins waiting in my larder to become Thanksgiving dessert. Needless to say, there are a number of pumpkin pie receipts from the mid-19th century. I’ve got my research homework cut out for me this weekend.
*Raffetto’s is a small, family-owned Italian food store on West Houston Street that has been supplying Greenwich Village with delectable fresh pasta for more than 100 years. They’re still going strong and tasty, one of the few holdovers from the early 20th century when Little Italy stretched north to the south eastern section of the Village. If you’re in New York, or planning a visit, you owe yourself a taste!