SUPPORTING THE COUNTY FAIR

My pie pumpkins did not go to the fair.

September is county fair time. When I was growing up in Orofino, it was our family tradition to visit the exhibit building at the Clearwater County Fair on Thursday evening when the judging was complete but the crowd was light. I have warm memories of that time. We seldom entered anything in the fair even though my mother’s handwork was beautiful. I don’t think she wanted her work scrutinized, and I understand that.

The county fair was important to the regional population back in the day. Even in the ‘50s, people still lived on small farms and most women worked in the home. Skill in the rural home arts was still cultured and appreciated, as both my friend Chris and I can attest. And the monetary awards for the ribbons were important, too. Winners turned that money back into their projects – garden seed, fabric, yarn, etc.

In my adult years, I lost interest in the fair, but a few years ago we visited the Lewis County Fair in Nezperce. We heard someone comment that if she and one other didn’t bring lots of entries, there wouldn’t be a fair. We were inspired to participate, but the timing was always off.

Grandma Ina's still life from 1912

This year Mike decided he would enter some of his leatherwork in the Lewis County Fair and adamantly insisted I should participate as well. “Come on!” Mike said; “you make stuff all the time. There has to be something you can enter.” So, I brought out the holiday afghan I crocheted last Christmas and the rag doll Lucy that I quickly stitched up to illustrate the 2015 advent story on this blog. None of this was made with the idea that it would be judged, and I do believe that the point is to improve the fair by improving your work. Even so, something akin to excitement and pride came out, and I hoped these things wouldn’t be passed over.

My 2017 fair entries -- $5.00 in awards

Well, we weren’t at the farm last Thursday afternoon when entries were due, and this is always what stops us, but this year Mike refused to accept it. He loaded his motorcycle bag with our entries and headed off to Nezperce (17 miles from the farm but 60 miles from Clarkston). It was a lovely afternoon, and I’m sure he didn’t mind.

The ribbon says, "Just for the fun of it."

Except for the afghan, we thought of our entries as collections (Mike’s leatherwork, the doll and her accessories) but those in charge insisted he write a ticket for each item. The results were interesting. Lucy in her dress received a red ribbon, and the simple little flannel nightgown also received a red ribbon. But the doll quilt made of squares quilted with diagonal lines and with one corner askew, received a blue ribbon. Go figure. The afghan received a “just for the fun of it” ribbon, and I totally understand. The winning afghans were tightly crocheted, while mine was a quickly made “granny.” In other words, mine didn’t involve as much work. But – it was a bright spot amongst all those others, and the judge appreciated that.

$8.50 for the ribbons. "Best of Show" = bragging rights.

Mike did better, earning blue ribbons for his gun belt, belt, and holster, a red for his gun sling, and a white for the dog collar. Actually, he tossed in the holster as an afterthought and earned a "Best of Show" for it.

So, would we do it again? Yes, I think so. We’re already talking about it. Besides crafts, we want to enter jellies from the country berries at the farm, and I’ll work harder at that next year. So, you see, the fair is a good thing. It keeps you on your toes and inspired to present your best. KW

TINY TOWN, COLORADO

We arrived ten minutes before opening

Mike and Yancey left on their respective motorcycles to geocache on Sunday, August 2. They returned Wednesday evening and were in town on Thursday. That evening we went to dinner at White Fence Farm to celebrate Kelly’s birthday and then had cake and ice cream with her family. Mike and Yancey cached again Friday through Saturday evening, and early Sunday morning (prior to our loading up and leaving for home), I went with Mike in the Dakota to retrieve the final cache.

Behave yourself!

Emmy

Kelly took time from work on Wednesday (August 5) in order to take Emmy and me to Tiny Town, which is celebrating its centennial year. You can see more about the history and mission of Tiny Town here. The buildings in this little “town” are built to one-sixth scale. If you like the diminutive world, as I do, it’s an experience that sparks the imagination. And if your child is small enough, as ours is, he/she can enter some of the little houses and look out the windows. As far as Emmy's experience was concerned, I couldn’t help but think that we had come in the nick of time.

An impressive building

Emmy

Some buildings cannot be entered, but displays have been set up using dolls (mostly Barbie and Ken) as actors within the theme of the building. Imagine Ken working as a chiropractor and giving Barbie a treatment! I could tell by the expression on his face that he thought he had died and gone to heaven.

"Cat in the Hat" house in foreground

Cost to enter Tiny Town is $5 per adult, $3 per child, and $2 each to ride the train, which we did. Tiny Town is a non-profit organization and all the work is done by volunteers. Notice in this photo a volunteer is painting one of the buildings.

Where's Emmy?

Since Kelly was working, I had a lot of quiet time to pursue my sewing. At his request, I made shorts of some pajama bottoms for Yancey, and then I used the scraps to make a nightgown for Rosabell the Build-a-Bear, modeled here by Annabell, and also stitched up a pair of overalls for her. (Every teddy bear should have a pair of overcalls.) I’m happy to report that I finished the Teddy Bear afghan and gifted it to Emmy and Rosabell. (Notice – it’s a finish!) Lastly, I shortened slacks for Kelly.

 

Also numbered among my accomplishments: I diagnosed the problem with their washing machine – tears in the door gasket. (They knew they had a leak but couldn’t find it.) KW

PRESERVING THE WORK OF OUR HANDS

On a previous post, Leah commented about her mother’s attitude toward her handwork. Leah subsequently sent me pictures which I’ve posted here together with her original comments.

“I think my mother enjoyed telling others how long it took her to do a certain piece (by hand). She did an huge owl embroidery for the wall 30 years ago as my Christmas gift. This work took a very long time, she reminded me, and also bragged that the design was done with one thread thickness. It was excellent work and I know made with love.

“When I moved to L.A., 30 years ago this month in fact, I had a HUGE disagreement with the moving company. They raised their original prices and I couldn't pay the bill. All my worldly goods (furniture, family photos, china, etc) sat in their warehouse for many weeks. It looked like I might lose it all. Finally after contacting a consumer advocate with a national TV show, the bad moving co. settled with me for the original price. Nothing strikes fear into a big business more than nationwide publicity for fleecing poor defenseless women. What did my mother say? She was afraid I'd lose the owl embroidery that she's just spent months working on. Not the family photos, all my furniture, anything else. Just her owl embroidery.”

I can certainly relate because as my mother got older, she also became more possessive of her work and particular about how it was used. She made each one of her children and grandchildren an afghan – except for Hallie, the youngest. Mother failed before making Hallie’s afghan so she received one that Mother had made for herself. But when Mother visited in my home, she would make comments about how the afghan she made me was treated. She didn’t want it to be used.

I began to think about that even before Mother left us. Those things that we use, we risk using up. They wear out or get broken or perhaps are lost in other ways. If we don’t use them, they have no meaning to us and are lost to us through dis-use.  And those things that we do for others through our pass-times – well, aren’t we motivated by our love of the activity as much as by the love of the recipient?

When I worked at the museum, we talked about preserving photos and documents in archival quality boxes, sleeves, etc. So, when I asked a local artist to frame Hallie's embroidery and requested an acid-free mat, she said, "It will last your lifetime and your daughter's. What more did you want?" Food for thought.

 

At a Christmas gathering last month, I was amused when the man next to me began to talk about all the stuff in storage since he moved -- stuff he doesn't miss. He mentioned in particular a box of afghans. "Can we get rid of those?" he asked his wife, to which she replied in the negative, recounting how they were made for her by special people. He went on to say that they keep their house at 70 year-round and he doesn't anticipate ever having a need for those afghans.

Well, I love afghans and I will keep making them, but it brings me up short when I visit consignment and thrift stores and see all those handmade afghans for sale.  KW

MAKING CANDLES

Yesterday we untrimmed the tree. I sure hated to see it go and I took the candle stubs and melted them in a pan, then I took a string and dipped it in the wax, so I made a candle. It sure was bumpy but it worked.

Shirley Jean (Ina’s granddaughter), January 1937

Shirley Jean would have been eleven when she and her parents spent this Christmas of 1936 at the farm with Ina and Julian. The tree was lit by small white candles in holders that were clipped to the branches. Of an evening, they would light the tree for a few minutes, sit together to admire it, then blow out the candles. So, Shirley Jean is saying that she made a new candle by melting the stubs of the candles that adorned the tree.

After Christmas, we all put everything away and it’s business as usual. While the holiday / celebration mode just can’t go on forever, I like to think that Christmas as an event leaves me better than it found me – that some bit of it lingers to brighten my heart during the dark days of January. Candles are a good example.

This year, burning candles is on my “to do” list. I have a burgeoning collection of candles – from the partially burned to brand new. This year I have resolved to burn up at least the partially used. It’s not fun to be a saver of used candles, but I was raised in a household that did just that.

This fading photo was taken on Christmas Eve in 1957 or so. It shows my dad lighting the candles on the buffet table – candles he made. I was just a little girl, but perhaps Daddy meant to be sharing the experience with me because I knew what was happening with every step. I remember saving waxed milk and cream cartons for the molds. On candle-making day, Daddy heated wax in an old pan and poured it into the molds. The candles were red and green – coloring provided by old color crayons melted in the wax. The coloring was really not intense enough. Today we’d think nothing of buying a couple of boxes of crayons in primary colors just for this project, but a new box of crayons was a big deal in my ‘50’s world. It seems like ice chips in the hot wax left irregularly-shaped pockets in the candle. I remember Daddy tearing the waxed cardboard off the hardened wax. As a finishing touch, he whipped hot wax until it was frothy and poured it over the candles.

When Christmas was over, we wrapped the candles in tissue paper and stored them with the Christmas decorations. Every year we burned them just a little. And then they looked old and we didn’t get them out any more, but we still had them wrapped in tissue paper for years. Maybe not all families save such things, but mine did.

Once I suggested to Mother that we should make candles again. “It was a big mess!” she said, and I knew I was talking to the clean-up person. I could just see the little specks of wax, frustratingly adhered to stove top, counter, windows, maybe even curtains. And that doesn't even count the cooking utensils. Now I knew why we had never done that fun project again. My suggestion had fallen on deaf ears. That was that.

Mother loved candles, though. She burned them sometimes, and she hoarded quite a number of them. I think she kept a certain number on hand in case of emergency – because, you know, the electricity used to go out with some regularity, and sometimes it was not immediately restored. Candles, matches, and flashlights were necessities. KW

VISITS WITH MY MOTHER

My maternal grandmother, Nina Portfors, passed away suddenly in May of 1955 – just a few months shy of my sixth birthday. She lingered only a few days after suffering a stroke. My grandparents lived just a block from us, so her passing caused an unexpected adjustment.

Mother told me that in the months after Grandma’s passing she would feel her presence and influence whenever she sat down to sew, even a pull to finish Grandma's sewing projects. “I finally told her right out loud,” Mother said, “that she could come here if she wanted to, but things would have to be done my way.” 

My mother passed on 14 years ago, but sometimes she comes to visit even yet. Recently as I crocheted sweaters for American Girl dolls, I discovered that following the pattern resulted in something that didn’t exactly correspond to the picture. I hate to say the pattern is the problem. After all, it could be my misinterpretation or the wrong yarn or just plain inserting the hook in the wrong stitch. But I continue to work away at it, trying to improve my little sweaters.

In the midst of that effort the other day, Mother came to visit. Of course, it was just memory kicking in – or was it? I was suddenly about ten and learning to crochet. Mother was examining my work. “Oh, I see,” she said, “it’s increasing too much here.” That was it! Too much increasing was causing the front opening to swing out on both sides. The solution had come to me in the form of my mother’s voice. Back in the day Mother had helped me understand how to make the needed correction, and the same advice applied now. I saw what was wrong and began my own re-write of this troublesome pattern. 

A couple of weeks ago I emptied the contents of Mother’s button box onto the bar in my kitchen in order to take a picture. After that the button collection sucked me in as though it were a jigsaw puzzle. I stood at the kitchen counter for several hours sorting and matching – something I hadn’t intended to do. Absorbed in the sea of buttons, I suddenly became aware of Mother at my side.

Mother had tied some button sets together and those threads are now rotting and in need of replacement. Nevertheless, as I went to snip the thread, I felt a twinge of regret. Mother had tied this thread and I was undoing her “perfect work” so that I could replace it with new thread in my awkward way. Well, I just had to say to her, “You can come here if you want to, but we’ll have to do it my way.” We shared a quiet chuckle.

“This is like a jigsaw puzzle,” observed Mike when he came in. “Hallie would love this.” 

Yes, she would, I thought to myself, but she’s not the one who’s here today.

[The photo is the only one I have of just me and Grandma Portfors. We just didn’t take pictures back then the way we do now. Still – it seems strange to me that I was five years old before anyone thought to take this picture. Note that the film was processed in December 1955 but the photo is identified as Thanksgiving 1954.] KW

THE MORNING AFTER

Jack and Mike enjoy some restful moments on the porch watching the hummingbirds. Jack had just gotten up. Mike was already at morning break.




And here's a little outfit for Emmy I made while Mike and Jack were camping. When I heard that Emmy likes frogs, I made a trip to Jo-Ann's for buttons and notions and used some remnants from my stash and Butterick pattern 5439. Jack will take the outfit with him when he leaves on Friday. KW

OF MICE AND AFGHANS

On a chilly evening at the farm last month, Mike and I were sitting side-by-side on the sofa watching tv when he reached for his "Dallas Cowboys" afghan and unfolded a despicable sight. The mice had made themselves "to home" in it. I'll spare you the description except to say they had gnawed through the yarn and it was badly stained. I was heartsick at the sight.

When Hallie was 14 or so and just learning to crochet, Mike wordlessly handed her a copy of Herrschnerr's Needlework catalog turned to the page listing sports afghans. "I think Dad wants me to make this Cowboys afghan for him," Hallie said to me. "Will you order the kit for me?"

Frankly, I had my doubts that she could do it. The pattern required the making of afghan stitch panels to be embroidered with a football helmet in the team colors, blue and gray. Hallie had made only a couple of afghans and this one seemed pretty ambitious to me. If she didn't like doing it, what then? I knew the answer. I would be finishing the afghan and it might take me years. But it seemed endearing to me that she wanted to comply with Mike's wishes. So I ordered the kit, which came as a pattern booklet and sufficient yarn to complete the afghan. I had also ordered the long afghan hook. I remember showing her how to pull up the loops, being sure to catch the very last stitch on the row, and then draw them off again. After that I didn't see much of her for about a month as she spent long quiet hours crocheting in her room. Sometimes teens need that. I knew what she was doing and didn't worry. I had anticipated that she would have questions and I would help her. She never asked and I didn't pry. Before long the afghan was completed beautifully and wrapped for Christmas. My only part was to put a backing on the pillow.

Returning to the now damaged afghan, I was particularly distressed that I had been so stupid as to have left this particular afghan on the sofa. Honestly I never thought about an acrylic fiber afghan being susceptible to damage, a mistake I won't make again! We couldn't exactly pinpoint when it had happened either because otherwise we hadn't seen much mouse sign in the house since installing the little sonar gadgets. At least we thought that was the reason. I never imagined they were hiding out in the afghan. And – I still had to tell Hallie about it.

"I have to tell you something bad," I said into the phone during one of our regular conversations. "Remember the Cowboys afghan . . . ."

"Oh," Hallie laughed, "I thought you were going to say the dog is sick." She was more philosophical than I about the afghan, reminiscing about how she had enjoyed the process of making it, more or less saying nothing could take from her the satisfaction of having completed the afghan successfully.

So, I stuffed the afghan into a large "Penney's" shopping bag I found and took it to town to wash in my gentle-action front-loading washing machine. It took some weeks for me to get to it. Once Nellie caught a whiff of the bag as it sat by the washing machine. "Do you know about this?" her eyes seemed to ask. Then one day when Mike was off to Oregon, I donned surgical gloves, removed the afghan from the sack and carefully stabilized the holes with yarn. I was so pleased when the horrible stains washed out. I'm sure I can repair the holes somehow, but if the stains had remained, I would have had to think again about saving the afghan.

I was trained to treasure things for their special significance in my life and also to keep anything that might be useful, and I kept the leftover yarn from this afghan. Not only had I kept it, I found it! "It's just white yarn," observed Mike, but those who work with yarn know that it's not all created equal. Having the original yarn means one less problem to solve in the process. I also found the instruction booklet, though I probably won't need it.

So the lesson I have learned in this is that when fighting the great rodent war, you can never relax your vigilance. If you live in the country, the problem is never solved. The enemy is out there and it's name in the broad category is "rodent." KW

MORE SEWING RULES

Mike returned last night from his Oregon geocaching tour. I think he had a good time but seemed relieved to be home. He doesn't get a lot of sympathy from me. I figure any discomfort he experienced was self-imposed.

While Mike was away, Nellie (the dog) and I stayed home. And while Mike was away, summer came and went. The high on Sunday was 89 while this afternoon we're at a chilly 54 with some light rain.

Mike plans to write several posts about his Oregon experiences, but he's not ready yet, so here's one I wrote while he was away.

It's been known from the beginning of time that you can't patch old fabric with new. Jesus used this fact as a practical illustration for spiritual application. So we all agree that for the optimum end product we should use new materials. But it has come to the point that we have to think about what we're throwing away, and we seem to be experimenting with uses for old textiles in order to keep them from the burgeoning landfill.

Re-using textiles is not a new concept. Remember our pioneering ancestors who kept anything that might be useful. Clothes, curtains, and such were made from feed sacks, and then the feed companies began to play to that, using a variety of pretty prints. Some children went to school dressed in feed sack fabrics. "And we knew who they were, too," remarked a friend who lived through that time, implying that maybe it wasn't as great then as we like to remember. Today we're looking for those prints in replication. Quilts might be made from the feed sacks or from the better pieces of old clothes. One of Grandma Ina's patchwork quilts was done in dull woolen scraps with the exception of one deep red piece of velvet. I'd love to know the story of that quilt. A child's coat might be fashioned from a man's suit or overcoat. When I worked at the local museum, one of our dear volunteers made a vest for me out of a pair of her husband's old slacks to show how it was done. For that to be successful, you have to coordinate the broadest part of the female anatomy with certain wide spots in the slacks. As interesting as this re-use project sounds, I never wore that vest.

My mother, a teen-ager in the 1920s, told me that she did not have new dresses of her own. Instead, her wardrobe consisted of the dresses she made over from her mother's cast-offs. (As an aside, my Mother's parents were conservative but not poor.) If Mother liked a particular dress, she could hardly wait until it was handed down. However, in my time, my mother was finished with the concept of re-using fabric and said as much. She saw re-use as something she had moved through – something she no longer had to do. In the '50s and '60s, my growing-up years, she loved the availability of wonderful new blends and experimental fabrics. She could measure the quality of fabric by feel as well as by sight. She rarely skimped on quality and lamented it if she did. She subscribed for swatches from several mail-order fabric clubs based in New York City ("Fabrics 'Round the World" was one) until we began to see more quality fabrics in our regional stores. So, it was an exception for Mother to re-use fabric, and if she knew what I'm doing, she would cluck her tongue and say, "Kathy, can't we just go to the store and get you some fabric?"

So what is it I'm doing? I'm making doll clothes out of worn embroidered pillowslips. I'm cutting around the thin sections as best I can in order to preserve the embroidery. Here's a photo of Shirley Ann wearing a nightgown embellished by embroidery done by my mother. The pattern for the gown was originally published in 1930 for the Patsy Ann doll. I did a lot of the work on the gown by hand.

And now I'm off to prepare the guest room. Hallie is coming tomorrow to meet with one of her accounts here in the valley. We're excited because she's going to spend the weekend with us. We'll go the farm. KW

SEWING FOR DOLLS – THEN & NOW

When I was a little girl, I learned to sew by making doll clothes – first for my own dolls and then for my nieces'. (By the way, within the last year, three of those nieces became grandmothers – and they weren't the first. The picture is of Becky with granddaughter Allyn, my great-great niece.) Looking at retro doll patterns is a trip down memory lane for me. For any doll, there might be several patterns available, but Mother would make me choose just one. (Hah! If only she could see me now!) She would encourage me to compare the patterns for content, noting that they were mostly the same with certain exceptions. For instance, this pattern might have the underwear but the other would have the pajamas, or whatever. I had to decide which one I wanted. She might eventually consent to let me have the pattern not chosen, but only one pattern at a time was purchased. She was a wise lady; I recognize that she was teaching me to make good choices, to think from the standpoint of the marketing ploy involved, to avoid excesses and duplication and not to buy more than I would use. Nowadays I indulge my inclination to collect patterns, so when the lady at the eBay store Favorite Huggables said, "Choose six patterns and I'll include a seventh free," I agreed to get right back to her with my list.

Then there was the fabric. Seldom did we buy fabric for doll clothes. We made do from Mother's stash, which was abundant, but she had rules. Doll clothes were made from scraps only, not larger pieces. The challenge was to find a piece – or pieces – that would be adequate. I became adept at using the scraps. Mother would not let any remnant be cut if there was more than a yard or so. Reasonable, yes, but as I worked through that stash, the possibilities became more limited and so did opportunities for creative sewing. As I grew older and formed my own opinions – that happens, you know – I came to resent the rules because I knew Mother was never going to use those pieces she so carefully guarded. (That was insightful on my part.) It never occurred to me that I might have negotiated for a different deal. I might have said, for instance, "Look, I'd like to have more patterns and my own stash. I'll spend my allowance / babysitting money."

That was then and this is now. Now I can afford my flights of fancy and I set my own rules, though obviously I haven't forgotten my mother's training. But – it's hard to have a truly retro experience. Things change over time – not just people and places but products and methods. You can't go home again, as they say. In my childhood days, many women sewed for their families and the supplies to support sewing (called sewing notions) were available everywhere, even in my little home town. The store was called Watkin's Dry Goods – an old-fashioned name even then -- but we could get patterns, thread, zippers, etc., and some fabric. For more selection and a better price, we would drive the 42 miles to Lewiston, where such goods were readily available in several convenient locations. Now we have just one store in the Lewiston / Clarkston community supporting the broad range of sewing interests – Jo-Ann – and the available selection is not great. For instance, the other day I was looking for straight-edged lace to embellish the little garment I was making, and I could find nothing that fit the description. After an indepth online search, I finally found it at simplicity.com. I ordered plenty.

Mike left Saturday (June 12) on his Triumph motorcycle to geocache in Oregon with a dip into northern California. Messages last night and this morning indicate that all goes well. KW

CHANGING THE COLOR SPECTRUM

My segue into machine embroidery has not been without challenges. Finally last week I really got a hankering to use the machine. I had a few ideas and I went for it.

I am somewhat handicapped yet because I don't have a full complement of colors in my thread box. A modest estimate of what I've spent for thread would be about $200. The colors last a long time so it's not as bad as it sounds, but on the other hand, I have had to exercise a little restraint and ease into this a color or two at a time.

I don't know how many companies manufacture embroidery thread. Some are good and it's fine to use those threads, apparently interchangeably. Some are not good and might mess up your machine or shred before your eyes or fade and cause you to cry. Stay away from those. Regardless of good or bad, each company names and numbers its colors independently of others. When I try to coordinate the color sheets accompanying the designs with my seemingly meager supply of thread, I just have to laugh to myself. And if you're picking colors mainly by name instead of number, which you often have to do, just how do you determine these colors?

Taupe – Is taupe a real color, and how does it differ from "putty" anyway? Taupe today was silver yesterday and light gray last week.

Finding a color to be golden tan was bad enough. What's light golden tan? Well, today it was the same thread that was cream brown yesterday and yellow the day before. (I really do need to augment my collection of yellows.)

Cinnamon? Hmmmm. Or rust brown?

What color is dark stone? And how is it different from charcoal?

Cool gray, light silver. What's the difference?

Pine green, light pine green, dark pine green. Grass green. Apple green. Brook green. I don't have a color I can call brook green. I had to go with blue. I wished I'd had brook green. I'm not sure I'd know brook green if I saw it.

Now think – What's cornflower blue? Now find light cornflower blue and dark cornflower blue. Smoky blue. Dusty blue. Dark dusty blue.

I figure all that matters is that I coordinate my colors and remember by which name I'm calling which color today. I can line up the spools according to progression but it gets tricky when colors are re-used. Now which one of these browns did I call cinnamon today? Which spool did I call taupe and which is light silver?

The photo shows my recent embroidery work. The two lace edged pillowslips will become pillowcase dolls. The bicycle design was fun but is horribly puckered. I'm still learning about hooping. Hallie helped me design Mike's M-bar-W brand which I combined with a pheasant on Mike's pillowcase. And the crinoline girl with umbrella makes me happy. I searched the web for a design pack of these old-fashioned full-skirted ladies. It was difficult since I didn't know what they were called. These are the first designs I have purchased outside the user-friendly Embroidery Library. These ladies remind me of my mother and my grandmother and the ladies of the sewing circle. KW

EARTH DAY: RE-USING TEXTILES

My Grandmother Portfors (Mother's mother) used to say, "You can't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear." In other words, your finished product will be inferior if made up of inferior elements. My mother would quote that adage from time to time to justify the expense of quality materials for her projects. Mother hardly ever re-made a garment or re-used fabric. She loved new fabric of good quality -- and was keyed to it by touch as well as sight.

Into every life some mending must fall, but Mother also had her take on that: "A hole can just happen, but a mend is premeditated poverty," her point being that mended clothes make a statement. Mother taught me to darn socks, re-stitch seams, and make new pockets, but if a garment was torn, she didn't patch. Patching I learned on my own when my boys were little and I had to make their jeans last as long as I could.

When my mother-in-law visited us, she would check Mike's shirts and turn any frayed collars. It was wonderful of her to do so, and Mike was so pleased by her conservative efforts. But, my thinking was (and is) that when a shirt has a frayed collar, it's worn out, especially if you're a "white collar" worker. Also a shirt with a frayed collar is undoubtedly showing other signs of wear, such as sleeves worn thin at the elbows. Mike has a different view on the preservation of clothing. I mean – this is a guy who was still wearing his Boy Scout pants – and proudly boasting about it -- when he was 50. Believe me – most of Mike's jeans and several shirts sport mended holes.

As you can see, I'm not quite at ease with the subject of textile preservation and re-use. A part of me screams, "New is great!" and "Where is our pride?" Yet how can we reduce the textiles in our collective garbage pits if we don't give thoughtful consideration to this subject and act upon it. Here are some ideas I've seen for textile re-use:

• Use a vintage tablecloth to make shopping bags, purses, aprons, napkins, placemats, gift bags, whatever. I hate to see a beautiful, usable tablecloth cut apart, but it's another thing if it's stained and worn. (These same ideas might apply to bedspreads.)
  
• Felting, involving the deliberate shrinking of wool by means of washing in hot water and then drying in high heat. The resulting product can then be cut like fabric and sewn into slippers, glasses cases, handbags, etc. I have never done felting and am not convinced I want to start. (And this idea works only for wool -- not polyester or blends.)
  
• Unraveling of sweaters, afghans, etc., in order to re-use the yarn. I have a lot of respect for the time spent in knitting or crocheting, and I treasure the final product. However, when I see the many afghans available through Goodwill, rummage sales, and consignment shops, I have to admit the disposal of these things is a problem.
  
• Cutting fabric into strips to make "rag rugs," hot pads, etc. Now here's something I might consider. When I was a teen-ager, Mother and I cut some old nylon (rayon?) nightgowns and underwear into strips and crocheted a rug. Personally I think this is a rather practical idea. Yes indeed! I'd forgotten about this, but I even have some patterns for crocheting strips of fabric . . .
  

Textiles wear out. They rot if left in the sun; they wear out with use; they even wear out as they are stored. I gently washed some napkins from my mother's collection and one of them came apart. I had to reconsider a long-cherished plan to make dolls from my hand-embroidered pillowslips when a number of them split in the washing. Now I ask you, what can I do with those, apart from making them into rags?

Back in the day – quite a ways back – people re-used textiles to make clothing, quilts, curtains, etc. These days we don't so much. Today's quilter is particular about fabric; new cotton is recommended. Re-use is not so much encouraged. Are we going too far with that concept? Could we still make a serviceable quilt from used, discarded fabric?

Mike says he never has enough rags for his work in the shop. When we moved to this modular home from "the big house," I loaded two big boxes with bedding and towels I never wanted to see again and told Mike to get rid of them. I confess I meant for him to haul them to the landfill. "Did you take those boxes to the landfill or are they under the house?" I asked him later. "They're under the house," he replied. When he complains that he never has enough rags, I remind him of the boxes under the house.

I have just one more observation, a rather sad one. Any effort that we make as consumers is great – and we should do so. But – the worst offender is industry. Where can we place our efforts so that we make a difference?

[The pillowcases and shirts pictured above are basically worn out. I embroidered the shirts in the '70s and have kept them this long because of the embroidery work. Can the embroidery work be salvaged for something other than rags?] KW

REAL TIME: LATE WINTER UPDATE

Late winter in the Valley: the days have been beautiful – bright and sunny with temps in the 50s. The last couple of nights our lows have been in the mid to low 20s. Mike's tax prep work is now less intense than it was for the first couple of weeks. Sometimes he steals away from the office for a bike ride, and this weekend he is devoting his spare time to servicing his bicycles. Our evenings are spent watching the Olympics. While others complain about late broadcasts keeping them up, we record them and are further behind with each passing day. We'll still be watching Olympic events into the third week.

I had a lot of fun the day I went to Jo-Ann's and bought patterns for $1.00 each. Knowing that the sale was coming up, I marked my calendar two weeks in advance and had the list of patterns ready, mostly craft items. Last year I came to grips with the fact that I am a collector of patterns and allow myself the privilege of buying them when they are on super-sale. I also check Jo-Ann's frequently for remnants, usually cottons and muslins but also pieces of taffeta, tulle, and satin -- the kinds of fabrics I used to find in my mother's basement. That's the way I'm developing my stash.

Thursday I drove to Moscow for the embroidery club session. The club meets once a month and my childhood pal, known affectionately to my children as Aunt Chris, is the leader. Actually, I have loved learning the ins and outs of machine embroidery in this way, as opposed to a hurried "mastering" session. We work through just one application per three-hour session and take home a finished project. Since I've been going, I've made a Christmas ornament, a valentine banner, a potholder, and embroidered a towel – all of which taught me some embroidery technique.

While I was at embroidery club, I showed off my latest vintage sewing volume, titled The Sew-It Book. Originally published in 1929, it's a compilation of sewing projects for children. It was then that Aunt Chris confessed about the sewing volumes Uncle Dan had picked up for me. You might remember that in the fall of 2008, I was looking for a pattern to make a "frumpy frock," a housedress or housecoat, such as my Grandma Ina might have worn. I wanted to make myself such a dress for a presentation I was to make at the P.E.O. Christmas luncheon. Chris had tried to help me find a pattern and Uncle Dan (her husband) was aware of the search and picked up on my interest in vintage patterns and applications. Well, in the same timeframe, Dan happened to make a trip to the landfill, and there he spied a twelve-volume set of sewing encyclopedia from the 1920s. Thinking of me and my quest for the frumpy frock, he selected five volumes he thought would be of interest. (I just have to say – what a guy!) Arriving home, he announced to Chris. "Look what I got for Kathy!" "No! She can't have them!" was Chris' immediate response. "And you go right back and get the rest of them." So back he went to the landfill, the better part of an hour round trip, but they were already gone. I have to say again – what a guy! Actually, Dan came into the shop while I was there, and I thanked him for thinking of me. I'm so glad Chris has them, but I think it's okay for me to say that if it hadn't been for me, Dan might well have overlooked those old books.

Well, that was Thursday. On Friday I decided to take a step back in time at The Hangar, a local co-op of antique and collectible dealers. It's an old airport hangar where wares are displayed in booths, and I love to spend time there. I wanted to make a rag doll so I was actually looking for silk stockings or something I could substitute. I found a stack of nylons new in the package from the 1950s but no silk stockings. Still, it's always fun to look around there. I bought a Holly Hobbie Christmas ornament (2002) and several books: Sunset's Western Hostess Guide (1938); Women's Diaries of the Westward Journey by Lillian Schlissel (1982); Patchwork & Applique (1980); and Reader's Digest Complete Guide to Sewing (1976); plus a Butterick pattern for stuffed animals (1970s – or whenever the envelope price was $2.00). Perhaps I won't keep all these books, but the beauty of it is that for little more than the cost of a magazine, I have some reading material I will enjoy and can keep if I want.

I had decided that on Saturday I would make a sock doll -- yes, regardless of all those unfinished things on the bed. However, in the middle of the night I awoke with a start remembering a scheduled luncheon I committed to attend. (I guess I need to start using my engagement calendar.) It would have been embarrassing had I forgotten to go, especially since I'm one of the "young" members. And at the luncheon I had a great visit with Mary Lou, especially noteworthy because she is Aunt Chris's mother – in other words, an adult with whom I interacted as a child. There aren't many of those folks around. KW