Reasons I Cannot Wear Skirts (2)

(2) The Circle Skirt

Remember that lovely red tiramisu dress I made to wear at Christmas but never wore at Christmas and instead wore at Têt? Yeah, that dress. It got fairly regular rotation for work, especially during Melbourne’s long, hot summer.

Long, hot summer sounds nice, but trust me, it wasn’t. It was too hot for too long.

Anyway, I made the circle skirt of the tiramisu dress slightly less than a circle. The fullness was just a bit too much for my tastes (on me; looks all kinds of lovely on oodles of folks). The circle skirt is quite good at allowing me to leap stairs three at a time, run for trams and twirl and swish. Because twirling and swishing is one of the key requirements of my job (this last might not actually be true).

After one long, hot Melbourne day, I was standing at a tram stop, unsurprisingly, waiting for a tram.

Melbourne’s streets are laid out on a grid, and the streets are long. As a matter of interest, I actually live on one end of a street, and work pretty much at the other end of the street. It’s just that the street is about 7kms long. Seriously. A grid layout is certainly organised, and neat , and easy to understand. But it also creates wind tunnels. Long wind tunnels.

There I was standing at the tram stop, thinking, thank goodness for that cooler breeze and when on earth is this tram going to arrive, I’m hungry and want to be home already.

As an aside, if anyone ever invents a teleporter, will there be peak times when everyone is trying to move their broken up particles through the air? Well our particles crash on the way to work or home again? What if they crash and get stuck? Could I be reassembled at the other end with someone else’s particles, or missing particles? How would I get reunited with my particles? Are these less than tractable problems the reason no one has invented a teleporter?

So, yes, nice cool breeze. Most welcome. Looking forward to a cool change. Near me was a young woman, also (unsurprisingly) waiting for the tram. Surprisingly, she spoke to me. (I talk to strangers all the time, but they rarely start talking to me. Most only talk to me under sufferance.)

She said,”Excuse me?”
(She actually had to say this more than once because I was stuck inside my head, trying to remember the contents of my fridge and pantry, and trying to visualise chopped veggies, persuading them to chop themselves while I was travelling home. You know what the self help books say, visualise your goal and you will achieve).

I said (because I am very articulate):, “Hmm?”

She said,”Um, your skirt,” and made an upwards waving gesture, “It’s um, it’s kinda, um.”

Now, you may be thinking that she was just so impressed by the beauty of my me-made dress that she was rendered wordless. The reality was, however, that she was so embarrassed for me, poor dear, that she couldn’t even say,”you’ve been flashing all of peak traffic Melbourne for the last few minutes while contemplating the contents of your fridge and pantry or whatever it was that you were doing when you stood there looking so spaced out.”

To which I would have said, “how did you know I was thinking about my fridge and pantry?”

Instead I said, “Good lord! Sorry ’bout that,” and held my skirt down.

I wasn’t terribly embarrassed. Lucky for me, I am not the easily embarrassed sort, otherwise my days endless rounds of blushing and retreat from the world.

So the circle skirt might permit me to run and leap and twirl. But by doing so, it also enables me to display my lovely underwear to the world.

In case you are wondering, I was wearing matching red smalls. The end.

Reasons I Cannot Wear Skirts (1)

(1) The Pencil Skirt

I own three pencil skirts: two of which are black; one of which is grey pinstripe. I’m a lawyer. Owning such items is an occupational hazard. I have never worn the grey pinstripe one (it was handed down to me from my sister; she’s an accountant; owning such items is also an occupational hazard for her). I have grand plans to refashion it into something wearable. I have not decided what or how. But, you know, grand plans. They are not limited in by such pathetic things as Decisions or Reason.

The two black skirts – which are pretty much the same – get worn infrequently, but they do get worn. Usually when everything is in the laundry basket or waiting to be ironed …

One such day, I wore one of the skirts to work (the only place I’ve ever worn black pencil skirts). It was a day I mostly spent in the office. But in the mid afternoon, I learned that I had some urgent papers to get to court. In my line of work, I have crazy days, where something urgent derails everything else. This is fine; I learnt as an articled clerk to always wear shoes I could run in. Always. I may have been wearing a pencil skirt, but I was definitely wearing sensible shoes. (Good story comes with why I have this lesson engraved upon my brain. I’ll tell you in another post. You know, a post about shoes even.)

I went to the court with my papers; it was urgent enough that a work mate drove me from our office across town to the court.

But the court! The court would not accept my papers. My papers were in the wrong form and I did not have some other paper – which the court had but I was required to also bring a copy with me so they would not have to find it in the file and I should have known this even though this information was nowhere except inside the head of the court administration (they’re called the Registry) people and I had read everything I could about how I was supposed to properly do what I had done and I thought I had but I was wrong wrong wrong.

It was 3.30pm, on a Friday and the Registry closed at 4pm and I needed the court to take those papers that day. Monday was much, much too late.

I did not panic.
(No, honestly, I didn’t.)

My lovely workmate was actually somewhere nearby with the car. She had said she would loop the block in case the registry was speedy on a Friday afternoon, and she’d drive me back to work, rather than me having to walk. I pleaded with her to drive me back to work, and then from work back to the court to give them the papers the way they wanted me to give them the papers (which, by the way, isn’t advised anywhere on any of their information; I looked and I would have done it right if I’d known, swear. I’m not annoyed by that part of it, no, not at all.)

Back to the office we went. My office is up a small flight of stairs. I marched into the office, with my workmate driver following close behind. I said, give me a few seconds; she said, sure I’ll just wait here. I proceeded to attempt to take the stairs three at a time, like I usually do.

Have you ever tried to leap stairs three at a time in a pencil skirt? You will know it cannot be done. The options are to fall flat on your face, or, well, what else?

There is another option, not considered by many as it requires super-hero-like speedy reflexes and complete lack of decorum.

I took this latter option.

Just as I realised I was about to hit the stairs, I hoiked my skirt up to upper mid-thigh and continued leaping. I finished the stairs like this, in maybe three or four bounds. It was only at the top of the stairs that I remembered my work mate was hanging around at the door, waiting for me. I paused. I turned around and peered down at her. She was looking up at me, her mouth slightly agape, poised between shock and laughter. I bared my teeth in a grin, raised my eyebrows and opened my eyes wide.

Then I said a bit sheepishly, ‘Sorry bout that!’ and got on with getting the papers the way the court wanted.

My work mate started laughing. She almost did not stop until we were back at court.

And that’s not the only happy ending, folks. The court accepted my papers second time around and it all happened before 4.00pm.

This is why, despite my occupation, I really should not wear pencil skirts. I don’t know how those other lawyers wear pencil skirts and crazy high shoes and still get their papers in on time. Weirdos.

All About Alma

It took me a long time to make Alma.

I acquired the pattern about a decade ago (as calculated on the basis of sewing blogging and tweeting time. According to the Gregorian calendar, I acquired the pattern in October 2012.) I traced it almost as soon as I got it (yay me!) and then I did nothing with it for an age (boo me!)

Prior to Christmas, I cut out pieces. The fabric was acquired from The very lovely Kat of All the Whimsical Things at i think the very first Social Sewing day in September 2012. After cutting, I did nothing for an age (are you sensing a theme?)

The cut pieces sat on a hanger, which hangs off the floor lamp near My Sewing Corner. This is where all my started projects sit.

The WIP Station

Cut Alma sat there for a long, long time. She watched a Tiramisu come and go. She watched three shift dresses come and go. If she were a person, she may have wept and wailed that I was not paying her any attention. Or she would have glared at me every time I sat down at the sewing machine with something else. If I was Alma, that’s what I would have done.

But, thankfully for me, she was, at that time, multiple inanimate, emotionless pieces of fabric, and I was projecting my own guilt onto her and then mirroring it back to myself. What a bizarre vortex of emotions, that affects nobody at all. And really, that vortex should barely affect me. But there you have it, those were the feelings around Alma.

I eventually started sewing Alma up in mid January. I sure as hey took my time with her. I picked her up; I got nervous; I put her down again. It was clear that every other project I was doing was procrastination from completing Alma. I don’t even know why. Sure, I was a bit nervous putting in an invisible zipper, and a bit perplexed by the shoulder/sleeve binding instructions, but why on earth did I avoid completing Alma for so very long? I honestly do not know.

Anyway, she is done, and I adore her. I’m definitely going to make more. Not sure how long each of the mores will take me. Hopefully, less time, as one of my sisters would like an Alma of her very own. I’d like to fulfil that desire in a timely (for me) fashion. My sister has been warned not to expect anything any time soon.

Also, I am not sure I made sense of the shoulder/sleeve binding instructions. I even tweeted Tasia to ask her but got no reply.

In case someone goes a-googling like I did to try to make sense of it, here is what I worked out and I hope I’m right.

I basted, as Ms Bimble and Pimble would say, like a boss. But, sadly for me, I basted on the sewing line (that is 5/8″ from the edge of the fabric) I should have basted on the inside of the seam allowance (that is, anywhere closer to the cut edge than 5/8″). Foolish me. When instructions say baste, always baste inside the seam allowance. Otherwise, you will have to put the sewing away and wait for a day when you feel like unpicking the unsightly exposed stitching.

This is how not to baste. Tsk. Tsk. Tsk.

Where I had issues was with the instructions about binding.

The instructions are:-

Pin armhole binding to armhole with raw edges together, matching notches, and sew.
Trim seam allowance close to stitching, press binding to inside and edge stitch close to fold.

Is this terribly clear to everybody but dense me?

Eventually, I found the answer by googling images of sewn up Alma blouses, enlarging pictures and staring at the shoulder seam. The clearest image was Lauren Llladybird’s plaid Alma, where you can see the stitching line. Lauren is a ridiculously accomplished seamstress, so I was happy to concede that this was the correct way of reading the instructions.

So, you are supposed to sew the folded over piece – #8 – and then stitch it down. In effect, you will get some top stitching appearing from the other side, but if you match your thread very nicely (woo hoo! I did this!), it is barely visible.

I maintain that the shoulder/sleeve binding is weird. However, I cannot work out how to make it less weird. (Word me up if you’ve got a fancy shmancy trick.)

Was it only me who thought this was completely bizarre? The bizarreness is the appearance of the top-stitching on the right side. It’s barely noticeable, but it’s just weird. I don’t have a problem with it, I just think there must be a better, non-top stitching way. Not that I don’t like top-stitching. I’m rather a fan, and I top-stitched the facing at the neck-line down like nobody’s business (two lines, even). Since completing Alma #1, I’ve noticed that, on almost all of my partner’s shirts, the stitching line at the shoulder seam is similarly visible. I had no idea.

On the subject matter of top-stitching, I discovered that top stitching is best done with a slightly longer stitch length. So, if you sew at stitch length 2, you should increase to 3, or maybe even 4 if you’re feeling all crazy-like, for top stitching. I sew at 2 (most of the time), top-stitch at 3 and baste at 4.

It took me a month to complete this single step because it just kept weirding me out. Every time I came to do it, I would re-read the instructions and think, “But that can’t be right,” pick up the garment, stare at the shoulder sleeve, put the garment down and think about it some more. Perhaps, I’m the one with the problem.

Really, I love this top. Posing for pics in my made garments? Not so much.

But the pace of this project actually worked well for me. I’ve found there is always a point when making something up that I get suddenly nervous: that it won’t work out; that it’s ugly; that it won’t fit; that I cease to like it. But if I just leave it and come back later, I’ll love it again. It’s weird and irrational, but that just seems to be my way.

This will not be the last Alma. I finished this Alma quite a while ago, and have worn it roughly once a week! I have orders from my sisters, and I definitely plan more for me. It is a perfect work blouse for me. But there are other things in the sewing queue at the moment, and quite a few almost finished projects that I need to finish, and then blog about. You cannot wait, can you?

Oh, for more hours in the day, or fewer hours at work, or another me.