UGH, what a week, am I right?! Nearly every person I've spoken with on a level deeper than surface this week has had some sort of upset. Sheesh. Who put a planet in the microwave and dyed the moon red? Right? That has to be what's going on. Math.
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Anyway, I spent the majority of my day today (Sunday) doing sewing-related activities. I guess it all falls under the umbrella of sewing, but it was prep work. See, my partner went skiing this weekend, so naturally, I had to set myself up to start a task. Enter the Cedar Pants pattern by Leila Makes. I like a big pant. I like a partially elasticated waistband. I like this burnt sienna canvas fabric I got from Hobby Lobby. (Don't yell at me, they actually had some good fabrics, and I only buy if it's discount week. shhh.) I also like the cow print fabric I got at Michaels. (Again, don't yell at me.) I also like Swanson's, a LOCAL, COMMUNITY FUNDED, craft thrift store. That's where I got mesmerized by a wonderful array of elastic, including some that featured Stone Cold Steve Austin. (Sorry you're hearing about the elastic again, Casey.) I went there for a zipper and thread and ended up with alphabet elastic, a new thimble, some electric purple elastic, some expired mustard elastic, two zippers, three spools of thread, aaaandddd.. I think that's mostly it. (Then I went to Staples, another big box store, but local to Massachusetts, I guess, to get my pattern printed because BIG PAPER!)
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To be clear, I only went to Swanson's and Staples today; the other bits and bobs were sequestered away in my stash.
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Came home and got to grading my pattern. That's the process of adjusting the pattern to accommodate your measurements. In this particular pattern, I required a size 2 in the waist and a size 6 in the hips, so I had to grade between sizes. Not difficult, can be intimidating, but making mistakes is one way to learn. Then I cut out all those graded pattern pieces. I took a little detour here because alphabet elastic gave me the little push I needed to finally revisit a pattern I had been drafting from an old pair of men's panties. (I type this with a straight face and seriously ask why we can't call boxer briefs panties!!) Now I have that pattern all situated, and I've even cut out some black cotton rib to use for the first stab, which I suppose makes it a fairly invested toile. (twahl.)
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I started doubting myself, as if I hadn't taken a literal handful of college-level fashion courses (please feel my sarcasm), as to whether or not I was folding the fabric the right way. I also use cannabis, so we have options here. Regardless, I googled my way into further confusion and eventually gave myself permission to commit. I'll spare you any more gruesome details about this somewhat arduous series of preparatory tasks and cut to the chase. I have all my pieces cut out, interfacing ironed, and that makes three projects that are ready to be sewn at my leisure. It feels good to be excited about a few little things, even though there are lots of big things going on right now. Like, world war three.
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My intention when I started writing to you, my fictitious audience of the future, was to revisit last week's newsletter and touch on all of the things that I said could be their own newsletter. Could be a fun little context clue game. Then, I started rambling, which, in my defence, is usually what happens here, and casually mentioned world war three, which I am continuing to refuse to capitalize or use roman numerals for. As a result of mentioning it twice now, I feel responsible to your nervous system and don't want to further shock you with anything else that might come out while I dive into some hot takes from my lived experience.
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I've got a couple of other cute sewing projects up my sleeve. I'll share pictures when they're done. I think it's fun to share a silly picture here because this feels like a more intimate long form of social media. It's like were all in this little club. Maybe I'm overthinking it, or maybe I've been at the grass again.
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No time has passed, but it felt weird to pivot as harshly as I want to without having the horizontal line. You know, for clarification purposes. Anyway, it's been a while since I've given you a bit of a task, or even afforded you an explicit opportunity to reach out, because that's always an option, even though I'm still not keen on replying to replies. Seems like it could go on and on, and I don't want a slough of e-mail pen-pals, although I will say, every email reply I get, I do read, and I reply to all of them in my mind, so there's no doubt you'd be an amazing pen pal. I guess I'll say this: if or when the time comes, I know how to get in touch.
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Back to the task at hand. My pondering prompt for you is as follows: What is your ideal life? All facets. The what, where, why, who, all of it. Really think about it. It's so easy to just accept everything, so easy. Once upon a time, somewhere someone said something along the lines of "if it was easy everyone would do it," implying that doing the hard thing (in most instances, it applies to the situation at hand, but let's remove that layer) is not the thing everyone is doing. Therefore, if you're doing something common or societally accepted, shouldn't that make it inherently easy? So, if all the "hard" things were just as easy, what would be different for you? Ponder that. Please? At the very least, read it again. Admire my witty philosophy. I got a degree in it, kindof?
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To jump back and bookend this week's installment of Julia's bullshit you're so lovingly entertaining, I'll touch on one of the things that I said could be its own entire newsletter. The one that I suspect will offend the least, and the trope, not my situation, has been portrayed in the media.
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I did two years of preschool and kindergarten through fourth grade at Jordan Catholic School in Rock Island, IL. That felt weird to type out, but since I've lived in such places, it seemed important for context. My grandmother was the librarian. My mom was not married, which was slightly more taboo in the 90's in a catholic school, so that, mixed with grandma on the staff (faculty? its elementary school), well, I was hard to relate to. I had a few good friends, scattered through the years. I think they all, at one point or another, got tired of me and asked me to call someone to come pick me up. I hope that's a more universally experienced situation; if not, well, it's sadder than it felt at the time, I guess. Kids are mean, then we grow up, and people still suck.
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Ponder more. Literally. Ponder. Be so convinced, like a cattle dog. My back hurts. It's 11 pm at some point in the past. I'm gonna leave this one here. Happy March. I hope you stare at the red moon. Be cautious in the microwave. Save space to be gentle to yourself and others. I hear you telling me to shut up already. You're right. Cheers.
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