Halloween Bags

I was supposed to work tonight and because they have issues scheduling the right amount of hours to meet their goals in the quarter, my shift was cut, they called me, I didn't get the message so drove to work, parked my car, paid for parking and then turned around and drove home crying in the car for the whole frustration of it all. wanting to work so desperately and just really not knowing how to go about getting the work.

But the really good news is that I got home, all mascara-y and snotty while the boys were still asleep and sat on the teal chair in our living room while James searched Craigslist for the most ridiculous jobs to make me cheerier and then when the boys woke up I made breakfast for dinner, we decided to scrap the leapord costume for Finn and put together a cowboy costume to utilize the really lovely peach guitar we found at calvin's and we went trick or treating, which I would have missed out on if I'd worked. So you know, the good news. Oh and the whole point of this is to tell you that I sewed two little denim candy bags for the boys that took about 2 minutes to cut and serge together and looked much more adorable than the utility of the project would ever predict.

So I sewed and I ate a whole crap load of candy and I'm feeling better. (And I realize this whole post is made up of run-on sentences; it gets at the feeling the best)

So Everyday Sew

I've said this already so it seems a little unnecessary to lay it out but here goes anyways: I'm unemployed and discouraged by the job search process and the occupational prospects in Portland and I sew, which makes me feel better. So I am sewing everyday to have a sense of accomplishment and construction and process that can witness a trajectory where I have control, a thin metaphor for therapy. And I've set out to write about it here, with less regularity than I had originally pictured but with some chronicling of the accomplishment. I've been feeling particularly down lately. People around me are finding meaningful, lucrative work; the one job I have can't seem to muster the sales to need me very often; I'm having trouble sleeping; I have an extremely short fuse with my kids; you get the gist. So I am going to sew more, sew everyday as a more proactive therapy toward my emotional stability and self confidence, because it's the one thing I can do. So everyday sew.

Yesterday I completed a very simple project. The vintage square quilt on the back of my couch, the inspiration for the colors and textures of the whole room, was falling apart at the seams (wow the metaphors are too easy now). The people who plop down on the couch, pulling the quilt down into the seams, the occasional covering of the legs and feet (it's a small quilt and not particularly comfy), the kids driving trucks up and down the squares, have taken their toll on the hand-stitched seams between the squares. I have noticed this tearing for a while but finally brought the quilt downstairs and stitched up the seams, reinforcing where it came apart and repairing the holes. It's back on the couch and I am certain no one has noticed the change. But it's done and it needed to be done and that is an accomplishment. I feel more employable already.

Hipster Babies with strange shaped heads

The projects of my imagining

I've taken some time off from blogging--the summer off from this blog and about a year off from my other, original blog (eastcoker.blogspot.com)--for good, justifiable reasons related in some part to my extraordinary productivity in other arenas but mostly due to my good friends: procrastination and lacking motivation. I notice interesting things around me and work on projects that get finished with varying amounts of success but I don't seem to ever get them photographed before they get all covered in dirt (clothes for the boys) or before I don't like them as well as I did when they first flashed in my head as wonderful ideas (most everything else). If only I could take pictures of the ideas before the execution gets all in the way--the not quite right fabric, the too expensive notions left out, the bunchy hemline, the rippley zipper, the cockeyed seam or the entirely abandoned projects given up because they just didn't work--I would feel wildly successful. But the execution is the challenge, the reason I come back to it, the whole meaning for this blog.
And I have to admit, I don't really lose the excitement for the ideas that still flash. Right now I'm picturing two wingback chairs for the ends of the dining room table. They have high rounded sides and short raised arm rests that when you sit back from eating you have to sort of shrug your shoulders and twine your fingers at rib level (maybe resting on a full belly) to place your elbows on the charcoal (almost purple) velvet fabric of the chair's arms. I think that I can build these chairs with 2x4s and some plywood, some old comforters for padding, burlap scraps for webbing and some salvaged furniture feet. I just need a jigsaw. The original inspiration chair was actually a settee from the Bridgport Anthropologie covered in what seems like old feed bags with unconventionally shaped sides, sort of squared off, and those raised arm rests. I'm still open to the feed bag idea but I need a source. I don't think Joann stocks that sort of thing.
I'm also picturing a gigantic hydrangea wreath hung from a decorative knob installed at the top of our huge front door, the wreath partly obscuring the giant window in the door that gives a lighted diarama view of our front hall. The hydrangeas themselves will come from our next door neighbor, a single young man whose name I can't remember but who responded to my knock on his door asking to cut a few stems of the hydrangeas next to his garage with a very confused "Huh?" at which point I revised, asked if I could cut some flowers from his yard. He agreed and I knew with a spreading sense of satisfaction that he would never miss the hydrangeas, no matter how many I cut. The bright blue blooms of summer found their way onto our ledges and tables and now the lovely maroon flowers that have started to dry on the stems will make the wreath in my mind. The autumnal welcome to our home, the veil to our front door's candor.
And if I can get my hands on some birch branches, I foresee an indoor tree of sorts, a gathering of branches rooted in an urn in front of the fireplace, hung with lights and pinecones and maybe a cranberry garland to start us in the direction of christmas. It's beautiful in my mind. We'll see how it turns out.