Restingmotion

  • Counting the Cost

    Carolyn, of Diary of a Sewing Fanatic, and from whom I blatently stole the idea for this post and it’s title,  posted a question
    concerning whether we count the cost of our garments or not. I was about to comment when I noticed that I
    was beginning to ramble and rant, just a little, going off on my own tangents,
    and thought it best to consider the matter further and post here, in my own space, without cluttering up hers.

    At times during my sewing career I have kept meticulous
    track of the cost of individual projects and my sewing expenses, but this has
    settled into kind of a loose awareness now. I keep track of what I am spending on a garment compared to what it
    would cost me to buy it; most of the time that is, because there is always the
    occasional case where I just get an idea in my head and run with it, willy-nilly
    without regard to any practicalities. 

    I certainly maintain that you can certainly get nicer
    clothes for less money if you sew, and can have more clothes as well, despite
    occasional arguments from others that one spends a fortune on something that
    could be bought at Wal-Mart. I think
    these comments are more obviously a comment by someone who is not discerning of
    the differences in the quality of fabrics or construction and probably does not
    care. In that sense, the fact that I
    love to sew and make clothes makes me something of an anachronism in an age
    when, for many, clothing is just something one buys and discards at the end of
    a season or when it wears out, often not much more than a season.

    Certainly I think we need to consider all the bits and
    pieces that go into garment construction, including thread, buttons,
    interfacing, etc., as a part of the garment. Still, to use Carolyn’s example, if you are lucky enough to find fabric
    and a pattern for $15.95 to knock off a $155.95 jacket, you are ahead. Even adding the cost of all the other things
    needed, you are not going to spend the remaining $140 on that jacket. I of course don’t count time here, and I am
    not convinced that most modern sewists should, because most of us sew for the
    pure love of it, not to earn a living or as the only way we can clothe our
    families.

    Still, the comment about comparing apples to oranges
    holds. Even though it is not difficult
    to make a similar appearing garment to the $155.95 jacket, or the $400.00
    jacket, or even probably the $2795.00 jacket I was looking at by the Swiss
    company Akris the other day; it is more than likely that our garments bear
    little true comparison to the ones we are copying.

    In the case of the $155.95 jacket, it is likely that the
    materials used by the company that manufactured that jacket cost about the same
    as what Carolyn spent on her fabric and pattern, and that included a pattern,
    amortized over hundreds or thousands of garments, and all the other sewing
    notions and necessities Carolyn will need. If you use the rule I learned growing up, that the wholesale cost of the
    garment was half the retail, and the
    manufacturer’s cost was half that, you end up with a manufacturing cost of roughly $38.99. A good portion of that has to be construction
    cost. I think modern companies,
    certainly upscale clothiers, and even a broader spectrum of stores use a
    different formula with higher markups, partly because the market will bear it
    and partly because as a greater percentage of clothing sells at mark-down, the
    clothing must be originally marked up enough that even the sale price yields a
    profit.

    When you think about it, even with the price break the
    company might gain by ordering thousands of yards of a fabric, the quality of
    materials in that $155.95 jacket are probably not all that fine in terms of
    quality. I’ve read enough of Carolyn’s
    posts to know how savvy a shopper she is, and to believe that she has a very
    good eye for quality and price. I also
    think I know enough to know that she is much more interested in sewing a
    quality garment and would lay odds that her jacket will be far better made than
    the original she is “copying”. So there
    we get it again: comparing apples to
    oranges. Are we saving money by knocking
    off RTW? Yes, whether we keep track of costs
    or not. Unless you are spending $30.00
    knocking off a $45.00 top you are ahead, and even then you may be if the color
    suits you better, the style fits you better, and even more importantly the
    fabric is of a better quality and the top is better made.

    I think sewists often underestimate the value of their
    skills in a market that understands quality construction and
    discriminates. Granted that is a small
    market, but a lot of people appreciate the difference quality brings when they
    see it, even if they don’t understand it and would not pay the price to
    purchase it. Those oohs and ahhs give us
    tremendous thrills.

    And what about that Akris jacket? I will tell you more another day but I can
    tell you this. It was silk something
    like a very high quality Matka or raw silk, unlined except in front, with
    serged edges, very little interfacing (1/4 yard), with poorly executed machine
    hems (I could stick my thumbs between the stitches. I will make a much better jacket, to my mind
    at least, which I will enjoy much more. When I wear it I will certainly feel smug knowing that I made a superior
    garment for far less money. But I won’t
    worry about the details of what I spend because for me it is the wearing that
    is a joy and the making, well that is a little bit of heaven that I get to
    touch every day.

    I stopped worrying too much about price when I finally
    figured out that I love my fabrics, and my yarns and my buttons in their own
    right. I would love the fabric if I just
    looked at it and wrapped myself up in occasionally without sewing another
    stitch. Yes, I love clothes. Yes I love to copy actual looks. But most of my sewing is fabric driven. I save pictures, but it is the fabric that
    drives me to make something. A piece
    jumps out at me and tells me it must become something. I comply. I love antique and unusual buttons and although I have a large
    collection of them I still often end up searching for quieter buttons for
    actual garments. Buttons that make too
    much of a statement are not always what I want on a garment. Sometimes I get
    the perfect match, sometimes the button and the fabric look perfect but they
    argue too much. Still I love my buttons
    passionately. Each one is like a
    treasured piece of jewelry, each with its own history.

    Do I spend more because I sew than I would on clothes if I
    didn’t sew? I honestly can’t say because
    I love clothes and can be pretty picky about quality. I don’t spend more than I can afford. If I didn’t sew or knit I can’t promise that
    any other hobby I took up would be that much cheaper. I could spend a fortune on tennis club
    memberships and court-time and private lessons, attending clinics and going to
    lessons. There are many other things I
    could do, probably not much cheaper. Perhaps we shouldn’t worry too much about whether the product produced
    is worth what we spend but rather, whether the enjoyment we get from creation
    and the joy of wearing our own handiwork is justified by the time, effort, and
    money we put in to it.

  • Trip Knitting

    There was substantially less knitting in Tucson than anticipated and as a result I packed too much yarn. The upside that there was substantially more
    couple-time and that was a joy.

    I did work on Rogue while in Tucson and am now near the end of the back shoulders. There has been little progress this week as I have been running around
    like crazy between work, normal back to life tasks like grocery shopping,
    taking the car to the shop (3 times, most annoying) and getting materials and
    plans together for the sewing/knitting den remodel. I am anticipating hoping that the mason and
    carpenter will be here next week, turning the kitchen and family room into a
    mess as they rebuild the chimney over the stone fireplace, which acts as a wall
    between the two aforementioned rooms and have therefore tried to get as much
    done this week outside the house as possible. 

    Airplane knitting consisted of sock-knitting.  The sock is being knit inside out as I feel that the purl side shows this particular yarn best:

    Pinksock3

  • I’m not sewing

    I have returned from vacation but have been too busy and frazzled to even think about sewing. I am not, however, too distracted to dream about sewing but more about that later.

    Meanwhile these yellow roses bring a smile to my face and a little breath of peace to my soul every time I pass by.

    Roses

    I am very thrilled that my sweetie thinks far enough in advance to procure my favorite roses for valentine’s day, the day when red roses are queen.

  • Thinking about Grief and Grieving

    I’ve not been reading much, but I did finish The Year of Magical Thinking by Joan Didion.  It is really a fine example of a memoir; I am glad I read it.  As you know by now, I don’t really review books, I just write down what I think; sometimes notes, sometimes general musings, sometimes more, and sometimes less, related to the major themes of the book.

    The opening lines, oft repeated, stay in my mind:

    Life changes fast.
    Life Changes in an instant.
    You sit down to dinner and life as you know it ends.

    The book was touching and beautifully written, gripping, even though one knows the outcome.  Of course I usually know the outcome having been long been of the habit of reading the endings of books before the beginnings.  If knowing the outcome ruins the book, it probably was not worth reading to begin with.

    I keep thinking about grief and Didion’s thoughts and words on grief, especially her references to written books or writing about grief and the grieving.  I was especially struck by her comments about how we, as a culture, increasingly hide or suppress grief and hide death and grieving away, as if by ignoring it we can pretend it does not exist.  Although we all do this, try to put on the strong public face, there is something somewhat chilling about a culture that celebrates those who can go on in the face of tragedy as if nothing had happened.  We cannot escape the realities of life, no matter how technologically and socially advanced we become.  I am not sure this denial of the reality of grief and grieving, of death itself, and of the inherent tragedy that marks so much of life, really helps us any.  Instead, like anyone in a state of denial, our suppression of this whole darker side of existence, makes us more vulnerable and less resilient.

  • Vacation

    We are off to Tucson tomorrow and will be back early next week.

    There will be no posts, as I am undergoing a forced exile from electronic equipment for the duration.

    I will be checking out Buttons and Bolts, as I haven’t yet been there.  I am always being told it is too far away; it is on the opposite side of town from step-son Adam and his wife Lisa.  We drove by it once, I almost had my head out the window, tongue dragging, like a dog, smelling the fabric on the breeze.  This time I will be staying right near by and as my days will be my own, there is nothing to stop me.

    That won’t stop me from driving across town to Leandro, one of the great temples of fabric temptation.  I would be lying if I said I won’t buy anything, but I will think very carefully and limit my choices. 

  • New pattern books have been rolling in this week:

    Patternbooks

    and so my head is filled with all kinds of wonderful new ideas…..

    But

    We leave for Tucson tomorrow.  Everything is packed, including the knitting.  I seriously contemplated taking the portable computer but it is not the lightest and sleekest, weighing in at 5 pounds.  Oh I dream of one of those light babies, 2 1/2 to 3 pounds.  Of course that still doesn’t help withe 4 pounds of work I would feel obligated to drag along to justify bringing the computer. 

    Increasingly I hate carrying or dragging anything.  Even if I check the damn thing, and I have done so since no computer is worth my lugging it around all day, I still have to get it to and from car to airport and back.  Not me.  Increasingly I feel I must make my way through life as unencumbered as possible.  Difficult, as I like my stuff, and I like options.

    I will not be plaguing you with photos of works in progress or tempting you with photos of the desert, mountains, or lovely sunsets. 

    Until next week.

  • What is this pile of paper? oooh, patterns!

    I finally found the pattern for Miriam’s pants, after some
    searching because I had not put it in the pattern folder for the pattern I had
    used. It was in a reasonable place but I
    did not label it so there was still a bit of shuffling and comparing to other
    patterns before I was certain I had the right thing. Once I marked the darts I labeled the pattern
    and marked it clearly so I can use it in the future. 

     

    Having found that pattern in a box filled with odd tracings
    of various garments that I hope to recreate someday, and other similar half-drawings
    of patterns I gathered them all up today, spread out each tracing or pattern,
    and clearly marked the alterations or traced them squarely and neatly so that
    they can be used as future patterns and templates.

    Patterns

    There was a favorite top of Miriam’s I had traced off years
    ago, but never really neatened up the lines or labeled the pieces. It took a little effort to figure out what
    was what. Now I have neat lines, clear
    marks, and pieces that are labeled and go together. I am still undecided as to whether I like the
    thin fiberglass material “soil separator paper” better than paper. It doesn’t tear or wrinkle; it sticks to
    fabric better, but it is harder to see the writing and notes on it. I suppose if I buy a different kind of
    marking pen that might work better. If
    anyone reading this has an opinion or preference on this let me know.

     

    There were also a couple of patterns I had traced and/or
    altered and I had made rough notes as to the corrections, cryptic things like
    “move dart 1” left”, and “raise shoulder ½” on right, 1” on left”, but had
    never gotten around to actually fixing the pattern and re-tracing it with the
    corrections. I am sure I just got busy,
    or I had to move my stuff off the kitchen island to make dinner and I didn’t
    get back to it. 

     

    The kitchen island is the most heavily used piece of
    furniture in our house. I cook a
    lot. It is right at the top of the
    stairs from the garage so everything coming into the house gets deposited there
    before it is transferred elsewhere. G
    likes to stand in the kitchen and read the papers on the island. The cardboard is tied up for recycling there,
    as it is a big surface. G also likes to
    bring the press down from my sewing room and iron his shirts on the island,
    hopefully while I am puttering about making dinner. 

     

    One of the reason’s I want a cutting table in my sewing room
    is that I don’t have to schedule “island time” for myself. Whether or not this will actually make me
    more efficient and encourage me to finish the projects I have started, whether
    or not I will actually label things and put them away, or if instead I will
    continue to pile things up and move on to new projects before I have finished
    the old all has yet to be seen. I do
    know I will continue to sew either way. I cut on the floor and sewed on the card table or the coffee table or
    the dining table, wherever I could find, for years. I use the island. I use my sewing room. I am very fortunate to have a room to
    sew. I don’t feel guilty, even when I am
    not using it. We have the house, the
    kids are grown. The rooms don’t just
    disappear when the children move out; the parents just kind of expand their
    activities to fill all the available nooks and crannies.

  • Roguish Knitting

    The lack of knitting photos of late does not mean that no
    knitting has been done. Rogue finally
    got going on the right track, without twists and is progressing nicely. I joined the pocket up to the main body last
    night while we were watching a wonderful movie, Children of Heaven. The movie was really tender and
    touching. G was very happy to watch it
    since we had problems with his wireless headphones and they are off to the shop. If he can read the subtitles it doesn’t
    matter if he can hear the movie or not. Now he is eager to watch all kinds of foreign films and said he would
    watch as many as I can bring home.

    Rogue1

    I do really like the way this is turning out and I like the
    rustic gray with the nubbly colors. I
    had envisioned this as a “working about the house and yard” kind of sweater and
    it looks like it is going to turn out to be just perfect.

     

    Except for the side panels, this is not the most photogenic
    of projects and I promise not to bore you with too many photos. Since I plan to take this with us on our trip
    to Tucson I hope to get a lot
    done. I won’t take it on the plane
    though, just too bulky to have it and a chart out in airplane space. I will
    probably take the socks or a scarf for the actual travel days.

  • A Blogger’s (Silent) Poetry Reading

    I just discovered this  today, somewhat late, as my day started with a rush of efficiency and then lapsed into a stroll through dreams and shadows.  I have just been catching up with the world of the web.

    So for Grace’s Poppies, which is also a wonderful new discovery, I have happened on something I can post today.  This is indicative of nothing, amidst the volumes of poetry that grace my shelves, mocking my one time dream of writing, my hand happened to fall to this:

    The Flaw

      By
    Robert Lowell

    A seal swims like a poodle through the sheet
    of blinding salt.  A country graveyard, here
    and there a rock,  and here and there a pine,
    throbs on the essence of the gasoline.
    Some mote, some eye-flaw, wobbles in the heat,
    hair-thin, hair-dark, the fragment of a hair —

    a noose, a question?  All is possible;
    if there’s free will, it’s something like this hair,
    inside my eye, outside my eye, yet free,
    airless as grace, if the good God . . . I see.
    Our bodies quiver.  In this rustling air,
    all’s possible, all’s unpredictable.

    Old wives and husbands! Look, their gravestones wait
    in couples with the names and half the date —
    one future and one freedom.  In a flash,
    I see us whiten into skeletons,
    our eager, sharpened cries, a pair of stones,
    cutting like shark-fins through the boundless wash.

    Two walking cobwebs, almost bodiless,
    crossed paths here once, kept house, and lay in beds.
    Your fingertips once touched my fingertips
    and set usn tingling through a thousand threads.
    Poor pulsing Fête Champêtre!  The summer slips
    between our fingers into nothingness.

    We too lean forward, as the heat waves roll
    over our bodies, grown insensible,
    ready to dwindle off into the soul,
    two motes or eye-flaws, the invisible . . .
    Hope of the hopeless launched and cast adrift
    on the great flaw that gives the final gift.

    Dear Figure curving like a questionmark,
    how will you hear my answer in the dark?

     

  • Knitting and unknitting

    It seems like I have been boring for a long time now, as if
    I am in some shadow existence, part of my life, but really only skimming the surface. I putter; I fall asleep given any
    opportunity. I don’t write because I
    have nothing to say. I make lists, I talk about THINGS, as if their presence
    will make up for the void. I don’t sew or knit because I feel incapable of
    creativity.

     

    I blame it on January. January is always hard for me, partly because it is often gray, but it
    is not the grayness of the weather that makes me this way, the grayness of a
    January winter actually more reflects my mood than shapes it. January is the month that marks the life that
    might have been and hence it is always sheltering background sadness. Sometimes I get busy, cleaning out closets,
    filing and doing other mindless busy work, scrubbing floors (how unlike
    me). Sometimes I sit and stare at the
    fog on the river, at the boats passing by, at the cardinals on the once snow
    covered bushes. I think of planting peas
    but I don’t have the energy to order the seeds yet, just to dream… This foggy mood has gone on, probably since
    before January, since before the holidays, but I kept busier then. Little automaton Mardel, keep moving, don’t
    think. January is my excuse, the cover
    that hides what lies beneath the surface.

     

    January is the month in which my last pregnancy would have
    come to fruition. It was the only one
    that got far enough along for me to think of due dates and names and the
    potential for change that was coming. It
    marks, in my mind, the division between the time there was hope and the time
    there was none. That first January
    passed quietly. I did not even realize I
    was depressed until considerably later. By the next January, I realized that there would be no children no
    matter how hard I tried and January became my month-of-despair. Better, sometimes, to contain things. Having always been more a dreamer than a hard
    realist, hanging onto the vision and the date of the dream-that-was-lost, was
    more telling than the dates of any sad events or hard news. Now, at the end of the eleventh January, the
    fog rolls in slowly sometimes. I sit and
    lose time completely. I know I will snap
    out of it. Probably our upcoming trip to Tucson will break me out of my
    routine. But I also realize that certain
    things will always be a part of me and I just have to accept their presence and
    try to mostly avoid their sharp edges.

     

    I have knitted and unknitted the pink socks endlessly,
    trying new pattern stitches to see what I like best in this yarn. None have satisfied me. Perhaps none will. Sometimes that repetition of forward and
    back, forward and back, endlessly rocking between accomplishment and reflection
    is the greater progress. I suppose I “should”
    have knitted a swatch. But the swatch is
    so planned and methodical, so blindly assuming that all our plans and goals
    will be achieved. Forward and backward,
    knitting and unknitting; sometimes the circuitous route is the best.