Clothdragon

Let's Talk Halloween!

noreply@blogger.com (ClothDragon) — Wed, 03 Oct 2012 14:04:00 +0000

It's October already! Only so much time to get your costumes made!

Those of you who know me on FanSci or Facebook know my sister has chosen Lady Loki, (from annagiovannini at deviant art). She's bought some fabric and this weekend we'll be starting to cut it up and hope the shape it takes will look...
.....something

.....like

<--this.

Don't worry, I'll post pictures later to show either our triumph or our humiliating failure.... I wonder if we should get a wig or if Christina will just be a short-haired Loki. Probably that second one. I'll get out the hair-wax so she can spike it up for interest.

My idea (which I also bought fabric for, so is now etched as close to in stone as I get) is a gender-swapped Thor costume to go with her Lady Loki. And Lacking interest in armor, I think I might go even a little further away from the traditional.

I've been sketching. Scanned in pencil doesn't show as well as I'd like, and I'm not used to trying to put my own art online so I'm a bit lost in digitally fixing it, but I'm sure you get the idea.

I'm leaning toward the last one -- the one with the under-bust vest -- I found a light silvery gray knit to make the undershirt with that should give just a hint of armor. The vest and skirt will be a darker, heavier knit that won't be completely stiff, but should hold it's shape enough to flare nicely past the hips.

The top hat worries me a little too. I've started 3 different ones, but have yet to finish any. And I'm not sure how to make the wings yet.

What are you planning? Making anything big and difficult or will you be buying stuff from the store, like I probably will for my children who have decided to be Harry Potter and Hermione.

Changes in my Lifetime

noreply@blogger.com (ClothDragon) — Wed, 18 Apr 2012 01:56:00 +0000

I'm old, but not that old.

Well, I'm 38. Some people would say that's old, but I'm not nearing retirement age. Not that I can retire - home mommies don't get those benefits, but that's a different argument. Right now, I'm thinking of seeing my father beat up my mother. Well, all of us, really, but with a focus on my mother.

I'm thinking of all the times the police came out and went away, having done nothing. Occasionally, there was a type of conversation, three men (police usually came in pairs) standing outside chatting. They'd gesture, but with small movements, like every day conversation. Sometimes they'd laugh, you know, like every day conversation. As if nothing was wrong.

They didn't think hitting us was wrong.

Maybe they only meant that hitting her wasn't wrong, but we generalized. And we never said a thing, for the rest of our lives.

That was in the 1970's.

As early as the 1960's, there were mandatory reporting laws, suggesting child abuse might be taken seriously, but can you imagine seeing the police walk away while your mother sobbed in the corner? Bruised and bleeding. They didn't care when an adult was getting the mess beat out of her, why would they care if the kids did? Or maybe it was the image of three men chatting in a happy circle in the yard while the females of the house hid behind things and cried. (Once I picked up a shovel and raised it over my shoulder determined to stop him from hurting my mother, but that was the first time he threatened -- in a voice I took very seriously -- to kill me.)

In the 1990's, when I was raped, I knew it was my fault. I knew it, without a doubt, without even having to bother the police about it. I wouldn't have called the police if I'd been hospitalized. I wasn't, and I knew that made me lucky. A girl in my class in college a few years later, my secondary education class, reiterated that point when we talked about issues high school students faced. She wore long skirts and high collars and thought short skirts were an irresistible invitation to horny men. I'd already stopped believing that -- at least a little -- but I never asked if she'd had personal experiences.

Marital rape started being prosecuted as a crime in the U.S. in the late 1990s, not long after the Violence Against Women Act was passed in 1994 and with finances added in 1996. Only when Federal money was put into a hotline was it considered serious enough to jail people for.

Only in the late 1990s did adult women gain even a chance of being taken seriously by the police -- if they lived in a liberal area.

Then, in Kansas, they stopped prosecuting domestic abuse and freed 30 suspects. And now there's a bill in Wisconsin claiming single mothers cause abuse despite the fact that 22 percent of women and only 7 percent of men are victims of abuse. I guess they're asking for it.

If these republicans think child abuse is important (it was made illegal earlier, perhaps it might be considered a big deal), let me tell you - children from those families are affected. It hurts them. We get hit by things. Men who hit women, don't stop there. Most of my scars are from childhood -- and I'm a klutz who sewed through my own finger when I got my first sewing machine and stabbed myself with a screwdriver during a home renovation. Imagine how many scars I have if the ones I got in my first 15 years of life (that's when I moved out) still outnumber the ones I got in the last 23.

And it doesn't stop there. Both my sister's first relationships were with abusive men. Mine too, but I managed to get away and find a truly good guy to marry. The sister who didn't get into drugs has learned to trust my husband, but hasn't had a real relationship since her divorce. Who can blame her?

In those home renovations, I mentioned, I was removing a bathroom sink. I turned off the water outside, removed the sink, turned off the input valves and went outside to turn on the water for the rest of the house. One of the valves was broken and water sprayed the entire bathroom. It broke the light fixture. I can't remember how many things got broken, but I know it was a lot. I laughed when I called Husband, and after the day before of a million little things breaking, he couldn't believe I could laugh.

We agreed that the difference was a million little things instead of one big thing. It's easier to laugh at one big thing than thing after thing going wrong. I used that example the other day when talking to him about why all these proposed laws bothered me when NONE of the Florida laws against women's rights passed. They're passing somewhere and if it keeps happening, they'll pass here too. Eventually.

We have:

Throw like a girl and run like a girl - meaning incompetently.
Cry like a girl.
girly - said in a tone that obviously means unimportant.
it's a girl-thing - usually meaning petty or small.
Man up - meaning strength.
Grow a pair - meaning strength.
Slut and whore versus stud.

A million little things, including the new Dr. Pepper commercials saying "Not for Women," that circle of men in my front yard, and the bills that value a cluster of cells over the woman carrying them. (Those bills might say they are to protect life, but women have already died because of their doctor's newly limited options.)

What are we teaching their children? Will they see themselves with the same unimportance I did, growing up?

There have been 916 bills introduced in the United States in ONE YEAR, since last March. These bills take away health care, they take away equal pay on the claim that only men need to support families. These bills make us all less, telling men that being a bully is 'manly' and telling women that abuse is our fault.

You guys don't know how afraid I am that we're going to go back to the world I grew up in.

How can anyone possibly think those days were better than it is today?

And I Conspire with Life to Make my Weeks Busy

noreply@blogger.com (ClothDragon) — Mon, 09 Apr 2012 19:58:00 +0000

A few weeks ago, I volunteered with the local organic veggie people to coordinate pickups. That means they bring a smallish semi truck to my house every Monday and drop off a pallet of fruits and veggies, which I then sort out into bags for anywhere from 10 to 22 people.

It seemed like a small thing, and I like to be helpful, but it does fill a day!

And leaves me with aching abs. And exhausted.

Adding to that new thing, last week was spring break for the kids. And the University, where Husband works, has decided to lower the amount of leave the employees can carry over from year to year, so Husband took the week off to use up some of the (now extra) time he's accrued over the last 12 years.

It made my days weird. No pick up and drop-off times for the kids. No 5:something Husband's home dinners to add structure to our days. No gym trips -- or good logical times to go.

So we ran the Warrior Dash in the rain, bagged veggies, cleaned house and car, went to Legoland, sent the kids to the pool with school friends, and decorated and hunted eggs for the pagan easter.

I held the camera.

We need more veggies!

These are all made of Legos.

All of them.

Legos.

I ride a Lego camel.

Boychild drives.

Girlchild shows an affinity for acting.
(The boys had smile-screams; she looks terrified)

We discovered Everyone Loves Vader.

And Girlchild finds the necessary orange Jack-o-Egg.

And this week we try to get back into our old habits. I started off going to the gym, to see if exercise will help my recent bout of crankiness, and sorting veggies. Remembering to deliver and collect the children. Remembering to remind Girlchild to do her homework.

Good habits are so easily broken.

Tomorrow I try adding writing back into the mix.

Scary?

noreply@blogger.com (ClothDragon) — Mon, 26 Mar 2012 12:00:00 +0000

Perhaps something is wrong with me. The title is "Eerily Realistic Monster Sculptures Wish You Sweet and Screaming Dreams" but they look so happy.

Every one of them is smiling. Except the headless one, but look at his hands! You can tell he's happy too.

And if anyone from the far far north where there are fewer allergens wants to offer Husband a job my nearly constant headache and I will make sure he seriously considers it. Sadly he's gone all specialized so I can't go job hunting for him and tempt him with foreign locales. I'm not sure HE can go online and search for openings either. If we ever move it will probably be someone seeing him speak at one of the professional organizations and deciding they need him. Documenting and managing network ports and cables between a few thousand buildings is not something many organizations need.

Sadness.

But all our stuff is here. And our friends. So I guess it's not too bad.

Then again we're already having days above 80 degrees so if we have more than a week in the 110's I may revisit the idea and follow up by begging people to join us afterward.

How is it in places that aren't Florida? Anyone else tempting heatstroke in March?

More Nerf

noreply@blogger.com (ClothDragon) — Tue, 13 Mar 2012 00:06:00 +0000

I painted another nerf gun. This time my main goal was to be able to reassemble a gun that still worked.

Stop or I'll shoot!

Aaaaannnnnnd... It does.

Not only does the gun still fire, the laser sight on top still.... lasers?

Still makes a red dot on stuff you aim at.

I can't take a picture of it firing (digital cameras aren't that fast) so you'll have to take my word for it. Pretty and functional. (I can occasionally manage one of those for myself, so both of those on one object.... Exceptional!)

So, I guess I'll see you all again next week when maybe I'll do something useful. Probably, I won't. But maybe.

Nerf-y Weekend

noreply@blogger.com (ClothDragon) — Mon, 05 Mar 2012 15:31:00 +0000

I was given a Nerf Maverick that didn't work so it seemed like a perfect opportunity to try painting it up.

I followed these instructions for taking it apart, and though I probably could have continued following instructions to make it work again, my main goal was making it look different. (The trick is to take out all the screws. If it still doesn't come apart, look for more screws.)

I'm pretty happy with it, but now I want to get one of the others and pull it apart too.

My favorite online examples have things added to them.

Teal. (Or something in the blue-green family). Pretty.

This one's on Etsy. I love the flashlight addition.

Shiny. This one makes me want to get one of the rifles and try something like this in long version.

This one's my favorite. It's one of the reasons I tried making mine look all beat up.

Then, when crafts are complete we hit the "what do I do with it" stage. Mine has become a kids toy. The pop, when the trigger is pulled, is extra loud now so it's actually perfect for a play weapon. But I think I'm going to try keeping them functional when I paint them up in the future.

No, even though I don't know what to do with this one, it is not the end of this particular insanity. I will paint again in the future.

Beads and Wire Make Sore Fingers Giveaway

noreply@blogger.com (ClothDragon) — Mon, 23 Jan 2012 16:32:00 +0000

We made a craft from Polish the Stars last week. I'll start by showing you their beautiful example photo:

Isn't that amazing?

Yeah, ours aren't quite that cool.

First, rings were not quite as easy to find as we'd expected so we ended up with five inch rings from Michael's Craft Store, instead of the suggested four inch. They were the kind people crochet around or use for Dream Catchers, I think. One way or the other, they look clunky compared to the wire we found easily as our local bead shop. Maybe hers were made of thinner diameter rings too?

Then, I made them with my wonderful, beautiful, creative children who really only wanted to do the beads so the trees were put together as quickly as possible - which was also not as quickly as we sort of, maybe, a little bit expected when we saw pretty small thing but didn't pay too much attention to the instructions.

You see, you start with cutting twelve wires to a certain length. Not fast.
Then you wrap them around the ring to attach them. Also not fast.
Then you group them in threes and braid them. Not fast again.

All of those are things the children did not have the patience or inclination to do. (That could just be my children or that my children are only 9 and 5)

What they did want to do was choose beads. And only choose beads. They put up with twisting up a tree shape, but the whole time they were staring at the bead box. And then they didn't have the patience to put the beads on so they picked beads and handed them to me and I did all the attaching.

And our rings being a greater diameter than what Polish the Stars found, even our adding length didn't give great amounts of wire to work with at the end soooooo...

Without further ado, here's Little Girl's attempt.

We made hers first so the shorter wires were a big issue in this one, obvious on the side where the branches got stretched further there wasn't room for beads. And Little Girl has gone all pink and sparkly so ... let's just call this a candy tree.

This also got promptly eaten by Grimm - we suspect to punish us for leaving him home that day when I added grocery shopping to the picking up the children chore making it take longer than usual.

Little boy made this one:

He used a lot of green beads, so he did get the idea it was supposed to be a tree, but both children LOVED the letter beads and were determined to spell their names out.

Sister made one too -- about the size of a large keyring, but try as I might I cannot get a picture of that one to come out well. Even on the macro setting on the camera (which is the only setting I know about - made for small things, I think), so just know it's pretty. Probably the best of the bunch.

And I made this one:

Shown last, because I was the last one finished. Because I had to help so much with the children's. Where somewhere in the middle, when my fingers were bleeding from dealing with all those tiny wires (and my natural clumsiness), I began to wonder what I needed a beaded metal tree for anyway.

Which ended up being a good thing because, since Little Girl's is destroyed (my intention is to salvage the beads from hers and Little Boy's because they'll want to use their name letters again somewhere later) and putting mine out somewhere visible will break her heart - my tree needs a new home.

Comment below to win.

Thoughts on Identity

noreply@blogger.com (ClothDragon) — Mon, 12 Dec 2011 23:24:00 +0000

I've always seen myself as eminently normal. Middle of the road. Average. Plain and boring. I also suck at remembering names and I can never place names and faces together if anything at all is different from that first meeting. (In other words, if I met you at work, you might look familiar at the grocery store, but I won't know you.)

All this put together makes me absolutely amazed when someone recognizes me. Or compliments me. (Also I have well and truly left thin behind despite my occasional fantasy of jumping up and down on the Wii. When I'm picturing it, I'm screeching, "Obese! I will show you obese!")

Recently, I got a huge number of compliments at Husband's work party. I think it's the pink and purple hair, but there were also people in love with the clunky dragon necklace and the boots. (I don't shave as often as I probably should so my ankle was bleeding profusely half an hour before the party. Boots were a practical decision.) Same thing when we went to Orlando on Sunday, where some drunk guy tried to hug me because I looked so lovable.

But, even like this, even knowing most people don't have pink hair and at least once there was a stigma with those who have altered nature, I still feel average. (Even being overweight is average in the states :)

I don't have problems with normal.

I expect that everyone feels average because we each become our own baseline, due to pure availability and practicality. I once had an argument with a lit teacher (a black lady who was very concerned with both racism and sexism) who said that we (her mostly white class) were all at least a little racist because we started our descriptions of black strangers with the word black, but did use the word white to describe white strangers. My argument was that to be tall, the stranger only had to be taller than my completely average 5 foot 5 and being only 5 foot 2 was enough for them to be short. (I give a few inches either direction where I'd probably say they are my height.) --Though I do have a friend who is 5 feet even. I thought she was my height for years, until one day she didn't wear platform shoes. I also know someone I thought was much taller than me until we stood next to each other one day and I realized it was just that she is so outgoing and just exudes happiness so fully that her personality makes her seem bigger than life.

I have smallish eyes, an upturned nose, and full lips (my best feature -- unless you count large boobs that came years after all the other girl's). I hated my freckles and dreamed of them fading until I was in my twenties and people stopped asking me if I swallowed a dollar (that came out in pennies) or said they were angel kisses (is that creepy or what?). Or asking if I'm Irish. (I love the Irish legends, but we haven't found an Irish ancestor yet. Still hoping.)

Husband still calls me beautiful, but other than the nit-picky little things I believe everyone has, I've always been happy being normal. (Less happy being overweight but that's an issue of not being as flexible as I'd like because there is too much flesh in the way, not because I want to achieve an unrealistic standard of so-called beauty.)

On the other hand, I've always been one to smile -- you know how you catch eyes with someone you're walking by and smile a greeting? Well, I do that a lot. People smile back a lot. Almost always. So I was surprised when an older man glared at me instead of returning the smile. Really glared, like I'd kicked his dog or something. When it happened again later, with another elderly stranger, I realized I'd just changed my hair to a color nature doesn't choose for hair.

Feathers, maybe, but not hair.

On the other hand, pink hair has gotten me more compliments than I've gotten since I was single, in college, and underweight (that's a word, right?). I haven't changed a bit inside, (well, not in the last few months, at least) but to strangers....

I've become different.

Most people love it and see me as daring (I'm not), but to some, I think, I've become scary. One of those people; whatever those people are.

It's an interesting thing to watch.

t-shirts

noreply@blogger.com (ClothDragon) — Mon, 05 Dec 2011 15:34:00 +0000

Sam and Fuzzy has another t-shirt I love.

Have I mentioned before that I wear mostly t-shirts.

I've always loved t-shirts but I gave them up for a while because I realized I was giving people an excuse to stare at my breasts -- there were some slow readers when I was in college. Now I am old and I don't care anymore -- and I love witty sayings. Wearing them around is just bonus. I figure it's like a lot of people feel about their tattoos except I can (and often do) change mine daily.

But the first Sam and Fuzzy t-shirt was ...

There was so much drooling.

That's when I discovered topatoco shirts were very small and I wear an xl for them. Truly. My 9 year old is wearing the medium I got for Christmas last year. It fits her shoulders just fine, only hanging short-nightie long. Even the xl there is sort of tight. Not a bad thing if you recognize it up front. Unless you're bigger than me and also prefer the thinner fabric they usually use for the ladies shirts. (I assume the men's shirts come larger since even my moderately sized husband would look funny in my t) But, since I'm bringing up topatoco, I felt I needed to mention the sizing issues. I was shocked and dismayed when the first order didn't fit. (There was much dismay going on.)

Anyway, their new shirt is...

Isn't it wonderful? Lots of want.

But I think I might like one of Threadless's even better.

No words necessary.

They're having a 24 hour sale where everything is marked down to $10. I'm so tempted right now, you just can't imagine. I keep telling myself I have plenty of t-shirts. Plenty. I don't need these. But doesn't he look so happy?

So now that I've admitted one of my great weaknesses, tell me... where do you find your favorite t-shirts?

Halloween Photos

noreply@blogger.com (ClothDragon) — Mon, 07 Nov 2011 12:30:00 +0000

Sister as the 11th Doctor

Me as the 10th Doctor

Dallas as the 9th Doctor

Husband as the 4th Doctor

Traveling Jane

Allan as the Newspaperman who stays in London for Christmas
even after the alien attacks and crashing cruise ships

And the Doctors Together

Causing a time vortex with the scarf

And a Happy Halloween to you.

(You know, last month.)

Jealous of Husband's Office No More.

noreply@blogger.com (ClothDragon) — Tue, 18 Oct 2011 15:44:00 +0000

Remember a few weeks ago, my manic rearranging fit where I painted my bedroom orange and got rid of the oversized furniture to repurpose smaller stuff we had scattered around the house and finally got a bedroom that actually looks big and pleasant? Also where I moved the second-bedroom-come-toyroom (my two are still sharing a room) and put ALL the toys into what had been the study (the carport closed in well before we bought the house) with bookshelves and Husband's desk, and we changed the room saved for kid2 (playroom) into an office for Husband and I stared at my office/sewing room with sadness because sewing stuff took up so much space that it always looked cluttered and messy no matter how clean it was at any time and was all jealous of his single-purpose clean room?

Well, it is all different now. (that's the old room)

I've put my sewing machines (one sewer, one serger) in the laundry room (also closed in when they changed from carport to study) and stuffed all my fabric in there too. (All the tools had to go onto the porch to make room, but we'll hope that works out better and with less bugs and rodents than Husband worries about.)

Now I have the most beautiful office ever and everything will be perfect once I convince my brain that we don't need to keep rearranging and it is now time to settle in and write.

See, here is my reading spot -- temporarily taken over by the dogs.
(Chair found at Haven Hospice Attic thrift store yesterday -- I was so happy!)

My writing desk with Nostradamus looking over me.
Don't ask. It's the only painting with a face I've ever gotten at a
garage sale and I really have no idea why I liked it at all.
Sometimes I think he's a spy and is very suspicious of everything I do.

This is a wide view from the door to show my wall of bookshelves.
I haven't decided whether I'll use Dewey Decimal or Library of Congress organization.
The smaller, gray bookshelf is all fiction and alphebetized by author.
I haz organization!

And this is the door where I ran out of red paint and left the other wall green.
(When you take down wire shelves there's a lot of wall patching to be done
and painting after that if you don't want to look unfinished.)
I stopped in a point above the door because I hate painting the corners between door frames.
The arrow makes it look purposeful, Right?
Also new, from the thrift store, is the clock so reading time doesn't get away from me.
It ticks loudly, each second a reminder of the time I've just lost.
It may be in cahoots with the Nostradamus painting.

I need to figure out photographing small rooms -- older house, bedrooms are all 10x10. These pictures still look cluttered when it really does look beautiful now. Now I have to write things worth a beautiful office of my own.

No pressure.

I think I need to nap now.

Sleeve Prototypes

noreply@blogger.com (ClothDragon) — Mon, 03 Oct 2011 12:00:00 +0000

These are something I've been considering for a while, but I sat down Sunday and made some prototypes -- neither of which are usable, but both of which taught me something. (Both prototypes are made out of fabric I happened to have lying around, not something decided upon for practicality for this project.)

Count Vampypants, the coffee cup sleeve, taught me....

Leftover white denim (lightweight) works reasonably well for the face, the sweatshirt fleece works well enough for the ears, but the black fleece for the hair loses little fuzzy bits constantly so I have to work hard to keep his face looking clean.

Also, his fangs sort of disappear into the white cup.

I'm not sure how to solve that problem.

He also works as a rather large cuff bracelet -- I'm considering making the next version with velcro or something that would let them be made smaller to better fit a wrist -- not sewn in a pre-made circle, but easily circled later.

Goblinimus, the sleeve, was made of a green fleece. That doesn't work at all. It is too fluffy and I can't get the finished version to even slide onto the cup. (Fluff adds volume so, even though I made both our of the same size cutouts, Goblinimus went together noticeably smaller.) He teaches me that I need a smoother fabric. NEED, not prefer. Or I need to add a full inch to the pattern width -- and people who don't go to smooth-cup Starbucks (choosing instead the lumpy styrofoam or foam coated paper, like my sample cup) will probably still have to work it on.

Maybe velcro really is the way to go.

Also, I don't like the smooth bottom edge for Goblinimus. Next version, I'm going to make it jagged all the way around. Like ^^^^^^^^^^^.

I think I can also do a Frankensleeve, and Cthulhu, but I need to wait until I get a green that is not fleece.

Have I discovered my next binge activity?

I'll let you know next week.

Reversals

noreply@blogger.com (ClothDragon) — Mon, 12 Sep 2011 13:54:00 +0000

Starting off an interesting week with...

Little Girl cannot find her bike helmet frantic-ness.
Little Boy falls down while we're walking the dog and cries all the way home.
I cannot find Little Boy's lunchbox.
I cannot find the instructions for my new computer stand (garage sale) that I wanted to look up today.
Discovering that the box of individually bagged chips Lazy Mom gets for kid lunches comes in regular and extra spicy because this box is the extra spicy type my children will not eat.
Finding out the milk has gone bad when it would not stir into my morning tea.
I'm also out of the cereal I usually have for breakfast.
And then... Little Boy did not get ready for school while I was stressfully unable to pack his lunch.

Getting Little Boy out to the car and into VPK is no harder than usual.
Then we move on to the reversals...

Where I am happy to discover the automatic postage machine at the Post Office is working. (It wasn't last week.) That lets me mail out the Monster Purses I owe people now instead of when I return to that neighborhood to collect Little Boy from school. Much happiness!
Where Publix lets me exchange the spicy box of chips for the normal one, they have normal ones in stock, and it all happens very quickly. Hooray for Publix!
Where I collect cereal, and another box of tea (just in case) and I'm still out of there by 8:50. Go Cashiers!
Where I get home by 9, which is my scheduled writing time -- which I am currently spending venting -- and things are suddenly looking much better.

Then I get home and Grimm has decided to make his views on the hats I force him to wear pretty unmistakable.

I'd found it at a garage sale this weekend. Wouldn't it have made the best pictures?

He is now kenneled for a time.

I'm trying to make my point of view just as obvious -- which is, in essence, that I will pet and hug him when he can forgo 1)chewing on things that are not his own, and 2)pooping in the house.

I am nearly certain this is not too much to ask.

And to end on a happier note -- last night I took a bunch of moon pictures. (It was particularly pretty then.) The second picture had the flash bouncing off my hand. I'd held it up in a silly attempt to block the streetlight. The other two captured the colors better than I'd expected.

The Return of The Great Hatsby

noreply@blogger.com (ClothDragon) — Mon, 15 Aug 2011 16:32:00 +0000

So, on Etsy, I was asked to list another Great Hatsby since the first one sold. It was a good request to get since I'd stagnated a bit on purse-making and hadn't realized everything had expired. Apparently Etsy doesn't have half the reminders I get from even places who only want me to fill out a survey.

But this meant I got to figure out re-creating something is much harder than creating. My method has always been: get an idea, get the scissors, cut out shapes, sew it together. If necessary, make adjustments and do it again.

Re-creating The Great Hatsby has been all that and more. I actually tossed two attempts this weekend -- and I don't toss them unless they're really, really bad. The third attempt wasn't great -- the face part is all twisty -- but he's not quite throw-away bad. (The new flesh-tone leather I found stretches quite a bit more than I'm used to.)

I may use him as a giveaway on Fansci if I think anyone would want him.

Then I think I finally figured it out, at least a little, with Hatsby the Blue.

But the person I'm making him for said something about iPhone fitting and he turned out a little on the small size. Well, he's 6 inches by 3, but I have a myTouch and it barely fits. (I got the silicone case too, because my children drop things regularly (Hah, like how I blamed the children there?) but I keep thinking my friend's iPhone is wider than my phone. Flatter, but wider. Larger screen, Apple might say. And I think Apple handed out cases for theirs because of an antenna issue, so the width was worrysome.

So I tried one more time, with the new pattern, (right, I should make a pattern this time -- out of paper and write instructions on it) and got Hatsby the Green, still 6 inches tall, but just under 4 inches wide.

He holds the myTouch with room to spare.

So I've got some of these made and I have renewed all my expired listings and I'll put this up as soon as the person who made the request tells me which she prefers. (Beyond the size difference, I was running out of little gears so Hatsby the Blue has a skull/button combo -- though I think it turned out really well.). They both have a beak/nose thing That was accidental on the first, but I decided I liked it and kept it for the second. It can easily be changed to the more traditional goggle shape with a pair of scissors -- leather doesn't fray.

But that was my weekend. Hoping yours was good too.

Unfinished

noreply@blogger.com (ClothDragon) — Mon, 01 Aug 2011 11:36:00 +0000

Guess who discovered the Iron Craft Challenge this weekend?

Right. Yeah, I guess that's not much of a question, is it?

I couldn't find the rules on that site, so I had to go looking and I found that they moved less than two weeks ago. Their FAQ is still back at their old site. Pretty much what it says is: yes, you can join; challenges are posted every Thursday; crafts are shown off (on their Flickr group) every Wednesday; they'd prefer regular submissions rather than come and go, but understand when life gets in the way; and, HAVE FUN!

This week is sculpture. Fimo, here we go. Or, rather, went. We did it Sunday afternoon. Mine is called Unfinished Novel.

And I made another set of horns. They're all coppery. (If you want to make the hat horns the trick is Chicago Screws. I put the post in the horn and keep the screw out. Then the screw goes through the space between the knit stitches and the horn is screwed on.)

Taaa Daaaa. Sculpture.

I also call her Jilly

I like "Unfinished Novel" the sculpture more than the actual unfinished novel, but then she's one of the few I've been happy with. (How could I not be happy with that face?) But I don't sculpt as well as I'd like so it's nice to have created one I like.

Reading Sadness

noreply@blogger.com (ClothDragon) — Tue, 05 Jul 2011 13:42:00 +0000

Plotting and Writing Suspense Fiction by Patricia Highsmith
(St. Martin's Griffin, New York, 1990, page 88)

"Perhaps because it is all round easier for me, I prefer the point of view of the main character, written in the third-person singular, and I might add masculine as I have a feeling which I suppose is quite unfounded that women are not so active as me, and not so daring. I realize that their activities need not be physical ones and that as motivating forces they may well be ahead of the men, but I tend to think of women as being pushed by people and circumstances instead of pushing and more apt to say, "I can't" than "I will" or I'm going to."

I think this is the saddest thing I've read in quite some time -- especially since it was written by a woman who lived her dream (to make her living as a writer, just because I haven't read her stuff doesn't mean I haven't heard the titles, Strangers on a Train being the biggie for me, though The Talented Mr. Ripley is also vaguely familiar). She also seemed well-traveled. I think I remember reading something like 'I'd just gotten back from Italy' in there somewhere -- and still women are passive creatures waiting to have done for them.

I suppose she was born in 1921 -- and in the States (We were no where near the first to give women rights, nor the first to admit women were actually people).

Still, she had done things.

Right.

I need to go finish reading this book so I can then run to T-Mobile and figure out if I killed my SIM card (and how) or if the issue is with the phone itself, and to Home Depot to ask about renting a jackhammer. I really can't get my bathroom back together until we've taken care of the drain issue, so we've hit the pay-a-plumber-to-destroy-the-floor-or-destroy-it-ourselves stage of things.

Bad Crafts

noreply@blogger.com (ClothDragon) — Thu, 30 Jun 2011 12:21:00 +0000

I've been talking writing a lot lately. Or reading, which is the other side of the same coin. One might think I haven't been crafting at all, lately, reading those blog posts.

Sadly, I have.

Only not well.

Here, Count Vampypants (the 3rd) proves that everyone messes up sometimes.

So if you looked at my other babies and thought, I could never do that (Not that I think mine are that good, but I have looked at things made by others and had that feeling so I suspect everyone has felt it somewhere along the lines) -- you can see for yourself....

Everyone makes an ugly mess every so often.

Princess Froglips suggests smaller yarn so the face isn't so lumpy looking, but this was my first try at making a knit version of My Little Monsters and, oh, is it bad. So bad I didn't even add his zipper teeth, poor thing.

Perhaps the next project will be better.

UPDATE: I wrote this a little before I checked rss and found.... EpBot Jen had the same idea, the same day. I love it when that happens. Like ideas swirling around space catching many people at once. If you see others on the topic of the occasional bad craft, the odd ugly, unworking project, let me know. I'd love to see if the idea spread further than Florida.

Not So Easy

noreply@blogger.com (ClothDragon) — Fri, 27 May 2011 20:54:00 +0000

Shrinking down photos is not as easy on the little netbook I brought along as it is on my usual laptop. The memory on here is somewhat lacking and it gets a little slow with anything graphic so no photos today either.

Today, names.

There was a fish and chip place called Oh My Cod

The Mad Hatter was a hat shop, of course.

Hairy Lemon was.... Well. I can't remember what it was, but what a name.

I know The Streat was for eating. (As Little Girl says, get it? Get it?)

And some other random things...

-In the shopping center near our Dublin Hotel is McDonalds, Burger King, and KFC, as well as the accessory shop, Claires.
-I miss my husband and children.
-Merrion Square is an amazingly lush green park in the middle of a VERY busy area of town.
-Trinity College is where the Book of Kells resides and it seemed odd to go touring in a still-functioning school. And the Old Library Long Room is what heaven would look like to us book nerds. --Or hell, if there were this many books but not a single good one. Bad news, they wouldn't let us take ANY photos. Not just "No Flash Photography" but no photography at all. My heart broke.
-I saw a kid chewing on a straw. Not straw, like Huck Finn, but A straw. Like from a restaurant -- but not IN a restaurant. Walking through the shops. With the paper wrapper still on. I guess I should clarify, not child, early teen kid. Another was chewing the cord from his hoodie. Add that to the child I saw on the tram sucking his pinky finger (not thumb) and the feeling of being surrounded by smokers, I begin to wonder if Irish genes push people toward oral fixations.
-It is still cold.
-In the shops they have packages of pancakes. Like we have bread -- or potato chips. But only four or five to a package. I saw a lady in the elevator munching on one. They seem to be portable snack foods over here. Grab a pancake for the road.
-Everywhere we've stayed so far has a tea tray. Sugar (brown and white), tea bags, instant coffee tubes, and milk/creamer things. Those little plastic cups the children love to drink from. Yep, those. In every hotel. Love it!

-Ireland also has a three day weekend starting now, though they don't call it Memorial Day. I worry that everything will be full of crowds during the holiday.

-I don't like crowds. But I think that may have been mentioned before.

-I do like doing stuff and I recognize that, unlike our time at The Jungle, we cannot always be lucky enough to have an entire exhibit to ourselves.

-The place we rented in Northern Ireland, Shepherd's Nook, would be a perfect writer's escape cottage (though I didn't write). Secluded with a kitchen. Good internet access. There were two baby sheep we could see through the back window. But don't read The Red Tree while you're there. It will freak you out.

-We have four more days in Dublin and we're not sure what to do with them. (Still on the possible list from when we started researching are: Dublin Castle, Number 29, NewGrange, Boyne Valley, Malahide Castle, Ghostbus, and Dublinia.)
-Sunday we want to go to the Flea Market.

What would you do for your last few days?

And Today, Some Signs

noreply@blogger.com (ClothDragon) — Mon, 23 May 2011 22:37:00 +0000

But first some wordy wordy thoughts.

Troll Tolls.
The first day, to get to Castle Blarney, we had to cross a small bridge. In the water below there were hundreds of coins -- and this wasn't a man-made pond. It was a running stream. It reminded me of a conversation with a Japanese family about the koi pond outside their restaurant -- a bridge over it was the entryway. They just couldn't keep people from tossing coins in no matter how many signs they posted that the coins degradation in the water damaged the fish.

Sister and I realized right then that the faeries must have trained that into us very early on and we each paid our toll for the trolls who must have once collected them -- hoping the fish do better with it in running water than in ponds.

Driving.
I think I'm getting better at it. I'm moving automatically to the left side of the road now though I still see cars parked on the left side (facing us) with a bit of panic. Am I wrong? Did I suddenly start driving wrong? But people seem to park wherever here. 'Sokay. Just something to get used to.

Oh, and also along the driving front, much thanks for the typical Irish driver who is so very nice for those of us learning. They adjust quickly, and communicate well with their cars. Blinking lights, they're letting me make a right across busy traffic in front of them. Someone blared their horn at me today (remarkable because it's only happened twice since I've been here), but how else were they to explain that I was misunderstanding the three way intersection and that I had the right of way. We got it. Sorry for confusing people and backing up traffic in all three directions as you waited for my lane to get out of the way.

And traffic circles. They're everywhere here -- and they work better than the ones I've run across in the States where they're so unusual people seem confused to see them and don't really know what to do. Here everyone knows exactly where to go and seeing one in the distance does not strike terror into me anymore -- as long as I can tell it's a traffic circle. That tiny one outside the grocery store missed me for a minute, but we figured it out, and without hitting anyone either.

Oh, and the really nice guy who heard us asking directions in the gas (petrol) station, who caught us at the light when we had decided to go straight and we're supposed to go right (overpasses are called tunnels here, we were looking for a tunnel). He explained, then told us he was going our way for a while and we could just follow him. Then he waved and pointed enthusiastically when we were to stop following him. So very helpful.

So much thanks to everyone who has been so unfailingly helpful while we've been here. We do appreciate it.

Also internet. It's not as bad as we'd heard. We have not yet had to deal with the pains of internet withdrawal and this is being written at the cottage we've checked into. We're here for three nights, then on to Dublin. I will be truly shocked if this little rural cottage has better internet than they do.

But the signs I promised. This one amused me.

Well, they all did, but this one has wordplay.

These were in the schoolhouse at Bunratty Castle. I don't know why they amused me, but they did.

And on to...

In opposition to those totally safe cliffs.

If you weren't sure WHY the cliff might be dangerous,
here's a hint.

If you thought, perhaps THIS cliff was more a gentle decline.
It's not.

They're the Cliffs of Moher. There are many pictures of them better than mine (lots taken ocean-side). Look them up (google images is great for that) and be amazed.

Those are all from yesterday when we did stuff and didn't have the energy left over for posting. Also there weren't very many good pictures. Now if they set a camera on a post looking up from the side of cliff that showed the tourist and the drop all in one dramatic shot, that would have been good. Really that last one was the best we were able to get.

Today we drove all day. All freaking day. That is exhausting in its own way.

And terrifying.

You should see some of these tiny roads that the gps thinks we can go 96 km/h down. Tiny, hilly, curving roads with rock walls on both sides. We tried to take pictures of that too, but the photos don't convey steepness very well. We'll figure it out. I'm sure there will be other opportunities before we're home.

Guess What!? More Photos.

noreply@blogger.com (ClothDragon) — Sat, 21 May 2011 21:10:00 +0000

Early in the day I didn't think I'd have any photos to share. We went to the Cobh Heritage Museum, which was an interesting history lesson, but still a history lesson. I took some pictures of steamship and blue riband (awards given for fastest ocean crossings) plaques just for my information on Steam powered devices. --I'll share later if you want, but think the data would likely be found more easily online in a searchable format. I'll let you know when I have a chance to review.

Cobh (pronounced Cove) was the last port of call for the Titanic as well as the place of departure for a large number of prisoner ships, so I found it fascinating that they paid some artist somewhere to sculpt likenesses of entire rooms of miserably ill people, all white like there were in the Indianapolis train hotel.

Not these, these were at the door waiting to get in.
The ones inside were retching into napkins and looking miserable.

But then after that, we moved north-ish. Tonight we're in Killarney, where we met Kaaren -- an old friend who had come to Ireland to work on an Archeology degree. She's been here a few years now. She took us out somewhere -- I'll have to ask her the name later because I've forgotten -- but we got to climb things.

...where Sister did a great job looking cold

...where I do a great job adding scale -- see the blue pants?
That's me.

Also, I hid under some trees.
The photo doesn't do this spot justice.
It was beautiful.

Then we took a picture of some painted sheep.

And Kaaren explained the significance of the markings
on some of the earliest land deeds.

Tomorrow, County Clare, the Burren, Cliffs of Moher, and Bunratty Castle.

So Many Photos

noreply@blogger.com (ClothDragon) — Fri, 20 May 2011 20:26:00 +0000

This is the first in our series of Find the Person pictures.
Taken at Trinity Church.

In Badger's Caves -- under Blarney Castle

Some caves were even the right size for Mr. ManyEyes.
(He hid in my suitcase to avoid ticket prices.)

Mr. ManyEyes returns, looking a little nervous.
I wonder what he saw.

Sister demonstrates the typical bedroom size in an ancient castle.

I kiss the Blarney Stone while Mr. ManyEyes marvels at the height and
lack of safety features for size-challenged monsters.

Sister marvels at the height of buildings constructed entirely of stone.

I did not toss her into an oubliette.

She did not sacrifice me on the altar.

This is a watchtower that we did not climb,
no matter how tempting all those protrusions around the door looked.

I sit on the hill above the witch's kitchen.
Otherwise thought to have been home to early cave-dwellers.

This is part of our extensive "I'm in frakking, Ireland" series
which mostly consists of giant frakking trees.

Blarney had stairs.
So many stairs.
So very many stairs.
This is the larger "exit" stairs. The "entrance" stairs were smaller.

I'm in Frakking Ireland, giant frakking tree, sister version.

No, don't leave without me! The trees look hungry!

So hungry.

Checked In

noreply@blogger.com (ClothDragon) — Thu, 19 May 2011 17:15:00 +0000

We have finally stopped moving. First airplane, of course.

We were too tired to laugh.

Airplane, then more airplane, then car -- our plan is to travel throughout Ireland first and settle in Dublin (where our airport is) at the end, so immediately off the plane we get the car and start driving. But we have made it to Cork the same night as Great Britain's queen doing -- I've been told -- a reconciliation tour. I don't know that this will change our plans any unless they close off Blarney for her or something.

But we've settled into our room....

Where we took this picture from the window...

We will go out to eat, then probably hide in the room the rest of the night and sleep the sleep we didn't get on the plane. Tomorrow we will be rested and be able to take fun pictures and look at neat stuff without being whiny.

Day One Non-Travel

noreply@blogger.com (ClothDragon) — Wed, 18 May 2011 01:49:00 +0000

Today, we have only put off travel for a day.

We panicked.
We checked our luggage.
We checked the house, and this sister's house.
We double-checked the plans; airport, hotels, car.
We called the airport to double-check everything else -- small airport bonus, we only need to check in an hour in advance. I called and asked.
We took the children out to eat so we wouldn't be sitting at home waiting.
Watched the season finale of Castle.
We took sister's car back to her house on the way to the airport.

But at her house, she got a message that our flight was late. 40 minutes.
So we wandered circles around her house, she goes online to see what it means for our schedule and connecting flight, decide that it's all still doable, just giving us a slightly smaller layover. We decided to stop for coffee to take up a little time. Because we stress.

We got to the airport at 6:05 for our, now 7:00 flight and I'm panicking again.
Who knew coffee would take so long? Sometimes it happens.

Another hiccup, online check-in hadn't worked for us so we had to go to the counter.
Another hiccup, self check-in didn't work, so we had to talk to a person.
Another hiccup, person behind counter slow as.... what's really, really, frakkin slow? Glaciers? He can't get the man ahead of us checked in. They wander around the counter doing this and that and some other thing and taking for-frakkin-ever.
Thirty minutes later, he finally gets to us. --Hey we're hearing final boarding announcements, what's going on? Oh, the plane got in on time after all and is getting ready to leave. Delayed flight call was more an advisory for possible wait times than an actual delayed flight. What. The. Fuck.
So he rushes us through processing as fast as glaciers can, but finishes only five minutes after the plane has gone away.
But he also doesn't tell us this, he doesn't get help to get us done faster or the other guy behind us dealing with the same issue or the thirty minute guy in front of us who had ALSO had the same problem.

So we go through security. We take off our shoes, put everything on the conveyor belt, talk to the most confused security check-in guy I've ever met, get to the counter and are told the plane is gone. Gone, gone, gone. No pulling away, no just missed it, but really really gone. No longer in sight of the airport gone.

Here, call this number for international flights. Maybe they can help.

The inside security guy has to open the door to let us out. All four of us. (Me, sister, the thirty minute guy, and the guy right behind us). He asks what's up on the way to the door, thirty-minute tells him. Security guy says "Delta? Yeah, they do that a lot."

Thank everything holy that Husband decided to wait until we boarded to leave -- small airport, remember. You can see boarding from the other side of a giant glass wall.

We go outside, call the number -- except I call the top number for inside-US travel accidentally. It looked familiar because I called it this morning when I verified our flight information. The machine gauntlet asked if it was international travel and I said yes, so I didn't realize the mistake for quite a while.

That's when super-bitch answered, told us that it was entirely our fault and if we wanted to travel we needed to buy new tickets.

Dear woman, I really hope you get a day like this. I hope people help you as much as you helped us. Your haughty tone and lectures really made a stressful day perfect -- especially since I called the airport to verify that we only needed an hour check-in and you're telling us we should have been there so much earlier; and repeating over and over the idea that we were going to lose $2000 for airfare that we certainly couldn't afford to re-purchase, the hotel and rental car deposits. That really made our day. You actually had me crying. Easier when I'm already stressed out of my gourd, but still not so easy.

Thirty-minute guy was on the phone with the correct number getting so much more help than we were, so random conversation with him (during his hold time) first confused us, then gave us hope.

I called the other number.

Herbie was excellent.
Herbie was enough to almost make me forgive Delta.
Herbie, if I had your address, I would certainly send you a fruit basket or a flower basket or a candy basket.
We're nearly to first-born child level of gratitude here.
Most of all, Herbie was nice and didn't tell us it was all our fault.
I'm willing to admit to some of it, but not nearly all of it.

He couldn't get us to Atlanta in time to make tonight's connecting and there are a limited number of international flights to Ireland, which I completely understand, but he could push us off a day and give us the same schedule, the same flight times, but for tomorrow.

So this is as far as we got. (This is Sister doing check-in for the Herbie-fixed flight for tomorrow on the automatic kiosk. We certainly weren't leaving that for Glacier to do. We wouldn't have this time if online check-in had worked. Thankfully it worked this time. We have boarding passes.)

And I gave myself a shot in the stomach for that. Frakking frakkity frack. So tomorrow I talk to the pharmacy about getting another shot to give myself for the real flight. Woo hoo. I get to do the whole twitchy stress thing again, another shot, and another trip through airport security.

And no matter what Delta calls to say, we'll be there for the original flight time.
And tomorrow the travel stress will happen and then it will be done.

This is my first ever missed flight.
I don't recommend it.

Autographs - Victorian Style

noreply@blogger.com (ClothDragon) — Thu, 28 Apr 2011 20:37:00 +0000

Queen Victoria reigned from 1837 to 1901, but some of the generous Steampunk aficianados still classify it as "Victorian" up into the 1920s. The latest dated signature I found in here is from 1900, so I don't need the extra time here -- though I do need that and a little more in the story I'm writing, since it begins with the Cottingley fairy photographs taken from 1917 to 1921. --I transcribed as much as I could to help with the difficulty of reading photographed handwriting.

Presented to Mrs. J. H. Andrews, from a friend. Christmas 1881

My favorite is the first one. From her husband.

Dear Wife, Time cannot take away from me, The happy days I've known, And death alone can break the tie, That binds my heart to thee. Your Husband, J. H. Andrews; Jan 14, 1882

Rockville, Dec 30, 1881 - Dear Friend-- So might I shun the shame and pain; That o'er me at this instant come; When Beauty, seeking Wit in vain; Knocks at the portal of my brain; And gets for answer, "Not at home." Your Friend, Arthur A. Davies. (I looked it up, it's the last stanza of this T. Moore poem.)

Dear Gilda, Our lives are albums written through; With good or ill with false or true; And as the blessed angles (angels?) turn, the pages of our years, God grant they read the good with smiles, and blot the bad with tears." Your Sister, Maggie Stirling Jan 2nd 1882 (This one is attributed to Whittier and a large number of autograph books and journals)

Dear Friend, May you ever life free from care, above the vanities of life and with the smiles of Heaven daily resting upon you. Your Friend, J. H. Hanstine --Deselm, Ill, Jan 16th, 1882 (I didn't find this one as a quote elsewhere, but I did find a mention of Rev J. H. Hanstine of Mount Morris, Ill)

Mary Small, Kankakee, Illinoise, (I swear there's an extra 'e' there) New Year 1882

Agnes M(??) Durham; Rockville, Ill August 3, 1882

Cousin I will remember the old and the New Year that I spend the last part of the first and the first part of the last at your house. W S (??)

Remember me dear Gilda when on these lines you look. Remember it was Maggie who wrote this in your book. From your Cousin, Maggie Stirling --Waldron, Ill Aug 7th, 1882 (This one seems to have also been a popular thing to write around this time.)

Remember me ever in friendship, I pray; Forget me O never; Though far far away; Your Aunt Celeste McIntosh -- May 20th 1889

Emerich, Neb Jan 2 1894 --Dear Friend, Not like the rose; May our friendship wither, But like the Evergreen last forever; Yours Truly, Anne McIntosh

Friend Gilda: There is a rose without a thorne; Dear friend, may this your brow adorne; Religion is this timeless rose; To endless age fresh it flows (Guessing at this signature) Lilian E McKee, Terre Haute, Ind.

Cousin Gilda --Within this book soo pure and white; Let none but friends presume to write; And may each line with friendship given; Direct the readeres thoughts to heaven; From Your Cousin, Minnie McGillirray (more name guessing) Custer August 7th

John E. McIntosh, Kankakee, Ills, Future Home Emerick Madison (??) Nebraska

Dec 26th, 1886 Compliments of Reube Pringle, Lancaster, Ohio --13 of 14 (No, I have no idea)

Compliments of Your Friend and Well wisher, Jennie Cooker, Kankakee, Ill May 6th 84

Kankakee, Ills, March 28, 1900 --Dear Friend Agnes (Not Gilda anymore?) May she who clothed the Lilies; And marks the Sparrows fall; Protect and save you Agnes; and guide you safe thro all; Is the wish of your friend, Daisy (Wank??)

Dear Gilda, Weave into the web of your life here below; Threads that are beautiful, white as snow; And when the last shuttle through the fabric is run; The "Great Mystic Weaver" May say "'tis well done." Your Sister, Aggie Stirling Aug 13, 1882

This is your Iron Man on Steampunk

noreply@blogger.com (ClothDragon) — Thu, 21 Apr 2011 11:22:00 +0000

Iron Man

Steampunk Ironman.

Any questions?

My money's on the steampunk version.