Artistic turmoil --what a thing.

I mean there I was, 
longing to wear my new skirt,
when I was derailed by a hand full of dead leaves.

It seemed to be a thing I HAD to do--
 yet it bugged me even as I worked on it.

The materials were a delight to be sure--
I mean what's not to love
about dead leaves
and used coffee filters?

​And it was great fun to  shift back and forth
between a sett of 4 and 8.
But the tapestry itself didn't satisfy--
indeed, once I got beyond a certain point,
every photo I took was out of focus.

But perhaps the whole idea
was out of focus --
more of an itch I had to scratch
than a compelling path.
​I don't know.

Ideally, if I can bring myself to pay attention
to the way different aspects
of the process
and the thing
make me feel, 
(rather than just tossing idea, object and regret
straight into the compost pile,
pretending they never existed
and moving on),
such projects are sometimes more valuable
than those that make me sigh with satisfaction,

2. It would have been better had I included
the tiny house I refused to weave
(you've no idea how hard it is to NOT weave a tiny house
​but I was trying -- well, just that.)

Audible Sigh
​(of satisfaction).

​When last we left our heroine
she was basting the skirt together,
contemplating waistband options,
casting on another wedge
and gnashing her teeth over closures.

Today we find her blissing out
over drape, texture, comfort, lustre,

and trying to share those qualities
using the tools at hand--

with varying degrees of success 
​(me and photo timers -- not a thing...)

For there HAS been much
to contemplate and decide,
beginning with waistbands.

The first possibly
was a backstrap rigid heddle experiment 
(pictured above)
that I wove a couple of years ago using Kestrel,
​  a knitted linen tube from Quince and Co.
The yarn was lovely to work with 
and the finished band drapy and soft.
It was not what I had wanted back then,
but it had potential as both button and waist band
for this Sarah-Dippity.

On the other hand...
I  still had plenty of the cotton from the skirt,
and at the last weaver's guild meeting
my friend Helen gave a program
on  straps and bands --
and I hadn't made a warp faced band in ages--
so...well... you know how it is.

It turns, alas, out warp faced bands
are not as fun for me as a balanced weave,
(though my weaving cards are still singing a siren song from the drawer).
But I got her done and had some selvedge practice to boot.
Of course I also had to choose between them.

While deciding,
I finished knitting the fourth wedge,
began the final panel sewing (vs basting),
and finally saw that, matching aside,
the older linen band suited the garment best.
This was a satisfying decision
as I was still dithering about closures.
​buttons? zipper? frogs? 
The internet is not always a decision-making friend.

But a local weaver's guild--
there a person will find compatriots
who fully understand
the enormity of these dilemmas.
So at that same (woven band-centric) guild meeting
I just happened to mention my closure angst to Helen
"What about snaps?" she said.

"SNAPS!" I cried. "NO!
Erm --I mean thanks,
good idea,
 but I don't think so.
The knitted part is too fragile.
And what if they came undone?"

"You must lead a very exciting life," she said, lifting an eyebrow.

"It's just that the fabric might catch the corner of something,"
I hedged.
"Maybe a zipper?"
​
Helen didn't reply.
She's very polite that way.
And anyway, she had done her work.

Continuing to chew on the options at home,
I sewed the panels firmly together
(replacing the rough basting),
and by the time that was done 
knew absolutely
that I wanted a zipper.
Definitely.

Except...
it was raining too hard for a bicycle,
and though I could have walked the two miles
to the fabric store in the mall,
it was windy enough to turn my umbrella inside out, 
and my raincoat leaks,
 and I was NOT going to start my car just to get a zipper,
and... and...
darn it.
Better make some Oolong and think.

Filling the kettle, I switched it on.
and decided to have a quick rummage
in the sewing machine drawer
while the water heated.
Who knew?
I might find a cast off zipper
under the spools of purple polyester Woolworth thread
that my ex-husband's Grandmother
used to buy on sale and send to me
when I lived in the wilderness
where, heaven knew,
there were probably no Woolworth stores.
(not sure she understood that there were actually no roads or people either,
or that the brownies she baked sat in Hamilton Montana
for a month or two before anyone brought us our mail,
but that is another story,
and anyway I didn't find a zipper).

What I did find,
waiting quietly in an Altoids tin,
as they had been waiting since about 1985
when I moved from said wilderness
to a teensy shack 
where though I had to carry water uphill in a bucket
there was a roadish kind of thing
that would eventually take me
to a fabric store of sorts,
were.....
​OH SNAPS!
​
​Thanks Helen.
​Those words are just delicious.

Astonishingly (or not)
I also happened upon a bit of linen tape,
hand woven in England and purchased just for me
by my dear friend Rochelle who knows I hate gifts
but always finds the ideal thing to give me anyway
in a form of friend torture for which I love her dearly,
that was perfect
 for reinforcing both knit and woven edges
and ensuring snap stability and security.

Now, however, I no longer needed
the full length of the linen band.
But as I was loathe to cut it,
and it goes twice around my waist,
I'm going with the time-honored
double wrap and safety pin solution.

Here are a few stats:
-400 grams (just under a pound) for the finished skirt
-waist: 31 (ish) inches/78 cm
- hem circumference: 73 (ish) inches/186 cm
-length (including waistband): 31 inches/78 cm
-woven panels (finished) are 8 1/2 inches/22 cm wide
-knit panels: 9 1/2 inches/24cm at the bottom
and taper evenly to 1 inch/2.5 cm at the top.

The skirt is flexible and stretchy.
The knitted sections do intimate that there are black leggings beneath
(at least when stretched out while sitting crossed legged on the floor),
but don't feel remotely immodest 
when outside without leggings
dodging raindrops,
clutching a hot cup of tea,
wondering what on earth to do with two giant willow balls,
and pretending it is perfect weather
to wander around barefoot
in a Summer Sarah-Dippity Skirt
(slightly wrinkled from three days of wear),
on wet green grass
amidst leafless trees
composing really really long sentences,
that hopefully make sense.
Au Revoir.

​Usually it happens in the middle of winter --

But there was a lot of snow this year.
​And it was cold.

So the urge to tromp across field and marsh,
gather willow and red osier dogwood,
fill my studio with multi colored sticks,
and twist, twine and weave them into something,
didn't show up until a few days ago. 
(same link as above--an old blog post about willow projects over the years,
so no need to click it twice)

Funny how such ideas appear--
the sudden irresistible need
​ to make a thing
I hadn't even imagined
ten seconds before.

Does this ever happen to you? 

and I had to do my part.

As often happens with such projects, 
I had/have no idea how to weave an orb. 

so I made something up.

The willow wands and grape vines
were long and satisfyingly resilient.
The Pear shoots not so much,
but they are pretty,
and since Ana was cutting them, 
it was less trouble to weave with them
than to put them in a pile.

 I ended up making two
largish, round(ish) objects.

An heir and a spare for the flamingo, perhaps?

Guess, I'm done for now, though.

Except, perhaps,
for taking another stab
at removing the grass stains
from the knees of my pants.
​
​Or not.

Please disregard the dubious expression on my face,
because I'm having a great time
with this garment.

Amidst the shoveling of February,
I got to make samples:
-hand spun linen,
-hand spun wool (for linsey woolsey),
-mill spun linen,
-walnut dyed (but not hand spun) cotton,
--a commercial blend of cotton, linen, nettle and silk,

There are so many variables.
In the photo above,
I'm re-sleying the rigid heddle,
moving from a 12 to a 15 dent.
(Both ends of the cloth are lovely and astonishingly different)

My favorite samples
are the 100% hand spun linen
and hand spun linesey-woolsey,
but I haven't yet spun enough fine linen  
so I decided to keep building working on that
while beginning on this first non-wool skirt:
--a combination of the walnut dyed cotton 
and Nettle Grove (cotton, linen, nettle and silk).
I chose this last  in part because of the name,
(though of course there is hardly any actual nettle fiber in it),
in part because there it was at the Yarn Underground (my LYS),
and mostly because it is pleasant to knit with --
and essential feature of Sarah-Dippity  skirt materials.

Using the basic warping technique
 from Backstrap Dialogues
I wound my longest  Backstrap warp yet (four+ yards)
threaded the 15 dent rigid heddle,
plunked my butt on the floor,
​and started weaving.

this part went way too fast. 

All too soon, it was done.

Of course then I got to wash and press it,
drape it against my legs,
​and get all excited about actually putting it on.
But first
​ --three wedges to knit 
(a couple of weeks of evening reading time),

--a rough layout to test my calculations,

--a more careful layout to test the actual fit

-- some time devoted to the question
of whether the knitted wedges
should go over or under the woven panels
(I chose under),

-- careful (but rough), basting 
--and finally, yesterday afternoon,
trying it on (see the beginning of this post),
at which point I learned that I do, indeed,
need to knit a fourth wedge.

More, then to come in future blog posts:
-the Great Closure Debate
(buttons? zipper? snaps?)
-The Waistband
(I think this skirt might want one,
but do I want to weave it
and if so,
how?)
and 
-Final Fitting
Oh, the DRAMA.

Until then, here are 
a few amazing  Sarah-Dippity links:

-Jaya on Instagram
-Peg on her Blog
-An entire Ravelry Thread
-#sarahdippityskirt
(a hash tag  I hope any of you making skirts and on instagram, will use)
​What else? Do let me know.
Thanks everyone!

Does anyone else get a thrill
when an idea that seems fixed
is suddenly turned on its head?
This happened to me just a few weeks ago
and I'm beside myself with delight.

I've been writing about PVC Pipe looms
since about 2003
when I first began to work 
​on my book Kids Weaving.
There, we used these looms
to weave inkle shoelaces, blankets,
scarves, bags, a ​tapestry dog collar,
​ and even knotted pile.

It's not a perfect loom by any stretch,
but it does have some serious advantages:
-- simple to make with readily available hardware store materials.
--easy to assemble (and disassemble),
--an adaptable design, 
-- inexpensive (esp compared with almost any other loom on the market)
--homely (everything you weave will look better than your loom)
--portable (you can weave almost anywhere)

I've blogged about them several times:
-October 2015: PVC Pipe Loom
-January 2016: Four Selvedge Tutorial
-February 2016: Long Warp/ Short Loom (continuous warping)

They are also an important component of Fringeless,
(the Four Selvedge class with Rebecca Mezoff),
and I use them regularly in my work.

For all these years though,
and in all these places, 
I've put the floating tension bar
at the bottom of the loom.
Then Judy Smith, 
who chose to build a PVC loom for the Fringeless Class,
put her tension bar at the TOP!
Judy shared a photo on the Fringeless private facebook group
and though I am not on facebook,
Rebecca thought I should see the fabulous work Judy had done.
She (Rebecca), thought she was showing me tapestry,
little knowing that I would get double the pleasure
when I also caught a glimpse
of the configuration of Judy's loom.

Of course I promptly had to try it --
and the reality was even better than I imagined.

The main difference is in the ease of set-up,
as the floating bar does not have to be
held in position with tape
while the warp is put on
(as shown in the third drawing at the top of this post).
It simply hangs in position
while the warp is wound on.

​Another advantage is that
 the weaving area is several inches lower 
so considerably easier on a weaver's back.
​
Also, the tension straps are out of the way
​leaving more room to work.

Alas, I don't have a photo of Judy's Loom and Tapestry
but happily Judy gave me permission to share her thoughts,
and here is what she has to say:
Love my pvc loom. I think I set it up that way because I was used to the top bar being tensioned when I did Navajo style weaving. A little more about that loom: most of the loom is made of the heavier pvc (#40 something) 1” size. It is all lined with the thickest wooden dowels that will fit inside in an effort to prevent bending. The “tension bar” is a 1 1/4” dowel. That will not bend. That bar just happened to fit into a slightly different pvc (must have been 1 1/4”) that both held the sturdy wooden bar and slid on the 1” pvc side bars. 
Love the fringeless technique. Being used to Navajo weaving, I hated dealing with fringe when a piece was finished. If weaving an actual rug (really going to put it on the floor), then I would want the toughness of the Navajo edges. But for all else- I sure love the fringeless.

Wow, Judy --
this is so helpful, both to me
and to anyone else who might want to try a PVC Loom.
Though I, too, have reinforced the PVC with interior dowels,
it is not a thing I've done for a while
and I appreciate the reminder. 
As for the position of the tension bar --
the idea is so wonderful and obvious that I feel a bit dense
for never having thought of it in all these years,
and can't thank you enough
for your vision
and for blowing my mind.
​Sharing ideas is just the BEST.

​One of these fine days I might get it together
to draw an instruction booklet 
on ways to warp this loom,
but for now, the links above will have to do.
Kids Weaving, though now out of print,
is also still a great source of information--
copies can be found at close to the original price.
And now we have Judy's idea 
that I get to add to the PVC Loom canon
and share here, with you. 

So now that I've waxed nostalgic
from looking at Kids Weaving
and thinking of the grand time we had
making stuff on those looms,
 I'll close with this photo
 taken in the late 1990s by Jodi Gear
(of the Pigment-dyed coffee filters I wrote about last week).

It feels astonishing to me
that I  still have the dress (if not the hair),
am still making yarn to weave with,
and happily,
still have a thing or two
or ten
​ to learn
​about all of it.

So just when I start thinking
that turning coffee filters into yarn
is interesting and satisfying
but not necessarily
​my absolute favorite thing in the world...

my friend Jodi Gear
sends the exquisite 
naturally pigmented coffee filters
she has used to make
 handmade watercolors 
(many of which I get to test--how lucky is that)?

She was going to throw them away --
the point, after all, was the pigment they contained--
but then fished them from the garbage
​because they were just so pretty.

​SO pretty, 
and springy
and joyous
that I was diverted from
the thrilling project I intended to write about today--

 to spend more time
with these colors
as snow falls from the sky--
again.

Happily, it turns out
that not only are the filters lovely 
but they are also easier to spin 
than the heavier brown ones I've used so far

Round rather than cone shaped,
they are also lighter in weight
so I get a finer yarn for a given width of cut.
They are also strong,
which made them easy to handle
when I dunked a few into an indigo pot
to get greens and purples. 
(Jodi has done a LOT of cochineal experiments!)

As I've written before
I'm a newbie at this business of spinning paper,
but nonetheless I thought it'd be fun to share
a technique for transforming
a round piece of filter paper
into a continuous strip
​that can be twisted into yarn--
​in case you want to try too.

1. Fold the filter in half.
2. Cut from one folded edge to 1/2 inch (1cm) from the other
following the curve.
​DO NOT CUT THROUGH at the end of the cut.

3. Make a second cut parallel to the first
and approximately 1/4 inch away
4. Continue cutting parallel  strips  as shown,
always stopping about 1/2 inch from the other folded edge,
until the entire filter is in strips joined at one edge.

5. Open out the filter with the uncut edge up.
6. Cut from top slit at an angle through to the edge
​making a free end as shown two photos down.

6. Cut at an angle from the next slit
to the one diagonally across from it
(offset by one as shown).

7. Continue connecting the offset slits in this way
until the entire circle is one continuous strip.
--It's probably a good idea to make sure it doesn't tangle as you go
​but I'm a little casual about this,
so have to be gentle when handling it.

The paper spins best when slightly moist
so at this point I've found it best to wrap it in a damp cloth
and let it sit for half an hour or so.
(hankie soaked in water and squeezed out really thoroughly).
Before I read about the Hankie Method
I misted it lightly all over with a squirt bottle,
tossing gently to make sure the paper was evenly damp,
but the hankie method seems to work better.
The amount of moisture is apparently unique
for every kind of paper
and every atmospheric condition
so I've had to practice and adjust...
Too much water and the paper falls apart in my hands.
Too little and it doesn't want to accept the twist.
Experiment!

The coffee filter paper is far stronger
than, say, the variable annuity semi-annual report pages I've used
but it still won't take a lot of pressure 
(too much 'suck' on a spinning wheel would snap it instantly),

so I've been doing most of the twisting 
with my Ashford Charkha, 
which has a very low drive ratio.
Other twisting ideas:
Charlotte, a weaver, has used her bobbin winder to great effect
twisting old sewing pattern pieces into yarn
My lightest high whorl Hepty Spindle (20 grams) works well,
and imagine a supported or Medieval spindle would also be great.

But back to the charkha:
I make a kind of purn 
by wrapping the spindle shaft with a piece of scrap paper,
 taping it at the overlap so it won't unroll while I'm starting to spin.
This allows me to remove the fiber from the spindle 
without unrolling it while it is still damp and fragile.
It's also a handy way to store the yarn.

Sometimes, if I'm in a hurry,
instead of winding the yarn onto a bobbin
​I even weave with these purns.
It's not particularly effective, 
(no tapping the yarn into place and sometimes they come unwound),
​but alas, I do it anyway.

This yarn from Jodi's filters
is the nicest that I've made so far--
almost as fine and and pleasant to use
as the samples that Velma sent me.

It's not my beloved wool, of course.
Nor, indeed, is it as blissful to weave with
as hand spun linen (though a damn site easier to spin).
But I like it.
It has possibilities.
I might eventually try to use it
for something other than tapestry.
Just what I do not know.
But most yarnish experiments are worth a try--
even when the precious materials
have been rescued from the trash.

And oh golly, these colors feel like spring.

There is so much richness in this material
I hope you will give it a try.
And if you do,
please keep us posted about your experiments, K?

Our house does not have a linen cupboard,
which means we only  have
one set of sheets at a time.
and on laundry day
​ they must go
off the bed,
into the washer,
onto the line,
and back onto the bed
before nightfall.

My husband is also a restless sleeper,
and wears out our sheets 
at what seems a prodigious rate
so over the decades
we've been through
quite a few.
And of course this makes me sad
as, being a textile person,
I get attached.

Happily however, though the cloth gives way
in the middle of a sheet
there are still many useful bits 
around the edges.
I've sewn many into bags
for shipping tapestries,
and storing clean fleeces.

Others, I've loved so much 
that I sewed them back together every which way
with bits of themselves or others
layer upon layer,
like so much flannel Boro
which can be used as an extra thick sheet
a funky quilt,
or even an indoor sleeping bag.

Still others have reinforced
my favorite bathrobe
(my only bathrobe, actually),
which grows thicker by the year
as the yummy old cotton wears away,
like sand on a coastline,
and is subsequently replaced
with the rich edges
of the most recent sheets
whose centers have bitten the dust. 

A few years ago I wondered
if actual linen linens
might last a little longer than cotton,
so splurged on two huge flat linen sheets,
on the theory that constant shifting
of bottom to top
and top to bottom 
and this side to that
might distribute the wear.
It seemed to work, for a while.
Certainly faithfully turning them 
has given me lots of good practice 
making tight hospital corners 
on whichever was acting as the bottom sheet.
But alas, even as they have grown
softer and more delicious,
the usual wear patterns still showed up
and the day before yesterday
as I hung them to dry from the beams of my studio,
I saw actual holes.
​Sigh.

Sides-to-middling is a thing
I've only read about in novels --
 usually used as an adjective 
to describe genteel poverty
or excessive thriftiness
as in "she has sides-to-middle sheets."
It's not generally seen as a compliment. 
But somehow it always intrigued me.
And it seems straightforward enough.
So yesterday I cut the sheet down the center,
​(the one with actual holes),
began hemming and patching the new (worn) edges,
and later today (I hope)
​will stitch the previously unworn sides
​together to become the new middle.
​It won't be fancy,
But I hope it can go back on the bed.

But my mending is rarely fancy.
There is no special thread
or elegant Sashiko stitching in this work.
Not that I'd mind if there were.

I just know that if I set up such expectations
the mending would not happen,
so I rely on plain old running stitch,
the occasional backstitch to anchor it,
whatever thread that is at hand,
(quilting thread, embroidery floss, all purpose in some color).
and sometimes a patch
​ (fat quarters are fun)
on the inside or out
(or both for the butt of my jeans).

The results, alas, are haphazard
since for me the point
is to extend the life of beloved
or particularly useful  clothing
so they (and I) can get back to work.

Not that mending isn't work.
Indeed, without me really noticing
​I find that it has become
an elemental component of my practice --
not only to extend the life of a handspun sweater
​or expensive sheets,

but also to honor
​some perfectly replaceable leggings
​that just happen to have come in to my life
​and fit just right

which makes them as valuable
as whatever spindle spun 
backstrap woven cloth
​I make while wearing them. 

as shovel-handle friction had its way
amidst the falling snow.

But LOOK!
It's not snowing now.
And I've already showed you
way too many photos
​ of the underside
of my textile rich life.
So back we go to whatever it is we were doing.
My needle awaits.
​As does the bed.

It's probably not the best idea
for paper tapestries
to hang out in the snow,

especially when said tapestries
are stitched 
into a hand made paper sandwich.

But it's very cold this morning
so the snow is dry.
And anyway,
​ Velma Bolyard's papers
seemed quite at home out there--
radiating warmth 
without actually melting anything.

One of the lovely things
​ about this little bookish project
was that every part
was made to be
exactly the right size.

The tapestries were warped
to match the paper sheets
(thanks  Four Selvedge Tapestry).

And  Velma made each sheet
 in its own tiny mould
so all I had to do was fold them.
​
Velma is the person
​who opened my eyes and mind
to the wonders of kami-ito (spun paper),
and if you want to learn more about it
I recommend both her blog and website.

Not that I was patient enough
to learn properly.
Indeed, 
I've felt compelled to add twist
to all kinds of weird scraps --
some of which I loved to work with
and some of which
has been  unpleasant
or downright impossible.
But that's what makes it so interesting, eh?

Imagine, however, the pleasure
 of weaving these tapestries
(or at least a good portion)
with Velma's hand spun kami-ito--

Yet another reminder
of the power
of practice
of study,
of reading,
and of repetition.

And it's also a reminder
that nothing ever happens
unless,
​ now and again,

a person
leaps out into the snow
to see how it feels.

A final note on the tapestry weft: 
Rebecca Mezoff just wrote a wonderfully thorough blog post on current sources for tapestry weft  which I highly recommend. She briefly addresses the use of cellulose fibers--paper, linen, cotton and the like--but since that is not what she uses, the focus is on wool. I dont' yet feel ready to make any definitive statements about using cellulose fibers myself,
but I have been messing around with them for the last year or so
and if you're curious how it has worked/looked over time for me,
​ check out some of the posts in the cellulosic experiments category of my blog.

When last we left our heroine,
she was planning to devote herself to shoveling 
and finishing her skirt,

Amazingly enough, 
​in the last week
she managed to do both
if not much else.

Pinning first,
then rough basting with cotton yarn

The basting made it easy to try on
so I could  measure and calculate
​ for the button band.

Truth be told, 
the buttons were the most traumatic part of this,
 including the sett drama at the very beginning.

Clearly I survived,
but it was not hard to notice my relative reactions
to the overwhelming abundance
of what is supposed to be a fabric store
and the joy of having one piece
of very plain cloth
waiting at home.

Brief aside about value --
When I first chose the values of yarn
I assumed I'd use the darker of the two
for the knitted panels.
But you can see that the button band above
(which I did knit in the darker value)
looks significantly darker than the woven cloth,

while the triangular knit panels,
though somewhat lighter,
blend in with the woven cloth
with more subtlety.
I can only conclude that the knitted cloth 
has so many shadows
that it reads darker than it is
thus making it blend in with the whole.
A good thing to note for future skirts --
sometimes those knitted panels
​might want to take center stage!

Sewing the buttons on
before replacing the basting with actual yarn/thread
allowed me to  adjust position
of hte woven and knitted panels
and thus the size of specific areas,
so that the skirt would drape just as I wanted. 

And yippeee!  It does!
Despite the 10 F temps yesterday,
(definitely a two sweater day),
​it was also wonderfully cozy to wear outside--
it drapes and stretches,
so I can take big steps but also not get tangled in cloth.

It is wonderfully cozy to wear inside too--

and after taking this pics so you could see 
a little more clearly how it fits.
I sat down on the floor
and spun cotton on my book charkha,
the skirt stretching where I did --
no binding or funky leg positions necessary.

So yes --
sartorial satisfaction is a thing--
and the flamingo and I are pretty pleased it ourselves.

Except I should also have worn some shades.
​It was bright out there!

And so as not to leave you 
with my smug expression ,
here's the view from the top 
(golly gee I DO love these textures)
and a few specs:
The Skirt itself is 32" long.
It weighs 405g  --approx 14 oz
Owing to the sett miscalculation mentioned above
I have another 75 ish inches of fabric left --
enough for a knee length three panel Sarah-Dippity
or a mid thigh length four panel one.
But it is snowing again.
and since I now have something cozy to wear,
it's time to get back to whatever I was doing
a couple of weeks ago.
​What was it again?

We're having a  thoroughly wintery week here in North Idaho--
cold and white and silent (except for the snowplows).
It is perfect weather
for the long tweedy Sarah-Dippity
I've been working on.
Except--

That I've been doing so much of this (see above)
that the skirt still looks like this (see below).

So, thought it's probably not how the internet works,
I'm going to declare today a Snow Day,
make another cup of Oolong,
and go stitch these yummy swaths
of knit and woven cloth 
into something I can wear.
See you next week!