It was euphorbia that first turned my frown upside-down on those cortisol-fuelled, forced strolls* through the neighbourhood. *See the 3rd distraction
I wanted some for the longest time. And I wanted it from the neighbourhood. However, euphorbia has a milky sap that itches if touched bare-skinned, so I was unlikely to attain any on the fly. My chance came when my neighbour offered me a shorter variety that was escaping her front garden. I put on my gloves.
Can't remember the exact circumstances of the tall ones, my faves. I would love a lush, jutting, space-age clump of them in every corner - chartreuse rocket ship landing-stations masquerading as early spring flowers - but they don't come easy. I planted this one directly under the kitchen window, where I can put my head out each morning and check on its progress. It's settling in nicely.
Euphorbia, tall and small
The rusting, peeling, metal building decoration is one of two I found on the sidewalk in front of a house in East Vancouver, en route to whatever was the destination of the day. It would have been nap time.
I kept, in the car, a Costco-sized container of cashews, a pillow, two blankets, a box of Kleenex, and a succession of water-tight, fake-Tupperware containers, just in case. I spent a lot of time there, napping, and if not napping, driving less-travelled roads to some child-friendly destination.
I took care to not disturb the child while loading.
The wrought iron curlicue (in the wooden planter box) snapped off the next-door neighbour's front railing when the digger was tearing down her condemned house.
You'd think it would be hard to remain dignified while being escorted from one's home wearing a too-large, hooded, Tyvec onesie, duct-taped at the wrists and ankles, like a walking bio hazard - but my neighbour managed it.
I saw the bulldozer crunch up her railing from my son's bedroom window. We liberated the metal curlicue from the rubble, in the dark. Another 2 or 3 straight pieces serve as plant stakes elsewhere in the garden.
When the shaking started, we were in a toy store in Akihabara, waiting for my "Purezento youni onagaishimasu" to be wrapped.* Action figures in a display case beside us were toppling; the tremor alarm on my friend's phone bleeping. We froze. When it stopped - maybe 15 seconds later - we were ushered by a smiling and encouraging youth (daijobu des - it's okay) onto the third floor landing with a crowd of others, and we walked down the staircase, into the street. It was business as usual by then: the maid cafe girls in the street handing out flyers, the head maid with the furry paw mitts and huge smile chirping her enticements to "come home" into a microphone from a second floor balcony.
*One of the few phrases I thought I had mastered while living in Tokyo, gift wrapping service is complimentary pretty much everywhere here - and the Japanese sure know how to wrap a gift! I recently discovered I'd been saying it all wrong, which accounts for a lot of strange looks... though it got the job done.
When we went back in to collect my package, staff was righting displays. My son's heart was racing, but he soon recovered. The impact was fleeting: an exciting interlude on his quest to buy something in Japan. His mission: a plastic model of a video game character, already assembled, that he could decorate himself.
After the quake: Help! I've fallen and I can't get up!
We went on to two more sensory-overloading, multi-floored buildings full of plastic death and sex related toys, games, figurines and models, including a massive collection of replica guns, which could be handled, while wearing white gloves. No photos allowed. My son was in heaven. I was bored stiff, and irritated. My friend declared it "Boy Day". Giddy, my son rattled off the names of most of the inventory, including guns from previous, current and imaginary conflicts. This one's from Metal Gear Solid. This one's so-and-so's favourite gun. How does a 12 year old have a favourite gun?!
Why, I oughta... make you dinner?
It's an uncomfortable feeling: his knowledge impresses and amazes me, his wide-eyed excitement is genuine and pure. The destruction-centric, war-glorifying, (usually) hyper-sexualized genre of game and art we were drenched in all day disgusts me. It scares me. It fills me with dread and despair for the future - my son's, and mankind's.
Years ago, near the beginning of our quest for help parenting our son, I brought up the subject of war toys with our child psychiatrist. I was counseled against banning them. Forcing the issue would make them more compelling, make something out of nothing - most boys play with guns, using whatever is on hand: a toy, a stick, their finger. It's helping him work through something. The advice was reassuring. At the time.
But where to draw the line? Some of the most fun we've had as a family has been pelting each other with Nerf bullets in our living room battlefield. My son customizes a weapon for each of us, considering the user's size, strength, experience, ability. A lot of frustration has been relieved this way, and a lot of laughter, good feeling and healing has ensued.
Are first person shooter video games any worse? Are meticulous drawings, or fastidious Lego replicas of weapons something to worry about? When I asked him about his intense interest in guns he told me it was about the self control necessary to master their use. Is this about self regulation? Is it something to do with ADHD, the benign-sounding affliction that has wreaked so much distress, chaos, heartbreak and pain upon our family?
I am horrified to witness my son's gravitation toward weapons of destruction, but I'm confident that he knows the difference between real and imaginary, and that his core being is gentle and kind. At a recent parkour lesson, one mother remarked to me how nurturing my son is to the younger kids. My son: nurturing! Yes, he is, at heart. Thank you, stranger, for noticing.
Though my conviction may waver, I'm holding tight to the doctor's advice. Within reason. Whatever it is he's working through, I sincerely hope he figures it out.
My tweezers made it through customs. Spent the first half of the 10 hour flight picking Solvy bits from my Humitrope collar and depositing the tiny flakes into the plastic bag from the airplane blanket. The overly efficient flight attendant made multiple attempts to collect my trash, but I've managed to hang on to it.
I have been well-fed, as my son is not quite trustful of Japanese food: two packets of rice crackers (he tried one piece and proclaimed it to taste like a word I wish he wouldn't use so much), two trays of decent airplane food - "Japanese fish" and "Western beef" (like...cowboy?) minus the bun, a taste of the meat and the slice of melon. He is now making noises about being hungry, which in the past would have drilled intense fear in my heart. Until quite recently, our strategy has always been to keep his tank topped up, to mitigate complete disregulation. However, since returning from military boarding school four months ago, he is able to keep it together, and the fear has been replaced with just a fleeting, dull dread.
The flight attendant just brought milk, a tiny chocolate bar and a third package of rice crackers, which he ate without comment. This bodes well for our trip. The one potential tricky bit will be the food. And maybe the heat. And all the walking. And the lack of video games. And the crowds...
But I am optimistic. A year ago I could not have conceived of this much concentrated time together so far from home, and without backup. Today I enjoy his company and seek him out. I'm looking forward to uninterrupted connection and companionship. We have a lot to make up for.
While I tweezed plastic bits, my son investigated the on-board video game system ("Very, very outdated and strange. Pixelly... but at least they try.") first in Japanese, then in English, then used up the remaining power of his tablet, playing Minecraft.
A few rousing hands of Go Fish, a brief attempt to sleep, he then watched Frozen, chuckling to himself (my heart swells at this sound) while I dozed. Now he is wondering when the next meal will be served, and I wonder how much of it he will leave for me.
Soon enough we will land. I'm looking forward to his reaction to what he sees. Will it freak him out delightfully to be in a car on the left side of the road, as it did me the first time? Will he get a kick out of the futon on the tatami mat in the ryokan tonight? Will slipper etiquette trip him up? I hope this trip will blow his mind in a hundred tiny ways, as it cements our attachment. There is no one I would rather be here with right now.
It took 8 years to dawn on me that my son was as attached to me as I was to him. I don't know what took me so long: his attachment didn't look the way I expected it to, but it has always been right there in front of me. And how. When he is sick he wants me near. Depending on how much he wants the contents, he will sip from my glass, but from no other's. When he's especially attached he'll let me clean the cheese factory under his chin, and maybe even one ear. Then there's the art: Lego dioramas featuring my favourite green alien, a drawing of my childhood dream bedroom, or - if he's feeling particularly loving - a little something-something garden gnome-ish. I do like a garden gnome.
I love the art both my children make for me: my daughter's Mother's Day portrait that perfectly captures the usual state of my mind*. The many, many Douglas Coupland-esque Lego landscapes, made with small fingers, slowly-but-surely improving fine-motor skills, great devotion and just the occasional fool-proof excuse to continue playing after having been asked to stop. "But I'm making something for you!" "Oh. Well. OK, 10 more minutes then that's absolutely it." No reply. *I worry: what if New-Mommy-Brain has become my default setting? It has been 12 years...
Family Portrait
Everyone stop talking. I need to focus!
The Inspiration
The applique on the front of this comfy, velour pullover is a replica of my son's latest love offering: an origami garden gnome head. I know: cool, right? He spent precious "tablet time" searching for just the right instructions on-line. After a failed, semi-frantic search for the appropriate-coloured and sized construction paper, necessitating an on-the-fly modification of the instructions, he settled for plain old white -- with a touch of red ink to differentiate hat from beard. The inspiration had hit, and the thing had to be made, perfect paper or no.
The replica gnome on the top is made of the left-overs from an anti-strangulation infant vest prototype (pardon?) and painted with truly old, but very usable, dye from Addie's stash. The fabric was custom-made by a manufacturer of disposable diapers for the medical-invention prototype-making-and-testing team at BCIT. (How's that for a cool job?) It's some kind of plastic-y fibre paper, and it's surprisingly durable; it can even go through the wash, though it does pill a little. The purpose of the vest was to protect hospitalized infants from strangling themselves on IV - or other - tubes and wires, by feeding these through the vest and holding them close to the baby's body. Once the prototype had been perfected, the excess fabric was donated to OSF, where most of it still awaits its next purpose in life.
Back to description of the decoration:
The origami folds were pressed with an iron, then unfolded and stitched, securing the "Gnome Instructional" to the velour, akin to a hexagon quilt pattern.
Fabric fun for the whole family!
Yeah, it's made of turquoise velour, c. 1980, cable-knit, soft and super cozy, such as what a garden gnome might wear to watch TV after a hard day standing still, hiding slugs and not blinking. Beer in hand on tubby belly, comfy chair in recline position, socks half-off. Maybe something frying in the next room, and a cat on his lap. Velour: you want to hate it, but you know you love it. What's another word for cozy? And 3 out of 4 garden gnomes can't be wrong.
Neighbour's Grandma's Velour Gardening Outfit
Velour... I have an awesome, hot pink, velour shorts-and-top set given to me by a neighbour. It had belonged to his grandma. It was her gardening outfit. I was curious... I put it on and moseyed out to do a little weeding. Stretchy! Soft! Repels most dirt. Cleans like a breeze, is out of the dryer in a jiffy. Effective against cars careening through our alley, it shouts, "Caution! Odd Neighbourhood Lady at Play!" She was right: it's the perfect gardening outfit. Bonus: when I walk into a room with it on, conversation stops. Children pat me. (And adults want to.)
Neighbour's Grandma's Abandoned Project, De-Sewn
The gnome-coloured velour was part of a donation at OSF. It was a smallish piece, left-over from some other project. Not quite enough, so I patched in a piece of c. 1970 Abandoned-Sewing-Project, set aside by the very grandma who previously owned my velour gardening outfit!
The project was a nearly-completed, lined, empire waist, A-line dress with short sleeves and bound buttonholes on back; an ambitious project for such a slippery pair of fabrics. To make it more manageable, the polyester floral print and white acetate lining were worked as one. The ragged, colourful seam allowances showing against the white lining are jarring and home-made-looking - a far cry from the groovy frock she no-doubt envisioned when she first laid out the pattern. I could see why it had been abandoned.
I could also see why it had been saved all these years: who could throw away such happy, daisy-printed fabric? Orange and pink to boot! I carried it with me for a couple of days and un-sewed it on various buses. I use it sparingly... it's one of my very fave abandoned fabrics.
The daisy print was an obvious pick for the missing portion of fabric on the sleeve of the Gnome top. However, choosing to piece the sleeve meant sewing an oft-dreaded angle seam. Pshaw! No trouble, with a few simple pointers:
Useful Sewing Tip #1: How to Sew a Decent-Looking Angle seam, without Much Cursing and With X-Large Photos
1cm seam allowances marked with soap
Use a 1cm seam allowance. It's much easier to trim the seam allowance off a commercial pattern than deal with that extra 0.5cm. Skipping this step does not pay. Don't be tempted. Trust me. Mark the seam line on both pieces with chalk or a sliver of dried-up hand soap which, unlike the chalk, makes a more accurate, slim mark, and will rinse away brilliantly with the first washing.
Corner reinforced just inside the seamline, and clipped
On the inside corner, run a row of short-ish reinforcement stitches just a hair inside the marked seam allowance, and pivoting at the exact corner. Clip just to the reinforcement stitching.
The mighty Magic Pin, keeping it all under control
From the wrong side of the fabric, stick a pin exactly beside the inside corner stitch, right on the seam line. Poke the same pin in to the "inset" layer, exactly at the outside corner, right sides together. Holding the magic pin snug against the two fabrics, arrange and pin the raw edges at both sides of the corner. The pin is the secret weapon, keeping the pivot points perfectly aligned for accurate results.
You stay right where I put you!
Keeping the magic pin through both layers at the corner, stitch the first leg toward the corner.
Angle pin toward you to keep feed dogs safe. Remove at the very last moment, revealing the Magic Hole.
Be careful not to interfere with the feed dogs. Just before reaching the corner, remove the pin, but keep your eye focused on the exact spot it left the fabric. Don't even blink. Stitch right into the hole the magic pin left in the fabric. Stop with needle down in this hole. Lift presser foot. Turn the work.
Piv-ot, rearrange bulk. Home free!
Rearrange the bulky fold of fabric out of the way, lower the presser foot, and sew the second leg of the seam.
A well-sewn angle seam is a thing of beauty and a badge of sewing honour.
Now's the time to serge the seam allowances, then do any optional edge or top-stitching. Since the stitch at the pivot occurs just a hair's width away from the clip, it's not a seam that works well in battle (as Blossom would say); a decorative stitch will add some strength.
Useful Sewing Tip #2: Testing the tension helps sewing not suck! (or: It ain't the machine, it's the operator)
The hardest thing about the sewing of this garment was all the monkeying around with the serger settings. The seams are serged with 4 threads, but the edges are finished with a narrow, 3-thread stitch. With only one serger, that means removing and replacing a needle, and having to switch settings back and forth several times while sewing. Taking a photo of each of the machine settings (tension, stitch width and length, differential feed), once perfected, can make all that switching (almost) painless.
It's worth the time to test and perfect the tension before sewing a garment. Every time. Incorrect tension looks bad, forms unstable seams, and wastes the time spent sewing, since I guarantee the finished product will be unsatisfying, and won't be worn much. If it even gets finished. The testing can, at times, take longer than the sewing, but should never be skipped. It's something to be endured. Or! with a few simple tips, it can be almost fun. Or at least not painful.
To test serger tension:
Test needle tension with a pin: firm = good!
Loopy: needle tension = too loose
Looper threads meet right at the raw edge = good!
Perfect sewing machine tension - threads all meet between the layers
Use a reasonable piece of the garment fabric. A little snippet won't do the trick. A different fabric won't do, either, since tension can vary wildly, fabric to fabric. You need enough length to sew a 20cm seam, and enough width to do this 4 or 5 times without running out of room. Sometimes 10 or 15 times!
Double the fabric if you are testing a seam. Use single layer if testing an edge finish.
The stitching has to be able to handle the maximum strain the fabric can take, so on stretchy fabric do the test on the stretchiest grain, which is usually the cross grain. Give the sample a good pull after stitching - a little more than the garment will ever be tortured with. If the stitches break, adjust the needle tension and try again. Keep trying until you get it right. Don't give up. You will be the stronger for it, and the garment will be the better.
Balanced 4-thread serging: after stitching the sample seam, take the flat head of a pin and give the two needle threads a little tug, one at a time, from the top side of the serging. If the tension is too loose, the thread will easily pull, forming a loop on top of the seam. Tighten the corresponding tension disk until it cannot be pulled loose easily.
Next, check the cut edge to make sure the looper threads meet right at the raw edges. If not, the tension disk corresponding to the "longer" thread needs to be tightened and that of the "shorter" thread needs to be loosened. Adjust only one of the tensions at a time. Test after each small adjustment, until the threads meet equally at the cut edge.
To test sewing machine tension:
Use a goodly scrap of garment fabric, about 20cm long by 20cm wide. Fold it in half on the straight grain. (Remember: all sewing is about the grain, even testing machine tension.)
Set the machine to a medium width zigzag stitch and sew a line near-ish the folded edge.
Gently separate the layers of cloth and inspect the intersection of the top and bobbin threads. They should meet right at the space between the two layers of fabric.
If the threads meet too near the bottom layer, the bobbin tension is probably too tight. Remove the bobbin and turn the little screw on the bobbin casing 1/4 turn counterclockwise to loosen. A thumbnail works well. Next, without letting the bobbin drop out of the bobbin case, gently dangle it from the tail of thread. Give a gentle, tiny, but sudden, flick (see video, left). The bobbin should drop just a little. If the tail lengthens a whole bunch, the bobbin tension is too loose. If it doesn't budge, it is too tight. Adjust the screw accordingly, insert the bobbin into the machine, and do another zigzag test.
If the threads meet at the top layer, either the bobbin tension is too loose, or the machine tension is too tight, or both. Do the bobbin case flick trick. If the bobbin tension seems OK, loosen the machine tension a titch, and do the zigzag test again.
Bobbin tension is most often the main culprit with really bad machine tension.
Note to the small army of garden gnomes in my house, folded, drawn or otherwise crafted: Thank you. I got your message.
