Tuesday, February 26, 2013

The Medieval Fates are Against Me


     I am so eager to start participating in our Canton's and Barony events, but it seems that the next few conflict with other events I must attend...unrelated to S.C.A.

    Perhaps, this is a blessing in disguise as I have no garb to wear over my newly made chemise. But, I am making progress. I have the pattern pieces cut out for a side-slit surcoat--now if I can only figure out how to keep my sewing machine's thread from slipping out of the needle. Do I have a bobbin problem? A tension problem? A me problem?

     Why is everything related to sewing such a difficult thing for me? I fear the Fates have seen my sewing and have conspired to keep me from ever attaining needlework nirvana.

Friday, February 15, 2013

CONFESSIONS OF A S.C.A. "NEWBIE"- PART 2.

PART 2---The Trials and Tribultions of Constructing My Chemise.

Who ever said, "A stitch in time, saves nine?"  What does it mean, anyway?

Perhaps this quote may have application for Hollywood costume designers, English Tailors, seamstresses, and Betsey Ross  (in the past), but to me it is a conundrum. There is more ripping out than sewing.

When it comes to sewing, allow me to quote the King in the play/movie The King and I,( which had nothing to do with sewing, but everything to do with my observation when it comes to sewing ). "It's a puzzlement."

Keep in mind I do not know how to sew.  This is my virgin voyage into the world of tissue paper patterns, notches and darts.

Encouraged by others in our Canton, I dove headlong into the project of constructing my chemise. After all, How hard can this be? I'll just follow the directions. Well, as you will see, I am the poster child for the saying..."Pride cometh before a fall."

The section of the pattern that gave me the most problems were the sleeves. First, after cutting them out, I lost track of the wrong and right side of the fabric. I was using a fine muslin. It all looked the same to me.

When nothing matched up, I realized I had attached the sleeves to the wrong armholes. Rip, rip, clip. I tore out the lenght of the sleeve seam, inverted them, and re-attached them correctly. Then, heady with success, I dove into the fray like the leader of a Holy Crusade.

I took up my needle and thread and hand-hemmed the opening edges of the sleeves forgetting that I had pre-folded and ironed them flat prior to inverting them. Hastemakes waste. Once again it was rip, rip, clip.

I flattened the ripped-open edges with my hand, re-folded them under, and re-pressed  them.   This time I wasn't so quick to get the job done. I made sure everything was in order before pricking my fingers with anymore hand-stitching that I'd have to rip out.

All I can say is  this project caused me to exude enough heat to fire up a kiln. Groaning and grumbling, fussing and fretting, I finally completed my first project.  I now have a very serviceable chemise--don't look too closely at the stitching--that I will be proud to wear under my next project that I assure you will not have sleeves.

"Why no sleeves?" you ask. 

"It's too much of a puzzlement," is all I can say.




Thursday, February 7, 2013

Confessions of a SCA "Newbie"


It all started so innocently.

A trip to my local bookstore to deliver posters for my upcoming booksigning event plunged me into the Medieval world of Barons and Baronesses, Princes and Princesses, and Kings and Queens.

I had stumbled into the realm of Medieval life as the Society for CreativeI Anachronism showcased their skills at the Hobbit Day Movie Celebration sponsored by the bookstore that day. And...I was hooked. Not just hooked like a fish thrashing to escape, but hooked in the sense that I wanted to be reeled in...was eager to be reeled in.

However, getting my "farthingale" in shape proved a challenge.  Baron Aldomere and the Baroness Juliana of the Black Diamond invited me to join them for the Twelfth Night festivities in North Carolina. I was eager to join them, but had no "garb" heretofore what I called costumes. One of the ladies in our Canton, Laura Graley Moore, offered me her very beautiful black and gold brocade gown, which only fit because it  had laces in back. However, a chemise had to be requisitioned from the local chatelaine.

Always one to have a plan B ready, I took along a summer tank-top just in case the chemise didn't fit me. Well, for reasons I did not quite understand, the chemise never made it to the Twelfth Night.
So there I was, regal in my Tudor gown with my white  cotton tank-top peeking out to cover my bra and boobs and filling in the spacing under the laces. Wasn't quite "period" but it served the purpose.

 I didn't mind being not exactly dressed to a Tudor T in and among the over 400 participants...after all...who was looking at me? Well, if truth be told, I thought I detected a few sneering glances from some of the  Hans Holbein's tudor portraits gracing the walls. If they could speak, I am sure I would have heard  "Off with her head!" or "Imposter!"

However, later in the day at Court, when all the awards and "serious stuff" had been attended to, did the King and Queen invite all the "newbies"-- first timers, that is, to come before them for an official welcome.

Oh Great! Now everyone would see my tank top. I tried to slouch down in my seat, but a kind gentleman a seat away from me stood and took my hand and escorted me to the dais. I won't mention the words I muttered under my breath. Yes,  words that  unexpectedly and unexplicably slipped from my lips unbefitting and unbecoming to a proper medieval lady. If I had been dressed as a wench, my utterance would have been "in character."

The King presented me with a bracelet charm of "Spike" the unicorn-seahorse. At this point, I assumed it was necessary for me to wow the king with my bow. I tried. However, my trembling knees took command of this performance and as I began my curtsey, I lost my balance and almost tipped over. Instead of leaving well enough alone and retreating to my seat, I succumbed to vanity and made another curtsey that fared little better. I saw a sympathetic smile spread across the king's face. He's laughing at me!

But, never let it be said that chivalry is dead. At least in this Tudor Court. The  young man who had escorted me to the dais, came to my rescue. My Champion! He took my hand and guided me back to my seat where I resumed my place in the sea of SCA afficianadoes. A "newbie" yes, but definitely a "wanna-be."
                                                                     ~~~~~~~

Want a good laugh?  Tune in next week when I chronicle my first attempt at making a chemise...keeping in mind I do not know how to sew!