Packing

That's what I'm doing. and truthfully, I can't afford time to blog right now.

However, I may draw your attention to my misspelled-namesake that's hitting the headlines in the meteorologic realm, and that may give a glimpse of the state of my room and the interior of my brain.

Ciao for now- I must get back to it.

Seam Stress

Yeah- I'm not one. My Mom will tell you- sewing has always caused me (undue?) stress. And now, as an adult, I can tell you that nothing has changed!

For some odd reason, it does not sit well with me to perpetuate the strange fact that my apparel is fabricated in a far-away land--far and foreign from the fibers that grow near me. Call me crazy, but the practice of companies paying pennies to regular people, but on another continent who feed their families on factory steam, to run machines that construct clothing that "fits" our styles and growing bodies, and then pocketing the mark-up profit seems a little ridiculous.

The truth is that any other way of enrobing ourselves has slowly become unthinkable and totally impractical in our current lives. *Let me add this disclaimer that I grew up with many homemade skirts and dresses due to the patience, creativity, and dedication of my mother. But many of us can hardly thread a machine to make the stuff we cover our bodies with.

To top (pardon pun) it all off, my shirt then needs to be tagged and packaged and shipped or flown over an ocean or two, boxed and driven by semi's, unloaded and unpackaged, inventoried, price inflated and then displayed not only in the store but by radio, TV and ads in my mailbox before I can be certain that this is the shirt for me! This process that has become an acceptable way of dressing ourselves is something that I cannot really "never-mind". I do mind.

So in my preparations for jetting off to Africa (now who's got the carbon footprint?), I put my fair-trade foot down and said dogummit, I can make my own clothes. or at least I can know who made them for me. True to form, I opened my little jaw and squarely bit off more than I could chew, considering the waning weeks of preparation. But bite I did and swallowed a bigger-than-palatable pricetag at the fabric store. I gulped and realized- okay, this hurts but I guess that's what I was trying to prove- that shirts really don't cost $10. (I could branch off here to the truely painful price of fossil fuels, but that's another conversation.)

Next I approached two friends, who have the Skills I lacked, with bolts of cotton, a pattern, and my measurements. I felt a bit sheepish in asking them and I'm not sure why. I guess it's hard to ask for something that could inconvenience someone else. All the same, I felt that I was honoring them; I would love to wear something they'd made- like packing a friend in my suitcase.

With my departure date looming nearer, I decided to check in with the local professional seamstress and have her also start buzzing away on my new wardrobe (and my wallet!). Draped in her own designed garments in her workshop in the fabric store, she exuberantly convinced me that with a little help from their in-house instructor, I could sew those pants up in 2 hours and the result would be cheaper!

Really?! I thought. Can she be serious? Can it be that even I could spin out some cool clothes from a sewing machine? (I'm more comfortable with duct tape, staples, screws and glue.) In a matter of minutes, she had me convinced to try, overcoming the memories of my failed attempts in highschool.

Let me make this story short: There is a pair of pants now hanging in my closet. And no one in China made them. But I have reaffirmed that I am and never will be a seamstress. I'm thinking, just to kick some megacorp ass, of wearing them on the plane, and proving that I can porte my handmade vestiments in public, lumpy and all.

Thanks to my incredibly patient mother, I can sew to save my life and cover my body. But I can assure you, no one in China would pay to have it shipped there.