Stay Thy Hand

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Stays. They’re infrastructure: absolutely necessary, a major time commitment, and decidedly unsexy. I am in dire need to two new pairs, one for late 18th century use and one for early 19th century, and each with deadlines looming.

I can manage 19th century attire and Genesee with the chopped-and-dropped corded stays I already have, but New Jersey will not happen at all unless new stays are made. It was like a weekend of penance chez Calash, two straight days of stay mocking up and making.

Of course I bled on them. That’s how I know they’re mine.

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And let’s get this out of the way: I thought backstitching the back seam was a little more difficult on this side, but ascribed it to sore fingers. Wrong! I failed to notice that I was stitching through all the layers, and not leaving one free to fold over and finish.

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A glass of cider and an hour later, I’d rectified the error. These are now fully bound along the bottom edge, and ready for the top edge binding. Somewhere there’s coutil for the straps, and then numerous hand-sewn eyelets later, I will have a finished pair of hand-sewn stays.

New stays deserve a new gown, and since I found this lovely image, I know what that new gown should look like (as well as a portfolio).  Happily, there’s a dress in Cassidy’s book that will serve as a reasonable basis for recreating this image. I’m still pondering the portfolio, and what it might be made of: paper or leather covered pasteboard? As the clock ticks down to June, I suspect I will be using a portfolio I already have on hand.

And then there are the the 18th century stays, with their history of woe.

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I’ve gotten this far with the new 18th century pair, and an interesting business it is. I altered the front side pieces and the stomacher, but cannot see the back well enough (even with a camera and a mirror) to adjust it by myself, so further changes will have to wait until I have some assistance.

The tabs aren’t right in the back, and while the advice is to shorten the stays when the tabs flare this way, I found the fronts were still too low, once again riding at nipple-cutting height. Finally it occurred to me that the problem– slippage–might actually be one of waist. I lengthened the fronts half an inch and nipped the waist in, and found the fit more pleasing.  I suspect the back pieces need to be trimmed a bit before they’ll fit (they’re stitched closed in this version, so you know they’re too big).

Another weekend of work awaits– with focus, those early 19th century stays may be done by then, if there are no more finger injuries.

Frugal Friday: Make Do and Mend

In a world of fast fashion, mending is quite out of date (unless you’re a hipster, and I am one of the trilobites of hipsterism), so it is all the more appropriate that I have a gown in need of mending.

I am still making new things, like the “Bad Squishy” jellyfish cap. It didn’t look so tentacular until I held it up to show it off. As with any cap, the main goal is merely to keep it upon my head–always in doubt.

Tenactularly good. And now I can whip gather.
Tenactularly good. And now I can whip gather.

In just a week I’ll be headed up to Fort Ticonderoga to clean the officers’ quarters and generally represent the women who accompanied the 26th Regiment of Foot— and yes, I know I’m old enough to be the mother of any number of those folks, but there’s no need to point it out all the time. The main thing is the cleaning. And the weather, which looks like it could once again be unseasonably warm. That won’t stop me making another wool gown, which I am making up in a drab wool specifically for dirt and distracting my unsettled mind.

Washing, wearing, and airing
Washing, wearing, and airing

All the same, I pulled out the mother of all wrecked and wreckable gowns, the cotton gingham made for Bridget Connor. This has achieved a pretty nice patina, though I will confess to having washed it last fall after repeated wearings over the course of the summer. I know– not so necessary, but I did. Fear not: the stains remain.

But I wore it vigorously and made it up quickly– to the point of needing to take it off and mend it at Stony Point (was that really two years ago?). Mending is required once again, so that small seam ruptures do not become actual sleeve separations as I dust, sweep, and mop. Yes, of course I’ll be making experimental mops this weekend, why not? There just isn’t enough distraction in the world.

I worried about those eyelets I installed way back when, but was relieved to discover that I had seen a precedent, and that the date was within tolerances for someone of my age to retain in her clothes. The lacings also make dressing significantly easier for me; some days, putting on an open robe takes me back to the button-up and lace-up toys of pre-school, when tying shoelaces was a major accomplishment.

Sometimes a Great Notion

Finished! Cozy, too.
Finished! Cozy, too.

(Think Lead Belly, not Ken Kesey.)

No, I did not take a notion to jump in the river, but I did take a notion to sew slightly more than the quilted waistcoat.

I couldn't resist.
I couldn’t resist.

I got this unshakable great notion, you see, about some wool from the remnant table in Framingham. It was a lovely olive color, and paired up with some plain weave I already had, it reminded me strongly of World War II-era Army uniforms from the ETO, which I had been packing recently in Rhode Island’s alpine north. And yes, if I find a pinker tan for a petticoat, I will procure it.

Since I already have an olive wool petticoat that will also work for this notion, I started on the gown last week, cutting it out on Wednesday night so the table would be clear for Thanksgiving dinner.

The wool was a little slippery to pleat, and the twill slightly dazzling with its sheen. Let’s pretend it’s shalloon, shall we?

A week into the project (after a brief annoying detour attempting to correct my mitt pattern), I have only half the hem and the bottom of the robings to finish. Not too shabby, thanks to a holiday weekend and hours of The Pacific, Band of Brothers, and The Purple Plain. Homage to the color, I suppose.

I'm never not smirking, so thanks for not smacking me.
I’m never not smirking, so thanks for not smacking me.

It fits– which always seems like a miracle, even with a tested pattern– and better yet, it fits over that plush waistcoat.

The rustle of the silk and the swish of the wool are unlike anything I’ve ever worn. I think I shall feel quite fancy– let us hope I shall also feel quite warm.

Packing Meat

If it bleeds, it leads.
If it bleeds, it leads. Waistband pinning is surprisingly dangerous.

Sometimes you end up doing things for reasons you don’t entirely understand. Remember that brief flirtation with the 1830s? Well… we met again, and this time, I said yes to the dress.

Several friends are on the “shoot meat, win a target” program at OSV this weekend, and I agreed to go along. Yes, it’s a gun show. Yes, I’m compromising again.

Gentle reader, it gets worse. While I had not planned to dress, I rethought this choice last week. Awake in the early morning hours of November 11, I thought about dress patterns, wool petticoats, and the contents of the Strategic Fabric Reserve. One of my wool petticoats fit the waistline of my 1820s dress better than the 1800 dress I made it for, so I figured I was on my way towards being warm outdoors in November.

Spot the error. It's the dyslexic '30s.
Spot the error. It’s the dyslexic ’30s.

I have 1830s patterns, and a muslin was quick to make. Worse yet, once the muslin was made up and tried on over stays, it needed no alteration beyond a slight shoulder seam adjustment. Can you imagine? That hideous decade fits me? Doom or destiny, you be the judge: I had enough striped wool blend to cut a dress and a pelerine… so I did.

The other sleeve's stripes are just slightly off.
The other sleeve’s stripes are just slightly off.

The bodice went together quickly, and the sleeves were fairly easy at the shoulder and arm scye (I really enjoy setting sleeves). It was the length and width along the forearm that threw me, and I ended up having to piece on the lower sleeve. Twice.

The sleeves are where the meat comes in: you say pork chop, I say leg of lamb, the fashion plate says gigot. I did reduce the arc a bit, which makes this a more late-1820s style than firmly mid-1830s. Since some of the folks I’m going with will be wearing a mix of late 1820s and 1830s styles, slimmer sleeves seemed reasonable.

Rustic Dance After a Sleigh Ride, 1830. William Sidney Mount MFA Boston 48.458
Rustic Dance After a Sleigh Ride, 1830.
William Sidney Mount MFA Boston 48.458

More seriously, I’m taking cues from the William Sidney Mount painting I’m so fond of. The women in this 1830 painting have less flamboyant sleeves and possibly achievable hair. Honestly, the things I get into when I lie awake and think. I ought to know better by now…but every decade is a new adventure.

What remains to be done? Backstitching the waistband and waistband lining, hooks and bars at the back closing, the ever-popular hem of enormity, and a final pressing. Achievable, I think, with focus and some lunchtime sewing.