After my class today I stopped by to pick up candy and things for Will's plastic eggs. We have a laundry basket of eggs that we've purchased over the years for the girls. I made it home about six and we had supper.
About seven Steve admitted to forgetting to get anything for desert for Easter -- a sin worthy of death in many states, this one included. Will and I ran to the store and picked up something sweet. About 8:30 I went to get our basket of eggs so that when Will fell asleep I could stuff them.
They're gone. I looked every where. They are just not here. Not in the attic, garage, or any room in our house. Steve even looked for them. We are eggless.
While there are 24-hour stores, I'm not up for shucking my PJs after Will goes to sleep and driving into town for egg shopping at midnight. For some reason I don't understand, Steve has convinced Will that an actual Easter Bunny is going to come and leave eggs -- unless he's a bad boy.
To make this even worse, I bought tons of SMALL candy and toys to fit in small eggs, so it's not like I can just wrap up 10-15 big packages and hide them.
As Will was getting ready for bed I started digging around trying to find something to wrap the goodies in. I pulled out tons of left-over tissue from Christmas. Will asked me what I was doing and I told him, "I'm going to cut these papers up in case the Easter Rabbit runs out of eggs."
Bless his heart, Will immediately responds, "So he can wrap up the goodies."
Will finally fell asleep a little after 11 and I, a.k.a. the Easter Bunny, have been wrapping up candy and goodies in pieces of paper and tying the ends to hold them closed. I have red fingers and an aching wrist. Not to mention that one of my feet is asleep. And yet, when I look over the HUGE pile of small packages I can't help feel a sense of . . .
Well, I can't help but feel like I should have checked for eggs yesterday.
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Father of the Year Strikes Again
Bonnet called me tonight, for the first time in weeks. She's doing okay. Still working at the sandwich shop; but hours are picking up again. Odd, but sandwich shops don't do so well in the middle of winter in CO. LOL
She's about to move, again. Her current roommate is moving out of town and she will now be sharing an old Victorian house in downtown with three other young people. She says her room is four times the size of the one she currently has and her monthly contribution is $200 less. Although, she did admit that the house is falling down around their ears and it doesn't heat well. Not such a big deal now with summer coming on; but could be an issue next winter. Ya think?
While talking, she told me that she filed her taxes for 2007 and 2008 about six weeks ago and got $1,400 back. Since she doesn't have a banking account she had them deposit it in her fathers account. She kept a close eye on when the refund was due to be deposited and called her dad daily to verify if it was in. One morning she called before work and it was in, they made arrangements for her to meet him after work and go get her money.
A few hours later, while she's at work, her dad keeps texting her and she finally calls him back during her break. His friend, that HE calls her "Uncle Bob", was arrested and her father used her money to bail Bob out of jail. When she got upset her dad was all like, "but I would have done the same thing for you" and Bonnet told him, "But I am your daughter." By the way, Bonnet doesn't know Uncle Bob at all.
In the last month, since Uncle Bob's trip to jail, Bonnet has received $800 of her refund back from her dad. He was suppose to pay her the remainder last weekend and surprisingly she can't find him.
Maybe he borrowed the neighbors car and drove to Mexico to get Uncle Bob out of jail.
She's about to move, again. Her current roommate is moving out of town and she will now be sharing an old Victorian house in downtown with three other young people. She says her room is four times the size of the one she currently has and her monthly contribution is $200 less. Although, she did admit that the house is falling down around their ears and it doesn't heat well. Not such a big deal now with summer coming on; but could be an issue next winter. Ya think?
While talking, she told me that she filed her taxes for 2007 and 2008 about six weeks ago and got $1,400 back. Since she doesn't have a banking account she had them deposit it in her fathers account. She kept a close eye on when the refund was due to be deposited and called her dad daily to verify if it was in. One morning she called before work and it was in, they made arrangements for her to meet him after work and go get her money.
A few hours later, while she's at work, her dad keeps texting her and she finally calls him back during her break. His friend, that HE calls her "Uncle Bob", was arrested and her father used her money to bail Bob out of jail. When she got upset her dad was all like, "but I would have done the same thing for you" and Bonnet told him, "But I am your daughter." By the way, Bonnet doesn't know Uncle Bob at all.
In the last month, since Uncle Bob's trip to jail, Bonnet has received $800 of her refund back from her dad. He was suppose to pay her the remainder last weekend and surprisingly she can't find him.
Maybe he borrowed the neighbors car and drove to Mexico to get Uncle Bob out of jail.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
The Leaning Tower of Hassle
I have one of "those" neighbors. The kind that thinks there is nothing to small, or large, they can ask of you. No, he's not one of those that takes and takes and takes, and never gives back. This guy would drive 300 miles out of his way to pick you up if your car broke down. But in eleven years in this house, are car only broke down once and we were less than ten miles away.
Oh, we ask the occasional thing of him. We're really not big "askers" of things, not big borrowers. He is.
To start off with, he thinks the Internet is unholy and wants nothing to do with it; as far as it being in his house. I don't think he even allows a computer in his home. So every time he needs something posted on craigslist, printed out, or purchased online he asks us to find it, print it, or post it for him.
Most of the time it's not a big thing, just a small irritating thing. However, once he asked me to print out an entire book on teaching your child to drive. It was over 800 pages -- printing on both sides. He was nice and gave me a ream of paper for my effort, two would have been better. Hell, some friggen laser toners would have been nice.
But I degress, as usual.
This post is about our shared mailbox pole. In our neighborhood, the mailboxes have to be on the side of the road where his house is. Our mailbox is one of three on a single post in front of his house.
About two months ago, he askes Steve if I really need the bigger sized mail box I have. I searched for, purchased, and installed this mail box myself because I needed the extra width to fit the size of patterns I mail out. Steve asked me and I told him, "Yes."
A few days later, Scott catches me outside. And asks me hisself, if I really needed that large of mailbox. He proceeded to tell me that he wanted to replace the mailbox post with a fancy wooden post and use matching metal type mail boxes, maybe some wire to tie the theme of the mailbox in with his yard. I told him I was sorry but I really needed the mailbox.
A few days later he ask's me where I bought it. He decided it was a decent looking box and he'd just buy two more to match it. At least that way all the boxes would match again. I told him where I got it.
He called me at least three times over the next few days as he tried to find one just like it. He never could. Then he asks me to look on the internet and find one for him. I did, at only $35 each and shipping -- he bought two.
The next few days while he was waiting for the mailboxes he bothered me about the numbering I used on my box. Where did I get it? How large were the numbers? Do I have any left?
Then he spent a day digging a GIANT hole and cementing this huge shiny piece of tree about 18-21 inches round into it. The mailboxes finally comes in and he centers a 2x4 over the tree stump and places all three matching mailboxes on the 2x4, complete with matching numbers.
Our driveway is directly across from the mailboxes and everyday as I leave my home I get a perfect view of the mailboxes that had to be just "so". The mailboxes that had to be "perfect".
The mailboxes that dip about 5 inches lower on left than the right.
Oh, we ask the occasional thing of him. We're really not big "askers" of things, not big borrowers. He is.
To start off with, he thinks the Internet is unholy and wants nothing to do with it; as far as it being in his house. I don't think he even allows a computer in his home. So every time he needs something posted on craigslist, printed out, or purchased online he asks us to find it, print it, or post it for him.
Most of the time it's not a big thing, just a small irritating thing. However, once he asked me to print out an entire book on teaching your child to drive. It was over 800 pages -- printing on both sides. He was nice and gave me a ream of paper for my effort, two would have been better. Hell, some friggen laser toners would have been nice.
But I degress, as usual.
This post is about our shared mailbox pole. In our neighborhood, the mailboxes have to be on the side of the road where his house is. Our mailbox is one of three on a single post in front of his house.
About two months ago, he askes Steve if I really need the bigger sized mail box I have. I searched for, purchased, and installed this mail box myself because I needed the extra width to fit the size of patterns I mail out. Steve asked me and I told him, "Yes."
A few days later, Scott catches me outside. And asks me hisself, if I really needed that large of mailbox. He proceeded to tell me that he wanted to replace the mailbox post with a fancy wooden post and use matching metal type mail boxes, maybe some wire to tie the theme of the mailbox in with his yard. I told him I was sorry but I really needed the mailbox.
A few days later he ask's me where I bought it. He decided it was a decent looking box and he'd just buy two more to match it. At least that way all the boxes would match again. I told him where I got it.
He called me at least three times over the next few days as he tried to find one just like it. He never could. Then he asks me to look on the internet and find one for him. I did, at only $35 each and shipping -- he bought two.
The next few days while he was waiting for the mailboxes he bothered me about the numbering I used on my box. Where did I get it? How large were the numbers? Do I have any left?
Then he spent a day digging a GIANT hole and cementing this huge shiny piece of tree about 18-21 inches round into it. The mailboxes finally comes in and he centers a 2x4 over the tree stump and places all three matching mailboxes on the 2x4, complete with matching numbers.
Our driveway is directly across from the mailboxes and everyday as I leave my home I get a perfect view of the mailboxes that had to be just "so". The mailboxes that had to be "perfect".
The mailboxes that dip about 5 inches lower on left than the right.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
First Writer's Workshop
Starting Monday, I will be participating in my first writer's workshop. It is a month long and being taught my Angela Knight -- a best selling author of Paranormal novels.
The workshop is being held as a yahoo group. She will post up assignments and we will submit work or discuss things. I'm not totally clear on the concept. The worship lasts for 30 days and only cost me $25.
This particular workshop is designed to help writers create realistic and beleiveable fight sceanes. Ms. Knight will cover how to create enemies (one's the reader will like or hate), how to build up to the fight scenes, and writing teh actual fight sceanes.
I don't technically have a fight scene in my book yet, but I would like to add one.
We'll see.
The workshop is being held as a yahoo group. She will post up assignments and we will submit work or discuss things. I'm not totally clear on the concept. The worship lasts for 30 days and only cost me $25.
This particular workshop is designed to help writers create realistic and beleiveable fight sceanes. Ms. Knight will cover how to create enemies (one's the reader will like or hate), how to build up to the fight scenes, and writing teh actual fight sceanes.
I don't technically have a fight scene in my book yet, but I would like to add one.
We'll see.
A Crying Shame
Before I tell you what happened today, I need to tell you about my social life.
Socializing, and the Lack of It
I have always had trouble socializing. Part of that is being raised as an abused child. You don't want people to see your home or how you are treated, so you don't "hang out" with friends. You don't make friends as a rule, and if you do, you drop them as soon as they start noticing things (bruises, dirty clothes, lack of lunches, etc.).
As an adult, I learned to fill my need for people -- while holding them at bay (which is the only way I am comfortable with people) -- by interacting with people at work. During the years I worked outside the home I was able to maintain a steady stream of "work" friends; good enough for conversation and lunch but never invited to your home or for after-hour get togethers.
Prior to working outside the home, when I was raising Bonnet and Tori, I had tons of family around. My mother, step-father, two sets of in-laws, all my siblings, and several sister- and brother-in-laws lived in the same small town. I never had to seek out someone, they were always at my house and in my life whether I wanted them or not.
For the last four and half years that has not been the case. I've stayed at home with my son, which I wouldn't have give up for anything. However, it's had a really negative impact on my ability to communicate to groups of people.
Not counting sales clerks, I see one adult for an average of 3 hours a day; Steve. And during that three hours we eat supper, I take a bath, and Will is bathed and put to bed. Weekends are a little better, I see Steve almost all day both days. But people other than Steve? Not so much.
My mother is mentally gone and I have no interaction with her at all. My siblings are scattered about and if I see them 1 or 2 times a year it's a surprise to me. When I do see them, it's usually for a few hours here or there.
My father- and mother-in-law live about 30 minutes away and I try to visit with them about once a month. Not only do I enjoy their company, but Will loves his Oma and Opa.
I have developed a friendship with a woman who's son is Will's best friend. But her son started school full time this last fall and she went back to work. I use to see her 3-4 days a week for a couple of hours, but now I'm lucky to see her for 2 hours a week.
With the lack of contact I have with the outside world you would think I was lonely all the time, but I'm not. I don't really get lonely or bored . . . that's why God make books right? LOL
The problem is the longer my interaction with others decreases, the less capable I am of interacting with people.
Family Comes to Visit
My in-laws had family come down to visit this weekend. Every time this happens, the family in the immediate vicinity will come over and spend all the time they can seeing their far-off relatives. I guess this is normal interaction among families. I mean, these are often people you only see every couple of years or even once a decade.
But it is so far out of my concept of normal interaction that I can hardly handle it. A few weeks back, when his brother was visiting, Steve was over there by 9 a.m. and didn't leave until after 9 p.m. I can not handle that. I'm not saying it's wrong! I think it's sweet that Steve will put fourth that kind of effort to visit his family and catch up. I just CAN NOT do it.
Fortunately, in that case, he went early with Will and I showed up hours later in my own vehicle. When I couldn't take it any more I left. It was fine and that is what we should have done today . . . but we didn't.
NOTE: This inability to spend longs periods of time with family also applies to my family. We bought a small RV and when we go visit my family we take it so I can disappear in there and get some "alone time".
A Crying Shame
Steve's Aunt Carol, his mother's sister, and her husband are down from SD. To the best of my knowledge it is the first time they've been to Texas. We drove up to Dad's last night for super and it wasn't to bad. We didn't get there until about 5 and we were home by 9.
Today we drove up there for lunch and arrived around 11. All the way up there I was concerned about how long we'd be there, but I didn't say anything to Steve. Steve's brother Greg and family arrived around 1. So now I am in a house with 7 adults other than myself and an additional 3 children. All of whom I like, most of them I love, but still tons more people than I am use to dealing with at once.
I was feeling the need to leave about 3, but I didn't want to cut short Steve's time so I asked Stephanie if she wanted to go to the book store with me and we left for an hour.
We got back about 5 and immediately jumped into dinner and sitting everyone down. Every one's mood was a little tense as food was reheated and children who didn't want to sit were seated. And as it turns out, an hour out of the house hadn't done near enough to calm my nerves. Every conversation, every expression, every person seemed to weight upon me until I couldn't breath. I could feel my heart fluttering in my chest so hard I was afraid I was going to have a heart attach.
As soon as the meal was over and everyone started cleaning up I went over to Steve and let him know I was read to leave. I had already had to blink back tears several times and felt like I was about to blow. Although, I had no idea what blow was as I've never let myself get to this point before.
Steve was right in the middle of showing his uncle something on the computer, but I was hoping he would wrap it up as soon as possible. I went over twice more in the next ten minutes. I knew Steve was coming, it just wasn't fast enough. I stepped into the bathroom to wipe my filling eyes, hoping it wouldn't be so noticeable if tears weren't flowing down my face. But as soon as I closed the door, the tears started coming full force. I can't even tell you WHY they were coming. I was just so incredibly SAD. I felt so ALONE.
And as life would have it, that was about the time everyone decided to take family photos. In the bathroom I was in, there was no way to escape without being seen by every person in the house. And there was no way they wouldn't know I was crying.
"Why," I asked myself, "didn't you just go sit in the car and wait on Steve?" But I hadn't wanted to make a spectacle of myself . . . which was ironic considering.
I knew the longer I hid in the bathroom the worse it was going to get. I could just see everyone at the door trying to find out what was wrong and if I was okay. So I opened the door with the intention of walking outside as fast as possible and hoping Steve would follow me and we could discuss this outside. No such luck.
Everyone immediately noticed I was upset and wanted to know if I was okay and Steve asks from right there on the couch what was wrong. Mad at myself and him I'm pretty sure I yelled, "This wouldn't have happened if we'd left 10 minutes ago like I asked!"
I went out to the car and just crawled in and sit crying. Steve came out with Will a few minutes later and we drove home. I cried the entire trip. Some of it releasing pressure from the day and some of it shame that I had caused such an ending to the day. This will be the last memory Steve's aunt Carol will carry of me and my family. There was no family photo documenting the event. And I caused a scene in my in-laws house.
And the BIG Fear
Part of my tears on the way home were of genuine fear too. Fear I had turned into my mom. Sure, to a degree most people share this same fear. But how bad it upsets you depends on your mom. My mother is certifiably insane; on several levels. Her instability through out life has caused her every home she ever had, her husband, and all of her children. She was never able to hold down a normal job and she couldn't take pressure of any kind before she snapped.
For the first hour or so after leaving Dad's, all I could think about was that I had finally snapped. I'd finally lost a part of the sane person I thought I was, that I had crossed that line into insanity. That I was my mom and everyone was going to leave me.
When I finally explained those fears to Steve, it was like they vanished into nothing. Once he assured me I was sane, that I was okay . . . I believed him. I'm still a little weepy, but I no longer feel like I'm broken or injured.
Now, I'm just thinking it's a crying shame we didn't take two cars.
Next time we will.
Socializing, and the Lack of It
I have always had trouble socializing. Part of that is being raised as an abused child. You don't want people to see your home or how you are treated, so you don't "hang out" with friends. You don't make friends as a rule, and if you do, you drop them as soon as they start noticing things (bruises, dirty clothes, lack of lunches, etc.).
As an adult, I learned to fill my need for people -- while holding them at bay (which is the only way I am comfortable with people) -- by interacting with people at work. During the years I worked outside the home I was able to maintain a steady stream of "work" friends; good enough for conversation and lunch but never invited to your home or for after-hour get togethers.
Prior to working outside the home, when I was raising Bonnet and Tori, I had tons of family around. My mother, step-father, two sets of in-laws, all my siblings, and several sister- and brother-in-laws lived in the same small town. I never had to seek out someone, they were always at my house and in my life whether I wanted them or not.
For the last four and half years that has not been the case. I've stayed at home with my son, which I wouldn't have give up for anything. However, it's had a really negative impact on my ability to communicate to groups of people.
Not counting sales clerks, I see one adult for an average of 3 hours a day; Steve. And during that three hours we eat supper, I take a bath, and Will is bathed and put to bed. Weekends are a little better, I see Steve almost all day both days. But people other than Steve? Not so much.
My mother is mentally gone and I have no interaction with her at all. My siblings are scattered about and if I see them 1 or 2 times a year it's a surprise to me. When I do see them, it's usually for a few hours here or there.
My father- and mother-in-law live about 30 minutes away and I try to visit with them about once a month. Not only do I enjoy their company, but Will loves his Oma and Opa.
I have developed a friendship with a woman who's son is Will's best friend. But her son started school full time this last fall and she went back to work. I use to see her 3-4 days a week for a couple of hours, but now I'm lucky to see her for 2 hours a week.
With the lack of contact I have with the outside world you would think I was lonely all the time, but I'm not. I don't really get lonely or bored . . . that's why God make books right? LOL
The problem is the longer my interaction with others decreases, the less capable I am of interacting with people.
Family Comes to Visit
My in-laws had family come down to visit this weekend. Every time this happens, the family in the immediate vicinity will come over and spend all the time they can seeing their far-off relatives. I guess this is normal interaction among families. I mean, these are often people you only see every couple of years or even once a decade.
But it is so far out of my concept of normal interaction that I can hardly handle it. A few weeks back, when his brother was visiting, Steve was over there by 9 a.m. and didn't leave until after 9 p.m. I can not handle that. I'm not saying it's wrong! I think it's sweet that Steve will put fourth that kind of effort to visit his family and catch up. I just CAN NOT do it.
Fortunately, in that case, he went early with Will and I showed up hours later in my own vehicle. When I couldn't take it any more I left. It was fine and that is what we should have done today . . . but we didn't.
NOTE: This inability to spend longs periods of time with family also applies to my family. We bought a small RV and when we go visit my family we take it so I can disappear in there and get some "alone time".
A Crying Shame
Steve's Aunt Carol, his mother's sister, and her husband are down from SD. To the best of my knowledge it is the first time they've been to Texas. We drove up to Dad's last night for super and it wasn't to bad. We didn't get there until about 5 and we were home by 9.
Today we drove up there for lunch and arrived around 11. All the way up there I was concerned about how long we'd be there, but I didn't say anything to Steve. Steve's brother Greg and family arrived around 1. So now I am in a house with 7 adults other than myself and an additional 3 children. All of whom I like, most of them I love, but still tons more people than I am use to dealing with at once.
I was feeling the need to leave about 3, but I didn't want to cut short Steve's time so I asked Stephanie if she wanted to go to the book store with me and we left for an hour.
We got back about 5 and immediately jumped into dinner and sitting everyone down. Every one's mood was a little tense as food was reheated and children who didn't want to sit were seated. And as it turns out, an hour out of the house hadn't done near enough to calm my nerves. Every conversation, every expression, every person seemed to weight upon me until I couldn't breath. I could feel my heart fluttering in my chest so hard I was afraid I was going to have a heart attach.
As soon as the meal was over and everyone started cleaning up I went over to Steve and let him know I was read to leave. I had already had to blink back tears several times and felt like I was about to blow. Although, I had no idea what blow was as I've never let myself get to this point before.
Steve was right in the middle of showing his uncle something on the computer, but I was hoping he would wrap it up as soon as possible. I went over twice more in the next ten minutes. I knew Steve was coming, it just wasn't fast enough. I stepped into the bathroom to wipe my filling eyes, hoping it wouldn't be so noticeable if tears weren't flowing down my face. But as soon as I closed the door, the tears started coming full force. I can't even tell you WHY they were coming. I was just so incredibly SAD. I felt so ALONE.
And as life would have it, that was about the time everyone decided to take family photos. In the bathroom I was in, there was no way to escape without being seen by every person in the house. And there was no way they wouldn't know I was crying.
"Why," I asked myself, "didn't you just go sit in the car and wait on Steve?" But I hadn't wanted to make a spectacle of myself . . . which was ironic considering.
I knew the longer I hid in the bathroom the worse it was going to get. I could just see everyone at the door trying to find out what was wrong and if I was okay. So I opened the door with the intention of walking outside as fast as possible and hoping Steve would follow me and we could discuss this outside. No such luck.
Everyone immediately noticed I was upset and wanted to know if I was okay and Steve asks from right there on the couch what was wrong. Mad at myself and him I'm pretty sure I yelled, "This wouldn't have happened if we'd left 10 minutes ago like I asked!"
I went out to the car and just crawled in and sit crying. Steve came out with Will a few minutes later and we drove home. I cried the entire trip. Some of it releasing pressure from the day and some of it shame that I had caused such an ending to the day. This will be the last memory Steve's aunt Carol will carry of me and my family. There was no family photo documenting the event. And I caused a scene in my in-laws house.
And the BIG Fear
Part of my tears on the way home were of genuine fear too. Fear I had turned into my mom. Sure, to a degree most people share this same fear. But how bad it upsets you depends on your mom. My mother is certifiably insane; on several levels. Her instability through out life has caused her every home she ever had, her husband, and all of her children. She was never able to hold down a normal job and she couldn't take pressure of any kind before she snapped.
For the first hour or so after leaving Dad's, all I could think about was that I had finally snapped. I'd finally lost a part of the sane person I thought I was, that I had crossed that line into insanity. That I was my mom and everyone was going to leave me.
When I finally explained those fears to Steve, it was like they vanished into nothing. Once he assured me I was sane, that I was okay . . . I believed him. I'm still a little weepy, but I no longer feel like I'm broken or injured.
Now, I'm just thinking it's a crying shame we didn't take two cars.
Next time we will.
Friday, April 3, 2009
Goodbye Sewing
I started sewing back in the mid-70s, when it was the in thing to do. I was about ten years of age when I started designing and making up my own barbie doll clothes. Oddly, I enjoyed designing and making the clothes more than I did playing with the dolls. Who would have guessed I would be destined to run my own pattern making company one day? Life is weird, and I digress.
In the 70s, everyone sewed, at least in Texas. You could buy sewing notions and fabric at dime stores. (Dime stores -- there's the old phrase of the day for you.) Even the mom and pop grocery stores had sewing notions on hand.
By the mid 80s sewing was dying out. By the early 90s almost no one I knew actually sewed. The reason was two-fold.
The lack of interest resulted in a lack of places that carried sewing items. Oh, you could find them, but the selection was poor and the prices weren't.
But during the last decade sewing has made a come back. It became acceptable and exciting to sew your own clothes, make your own prom dress, or make up items as gifts. All of a sudden every town had fabric stores and every Walmart had a sewing department. Every craft store had a fabric section. It was great! Prices were competitive, classes were being offered, the prices of sewing machines dropped.
But over the last two years I've noticed a total turn around, again. One-by-one every Walmart in my area went from having a fabric department to having either a fabric isle or no fabric at all -- just notions. Over half of the fabric/sewing specific stores I know of in Austin have closed their doors. And the big sewing stores like Joann's and Hancock's have reduced their fabric sections and turned half their stores into home decorating or craft supplies.
When I mention the turn around to friends and family their response is surprise; you would think with the bad economy more people would be turning to sewing. But I'm not surprised. While more people seem to be asking for sewing machines on Craigslist or Freecycle, they don't have money to purchase NEW sewing supplies or material. In this economy, the really needy will be making do with sewing up what they have or making items from recycled fabrics or clothing.
While my sales on sewing patterns have slowed down, I've had an increase in hits on my pages of free patterns, on my pages about sewing with recycled and free fabric.
But as I silently watch the avenues once open to me as a seamstress vanish, I felt like someone needed to say "I noticed." Someone needed to say "Goodbye!"
In the 70s, everyone sewed, at least in Texas. You could buy sewing notions and fabric at dime stores. (Dime stores -- there's the old phrase of the day for you.) Even the mom and pop grocery stores had sewing notions on hand.
By the mid 80s sewing was dying out. By the early 90s almost no one I knew actually sewed. The reason was two-fold.
- The cost of fabric, patterns, and notions became more expensive than purchasing the ready made clothing now easily available at mega-stores. Why spent $8 on a pattern, $15 on fabric, and another $5 on notions when you could now buy a dress for $20 in almost any town?
- The introduction of new forms of entertainment pulled young people away from sewing as a hobby. Television and game consoles were more common than sewing machines in most homes.
The lack of interest resulted in a lack of places that carried sewing items. Oh, you could find them, but the selection was poor and the prices weren't.
But during the last decade sewing has made a come back. It became acceptable and exciting to sew your own clothes, make your own prom dress, or make up items as gifts. All of a sudden every town had fabric stores and every Walmart had a sewing department. Every craft store had a fabric section. It was great! Prices were competitive, classes were being offered, the prices of sewing machines dropped.
But over the last two years I've noticed a total turn around, again. One-by-one every Walmart in my area went from having a fabric department to having either a fabric isle or no fabric at all -- just notions. Over half of the fabric/sewing specific stores I know of in Austin have closed their doors. And the big sewing stores like Joann's and Hancock's have reduced their fabric sections and turned half their stores into home decorating or craft supplies.
When I mention the turn around to friends and family their response is surprise; you would think with the bad economy more people would be turning to sewing. But I'm not surprised. While more people seem to be asking for sewing machines on Craigslist or Freecycle, they don't have money to purchase NEW sewing supplies or material. In this economy, the really needy will be making do with sewing up what they have or making items from recycled fabrics or clothing.
While my sales on sewing patterns have slowed down, I've had an increase in hits on my pages of free patterns, on my pages about sewing with recycled and free fabric.
But as I silently watch the avenues once open to me as a seamstress vanish, I felt like someone needed to say "I noticed." Someone needed to say "Goodbye!"
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Just Will
When Steve and I found out we were expecting a boy we had a very hard time trying to choose a name. We'd lost a baby a few years earlier that we had called George. Both after Steve's grandfather and after the old cartoon . . .
I'm going to love it
and squeeze it
and call it George!
Steve wanted William relatively early in the pregnancy and I immediately vetoed it. My grandfather was named Willie and everyone called him Bill. In the older days, most Williams ended up being called Bill as well. I didn't want anything of my son to remind me of my grandfather -- not my favorite person in the world.
Oh, I loved -- and still do -- Steve's Uncle Bill (who William is named after). But I vetoed the name choice early.
It wasn't until months later that I realized we could name him William and call him Will. Yeah, pregnancy really does mess with your brain cells bad enough logical thinking takes months instead of minutes to achieve.
My only requirement was that is we named our son William he was to always be called Will -- never Bill or Willie.
I must have been sending these thoughts to Will prior to his birth because he refuses to be called anything else . . . always has. Anyone that calls him bud, buddie, son, boy, young man, handsome, cutie, cutie pie, sport, brother, onery, feisty, stubborn . . .
If any one, any where, calls him anything besides Will, he immediate responds with, "I'm not ____. I'm just Will!"
I'm going to love it
and squeeze it
and call it George!
Steve wanted William relatively early in the pregnancy and I immediately vetoed it. My grandfather was named Willie and everyone called him Bill. In the older days, most Williams ended up being called Bill as well. I didn't want anything of my son to remind me of my grandfather -- not my favorite person in the world.
Oh, I loved -- and still do -- Steve's Uncle Bill (who William is named after). But I vetoed the name choice early.
It wasn't until months later that I realized we could name him William and call him Will. Yeah, pregnancy really does mess with your brain cells bad enough logical thinking takes months instead of minutes to achieve.
My only requirement was that is we named our son William he was to always be called Will -- never Bill or Willie.
I must have been sending these thoughts to Will prior to his birth because he refuses to be called anything else . . . always has. Anyone that calls him bud, buddie, son, boy, young man, handsome, cutie, cutie pie, sport, brother, onery, feisty, stubborn . . .
If any one, any where, calls him anything besides Will, he immediate responds with, "I'm not ____. I'm just Will!"
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