For the ‘rest of the story’ on my Gingerbread House, skip to the last paragraph…..
And….le Fabric Journale
First things first. Happy and blessed new year. May your next decade be filled with good health, happiness and of course….bushels of creativity. And let’s not forget the desire to inspire. Or to be curious.
Speaking of inspiration thanks to such generous and artistic friends and artists I hope to meet some day: I’ve been creating little gritty fabric journals while watching (more like bingeing sometimes: Anne of Green Gables Season 3?) Netflix in the evening. I cannot JUST sit there and stare at my TV screen, which by the way is quite modestly sized. I’ve never been a trend follower myself. I have to DO something and that ‘something’ is now creating 100%, well 99% hand-stitched fabric journals in my gritty, threads-all-over-the-place style.
I found some ‘scrap’ sari material on eBay a few months back. It took forever to arrive but when it did, similar to when one of the Stampington Press mags arrive, my world screeches to a bloody halt and I lose myself for hours. I couldn’t believe the intricately beautiful fabrics and mostly I’m ashamed that after I spent a month studying Ayurveda in India 2 years ago, I brought back only ONE 6 yd. piece of fabric – enough to make a sari! What was I thinking? Anyway, I’m being quite stingy about using my little colorful, sparkle-y squares in my journals.
Stitching is soothing to me. It’s messy, too. Anywhere I’m sewing on a fabric journal requires a minimum of 12 sq. ft. of floor space – and another 8 sq. ft. of couch cushion space. Fabric threads and scraps everywhere.
Y’all remember I bought the anatomy clip art, right? I love using it as a little ‘shocker’ on each page with a tranquil quotation and a bit of irony. And … all of my fabric is TORN, and I mean ‘ripped’. Scares my cats every time I ‘rip’. I have scissors close by but they are used for cutting thread and if it wasn’t I was fearful of nicking a front tooth, I’d probably use my teeth to cut the thread…but this year I’m committed to really taking care of myself, anywhooo…..
Yep, that’s a thread knot you’re looking at. 100% intentional. Maybe I’ll have a contest to see if you can guess how many I used in each little book? I do know better when it comes to neat sewing. I can’t believe I’m even sewing ANYTHING per se. When I was quite young, I learned to sew my own clothing on a treadle machine. That’s right….it’s powered by a foot treadle powered by one’s own two feet. It was a dismal antique even then but it was all we had. And if we wanted clothing, that was our only option. When I got my first little job at 12 y/o, @ 50 cents/hour picking up fallen apples in a neighboring commercial orchard, in the fall (in the North @ 30 deg. F without gloves) I swore I would NEVER sew my clothing again. And I’ve been faithful to that pinky swear with myself.
Gingerbread Post Script – the rest of the story
Forgive me if I already told you this….but I won – SECOND YEAR IN A ROW – the grand prize for my g-bread house. What a thrill. Actually I tied with another house builder but we each received the grand prize cash thanks to a generous donor. And get this…I had tried to locate the owners of the home I modeled the house from because I took photos and wanted permission. Every time we walked past the house, it was abuzz with workers and no owners in sight. During the awards presentation, a lovely couple approached us and asked to ‘buy’ the house. They were the owners and a neighbor had seen the house on display and alerted them. They were trying desperately to find ME as I tried to find THEM! The dilemma: how on earth do you sell a deteriorating, 100% edible 2.5 month old g-bread house? In good conscience anyway. The owner held a generous check in hand. Within seconds, we agreed he would make the donation to the New Bern Historical Society since this was, after all, a fund raiser for a good cause. And..best part? I was stressing over disposing of the house. I just couldn’t do it! I requested they dispose of the house with dignity and a respectful burial and return my now two-time lucky cake board my husband made me. They graciously agreed. I felt it was a better ‘ending’ for the little sturdy house than donating it to my neighbor for pellet gun practice.