With the weather so appalling in Melbourne, by turns demonically hot and cool with rain in suburban typhoons, I have been spending quite a lot of time inside and sewing. This jag of sewing has astonished my little bottom of the line Brother who has insisted that enough is enough and that it really must have some maintenance and it was only going to say ‘ka-thunk ka-thunk ka-thunk’ and create giant loops of bobbin thread until I did. As I was loath to send it to Spotlight’s repair department [7-10 working days plus the inevitable ordering of parts from places where the post seems to be done through smoke signals and the pony express], I thought I would involve my long suffering DH and get him to fix the problem.
It would seem that in my energetic use of a big reel to refresh the bobbins, I have got thread tangled around the hand crank, which worked its way into the side of the motor - which was feeble enough to be completely stumped by Birch’s cheapest polycotton. Now it is fixed [and sews more quietly than it has since it came from the shop] I am back on the quilting wagon!
I have got to the tough end of my quilt top - long seams and wrangling the rest of the sewn fabric that wants to drag itself off the sewing machine. I have been assiduously pinning things down and basting the seam joints that are supposed to be meeting together and making sure that if a fabric has lines of straightness then my sewing respects them.
I have been rather more precise about this than I am usually, because I know that if I have this quilt for more than 6 months, a seam that is not perfectly joined with drive me to giving it away. It is as if non straight seams and off kilter joins develop eerie qualities. That they sparkle at you from one side of the bed while are you are trying to concentrate on your book. Or that they have a mesmerizing rays that lure you into trying to iron something into submission when you know that nothing can make 88 degrees into 90.
To assist in this process, I had a brainwave. I was inspired to create a special kind of pin. One that would ensure that I didn’t prick myself as much, and perhaps that would help prevent fabric from sliding down the pin and distorting the way that the fabric was put together. If there was some kind of containment device at the end of the pin, it would prevent all of this - but you would need to ensure that it didn’t get separated from the actual pin [as it would get lost] so it would need to be fixed to the pin permanently… Reinventing the safety pin was an exhausting afternoon.
Finally - this is a true sign of approval of a cat concerning sewing.
The appalled look when disturbed from her naughty rest must mean taht she approves of my labours.