three new garments

I am nearly half way through my sew-my-own-clothes year, and I don’t want to arrive in summer still a pre-beginner. That’s why I have been tackling some slightly more challenging clothes.

The first was a Moss Skirt, which has a fly. My first attempt did not go well, no. In the end I had a full scale sewing tantrum. Every single step went wrong, honestly. I really wanted to roll my sewing machine down a steep hill into a lake at the bottom. As a compromise, I decided to leave my skirt unfinished. It still lies exactly where I terminated my work on it. 

Two days later I decided that because I was now so well prepared, I would begin on my favourite fabric. Mercifully, I made a far better version which has a fully functioning zip fly. It is not perfect but I am content.

The second item was the free Colette Sobretto Top, without a pleat and with a self drafted Peter Pan Collar. I meticulously followed a tutorial for the collar. Soon I suffered the shock of finding that it was too short for my neckline. After a couple of days, my disbelief and deflated spirits were subsiding, and I attempted a second collar. This time, I had a success. I think I am a second-time-lucky girl, except in marriage.

I can’t debut this top yet because of my acute sense of the temperature, but I predict that I will wear it a lot. It’s my ideal cute-but-smart with jeans/shorts/skirt kind of top.

And last, I took to the overlocker/serger that I have the joy of borrowing. I decided that a knit sweatshirt was exactly what was needed to face winter, and door knockers, and the gym. It’s essentially pajamas for public and I found plenty of Asos inspiration. I had previously thought that I wouldn’t buy an overlocker, but I was innocent to their wonders. Using one brought to my attention how much I hate trimming and zig zagging every seam. Whizz it through, and there is a beautiful garment with lovely innards. I could wear my jumper inside out!

I used the Ensis Tee by Papercut Patterns again, and bought cotton fleece in cream and black. My other Ensis tops were XXS, so I went up to XS to make a jumper version, and added wider neck ribbing, bottom ribbing, and altered colour blocking. 

Asos

Wolfie thought it was a dog bed. Ouch.

social lights and darks

Melanie De Fazio

I’ve admitted before that when I get invited out for coffee, for tea, for a dinner, party or gathering, one part of my heart sinks. 

I am in the bizarre category of being too unwell for the very activities which rejuvenate most people and bring them life balance. Unforgettable is my first ‘holiday’ with this illness. The very premise of a holiday is to leave your regular work behind and rest your body. I swiftly learned that my regular work is dwelling in my own body, and that most parts of going on holiday added to my suffering: travelling by plane or car, strange bed, going to see the sights, eating out, expectation of having fun resulting in guilt at not having any fun at all.

Don’t even mention holidays-to-visit-friends. How does that even work?

Sometimes I sit in my lounge and feel like a miserable social outcast, when I have an invitation in my hand. The pain has so marred what are supposed to be the happiest times.

And right alongside my desire to minimise my pain, is my sense that relationships are one of the most beautiful and important aspects of being human. I realise that sharing times with people is my work not my leisure. But am I not insanely privileged to be alive to be able to do that, pain or no pain?

Enter my beautiful friend’s upcoming wedding. I was all mentally and physically prepared for the pain-work aspect of the wedding. I cleaned up the house and Ben stocked the fridge so that on my return, I could lie until the nastiness subsided. I was all psyched up to live second by second, and in my bag was a stash of white pills for when I needed their powers. My praying friends were praying.

I woke on the day with zero pain, despite almost no sleep and the long journey the day before. The surging adrenalin gave me a crisp lively feeling. Intoxicating. I wondered if it would wear off before the ceremony, or just after. Drenched in warm sunshine outside the church, I was able to feel unadulterated joy and excitement. I stood without dizziness through the ceremony, and sang without faintness. At the photos, I still hadn’t reached for the pills or longed to lie down, and the day was passing in a happy blurr. I wondered why. Why am I functioning? I don’t do functioning.

In the evening, I began to fade but not to such a degree that I had to go out or be carried to the car. As we drove home, me in a delirious state of bliss, I wasn't sure whether I was going to pay severely for the day, or whether it truly had been a gift.

In the end, it was a gift. Unexpected and sweet, to remind me of wellness and freedom. On returning home, I didn’t have to sleep my days away or sip soups and cry. No wonder my friends love to spend time with others, when there is so much gain, and so little cost. I have this warm feeling that I am the same as the rest of mankind when my body works. And when it doesn’t function, I am the same as all the beautiful people who strive for a meaningful life through pain. 

But right now, I'm just happy. 

someone on my porch

I was feeling blue going on grey with despair today, and prior.

I began an ineffective inspirational pep talk about how much I have to be thankful for. In a mind as emotionally limited as mine, all I could think was, “Yes. But it’s hard to appreciate all these things when you feel this ill.”

Only two words explain the physical problem: endless poison. The common cold which comes knocking to all each Winter, banged on my door in March and has not departed except for rare half-day trips.

So then, keep plodding. Life goes on.

And life is going on, but in such a painful manner that I dread its continuance. I wake with my red throat, pudgy tonsils, eggy glands, and I sleep with them. I carry leaden fatigue with me for as many hours as I am awake, and then repeat and repeat and repeat. I feel like every vein is infected with this nasty achey poison. I find myself longing for ‘just one day off,’ but I know it would never satisfy.

   

At some point, my mind became sad too.

We scour the internet for a specialist, a clinic, a somebody who knows something about endless poison. Last year, and the year before, my medics exhausted their virus ideas. Leaden and lifeless, I remember how we hoped this year of stability would be the environmental answer to the problem.

Wolfie barks furiously at something outside, and the something happens to be someone on my porch holding a bouquet of flowers.

It's for me! The angel someone didn't know that I was feeling this way, but knew that constant sickness can bring on misery. Over and over, something has come when I feel most crushed. I put the bloom in a vase with water, and dry my wet cheeks, and keep thinking that it is providence. What else could it be? 

  

say nice things

found

Some people say unhelpful things, lots of people say nothing at all, and a few say the perfect thing – something empathetic, real, comforting. Here’s a list of five comments which have warmed my heart, and would probably do the same for others.

1. “Wow. That sucks!! That must really suck for her. ”

At first Ben told his colleagues that his wife had ‘health problems.’  But as his relationships strengthened, he started letting off the ‘chronic fatigue syndrome’ bomb. The other night he told me that his friend reacted in this refreshingly warm manner.

Yes, it does suck! That simple heartfelt comment seems to sum up the frustration at having reached a nasty stand still at such a young age. This response is perfect, because I can join in and sit for a moment in the reality that this illness is not even close to fun. His work friend got that this was bad, real, and sad.

2. “Please feel free to call it off at late notice if you need to.”

My younger brother wrote this to me. It is possibly the most comforting statement I have ever heard. He said late notice. How nice can you get? Just to know that if my body chucks a hissy and I can’t fulfil our plans, he won’t be surprised or annoyed. The pressure if off, and I thrive on no pressure.

 3. “I have a cousin with that.”

Yippeeee! Not glad that your acquaintance is sick...but, if you have a relative or friend with this illness you probably have a faint idea of what I’m talking about. I love to know that this illness isn’t so unheard of or invisible.  

4. “When I had a cold/flu recently, I thought of you and can’t imagine how you live with that all the time.”

This makes me want to sob. You get it, you have tasted my never-ending sickness, and the fact that you realised what I am going through makes me feel so understood and loved. You know that ‘tired’ is the wrong word for it entirely and I want to hug you right now.

5. “I’m sorry you can’t come. That must be so frustrating for you.”

Usually when I cancel, I get the standard, “Alright, that’s ok.” But what I really long for is them to realise that it’s not just them who is put out. I am put out, probably even more than them, because I really wanted to come and I’m not well enough. And because I repeatedly can’t attend things, I am starting to get really over it.

I feel so privileged to have heard these things{and many more}, and to have such beautiful people in my life. When the pain can’t be taken away, love is a balm.

"Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle." 

Plato

"Rejoice with those who rejoice. Weep with those who weep." 

Romans 12;15

the way he made me feel

anon.

I don’t think I’m anti social. Infact, the happiest times have been exuberant conversations over food and drink. I am anti pain though, and since socialising brings pain, I feel a nasty cocktail of emotions before events. A melange of excitement and dread. Dread.

The event was a Hens, and being a bridesmaid, I was going to be there. I trained up to Melbourne at 12pm, and one minute at a time, I experienced joy and pain until 8.30 pm. I prayed, and drank water, and pined for champagne, and took breaks, and enjoyed, and ached and ached.

But it was Sunday which was cruel, just as anticipated. Overnight I was crushed by a semi trailer; so heavy did my bones and muscles become I thought they would fall out of me. So nauseous, so dizzy, so exhausted to the point of being unable to talk, so utterly hungover without a drop of alcohol. When I was awake, I thought: how can I endure this again after the wedding, but more severe? I can’t. I can’t endure this again, not in two weeks.

But two things broke through. You don’t have to endure the hangover from the wedding now. You only have to endure that hangover one second at a time, when it comes. You never have to live more than one second at a time, and if you can survive one second, you can survive two. Just live this second, don’t anticipate the next and compound the pain.

The second thing that I experienced was love, to such a degree that the memory of pain is wiped over by the memory of being cherished.

Ben got up the morning of my event, and baked Red Velvet Cupcakes for me to take along, with the nuts he had activated for me, and the quinoa porridge. Then he dropped me at the train station. At 8 pm I got a message saying that he had arrived in Melbourne, to save me, to carry me home. He drove me home, and carried me to the bedroom – the bedroom had been dark, dank, bedraggled in masses of my clothes, with dirty sheets on the bed. While I was away he had folded all my clothes, stripped the bed, vacuumed, and I saw white, and clean and clear.

I slept like a submerged log, and the next day he was at church when I awoke feeling poisoned. But my breakfast had been prepared for me, and soon he had chicken soup for my lunch. Later he came to the bed to show me pictures of our bombsite study completely arranged, with all my sewing things ready for me. More soup, more hugs, and then he read my book aloud to me, joining the story ¾ the way through and barely understanding the musical terminology. I laughed till I was hysterical about ‘fugue’ being pronounced ‘foo-goo’. Before I knew it he’d put my pajamas on, and my first day of hangover was over. When he said ‘I love you’, I thought what an action word love was. Yes, he loved me. And that is what I will remember.

The pain couldn’t go, but it could be over powered. So the excitement and dread before were replaced with pain and bliss. The light countered the dark, and I will remember the way he made me feel. I love that love wins over. 

the first dress

Even though I haven’t really been dreaming of making dresses all my life, I feel like deep in my subconscious I have always wanted to. It feels fabulously feminine to make a dress rather than a top or skirt. I had in mind a thick winter dress for the day time {because who actually goes out at night?}, in a classic black, to wear with tights. I was thoroughly inspired by Jolies Bobines.

Pattern: Papercut Pattern’s SaiphTunic

                                                                      

Fabric: It was $10 per metre at Joy’s Fabric Warehouse, and I was lucky to have my super sister with me to help decide. I found the button for the back at the Alannah Hill factory outlet {Brunswick Street}, and soon I will be sewing with the darling fabric I bought there for outrageously cheap prices.

The pattern was simple, well explained, quick to cut out and quick to sew – except for the French darts which weren’t marked. Having never tackled them before, I just did my best to make them match by sight, guessed how long they should be by stalking other Saiph Tunics on the web, and tacked them before I sewed. My great fear was that they would end up pointy in a central location, but mercifully they are discreet. 

Because I didn’t want it to be daringly short, I added 1.5 inches to the top. Later I realised that the torso was unflatteringly long in proportion to the peplum. I looked like a droopy waistless nun; overwhelmingly frumpy. After unpicking the peplum to shorten the top, the proportions are better, and the dress hits mid thigh which is my happy length.

I am adjusting to wearing a tunic. It is just so voluminous! But, I think once I have the courage to embrace the space, I will love it. 

Voila! La première robe noire, and I have the joy of having reached another goal.

Below are a couple of other things I’ve made lately – the Scout Tee. Most tees are too low, or high, or tight, or twisted, or thin. But this one is the perfect slouchy tee.

I had some navy and white knit left over. There wasn’t enough for a whole top of one colour, so I decided that the gym can handle navy on the back and white on the front. I consider this fabric shortage ‘sporty’. I copied it from a shop bought tank, and it really is a good thrift.