Why my brown jeans fit better than my blue or black

This past summer, my favorite purveyor of clothing, Chico's, brought out a new line of jeans. Called Ultimate Fit and coming in straight leg and boot cut, they were available in an assortment of colors. I was dissatisfied with what I was wearing, bought a pair of straight leg blue denim and fell in love.

So much so that I bought a pair of black ones. And one of brown. And that's where the trouble began. The brown ones, same size and cut, felt better. I attributed it to the dye. Then I purchased what is called 'cairo', a very light brown. They are more comfortable than sweats.

Hmmm... It was time to pull out the fabric tags and sure enough, they were different. The blues and black were 99% cotton and 1% spandex. The brown was 66/33/1, cotton to polyester to spandex. And the cairo were made of 70% cotton and 30% elasterell-P. That's a fancy name for a special polyester.

Well, it works. Now to convince Chico's to put this combo of fibers in all their jeans. Just let me wear the current ones out a bit first, if I can convince myself to not live in cairo.

Curiouser and curiouser

In speaking to my friends about the soon-to-be lack of local fabric selections, I found that everyone already knew. (Note to self: get out more.) And no one was disturbed about it! As one friend, an avid quilter, explained, who sews any more except to quilt? And for that, you don't go to the big-box for your fabric selection.

Hmmm. Now that you mention it, I haven't sewn a garment for myself from "store bought" fabric in years. I have sewn skirts (2 of them last year in fact) from flea market finds, one a vintage bed coverlet and the other a not-very-old Battenberg-esque lace shower curtain. Compliments abound for both. But a granddaughter (and the prospect of another) have got me in the sewing mood.

So I took my ill-gotten knowledge out to the big-box to commiserate with the employees in that department and to buy all that was left of large red/white gingham check which I make tablecloths and napkins out of. I found that the district manager had told them this morning that their fabric department wasn't closing. Wasn't going to be dissolved into "life celebrations" with pre-cut yardage.

Now just whom do I believe--the customer service rep with her finger on the corporate pulse, or the latest word-of-mouth? I know whom I WANT to believe.

But I bought all that was on the bolt anyway, all seven yards of it. Picnic, anyone?

An open letter to my local big-box

It's not really a secret whose name appears on my local big-box store. It's familiar to all of rural America except those clever enough to forbid entry to it in order to keep their downtowns in business. Our downtown has been doing a slow-fast-slow downturn ever since the big-box arrived in the mid-70s.

But today, after three decades of being alternately surprised and disappointed in the store, I was sufficiently upset to call the 1-800 customer service number for the first time. Three minutes on hold (I was giving them 5) and I was in touch with a pleasant sounding woman who had heard it all before. "Thank you for calling and I'll refer your comments to the proper people." Or words to that effect.

And my complaint? I went looking for a larger embroidery hoop, (and embroidery was going to be the subject of my today's blog but it will wait until my snit disappears), and not immediately finding it, decided I'd find the embroidery floss instead. (I knew the customer service rep had heard my complaint before because I said 'thread' and she replied with the proper term 'floss.') There wasn't any. None. No three or four hundred colors for me to scan and salivate over, touch and compare. Last summer I'd had a high old time picking out colors for the grandbaby's quilt. This summer looked to be another matter.

So I slunk over to the sales person and leaned in. Had I, by any chance, missed the embroidery thread? No, she informed me, it had been gone for several months and had taken the hoops with it. Many customers had been disappointed. I could call the 800 number and she gave it to me.

Feeling she was definitely on my side, I wasted no time in complaining. Alas, I found out more than I wanted to. Hold onto your shears, fellow fabric craftsmen, the world is changing.

The fabric department as we know it is being phased out. In its place will be a "life celebrations" department. (oh, please) Their research had shown that most people now shopped for wedding, birthday and their ilk celebration items instead of fabric. There would still be fabric, she assured me, it would just be pre-cut and not on the bolt.

I was stunned. This was going to be everywhere, all stores. So, I asked, never mind that the company had made their money on rural America, rural America would be driving 30 miles (in my case) to get fabric? I should have asked about thread and seam binding, but my mouth was already on the floor.

I am so disappointed and I told her so. Not that my opinion counts, but if there are enough of us, maybe eventually they'll see the error of their ways. Or not. But we'll feel better. And then I won't be putting quilting pins in the little box I'd like to make.

If I could find the fabric.

The ultimate in recycling... or when a shower curtain is really a skirt

I took up sewing when I was five. Allowed only a hand needle and embroidery thread, I set to work outlining heat-stamped kittens and puppies on Mother's old sheets. She would then hem them and have dishtowels. When clearing out her kitchen drawers preparatory to the estate sale, I found some of them, saved over nearly half a century. It goes without saying that they came home to continue service in my kitchen.

From dishtowels I moved onto doll clothes, first for baby dolls and then for my Barbies. Supermodels have nothing on my Barbies' wardrobes. By the time I was allowed access to a real sewing machine I was in it for myself. My favorite department of any store was the fabric. Pouring over patterns, matching fabric to line... I was in heaven. I had a large wardrobe at a fraction of the cost of "store-bought".

I kept this up in fact until about 15 years ago. I gradually started shopping the stores more. Clothes became cheaper as my tastes in better fabric became more expensive. I adjusted my sights on seasonals. I didn't buy it for it to outlast me: a season or two would do. Even given that, some items in my present closet are close to ten years old. Heck, some of them are even back in style!

But I still had my eye for fabric. At trade days, antique stores, Goodwill... all these places are havens for discarded tablecloths, bed covers, shawls, pillowcases. And though discarded by someone from their original use, they were still gorgeous (and now very cheap!) fabric. My sewing condensed into "Kay couture." (An acquaintance, thinking no doubt to insult me because she was that sort of person, once remarked that my skirt and blouse looked like a tablecloth. I told her she had an astute eye and walked on.)

So seeing a skirt in Boston Proper catalog that fairly screamed "tablecloth!" (although its description is 'lace'), fired up my fingers to comb through my treasure trove of recyclable fabrics. I have five rather large rubber boxes of such and in fact had just purchased a lovely rose bed cover (think spring coverlet) a month ago at Canton Flea Market, intending to make it into a skirt. Now I had my inspiration. I needed a better skirt pattern than my old ones were affording me so I took myself off to Wal-Mart.

Since when do patterns cost over $10? Are they for real? No wonder the market has fallen out of home sewing. You can't afford the patterns! Of course, there are lines of cheaper, simpler patterns in the $2.50-3.50 range (where I ended up buying), but looking on the package for the price is enough to give a home sewer a heart attack! But then, Wal-Mart to the rescue, there are special prices in the Wal-Mart edition of the pattern books. Prices much more in line with what I was willing to pay if I hadn't found my niche on the cheaper, simpler rack.

The bed coverlet made a great skirt. I garnered multiple compliments on it at church yesterday and actually told some people (those that would appreciate the fact) that it had had a former life.

But I still liked the lace effect on Boston Proper skirt 3227NC. I dove back into the trove and emerged with a bargello lace shower curtain. Not old, but certainly in the mood to be recycled.

The final product resembles the inspiration in mood only. The color is different, the hemline is plain. So, even though I am not the typical Boston Proper customer (too old, too modest), I may have to give the original another look.

It just went on sale.