. . . courtesy of IKEA:
It’s their inexpensive, lightweight dolly; handy for everything, and just right for this job, too. Cheaper and more versatile than the purpose-built carts. Bungee cords recommended. I couldn’t find mine, but I didn’t really need them for this run.
I’ve got the pockets done on my ABdPM jacket; the body assembled; the sleeves attached. (Yeah, I’m a little behind on posts.) I’m merrily serging along, finishing the armholes, getting them trimmed neatly and finished.
And then, this:
Well, it wasn’t just this. First the needle broke. Have I before broken a needle in my serger? I don’t think so, but swapping it out for a new one was easy, until I realized what had happened: That cute bird’s eye above? It’s supposed to be behind the arm it’s in front of. Instead, it’s at a crazy angle, and blocking all the nifty little arms and gadgets that make my serger, well, a serger.
I’m hoping that the stem the bird’s eye is on is attached by a screw that has simply slipped, either through age or from the effort of pushing through the humongous number of fabric layers in my jacket. My serger isn’t a particularly fancy one, nor was it particularly expensive, but it has been a good friend forever, and more than adequate for my needs. We work together well, and I don’t want a new one.
Tomorrow morning, ASAP, I’m running it down to the fellow who may be able to fix it. I’m really, really hoping he can give me the prognosis before the holiday starts; Monday seems a long, long time away.
I’ll be picking up some heavy-duty needles for my Pfaff. The jacket is so close to being finished; a little zig-zagging will do, if it has to. I hope.
Once I’d fit the jacket, and cut out the interlining, it was time to tackle the “exterior” fabric: the wool the world would see.
This pattern calls for “serge” or “”twill” (it’s not clear to this English reader which) for either the inside or outside of the hood and the band that extends down the front of the jacket (they’re cut all-in-one). My French isn’t good enough to figure out exactly which piece was which, although I think it would be pretty obvious once it came time to do the final assembly. I’d decided, though, that I wanted two layers of my main fabric for the hood, so that’s what I did instead of using the contrast.
Here’s the hood, assembled, with the front edges of the hood and the front of the jacket bands to the right. The bands are folded back because this is one looong piece.
Because I wasn’t sure exactly how this section was going to attach to the rest of the jacket, I probably made the front band a little longer than necessary; I won’t know for sure until the final assembly. At this point, I’m supposed to have closed the bottom seam, and topstitched all around, but that’s waiting until I confirm this piece’s true size. I think I’d have wanted to do that topstitching last, in any case, after the jacket’s all together.
The hood has an elastic drawstring, with which I did battle for hours. I can’t even imaging what all went wrong: Attack of the stupids, maybe? I did make life a little difficult for myself when I insisted on putting a protective bead on the elastic. , inserted the elastic all wrong, forgot the bead and toggle . . . and so on. Here’s what the set-up looked like:
There’s the elastic (I cut it to the precise length of the part of the hood that holds the drawstring, so the hood, which also forms an over-sized collar, could be worn without any cinching at all), the lock toggle, and the bead. The casing is along the hood seam; I’m not sure exactly how ABdPM meant it to be made, but I just topstitched on either side of the hood seam, forming a channel.
The problem is that the elastic doesn’t go the whole length of the hood; it begins in the middle of the hood’s curve, goes along the top, and then exits through a buttonhole a few inches from the hood’s front edge. I did every dumb thing possible while trying to thread this elastic. The first issue was classic: There are four layers of wool forming this channel, and I laboriously threaded the elastic up through one that didn’t open out through the buttonhole. D’oh! And it got worse after that . . .
I don’t even remember how I solved this problem in the end, but it involved making an opening in the hood lining seam, knotting the ends of the elastic (but not so much that it couldn’t be pulled through the channel), and somehow resulted in having the bead and toggle where they belonged on the outside of the hood, and the ends of the elastic stitched to the seam allowance in the inner hood, and with the seam closed up neatly. Wool is so forgiving!
I love using this bead, because there’s no chance the toggle will be lost. This means, I hope, that I’ll never have to think about this process again.
ABdPM marks the buttonhole perpendicular to the hood’s edge, but, instead, I set it over, and parallel to, the hood seam (only on the outside hood, of course, and before I assembled the pieces), and then just opened the seam where the buttonhole was centered. This made a lot more sense to me, and was much easier to do over the thick wool layers. I made it as small as possible, and it turned out to be quite neat and tidy.
I did not interline or interface the hood or front bands. I was sure the doubled wool would be the right weight, and I wanted the front bands to drape a bit. They appear to lie over the front of the jacket, so they shouldn’t need extra support.
Cutting both the hood and the hood lining meant that I needed almost three yards of wool; mine was 62 inches wide. It would have been a pretty tight fit, but probably still possible, to get everything from 60 inches, but less width might have gotten problematic. The hood/front band pattern piece, with my +/- 3 inch alteration was 40 inches inches long. That’s one big hood!
ABdPH calls for far less fabric (even allowing for the major change I made); maybe they’re a lot more clever at layout than I am, though my layout sure looked economical. No layouts are included, though, so their scheme remains a mystery.
Related:
ABdPM 20013: Fit and Interlining
From Au Bonheur des Petites Mains, this is the “Veste effet boule, à capuche”, (or “Jacket ball effect, hooded” per Google Translate). I’m a little unclear on exactly what the “ball effect” is, but that’s OK. It’s a jacket with a goofy hood, a fun front closure, and circular pockets.
Because the instructions are in French (or more accurately, because my French is decades old and beyond rusty), figuring out exactly how it’s meant to be put together isn’t the simplest thing. Using Google Translate, and Shams’ helpful glossary, I cobbled up instructions that were more or less comprehensible, if slightly scanty. That was my first step.
The next step was figuring out my size. ABdPM patterns are French, and the sizing is a little different from what I usually encounter. Allow me to correct that: The sizing is a LOT different. Not only do French women not get fat, but apparently they’re not very big, either. And have no busts. And super-slender arms.
So getting used to ABdPM sizing takes a little effort. At 5’2″ and 122 pounds, I needed size 44, except in the shoulders, where I cut the pattern down to nearly the smallest size: 34. (Size 44, by the way is the top of their smaller size range.)
I probably should have tried an FBA in a smaller size, but I’d still have needed the 44 sleeves, and I wanted the fullness of the larger coat body, not to mention that I needed plenty of space for my 37 C+ bust, and without an FBA the larger size was the only way to get it.
The size 44 sleeves fit in the biceps,where they’re snuggest, but come thisclose to being too tight, so that’s definitely something to watch. Overall, I’m pretty small for a North American, and my arms aren’t notably heavy, so these sleeves must be really narrow.
ABdPM patterns are printed on heavy paper (which is wonderful!), so I traced off my chosen size, and cut out the interlining (or underlining, or whatever). No seam allowances are included; they’re completely up to you. I used 5/8th of an inch, which is what I’m most used to. I also made the jacket about three-fourths of an inch longer, before, of course, adding the depth of the hem.
My “exterior” fabric (that’s what ABdPM calls it, and I like that adjective a lot better than the silly term “fashion fabric”) is all wool, but not quite coating weight, so I knew I’d need some fairly serious insulation for winter wear. The interlining is one layer of a thin, drapey poly batt, and one layer of cotton flannel, cobbled together with loose, free-hand quilting.
Yikes! Clumsy stitching and out-of-focus. Just think of the outer layer as an especially fuzzy flannel . . .
I’d never done free-hand quilting on a machine before, and, let me tell you, I did one messy job of it. No matter; the only point was to keep the layers together without stiffening the lining. In that, I succeeded. I do, however, now understand why a quilting shop I stop in at now and then has a huge, computerized quilting machine which is always humming.
Since I was fairly confident of the fit, I used the interlining as a “muslin”, and tweaked the pattern only slightly, in the shoulders, as noted above. This was pretty risky, and may come back to bite me, though, since I’m still not exactly sure how the jacket goes together. I think I know, but let’s just say that the instructions are a little obscure in places. A more prudent sewer would have done a full muslin, but since the jacket’s loose-fitting, and the whole project is an experiment, I was willing to take some chances.
The back of the jacket has a yoke, with a lovely curved seam, but I cut the yoke and lower back all-in-one for the interlining once I realized that the seam was strictly decorative. I didn’t want the bulk in the insulation.
By the way, ABdPM patterns are hugely over-sized; about 9 x 12 inches, or roughly 22 cm by 30 cm. They come in a stiff, nearly cardboard-like envelope, with a photograph of the finished garment, a page of instructions, and the pattern itself. This presentation explains the hefty shipping charge to North America, but the packaging is an aesthetic joy, and a further spur to action. I can hardly keep from drooling every time I see the envelopes on my shelf. Who wouldn’t want to sew something packaged so enticingly?
Related:
This is off-topic, but it’s such a handy thing to know that I’m sharing anyway. My KitchenAid mixer — a 4.5 quart model — is at least 30 years old (I inherited it), and it is a workhorse.
A while ago, though, one of the bowls flew off the mixer while I was using it, and I realized that it no longer locked in place. This is potentially dangerous, so I quit using the mixer until I could figure out what to do about it.
I think this mixer is literally the only “Made in USA” thing that I’ve ever owned that turned out to be a quality item; it does what it does incredibly well. Maybe the new ones are just as good as this one, but I didn’t want to replace my old friend if there were any way to save it. Why toss a perfectly good machine if it’s avoidable?
And it was avoidable! All I needed was a new “mixer bowl lock plate”:
Five bucks on Amazon! (Plus another five for shipping, but, hey, a new KitchenAid would be a couple of hundred dollars . . . and, the truth is, I’d probably not have replaced it, considering how few baked goods we eat now.) For ten dollars, and about three minutes to replace the old base, I’ve got my mixer back!
I’m sure the lock plate is available elsewhere, too, but I can vouch for the company (Seneca River Trading) that fulfilled my order through Amazon. I had the part within days, and made bread with my repaired mixer this morning.
Making bread is the last domestic thing I’m doing for the next three days: I’m declaring a Sewing Mini-Vacation, beginning the minute this is posted. The next few days belong to Au Bonheur des Petites Mains!
Hello, FTC! This is a hobby blog, and I have no affiliation with Amazon, KitchenAid, ABdPM, Seneca River Trading or any other corporation I might have incidentally mentioned in this post.
I’m expecting my first batch of Au Bonheur des Petites Mains patterns any minute now, and am beside myself with anticipation. ABPM, as they’re known in a number of French blogs, are patterns with a very different twist. (See the English version of their site, courtesy Google Translate, here.)
None of these happen to be in the set I’m waiting for, but they are on my short list for the next purchase. This is, according to Google, a “cowl neck shirt”:
A “down fold shirt” (that’s “down” as in “fold down”, not as in “feathers”):
And a “round collar coat”:
There’s more, much more! The model garments are heavy on grays, blacks, and somber accents, all of which work well with the rather edgy, even flamboyant designs, but that doesn’t mean that we have to stick with those schemes ourselves, of course.
I first “met” ABPM through Shams’ blog, Communing with Fabric. If you go to this link, you’ll read about the start of Shams’ ABPM adventure; if you click on “au bonheur des petites mains” under “labels” at the bottom of that post, you’ll be taken to all of Shams’ ABPM posts.
Shams has an incredibly helpful French glossary, which I’ll be relying on, as well as a US size chart, in this post. I don’t think there could be any better preparation (or inspiration!) for using ABPM patterns than reading Shams’ posts. I’ve set aside the next three days so that I can make my first ABPM pattern, and, like any good marathoner, I’ve been training, first under Sham’s tutelage, and also by reviewing a bunch of French blog posts which highlight other ABPM creations.
Here’s the one that led me to the rest: It’s Je Couds Au Bonheur des Petites Mains (“I sew Au Bonheur des Petites Mains”), which looks like a collaborative effort, with a bunch of links to creative blogs worthy of some attention on their own.
Don’t read French? Copy and paste any French URL into Google Translate, and you’ll see web pages that, if they’re not exactly French, will be close enough to figure out what’s going on. As for me, there’s a stack of fabric, notions, and anything else I thought I might need waiting in my sewing room for my first ABPM project. Tonight, though, if all goes well, I’ll be translating the instructions. I can’t wait!
Related:
ABdPM 20013: Fit and Interlining
Thanks to Shams, I’ve been introduced to the wonderful world of Fawbush’s, where I saw this marvelous vest from Angel:
Here’s the description:
Since 1985 Angel has been providing customers with unique, fashionable, high quality womens apparel. Their garments are produced in Turkey using the finest Italian yarns. We love the drape and classic styling of this versatile piece. It features a no closure front, a double collar and embellished pockets.
Nice! — but this is knit, and I wanted something woven. And I’m not nuts about that upper collar; it’s just not a look I’m wild about. Clearly, I needed to make my own.
What material to use? Felted wool seemed like the best answer, as I wanted to keep the vest as simple as possible, and didn’t want to mess with wither the weight or angst of facings. I decided to make a muslin of regular old felt, just to get a feel for sizing, etc., so I trotted down to the local “fabric” store and bought the only felt yardage they had — made from recycled soda bottles (and boy, could you tell!). Here’s what I worked up:
I really liked the look of this! I finished all the edges in woolly nylon, and my only regret was that I’d made it in such an awful fabric. Since I was about to leave on a long trip, I began to dream about how nice it might be to wrap up in a boiled wool vest on a chilly plane . . . but I had only a day or two before the trip, and no time to find nice wool, boiled or not.
There’s an overstock store near us, though, and through energetic ferreting, I was able to find two 100% wool throws for a pittance. I tossed them into the washing machine and dryer, several times over, and ended up with enough wool to replicate my vest in something with a much nicer hand:
I didn’t, and don’t, like this version as much, though. The fabric was thicker, so that the pocket shape isn’t as pronounced (the stitching doesn’t take up enough of the fabric, so the pockets are larger, less rectangular, and “poufier”). Of course, I couldn’t match the burgundy in woolly nylon, so I had to use a pewter/black instead — it’s OK, but not as nice as I’d like.
This version needed something: some kind of closure. I showed it to Mr. Noile and was debating the various options. I was leaning toward magnets, but debating how I’d keep the stitches from showing on the “right” side. A non-functional button, sewn over the magnet,seemed to be the right answer.
Mr. Noile looked thoughtful for a moment, and then suggested attaching magnets directly to the button(s). He pointed out that this would let me change the button configuration any time I pleased. Brilliant!
So I got out the hot glue gun and attached magnets to buttons, resulting in this, the smock vest:
and this, the one-button close:
and this, the loden version:
and this, the two-button-with-collar styling:
and this, the pocket variation:
This was all very well and good (and a lot of fun!), but overall this project was not a success. First, because this kind of vest is not best suited to a small person with a large bust, and secondly because somehow that lovely burgundy boiled wool just looks a little becky-home-ecky compared to the more sophisticated-seeming gray flat felt. I really, really prefer my gray felt version, but the fabric’s just too awful to wear. Sad.
Not to mention that woolly nylon was not the right edging. It snags and pulls on everything. Though I should note that the boiled wool itself is heavenly to wear; it’s both warm and light, and feels incredibly natural on the torso!
Neither version really captures the longer, leaner look of the original (or the better drape!), and, in the end, I’ve got something quite different. After all, that’s what “inspiration” is all about, rather than “copying”; I love the way this morphed into something else. This exercise was a lot of fun, and I’ll have to continue to experiment like this in the future.
I made a tiny pocket hidden in the large pockets to hold the buttons when they’re not in use. That was a good move, and would have been especially useful if I’d actually worn it on a plane. Which I didn’t, because anything I take on a plane has to have many uses over the course of the trip. A long vest just wasn’t minimalist enough for me in the end. But it was a lot of fun playing with the idea!
I’ve been dying to make the “trench jacket” from Burda’s 04/2008 issue since I first saw it on Cidell’s blog. After snagging that issue in Hungary, I was all gung-ho until it occurred to me that I’d never made a pattern from a Burda periodical, much less one written in Hungarian. (I have traced patterns before, and made things from Japanese pattern books, but let’s just say that Japanese is a lot easier than Hungarian. Truly.)
Then I saw Dawn’s post about the “polo” #121 from BurdaStyle’s 09/2010 issue. Bingo! I love this top: It’s got only three pattern pieces, and it’s so simple that directions are essentially irrelevant. Here’s one Burda version, from their site:
There’s a 121a version and a 121b version. I’ not sure what the difference is; the technical drawing in the magazine suggests it’s the length of the body, but on Burda’s website the lengths for the two versions look the same. That’s probably another little detail I missed because of the language issue. Such things aside, this top is incredibly easy and fast to make — perfect for starting out.
I ended up making three:
The green one on the left is JoMar mystery fabric (could it really be nylon?? nobody makes knits from nylon any more, do they?) that I got specifically for knit “muslins”. The print is a super-over priced JoAnn poly-spandex knit bought at 50% off, and the teal is a JoAnn rayon/spandex, similarly over-priced, and also bought at 50% off — but this fabric drapes very nicely and is a dream to wear.
I cut a Burda 40 at the bust (and below, because it just didn’t matter in this style), but a 38 in the shoulders. Now that I’ve worn these tops, I realize they’re a little too blousy in the body., so I’ll tweak that for the next batch. And I may need a 36 in the shoulders. Live and learn.
The sleeves are super-long, as Karen notes, but, as you can see in the technical drawing, it’s intentional. They’re meant to be scrunched up.
I like that look — they’re still slim-fitting, but a little more interesting than plain sleeves. Karen commented on the Burda instructions for turning the collar under — I couldn’t quite figure out what she meant, but I decided to simply hem the collar edges, and wear it scrunched, too. In these soft fabrics, it feels nice, and I like the way wearing it scrunched echoes the sleeves.
I’ve only got one picture of this shirt on my body so far. My photographer, Mr. Noile, appeared to become ill while regarding this particular version, and muttered something about “granny print” and “singularly ill-advised”. I may add other photos later, but feared to tax my beloved further today.
I had a LOT of trouble with this fabric, and never found a needle that liked it, though my collection is extensive. And it’s got the usual JoAnn issue: every puncture mark leaves a little white hole, presumably because the dye-job is too inadequate (or too cheap) to survive even the mildest needle-tampering. Love the colors, though, except the white.
I’ll be sending this one to the charity shop, as I think it unlikely that I’ll be able to wear it in peace in the future. I do hate to see Mr. Noile suffer! (The photo’s a little bleary; perhaps that’s what caused Mr. N’s nausea?) Swapped the photo out for a less-blurry one; Mr. Noile is not appeased. The fit of this version is best through the shoulders; maybe because this fabric stretches hardly at all?
Here’s the JoMar ribby-knit:
Love the sheen from the flash. This is a really stretchy knit; you get the full effect in the scrunchy sleeves.
I need styling help, don’t I? Can you tell how much I’m into the construction, not the fashion? As if to prove the point, here’s the teal version:
The shoulders are waaay too wide on this one; this soft, drapey knit probably needed stabilizing alaong the shoulder seams. And this is the fabric that called for a more body-fitting silhouette; the trunk kind of just hangs. I only wear it tucked in , so it probably doesn’t matter, but I’ll fix this in future iterations.
It was a great idea to start my Burda life with this pattern. I’ve gone through the steps now, I know what to expect all along the way, and I’ve got a good idea of how Burda fit will work for me (at least sometimes) in knits. I’m taking another trip soon, but when I return I’ll be tackling that vest. I can’t wait. In the meantime, I’ll be taking these three tops with me on this most recent trip — it was a quick and easy job to whip them up in the week between Budapest and the next (domestic) excursion.
Dawn also posted about this pattern here, and mentioned Karen’s post so I checked it out, too. And Cidell’s made one now, too. I think Burda has a hit on their hands.
After discovering that it’s possible to buy the current issue of Burda’s pattern magazine virtually anywhere in Budapest, Hungary (gas stations! magazine kiosks! hole-in-the-wall newsstands!), I took special notice of an ad in the back of one of the Burdas I’d gotten. I can’t read Hungarian, but it was really obvious that this ad was for back issues
. . . and it included two addresses for Burda stores in Budapest. Budapest, my new favorite city, is very easy to navigate. I knew I could find at least one of these stores, and so I did. Here’s the store in Budapest IX (that’s the district) at Vámház krt. 13 (that’s the street name and number):
Inside was Burda-back-issue-heaven. The Burda I wanted most wasn’t out on the rack, but the proprietor was kind enough to search through a huge stack behind the register, and turned this up:
It’s the 04/2008 issue I’ve been desperate to find — the one with Cidell’s trench jacket! I bought it immediately, and also a slew more, some of which are below:
The price? About $2.50 USD for each. I was practically hyperventilating from delight!
However, I didn’t come home with a truckload. I had a list of issues I wanted, some of which went back to 2000 or so, but I soon learned that I couldn’t get those issues here; the Hungarian version of Burda has only existed since October, 2005. Not to mention one other detail: I’m not nuts about Burda’s summer issues, and the end-of-year holiday issues don’t do much for me either.
Still, this was quite a coup, and I loved the store, which is, by the way, also sells yarn, along with yardage. All communication, except smiling and nodding, was conducted by writing dates down (in Hungarian format, of course), but that was no problem at all.
Later I went back and asked about a double tracing wheel, suspecting that I could find one more easily in Budapest than at JoAnn’s. This Burda store didn’t have it, but the proprietor made a call to their store on József krt., wrote down which streetcar to take, and I went over there and picked up my new dual wheel. So much fun, and I got to see a whole different part of Budapest into the bargain.
Why is is so easy to find old issues of Burda? Well, it’s probably partly because Hungary may still be a nation of sewers. But it’s also at least partly because Hungary, or at least, specifically, Budapest, is still a nation of readers. There are lavishly stocked magazine stands all over the place, and people are still reading like crazy on public transit, with only a few electronic devices (cell-phones; MP3 players; hand-helds) turning up, and those rarely.
Economically, Budapest seems to be still suffering from the “long sleep” that was communism/dictatorship; having a world full of text on every corner is one symptom. It made me realize how much we’ve lost, at least in the reading arena. Once electronic devices are in the hands of every Hungarian, most of those books and virtually all of the magazines are doomed, along with the tempting kiosks. And easy access to Burda. It’s a trade-off, but is it good?
Well, this is interesting. A ZÜCA employee attempted to leave a comment on my post about the ZÜCA Sport Pro without identifying herself as an employee.
Comments on this blog are moderated, and, specifically because she did not identify herself as representing ZÜCA, I did not put her comment through. (I knew she was a ZÜCA employee because her IP address came through as ZÜCA’s, leaving no doubt as to her identity.)
As I told her in an email, I’m not the only person in the world who believes it is unethical for people to promote business interests in situations where they are not making it clear that they have a business relationship with the product or concern.
When I called her on representing her company’s interests without identifying herself as being affiliated with the company, she claimed to be “commenting as a reader as well as a consumer”.
Well, no, she wasn’t. She’s not a regular reader of my blog, and she saw, and responded to my review of the ZÜCA, only because she is a ZÜCA employee.
Even if she’d just incidentally seen my review somehow — within hours of when it was posted — it’s unlikely that she would have spontaneously responded in an attempt to promote the company’s interests if she were only a “reader” and “consumer”.
Casual “readers” and “consumers” have no reason to promote corporate interests for companies they have nothing to do with, and they sure aren’t trolling for opportunities to do so.
Ethical bloggers, and those who merely obey federal law, are obligated to report any remunerative interest they have in products they feature in blogs.
Ethical companies are careful to make the same disclosures, and don’t allow their employees to post comments on business-related blogs or blog posts without identifying themselves. Not to mention that, on a strictly pragmatic note, this is one truly horrible way to cultivate a relationship with a blogger (or even, yes, a real “consumer”) who might have turned out to have been an adoring — and enduring — ZÜCA loyalist.
I’d be interested in knowing if this is acceptable behavior at ZÜCA, or if it is just one employee’s bad judgment.
The Sport Pro is a great bag. I sure hope the company doesn’t suck.
Related: My New Bag: ZÜCA Sport Pro Review
