Calamity Kim

Isabella goes to paris restyled slip

Isabella goes to paris restyled slip, originally uploaded by calamity kim.

How is everyone enjoying the story so far?
My friend Amanda has suggested that it would make a great Zine so perhaps I will consider putting it all on paper and selling copies of the final story. What do you think? Worth my time? I have never made a Zine before but they seem quite the labor of love!
That's really not anything new, though, when I spend hours hand stitching or creating the things I make.
In honor of the 5th Season of Project Runway (which begins tonight!) I have started a little repurposed slip.

I began with a vintage Vanity Fair slip that I found at Goodwill. It is in excellent shape and doesn't appear to have been worn very often.
Then I layered on chiffon (tiedyed) and a scene from a thrifted batik silk scarf.

I pinned some net down on top and then stitched it with the machine. It did very well and I didn't have any puckering or pulling. I suggest using a brand new needle if you do have problems.

This is going to be part of the Isabella Goes To Paris story and will be in my Etsy soon along with some paper dolls featuring Gypsy Tart Fairies.
Stay tuned for another enchanting chapter soon!
xxxxooo,
Love & Stitches,
Calamity Kim

Isabella goes to Paris...Part IV

After a fitful night dreaming of chocolate and being chased by sunflowers that had pulled themselves up from the ground, grown legs and were always a few yards behind her, reaching for her, scaring her half awake in the process, all night long, Isabella didn't feel at her finest.
She would need all her courage to go seek out the baker and return his recipe cards.
What if he was married?
What if he didn't feel the same ?
She tried to think positive and soon was lost in her drawing as she felt herself grow quiet in the blending of color on her palette. This was her true love.
Creating something beautiful that soothed the senses and calmed the restless soul was all she needed to be complete.
For Isabella the act of telling a story with her brushes was as joyful as when she would make up fairy tales for the chickens back home. She felt so alive here in Paris and was amazed again by the way the city made her feel!
Everywhere she turned was a new and wondrous sight!
The dancers at the Moulin Rouge had made her feel courageous and daring and now after tossing and turning all night she wasn't as sure of herself.
Maybe tomorrow she would be brave enough to start her quest. So, Isabella worked at her easel the rest of the day and finally at sunset put her paints away and cleaned her brushes and went to the balcony and sighed as she looked out over the city lights.
It certainly was beautiful here, no matter what time of day it was.
She would always treasure her memories of Paris and her time spent here.
Last week she had gone to several galleries and her mind had swarmed with images like the bee keeps back at the cottage. Each new work of art entertained her with its textures and colors all flying in her field of vision to gain her attention and win her heart. Unable to decide on her favorite she had given up even trying.
She would love them all! Walking back to her hotel she had thought about how to keep from forgetting everything she was experiencing, for she didn't own a camera or tape recorder.
She had decided to make a book of her adventures and would write it all down and illustrate it and stitch it all together. She had already accumulated lots of mementos and couldn't wait to begin her new project.
It was with these thoughts that she went to sleep that night and soon found herself dreaming of the most enchanted garden with flower fairies and pixies dancing about.
Isabella smiled in her sleep as beautiful velvet gowned maids came with trays of tiny fruit tarts and pies with rose petals scattered about releasing the most intoxicating smells and aromas.
She woke feeling as if she had been the most pampered princess in Paris and couldn't help but feel that today was the day to seek out her Prince Charming.
She could just imagine herself having tea and conversation with the handsome baker as the birds serenaded them with love songs.
Isabella quickly went about her morning routine and was soon walking down the street past the galleries and bookstores when she came upon a sign for a Patisserie.
Gypsy Tarts it said in gilded art nouveau lettering on the glass window and above was a wooden sign with a painting of a Gypsy  with wings holding a tart! That was certainly clever!
She peeked inside to see if she could see the the baker and was surprised to find two little girls looking right at her!
Taking a step back away from the window she decided to go in instead of run which was what she would normally have done. Paris had given her the courage of Joan of Arc and she would not be afraid to follow her heart!
As she went inside she was almost overwhelmed by the smell of lavender and peaches and couldn't take her eyes from the cases filled with lovely treats! They were all so deliciously beautiful and covered with tiny roses and edible flowers made from fondant. She wanted to taste one of each!
A woman's voice from behind the counter asked if there was something she would like and as she tore her eyes away from the pastry she saw the most gorgeous woman she had ever seen.

She was dressed like a gypsy and reminded her of the image painted on the sign out front. This must be the bakers wife and those adorable young girls dressed in Marie Antoinette costumes must be his daughters and she should just leave the recipes before she embarrassed herself in front of them!
She placed the cards on the counter and said I found these and I think they belong to the baker who owns this shop, please give them to him for me. A movement in the corner of her eye caught her attention and she turned to see the baker coming from the kitchen in the back!
Then she was suddenly out the door and nearly running back to her hotel with her face on fire and a coldness creeping into her heart and almost shutting her throat. She took short hot breaths as she tried to calm herself and not cry right there in front of the people passing her by.
She was foolish.
She had always been foolish.
She made up things in her head and painted pictures of imaginary worlds and she couldn't blame anyone but herself for the pain she was beginning to feel in the pit of her stomach.
She had gotten lucky with the success at the Gallery but it wasn't going to be as easy to find a husband! Well, she knew she didn't need one anyway, or at least her sensible side knew that!
She decided to paint some more and then go home. She longed to see her Father's smile and only a hug from Sadie would help mend this torn place inside her that seemed to grow blackened with frostbite with each passing moment.
Climbing under the covers, safe in her room,  she remembered Scarlett's words of tomorrow and squeezed her eyes shut pushing out the tears waiting there and prayed for sleep.
Isabella had always sought sleep to overcome her blue moods and this was the only thing she could do. She knew better than to believe in love at first sight and she would get up tomorrow without any nonsensical ideas stealing her attention and get to work and then see the sights and then plan her return  home, where she knew she belonged.
~to be continued~

Isabella goes to Paris...Part III

Isabella was so glad she had taken care with her appearance that morning, putting on her newest frock and dabbing some rose water behind each ear. This was such a pleasant change from her usual work dress and apron and she hoped her face was not as red as she felt it must be as she reached out and graciously took a blueberry tart from the Baker's tray.
She looked up through her lashes and said thank you as he smiled and said " Of course! I wanted to repay you for finding one of my lost recipes! They came with me all the way from California and were hand written by my Mother and would be impossible to replace, even though I know them by heart. He set the tray of tarts down on the counter and with a small bow he said "au revoir et salut. "
Isabella turned with a sigh and took a small bite from the tart.
It melted in her mouth and reminded her of days spent by the creek picking blueberries and laying on a quilt in the shade of the ancient oaks and reading books and watching Sadie run through the field of Queen Anne's lace.
She would have to find out where his Patisserie was located and return the other recipe card she had found; surely it belonged to him.
Him.
She had forgotten to ask his name or even tell him hers.
She was not very skilled in flirting or even simple dialog when she considered how tongue tied he made her feel.
Is that what love is?
It wasn't very comfortable she thought as she sipped her tea and waited for the gallery owner to return with her portfolio.
She knew she would dream of pastry tonight and slowly enjoyed the last bit of tart.
If only she could mix the proper shade of golden brown she could paint his image and have a memento of this day. Telling herself she would return to her hotel room and paint she concluded her meeting with the Gallery owner who had returned from his back office with a huge grin and a promise of some very good news for her soon, she quickly wrapped another tart in her napkin and juggled her portfolio and pocketbook and said her goodbyes.
The days passed quickly and before she knew it she had managed to fill several watercolor pads with finished paintings. She had lost all perspective on whether they were any good, she had just sketched and painted with abandon, allowing her brush to paint what her heart felt.
Isabella had received a note from the Art Gallery that said she should come visit right away and so after getting dressed and wrapping her newest paintings in tissue and placing in her bag she was off to see Mr LaPierre at the shop. She had dreamed that he had a grand opening Exhibition of her work and the Queen of England herself had visited and purchased a painting for her sitting room!
Moving quickly down the street she was almost to the Gallery when she noticed a small piece of paper stuck near a bicycle rack. She stopped to pick it up and was delighted to find that it was another recipe!
Today she would search the neighborhood until she found that blueberry tart chef and maybe he would invite her to tea in his gratitude. Maybe she would finally learn his name.
Maybe he would sweep her off her feet and...
"Please! You need to stop this day dreaming and get serious! You could sell some paintings, make a name for yourself, be self supporting!"
 She knew she could take care of herself and where had love ever gotten anyone she thought. Her Father had been sad and lonely for as long as she could remember.
The cook had never married after her one true love had been drafted off to war and never come home.
The housekeeper was so happy with her job and filled her free time by knitting that she never seemed to mind being alone.
She broke from her musings and realized she was at the Gallery. Mr LaPierre was standing just inside the door with a grin too large for his face and welcomed her to set her things on the chair and make herself at home.
Then he told her that he had indeed sold everyone of her watercolors for a substantial amount and she almost fainted when she saw the numbers on the cheque he waved in front of her nose!
Well! This certainly made her pause to consider her dreams. Her plans. Her hopes. Her Dream of finding a Prince, a true Love...She had read many books where the man had only proposed marriage after finding the heroinne had a fortune. So many books that she thought what if I become famous and rich and men only seek my company for those reasons?
She placed the cheque in her bag and gave him the new paintings and went to find a bank to start an account. Then she would buy more paper and watercolors and that easel she had been dying to have with the build in stool. She could place it anywhere and paint in comfort for hours.
She had never imagined that anyone would want top buy her work and she forgot to ask LaPierre who had bought them all.
She continued to write home about her days in Paris and tried to find postcards  that captured the beauty and style of the city.
Her Father wrote that all was fine with the farm and the animals were all well and the garden coming in nicely. He did mention that Sadie seemed the worse off as she would spend her days either on Isabella's bed or laying on the front porch watching the lane for any sign of her return.
She was starting to really miss home and that news didn't help any!
Really though, she could stay here a while longer, she had much to see and experience and was eagerly anticipating an evening at Moulin Rouge that very night!
~to be continued~

Isabella goes to Paris...Part II

Isabella walked everywhere in the streets of Paris and would often sit and sketch the amazing buildings and sights that she saw. Her hotel was next door to the Cabarets of Heaven and Hell and she would make up fanciful stories with them as the location. It was easy to do, even someone without so active an imagination could probably do it!
She began writing to her Father to let him know she was well and happy and enjoying all the fine things Paris had to offer. She liked the idea that she was now walking on the same cobblestones her Father and Mother had once strolled and was hopeful that Fate would bring about a true love for her as well.
One day she woke up and put on her happiest stockings and after having a sip of wine (for courage!) decided to take some of her drawings around to different shops and see if any of the owners wanted to sell them for her. There were so many artists in Paris that she felt almost ashamed of her meek efforts. But she needed to make money as her wallet was growing slim and she had not even met one single person, more or less her One True Love.
Isabella knew that if she went back to the cottage without a husband she would end up an old maid. Her heart was so full of love that it was impossible to imagine that she would not be able to share that with someone. There must be a match for her.
If only she knew where to look, she would go there right this very minute.
She picked up her portfolio and locked her hotel room door and said goodbye to the doorman and walked into another lovely day in Paris.
The air seemed sweeter and the flowers more vivid than at home.
Perhaps it was all the bakeries and patisseries all over the city that made it smell like Heaven!
As she strolled down the sidewalk, enjoying the colorful dresses and fashionable hats of the French women she would keep her eyes on the ground for any bit of something she might keep as a souvenir of her time here. She had an album at home for keepsakes and postcards and she hoped to add a few more pages to it once she finally returned.
Hello! What was that bit of paper at her feet?

It was a recipe for Angel Food Cake!
Written out on a stained and crumbled bit of index card. She thoughtfully put in in her small bag and continued on her way, wondering to herself if it was a sign.
Even though no one else at home believed in them, she did!
She would often have strange things happen, like the Bible would fall from the bedside table and then suddenly the door bell would ring and there would be Father Goodman calling for tea.
 Or one time she was at the grocery and ran into a whole display of dog food with her cart and later that day a neighbor had brought over Sadie as a tiny pup and asked if she would like to have her.
Maybe the recipe meant something?
Maybe it was just a scrap of paper that had been lost and didn't mean anything her more sensible side argued. Her sensible side had been quite upset over this whole ordeal and longed to be home, safe with her orderly schedule and tatting.
The rhythm and repetition kept her hands busy and her mind occupied and she didn't feel lonely as she tatted for hours in the lovely wicker rocker on the porch of the cottage. She could smell the wisteria and lavender almost as surely as she was there.
She couldn't let her sensible self ruin this for her because this would be her only chance at a Romantic Adventure and she was going to enjoy it! She had worked hard all her life and never expected any thanks because it was her duty but now she finally had done something selfish and yet she believed that her Father understood and wished her success, once he had gotten over his initial grief at being abandoned so suddenly.
Maybe after she had shown her drawings and watercolors around town she would grab a petite morsel and eat it in her room and then do some tatting to while away the time and sooth her inner critic.

Maybe she would earn enough money to visit the infamous Moulin Rouge she thought as she walked by and stopped to peer up at the Moon on top. It must be quite wonderful to see a show in such a fanciful place. The city was magical to her and every morning she was enchanted anew when she looked out her window at the view before her.
She could hardly wait to get dressed and be among the crowds so merrily walking around taking in the air and so unaware of the marvelousness that was Paris. Why, she bet that hardly anyone who was born here was even delighted with the architecture or uniqueness of Paris. There were times she had been walking on the beach by her home and heard tourists remarking on the view as they saw it for the first time. It was the same everywhere she imagined. People get used to something and then take it for granted.
It was just as she finished that thought that she saw a flutter of paper land at her boot and she had to step back not to step right on it!
It was another recipe!
This one for donuts! It said comfort at the bottom of the page.
What did that mean? Was it a person's name? Or was it a discription of the fried cake?
She was about to put it in her bag with the other found recipe when a man with an apron and chef hat came running towards her almost knocking her into the bed of lavender and topiary at the doorway to an art gallery. He accidently bumped her portfolio and as it fell to the ground the latch opened and her pages of artwork began to fly about like kites on the breeze. Or maybe it was butterflies like the ones she felt in her stomach as she looked up into the kindest brown eyes she had ever seen.
Just at that very same instant the owner of the Art Gallery came out and said: "Here, Here! What's Going ON??? Madame, may I help you? Did this clod hurt you?" Then he began picking up the drawings and paused as he saw what they were. He looked at Isabella and said "Are these yours? Did you do them?"
She could only nod as her voice had momentarily left her and was off running in a field of daisies, happy with the hope of love or at least mesmerized with infatutaion.
The Chef looked down at her hand and took the recipe, saying, "Pardon me, but this is mine. Thank you for finding it. The wind caught my book just as I was about to put it in my pocket and it has scattered my favorite recipes all over Paris, I am afraid!" With that being said he turned and walked quickly back down the street and soon disappeared from her view in the crowds of people.
Her cheeks felt as warm as wrought iron rail she leaned back on to steady her trembling legs.
He was handsome.
He smelled like bluebarry tarts.
His eyes were so golden brown and crinkled around the edges with laughter just waiting to ring in her ears.
The Art Gallery owner took one look at her and suggested she come in for a spot of tea and a cucumber sandwich as his wife had just made him a midmorning snack and this girl looked as if she needed some fortification. It would also give him a chance to look at her work, which he thought he just might have a buyer who would be interested in them.
Isabella gladly let him assist her into his shop and gratefully sat and sipped her tea as she tried to shake the image of the handsome baker from her mind. He had run off so quickly, he probably wasn't interested in her or had even noticed her.
He just wanted his old recipe!
That was all!
What was wrong with her?
The sensible Isabella stifled for weeks decided to give herself a strict talking to and launched into a lecture, her shoulders  sagging as she listened to her inner monologue rant and rave about love and romance and silliness and butterflies, indeed!
Isabella sighed and was about to admit to herself that she was right when the gallery bell rang and the baker appeared with a large tray of tarts.
~to be continued~

Isabella goes to Paris...

Once upon a time, in a land not far from here, there was a girl with hair as brown as chestnuts and eyes that glowed like rich caramel candy and she was as sweet as my Grandmother's blackberry cobbler with ice cream on a hot afternoon.
She loved to read books and when she was going about her chores, she would pass the time by telling tales to the chickens as she gathered eggs, the cows as she got milk and the pigs as she fed them.
The animals would just sit and listen and nod their heads thoughtfully as she came to an end of each tale (and chore) and sometimes they would almost sigh, as if sad that the stories were over.
They knew that each day they would get to hear another fanciful story so they didn't despair for long and soon forgot entirely as they remembered to eat the food the girl had left for them.

Each day was much like the rest, until one day the girl didn't come to tend to their needs. It was the scullery maid and she had no delightful tales. She went about the chores, caring for the livestock as if no thoughts were in her mind at all!
She never said a word as she filled the basket with eggs, milked the cows (and rather roughly I might add) and then slopped the pigs.
 After she left the animals all gathered round and asked each other what was going on- what could keep the fair, brown haired girl from coming to see them?
For as long as they all could remember she had always been there, each and everyday, in summer and winter, and spring and fall.
She never missed a day.
Something must be dreadfully wrong they decided and someone must be chosen to go investigate.
 Miss Geraldine Hen had just raised her courage to volunteer when the dog came by the barn and said what's going on?
Sadie was a lovely Golden Retriever who had the most beautiful coat of fur and was always happy and smiling.  They shared their concern for the girl with her and she quickly took over and they were all relieved when she said she would be the one to go to the house and find out what had happened to the girl.
  Sadie ran as fast as she could past the waves and the water calling to her.
 She dared not delay in her task for not a moment could be lost until she found out if her Mistress was safe.
She ran through the woods, so thick and wild!
Not stopping to chase the deer or smell the ferns, she ran until she reached the cottage where she hoped the girl was safe.
Maybe she had just slept too late, as Sadie did in the summer sunshine so warm and enchanting.
 Maybe she was ill with a minor cold or just itchy with flea bites like the dog had experienced.
Sadie stopped herself from thinking worse thoughts!
The girl must be all right or her world would never be the same again!
Who would play with her and brush her and tell her stories of knights and champions fighting off dragons and evil?
Nudging the gate open with her mussel she quickly went inside and around to the back window of the girls room. Looking inside the open window she was shocked to see that it was empty.
Sadie went further around the house to the back porch and looked in the kitchen where the cook was busily preparing a meal.
No girl.
But wait!
Was the cook lady crying?
 Yes! Sorrowful sounds and water was coming from her eyes!
The dog felt alarmed, for as long as she could remember the cook had always smiled and patted her back and given her delicious scraps of whatever she was fixing. Now, she didn't even look up, so overcome with sadness was she!
Sadie went into the next room and saw the maid with a piece of cloth drying her eyes and another waxing the furniture. She would wipe a tear and then wipe another from the table. Her eyes were flooded with water and it didn't feel right in there! The room was saturated with misery and it clung to her like a wet towel after her bath.
Shaking it off she went up the stairs toward the Master's room. Maybe there would be some clue as to what had happened to the fine girl that Sadie loved with all of her heart.
Maybe I should take a moment to talk about the Master, for he is important to my story.
Long ago, when he was a young man himself, he had made a trip to Paris and there he had fallen in love with a beautiful woman who could sing like a lark and made him smile each time he saw her. Why, they say that he grinned from ear to ear and never stopped grinning as long as she was near.
One day he invited her to come for a walk with him and she did and as they walked through the streets so alive with vendors selling fruit and artists painting at their easels he summoned the courage to ask her to marry him so that they could never be apart.
Just as she replied lightning cracked and struck the Eiffel Tower.
They both took it as a sign that they should get indoors and celebrate before the rain soaked them to the bone and so they went in the first tea shop they saw.
It was there that he got on one knee and proposed like a gentleman should and she smiled sweetly as she again replied, yes!
Everyone all around them cheered and clicked their tea cups in salutation!
The dog knew this story because the girl had told her many times.
Always stopping to kiss her when she got to this part of the tale.
So she reached the masters room and saw him with his head down on his desk sobbing in mourning with unchecked cries and snuffles and moans of grief.
This must be bad, thought Sadie.
She nudged him with her nose and he absently petted her head and said, not now, girl, go away. I have lost my daughter and I fear my heart has broken.
You see, his dear wife had died giving birth to his sweet daughter and she was all he had. But his daughter, after growing up and hearing the stories of Paris and it's ability to help you find your true love, had grown melancholy over the years and secretly bought a ticket on a ship to go to France and find out if her true love was waiting for her there.
The Father had woken to a note pinned to his pillow and this is what it said:
Dear Father, Please do not be sad or worried about my departure. I must take a journey to find my true love, just as you once did. Hopefully, I will return someday and we will celebrate my wedding together. Please take care of yourself and remember to tend the animals as they will need to be fed while I am gone.
I love you with all my heart but I need to do this. I hope you understand and forgive me for not telling you of my plans. I was afraid you would try to stop me.
With all my love,
Isabella

Sadie went and laid down on Isabella's bed to wait.
Later she would go tell the animals in the barn.
There was no hurry, they had probably not given it a second thought.
Sadie felt sad and worried.


~to be continued~

The Queen of Calamity

When Calamity Kim finishes a project she often feels just like a Queen!

It's almost as if she has been locked in a tower, high above the castle.

She is able to look out and see the sky and the birds and the people far  below going about their daily routine.

While she sits at her sewing machine high above them, sewing day and night...night and day to try and create some new and enchanting apron to wear, the crowds  are unaware that she is so hard at work.

If they knew I'm sure they would come to her with treats of sweet honey and cake and perhaps a bit of ginger tea to quench her  parched throat.

I once was told that a wicked old witch had been so emerald with envy of Calamity Kim's sewing skillz that she had put a spell on her which can only be broken by finding the rare and exotic flower of  a certain type of orchid that only grows in the far away Gardens of Babylon and creating a poultice from the crushed flower and placing that on the tip of her longest finger on her right hand.
The finger that is covered with callus from sewing without her thimble.
But that may be just a rumor and not true, even though it is often whispered and wondered about here in the servants quarters.

They also whisper that she can sometimes be seen in the royal garden walking about, stopping to smell the newly opened rose blossoms or sitting on a cement bench while gazing up at the moon so blue and circled with silver rings, as it sometimes appears.

No one knows who keeps the keys to her tower.

Once I was allowed to carry up the tray with her morning meal and I could only hear the sewing machine as it ran at top speed through her  fabrics.

I stood at her door and listened for a moment and then passed the tray through the opening and set it on the table just on the other side of the door.

I caught a glimpse of her just as she startled at the sound and her cheeks were so flushed and her eyes so bright I thought perhaps she might have a fever.
Perhaps the rumors of a spell were true!
I heard that she was quite  adventurous and wild in her youth and would often celebrate into the wee hours of dawn with merriment and laughter.

But I have never witnessed that and I am sure I would have if it were true, for I have lived here all my life at the castle and served the Calamity Queen all my days.

I do think about her quite a bit as I go about my daily chores.

Her sewing is quite legendary all through the country! Why, I even heard of a lady from France once bought one of her aprons!

She had it shipped all the way over there  and I heard she dances around the Eiffel tower with it on!

Isn't that something to believe?!!

It's what makes me so happy to serve her! She is a sweet and simple woman really, not like those other stuffy, stuck up Queens from other counties!

She used to hop on her horse and ride all over, visiting the people on their farms and giving them small quilts and pincushions and sometimes dolls and hats that she made.

I think that this is one of the reasons that the wicked old witch cast her spell (if it is true at all) because she couldn't stand it that Calamity Kim gave away the very things that she spent so much time and devotion creating. That wicked old witch never gave anybody anything except a headache and she'd cross your eyes if she caught you looking at her sideways!

The King's Guard had taught Calamity to shoot a long rifle when she was still just the princess and she could rope and ride like nobody's business!

I remember back when I was just a small girl myself, and I would  sit on the split rail fence and watch as she rode her prize Appaloosa named Crazy Quilt (because she had spots that looked like one) and my heart would almost burst with pride for our beloved Princess.
Once I even got to go to the beach with her because none of the other servants had finished their chores.

  I will never forget that day as the sun sparkled on the water like a million diamonds but still didn't get near the shine of her eyes as she spoke to me of her love of sewing and how she had dreams for making many things.

Why, she said that she laid awake many nights just thinking about how to do a certain stitch or the best way to embroider a flower.

I knew right then that she was a regular girl at heart, just like me. Except she one day would wear a crown while I would never have more than this simple kerchief.

So, I think I might just get me a ticket on one of those mighty iron horses they call trains and see if I can travel to the Gardens of Babylon in search of the mysterious exotic flower to break her spell.

Then we could go and play by the shore and she could stop being such a slave to her heartless sewing machine and be joyful and carefree as she once was.

I will keep you informed of my progress as I am taking one of the royal carrier pigeons with me.

It will be a long and arduous task but our Queen is worth whatever trials I must bear to get her release. Tally Ho for now, my friends and I shall be back before the chicks grow to lay their own sweet eggs.
Wish me luck upon my journey and when you see a flower, think of me and my quest.

Pictures in this story were borrowed from Nyctreeman at Flickr.

Working on pictures of another finished smock now...hope you liked the story... Love & Stitches, Calamity Kim

Once upon a time...

There was a little girl named Betty who loved flowers.

She would gather seeds and root cuttings and plant them everywhere there was an empty spot.

She lived at the edge of a great dark woods in an old Victorian two story house with an attic full of trunks and wardrobes and a basement that had an old wringer washer and a big coal bin for the furnace. The house was owned by her Aunts who were the only family that she had left after "The Great Accident," of which they never spoke.

Betty loved to go to the library and look at the botanical books and garden manuals and would beg her Aunts to send away for every seed and rose catalog available.

She would only draw flowers in Art class.

Or paint them.

Or collage them from bits of colored papers torn with fingers itching to grow something.

Sometimes,  she would take the long road home just so she could look at all the flowers her neighbors had blooming in their yards.

As she grew older and her flower gardens became larger, they soon went all the way around her house, which was old and in need of a new coat of paint.

Betty would have helped her Aunts fix it up,  but they were poor and quite uninterested in spending good money on something that only the neighbors would enjoy.

Or so they said.

I think it was because they loved the way the paint looked as it aged and crackled and peeled back to expose the lovely cedar wood from which the house had been built.

It reminded them of when the house was first begun and all the handsome carpenter's who had felled the trees in the nearby woods and how wonderful it smelled as their saws worked their way through giant logs leaving piles of sawdust all around.

The Aunts had gathered some of that sawdust and used it to stuff pincushions and rag dolls that they made and sold on Saturdays at their  stand down by the road.

They had honeybees and sold jars filled with the honey they collected.

There was often sachets of lavender and pillows filled with rose petals and all sorts of things sewn and embroidered by the Aunts.

The shoppers would see who could get there the earliest because you never knew what you might find at the Aunts little stand.
They said that there was a little bit of magic stitched in them and if you happened to tear open a doll by accident ( like that old hound dog Ajax did when he ran and grabbed one off the market stand table one day!) you might just find bits of mica and tiny poems and good luck wishes written in tiny perfect penmanship on old pieces of parchment. Or so I heard from the old man that owns that Ajax dog!

At first the line was just one or two ladies with their empty market baskets and fat purses and then as word spread through the county it was 20 or 30 ladies all standing around the  stand waiting for them to appear in their old beat up station wagon.

Betty  loved to hop out and run through the crowd with the vintage linens piled high in her arms till she got to the stand and quickly cleared the dried leaves and spread the cloths out nice,  for the Aunts to display their goods.

As the years past and Betty learned how to sew and stitch samplers of beautiful embroidery stitches,  she started making things to sell at the market stand herself.

Betty loved to wear aprons and giant floppy hats when she gardened and was often complimented by the  ladies when she went to town for supplies.

Betty  would wait patiently for the new shipments of cloth to arrive at the mercantile and would look at each bolt of cloth with such yearning that the shop keeper's wife started giving her the scraps and ends of the bolts just to see her face light up with love and gratitude.

She had never had any children of her own and loved to encourage all the young women to appreciate cloth and thread and the potential that was in them to become something wonderful.

Betty would ask her politely to order fabrics with flowers.
Roses, daisies, pansies, anything she could get!

The shop keeper's wife did and soon Betty had enough fabric to start making quilts and aprons and hats and earn more money to buy more fabric and she was so happy.

She would cover the aprons with flowers and images cut from fabric and use scraps of linen and old tea towels.

The garden hats were the best because all the women wanted one!

She could sell all she could sew!

What a delightful way to make a dollar!

She loved to imagine all the plants it would buy and rose bushes and maybe some day she would be able to hire a painter to come pretty up the old house to its former splendor.
***

I am sharing this story with you because I was lucky enough to be first in line one Saturday morning and I filled my basket with honey, fresh baked blackberry scones, a few pincushions, an armful of fresh cut flowers wrapped in brown paper and a gorgeous apron made by Botanical Betty.

Would you like to see it?
You would?
well....maybe tomorrow when I can take it out in the sunshine and get a good picture.
For now, you'll just have to know that it is lovely and has roses and embroidery and bits of this and that sewn to it!
Almost like a trip back in time, to a simpler age when things were sweet and charming.

Toodle loo for now, I must get back to work.
I just thought you'd like a little story since I have been so busy this week and dreadful neglectful on the Blog.

I love you, dearies!

Calamity Kim

original story by me,
2008,
not to be copied or used without permission from  me
or there will be dire calamities to you and yours!
believe it!

By Hook or Crook!

Dear Friends:

     Good Morning! I am excited to report that I have learned to crochet!
At least two types of stitches- or moves of the hook- I can hardly believe it, after trying many years unsuccessfully to teach myself, I finally learned from Deb at Picasso's Moon.
I know that you would love to see a picture, but I am going back for another lesson and after I have finished, then I will show you.
I know this may not seem like a BIG DEAL but it is for me! Imagine my aprons with a smidgen of crochet ruffling around the rim.
Oh, the flowers I can make!
The Granny Square  Scarf  I have always wanted- just like this one from Victorian Trading Co.
Yes, the possibilities will be endless.
I am so happy. I got it! My hook was gliding and turning and doing it and I couldn't believe it! It's another Craft Miracle, I tell ya! Sing it! Hallelujah!
Last night when I got home wearing the apron I was crocheting on the hem, with the ball of yarn in my pocket and a sack full of take out,  we ate and then started watching There Will Be Blood.
Now, I don't know if you have seen it, and I don't want to ruin it for you, BUT, it was strange.
We kept looking at each other and asking what's up with the music?
Like, it was eerie and unsettling, and the tension mounted and then after a while, you realized just how bad Daniel Day-Lewis's character was.
He was a Bad man. There is no doubt of his acting abilities, and I get that playing a villain is the better role as it has more depth and motivation, BUT, do we need to have another Bad Man Succeeding?
So, just about all the movies that we have watched that were nominated for Academy Awards last year had Bad Men in them.
Like the Bad Guys won.
Sad. Where are all The Good Guys? Paul Newman is in the kitchen, Robert Redford is  on his ranch,  my childhood heroes are dead.  I miss  Cary Grant and Errol Flynn, Rock Hudson, Steve McQueen, Jimmy Stewart.
I wish I could unwatch it, as it cast a shadow on my glow of crochet happiness and even this morning I woke with a twinge of  doom settling around me. I would like to shake it off the etch-a-sketch of my mind and start fresh.
What a bad feeling I got from this "film". Scheezch! I should have put on my shield of protection first- the raincoat covered in smiley faces-made of Teflon so all bad juju bounces right off! You have one too, don't ya?
I need me some unicorns and rainbows and more carrot cupcakes!!
Anyway, whatever.
I should research them more before I just rent them.
I just didn't get it- why this guy was the way he was.
It didn't explain why he hated people like he did- just that he did.
I can understand Zombies.
I can't understand hate.

***

Anyway, I am off to learn more crochet!
Thanks for all the comments on the hat- I will make some more, just as soon as I get this crochet thing out of my system!
Another addiction, just what I need!
:) Love & Stitches, Calamity Kim