Fabrics To Dye For Blog

Of Sharps and Sharps---She's Needling Me Again.

Jenny and I have this agreement regarding the things I write about. Since I don't know much of anything about the various hobbies and avocations that FTDF supports through its sales, she's immersed herself in an education campaign. That sort of thing could, by all previous indications, be somewhat of a wasted effort; after all, those years of primary school, secondary school, and college didn't result in much. That expression about new tricks for old dogs could prove applicable here, no doubt about it.

Part of Jenny's ongoing attempt to make me smarter about what she does is to periodically put various things that she offers for sale on my desk, by my keyboard. The theory is that I'll notice them and ask what they are, and therefore become wiser about the mysteries of quilting, fabric painting, appliqué, et al. Sometimes that works. Sometimes, it doesn't.

This morning's present was several packages of needles. Now, in my world, or at least in the world I used to inhabit, a needle is a needle. Some of them are big. Some are little. Some are in-between. Some are stout enough to use on leather. At the end of the day, though, a needle is a needle. Or was.

Some of the distinctions make sense. For example, even I know you can't put a needle made for hand sewing in a sewing machine, or at least I don't think you can. I suspect someone could hand sew with a machine needle though, if push came to shove (no pun intended), though maybe not. The thing that strikes me is the variety of names given to the darned things; appliqué needles (in English or in French; you pick), demi-longues, darners (darn it!?), embroidery needles, sharps, and more. There are other names, I'm sure, but those are the ones that most commonly show up on the stack 'o stuff that's on the desk today. The thing is, they all look pretty much like needles to me. There's no doubt in my mind each and every one of them will sew and, in my hands, draw blood as well. A name's a name.

Except, of course, for the sharps. I haven't asked Jenny yet (maybe I should?), but I'm thinking that the word "sharp" is some sort of industry-specific term for "needle". Maybe it is. Then again, maybe it isn't. To me, there's one kind of Sharps. That particular item has a barrel length running between 22 and 34 inches, weighs up to 16 pounds or so, and will accurately shoot a 500-grain projectile out to 1,000 yards give or take. Yep, we're talking about the legendary Sharps rifle, much-loved by frontier Army officers, sportsmen, and buffalo hunters. Said Sharps was a premium rifle in its day, and was far from inexpensive even in the 1870s. Those rifles that have survived into the modern era are expensive collectables, and the shooting replicas of them are almost as expensive as some of the originals. They are extremely desirable for those who enjoy the mystique of antique firearms, and day before yesterday Jenny informed me that she had a lot of them (sharps, that is), in all different styles. Aha!, thought I. A side of Jenny I never knew---she collects Sharps rifles! Be still, my beating heart. I was pretty much quivering with anticipation as she went to get her sharps for me---it was better than Christmas!

Which is when I found out that sharps are needles. She showed me the sharps. I shook my head and laughed that laugh of disappointment that I used to emit at Christmas when I opened Aunt Silvie's package and got socks instead of a model airplane. A lesson learned, as it were.

So now I know about sharps. I already knew about Sharps. I'm really going to have to watch what I say around here!

   hasta bye bye,

     phil

Things That Passeth All Understanding

There's an advantage of sorts to having no knowledge whatsoever of the things you write about. I know this is true---all you have to do is read the musings of our nation's various political pundits and it becomes abundantly clear that lack of understanding is an ok thing. It is, in all honesty, far easier in many respects to describe things about which you have no knowledge whatsoever, no previous life experience, no familiarity. In short, I've been poking around the inventory again.

Our inventory is a constant source of amazement to me. It occurs to me that a lot of people must use all this stuff because it exists and, because we sell it. I can understand the concept. I have hobbies of my own, and some of the things I work with are fairly obscure. That makes me a kindred spirit of sorts, but it doesn't curtail the confusion any---I just don't know what some of these things are. Take, for example, Color Change Thread. It comes in different colors, and those colors change after the thread has had any sort of exposure to UV light (sunlight, that is). I have no idea what it's used for (but I kindof wish we'd had it back in the Sixties) and don't think I've ever seen it incorporated into any sort of garment or work piece. It's pretty spiffy stuff, but I have trouble figuring out who'd use it and why. So, what do you folks use it for? (I could ask Jenny, but that's too easy!)

Then there's Aunt Becky's Finger Protector. It's a little flat doohickey that goes under the work piece, and keeps you from puncturing yourself during the sewing process. This is one of those things even I can appreciate, having taken a stab (no pun intended, but truth revealed) at sewing on the odd button or two during my time on The Planet. Can you say "Yeeeow!!!"? I suspect we all owe Aunt Becky a debt of gratitude for this one---at least all of us guys do! (Do you think she makes a protector that works for X-Acto knives too?)

My final entry tonight is a puzzler to me. It's a bias tape maker by some folks named Clover. This one's a fabricated tool, with moving parts, and it helps you make your own bias tape if you don't want to buy it ready-made. It sort-of makes a smiley face at you when it's sitting there in the package, It comes with instructions; a Good Thing to be sure. I'm told it works well, although I don't have a clue how it functions---it might be easier to understand if I knew what bias tape was, but I'm guessing it's one of those mysteries that will be revealed to me in time. It doesn't seem to work as a bottle opener, so we know one thing it won't do, but it's apparently a whiz at making bias tape.

So there you have it---Phil's confused again! I'm learning, though. I promise I am. It's just taking a while.

   hasta bye bye,

     phil

Further Adventures in Technology or, It's Gotta Be Easier Than This

   

When last we spoke of technology and its direct application to and influence on both Fabrics to Dye For and Jenny's disposition, we determined that things weren't going as well as they could. That's still the case, but things are getting better, albeit on a somewhat limited scale. Some of the things that weren't quite up to snuff before are still pretty much in the cellar (that would, of course, be the internet service in our part of South Texas, fatally flawed by placement of the antenna in a bird-rich environment) and are seemingly destined to remain that way 'til the end of time. This is annoying, to say the least, but it's also a chance for us to rise to the occasion, overcome all obstacles, work the problem, and move ahead in a forceful manner. It's an opportunity to excel. Sounds good, doesn't it? Yep, I know it's a load of hooey too, but we need to keep a positive spin on things, don't we? It's good for the soul.

Anyway, The internet problem is defined, and apparently isn't going to improve any time soon. Status quo, as it were. So, you might ask, what is it that's getting better? Well folks, they fixed the phone!!! Let me tell you a story...

Jenny moved down here (both self and business) before Christmas. An immediate requirement for a business was, and is, multi-line telephone service. Easy enough. We'll call the Big Phone Company, they'll get the lines squared away, and we'll be rocking. Or not.

It was a Line 1 issue. There are others, but Line 1 is special, because it's Line 1 and, more importantly, because we're paying for it so it's going to work, by Golly! The Big Phone Company determined that our internal wiring was all set for multiple telephone lines. They installed the box and flipped the switch. Line 1 was dead as a post. We called the phone company and they checked their stuff (they're only responsible for what's outside the building---inside is ours---and once again determined that everything was fine. It was fine too, except for that pesky Line 1, which was still totally, entirely, completely dysfunctional. You can make either a sighing noise or an "arghh!" sound at this point. We did both.

OK then, the stuff on the outside is ok, so it's gotta be an internal issue. Let's buy new equipment. The old stuff is a little dated anyway, so let's kill two birds with one big rock. Fair enough. The new system is purchased, the rock is thrown. The Dead Phone Line Bird is still alive and well. Arghh!

There we were. Plan A had failed. Plan B had failed. It was time to implement Plan C and call an electrician, preferably one familiar with the Big Wonderful World of Telecommunications. We did. He came. He saw. He said all the internal wiring was just fine, and there was no issue with the equipment. Of course, he said that after  he had accidentally but almost irrevocably killed the phone system. An expensive one-hour service call turned into a really expensive two-hour service call, but when the guy left everything was back to normal, "normal" including the fact that Line 1 was dysfunctional. It's time to say "arghh!" again.

Desperation was the root cause of Plan D, which was to call The Big Phone Company again. We did. They came out, looked at the box, and told us a module was dead in the box, said it probably always had been. They'd never seen anything like it before, because those never fail. Ever. The replacement of said module took less time than it would take to say "he replaced the module". Line 1 now works like a champ, as do all the other lines. The FAX is happy. The 'net is still kindof flakey, but we're learning to live with that. It's a Green Acres thing.

Next time you call in an inquiry or place an order, ask Jenny about Line 1. We're proud of Line 1, you know. And keep the birds off your water tower.

  hasta bye bye,

    phil

Adventures in Carpentry

Here we go---yet another shot at understanding the wonderful world of textiles. You probably have all figured out by now that I don't know very much about this sort of thing. There was a lot of quilting going on in my family when I was a little guy, and all the womenfolk in the family sewed, but that's the norm if you're from rural North Georgia. Add that to the fact that I possess a certain seniority on life, and have actually watched several of my aunts sewing on leftover 19th century treadle machines to make utilitarian garments intended to be worn by assorted nieces and nephews, and you can figure that I know a little, but only a little, about the kind of stuff that Jenny does. With that said, I won't go so far as to say that I'm baffled by any of the hobby, but I must admit to the occasional bout of confusion.

That brings us to the subject of this little tome; A New Experience in Fabric Painting. Jenny paints fabric for a hobby, and sometimes for sale. She's good at it, and she does some neat stuff. People sometimes pay her for her work. I painted some fabric once, when I was in second, or maybe third, grade. I was not paid for the results of that particular escapade, but I digress. We aren't talking about me---we're talking about Jenny or, more specifically, about painting fabric.

My somewhat curtailed career as a fabric painter involved the creation of an artistic work while the material was resident on the person of one of my friends. It was not, even then, an effective way to get the job done. Jenny took a somewhat more rational approach to the topic and asked for the creation of a couple of painting tables. Painting tables, huh? No big deal, right? I've had artsy friends most of my life, and a lot of them were painters. Some of those easels are pretty big, so this must be the same sort of thing. Well, maybe not. It turns out there are a couple of different kinds of painting tables; open and closed (or at least that's what I'm calling them---I'll bet they have real names but I don't know what they are). I was told that a couple of tables were needed, and the back yard would be a fine place for them to live. OK, sounds fine to me. I'll call my son, the carpenter, and he'll make a couple of all-weather fabric painting tables. No sweat, GI! 

Patrick came over. Jenny and Patrick designed the tables, and Patrick built them. They are well crafted, and substantial, and BIG. The one that I'm going to call the covered table is four feet wide and sixteen feet long. The open one is much smaller, only four by nine feet, but there are two of that one. They don't crowd the back yard much, because the back yard is really big, but they're large enough to be a hazard to navigation during lawn-cutting season. They do seem to be multifunctional---the labs have taken to using them for shelter on warm days. (This is Texas. We have warm days in March. And February. And every other month of the year. Don't tell the Global Warming folks.) Birds seem to like them. Airplanes and helicopters flying over Texas hill country are using them as map references. There's all that, plus a lot of people have taken to staring at them as they drive down our street. We haven't had any painting table-inspired wrecks yet but I figure it's only a matter of time before we do, what with all that rubbernecking going on. Nobody's asked what they're for, but it's bound to happen sooner or later. When it does, I'm going to tell 'em we're trying to contact space aliens with it and just wait til they see the antennas we're going to put up! Or maybe I'll tell 'em we're doing it to combat global warming, or maybe to forestall the dawn of the new ice age that's just around the corner, or maybe I'll just tell 'em we're trying to counter the ongoing threat of wooly bear caterpillers to mankind and therefore to civilization as we know it. I'll tell you how it all turns out. 

Oh, and Jenny still hasn't painted anything on the tables, though I'm sure she will some day. Ain't life grand?

   hasta bye bye,

      phil

Technology; Ain't It Grand?

Technology; Ain't It Grand?

Well, here we are; another beautiful day in rural Texas. The sun is shining, the birds are singing outside the window, the Labradors are dozing on the patio, and Jenny is steaming. Not steaming as in vegetables, not steaming as in putting a crease in my trousers, but steaming. That would be mad, to those of you unfamiliar with the term.

It wouldn't be out of place for you to ask yourself "What did he do this time?", since I am an adult male and am therefore more than capable of annoying those around me from time to time, or maybe even more often than that. The answer is: This time it wasn't me! I didn't do it! I'm clean!

Now, Jenny doesn't display unhappiness often. In point of fact, she's one of God's more consistent and even-dispositioned souls. It takes a lot to get her riled. She's riled. It's a technology thing, you see. Fabrics to Dye For exists because of technology. Jenny paints fabric, dyes fabric, designs fabric, and quilts too, but the primary business is one of selling stuff to other people who are similarly inclined. That means e-mail. That means telephone calls. That means FAXes (which, in turn, means more telephone calls; think of the way a FAX works). That means, at the end of the day, a substantial reliance on The Goodness of Technology.

Technology ain't cooperating these days.

We need to talk about this because it impacts you---our customer---too! Sometimes it's tough to get through to us. We know this for a fact because we hear it often. Why, you might ask yourself, is that the case? Why can't you get through? Therein lies the tale!

First of all, there's the internet. This is an internet business, so having a functional internet is desirable and, perhaps even, dare I say it; imperative. Our internet service is functional, but it has a mind of its own. It's always there, or at least it's usually always there, but it isn't always as fast as it could be. It's a wireless service, and the sending antenna for same is less than a quarter mile from this very spot, atop one of our community's water towers. A straight shot, as it were. It's like that little girl who had a little curl; when it's good, it's great. When it's bad, it's horrid! The problem is, you can't ever tell when it will be good or bad---it just sort of comes and goes. It's our misfortune and none of your own, to turn the tables on an old trail song, but it's still a problem, and mere mention of the internet in any context will bring clouds to Jenny's horizon on even the best of days. (I'm pretty sure it's birds pooping on the antenna way up there on that tower, but maybe it isn't. I've been wrong before, although it was only once and a very long time ago. Still, my money's on the birds.)

You'd think that would be enough, birds or otherwise, but then there's the phone. It's a business phone because, after all, this is a business. Telephone technology isn't very tough, you know. The basic principles of it have been well-known since the 1880s. The hardware has improved by leaps and bounds since then (don't send your sarcastic comments to me---I'm being optomistic here!) and the telephone as an invention is relatively bulletproof, except that ours doesn't work too well. It's a selective thing---some of the lines work all the time, but there's one that works pretty much when it pleases. Jenny's had The Big Phone Company out to have a look. The Big Phone Company will assume responsibility for the phones as far as the structure and their box, at which point it becomes an FTDF issue. Fair enough. The Big Phone Company has checked things out and assures us it's not their lines. (Not unexpected, that.) That, in turn, led to a call (on one of the functioning lines) to The Little Local Phone Fixer Uppers. Their conclusion? It's not in the building. It's a Big Phone Company Problem. After due consideration, I've come to see it as a paradox, worthy of inclusion in Joseph Heller's classic Catch 22.

This is pretty frustrating all the way around, and we know it annoys you folks too. We apologize for it. We're working the problem---we really are. Meanwhile, every cloud has a silver lining, and Jenny says this whole technology thing has one too. When things were all said and done, the mess inspired us to go out and buy the first season of "Green Acres" on DVD. The stars of that show were also trying to deal with technology in a small town; Kindred spirits, as it were, and something to laugh at and to keep us sane. Remember when they got their new telephone, and it was hooked up at the top of their telephone pole so they had to climb the pole to use the phone? 'Nuff said!

But don't mention internet in Jenny's hearing, please!

  hasta bye bye,

     phil

Musings From Fabrics To Dye For, or What's Happening Here Anyway?

Howdy, Ya'll!

It was an easy enough concept, at least it seemed so at first consideration. Meet the girl, fall for the girl, bring the girl home to Texas, live happily ever after. Of course, the girl has a business too, which means The Texas Boy has to learn about same. It's the right thing to do. It goes without saying, of course, that the business isn't anything The Texas Boy has ever been exposed to except in an extremely periphial manner, so there's this tiny learning curve. Boy, Howdy; is there a learning curve. Still, the girl's here, and so is the business, so here we go:

First thing, right off the bat, there's The Sidewinder Issue. What, you may ask, is a Sidewinder? It's a fair question, and one asked more than once by The Texas Boy, who happens to be somewhat thick regarding such matters. After all, there are sidewinders aplenty in Texas. Some, but not many, live in extreme West Texas. They're a couple of feet long, give or take, and have vile dispositions and fangs. They shimmy on their bellies like a reptile, to steal a phrase from an old Ray Stevens song, because they are, after all, reptiles. The other kind live mostly in the big cities of the Lone Star State and make their living by lying, cheating, stealing, and generally defaming the good name of a relatively innocent reptile. It's a stretch of sorts to understand how in the world rotten people acquired the name of a largely innocuous snake but they did, not that it matters any, because this ramble is about neither snake nor scoundrel but rather about a sewing implement of the same name; The Sidewinder, by Wright.

I'm told it's a nifty little product and makes winding a bobbin much easier than it would otherwise be. The Girl That Came to Texas has a bunch of orders for them, and a lot of customers anxiously anticipating the arrival of same. ("Same" being the bobbin winder and not the girl!) Well, they're here now, and The Girl is working herself to a frazzle making sure they get shipped. That's good news, or at least I'm told it is. All of you folks who ordered one should be seeing it in a couple of days, which beats the dickens out of the couple of months everybody was thinking it was going to be. Progress of a sort! (Pack and ship. Pack and ship. All we ever do around here is pack and ship!)

Why, you might ask, am I telling you about bobbin winders in my first installment of what may, for better or for worse, turn into an ongoing series of disjointed rambles about almost anything you can think of? It's hard to say, except that I wanted to help out and maybe explain that the Sidewinders are on their merry way to your house, presuming, of course that you ordered one in the first place. That being accomplished, I shall now move on to even greater endeavors, like trying to pursuade Jenny that it's really ok for me to buy a Ducati.

Meanwhile, I do have one question to ask---a parting shot, if you will. What's a bobbin?

  Hasta Bye Bye,

     phil