Healing In The Mess

Choosing to heal.

Back in April, I needed to repair a pair of jeans that I had made a couple of years ago as I had walked through them. To be totally honest, they are not the best thing I have ever sewn together; a back panel wasn’t cut on the grain and looks a bit funky, and the zipper… just don’t look at the inside as it’s a crazy mess. But I love these jeans. They are as soft as butter, faded to the lightest blue, and the back pockets are fraying. What these jeans have taught me is that healing is messy; we heal in the mess. The patches that we choose to cover our scars with can be beautiful, but we are the ones that can choose how we mend them. 

The life cycle of my jeans has been an interesting one to go through. Firstly, I made them. I cut them out and made a few mistakes (they were only my second pair of handmade jeans), and there have been times when I have had to wash them more than I would normally like due to heavy gardening on random Sundays with friends, or spilling coffee on them and looking like a goofball in the local cafe. For years I turned the cuffs up twice so sand would collect in them every time I went to the beach, until two weeks ago I just cut them to a length which is now (to be honest), an inch too short. They have travelled with me, and they have been a spring and summer staple in the wardrobe since they were sewn together. 

Mending my clothes is something that reminds me of my psychotherapy sessions, which I hasten to add is a very good feeling. My weekly sessions with Jo were a dedicated hour in the week where I could stop, pick up my life, and take a good look at the rips and tears that needed attending to. I could analyse how the cloth of my life got beaten up. Some parts needed to be cut out and discarded, and there were other portions that I could take time to mend. I could choose new threads, pretty buttons, a better zipper, or a higher quality of material to patch and mend my life. 

Choosing The Seams

Choosing the seams.

When I started working on my own healing I walked into Jo’s ‘Head Shed’ (her garden therapy room), not knowing anything much about myself. I knew I loved Finchley and my brothers, and that they were my solid foundation - I could trust them and they never hurt me or let me down. The rest of life looked like a world obliterated through napalm followed by a fair few atom bombs. Over the years I learned that healing was not a ‘To-Do’ list that I had to tick off in order to achieve a state of ‘Fixe’, for me it was a process of self discovery and a place where I could let go - to cut out - the parts of my life - my cloth - that was damaged beyond a point I chose. I could then choose which seams I wanted to use to stitch the life around it. 

Hand sewn Feld and French seams were chosen for their strength and depth for the parts of my life where I really wanted to dig into after the proverbial scissors had done their work. Whip stitches tacked around edges that needed to be stabilized with friendships, and an overlocker was brought out for a quick fix that would get everything together without an argument.

The re-connecting of ragged cloth gave me a canvas, and I realised that I didn’t like the colour of it. It had become as washed out grey; there was no excitement, and it still didn’t offer me a hint of what I wanted to move into. It was repaired, but with Jo’s guidance, I needed to work out how I wanted it to fit me. The whole of me. My mind, body, soul and heart. 

Adding Colour

Adding the colour

Colour was the surprising part of my therapy sessions, and I started to see it come out in my wardrobe as we travelled through my metaphorical and physical spaces. I started turning away from the feeling of control that had been placed on my fashion choices through my mum, who had made sure my colour analysis had been done when I was around 12 years old, and had used it to box in my style ever since. At the age of 40 I was finally able to admit that I hate the colour of oatmeal and I wanted to wear purple.

Silver sages and seafoam greens started to appear, and I began to love the gentle pinks and blues that I could see reflected in the natural world around me as I started to plan my move to the coast, and away from the greyness of the commuter belt. I noticed that the patterns I was creating with my knitting became more adventurous, with cables travelling through my sweaters, and colour-work became my go-to so that I could experiment in mixing patterns and colours, rather than wearing clothes in square blocks. 

It came full circle last autumn when I decided to work in earth tones for a season. It was a wrench, and there were some that made my body feel anxious (it turns out that sludge green and oatmeal are dead and gone forever in my life, and that’s absolutely ok!). My healing palette was brighter greens, ochre, and burnt reds, but I have come to realise that I only need a couple of these in my wardrobe for the depths of winter, rather than carrying them with me as a self-styled brand imposed on me as a child. 

Patching The Holes

Darning my walking socks

There isn’t a hole in my ‘life-cloth’ that I am needing to cut out any more. There may be ones that come along in the future, but my life is more about patching and darning now, which is a comfortable place to be. As I was revisiting the patching of my jeans for the second time in the same place this week, I realised that the patches I had used the first time around had been too dainty. They only just covered the holes on the inside seams of the jeans; they had actually required full-on zig zag stitches, visible running stitches, and a patch that covered them a good inch further in all directions.

For the mend, I chose a soft chambray for the patches for the simple reason that the denim is now so soft and worn that a heavy duty 12oz patch would be ridiculous. It is a bit like choosing the right thread to darn my socks; silk for my bed-socks is perfect, whereas a full on woollen spun yarn for my hiking socks will get me to the top of the Cornish hills this autumn. The colours don’t have to match either, as a cream v-neck sweater can be enhanced by a glaring pop of colour on an elbow. But whatever material is chosen for the mending, the patch has to cover a much broader area than the injury and sewn in securely with anchor stitches and strong weaves. 

You can’t half-ass healing.

To mend my jeans the second time,I got the whole arsenal out; the iron, sewing machine, and all-the-things from my sewing corner. There was no half-assing this time around. I cut the stringy threads and patched it thoroughly on both sides. 

Mending, choosing to heal, they are choices. It’s true, I could just make another pair of jeans, and believe me, I will! But the time it takes to heal the ones I already have is a representation of the time I dedicated to healing myself to this point. There will be times when I get worn down and need to spend more time in Jo’s ‘head-shed’, but I would rather do that than just grab the nearest, shiniest, newest fashion that is filling me with dopamine hits. 

Patching is deeply un-sexy, and it’s counter cultural in our fast-fashion driven world. I would argue that working on ourselves is similar, and you know what, it’s also just really boring most of the time! Mending with a community around us is the healthiest way to heal, and that is why I love the groups that I sew and knit with, it’s the gentlest form of therapy I can think of; small groups of people just hanging out and talking trash most of the time whilst we stitch our clothes and our lives together. 

Darned holes on a cream sweater

A pile of scrap fabric in denim and cotton

a darning loom

“We have to go in there, Mr Frodo, there’s nothing for it. Let’s just make it down the hill for starters”.

Samwise Gamgee ‘Return Of The King’ (Film)

The Day I Forgot My Phone, (And Sewing A Bucket Hat).

As I write to you, dawn is breaking in an ever changing sky.

Hello, Gentlefolk,

As I sit at my writing desk, the sun is rising into a soft blue sky that holds a single cloud hazy with lavenders and roses. I can hear wood pigeons in the hedge, and there are a couple of Robins hopping around the daisies finding an early breakfast.  As I stood in the garden watching the world wake up around me, I have to admit that I took a deep breath in as I became overwhelmed at the beauty of it all. It’s a magical place to call home, and I am so pleased that I am able to share it with you. Today, I thought I would tell you the story of the day I forgot my phone, (and sewing a bucket hat).

It’s been quite the whirlwind here at The Knitted Wardrobe over the past couple of weeks as we have been enjoying one of the most beautiful months of May. Beaches and rivers have been calling, and being able to find time to play on the waters has been the focus of my days. Grebe has become a beautiful evening retreat spot after a day spent writing in the library, and Gylly is turning out to be a fantastic mid-week after work hang-out with friends. But the Helford River was calling for our attention on Sunday, and one place in particular; Frenchman’s Creek. 

There is one fact about pottering around in a canoe with a good friend on a sunny Sunday, and that is the fact that you will get sunburn very quickly if you don’t take care (believe me, I

have learned the hard way!). I am now quite good with the old sunscreen application, however the top of my head often feels like it’s taken a hit. As I was thinking about it on Saturday morning over a cup of tea, I realised that I needed a classic bucket hat to help make my head feel comfortable and also keep the sun off my face. However, spending money on a hat wasn't something I really wanted to do, and it wasn’t until I was in the shower that I remembered that Merchant and Mills offer a free to download bucket hat pattern, and I had enough fabric in stash to rustle something up. 

The result was my first ever hat, and I have to say that I am quite pleased with it! It’s in a soft 8oz cotton pink twill, and the lining is in the Indian block print that I ordered about three years ago; 3.5m of it arrived before I decided that I didn’t like it for a dressing gown, so it’s been implemented in almost every project since. The pink twill was the off cuts of a pair of trousers I made last summer, and I had just enough to piece it all together. The crown top on the hat was made by sewing two strips together so that the seam became the centre, which I then top stitched to match the stitching detail on the crown sides. In the end they didn’t match up perfectly, there’s a couple of millimeters discrepancy on each join, but to be honest, it’s just a bucket hat. 

I wanted to try the wide brim option as I felt that it would come down my forehead far enough to keep the sun from hitting me from the water’s reflection, and I am so pleased I did as I think it worked really well; it’s functional and looks cute. The stitching process for the classic circles around the brim was great fun as I was not only using scrap material out of stash, but I also ended up finishing three reels of thread in different tones of pink and pinky-brown. As I had to keep changing the threads, I confess that the uniformity of the concentric circles is a bit like a roller coaster, rather than a helter-skelter, but hey, it’s a hat. 

My Bucket Hat.

As Sunday rolled around and I packed a picnic for the trip, I popped everything I needed into my dry bag, sunscreen included, and off we went to canoe up the river to Frenchman’s Creek, which is a place I have wanted to visit since the winter when I read Daphne Du Maurier’s book, and consequently fell in love with a Pirate. My friend had never read it but is always up for a good adventure, so off we went. 

As we got to Durgan to off-loaded the boat into the river, I was very pleased that I had not only remembered the hat and cream, but also that I had chosen to wear a shortie wetsuit. As it turned out, I was going to be the entertainment for all the tourists sitting on the beach for as soon as I lifted a foot out of the water to get in, I slipped and went under the foot of water, with my hat in hand. Spluttering and laughing I got up, caught my breath, and giggled as I saw my friend try not to laugh at the funniest and most idiotic thing I could have done! My new hat was drenched before I had even got in the canoe, and so it remained by my feet as we meandered up the lazy river. 

As we paddled past the boats moored up we said hello to people sitting on them enjoying the view and a glass of wine with their lunch. Egrets flew close to the banks as fish jumped and splashed about hunting for insect snacks. Oak trees flowed down the banks of the river into the water, creating tiny eco systems where life could thrive. The sound of water lapping against our little wooden hull reminded me of times as a kid when we would visit the lakes and enjoy BBQs with my family in the States; those halcyon times of the late 80’s when anything seemed possible and making sure there was enough corn on the cob and watermelon to eat was the most important thing to do. 

We gently floated along with the current and found Frenchman’s Creek. It was smaller than I had imagined and I couldn’t quite picture how a Piraite’s ship that was as big as the one I had imagined could be hidden there, but there was an old wreck hanging out on a small patch of mud surrounded by a gentle silence that evoked the beauty of Du Maurier’s writing. It was a special moment, and will be forever a picture that I carry in my mind; one filled with peace and stillness. 

Heading back to Durgan, we crept into an inlet by The Ferryboat Inn, and as we stopped to watch a heron I felt my shoulders drop and my breath slow right down. “This” I thought to myself, “This is peace”. I hadn’t felt it in me that deeply for decades. The last time was when I was in a canoe, on a lake, in Wisconsin back in 1999 when we were celebrating July 4th. The joy of both moments is that I didn’t have a phone near me. As I sat there on Sunday, with my hat by my feet, I realised that I had left my phone, and therefore my camera, in my kitchen. This moment of peace was one for the memory bank; a very personal time for me to sink into and enjoy, and for some reason I cannot name, it means more to me because of it. 

Sewing and knitting my own clothes slows me down a lot, but there is also something about being still and letting the nature around us calm our souls in a way that we can’t do on our own. Being there in companionable silence with a friend who can remember the time with me is magical, and there is a privacy about not having it logged on a phone and backed up to a server. The plop of fish near us, and the splash of our oars, are sounds that can soothe my mind when I am beginning to feel overwhelmed with the plans of the working week. These memories are what enable life to move forward. 

My hat made it home to the washing machine safe and well, and didn’t seem the worse off for its inaugural dunking in Cornish salt water; I doubt it will be the last time it sees the sand at the bottom of the shallows. It will also be my reminder of a perfect Spring Sunday on the river, and for that, I am very grateful. 

Now, the sun has changed to a brighter light and there are a couple of people starting to move around their boats as I look out the window. The Fal River is flat this morning with a low tide so I can  see the patch of sand in Flushing across the other side. My neighbour has just jogged down the path for her morning run, and there are a couple of dog walkers that have walked past. The day is starting, and I need to refill my tea pot. 

I hope that you have a wonderful day today, and that you have the opportunity to forget your phone and breathe a little deeper in nature soon. 

May your frogging be rare, and your needles always bring you joy. 

Love, 

Jenny xx

Ice-cream on a cloudless Sunday.

The Edie Top - Balloon Sleeves And Summer Breezes

This year's Edie Top is perfect for summer.

Summer has come early to Cornwall. Days start with mist rising off the river revealing clear blue skies by the time my tea has brewed. The sun has brought all my freckles out, and I have learned that the sunblock I have isn’t resistant to sea swimming. My wardrobe has had to come out of its comforting woollen cocoon to embrace the linens and cottons that are now looking at me from the ironing pile. It's the season of balloon sleeves and summer breezes, which means it is time for me to revisit The Edie Top, by Merchant and Mills.

Last summer, my Edie was the one project that was cut out and then sadly left it to linger. The reason it was popped in the to-do basket rather than under my sewing machine was simply due to the fact that the weather was so bloody awful last year; we had nine months of rain, and by the time the end of August rolled around, the idea of wearing the cotton broderie anglaise left me with goosebumps. Last week, as I flicked through the BBC weather pages to see that the sun was about to bless us with glorious days of back to back warmth, I remembered that it was there waiting for me, and decided it was about time to just sew it up and pop it on my body! 

The Edie is a top that I have now sewn three times, and each one gets a little better. The first was done to the pattern, with ties at the back where the slit on the collar was placed (which ended up irritating me), and the sleeves were far too long, and the balloon detail was overly voluminous. (To be totally frank, the black and gold check made me feel as if I had remade Rupert The Bear’s trousers, and I didn’t like the weight of the cotton.)  

The second was where I lengthened the top by two inches to avoid it being too cropped, and took the sleeves up, as well as in. To take away a lot of the volume of the sleeve, whilst still giving it a generous puff, I simply took the grain line and marked 2.5inches either side near the cuff, then taking my meter rule I drew a line from the bicep point of the grain line to the mark by the cuff on each side. This basically made a huge dart, and I just moved the marked lines I had drawn together to the grain line. Is this how it is ‘supposed’ to be done? I have no idea, but it worked, and the cream linen version I made with it was hardly off my body before someone decided it needed a red wine stain all the way through the front. 

My Second Edie.

Hand sewing the bias tape

The second Eddie also taught me that I can hack the heck out of a pattern to make it fit my style, as bows at the back are not my vibe, and the ones on the sleeve cuffs end up in my coffee. My hack was to move the slit in the collar to the front and ditch the ties, as well as use elastic in the sleeve cuff in order to save both my laundry, and my coffee. Both decisions were perfect, and I kept them. 

This third version is the best yet! I purchased the fabric knowing that I would have to piece it together along some hidden lines as I couldn’t afford enough to pattern match the whole thing without some jiggery pokery. I chose to do the piecing for the sleeves, as the puff would hide any edges that were not 100% pattern matched, whereas the front and back would be too obvious. It was my first time doing pieced work, and I was delighted with the results - the edges are well hidden, and they look great on the back of the sleeve, right near the seam.

My pieced sleeve fabric

Pattern matching eyelet fabric

Marking out the perfect pattern match

This version also has a lining for the front and back, and although I know that there is a very pretty flower detail to the fabric, no one else will know, and I quite like that. It’s a bit like my pocket linings; they are always pretty and colourful, but they are just for me to enjoy.

I decided that I wanted to practice my French Seams for the project as I know that I reach for my overlocker too often. I was glad that I did, as my skills definitely needed to have the rust knocked off them. At the beginning they were a bit too chonky for my liking, and the first ones I did for the shoulder seams ended up having a top stitch put through them to ensure that they lay flat. However, by the time I got to the sleeves, they were looking a lot neater, and I am pleased that I stuck with the process. The only overlocked seams are around the armholes, as the three layers needed stabilising, and I wasn’t about to do a Hong Kong seam with bias tape… the sun is out now and probably won’t wait for me to stop procrastinating over that option. 

Stitching to keep all the layers of fabric together whilst I work

My pin cushion on the ironing board, with my thimble

I am delighted with the results from this project, and not just because I was wearing it out as soon as it had been through a much needed laundry cycle (it had been in storage for nearly a year!). I know that I need to spend more time sewing to keep my techniques in tip-top order, so it was a good project to start the rhythm of it again. I haven’t sewn much since my move down here, but I now feel as if I know my space better and can get into a flow in the evenings after work. I have moved stuff around in my living room to make this easier, and it’s a much more inviting space to create in. I think that coming to this version of The Edie allowed me to realise that I could still just do little bits each evening and not worry about doing it all in one go, and I am very thankful for that.

I absolutely love my version of the Merchant and Mills pattern. I have altered everything about it - even the back dart placements and the shoulder drops, but it has taught me how to do all those things; it is the perfect basic pattern to learn how to hack, and there is even an option to make it longer so that you can make a dress, which is on the list as I need a good beach cover-up.

I hope that you are encouraged to give it a go, as you can make it out of any flow-y material and end up with a winning staple in your wardrobe. If it is your first time with balloon sleeves, I would just urge you to make a mock-up first, as they are quite full and they may be a little overwhelming if you are, like me, a Hobbit. 

Until next time, may your needles always bring you joy, and may your frogging be rare. 

Love, Jenny xx

The back is my ideal length.