Puffed Sleeves

"So this is what Matthew has been looking so mysterious over and grinning about to himself for two weeks, is it?" she said a little stiffly but tolerantly. "I knew he was up to some foolishness. Well, I must say I don't think Anne needed any more dresses. I made her three good, warm, serviceable ones this fall, and anything more is sheer extravagance. There's enough material in those sleeves alone to make a waist, I declare there is. You'll just pamper Anne's vanity, Matthew, and she's as vain as a peacock now. Well, I hope she'll be satisfied at last, for I know she's been hankering after those silly sleeves ever since they came in, although she never said a word after the first. The puffs have been getting bigger and more ridiculous right along; they're as big as balloons now. Next year anybody who wears them will have to go through a door sideways."

Poor Marilla.

~~~~~

One night on my vacation I was determined to be frivolous. I went to the bookstore with the sole intent of purchasing something colourful, glossy and entertaining. I had been feeling lately as if everything I do nowadays is another kind of work. Paid work, housework, childrearing, cooking, exercising, writing--even the reading I do is generally in the service of some other goal. I needed something fluffy, I thought; something resolutely anti-intellectual. Something featuring a handful of anorexic-looking women, extravagantly priced unnecessary merchandise, an overabundance of advertising, and nothing even remotely taxing to read. Something that is generally sold in a bookstore yet which I classify, mentally, as a catalogue. Yet which would not insult my intelligence too deeply, by pretending that a breathless in-depth article about lipstick was anything but advertising, or that somehow, after several million years of human evolution, someone had discovered something truly new about sex. Is it so much to ask? I wondered.

Apparently it was. I left without a magazine. I could not find even one which met my criteria.

Instead, I went home and read Mary Dalton's latest book of poetry, Red Ledger, which was lovely and taught me about Newfoundland culture, and how to use language economically to great effect. (I still struggle with economy, you will have noticed.) I enjoyed it, yet could not help but notice that I had utterly failed in my goal of doing Not-Work. This is ridiculous, I thought; even if I am a single-mom-with-a-full-time-job-trying-to-get-a-writing-career-started, I should be able to find a few hours a week to engage in something harmless and unnecessary, and a harmless and unnecessary activity to fill them with.

Thus was born Fun on Fridays. I would spend Friday evenings doing nothing productive, and this would force me to find something harmless and unnecessary (and hopefully fun) to do instead. How hard could it be?

It's Friday (as I write this) the 4th. My very first. I haven't got a clue what I'm going to do tonight. Maybe something crafty. I'm saving my Frances scrapbooking for when I next get a chance to scrap with a friend, so it would have to be something else. Maybe I could carve a stamp. It's been a long time since I did any stamp-carving. Maybe I could do some scrapbooking about me, though I'm finding it hard to get over the mental hurdle there (like I don't write enough about myself already? I need more--as Dani put it--life-streaming?). I've been toying with the idea of making an art journal for years, and that could be a fun project. Not about me, necessarily, just a place to futz around and do something colourful and vaguely artsy. I suppose I could crochet or knit but there is always the temptation to make it something Useful, which I am trying not to do; but I do have a lace bookmark half-done I suppose I could piece together. And I wanted to do a stitchery that says "Ruined by Reading" to put on the bookshelf, I think that could be fun. Maybe on linen, in bright colours, that will fit in a 4x6 frame. I have a bright pink tea towel and coaster to finish off. I suppose painting the night-stand is out of the question. I could read, but all of the books I want to read right now are Productive--they are either research for the novel or writing books or books by authors I admire and whose style I want to learn from.

What is wrong with me? How is it that all of the things I can think of to do tonight are so distinctly non-Loaf-y?

Worse, I am struggling to resist the temptation to go home and work on my novel. What I want to do, right now, is write a few pages about Kyrie, about what she looks like and how she walks and the way her voice is soft and slants upwards at the ends of her sentences, so that you would never guess she has a mind like a toothed vice; and Gudrun, whose name might change soon, and how people assume that because she's visibly strong she must be stupid, and she lets them, and I want to know why, what purpose does it serve her for people to think she is a muscled tough without a mind? And Gir, huge, who looks like he was carved from a slab of granite, and who frightens people because of it, and he knows it, so he spends most of his time backing off, backing down, trying to put people at ease.

I know I need time off. Regular time off, because when I don't get it, I am unhappy and tired and unable to think clearly. What is wrong with me? Why is it that spending a night goofing off I approach with all the excitement of eating my leafy greens and taking my vitamins, but spending a night making a book from scratch (ooooh! I could spend a night making a book from scratch!) or stitching a picture for the wall or delving into the mysteries of Aristotlean philosophies or modern Matriarchal societies--that makes my heart beat faster?

"I don't see how I'm going to eat breakfast," said Anne rapturously. "Breakfast seems so commonplace at such an exciting moment. I'd rather feast my eyes on that dress. I'm so glad that puffed sleeves are still fashionable. It did seem to me that I'd never get over it if they went out before I had a dress with them. I'd never have felt quite satisfied, you see. It was lovely of Mrs. Lynde to give me the ribbon too. I feel that I ought to be a very good girl indeed. It's at times like this I'm sorry I'm not a model little girl; and I always resolve that I will be in future. But somehow it's hard to carry out your resolutions when irresistible temptations come. Still, I really will make an extra effort after this."

What is wrong with me? Even my puffed sleeves are warm and serviceable.

~~~~~

Postscript:

This is how the first Fun on Fridays turned out:

The coaster. Stem stitching around the edges, and the flower is daisy stitches, satin stitches and seed stitches. I think it turned out pretty well.

Next time I might use one of my many stamps to print a picture on a piece of cloth, and then stitch over it. Cheating, sure, but who cares?

The tea towel. Running stitches along the top and bottom but the cupcake is a laid stitch, and took forever (I started this back in August). Initially I was going to stitch "Sweet Tooth" on the right but I figured if I waited to get around to that, I'd never finish it. Next one, maybe.

A rubber stamp of a water goblet for use in witchy crafts. The stamp is on the bottom--obviously; above it to the left is the sketch, and to the right is the stamped image. I think it worked out pretty well, too.

Posted by Andrea at January 8, 2008 8:52 AM under Crafty Lady , Me

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