Happy New Year!

I promised you shots of the new hand-sewn jeans - the (so far) ultimate ones. The ones without stretch. And I simply had to throw in a few of me in the new top.

So, without further ado:

It's particularly stupid to be wearing these shoes. But I REALLY wanted to look my chicest.

This is the shot where I'm badass.

This is the shot where I can really see that I need to work on my waistline.

This is the shot my mother will like... (She wants you to know I NEVER wore braces.)

This is the shot we had to take 5 times because the others were particularly unflattering.

This is the gratuitous shot of the top of my hair. Which Scott says, incidentally makes my boobs look huge.

This is the shot where my head actually competes with my boobs. My eyes are urging you to look into them, but I just don't know...

This is the one of the back of the Theory Fionula sweater. It does look better in real life...

And this is where I give you an air kiss cuz I think you rock and I want you to have a wonderful new year.

Brave New World

It is my husband's theory that all creativity starts with a little bit of destruction.

Meet Exhibit A:

Seriously, I've owned 3 of this bra, and this is the first one that looks like utter crap on the inside. Almost made it easier to rip up...

And Exhibit B:




I may have had my doubts about this but, I can already tell, this deconstruction was a very smart move. (And Scott loves demolition so much he did half the work!)

For starters, the upper front piece (the part that forms the plunge of the cleavage) is that long skinny piece. In all of the patterns I have made heretofore, that piece was twice as fat and 2/3 as long.

The bridge (where the 2 cups converge) is about 30 per cent the size of the ones I've been making. See how mini it is? It's the tiny triangular shape on the table...

And the under wires are a totally different shape than the ones I have purchased. Much better quality than the ones I have purchased, alas. I sure as hell hope it's even possible to purchase that quality of wire. It doesn't wiggle like a tightrope, you know... Intriguingly, I've bought every size of wire you can imagine and the only one that works (albeit imperfectly) is the smallest one I've got. And I'll have to cut it at the centre front or it'll be too long for the bra shape.

The band and other elastic are thinner on the RTW bra than any of the stuff I've used in my previous work (wherein I was following pattern directions).

In an extremely strange turn, all of the materials in the RTW rip-up are slimmer and smaller, and still my previous homemade bra (from pattern) construction attempts have yielded a bra that doesn't fit because it appears to be to small. Well, that is where it's not too big.

I don't understand - but I'm gaining a lot of insight.

I think I may have to rip up that other bra (the one I originally tried to replace because it's on its last legs) after all. It's not a plunge, but a balconette, and I'm so intrigued to see if the pieces are as divergent as this plunge bra is from the pre-purchased patterns I've used until now.

Sewists: Can you tell me if there's anywhere better than Bra-Makers from which to purchase wires? Have you got a source that produces ones which rival those in bras that retail for $75.00 or more? Please say yes!

Updated: Unscheduled Detour

FYI, I am working away on the bra and I still intend to take photo post of the jeans soon (but my husband's been out the last couple of days).

Having said this, while I was out spending money at physio, I did buy one other thing: a book. Y'all know of my great respect for Gary Taubes and his tome of a few years ago Good Calories, Bad Calories. Seriously, this guy is a critical thinker par excellence. And he wants you to think critically too.

I wrote about GC, BC a long time ago. It was part of a Health and Lifestyle blog theme week that I'm quite proud of. I put a lot of myself into those posts so please feel free to check them out if you haven't seen them in the past:

• The Critical Path
• The Master Plan
• Having Your Cake and Eating Half of It
• Supplemental
• All Paths are One
• Take a Closer Look
  

At any rate, the story appears to be (and I'm largely making this up) that Mr. Taubes editor got together with him and said something like: Gary, you have to write another book, one that reproduces the same message you've been spouting since GC, BC but which doesn't get too avidly scientific. Because the doctors and talk shows want to espouse your outrageously well-researched food science findings, but your first book is simply too intelligent for the average reader.

I can't tell you how many people I tried to convince (unsuccessfully) to read GC, BC. That book changed so many of my preconceptions - not with diet-spout and conjecture, but with hard science. Look, I've known forever that fat people aren't fat because they lack will power. But I didn't realize that, in fat people, the creation of fat will supercede the use of food energy in any other way. I understand from personal experience - I too live in our processed-food, carb-addicted world - that protein keeps you full and lean. Muffins do not. 500 calories of muffin is vastly different - as far as your body is concerned - than 500 calories of eggs and bacon.

Insulin regulates the uptake of fat in your body. If you want to be lean, you have to do whatever you can to diminish spikes of insulin - which is increasingly challenging in a world with crap pseudo-food in every corner and appetites that have come to appreciate it - nay, crave it.

But don't take my word for it. If you never got around to GC, BC when I was trying to convince you to read it before (and you know that's everyone), please go for his latest book - a capsule piece at 250 pages - Why We Get Fat. See the catchy title? It seems much less intimidating than the original. I mean, the book art is a measuring tape!

Don't worry. It's still got science (though - shockingly - Taubes apologizes for it and implores his reader to stick with it?!?) but it applies that science much more directly to lay readers and the issue of why the first world is drowning in obesity (even diabesity).

It's a good companion piece to GC, BC, but no substitute for the original. Mind you, if you're just not interested in 800 pages of biochemistry, this may be the book for you.

(Note: I'm still reading - 2/3 through - but I have to say the most depressing message so far is that the loss of estrogen in menopause directly impacts the body's impulse to take calories and store them as fat rather than food energy - exercise and lifestyle notwithstanding. I mean, all you need to do is look at practically every 50-something woman you see on the street to know this is the case. Just as the fat people aren't gluttonous sloths, menopausal women who were previously lean and active, don't thicken in the middle because they've started gorging on doughnuts and lying around the house. And yet, in general, they gain abdominal fat. Taubes hasn't resolved this yet - it's either a cliff-hanger or women my age may just start hanging themselves :-) I mean, he does indicate early on that replacement estrogen is just the ticket to circumvent this (he in no way advocates it), but I'm not down with hormone replacement therapy at this time.)

Questions for the post-menopausal readers: Could you share your stories with us? Did you gain weight through or after menopause? Did you find ways to manage this? Did they include HRT? If you didn't gain, were you always lean? Has any woman gone through menopause and felt more attractive, more sexy (both re: self-image and level of desire), shape-changes notwithstanding. Please share your stories!

Update: Peeps, I regret to inform you - having finished this book - that there is no mystery diet cure for the fat that comes from diminished estrogen, if that is your particular sensitivity. Nor is there one for those who battle weight genetically. Lowering carbs (and I don't mean cutting green veggies and vitamins, though he disputes our specific requirement of these) to lower insulin resistance is the only real trick Taube's got up his sleeve. Of course, it's the bulk of the trick for everyone - according to the science he quotes - because it's the main indicator of fat we accrue outside the realm of our genetic predispositions. It will help with the weight-gain of menopause, because it helps with all weight gain. But if you weren't made like Cindy Crawford, this book isn't going to transform you into her as fast as you can say "chicken with skin".

Having said this, it will likely make you much healthier - cardiovascularly and in other ways. Furthermore, if you enjoy fat and protein (specifically animal protein), you can apparently sustain a lifetime of enjoyment.

I have more thoughts about this. Thoughts I'm going to put into action and (natch) tell you all about. I was convinced about the science when reading the first book. The second only reinforces my complicity. Not to mention that I'm the original protein and fat lover - bacon and eggs for breakfast = nature's perfect food. Cheese in every format? I'm there. More to the point, when I eat fat and protein (as I've been telling people for years), I actually feel good. Not just full, but happy. It quells my hyperactive nature. What I do love about the "new" theory in this book (or maybe it's just the first time I'm noticing it) is that fat is the preferred substitution for carbs. Protein should stay reasonably constant (some number of grams I can't remember), but fat can pick up the slack. Ya'll know I LOVE fat in its every form.

I don't know how to manage the idea that calories matter not. I have been so indoctrinated that, while I know the science proves it, I don't know how to forego my lists and long-held perspectives. But this is the matter of another post...

Just A Theory...

Honestly, I have got to stop leaving the house. Of course, I've only done that a handful of times in the last month, but every time turns into a spendathon.

For starters: I feel the Shu lipstick was a bust - the stain is just not adequately intense. Fortunately, yesterday, as I was waiting for my physio - the only thing that seems to get me out of the house under any circumstances - I had a chance to browse at Mac. I remembered that WendyB wears a Mac shade, and that she (too) believes in intensity of colour. Thanks to her, I think I may have found my new lipstick! It's called Dubonnet and it's 17 bucks! Seriously, I've spent 4 times that amount trying to replace my former (now, discontinued) shade.

Mac Dubonnet

Then, I was compelled to repurchase my fave lip "anti-wrinkle"serum. Really, you should get it. Enough said.

After that - and I swear I had no intentions - I wandered around Holt's (the "cheapie" third floor) and found the most gorgeous Theory sweater - called Fionola. You know I don't buy clothing anymore, but when I saw this I realized it was of far better quality - both in fabric and construction - than I would be able to produce for a very long time. I purchased it in a colour called Northern Light which is, frankly, fantastic. (It's a rich blue.) It has an exposed zipper running down the back - like you can totally undo the centre back of this top! But srsly, when a sweater at 70% off still costs $130.00 before tax, what is the world coming to?? Then again, what price is too high for great tits, fantastic design, good execution and a slender shape, I ask you??

Topsy Turvy

OK, I finished the 5th pair of pants and, woohoo, I think they're a go. To remind you of the history:

• Original pattern in 14, in muslin (way too big everywhere but in the waist)
  
• First wearable pants in modified 14 (narrowed side seams), in wool suiting, lined
• Second wearable pants in modified 14 (see v. 1), in stretch denim - required additional reduction of side seams, the crotch and waist height were problematic, but the garment does fit fairly well...
  
• Third wearable pants in a modified 14 (see v. 2), modified still further to reduce the waist height and dart depth
  
• Forth wearable pants in a massively modified 14 (see v. 3), with even lower waist (3 inches lower than the original), extended darts and modified crotch depth, in non-stretch blue denim. Note: I'm pretty impressed with the crotch alteration!
  

Got it?

(BTW, I promise I'm going to take a photo of myself wearing these, hopefully tomorrow, but I have to wash my hair because I'm scary right now.)

The great thing is that, through a variety of iterations, I've pretty-well drafted my own wide-leg pants sloper. I'm sure that's going to come in handy on a regular occasion. And the next time I make these it's going to be with some special fabric that comes with a special story that I keep meaning to document but it hasn't happened yet.

Here's the bad part. I have systematically worked through every challenge I can think of (coats, pants, woven blouses) and now there are no more delay tactics. Friends, it's time to return to the bra project. Newish readers, you may not even know of this passion - my (so far) unsuccessful attempt to make a bra that a) fits perfectly and is b) sexy and chic.

I know I can go out and buy one. I know that most mega-crafty people think it's a crazy undertaking. But they don't love lingerie as I do. Or they're not insane. This is a code I've got to crack.

Of course, the combo of extreme frustration and disappointment (vis a vis my previous attempts), the fear of future failure (as I run out of fit options, at least in my own mind) and having come to the conclusion that, this time, I will have to start by ripping apart a new bra, purchased just for this purpose (it has a similar fabric i.e. very little to no stretch and it fits well) really isn't motivating.

But this bra isn't going to make itself.

Note: After the last set back, I did contact a well-known sewing studio in Toronto that purports to source and send out teachers of all varieties to help students of all levels to learn about whatever technique they desire. I spoke with a woman who sounded engaged and then never bothered to call me back. Can't say I'm blown away by the professionalism. (It isn't the first such experience I've had with this place.)

If this next attempt doesn't yield an attractive and wearable bra, I'm booking a weekend in Hamilton with the Bra Maker's people. But I really don't want to go to Hamilton.

So please wish me luck. Maybe 12th time is a charm? I am committed to achieving success. Really, really, really. Over and out.

Mixed Media

In addition to the Mac, I got a tetralogy of books (but all in one volume): The Alexandria Quartet by Lawrence Durrell. (M, describing it to someone on the phone, called it a tetrapak!) When last I read this series I was at university. While I did study English Lit, I didn't read it as part of my course load. I was drawn to it, no doubt, having read something of a similar vintage (1950s masquerading as 1930s). It had been decades since I'd thought of it last, but a couple of weeks ago I had a riveting, boozy, intellectual Friday-night-dinner conversation about it with Steen. Really, for an hour, I felt like I was a member of the Algonquin Round Table.

It's not often that I use my EngLit-speak these days. Moreover, it's not often that I read an actual book. Which is odd mainly in that, for 30 plus years, I read a minimum of a book a week. I read everything - crap fiction, good fiction, change your life fiction, biographies, poetry, prose, short stories. Even, occasionally, non fiction (egad!). I was a book addict. Teachers admonished me for reading in class. You couldn't have a conversation with me wherein I wasn't throwing around some semiotic terminology, or comparing a friend's personal experience with that of one of my "characters". It really pissed some people off.

Fortunately for them, I found blogs and now I never read anything but (and the occasional print magazine).

Strangely, I do not miss books at all. One might argue that I've read enough of them to last a lifetime - thousands of books. I immersed myself in innumerable plots to live the lives of others, to avoid myself, to suffer the sufferings of those whose lives I would never otherwise encounter. It soothed my loneliness, my anxiety. Books filled me with hope and longing; they dragged me down with despair. But it was the despair of someone else.

Of course, no amount of books is enough for one lifetime...

I have an interesting quality - one which I don't see in many others, one which has served me well my whole life long. I go where my imagination takes me and I really do not overthink it. In all the years I read, I felt a chasm between myself and my creativity. The day I started writing (and in this case I'm referring to my blog) was the day I no longer felt the need to engross myself in the creative constructs of others. It was the day I found a voice to speak of my own life. And from that voice, my life developed.

Of course I still read constantly. Reading is a huge component of my profession. I also read more than 150 blogs a day - blogs that are intelligent, humourous, beautiful and artistic to observe. The democratization of self-expression thrills me. I do not feel that books surpass blogs. I feel they are part of the same creative continuum.

Which is why I'm pulling out some paper (like, a thousand pages?!) and getting with the written-word, old-style. Weird that this is the book to pull me back. I'm on the first novel - Justine, only about 50 pages in, and I'm reminded of the atmosphere - the heat and intensity of Egypt in the 1930s. So far, on this read, I'm amazed by the floridness of the text (it's practically purple, but smart!) and I'm on the lookout for cultural prejudice. One of the fascinating features of this text is that it doesn't sidebar sex. Passion isn't qualified by literary conventions - well, it is, of course, but they're more modern (dare I say, honest?) than the majority of fodder from that day and age. So far, we've had pre-marital sex, straight talk from the mistresses of wealthy Arabs, and child prostitution. And it's not wrapped up in a symbolic bow.

I'm curious to know - smartie-pants readers who, no doubt, have read this carefully and more recently than I have - what's the thing that jumps out at you? And let's say you haven't read it, what book have you read most recently that have changed your perspective on things? Do you read blogs instead of print? What's your story?

Feast or Famine

I'm writing this on my new MacBook Air, which is everything they say it is, and cute. If I were a computer, I'd want to be this one. My husband has really pulled it back from the edge after leaving me for dead (metaphorically) when I first sustained the foot injury. While he may not have taken it seriously at first, he's bucked up by massaging my ankle and leg, physiotherapy-style, for hours each evening, taking care of all the mobile-elements of family life (i.e., shuttling the kid) and gifting me with top of the line technology.

I think it's safe to say I'm going to postpone the divorce.

In the true spirit of Xmas, however, this post is not about the loot but about the food. For the last two days I have eaten a shocking variety of things that can only be deemed artery-blockers.

I'm not one of those people who frowns on gluttony. No ma'am. Give me your fried, crispy masses. Pastry that gleams with butter. My heart flutters at a perfect cake crumb. I can eat a round of brie.

Seriously. On Xmas eve, we had wild mushroom brie fondue that takes a pound of rinded cheese. Generally it serves 4 till they're stuffed beyond compare. M was sick, so she wasn't eating. Scott just humoured me by eating it. There was but a small amount left yesterday for me to pair with crackers while I drank a bottle of Vouvray (this is hard to find at a decent price and it's so clear and ringy, though far sweeter than the wine I generally choose). I drank it over 8 hours, fyi. This is to say nothing of the struesel cake I ate for breakfast yesterday morning. (Is anything better for breakfast than homemade coffee cake??).

The thing is that Scott's Xmas capon takes a zillion hours to cook. We were three, but he bought a 10 pound bird. Don't ask. In fact, we tried - on a whim, yesterday morning - to invite 8 people over to share it with us. Alas, they had already started to cook their own Xmas dinner at 10 am. Anyway, by 4 p.m. I was really hungry and I had to eat some ridiculous quantity of prosciutto.

By 7 p.m. the capon was juicy, delicious ready with roasted veggies. They managed to be soft on the inside and crunchy, oily on the outside. My fave combo. I won't lie - I ate an ounce of capon and half a pan of veggies - if you can call onions, carrots and potatoes soaked in grease "veggies".

The pan generally serves 6-8.

Scott and his friend of 35 years have a term to describe extreme, painful, disgusting first-world fullness. It's called "klunk" and you can use it as a verb or a noun or an adjective, your choice. To say I was klunk at this moment does not begin to express how I felt. I really thought I might throw up (which is a horrifying thing in my book). Scott felt my stomach and seemed alarmed by its distension.

At which point I decided I would never eat again.

I sense I'm about to break the fast (it has been 12 hours), but I'm going to do it with a hard boiled egg and a slice of cheddar. Though that cake continues to call. (Don't worry - I'm over it. I still feel vaguely nauseated, thankfully.)

Why am I telling you this? Why am I admitting to this horrendous level of gluttony? I'd like to say something like it's to make you feel better about your own holiday ingestion indiscretions, but who are we kidding?? I think it unlikely that any of you have crossed the line as I have. Maybe I'm looking for that one crazy reader who can match me in the stupid eating department? Maybe I am seeking absolution? Who can say.

So here's to hot water with lemon, green salad and chicken soup. Which reminds me, I have to transform those leftovers into a stew fit for a queen. Have I mentioned that my chicken soup is legendary?