Times of Extreme Frugality: Random Acts of Cheapness

Four thrifty moments from this week on Silk Road:

1. Do you remember when everyday items were repaired instead of thrown away? 

Nah, I don't either, but when I sat on one of our lawn chairs and felt *pop *pop *pop, I figured I would once again replace the webbing.

Our consumer culture would have me toss this chair and replace it with the latest in "Lawn and garden decor". But all I want is somewhere to park my tush while enjoying the early morning shade on the deck, not an Instagram post.

And though replacement webbing is not as easy to find as it used to be, I managed to order some through our local Ace Hardware. One more item saved from the landfill.

2. Behold, the Rasely-o-matic lettuce spinner. Dry your washed greens with a few flips of the wrist. Lettuce and towel sold separately.

3. Inspired by our daughter's latest sewing adventure in her vlog Chipmunk of Power , I decided to stitch a summer shirt.

Usually, in these times of cheap clothing imported from foreign, almost-slave labor factories, sewing your own clothes doesn't save you money. Usually.

I started with fabric from one of two large tubs of material I bought for $5 at an auction last year. I have already made four sets of curtains and a blouse from that stash, used some of it for drop cloths, and the burlap is perfect for covering garden plants.

The pattern is years old and has been used at least half a dozen times so far.

The thread is from a a sewing kit full of goodies I bought from a 4H fabric sale. I'll be using buttons from the same sale.

And the sewing machine is a Singer treadle, over 120 years old and working better than any electric I ever had.

Don't think even Walmart could make a shirt this cheaply.

4. The plan was to dig a new bed under the birdfeeder area and plant with lovely flowers for the birds and the bees.

A late, wet spring and too many other projects meant I only managed to stick some cosmos in and leave the rest of the ground covered in sunflower seed shells, meaning to mulch it later.

Now, you'd think a winter of cardinals, mourning doves, juncos, and other ground feeders sorting through the fallen seeds would have ensured no viable seeds left. 

You'd think wrong. The sunflowers kept popping up. I half heartedly pulled a few but soon decided that, hey, they were at least green and healthy.

I think it looks great and almost on purpose. And the birds can dine on fresher than fresh sunflower seeds- kind of farm to table, without the farm...or the table.

What random acts of cheapness have you committed this week? If you need further inspiration, check out Katy Wok-Stanley's  The Nonconsumer Advocate, a blog with a West Coast, urban viewpoint and some interesting ideas.

You Reap What You Sew

 

Realtor's photo: think pink!

My newfound resolve to look on the bright side (Innovation and Eggface) has hit a snag this week: I'm sewing.

The previous owners of our place very graciously left the curtains and blinds in the living room. They couldn't have chosen things I would hate more if they had known me for my entire life.

The major color is mauve. My friends, relatives, and the world all know that pink is my least favorite color and mauve the hue most likely to induce me to hurl. On top of that torture, the flounces and lace are more country cute than country me.

So for the past 2 years I've been meaning to replace them and this month finally ordered supplies to make Roman shades.

This seems like a good time to take a side trip and discuss the issue of buying locally. Many well-meaning folks swear that the salvation of our nation is to purchase needs and wants within a limited radius of your domicile. The theory sounds good, but like most philosophies that will fit on a bumper sticker, implementing it is difficult.

Take making window covering for instance. The closest fabric store to Lick Skillet is over 60 miles away and then it's a chain that carries mostly items from China and most probably would not have drapery cord or shade pulls or the other bits and bobs I need. And studying our other online purchases for the past year, I note we have bought such disparate items as organic wheat berries, pewter metallic paint, and vintage movies, none of which we could buy within 4 or 5 counties of Lick Skillet. Ordering online for us is a better use of time and resources. If we have to travel to the nearest metropolitan area to shop, not only do we rarely find what we want, we also increase our carbon footprint with the gas used and we have to go out for lunch which hurts our wallets and our waistlines. Mini-rant over.

Back to sewing.

I have sewn shades before, at least partly successfully. This time there seems to be a conspiracy to ensure that this is the last fiber project I ever attempt. Everything has gone wrong and the air has a blue tinge from my vocabulary (I bet Tom didn't even realize I knew all of those words). 

This should be simple. A Roman shade is really just a rectangle but no matter how many times I carefully measure, the sides don't add up. I think maybe math has changed since I last made these.
 
One shade is finally completed (but not the valance).

Before I got the cleats to hold the cord.

But we have 4 windows!
  
 If I live through this project I will never boast about my sang froid again.

Don't tread on me

We made hard decisions about what to sell and what keep in our move to Indiana; I sold my hat collection and parted with my vintage dress patterns, we let the tent and camping gear go along with an impressive amount of books and vinyl records, even some kitchen tools.

But there was never any question about the treadle sewing machine.

I bought the Singer over 30 years ago at an auction. We suited each other from the beginning.

This early model (1901) Singer L is basic, uses shuttle bobbins and only sews in a straight, forward line. She's plain label and sturdy: a few gears and a rawhide cord, a cast iron base and oak cabinet.

For over 100 years, the up and down motion of that treadle has marked women's lives in stitches and darts. She holds the memory of young girls dreaming of proms and weddings, of new brides creating homes, of mothers sewing sunsuits and pinafores, of grandmothers holding grandchildren on their laps and closing the circle.

I'm no great seamstress but together we've made clothing and costumes, curtains and totes. I hope for many more years of feeding her fabric and if I'm lucky, some of those times will see my grandchildren learning to sew on my lap.