Happy Halloween?

It's that time of year again...October, Autumn, Halloween. Years ago, it was a huge production, partly because of my career. (Don't even get me started on the lack of "fun" and learning motivation in the education system nowadays.) I also had younger children of my own, which  required celebrations, and of course, the dreaded costumes. I dressed up. They dressed up.

I am not a sewer. Just to be clear...that's sewer (pronounced so-er), as opposed to the disposal drainage system. I am partly to blame, as is my farm-country high school.  I was forced to take, as part of my course load,  Agriculture instead of  the desired Home Economics.  Although learning how to dispose of dead chickens, extracting honey using centrifugal force, and distinguishing one red apple from another has not entirely been lost on me, the skill of sewing would have probably served me better throughout my life.

When my own kids were really small, making a costume was doable...not a big deal...they weren't fussy. A bit of sewing, a lot of glue, some makeup and flourescent paint, and perhaps even some papier-mâché and trash bags did the trick. As they became older, they created their own.                                                   

In June of 2011, I wrote a blog in three parts about a request from my son. End result was entitled  "The Finished Pirate Product".   http://rockinrobinsramblings.blogspot.com/2011/06/  . He needed a pirate costume for some kind of ship activity. He was a young adult at the time. I complied because for the most part, any time consuming, hobby-like activity, is more rewarding for me than housework.

Imagine my surprise when once gain this year, my adult son asked for help making a costume. Sure I thought, how hard can it be?

"What do you want?" I asked. Knowing my son's proclivity toward the weird, I imagined the worst, and listed,  "a zombie, the clown from the move 'It', the Joker, Thing from the Addams family (I hoped not)....?

Nothing prepared me for this.

"What is it"? I asked, at the risk of sounding uncool.

"Wrestler...Goldust." he responded.

Of course, I thought. How could I not have known?  After all, I raised my son. Showed him nothing but monster trucks, wrestling, and hunting magazines, while feeding him corn bread, beans, pork rinds, and corn nuts. Dressed him up in plaid and always remembered the ball cap over his mullet. On that note, I realized that actually taking him to the theatre, the symphony, and the ballet when he was young had all been costly, and in vain.

Good news though. My son had invested in a golden cape and a bag full of boas (not constrictors but the feather kind). He also had some kind of onesie that required altering and that he allowed me to take to a tailor, pay for, and have altered for him.

"All you have left to do, is make gloves, remove the hood from the cape, make a belt, and add sleeves," he said.

"Right...sounds simple enough, cough, sputter, choke."

I asked at the tailor. "How difficult is it to remove the hood and put sleeves on here?" (thinking I'd just get them to take care of it). After a lengthy explanation about size; distance of arms from the top so they don't stick out at to each side; reworking the fabric; requiring him to come and try it on, I gave up realizing that this was probably an expense that I wasn't willing to undertake.

Although in my mind, I always had the mentality that I could do anything, this one frightened me. The cape was small. How would I create an entire robe from it? First thing I had to do was make a pile of all the materials I had to work with. Then, I did a lot of thinking.

I decided that the simplest idea for someone with no real sewing/patterning experience would be kimono style. I cut a rectangular back and two side panels from the cape fabric. After a lot of
measuring, sweating, and praying, I concluded that this was doable. Fortunately, I had purchased some additional gold material to make the gloves and belt, and had enough left over for sleeves. It had to have sleeves, as I was so frequently reminded.

After quite a bit of pinning (yes, pining too), and basting, I finally came up with this. Hung it on hubby to check for the size, sighed in relief, and put it on a coat tree, satisfied with my initial effort.

This is where my excitement ended. Although I had acquired the correct thread and needles for this fabric, my sewing machine refused to co-operate. It bunched, and it scrunched. It looped, and made strings, then the needle fell out. It was time for bed.

The next day, I replaced the needle, and re-threaded everything, checked the manual, and revised the stitching, all to no avail. The clumps of threads were everywhere. I convinced myself it didn't matter since they were inside a Halloween costume. This is where I kept hearing my mother's voice. "It has to look as good on the inside as on the outside." That was her mantra for everything...sewing, stitching, knitting, cooking, dressing...

I shook the memory, sat for a few more hours messing with the sewing machine, and finally, stitched the sleeves by hand. It wasn't pretty, but it was done. Then, I tacked on the feathery boas and glue gunned them down. I was glad that my tendency toward perfectionism left me a number of years ago. When I felt it was satisfactory, I rehung it on the coat tree and walked away

The gloves were created by cutting an old pair at the ends and stitching on matching fabric.  They were a bit lopsided, but, oh well....

At this point I could only hope everything fit my son. It did.

I stared with a critical eye thinking that I could have added more plumage, especially since I had lots left over. On the other hand, the remains did look interesting strewn, as though I'd slaughtered a swan, all over my basement floor. I suspect the hardest part of it all will be the cleanup...gold fabric bits, sparkle, sewing machine parts, threads, needles, pins, and of course, the fluffy, floating, feathers.