Couture Lunacy

Exploring Fashion One Thread At A Time

A Word About Buttonholes

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There are things in sewing that scare me. Buttonholes for instance. Zippers too. Things that have to close things I guess.

I have a Bernina 440QE – this sewing machine does everything except cook supper. I love my sewing machine. It has only once given me fits enough to want to take a hammer to it. That was when I was using a dull needle on thick ponte knit. So it skipped stitches and I thought the damn thing was broken. Only took me 5 days to figure out to change the needle. 🙂

Today I had to complete my buttonholes on my purple silk shirt. I don’t know why Bernina persists in giving you a manual when I won’t look at it anyway. Shoot. I started the buttonhole and halfway through I said – oh no I don’t know how to finish this – I could have had a foot long buttonhole.

I stopped. I got out the manual. I read how to do an automatic buttonhole where the machine remembers EXACTLY how long to make the buttonhole and does it all for you after the first one. The most strenuous thing I had to do was hit the quick reverse button. I did it.

I have the placket on the shirt all pinned together so I can stick a marking pencil in the opened buttonholes and mark where to sew on the buttons. They are square little buttons

Pink Shell Button Waechter's Fine Fabrics

Pink Shell Button
Waechter’s Fine Fabrics

And in case you’ve forgotten – here’s the shirt –

DSC_2098

This was taken before I had sewn the collar on, etc. It is quite cute. I will be happy to wear this if I get to go to work in July. We shall see how DH is doing and if I can actually leave here for 4 to 6 hours at a time. I hope I can.

Next up – something to serge. I will be so happy to get used to that machine.

Supper making calls me to the kitchen. A nice salad and a steak and hot dogs for DH. I know I’m vegetarian, but every once in a while I go nuts and have to have red meat. And steak is it. Don’t try to make me eat hamburger. Just steak.

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Author: Jennifer

I came from a family who made things. My father was a carpenter with a passion for making furniture. My mother sewed, crocheted, cooked and made a home on a shoestring. My grandmothers both quilted. As a teenager, I found batik through a wonderful art teacher who allowed me the freedom to batik yards of fabric. I then cut them up into a pattern and wore the item I made. I was ecstatic. I painted in my teens and twenties and my parents gracefully supplied me with oil paints and turpentine. When I needed an easel, my father took me to the shop where he worked and made me one. When he found unused and unwanted canvas, he brought it home and stretched it for me with wood from his shop at home. I was indulged at every step of the way. I wasn't ever told that I could not do something or that I should not do something. I was given freedom to chose my path in life. A blessed life I have lived, for sure.

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