Fabrics To Dye For Blog

Adventures in West Texas, or How Jenny Shot The Sharps

Here we are again, off on another expedition to who knows where. That's not true, exactly, because I do know where we're going or, perhaps more properly, where we've just been, and, of course, I want to share it with you. The adventure has nothing to do with quilts, fabrics, notions, or anything else that FTDF is about, but by now you've probably come to expect that of us, haven't you? Right, then! Let us proceed, but with the caveat that you're going to be getting a highly compressed version of The Story this time around. There was a lot going on!

This past weekend, ("this past" being the first weekend of May), I took The Fair Jenny to her very first reenactment, or at least the first one she got to go to as a full-fledged participant. We went over to Fort Chadbourne, an Indian Wars post between Abilene and San Angelo in West Texas. The fort, or what remains of it, is on a ranch that has been in existence since the 1870s (the old Odom ranch, I think), and it's a neat place, so let's talk about it for a minute or two before we get to the part where we discuss Jenny's Amazing Feat.

Fort Chadbourne is on private property, but Lana and Garland Richards, upon whose ranch the fort resides, are Texans in the truest sense of the word; people who are proud of their heritage and that of their state. Under their stewardship Fort Chadbourne is coming alive again. They've restored a couple of buildings already, and are presently working on restoration of the old Butterfield Stage Station, which is also on the ranch immediately adjacent to the remains of the fort. The Richards are people who care, and care intensely, about the preservation of the past. More importantly, they care about sharing it with others. They've made the fort site accessible to the public, and have plans for a visitor's center and museum on the property. There is an active archaeological dig in progress on the site. And, throughout the event, Garland and Lana were everywhere, helping out the 100+ reenactors who had come to portray frontier Texas, and personally thanking every attendee for making the trip. It was a truly special thing, given to Texas by two very special people. If you're ever in that part of the world I strongly recommend a detour and a visit.

So, you might ask, where does Jenny fit in with all this? The easy answer is Everywhere, but it might be best to tell the tale from the beginning. (I don't always start there, but today I'm going to. Makes sense, huh?)

I think I might have already mentioned somewhere in these tomes that Jenny and I went to the annual reenactment at Fort McKavett earlier this year. It was Jenny's first in-depth exposure to living history, and she liked it. It was there that she got to meet Gay and Bruce Frazer, owners of Frazer Brothers, one of the larger purveyors of reproduction Civil War and Indian Wars clothing and accoutrements in the country. (That's a plug, pure and simple, if you hadn't noticed.) Gay and Bruce are old and valued friends of mine, and Gay's on the board of directors at Fort Chadbourne, so an invitation was extended, countered by an acceptance. Appropriate clothing was gathered, plans were made, and it was off to The Wilds of West Texas for us!

We got there Friday night to discover that the Frazers had provided us with a brand new tent, not a wimpy modern one, but a proper tent, a period A-Frame some 12 x 14 feet on the ground and tall enough to play volleyball in. It even came with a nick-name: The Bridal Suite. Thanks Frazers; we owe you Big Time!

Friday night was spent getting re-acquainted with old friends, meeting new ones, and participating (somewhat reluctantly, we being of a rather conservative nature) in the general merriment, festivities, and mayhem that accompany any reenactment, and that lasted for a modest portion of the evening. We were able to climb into our bedrolls at an amazingly early hour, midnight or so, and for a while there it looked as though we might even be able to get a little sleep, when, all of a sudden, there sprang up (as if from nowhere) The Wind. Not just any wind, mind you, but a proper West Texas Wind; the kind that picks up full-grown cattle and deposits them in a different county. Our tent shimmied. Our tent shook. Our tent wriggled on its belly like a reptile, but at the end of it all, our tent stood. Bruce Frazer knows how to put up a tent, by jingo!

Did I mention that our tent stood? That's important to note, because some of the others didn't, and I got to spend a modest portion of the evening helping friends and neighbors keep their canvas in its appointed place. It built character, and helped to remind me why I've always enjoyed reenacting so much. It's a family thing, this reenacting, and everybody pretty much helps everybody else when trouble comes, but I digress. (I always digress, don't I? Let's just say it's part of my charm and move on...)

Our tent stayed put, and we managed to keep the others in our immediate vicinity from blowing away as well. We got Bruce safely back to his digs, which was necessary after he came out in bare feet to help with The Great Tent Flap (literally!) of 2008 and found all those burrs and stickers. (You never notice that stuff when you're wearing boots, you know.) The next morning we all walked around the various camps, recovering the assorted playing cards, tin cups, plates, and small children that had been blown away when The Wind came to call. Somewhere in there Jenny asked if the weather was typical for West Texas. I smiled.

Anyway, we survived the night, had breakfast, and got on with our day. Somewhere in there we wandered over to the shooting range that Garland had set up adjacent to the fort. Remember that part where I mentioned that the Richards were special folks?  The target, a full-sized silhouette of bull buffalo sat out in the distance some 600 yards away, and period weapons were there, available for the public to try out (under strict supervision, I have to add) for free, courtesy of the Richards. Jenny and I were standing there watching the goings-on when Garland turned to her and asked if she'd like to shoot the Sharps buffalo rifle. She thought about it for, oh, half a second or so, then walked over to the shooting bench.

Garland got her set up, and showed her how to line up her sights and set the triggers. She snugged up the rifle to her shoulder, got her breathing regulated, and squeezed off a shot. It takes a few seconds for a big old honkin' bullet like that (405 grains of lead in front of 70 grains of powder, if you're interested in that sort of thing) to travel 600 yards, but travel it did, rewarding Jenny with a good, solid metallic "whang" as the round impacted the target. To say she was pleased would be an understatement of considerable proportion. Yahoo!

You might say Jenny's right proud of that shot, and she quite rightly should be. I know people who have been shooting for years who can't make a 600-yard shot and she did it first try, and on a windy day to boot. I am proud, and quite impressed. That's my darlin' over there, ya'll!

Anyway, the weekend came to a close entirely too quickly, and it was time to put the stuff back in the truck and come home. We're back in the office now, working away, but I'm still thinking about the weekend, and I suspect Jenny's thinking about it too. We'll be back there next year, and I think Jenny's going to do some quilting next time around, so come visit with us, ok? We'll keep the coffee on for you.

hasta bye bye,

   phil

Wildflowers in South Texas, or Be Careful Where You Sit, Pardner!

Howdy folks, and welcome! Today we're going to talk about Spring and flowers, so pull up a chair for a minute and let's get started.

Spring has sprung down in these parts, although it's a strange sort of Spring by any standards. It isn't hot yet, and really hasn't been all year. Evenings of late have been in the high 30s and low 40s, highly atypical for Texas weather during this time of year. It hasn't rained all that much either, although that just might be a way of evening things out after last year's non-stop (and I mean non-stop) rain event, a weather extravaganza that lasted as long as the one experienced by that Noah fellow, albeit without all the animals. So there we go, goofy weather in springtime, a condition guaranteed to send the national media into paroxysms of "the sky is falling the sky is falling" as they are so wont to do at the least provocation these days. At the end of the day it's a simple concept though; this is Texas. We have goofy weather, and lots of it. It's normal. Ordinary. Everyday. The sky ain't fallin', it just ain't hot yet, a blessing of sorts.

We didn't convene to discuss climate, though, nor doomsayers, nor the national media, nor even the potential effect of the Wooly Bear Caterpillar on whatever a Wooly Bear Caterpillar could have possibly have any kind of an effect on. That's poor grammar, or syntax, or something equally erudite, but it's also true. We are here today to discuss Texas wildflowers.

Anybody who's been to Texas in the springtime has seen bluebonnets, one of the prettier flowers around in my never-humble opinion. Indian blanket is coming in, as is its cousin Indian paintbrush. The few sunflowers that visit this far south are beginning to show themselves, and a myriad of other flowers are in full bloom as well. I think the lavender might be out too, although I'm pretty sure I wouldn't know what a lavender looked like if it came up and bit me. That's sad in a way, since our community recently declared itself to be the lavender capitol of the known universe (on what grounds I don't know, but we did it), thus presuming that we all know what a lavender is. (I did once have a lavender shirt back in the 60s, an event that went totally un-noticed in my community at the time, but I digress...)

Getting back to wildflowers; my personal favorites, but don't tell anybody because I'm a guy and I don't think we're supposed to like flowers since we're rough and tough and all that stuff, are the little bitty ones. I mean really itsy-bitsy, teensie-tiny little flowers, none bigger than 3/16 of an inch in diameter at best. The little guys come in all manner of colors and patterns, generally grow in little clusters and are really pretty, much more so than their more extravagant cousins, at least in my mind. It's worth getting down on hand and knee to look at them. They're weeds, of course, as are all wildflowers when all's said and done, so they end up getting whacked by the lawnmower at one point or another, but then flowers are a passing thing anyway. There's a certain irony there, I think. I have these beautiful flowers in the yard that I truly love, and at some point in the equation I mow 'em down with the dubious fruits of Technology! It's a plot worthy of Poe! Beauty. Tragedy. Irony. The plot could be made into a major Hollywood production!

Or not.

Sometimes, depending on the flower and how wet the Spring has been, it's possible to have acres and acres of countryside covered in wildflowers. Once, many years ago, I had entered a motorcycle enduro being held about seventy miles east of where I now live. I'd decided that active participation in motocross, my former motorsport of choice, was probably a bad idea since I was getting older (in my late twenties!) and had responsibilities that would soon include a child so, without further ado, it was off to the "safer" world of enduros. The event under discussion was a 100-miler across country far rougher than any motocross track I'd ever ridden, and with a time requirement to be observed. I pooped out after about fifty miles (this was my first event---that's my story and I'm sticking with it) and took a short-cut to get back to the start/finish line and my truck before death, or at least a heat stroke, overtook me. Somewhere in there I crossed a pasture, several acres worth, covered with Indian blanket as far as the eye could see. I rode through them slowly, marveling at the wonderland passing beneath me. They really smelled bad, but I think that's because there were millions of them there---too much of anything is bad, you know---but the memory of their colors is vivid to this day. That's the Beauty part.

There's a down side to everything, though---balance in the universe is one excuse that's frequently offered for the phenomenon. During the same time period a friend of a friend, a young lady in her mid-twenties, decided that the flowers were so beautiful that year that she had to take her infant daughter and photograph her in the midst of nature's abundance, which she proceeded to do forthwith. I'm told the pictures were great, and her daughter was just fine with the experience (something that isn't necessarily a given with small children, who can become absolutely terrified by the most innocuous of events), but our intrepid photographer was bitten in her sit-down place by a Brown Recluse, a spider who's venom inflicts severe discomfort, misery, and scarring upon those it visits. I suspect the scar is still there. That, my friends, is the Beast part, but it's pretty unusual that that sort of thing occurs. I mention it only because I remembered it and was running out of things to write about. The bottom line is that Texas is awash with color these days and it's wonderful. I think I'm going to collect Jenny, put the top down on the roadster, and go explore some back roads. We'll be thinking about you!

hasta bye-bye, phil

Doin' That Blog Thing One More Time

Howdy Ya'll, and welcome back.

It's been a week or two since last we talked, so it's time to catch up, I suppose. Up to this point all my ramblings have been directly concerned with something or other to do with Fabrics to Dye For. Today's installment will be more of the same, but with a little bit of a twist to it. Therein hangs a tale (somebody famous said that, I think), so here's mine:

Way back last year some time, I worked as a buyer for a manufacturer of small airplanes. I've been doing that sort of stuff most of my life, although my previous adventures in that direction pretty much leaned towards Great Big Airplanes, I.e. airliners. It was time for a change though, so off I went to work in the Wonderful World of General Aviation. In all of my former jobs I'd been a raw materials guy, and a processes guy, and a structures guy, but you do a little bit of everything at a small company, so there I was, doing the aforementioned Little Bit of Everything, an endeavor that sometimes involved things I'd never bought before. That said, it came as no great surprise the day I received a purchase requisition to go buy some Finny scissors for our upholstery department. As you know Finny scissors are pretty much top-of-the-heap scissors, although I didn't know it at the time, which means I really didn't know where to buy them either since they weren't an aircraft material, process, or a piece of primary or secondary structure. Fortunately, the requisition had a source on it, replete with contact information. Aha!, said I. A no-brainer! I can cope with a no-brainer---I'm an adult male and that's one of the things we do best---so it's off to the phone to order the scissors. That's pretty much Act 1.

Act 2 ran as follows:

The supplier didn't have the quantity of the particular Finny scissors that we needed in their stock, which meant that said supplier had to go to their distributor to obtain same. The distributor messed up the order and didn't book it, so the scissors never came, thus guaranteeing daily visits from the manager who oversaw the upholstery department. As you may or may not be able to imagine, getting scissors into the company wasn't as high on my list of priorities as certain other commodities were. In fact, on a scale of "If we don't get this on time the whole company will shut down!!!" to ten, the scissors weren't very important at all. The upholstery shop already had scissors; they just didn't have Finny scissors!  Add to that a big dollop of my innate procrastination, and you can well understand that The Great Scissor Tragedy of 2007 sat for a while, festering the whole time, which is another way of saying that some of my discussions with the aforementioned manager were somewhat sporty in nature. Entirely counterproductive, but sporty nonetheless. Finally came The Day;

"Hey Boss. What's up?"

"Phil, what's this I hear about scissors?"

"Upholstery thinks they need some."

"Have you bought them yet?"

"Sure, but they aren't here yet. There's a problem at the distribution level."

"Go fix the problem, and do it now. Don't do anything else until we can assure them they'll be swimming in scissors. Scissors, for crying out loud. How can we possibly have a manager upset over scissors?"

I thought about that question for a minute, but didn't give the answer I really wanted to. It was a respect thing, because my boss was (and still is, as far as I know) a Seriously Good Guy.

"Right, Boss. Scissors. I shall Work the Problem."

So I went off to do same. A quick e-mail to the supplier revealed several things: The person I'd talked to thought my name was Richard (because that was the name on the corporate card); the scissors were still hung up at the distributor, and an apology was in order. It was an innocuous beginning, but it led to a series of e-mails that led, in turn, to a phone call which, in turn, led to other phone calls, which led to a supplier visit to Austin, which led to other visits, which in turn takes us to Act 3.

Jenny and I got married last weekend. It was a wonderful day, maybe the Best Day of my life to date, and looks to be only the beginning of an equally wonderful life together.  I'm happy. Jenny's happy.

I think there may be a photo of the event around here someplace. I'd like to share it with you, but Jenny's going to have to do that for me since I don't have a clue, not the slightest clue, how to do it, which means that you may or may not get to see it---that all depends on Jenny. (If she does append a picture to this, you might want to remember that we're reenactors, which explains our somewhat dated attire.)

And there you have it! Many thanks to Galadriel, Patrick, Gay, Grace, Jan, Dennis, Frank, and Pam. I've never been happier. Yippee-yi-yo-ki-yay!!!

hasta bye bye,

  phil

Neat Things Coming, or How We Broadened Our Horizons In One Not-Particularly Easy Step

Howdy, Ya'll.

This is going to be a really short edition of whatever it is I'm writing here, because it's almost an announcement of sorts rather than my usual illegible and barely intelligible scribblings. We're going to be adding a few things to the items we already carry here at FTDF, and we're really excited about it. We think you will be too. The long-term plan will add a number of things to the plate, but today we'll just talk about a few.

The first and maybe most exciting new thing to tell you about is that we will now be handling airbrushes. I'm going to guess that most of you know what an airbrush is, but for those of you who don't, envision a tiny spray gun about the size of a medium-sized felt tipped pen. Airbrushes work well with all sorts of mediums, utilizing a variety of different tip sizes in order to spray different consistencies of product. The better ones (the ones we'll be handling) all offer interchangeable tips so the material used can run the gamut from inks to dye to paint. We'll also be able to supply hoses and small, affordable compressors. The brands we'll be handling are Badger and Paasche but they aren't in our product list yet, so please give us a call if you're interested in one (or if you just have questions about them) and we'll be glad to help you out.

We're also going to greatly expand the beading supplies we'll be carrying. This is one arena where you'll definitely need to talk with Jenny; she's our Resident Expert on that sort of thing. That particular craft dovetails very nicely into the things we already support and we're looking forward to that addition to our present product offerings.

And speaking of Jenny, the craziness associated with the move to Texas is now largely behind us and she's resumed fabric painting after a hiatus of several months. She's back in the saddle, and we're looking forward to neat things in the days ahead. Stay with us and we'll keep you posted on that one.

We're also adding to our staff. Galadriel, a resident of Austin, Texas, is working with us behind the scenes (at first, anyway---look for her at Texas quilt shows in the months ahead) to make your customer experience more pleasurable. She's a great addition to our staff, and we think you'll be as impressed with her as we are. Stay tuned for more details!

Finally, and perhaps surprisingly to some, we're going to begin an exploratory foray into the world of educational toys. The logic for that one is simple: A lot of us have kids, and a lot of the stuff being offered to the children's consumer market these days is intended purely for entertainment and not for education. We happen to think that's wrong. Kids need to have fun, but that fun ought to include a little learning too, so we're investigating things to offer you to stimulate your children while you quilt, sew, and otherwise participate in all the activities that FTDF have supported for so many years. We think it's the right thing to do, and hope you agree with us. Once again, details will follow shortly.

We're looking forward to nothing but sunny days ahead and hope you'll continue to share them with us. 'Til then,

   hasta bye bye,

      phil

Ever been to Chuy's in Austin?

What an odd way to start off a blog/essay/whatever-this-is, right? How many of you have ever heard of Chuy's in Austin ? Let's see some hands. Hmmm, not too good. How many of you have been to Austin? (That would be the one in Texas, just in case there are any others scattered around the country.) OK, that's a little better. How many of you have heard of Austin, Texas? Finally! Now we're getting someplace, so let's talk about Chuy's.

Chuy's is a restaurant, or more properly restaurants. I think it's turned into kind of a chain (darn it!), but it started out as one restaurant in Little Old Austin. They serve pretty good TexMex food, and are a fun place to go. In the Old Days, when there were only a couple of them around and those only in Austin, you could actually tell your server how spicy you wanted your food to be. Those days are long gone, but everybody in Austin and surrounding environs knows about Chuy's and has, in all likelihood, been to one. Jenny and I hang out at the one on North Lamar, a fact which will become significant in a few minutes, although you really need to go to the original---the one on Restaurant Row---to understand the innate coolness of the thing. Add it to your list of to-dos when you next come to Austin.

At this juncture you would be well within your rights to ask why in the world I'm telling you about a restaurant in a column that's ostensibly about stuff related to quilting and fabrics. It's nonsensical, right? Well, no; it really makes perfectly good sense if you look at the world the same way that I do, and therein lies a tale.

Almost every Saturday afternoon, pretty much without fail, I drive in to Austin to go to King's Hobbies, my favorite aviation-related hobby shop in the universe. I'll spend an hour or two there and then go to supper with friends. That's supper's almost inevitably at Chuy's. Some of the wait staff know Brad, Brian, myself, and, now, Jenny, by first name, and we have a lot of fun while we're there. There was a time, not that long ago, when Jenny had yet to come into my life. In those days the Chuy's Run generally consisted of just Brian and me, or maybe Brian and Brad. We would usually get over there around four (that would be 1600 hrs local for anybody who keeps time that way) because by so doing we could beat the Saturday Night Supper Crowd, which anyone who'd ever been to Chuy's (or any other Austin restaurant) would describe as A Very Good Thing to Do.

Right, then! Let's jump back a year or so. It's four PM (or 1600 hrs local), and Brian and I are pulling into the parking lot at Chuy's on North Lamar. There's generally no lack of parking places at that time, but on the particular day we're discussing the lot is jammed. People are parked everywhere. We eventually find parking places and go into the restaurant, where we actually have to wait a while for a table. Now wait just a ding-danged minute; this ain't right! Chuy's is never like this at four in the afternoon. Where'd all these people come from, anyway?

That's the part where Brian remembered that there's a small civic center across the street. It's usually a busy place, what with gun shows, car shows, collectables fairs and the like, but none of those things had ever caused Chuy's to be packed like it is. What's up? Well, we started to surmise (a fancy word, that) what it could be that was causing our dining discomfiture. Let's see now; politicians? No. A gathering of medieval huntsmen? No. Sailors? No. We could hear those people talking all around us, but what we were hearing didn't make a lot of sense. Ten, maybe fifteen minutes passed, and we finally decided to do what we should've done in the first place---we asked our server.

"Hey, what's going on here?"

"Whaddayamean?"

"All the people. What's going on here?"

"Quilters."

"Huh?"

"Yeah, it's a quilt show. They do it every year. All these people are quilters. Pretty cool, huh?"

"Uh yeah, sure. Cool. Right."

"It's only once a year and then they'll go away. Eat your supper."

"Yes Ma'am."

And we did. Ate our supper, I mean, and then we went away. While I was driving home I thought about where I'd just been and what I'd just experienced. (It's a fairly long drive back to Blanco.) The conclusion I arrived at wasn't much of a much, and didn't require a whole lot of thinking. It was a simple thing---there are a lot of quilters out there. They completely filled the civic center; put more people in there than the train guys, car guys, gun guys, flower guys, reptile guys, or any other kind of guys had ever done, maybe more than all those folks put together. It was impressive, and maybe a little scary. Could quilters be conspiring to take over the world, or at least Austin? Nah, probably not. There were a bunch of them though, and I expect they'll be back in another month or two. The big difference this time will be that Jenny will probably be there with FTDF, and I'll probably be with her. In there. In that civic center. With the quilters. Yikes!

But maybe it'll be easier to get a table at Chuy's that day!

   hasta bye bye,

      phil

Oh, The Warehouse

You gotta give me credit, folks; I'm trying to learn this stuff. I really am. The plain truth of the matter is that my pre-Jenny world didn't include the sorts of things that have become my normal day-to-day routine of late. There's a lot to do in any given day and I have a lot of free time in my semi-retirement, but at least some part of every day is given over to helping Jenny. Sometimes it's as simple as writing this column, although I'm still not entirely convinced of the value of that. On a more productive note, I sometimes help the shipping department. We're a relatively small company, and a big chunk of my former life was spent in materials management. It's true that all of that experience was in aviation, but at the end of the day there should be some carryover, don't you think? Well, I thought there ought to be some, but it just ain't as simple as that. Read on.

The purchasing part is pretty easy. A part number's a part number, whether it's for a sewing needle or an airplane, and purchasing principles are unchanged regardless of the industry. I can help with that, most of the time anyways. The things that sneak up on me all live in the shipping department.

In theory the whole deal should be pretty easy. I've run warehouses, shipping and receiving departments, and purchasing departments. I know how to do that stuff pretty much inside and out because I've done it all my life, and in some fairly large companies too, so little old FTDF ought to be easy. Pull and pack an order? Piece of cake. Ship an order? No sweat. Yeah, right!

We can pretty much sum all this up in a nutshell. Put me in an aviation warehouse, either for numbered parts (like boost pumps, starter generators, avionics, and the like) or raw materials, and I can go right to what's needed. I should be able to do that since I've been doing it pretty much forever, and it's easy; a veritable no-brainer. Put me in a hobby shop environment; same deal. A motorcycle shop? Got it covered! The FTDF warehouse? Goshgollygeewhiz, I can't find a blessed thing!

Why not, you may ask? It's an easy thing to do. Sure it is---easy for you, maybe, but not for me. Do we need to ship some scissors? What brand? What kind? (I never knew there were so many different kinds of scissors!) How big? They all have part numbers, of course, but I think I'm becoming part-number-challenged as I age because those numbers just aren't clicking the way they should. How about dye? We are, after all, Fabrics to Dye For. We therefore have dye. Lots of different kinds of dye, more colors than I ever knew existed, made with all sorts of spiffy chemistry, with ancillary chemistry to go with each family of dyes. You'll never fully understand the meaning of the word "challenging" until you go hunting for dye when you don't have a clue what you're looking for. Then there's thread. Would you like to talk about thread for a minute or two? Then great; you go right ahead and do it, because I don't want to get involved with this one. There are approximately a bazillion brands; all the different sizes and weights; all the colors. (I don't even want to hear about the metallic threads, so please don't go there at all!) It's thread, for crying out loud! you know---THREAD. Thread, like (dare I say it once more?) Grandma used to put my buttons back on with. We could also discuss needles, but any of you who have been following my rambles with any regularity already know all about my issues with those implements of destruction!

Sometimes I go out there anyway ("there" being the warehouse), and I try to help out. I don't really think I'm helping much at all, but I'm not going to tell that to Jenny, nosirree! Show me to that warehouse, by golly, and I'll roll up my sleeves and pitch right in. Even a blind squirrel finds a nut sooner or later!>

What's a bobbin?

   hasta bye bye,

      phil

Who Would've Thought There Were That Many Quilters Out There, or, An Opportunity Comes Knocking?

Here we are again, another blog (whatever that is). Tonight we have something to discuss that absolutely amazes me, astounds me; an epiphany, if you will. I'm amazed. We need to talk about it but, me being me, we're going to take the long way around before we get to any sort of point so without further ado, but with some modest delay, let us begin.

Point the First: I have hobbies too. I don't quilt, don't paint fabric, don't sew (if you don't count the occasional button during my various stints as a bachelor), don't bead, or any of the myriad of other things that we support here at FTDF. Jenny assures me that some day I will be exposed to those aspects of the business and will indeed participate in the festivities, but for now I'm a veritable Babe in the Woods, so to speak. All that stuff is still pretty foreign to me. My own hobbies tend to go off in other directions---I raced motorcycles in my younger days, I piddle on guitar, I reenact, and I build model airplanes. It's the model airplane part we're going to discuss today. The ones I build don't fly, but are for looking at. They're heavily researched, pretty highly detailed, and I can immodestly claim that a couple of my pieces have ended up in museums even if that did happen a very long time ago.

Point the Second: I know a lot of people. Some of them used to race motorcycles with me, a few are musicians, and a whole bunch of them date back to my days in aviation journalism and heavy-duty scale modeling. They've all heard about Jenny, and they've all been told about FTDF and what it does. They've been informed. They know.

Which takes us to what could have been Point the Third, except I don't think it would make journalistic sense to do it that way so I'm not going to---I'm just going to come right out and say that a lot of the folks I know have spouses or significant others who quilt, and a few of those individuals also paint fabric. I am amazed!

It all started when I was still working in aviation, and had just met Jenny. It was a low-key relationship because, even though it may not seem like it from time to time, I'm a low-key kind of guy (mostly). When I finally sprang Jenny on one of my friends at work, I found out that she (the friend, although this applies to Jenny as well) was a knitter and wanted to quilt. The lid was officially cracked on the quilter jar. After that, it was a steady stream sort of thing; it seemed like almost everyone I knew was either a quilter, wanted to be a quilter, was dating a quilter, or was married to a quilter. Just this past weekend Jenny and I were talking to one of the Shakers and Movers in the Austin scale modeler's club and, yep!, his wife was a quilter. They're everywhere! Everywhere!

We might want to assess what this means, because there's something happening here. Think about it: We have a national election presently in its nomination stages. We have two Democrats and a Republican who all want to try to run the country. They're going after every special interest group they can muster, wooing and courting and doing all the things politicians do to get votes, but they don't seem to be targeting the quilters of America! It seems to me, as it probably seems to you at this very moment, that there are a LOT of quilters out there, and most of them are a potential vote for somebody or other. It's my guess that none of the candidates quilt, but if my recent personal experience is any sort of indication, they all know at least a few quilters, or more likely (considering that they're politicians) a whole big bunch of quilters. Think about that for just a minute---if properly approached, the quilters of our fair country could be the deciding force in the upcoming general election. Come to think of it, they could even form their own party and be the general election! What a concept! We don't need to worry about what happens if the phone rings at three AM because everybody will be happily sleeping under their very own quilt! Is that cool or what?!

The pragmatist in me says it couldn't work, but you just never know. Anybody out there want to live in DC for a couple of years?

   hasta bye bye,

      phil

Of Sharps and Sharps---She's Needling Me Again.

Jenny and I have this agreement regarding the things I write about. Since I don't know much of anything about the various hobbies and avocations that FTDF supports through its sales, she's immersed herself in an education campaign. That sort of thing could, by all previous indications, be somewhat of a wasted effort; after all, those years of primary school, secondary school, and college didn't result in much. That expression about new tricks for old dogs could prove applicable here, no doubt about it.

Part of Jenny's ongoing attempt to make me smarter about what she does is to periodically put various things that she offers for sale on my desk, by my keyboard. The theory is that I'll notice them and ask what they are, and therefore become wiser about the mysteries of quilting, fabric painting, appliqué, et al. Sometimes that works. Sometimes, it doesn't.

This morning's present was several packages of needles. Now, in my world, or at least in the world I used to inhabit, a needle is a needle. Some of them are big. Some are little. Some are in-between. Some are stout enough to use on leather. At the end of the day, though, a needle is a needle. Or was.

Some of the distinctions make sense. For example, even I know you can't put a needle made for hand sewing in a sewing machine, or at least I don't think you can. I suspect someone could hand sew with a machine needle though, if push came to shove (no pun intended), though maybe not. The thing that strikes me is the variety of names given to the darned things; appliqué needles (in English or in French; you pick), demi-longues, darners (darn it!?), embroidery needles, sharps, and more. There are other names, I'm sure, but those are the ones that most commonly show up on the stack 'o stuff that's on the desk today. The thing is, they all look pretty much like needles to me. There's no doubt in my mind each and every one of them will sew and, in my hands, draw blood as well. A name's a name.

Except, of course, for the sharps. I haven't asked Jenny yet (maybe I should?), but I'm thinking that the word "sharp" is some sort of industry-specific term for "needle". Maybe it is. Then again, maybe it isn't. To me, there's one kind of Sharps. That particular item has a barrel length running between 22 and 34 inches, weighs up to 16 pounds or so, and will accurately shoot a 500-grain projectile out to 1,000 yards give or take. Yep, we're talking about the legendary Sharps rifle, much-loved by frontier Army officers, sportsmen, and buffalo hunters. Said Sharps was a premium rifle in its day, and was far from inexpensive even in the 1870s. Those rifles that have survived into the modern era are expensive collectables, and the shooting replicas of them are almost as expensive as some of the originals. They are extremely desirable for those who enjoy the mystique of antique firearms, and day before yesterday Jenny informed me that she had a lot of them (sharps, that is), in all different styles. Aha!, thought I. A side of Jenny I never knew---she collects Sharps rifles! Be still, my beating heart. I was pretty much quivering with anticipation as she went to get her sharps for me---it was better than Christmas!

Which is when I found out that sharps are needles. She showed me the sharps. I shook my head and laughed that laugh of disappointment that I used to emit at Christmas when I opened Aunt Silvie's package and got socks instead of a model airplane. A lesson learned, as it were.

So now I know about sharps. I already knew about Sharps. I'm really going to have to watch what I say around here!

   hasta bye bye,

     phil

Things That Passeth All Understanding

There's an advantage of sorts to having no knowledge whatsoever of the things you write about. I know this is true---all you have to do is read the musings of our nation's various political pundits and it becomes abundantly clear that lack of understanding is an ok thing. It is, in all honesty, far easier in many respects to describe things about which you have no knowledge whatsoever, no previous life experience, no familiarity. In short, I've been poking around the inventory again.

Our inventory is a constant source of amazement to me. It occurs to me that a lot of people must use all this stuff because it exists and, because we sell it. I can understand the concept. I have hobbies of my own, and some of the things I work with are fairly obscure. That makes me a kindred spirit of sorts, but it doesn't curtail the confusion any---I just don't know what some of these things are. Take, for example, Color Change Thread. It comes in different colors, and those colors change after the thread has had any sort of exposure to UV light (sunlight, that is). I have no idea what it's used for (but I kindof wish we'd had it back in the Sixties) and don't think I've ever seen it incorporated into any sort of garment or work piece. It's pretty spiffy stuff, but I have trouble figuring out who'd use it and why. So, what do you folks use it for? (I could ask Jenny, but that's too easy!)

Then there's Aunt Becky's Finger Protector. It's a little flat doohickey that goes under the work piece, and keeps you from puncturing yourself during the sewing process. This is one of those things even I can appreciate, having taken a stab (no pun intended, but truth revealed) at sewing on the odd button or two during my time on The Planet. Can you say "Yeeeow!!!"? I suspect we all owe Aunt Becky a debt of gratitude for this one---at least all of us guys do! (Do you think she makes a protector that works for X-Acto knives too?)

My final entry tonight is a puzzler to me. It's a bias tape maker by some folks named Clover. This one's a fabricated tool, with moving parts, and it helps you make your own bias tape if you don't want to buy it ready-made. It sort-of makes a smiley face at you when it's sitting there in the package, It comes with instructions; a Good Thing to be sure. I'm told it works well, although I don't have a clue how it functions---it might be easier to understand if I knew what bias tape was, but I'm guessing it's one of those mysteries that will be revealed to me in time. It doesn't seem to work as a bottle opener, so we know one thing it won't do, but it's apparently a whiz at making bias tape.

So there you have it---Phil's confused again! I'm learning, though. I promise I am. It's just taking a while.

   hasta bye bye,

     phil

Further Adventures in Technology or, It's Gotta Be Easier Than This

   

When last we spoke of technology and its direct application to and influence on both Fabrics to Dye For and Jenny's disposition, we determined that things weren't going as well as they could. That's still the case, but things are getting better, albeit on a somewhat limited scale. Some of the things that weren't quite up to snuff before are still pretty much in the cellar (that would, of course, be the internet service in our part of South Texas, fatally flawed by placement of the antenna in a bird-rich environment) and are seemingly destined to remain that way 'til the end of time. This is annoying, to say the least, but it's also a chance for us to rise to the occasion, overcome all obstacles, work the problem, and move ahead in a forceful manner. It's an opportunity to excel. Sounds good, doesn't it? Yep, I know it's a load of hooey too, but we need to keep a positive spin on things, don't we? It's good for the soul.

Anyway, The internet problem is defined, and apparently isn't going to improve any time soon. Status quo, as it were. So, you might ask, what is it that's getting better? Well folks, they fixed the phone!!! Let me tell you a story...

Jenny moved down here (both self and business) before Christmas. An immediate requirement for a business was, and is, multi-line telephone service. Easy enough. We'll call the Big Phone Company, they'll get the lines squared away, and we'll be rocking. Or not.

It was a Line 1 issue. There are others, but Line 1 is special, because it's Line 1 and, more importantly, because we're paying for it so it's going to work, by Golly! The Big Phone Company determined that our internal wiring was all set for multiple telephone lines. They installed the box and flipped the switch. Line 1 was dead as a post. We called the phone company and they checked their stuff (they're only responsible for what's outside the building---inside is ours---and once again determined that everything was fine. It was fine too, except for that pesky Line 1, which was still totally, entirely, completely dysfunctional. You can make either a sighing noise or an "arghh!" sound at this point. We did both.

OK then, the stuff on the outside is ok, so it's gotta be an internal issue. Let's buy new equipment. The old stuff is a little dated anyway, so let's kill two birds with one big rock. Fair enough. The new system is purchased, the rock is thrown. The Dead Phone Line Bird is still alive and well. Arghh!

There we were. Plan A had failed. Plan B had failed. It was time to implement Plan C and call an electrician, preferably one familiar with the Big Wonderful World of Telecommunications. We did. He came. He saw. He said all the internal wiring was just fine, and there was no issue with the equipment. Of course, he said that after  he had accidentally but almost irrevocably killed the phone system. An expensive one-hour service call turned into a really expensive two-hour service call, but when the guy left everything was back to normal, "normal" including the fact that Line 1 was dysfunctional. It's time to say "arghh!" again.

Desperation was the root cause of Plan D, which was to call The Big Phone Company again. We did. They came out, looked at the box, and told us a module was dead in the box, said it probably always had been. They'd never seen anything like it before, because those never fail. Ever. The replacement of said module took less time than it would take to say "he replaced the module". Line 1 now works like a champ, as do all the other lines. The FAX is happy. The 'net is still kindof flakey, but we're learning to live with that. It's a Green Acres thing.

Next time you call in an inquiry or place an order, ask Jenny about Line 1. We're proud of Line 1, you know. And keep the birds off your water tower.

  hasta bye bye,

    phil