Project 46: Japanese Print Aloha Shirt

Shiny!

Remember the post about Doug's splendid aloha shirt that I made with fabric we bought while on Maui? Well, I bought some fabric for myself that day also, and now just three years later I've gotten around to making my shirt!


It's a beautiful medium weight 100% cotton poplin and the manufacturer's website describes the print as: "A metallic gold lined dreamscape of patterned fans, Japanese yew, Iris and crane silhouettes flow diagonally over a solid ground." I loved it instantly.

I used the same pattern as my Old Glory shirt, but corrected a pattern drafting error in the original; the stand collar was about a half an inch too big for the neck.

The pattern matching went pretty well, though I did wind up abandoning a completed set of right and left side fronts because I realized I had matched the pattern at the facing fold line instead of the center front. Luckily, I usually buy more fabric than I need because I make these kinds of mistakes.

There is one chuckle-worthy mistake in the whole garment and the first person to figure it out and leave it in a comment gets a big gold star.

I kind of like the big, retro collar.

Nailed the box pleat.

Can you see the pocket?

Enjoy the view as I stroll away.

Project 45: Old Glory Shirt

We have some friends here in Vancouver, who each independently found Doug and I for help working on their Scottish Gaelic. They are both musicians; Robyn is a professional music teacher and singer and Daibhidh is an ardent practitioner of rap and is becoming a fabulous singer also. We introduced them to each other and a natural alliance emerged. They formed a band called Can Cala and are working on their first recording project as I write this.

Earlier this year, they asked me if I would be interested in opening a gig for them at Skinny Fat Jack's and I accepted enthusiastically. The best date that was available, however, was Saturday, July 4th. What a delicious bit of irony, I thought to myself. Go to Canada to sing Scottish Gaelic songs on U.S. Independence Day. How to make it even better? Transform into Taigh Sheumais Fashions and get sewing!

Box pleat preserves stripe pattern

Initially I thought I would make myself a casual shirt out of some fabric with a US flag design on it, so when I got an e-mail from Pacific Fabrics announcing a sale on patriotic themed fabrics, I headed right in. What I found on the rack, though, inspired a new design. There were two different prints by the same textile artist. One was white stars on a blue field, and the other was red and white stripes. What was really appealing about it to me, though, was that they weren't exact matches to the flag. The red and white stripes were mottled, and the white was really more of a parchment color which also invokes the thought of the founding documents to me. The blue field behind the stars is also mottled and the stars themselves are askew rather than on a grid.

Facing enclosed by yoke shoulder seam

I got out my McCalls M4399 to use as a base and started drafting the pattern pieces. Stand collar, yoke with center box pleat, and short sleeves. Fronts back and yoke out of the stripes, collar, sleeves and pocket out of the stars. Two new tricks in construction; first, when constructing the collar, I left the two ends of the collar stand unfinished until I had fit it to the neck opening to be sure the end of the band would match perfectly. Second, I folded the front facing into place and basted at the neck so that when I attached front pieces to the yoke on the back, the raw edges of the facing were enclosed in the yoke shoulder seam. So much tidier than hand stitching them in place later!

Now I just need to get a Canadian flag lapel pin so I don't get killed on stage tomorrow night.

Another Chance to Say Thanks

The Quick Shuttle, which we have been using for the last fourteen years to get Doug back and forth between Vancouver and Seattle has temporarily changed their pickup location from the Best Western by the Seattle Center to the Washington State Convention Center on Pike street. No one, unfortunately, told me that when I made his reservation to get back home tonight, so thirty minutes after his bus was supposed to depart, I started to worry.

Checking on their website, we figured out what had happened and hopped in my car to zoom over to the new pickup location. There was one more departure tonight, so we anxiously waited for the bus to arrive, hoping that there would be a seat available for him, and that the driver would take my word for it that we had a reservation on the previous bus.

While we were waiting, a familiar face walked past us in the crowd.

"Doctor Savage?" I called out.

He stopped and looked at me, obviously trying to figure out who I was.

"I don't know if you'll remember me…"

"Of course I do, Mr. Gagne. Are you still playing the harp?"

Dr. Savage and I had a sometimes tense relationship when I was studying with him at Cornish College of the Arts back in the 1980s, but there was an underlying respect that grew into a warm teacher / student friendship by the time I graduated. He was my professor in several subjects including opera chorus, cultural history, music history, and more. The things I learned from him changed the course of my musical life in many positive ways.

Dr. James Savage

We quickly caught up with the basic outline of life. He had just retired after 33 years as the music director at Saint James Cathedral. I introduced him to Doug and told him about my complete immersion into Scottish Gaelic music and culture. It seemed we were about to part company, so I gave him my card.

"Since Fate has given me this opportunity…" I began.

He got a funny, apprehensive look on his face. Had other previous students found him years later and been negative?

"I want to say thanks. Thanks for everything you taught me. Thanks for the foundation you gave me. It has served me well."

He beamed. We hugged. He said it was the best feeling in the world to hear that from a former student. Then he looked past me to Doug.

"I'm allowed to do this because I couldn't when he was a student."

He kissed my cheek. Tenderly, sweetly, and we parted ways.

Doug's bus arrived, and the driver believed our story, and there was a seat for him on the bus.

"I think that was why this happened." I said as I kissed him goodbye.

Leaving Folklife

The first time I attended the Northwest Folklife Festival I was fifteen years old. I found out about it when I played my very first harp gig at the opening of an Irish restaurant on Bainbridge Island on St. Patrick's Day in 1981. Two other local harpers also played that gig, the late Ron Konzak and the very much not-late Karen Bruner. They both told me I should go, so I did.

For those of you who don't know, Folklife is a four-day festival that takes place each year on Memorial Day weekend at Seattle Center. Stages are set up all over the grounds and thousands of volunteer performers apply to be a part of it.

Not too long before my first
time performing at Folklife.

It's not an exaggeration to say that Folklife changed the trajectory of my life, though I had already found my direction. I was instantly surrounded with other traditional and folk musicians from whom I could learn. A smörgåsbord of instruments to try, handicrafts, clothes, food, dances, and everywhere fascinating people! There was even a particular tree under which Witches (there weren't any other kinds of Pagans around then) gathered. When I went back home to the farm, I had new eyes to see with. I knew there was another world waiting for me.

The following year I performed at Folklife for the first time. It was at the stage set up next to the Kobe Bell. Some of my high school friends came, and before too many more years, attending Folklife was the official start of Summer.

That was thirty three years ago. Once or twice I missed the festival entirely, but usually I went. After that first performance, I didn't apply again until the formation of my band, Wicked Celts. We performed every year during the band's lifetime. By the time the it was winding down, Slighe nan Gaidheal was starting to fill up my calendar, so our musical group, Seirm, would keep me getting up on stages at Folklife. I never once had an application rejected.

In 2012 I released my first solo CD, and started looking for opportunities to perform so I could promote the recording and make some progress toward resurrecting my solo career. I applied to Folklife and was accepted. I even got a pretty good time slot.

The next year I applied again, and got a mediocre time slot and had the absolute worst sound engineering experience of my life. The stage was awash in feedback the entire show. Folklife 2013 was a nightmare for me.

Then, in 2014, the part of Seattle Center where Folklife programmed most of its British Isles content was going to be under construction and unavailable. This is the year I will always think of as The Blood Bath. My application was rejected, along with many, many of my best musical friends. We were all upset, but tried to give Folklife the benefit of the doubt and soldiered on.

Then, as if by fate, I found myself the recipient of a pair of complimentary tickets to a fabulous concert by Le Vent du Nord. Doug and I went, and we hadn't been in our seats too long before our hosts introduced us to another beneficiary of their generosity. The individual had only just left a position at Folklife that involved making application decisions, so before I could stop myself, I asked "So, what was up this year?" The individual hesitated a moment, then said: "Oh. You're that Seumas." Bingo.

The individual related the official Folklife narrative about how the usual British Isles content stage was unavailable and how only some of the customary acts could be accommodated on other stages... If they had stopped there it might have worked, but they didn't. After all, they continued, the British Isles genre did have a much higher acceptance rate than any other genre so leveling the playing field... [over to my inner voice] ...was an opportunity to cut the second rate acts who were just getting in for the sake of Celtic coolness... [back to the outer world]

I had been cut as a second-rate act. It was a bitter pill to swallow.

Since then, I've had plenty of time to think back over the last three plus decades of supporting Folklife and realized that there has been an evolving pattern of change from my first experience of the festival. Some examples:

• There used to be one big hall of vendors where artists and craftspeople of all kinds, including instrument vendors were housed. First the instruments were taken out and isolated in a musical instrument emporium, then they were eliminated. That's right: you can't buy a fiddle at Folklife anymore.
• Sandy Bradley used to run a musical instrument auction, which was a fantastic opportunity for musicians to sell unwanted instruments, and for aspiring folks to buy them; sometimes at excellent prices. Sandy retired. Folklife stopped holding the auction.
• Folklife used to sell your CDs for you all weekend. Now you can set up a table next to your stage if you have someone to staff it for you while you perform.
• Electric instruments used to be excluded from Folklife. Now they blare across the Seattle Center and drown out the traditional music.
• There used to be a performer's appreciation party on the Saturday evening of the weekend held at a nearby venue with many spaces for musicians to mix and meet each other. Now it's held in the same hospitality barn that's open to performers all weekend. There's no additional effort made whatsoever.
• Performers have long enjoyed having the instrument check-in room, and that continues today, but it's run by the local scouting council for tips, not by Folklife.
• This year, performers were reminded that they are not allowed to use Seattle Center bathrooms to change in and out of performance attire. I plan on taking off my kilt in the lobby of the theatre.

I'm sure that every single one of these changes was for a Good Reason™, but from my perspective, each of them was a small step away from Folklife being an event at which traditional and folk musicians could find and inspire each other and a step toward what it is today. Last year, when I was still stinging from my first rejection e-mail I complained about the change in direction and an individual who had in years past been in a program management position with the festival stated "Folklife isn't a folk music festival! It's a community festival!" The irony was apparently completely lost on him.

Almost certainly my last performance at Folklife in 2013

In my opinion, Folklife sold its soul to preserve its life, and is well on the way to becoming the kind of villain that that choice typically produces.

Project 44: The Nightgown Challenge

I like my future mother-in-law a lot. We've forged a strong relationship over the years and I genuinely look forward to visiting her in Victoria.

A few years ago, I introduced her to Deva Lifewear when I bought her some new nightgowns for Christmas. She loved them, and has worn them basically out. At our last visit she asked me if I would help her order some more online. When I did, we found out that after many years the company has closed up shop.

Being the intrepid seamster that I am, I decided that I would use Garment Designer to make a pattern by measuring the existing garments. It was a bit of a challenge figuring out how to start with one of the basic templates in the software and move specific points to match what I was measuring on the garment, but I got it in the end.

Then, we took a very fun excursion to Gala Fabrics in downtown Victoria. They have a very nice selection in general, and she didn't have any trouble finding some cotton flannelette that she liked.

Back at the sewing table, I printed out the pattern and decided that the sleeve caps looked too tall. The taller the sleeve caps, the more steeply the sleeves will slope downward from the shoulder. A shorter sleeve cap makes the sleeves go out straighter from the shoulder. I'm not completely convinced that I went far enough with that adjustment, but we'll see in two weeks when we go back over.

In construction, I made two mistakes. First, when I constructed the collar, I turned it and topstitched it before attaching it to the neck, and I realized that if I had left it wrong side out I could have adjusted the seam at the end to match the neck more perfectly. Secondly, when I built the gauntlet opening in the front, I tried to use the fabric edge as a sewing guide instead of marking the rectangle like I would on a welt pocket opening. The result is OK, but the junction of the inside and outside pieces at the bottom has a small gap.

If she likes it, I'll make her a couple more and I think I'll be able to address my two construction errors and produce very close to professional level garments.

Maureen's Letter

This is the story I premiered at a concert last night in Seattle. The song described will be on my next CD, which will only be made when my first CD is sold out. Hint. Hint.

---

When I started learning Scottish Gaelic and our society, Slighe nan Gaidheal, was just a glimmer in our eyes, our teacher, Richard Hill, encouraged us to get on up the road and attend events at the Vancouver Gaelic society to meet and learn from the community of Scottish expats there, many of whom were native speakers.

I did so along with my classmates, and got something out of it I wasn’t expecting. I was already giddy with excitement at having started to learn this language and music which I had been looking for since I was a child, and with the beginnings of a community of people here in Seattle that were just as excited about it. Through the friendships we made in Vancouver, though, we discovered that we were connected to something that spans the globe and the centuries. I found a culture in which because I play the harp and sing, and was studying Gaelic I was automatically valued.

My first teacher, Richard Hill and Maureen circa 1996.

My first native speaker teacher was a woman from the Isle of Lewis called Maureen Lyon. Maureen was a high school teacher in her working years, and was a driving force in organizing events at the Vancouver society. She has an easy laugh, a bright spirit, and is a woman who gets things done. The more times I made it up North to study Gaelic with her, the more I felt like we were becoming real friends.

At that time, I was single and had been for most of my adult life, so the fact that I was Gay was pretty theoretical. That was, until I had a short affair that happened to coincide with Mòd Vancouver 1999. His name was Glen, and he has sadly since passed from this world –may his spirit find peace– and I brought him along. People noticed, and my deep-seated insecurities surfaced. These folks were mostly from the previous generation or the one before that and I don’t know if you know anything about the Isle of Lewis, but the Free Church of Scotland is a big part of island life and their outlook on many subjects is black and white. I became worried that my friendship with Maureen and the others would evaporate if they knew.

In true Gaelic fashion, somebody told Maureen that I was worried. The next time I was up in BC for a weekend I got a call from Maureen on Sunday morning as I was packing up to drive home. “Stop by the house. I have something for you.” Seemed perfectly normal. Probably a tape (we still used tapes then) or book or song or something.

Maureen lives in White Rock, right on the border. I drove into her drive way and got out of the car, but then something strange happened. She came out of her front door and closed it behind her. She had an envelope in her hand. I walked up and greeted her. She handed me the envelope and wished me a safe drive home, then went inside and closed the door. If you know anything about Highland culture, you know that is exceedingly strange. No tea?

I went back to the car and then the metaphorical bucket of ice water went down my back. This was a letter telling me to take my abominably sinful lifestyle choices home with me and never come back.

When I got in line at the border, my hands were shaking as I opened the envelope. Inside was a half sheet of paper with a poem in the format of a letter. It began “a Sheumais Chòir,” – Dear Seumas. I won’t translate the whole thing because it would sound like I was praising myself and that’s simply not done. Suffice to say that she gave me a long list of all the things she likes about me told me that she would never want me to be heavy in mind, but full of light for my whole life and true to myself always. She signed it “le gaol agus tuigse” – with love and understanding – “do dhéagh charaid” - your good friend, Maureen. It’s one of my most prized possessions.

Last year, as I was thinking about putting together material for another CD, I glanced at it up on the wall and wondered why I had never done anything with it. It’s kind of short for a song, I thought, and then it dawned on me. I would write a reply, and so I did.

My reply begins “a Mhaureen Chòir” – Dear Maureen. Your enduring faithful friendship is more valuable to me than I can tell and I want you to know how important that poem was to me that you wrote twenty years ago. It’s in my mind and heart still encouraging me every day. – And I close my reply with “le gaol agus cuimhne” - with love and memory. “do charaid gu bràth” - your friend forever, Seumas.

The song I made from these two verses is titled “Gaol agus Tuigse” – Love and Understanding and will be on my next CD. As soon as my first CD is sold out. Hint. Godsdamn Hint.

Just to prove this a true story.

Project 43: Work Shirts

Doug asked me to make him some shirts to wear at work, where he provides direct assistance to disabled people. He wanted something comfortable and casual, but a little more tailored than a t-shirt. He really enjoys wearing the aloha shirt I made him, so I went back to that pattern as a starting point.

An aloha shirt, by definition, is made out of a statement fabric. This (these) shirts, however, were to be made out of simple, solid-colour broadcloth. There are two features of the aloha shirt pattern that I think are themselves a little too plain to be executed in a plain fabric.

First, the collar. An aloha shirt usually has a rolled collar, which consists of one part, with lapels forming from the points of the neck opening rolling back. (see here, here, and here) In a plain fabric, I wanted a stand collar, which is what you typically see on a mens dress shirt.

Second, the back. The simple aloha shirt design has a one-piece back which looks just great in a Hawaiian print, but in plan broadcloth looks more like surgical scrubs than a tailored shirt. Although the original pattern didn't include one, I drafted the pieces for a two-layer yoke with a box pleat, again like you're used to seeing in a mens dress shirt.

Construction went really well. I think it looks pretty darn close to RTW. (ready to wear - store bought). Once I have the official sign-off, I'll go into production mode and churn out a half dozen of them. Don't worry though, Dear Reader. I won't bore you with blog posts about each one.

Diversity on the Dance Floor

My teacher, Susan. Taken during one
of the tunes I didn't know.

I have been casually learning to play fiddle for about twenty years now, and after my diagnosis of diabetes in December 2013, I decided I was really going to get serious about it. I officially signed up to be a student of Susan McCroskey Burke, whom I have known for many years. She encouraged me to join her student performance group, called Fiddler's Green.

I've been attending their practice sessions for a few months now, and last night I performed with them for the first time. We played for a Valentine's Day contra dance. It was a lovely hall out in Kirkland and it was nicely decorated with hearts and flowers. I only knew about half of the dance tunes that we played, so I spent lots of time with my fiddle in my lap trying to look more comfortable than I felt, but all in all it was a good experience.

The caller was absolutely brilliant. I took some serious note of how she managed the dance floor for the next time I have to do that job.

One of the things I liked best about the evening was the diversity on the dance floor. Ancestry from several different continents was in evidence. There was one young woman wearing an insulin pump at her waist and she was a very strong dancer. There was also a broad range of ages present.

Two of the best male dancers looked like they were in their twenties. One had long hair in a ponytail and the other was wearing an insufferably adorable porkpie hat. At one point in the second half of the evening someone zigged when they were supposed to have zagged and Ponytail and Porkpie wound up dancing together. Neither of them missed a beat. Other than a moment of surprise it was a non-event. Then, having switched lines, Ponytail proceeded to dance with most of the rest of the men as well.

The last dance was a waltz, and people changed partners several times. At one point, Porkpie made a point of waltzing with Ponytail. They were beautiful together.