Sew What?! A 1940's Sun Suit

Sometimes I fool myself into thinking that I am decluttering, stash busting, and overcoming the hoarder in me.  In actuality, I am usually doing quite the opposite - only making things worse by enabling the same terrible behavior in Mary.  The overwhelming "need" to rescue things from trash barrels, thrift stores, estate/garage sales is a monkey on our collective back.  And if we can't get rid of the monkey, at the very least, I would like to train him to recognize awesome vintage scores and to haggle like he's in a Baghdad bazaar.  I will admit that I am improving (the first step is admitting that I have a problem, right?) but when, on a road trip through Albuquerque, NM, I saw chenille sailboats peeking out from a rack full of unremarkable thrift store clothing, it was immediately obvious that this piece was not going to be abandoned to whatever fates the scorching desert sun offers to pink and purple, chenille sailboats.

This vintage, chenille beach cape languished in a closet for the
last couple of years waiting for me to figure out an appropriate
 ensemble; purple/salmon/lavender is a difficult color story to replicate.  

Our recent adventures on Catalina Island didn't begin and end with our friends' wedding; we made a long weekend out of it and that, of course, proved the perfect opportunity to bring the sailboats out of dry dock.

As we took the photo of Mary with the statue,
 this baby sea lion was perched on the rocks immediately
across from us.  He was not about to be outdone by some
crummy, old statue! 

Using a pattern that Mary created, I made a gathered,
halter-style bra top with a keyhole cutout.  The shorts
were altered from a contemporary pattern and then
given the Mr. Tiny treatment with a sailboat based on
the cape's design.

Using a satin stitch in varying widths, I machine-appliqued a
 sunset and sailboat on the shorts of Mary's sun suit in colors
coordinating with those on the beach cape. 

I call it a "sun suit" because, while it was technically safe to submerge in
 water, the two-piece set doesn't really have all of the desirable wicking
qualities and ultra-snug fit of a proper swimsuit.  Wanting to dive in,
 Mary was a little wistful at the water's edge.

Looking not unlike the bathing beauties for which Catalina Island
 was so famous in its heyday, Mary strikes a pose for the fine folks
of Avalon, CA.
(photo by Amber Foxx)

Mr. Tiny, Mary, and our pals Damien & Allison.
I like the fact that we ran the gamut of styles and levels of dress/undress.
White pants?  Don't mind if I do!
(photo by Amber Foxx)

Having done more than my fair share of sewing, planning, packing, performing, and preparation, I was ready to use our Catalina weekend as an excuse to relax and enjoy our sunny, Southern California weather.  While Mary sauntered around the tiny town of Avalon, Mr. Tiny was sitting...er, swinging...pretty.

The new album cover - "Mr. Tiny Swings in Avalon"

Cheers!

Mr. Tiny

Glam Fam or: How I Learned to Start Worrying and Hate My Sweatpants

Do you ever go through old family photos and end up feeling like a total schlub?  I had a chance to get into some preliminary Spring cleaning today and got easily distracted by something infinitely more interesting than clearing out the garage - a box of family photos ranging in date to as far back as 100 years.  What a score!!!  The problem is that the result of cleaning a garage in a t-shirt and pants of the sweat variety is seeing my forebears all dolled up and realizing that, though they dressed themselves intentionally for photos, even on their worst day, they still looked better than me...by a lot.  Granted, these photos are of women; nevertheless, they had me feeling simultaneously proud (of my glamorous heritage) and ashamed (of my sweatpants/self).

My dad's cousin Sylvia; but we always called her "Topper."
In fact, that is how she signed this series of headshots, "Affectionately, Topper,"
 from her days as a hostess at Hollywood's famed supper club, Ciro's.

My favorites are the bottom two; the left is all sweet, girl-next-door innocence and soft curls
and the right is all heavy-browed, brooding, French Resistance mystery.  She had range!!!

The next few photos are of my paternal grandmother's great-aunt Velma.  "Topper" and "Velma," does it get any more glamorous than that?  Well, yes.  Yes, I guess it does.  Now Velma isn't someone I would call a kind woman, a thoughtful woman, or a woman generous of spirit.  She did, however, fancy herself a glamour-puss and never shied away from a camera.  Seriously, there exists in the family archives a series of "artsy" photos of Velma, including one of her crawling up a staircase in the nude.  One day, after Auntie V's passing, we were helping my grandmother sift through Velma's things and we came upon the photos.  My grandma was extremely upset but obviously unwilling to let go of family history; the the next time we saw the photos (after my grandmother passed) the offending parts of the photograph were carefully removed using manicuring scissors.  The combination of a slightly-perverted great-great-uncle and an exhibitionist great-great-aunt (hard to put two "greats" in her title when she wasn't really all that great), make for some fun, and nightmare inducing, wacky tacky family history.

Velma and a man unknown to me (circa 1930's).
Okay, so she might not be a challenge to Wallis Simpson, but it is hard to beat a 30's
 frock, a corsage, and a wide-brimmed hat while sitting on the running board of a car.

A hand-tinted photo of Velma practically upholstered in leopard (circa late 40's).
Is there anything more wacky tacky than leopard on leopard on rhinestones?

Velma in the 50's
That cockeyed plume, the dramatic lighting, and the stone martens casually draped around
 her shoulders are wonderful but they really just play supporting roles to that crazy, fish-net
 veiling stretched over her chin.

I guess I'm running a little low on creative inspiration here, but these photos struck me as worthwhile and worthy of sharing.  I always think that if, Heaven forbid, we were to suffer a house fire, I would definitely grab all the photos and then RUN...or stop, drop, and roll...whatever it is that one is supposed to do in a fire.

BONUS PHOTO:

Leona & Bob (circa 1950)
See what I mean?  This was a candid shot of my grandparents and they still look spectacular!
The soaring ceilings, patterned wallpaper, and chenille sofa aren't hard on the eyes either.
Also, why can't I look just a little bit like my grandpa?!

 In the end, no matter how glamorous people in my family may have been, we all end up wrapping up the remnants of our biscuits-and-gravy breakfast in paper napkins and putting the leftovers in our big, white purse so the cats can enjoy them later - or at least that was the precedent set by Velma in her waning years.  Do you have any family photos of which you are particularly proud?  Or any that make you feel like you should be trying harder or, at the very least, standing up straight (bad posture plagues me)?  Until the next round of Spring cleaning distractions, I remain yours, sincerely.

Cheers!

Mr. Tiny

p.s.  We're closing in on 200 followers; when we do, there will be another exciting giveaway.  Tell your friends, family, and neighbors.  If they join in on the fun, there will be PRIZES!!!  WOO HOO!!!  Thank you!