Apr. 26th, 2017

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Monday I discovered that I cannot get a replacement drivers’ license here, I don’t have any identification to prove who I am so I can’t do it. But I went to the police and they were able to give me a form to prove my license has been stolen, which I can give to the DMV and they’ll waive my replacement fee. So that’s a start. I spent the rest of the day cooking, babysitting, and hauling gravel, and went to bed exhausted. (We have a project, Farmsister and I, where we’re scooping buckets full of gravel out of the stream bed, where it washes up naturally, and dumping them into the standing mud puddles in the driveway and farm roadways, a couple at a time. While Farmbaby spent an hour and a half playing in the creek, I scooped eight buckets of gravel and put them all on the mud mire right outside the barn door where I clean the floor of the slaughter room all the time, because most of the mess is what people track in on their boots.) 

Yesterday I drove kind of a big truck an hour and a half each way to get a pallet of organic potting mix. I got lowkey holla’d at by the warehouse staff, which was mostly amusing because I didn’t figure out what was going on. (I was wearing sweatpants, a sweatshirt over a bulky denim vest, and chore boots; he complimented my hair. I think I can be forgiven not knowing instantly what was up.) About 45 minutes into the return journey, my GPS lost signal, blurted “turn.. right” and then wouldn’t reconnect. I had to keep driving until I could find a signal, whereupon of course it had to recalculate the route. I told it no tollways, but it still dumped me onto the Thruway and sent me almost as far out of my way as it was possible to go so that I would have to give the Thruway Authority money. Very annoying. 

I have learned a lot about Columbia and southern Rennselaer counties. Namely, the roads are twisty as fuck.

Got back and went to work in the greenhouse, where I potted up (i.e. they’d been free-seeded in an open flat and now the individual sprouts got their own homes in those little plastic cell-type pots) some little baby shasta daisy plants and some dusty miller, and seeded some flats of kale and lettuce and dill, and shot the shit with a new employee this season who is a native of Manhattan and even though in my head she’s about my age, a couple of cultural references have made it increasingly clear that she’s got to be at least a dozen years younger than I am, probably even younger, so that’s a bit disorienting. (I walked in at lunchtime to a discussion of Ghostbusters, which made it clear that neither New Girl nor the Assistant Livestock Manager, another woman in her early twenties, had seen the original movies or knew there had been cartoons. What.)

Although the first conversation happening when I came in, I heard the name Robert Moses, and I yanked my boots off and stuck my head in the door and yelled I’ll fight that old bastard’s ghost, which apparently went well with the point New Girl had been trying to make about him and New York, so. 

Anyway. After dinner I took a shower, went into my bedroom to comb out my hair, looked at my computer, it was like 8pm, my eyes got heavy so I put my head down for just a minute, and then suddenly it was three hours later and I figured I should just go to bed. I though I’d wake up at 1 in the morning, and I did briefly, but then I rolled over and slept until 6, so. I guess I needed it. 

I do feel better. We’ll see how today goes. Anyway safe to say I’m in the swing of things here and not much online. @ me if there’s anything I should know, I’ll be delighted to get back to it later. (Sometimes the worst part of not being around online is that people stop talking to you!) 

I have a Lost Kings update that I just need, like, ten minutes to proofread… then it’ll be up… I just don’t really have ten minutes of awakeness in me. Maybe tonight.
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danceswchopstck reblogged your post and added:

 I love the idea of a mixed-media ¿quilt? map of the farm! If wanted, I’d be happy to burble a few ideas for possible ways to start. If not wanted, that’s OK, too. Plenty on your plate.

The idea I have is to start with a base layer of canvas, and maybe a layer of batting and a second layer of canvas, and then quilt the general outlines into that. Then, applique the large masses of the different areas in the color they need to be– roads, streams, hills, fields, forested areas. And then, over the top of that, the finer-detailed things, like buildings and textures, would be embroidered or painted, and maybe built up with yet another layer of batting underneath for things that should be raised.

I might also do the artistic conceit of showing topograpy from the top, but all buildings and details from the side, rather than just straight-up embroidering a satellite photo.

I’d love other ideas and suggestions, though! This was good because I hadn’t put the idea into words really yet, so this got me to explain it a little more!
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A post shared by Bridget Kelly (@bomberqueen17) on Apr 26, 2017 at 4:47am PDT

By her request, and with her choice of filter, here is Farmbaby and her battery-operated quad thingy.
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lucydoesart:

Rogue One broke me :’(
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thebyrchentwigges:

I woke up today and…it was orc/Uruk-Hai appreciation day on my main dash? I’m so here for this.

And I have something for the orc appreciation party!

Have a story from my Lord of the Rings fanfic days, Like Old Times. After a run-in with some nasty cruel elves, two rancid slabs of orc-meat get to know each other better. Much, much better! Slash, NSFW, this is such a precursor of much of my Mad Max fanfiction it’s not even funny.
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ca. 1760s dress reconstructed ca. 1840
ephemeral-elegance:

Welcome to this week’s FRIDAY FASHION FACT! Today we’re talking about why the vast majority of historical clothes that survive today seem so small in size.

Most people probably think, that’s obvious! It’s because people used to be much shorter than they are today! Well, that’s not really true. I could write a full essay on this (in fact, several people have), but let’s stick with the basics. Average heights use to be shorter than they are today because many more people use to be malnourished, stunting their growth. However, the wealthy (and therefore properly nourished) members of society had the same variety of heights that we have today. Average heights also varied region, just as they do now, and varied by era based on ever-changing eating habits (meat based diets vs. vegetable or grain based diets, etc.) Additionally, many people have a skewed perspective of what average heights are now. Many of our celebrities are athletes, or actors who are staged to appear taller on screen, leading to the misconception that average people are taller than they really are.

So, if people (and therefore clothes) from past centuries were created in a wide variety of shapes and sizes, why do we see so many petite little dresses in museums? Simple. For one, clothing isn’t always as small as it looks. The proportions of historical gowns are very different than clothing today, often built to trick the eye into seeing a tiny waist. If we cinched in our waists and padded our hips like they did years ago, we might look as small, too. Of course, there are many pieces that actually are quite little. Why? Clothing was extremely expensive in past centuries, and the average person could only afford to buy about one new complete gown or suit a year (or the material to make one complete look.) However, the wealthy upper classes, who could afford several garments a year, were very style conscious and would discard pieces that were not in the latest fashion. They would pass down these pieces to their servants, or other less wealthy members of their communities. They were hand-me-downs, taken in or remade by the next wearer, then the wearer after that, until they were completely worn out, then used as rags or scrap fabric. The very small pieces survive because they were too petite to be passed down, taken in, re-worn, and worn-out.

Luckily for us, there is an exception to every rule, and there are surviving examples of larger pieces, as well as pieces where we can see where they have been taken in, altered, or remade. The above photos show a few of these garments:

Circa 1780 robe a l'anglaise remade from a 1740s sack back gown

Circa 1770s bed gown remade from the 1760s

Circa 1800-05 round gown remade from 1785-95

Circa 1840 evening dress remade from 1760s

Circa 1880 redingote remade from a circa 1810 man’s jacket

Want to learn more about the lifespan of historical garments? Check out these books:

What Clothes Reveals: The Language of Clothing in Colonial and Federal America, by Linda Baumgartem

The Dress of the People: Everyday Fashion in Eighteenth Century England, by John Styles

Have a question about fashion history that you want answered in the next FRIDAY FASHION FACT? Just click the ASK button at the top of the page!
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Got a Lost Kings update out this afternoon, but didn’t have time to post about it here. 

Chapter 2 of The Hard Sell, featuring Baby Poe, and a lot of Shara being completely fucking done with everything. 

Leia moved closer, bending to look at the infant’s face. “What a precious little thing,” she whispered.

“He looks like his father did,” Breha said. “I held him at this age too.” It had been just before she’d received her final diagnosis, before she’d known for sure she’d never have her own biological children, so it had been exceptionally bittersweet. She’d known Lita already, had been the one to advise her to come give birth on Alderaan. And Kes had looked so heartbreakingly much like a biological child of her and Bail might have looked, it had been a terrible ache to hold him. Still sometimes to this day Breha could remember the pain under her ribs, looking at Kes as he’d grown, and now that he was a man. His nose was all wrong, and surely her child would have had eyes more like hers, but as a child he had borne Bail a slight resemblance, enough to be painful.

Breha had never mentioned this to anyone, but it came back to her now, looking down at this baby. Leia’s adoption, and later Winter’s, had soothed the ache of it a little, but she’d never forget it.

“Really,” Leia said. She started to reach out toward the child’s hand, but at Breha’s stern look, put her hand back behind her back. “But I was older than this when you met me.”

“You were smaller,” Breha said. Her arms would never forget how tiny Leia had been. “But yes, you were several days old when I met you.”

“Smaller than this,” Leia said, surprised. “But he’s so tiny!”

“He’s average sized,” Breha said. “I know, I know. You were small, Leilila.” She had too much practice to let slip that twins were often born small, and did not let herself slide into her usual worried reverie about what had happened to Padmé Naberrie’s son. If he were half as beautiful and brilliant as her daughter… but there was no time for that now. Only Bail knew, and he had promised to keep tabs on the boy.

“Still am,” Leia said, a bit regretfully.

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