PARTICULARS

HANDMAIDS CELEBRATING FOUR YEARS IN ONE PLACE

Dressmaker &  Custom Clothier

Raye Rieder, Proprietor

7325 SE Milwaukie Ave.    Portland OR   97202

503.516.0672

Email: rrrieder@yahoo.com

STUDIO OPEN:  WEDNESDAY – SATURDAY

10:00-12-00pm/1:00-3:00pm

CLOSED TO THE PUBLIC:  SUNDAY – MONDAY – TUESDAY

Appointments Kindly Requested.

HANDMAIDS is a credit card free establishment.

FINGERLESS IN FIRENZE

Those Italians…still clever after all these years. Seems they’ve hit upon this great idea of keeping their hands warm while keeping  their fingers free to do all the things Italians do best:  drinking wine; walking dogs; throwing  coins in fountains (to be fair I think only tourists do that);  or maybe strolling romantically through ancient ruins while drinking wine and walking  dogs…I’ll stop with that but would like to say these fingerless gloves are just the best walking hand warming accessory I’ve come across in a long, long while!  Girlfriend LaValle won’t tell me how many Euros she paid for her pair in Firenze, but HANDMAIDS is making them affordable with prices starting at  U.S. $10.00.

Walker Warmers make an affordable gift for your favourite walking buddy or for that  fancy-schmancy girlfriend who has everything but the kitchen sink…or a pair of  Italian woven wool fingerless gloves to wear to the opera!

Fabrics: poly fleece/wool blends; Italian double knit woven wool; or  boucle’ Italian woven wool. Prices are based on 100% wool or blended-wool fabric content. I promise your Walker Warmers purchase will be less expensive than a round trip ticket to Italy…waay less…and the best part? You don’t have to speak Italian.   Nota bene!

Walker Warmers

Feed Store

HandMaids: Feed Store & More

He was in the studio because his wife coerced him into coming. He was none too happy. It was getting more difficult to find a commercial pair of casual slacks that fit properly. “You are our last hope,” she said. He said nothing…but he did shake my hand like the gentleman he is. It was a firm, firm handshake. He continued to say…nothing.

Wife and I talked for a bit. He looked around the studio. I looked at the pair of slacks he brought that fit.  “Maybe they fit, but really not so much,” wife said.

I took his measurements. Wife helped. We all joked about that. He was talking some, but not a lot.  For the most part he kept looking around the studio.

Among other things we talked about pocket styles. “I’d really like western style pockets,” he said, “ones that go straight across the front. And, no pleats.”  Finally. He spoke.

I then explained the process: find a pattern that we could start with; make a fabric pattern; fit it; make all the adjustments; and finally, make his slacks out of the khaki fabric and colour that he liked. It would take some time. We were going to be good friends by the time his slacks were finished. I was honest. He and I had some physical challenges ahead of us. His more physical. Mine more challenge.

He favoured me with another powerful handshake…and a broad grin.  I did likewise.  Your studio reminds me of my favourite feed store in Prineville, he said.

Feed store?

“You are missing my point. Completely. Your studio is comfortable. It has a feel about it…like a feed store even though you have all these fabric and sewing things all around.  I like it. And, I like the fact that you have a firm handshake.”

Wife was smiling. He was smiling.  And, talking.

I was smiling, too.

GREEN INSPIRATION

Inspiration:  “A stimulus to creativity in thought or action.”

Curious: “Novel; odd; strange; mysterious.”

Yes, thank you.

In Love With…

I’ve got a confession to make:  I’m in love with Lyle Lovett. I’m fairly comfortable  making this  declaration out loud in writing  because  the only visitor to my post is on holiday.  (I hope Tonto remembers to bring me a present.) So I’m safe from his eyes rolling toward heaven and that huge belly slapping laugh I know so well.

You must realize by now that Lyle and I have a long distance relationship. Very long distance.  He lives in another state. I live here. He’s on stage somewhere. I’m still here. It’s not the distance that gets in the way. It’s the fact that we’ve never met. Tonto might say that could be a problem. He may be right. This time.

There’s probably not much I don’t like about Lyle. I love his hair and the way it curls straight up. I’m not sure if that’s natural…straight curls…but it looks like he’s always in a good mood because his hair is so…tall. I imagine walking into a room and Lyle saying “Oh, I’m so happy to see you’re still here!”  but his hair says it first. Tall hair. Hair that shouts genuine surprise at seeing someone in love with you. A good thing. (Don’t tell Tonto I said that.) And I like the way he stands. Straight and tall. Like his hair. Tee-shirts. White tees under button-down collar shirts. I like how he wears them. I just like how he wears.

I  like the way he shows up in movies. Out of the blue. Through a door. Around a pick-up truck. There he is. Like a gift.

Speaking of gifts. Lyle’s words spoken in melody and sound are my undoing.  It’s his gift of thought.  I told you I loved him. Now you know why.

I don’t have a pick-up truck but I do have a front door. He hasn’t shown up. Out of the blue.

Standing straight and tall.

Silently asking to come through.

Yet.

Green & Gold

Black & Brown

MONKEE SEE

DEAR KEMOSABE

Kemosabe (Assistant Cockroach-Slayer Extraordinaire & In Absentia Hiker)

Apologies for not getting back to you sooner. I took the hike you didn’t take and my leg muscles were so sore it impeded the movement and flexibility of my fingers…and body. But I’ll get to that in a minute.

Cockroach in your bed? On your arm? Bill came to the rescue? Did he finish his coffee or help you pack? Did he finish his coffee? Was it cold? How long did it take you to pack? You left without breakfast? So, where did you have breakfast? You DID HAVE BREAKFAST, right? You haven’t given up food, right? Nightmares…are you having nightmares? Nightmares about cockroaches or giving up food? Have you lost fat or muscle tone now that you are not eating? Is Bill eating? Drinking cold coffee isn’t like…good breakfast food. Maybe you should take a vacation…get a fresh start…eat healthy…work on your muscle tone. Did you know that cockroaches live forever?

Now… about that hike you didn’t take: I took it for you.

A friend asked me to take a hike on the Angels Rest Trail in the Columbia Gorge…with Babe, my dog. He said, “On a clear day you can see forever.” That should have sent off the bells and whistles…but…as they say in British movies…”I had my head up my arse.” So I went.

Three point five minutes into a two point four mile uphill slog I asked the proverbial seven- year-old-child-sitting-in-the-backseat-of-the-family-car-question: “Are we there yet?” We weren’t. How did I know that?

Further along the trail we came to a clearing. My nose was running…all the fluids of my body were leaking out through my nostrils…so I stopped to blow…hoping my brains would come as well so I’d have to be carried down on a stretcher. My friend said, “Look up there. See that peak?” I looked. That peak was so far away (because it was so HIGH away) my nose started to bleed from pre-altitude deprivation. If I had had any liquid left in my body (lost because of nose blowing and bleeds) I would have cried real tears. Instead I just said something nasty and/or obscene. Probably both.

We did reach the top. Finally. Up and down (east/west) both sides of the gorge and the Columbia River ran through it. It was absolutely beautiful. It was a clear day. I did see forever. Then…we had to come down…all two point four miles of down. Straight down.

That hike I took for you left me motionless for two days. I have two flights of stairs in my house: one to get to the main living floor, the other to get to the bedroom. Both stair wells have fourteen treads that are eight inches high. How do I know this? The first AH (After-Hike) day I scooted up and down the stairs on my knees because my thigh and calf muscles weren’t working. The second AH day I pulled myself up and down using the hand over hand method on the banister. That made my arm muscles sore…thus my fingers weren’t working either…which prolonged this reply.

Forgive me.

Tonto (For hiking in your place…but never again. Don’t even ask.)

THE THONG

The package arrived. It was a box wrapped in plain,  brown paper and no doubt raised eyebrows from every post office employee within handling range.  This is a true story:  I don’t care who you are, where you live or how honorable a life you live  there is absolutely  no dignity in receiving a plain, brown paper wrapped package from a postman who has second sense about brown paper wrapping. My postman smiled that all-knowing cheesie smile. You know the one.

The package contained a thong. A turquoise in-blazing-colour thong.   A turquoise colour thong so small there was very little turquoise to be seen…or thong parts to wear. I honestly don’t think I’ve ever seen anything that small!

It is at this juncture I feel I must explain: the gift was from a friend in great anticipation of a “girlie” outing we had planned, namely,  to see Mick Jagger and the Rolling Stones. The thong was going to be my contribution to Mick and his massive collection of knickers.  However, there was no way if thrown or even shot from a cannon that my turquoise thong would get any closer than the third row below mine. My seat was in the nose bleed section of the arena. One more row up and I could have dusted the steel girders spanning the roof of the building.

As it was THE thong did not attend the concert. It was kept in a dresser drawer hidden under other undie things that seldom see the light of day.  You know, old fashioned stuff like slips. Rememgber slips and petti-pants?  Yeah…I bet your mother made you wear them, too.  Anyway,  THE thong stayed hidden long after the concert came and went. It stayed hidden until I became curious. Curious about what that torquoise coloured string-of-a-thing  would look like.

On me.

I should not have gone there.  I should have listened to my better judgment. My common sense.  It wasn’t the first time that I haven’t listened to myself.    What I shouldn’t have done, really and truly should not have done at all was put IT on and then stand in front of a full-length mirror and…turn around.

After screaming, crying, sobbing and then weeping at this sight to behold…I began to laugh.  I laughed at myself. I laughed at what my expectation was. What was I thinking?  Really. What was I looking for?  A  much younger, firmer and oh, so much higher placement of skin and muscle?  I confess yes, that is what I wanted to see and what I continue to want to see because I don’t feel the age number that I am.

I wanted to see what every woman my age wants to see: timelessness.

Obviously that fright-sight in the thong was a wake up call to what was, what used to be…and today…what is.

That torquoise coloured thong?  It’s back in the drawer waiting for Mick’s next Portland concert.

HandMaids ~7325 SE Milwaukie Avenue ~Portland OR 97202  ~503.235.0147 ~www.handmaidsstyle.com

Raye Rieder, Dressmaker/Custom Clothier