Block 572: January 9, 2015

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Still trying to get out of the woods. I went back in last night.

Date: January 9, 2015

Crane: 572

Days Spent on Project: 690

Location: NW Portland, OR

Person I would have sent it to: Carolyn.

Carolyn ran a costume shop in New York, on west 26th Street, near Chelsea and super near the City Quilter. The costume shop is called Carelli’s. I first worked with them back in 2011 when we started working on the costumes for the regional theater (pre-Broadway) run of Newsies at Paper Mill Playhouse in New Jersey.

It’s another one of those places in the city with so much history. I don’t know how long it’s been in business, but you know so many, many Broadway shows and designers have been in and out of that shop. (They worked on Lion King, and still work on it, for instance.)

When we did the first go-round with Newsies, we had the female ensemble costumes made there- the Bowery Beauties- a duo of turn of the century show girls- and Medda Larken- the head show girl. When we revisited the costumes for Broadway, we added Katherine’s costumes to their build responsibilities.

They were really great, that shop. I remember them pinning notes into skirts and bodices… them wanting to take in or let out certain areas, just a quarter of an inch… just so it sat right. They were so delicate with things. It was really great to see that quality of work, that knowledge of fabrics and construction, that history, that detail.

So great to see that.

Music I listened to while sewing: No music, sitting in tech still.

Thoughts/Feelings behind the block: I think I’ve written about a car accident I was involved in my freshman year of high school here before. I was 14, in my first semester of high school, shy, and it was right before the Christmas holidays. The car my family was in hydroplaned and we hit a concrete embankment along the side of the road. I ended up breaking a finger, with a black eye, and lost the tip of my left index finger. I was the one hurt the most. I think I was the one person injured, period.

There are days in my adult life when I wonder why I lived through that accident.

I wasn’t wearing a seat belt.

Why didn’t hitting the partition between the seats knock me out? Why was it just the tip of my finger? Why did I only get a cut on the front of my leg? Why wasn’t it more?

There are times when I think/thought that incident was a defining time in my teenage years. Afterwards, it seemed like things clicked. I was more social. I somehow found more friends at the high school. It seems like that event changed things.

There are times when I wonder if I wasn’t supposed to live through that. I sometimes wonder if I can’t seem to find place for myself in my adult life because I wasn’t supposed to live through that. I sometimes wonder if there was a mistake along the way, and that there wasn’t really supposed to be a place for me here and *here*.

There are times when I think it shouldn’t be so hard NOT to be so alone.

I keep going back to the idea that I’m the common denominator; I’m alone not because of anyone else, but because of myself…

Anyway.

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