Because the craft spirits know — it’s really tough to work when there’s squawking in the background.

But he won’t stay on my shoulder… and this really isn’t an improvement over the squawking.

I really wanted to thought I should make a tutorial for this sewing kit, but in all honesty, I’m entirely too lazy busy cranky to take all the photos and write all the steps.

Actually, I’m not all that cranky right now — but if I took all the photos and wrote all the steps, I’d be very very cranky.  Which, according to Mr. Jivvy,  is something you don’t want to see.

So I’m doing you a kindness by not providing the tutorial.

It’s a selfless act, really.

However, there’s no crankiness involved in providing the free pattern… and I’m quite certain that with all the pictures in the original post, you won’t even need a tutorial.

As promised (a long, long time ago), here’s the free pattern (yes, you need all three PDF files).

Click on each of the three images below to download the related pattern file. See the original post for additional photos.

Wait. What?

Clock inserts are clocks without all the decorative bits that make a clock a “desk clock” or a “kiddie clock” or etc. Just the clock bit.

And I knew I had to build a clock.

I look at that clock and I almost forget the weeks of discarded designs, profanity, and complete and utter despair.

I like my clock, but it was not easy getting there.

Let’s just say that the first (or even thirty-first) idea was not the one I ended up going with… and that I had no idea I’d end up using parts from two different lamps, an eyeglass repair kit, an old necktie, a July 4th “shadowbox” made in China, and a 1:48 scale dollhouse trunk to build my clock.

But I did.

And why, yes, that familiar curved rectangle is what you’re thinking: Altoids tin.

Here’s the inside back of the clock insert — and if you know steam engines, you’ll recognize at least part of what is powering my clock.

On the other side of the interior are the tools needed to recharge the clock.

Yes, that’s the tool to remove the back of the clock and a box of magic. I’d love to take credit for crafting the carved box, but that’s the creation of a lovely lady named Ellen Crane (sadly, she’s no longer selling her marvelous little trunks). But, ho! What sort of magic is this?

The magic energy cell for powering the clock. And the number on the back of the box lid?

Why, the number needed to procure more energy cells from your local “Ye Old-e Wizard-e.”

Shortly after my last post, I saw something shiny.

But I promise, I have a project that will be posted in the next day or two and the sewing kit pattern within the next week.

Wait. I did it again.

But I really really mean it. Really.

Even though I don’t sew, or perhaps because of it, I really love this project. It’s a sewing kit that you can throw in your handbag or desk drawer, perfect for those embarrassing popped-button and/or ripped hem mishaps.

This project was inspired by Phizzychick’s marvelous Matchbook Trees. When I saw what she had done with the “accordion fold,” I just knew there was some sort of “kit” hidden in the process.

Given I never have thread, needles, or safety pins when I need them (or rather, “where I can find them”), a sewing kit seemed like the ideal project.

Within the next couple of days, I’ll be uploading the pattern (free for everyone to download) and a tutorial — stay tuned!

Here’s the exterior front. And no one is more surprised than me that this really does stay closed just like a regular matchbook — nothing is holding it together other than the lid tucked in the bottom panel:

This is the first panel you see when opening the matchbook:

Stretched out, the different “panels” include: two colors of thread, safety pins, a needle threader, a cutting utensil, and needles. I wasn’t 100% satisfied with the safety pins set-up of this one and I think the new and improved method I’ll have in the tutorial (coming soon) is more effective for keeping the pins in place:

Flipped over, the back panels include: two rulers (one on each edge with one imperial measurements and the other metric) and several handy measurement tables:

Here are the three “flapped” sections (threader, cutter, needles). I felt these three sections needed to be under “flaps” either for their own protection (the fragile wire of the needle threader) or the protection of the carrier (sharp, pointy things!):

Closeup of the needle threader:

Closeup of the cutting tool. For practical purposes, I felt it was important to have some sort of cutting tool. And this bit nearly stumped me. Everything I considered was either unsafe, likely to get airport travelers a private conversation with Homeland Security, or too bulky.

I finally hit on using a portion of the “tearing edge” from a box of wax paper. lol How well does it work at cutting thread? Not as good as scissors, but better than incisors.

And the needles. Which have their sharp ends stuck in a small piece of styrofoam glued to the inside of the matchbook cover:

And finally, the back:

Finally. In earlier posts, I’ve mentioned my “secret skelly project” and here it is — part of the Craftster.org Matchbox Swap (partner #2). The Matchbox Swap is all about decorating the outside of a matchbox and packing the insides of the box with all manner of craft supplies.

The minute I read my second swap-mate’s list of themes, I knew her topic of “day of the dead” was the one for me. I quickly decided to make a Dia de los Muertos Altar.

The altar includes: “papel picado” (“pierced paper,” representing the wind); candles (representing fire), various fruits and vegetable (representing earth), a small bowl on the top shelf filled with water (representing water), sugar skulls, a loaf of “pan de muertos”, a picture of the deceased and some bottles of her favorite beverages.

I know. Hard to see “matchbox” in that pic — maybe this one will help:

By the time this photo was taken, I’d already lost control of the project.

Yes, that is a cracked-open rib cage attached to the box.

You see, while I was working on the altar, I remembered that I had some skeletons and I thought, “wouldn’t it be cool if I used a skull as the drawer pull?”

After that it’s pretty much a blur. I never meant to use the entire skeleton, but use her I did. And I never meant to dress the entire skeleton, but dress her I did. Suddenly, my simple altar became an object held by a full-fledged Catrina.

These things happen when you allow your projects to control you.

The dress is made from ribbon and glue. Seriously. I forgot to take a photo while I was building the dress, but here’s a shot just to demonstrate the process (this piece wasn’t used in the final product).

I debated about making a crown for the hat, but Mr. Jivvy very much liked her bony head peeping out the back of her enormous hat and I had to agree. Looks cool, less work. I’m a happy camper.

And a shot just to prove that, yes, the matchbox drawer is still functional (and stuffed with goodies).

When you participate in the swap and you discover your swap-mate’s list of suggested themes include “unicorns” and you just happen to have a wee little unicorn in your stash, the world is all peaches and gravy.

When you accidentally turn the wee little unicorn into a wee little pot-metal puddle…

Fewer peaches, less gravy.

Once I finished the unicorn carnage clean-up, I re-checked my swap-mate’s themes list: “flowers, girlie things.”

I can do that.

I dug through my stash and found the delicate brass N-Scale conservatory and patio furniture from Langley Models. I mulled for a bit and then converted the conservatory into a gazebo and used it as the starting point for a country garden setting.

Sans unicorn.

I’m compelled to note that the stone wall actually fits better into the side of the hill than it looks like here. Or it does when the matchbox drawer isn’t crammed full of supplies — but after re-packing the drawer several times, I just couldn’t bear to dump everything for the sake of a picture.

Even I have my wee little limits.

If you’re not sure what a “chunky page” book is, you can see some beautiful examples from previous years at the following links:

Book of Hope 2008
Book of Hope 2009
Book of Hope 2010

The dual themes for this year’s pages are “hope” and “birds.” When I heard that I knew, just knew, I was going to use a quote from an Emily Dickinson poem. And even when I saw that someone in a previous year had the same idea, I wouldn’t be dissuaded.

It’s a really good idea.

In the end, I didn’t use a direct quote, but rather an “inspired by” phrase. Here’s the poem:

“Hope” is the thing with feathers –
That perches in the soul –
And sings the tune without the words –
And never stops – at all –

I’ve heard it in the chillest land –
And on the strangest Sea –
Yet – never – in Extremity,
It asked a crumb – of me.

I ask you, with the given themes, how could I chose anything else?

I started with an engraving of the Booted Racket-Tail, a South American hummingbird. I chose these little lovelies because, while beautiful, they look a bit like something out of Dr. Seuss — and what better combination to represent a mystical bird metaphor?

Using photos I found on the web for reference, I digitally painted the hummingbirds in Photoshop.

The hanging beads (oh how I love these beads) are from a (very broken) vintage necklace that I’ve been holding on to for, erm, ahem, 25+ years. I was certain I’d eventually find the perfect project for them and I now know it was worth boxing them up every time I moved.

And I only used a handful of the available beads so I can hoard hold onto the rest of them for the next Perfect Project.

The hanger is a bit of chain from another old broken necklace (yes, I do have a lot of old broken jewelry). As this page is to be part of a book, the hanger is more decorative than functional. Just a nice bit to drape down the back of the page… and it amused me to add a feature that makes it seem like this was a found wall hanging re-purposed as a page in a book.

(Note to alteredmommy: I promise, the piece really is square. I didn’t notice how un-square it looks in the photos until after I already packed it up for shipping. lol)

I’m just addicted to using these tiny little grommets from Dollmaker’s Journey. I love the finished look and added stability (better than just a punched hole) and they take a coat of paint (Polly Scale by Floquil) beautifully.

The tiny chain (40 links per square inch!) is pre-blackened brass chain that comes from the world of Model Train supplies.

I loved doing this piece and I hope it’s a worthy addition to what I know will be a stunning “Book of Hope”!

I recently had a conversation with someone who wondered how I achieved the look of aged paper with those images. When he was completely surprised by my answer, I decided I should share my two “secret weapons.”

The first secret weapon is found at every thrift store in the USA: really old books. The paper from old books is difficult to duplicate and cheap old books are easy to find.

I know. Some people feel it’s sacrilege to destroy any book.

I think of it as saving books from an undignified death in a landfill.

But when it comes to printing images from my computer, there are two problems with old book pages: 1) they have all these words printed all over them, and 2) they’re generally too fragile to survive my laserjet.

So secret weapon #2: wood stain.

Yep, wood stain. In particular, Minwax Wood Finish Stain Markers. My top color choice is “Golden Oak.” All of the other colors I’ve tried are too dark for overall aging (though they come in handy when adding stains and smudges).


Here’s how the image starts — printed on standard computer paper.


As a safety precaution, I add the stain on the reverse side of my printout. Both sides of the paper get soaked, but working on the reverse side helps keep the marker tip from smudging any heavily inked area.


Once the image is covered with the stain marker, I gently buff it dry (both sides of the page) with a paper towel.


As you may have noticed in earlier steps, the stain causes the paper to be translucent. Most of this translucency disappears when the stain dries. Most, but not all.

Because of this translucency, when mounting “stained” images on a collage, I usually mount on a light-colored background. When I do use a dark background, I paint the back of the stained image with a light coat of white acrylic paint. The paint doesn’t greatly alter the look of the image, but it prevents the dark background from showing through.


Here’s a comparison of the original printout and the stained one.


While “Golden Oak” is my primary stain color, I do use other colors (such as “Provincial”, “Red Mahogany”, and “Dark Walnut”) for adding spots, spills, darkened edges, etc.

Then, once the the staining is done, it’s on to the standard tearing and crumpling.

For this project, I used my “go-to” glue (Aleen’s Quick Dry Tacky Glue), some 28-gauge wire, a craft knife, and a tiny hand drill.

UPDATE: Make that glue Zap-A-Gap (a CA glue). While getting her into final position, I managed to yoink off one of her hands. While attempting a repair, I ripped out her forearm. At which point I just pulled out her shoulder and repaired all the joints with Zap-A-Gap and they’re much stronger for it.

In place of the hand drill, you can use a straight pin/needle, but the hand drill makes it easier. If you like working small and don’t have one of these little drills, I have to tell you — I bought mine on a whim (it was probably on sale) and I use it all the time. It’s not one of my “have to have” tools, but it is one of my “I’m so glad I have this” tools.

A standard craft knife slices right through the elbow joint.


After slicing the elbow joint, I noticed the bright white of the original plastic — I stained the white spot to match the bone. Certainly don’t want any glaring white bits when the lady bends her arm.


Drilling the holes — I hope the different color paints on my fingers don’t give away too much about what I’m working on.


I inserted wires (with a dab of glue) into the elbow joint and the wrist joint. After those had some time to dry, I inserted the other end of the wire into the corresponding body part (forearm and hand).


And, voilà! The articulated arm. This method isn’t sturdy enough to hold up to endless posings, but it’s perfect for my purpose.

My secret purpose.