Nasturtium

This is my current favorite color of silk ribbon:  Nasturtium, by Color Streams.  It's not a color I usually use - I tend to go for purples and blues.  I bought a hank of it on a whim at a craft show, reckoning to use it as an accent in larger compositions  - naturally, I use it constantly and have to restock regularly.  It's bright, it's sunny and cheerful and not QUITE orange - and it has the same quality of subliminal iridescence that, like real life flowers, lets it coordinate with everything.

Pig Iron

This is Porcus Minoris Mark 0.5- the original test run to see if I could machine stitch the little squeakers.
Mr Tabubil has claimed him as an office mascot.  His name is "Furnace Pig" - and I have stuffed his belly with pot pouri, so that he can climb all over the job site and get black and dirty and still come out smelling of roses.

The Inadvertent Hat of Cracktastic 80s Wedding Fabulousness

Late last night as I finished sewing the orange ribbon roses for this hat I had one of those moments of horrible realization - my little 1860s doll hat: intended to be all Halloween-y and macabre-like, had turned into a wedding headband - from 1986.
            Out of a special wedding double-episode of a daytime soap opera, where the groom wears a dove-gray tuxedo with a pink cummerbund, and the whole bridal party is high on hairspray and coughing up opalescent glitter.
              This hat is the perfect accompaniment to the sort of tulle-and-sequin explosion that they used to design specifically for thrift store windows.
            You know what I'm talking about -  all brassy plastic pearls and and white illusion netting and monstrous puffed shoulders, with a matching beaded tiara sagging dismally from the neck of the coat hanger, and the whole ensemble getting dustier and sadder every year, as its swags of spiky plastic lace turn yellow in the sunlight and brush the dust away from the racks of clip-on earrings that just make the window display, don't you think?
            The orange hat-band and the orange gauze streamers and the beaded wire sprays and the ostrich feather- they've all got to go.  I'll keep the roses and the feather spear and go out and find some black ribbons.  And a spider.  Possibly a mouse skull, what do you think?

Oinkers, Doink & Sidney

This triple bill of Porcine Perfection is known as Oinkers, Doink and Sidney (or Sydney. He can't spell.)
Porcus Majoris is reasonably tractable, but the two porcus minorus are liable to cut up something awful if you leave them unchaperoned.

All three have been sent to keep company with the new baby of a very good friend. They used to be my very favorite purple sweater.
            Then the sweater got felted. I didn't know much about felting before it happened, but I've done some research since: one takes wool rovings, or knitted wool fabric, and through the application of detergent suds and agitation and hot water, one turns them into felt.
It's a highly specific process, prone to balling and piling, but the best results are achieved through the use of a centrifuge in conjunction with very high heat.  (You want shrinkage to squash the knitted fabric into felt.)
About a year ago, I accidentally ran this sweater through a hot wash layered between two sheets. The washer and dryer in our old house in Adelaide uses water at about six billion degrees centigrade and spins the water out of the clothes with a small medical-grade centrifuge...
The sweater came out sixteen sizes too small, fully hypo-allergenic, and perfectly felted.
            It was a freak of perfect circumstance, and I have not been able to duplicate it since.  And I have ruined a few thrift shop sweaters trying! 
           So I made pigs instead* and embroidered all over them with silk ribbons.  But for the love of heaven, if you use this pattern, chop the noses off. Poor Porcus Majoris looked like an anteater. Even after some serious lopping he looks less than porcine. With the three porcus minoris, I cut the snout back almost to their front legs- now they look like pigs.

Originally the two porcus minorus had major embroidery on both sides, but I sort of forgot to leave room for an ear and eye on the really busy side and had to unpick everything but the french knots.  Le sigh.