File This Under Y

For Why didn’t I think of that sooner?

Pretty much ever since Dragon graced our doorstep, the blinds in the living room have been trashed.  He’s a pretty headstrong cat, and if he wants to see the squirrels and birds and bunnies, he’s going to see the squirrels and birds and bunnies.  From the safety of the indoors.  Because he’s kind of afraid of going outside.

As a result, the blinds started looking a little like this:

Something in my head said, “Hey, I wonder if I can make these crappy blinds into roman shades.”  So I went to the Google.  And it turns out, I can.  Little Green Notebook has great easy to follow instructions. I was a little nervous cutting into the blinds, but really, they were so far gone that if I screwed them up more, who cares?  Armed with the knowledge that I could just buy new ones if I botched these, I pulled out the scissors and went to work.

Strings cut and most slats removed.

I used E-6000 instead of fabric glue, because that’s what I could find in my sewing room.  I also serged and hemmed the edges of the panels instead of just gluing them down.  I couldn’t reuse the plugs that kept the strings to the bottom bar, so I just tied the strings around the bar before gluing it down.  The end result:

The blinds themselves never worked well–or I just really suck at operating blinds… this is entirely possible–but the fabric hasn’t affected the operation of the strings in any way.  Well, I take that back… the strings are behind the fabric, which makes it a little inconvenient.  There’s really no other way for that to happen with this, so if you like to raise and lower repeatedly, this may not be the project for you.

For us?  We never move them, and they’re strictly for privacy.  And, more importantly, the cat can’t really screw them up.  He might snag the fabric, but that’s it.  Great way to repurpose, I say.


*sigh* My day in cuss words

Dear Roman Shades from Hell:

Why did you need to make my life so miserable?  You were supposed to be easy.  I was just supposed to line you and be done with you.  Why did I need to take three evenings of my life ripping stitches out of you?  Why did your cords need to break, causing me to have to buy 30 yards more of cording?

Alas, poor Jill, I knew her well.

Alas, poor Jill, I knew her well.

Why?  Why did you have to kill my machine.  Oh, sure, I know you’re thinking that there was nothing about you that could have killed my machine, but you are cursed.  Cursed Roman Shades.  Your bad juju killed my machine.  The poison that surrounded your very being caused me to use the old Janome.

Bad Janome picture... all I got, kids

Bad Janome picture... all I got, kids

Frankly, you did make me appreciate the Husq.  I wouldn’t say my Janome was crappy.  I loved that thing.  It made me the sewer I am.  But it’s loud and it doesn’t have all the perks that come with the Husq.  It makes me think I need to bring my Janome in for tuning, but I evidentally need to bring another machine into the hospital (I haven’t mentioned it, but my serger is in the shop).

There is absolutely no reason that I can see that a sewing machine would just stop running midstitch.  There’s power getting to the machine.  The lights are on, and everyone is home except the pedal.  The pedal refuses to talk to the machine.  I didn’t move anything, I didn’t touch anything, I didn’t change anything.  It just.  Stopped.  Working.

And I feel that I only have you, Roman Shades, to blame.