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| Coalbrookdale by Night, 1801, Philipp Jakob Loutherbourg the Younger |
...but it certainly wasn't rag paper time!
Boy oh boy, did I have a Dickens of a time trying to turn my old Esprits into paper. Sorry about that cheesy line, but I seriously utilized every kitchen appliance I own in an attempt to get the cotton fibres to "fluff up" as per numerous blogs and industry experts advised via YouTube.
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| Cooking them to bits. |
I sport an impressive
swelling on my ring finger that could serve as a 6th digit simply from the pre-processing processing of
hacking two pants legs into 1/4" squares with kitchen scissors. I have already
cooked them for six hours in a solution of baking soda and water that would "break down the fibres" and make them paper-able. I then
whipped them with my electric egg beaters. I
whirred them with my Oster but the blender began this odd dance across the counter top so I stopped doing that. I employed a small sledge hammer (at the expense of a rather nice sheet of board) to
pound the jean bits into submission. No dice; the only thing about to break down is me. Miserable, I am about to toss the whole darn thing out the door, when I spy the Braun juicer on the bottom shelf in the kitchen pantry. Dare to dream??
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| Soggy post-cooking glop. Hasn't broken down one bit. :( |
Oy. I am now standing in front of the stove in a puddle of blue water that has dripped from my elbows for the last eight hours as I process, process, PROCESS!! what amounts to about 5 pounds of wet jean material, through the juicer, over and over and OVER!! again, in the hopes that it will become cloudy puffs of voluminous fibre destined for reincarnated greatness as 100% cotton rag paper. Esprit jeans and cockroaches, that's all that will survive global catastrophe, apparently.
I am blue. Literally indigo blue. In the back of my mind I am worried about what colour Kricket's next poop is going to be, if indeed she did swallow that mouthful of denim doggy delights I left unattended on the kitchen floor from the last run in with the dancing blender. There is nothing but defeat here; the only picture worth posting is this one:
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| Kricket, The Denim Eater |
It is past midnight and everything in my kitchen is wet or blue or blue and wet. Bleary eyed, I stagger through tears to the bedroom and throw myself onto the incredibly silky, get-better-everytime-I-wash-'em 400 plus thread count cotton sheets; they feel wonderful. I will burn them tomorrow.
Post Script:
I did attempt to sieve a sheet of fibre the next day, despite being very unhappy with the slurry, and I was unhappy with the result, too. However, I WILL try this again. Someday.
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| Gah....! Not as envisioned. |
