the house on grubb street

 My son has purchased his first home.  I'm so proud of him that words fail me.  Imagine that.  It's a wonderful old house in the city with the kind of lovely features no longer found in modern construction.  It also presents numerous challenges, but Andrew is up to the task (s).  These are preliminary images taken last week.  The previous owners were fond of saturated color on the walls which has made primer an essential!  I need to clarify the street address - this house sits on a corner and so Grubb Street is not the official address, but I like it so much better than South Grand Avenue.  Don't you?  "The House On Grubb Street" sounds like the title of a best seller.  Hmmmm...

While Andrew tackles his money pit house, I've been knitting.  Pauline recently asked how I find time to knit so voraciously.  The answer is simple - I am never without my knitting bag.  Doesn't everyone carry a huge sack of yarn and needles and patterns around with them?  

Punta 'Merisoft' hand painted merino.  I fight the impulse to buy pastel anything.  But this yarn was given to me and it has been languishing in the cedar chest for some time.  I decided that I needed to make some salon socks.  It's nice to have a warm sock placed on your foot after a pedicure.

Size 6 dpn's make for an incredibly speedy result!  Leaving off the toe opens the mind to other possibilities -

I'm sure that Hilary needs some yoga socks and my friend Kathleen is having bunion surgery next month - a nice open-toed pair of socks might be very comforting.

In truth, my knitting time is NOT proportional to any other activity in my life (except gardening).  Sometimes I worry about this.  But then, someone might mention that they are in need of a shawl or a scarf or some yoga socks!  And this is all that it takes for me to pick up my needles and forget about the housework!  A harmonious life includes following one's passion, yes?

I went to the local green grocer yesterday during my lunch hour.  Now understand that my sister grows the most brilliant dahlias in Connecticut - maybe all of New England.  Generally speaking, I avoid that genre because HER flowers resemble dinner plates (achingly obese explosions of substance and color), while MINE are pale and pathetic.  I want hers.  She never offers up any tubers.  She DOES bring bouquets that induce rapid heart rate and prolonged periods of ENVY.

Ever hopeful - I piled a few of these into my cart.  I'd pretty much given up on dahlias - their capricious nature just rubs me the wrong way!  (and I cannot stop casting that comparative eye toward those Connecticut beauties ...)  Maybe we'll give it one more go!  Maybe my sister will take pity on me and bring a sack of tubers next visit!  (hint hint)

Here's something you don't see every day -

This old well-loved flannel quilt spent the night outdoors, on the cold ground.  I wonder if it asked itself - what am I doing out here?  Aren't I supposed to be indoors, snuggling with one of my people?

There's a story here.