No more waiting, no more finger-crossing – I finally have the key to my new home.

As long as I can remember I’ve wanted to work on an old house and make it a home. Here, now, is the opportunity – I’m surprised and delighted to find myself in love with an 1848 brick and shingle farmhouse in the Catskills. It needs TLC; there are projects calling out for attention from every room and corner of the yard. I spent the weekend wandering from basement to porch to bathroom to wood pile; adjusting the water temperature, cleaning the sink, staring at a patch of mystery ivy (Boston or poison?!), starting my billionth list, sitting down in shock, and then making the rounds again. The thought of all the to dos makes me want to lie down.

Just when I was getting overwhelmed, the local welcoming committee rep. showed up and insisted on rubbing his body all over us, rolled over and showed us the gray spot on his chest, and when I walked away decided to climb my leg!

Thank goodness for friendly neighbors and heavy denim.

Eliza tagged me with a meme that’s been going around. (Or a “me-me” as I think of them.)

What was I doing 10 years ago?
Living in the Midwest. I was working in a gallery. I already had a studio and I think that was the year I participated in the town’s open studio day. Friends helped me hang Christmas lights and baked gorgeous cookies to offer visitors. I hung my first quilt on the studio wall. I was figuring out what I “should” be making.

5 things on my to-do list for today:
Nothing fascinating –
Answer a couple of emails.
Make jewelry.
Pay some attention to this blog.
Make a phone call about buying a car.
Wash them dishes.

Snacks I enjoy:
I’m not crazy about snacks. I like FOOD. And generally not the low fat, virtuous kind, although I do love dark leafy greens. But also ice cream, and cheese, and pieeeeeee.

Due to the strange effects of colonialism, we’re able to get these Scottish caramel wafers in our Caribbean corner store. Bizarre, but appreciated.

Things I would do if I were a billionaire:
Freak out.

Places I have lived:
Born in Edinburgh, Scotland. After a year or two we moved to Roubaix in the north of France, then Paris, then on to Geneva in Switzerland where I was for most of my primary schooling. Back to Edinburgh through high school and art college, then across the Atlantic to Ann Arbor in Michigan. And finally to Brooklyn, New York.

In retrospect it seems kind of inevitable that I would end up in North America. My German grandmother came over to Canada in her 20s and stayed. My mother, on the other hand, was raised in Canada but has spent her adult life in Europe. Seems every generation bounces back across the Atlantic.

I know things have been slow around here but backstage, away from this blog, there’s a lot going on these days. I’m almost ready to share, yet still too superstitious to risk it until all the dotted lines have been signed. Hang in there with me.

I feel as vulnerable as the baby bird one of my oldest friends found on the ground this weekend and placed back in its nest. Or the newborn chickadee another dear friend shakily returned to its home the week before. The possibility of misstep, the distance to fall, is daunting. But I too am being carried safely homeward, cradled in a giant, tender, clumsy hand made up of brokers, bankers, inspectors, family, and wise friends.

Soon I’ll tell you about it.

It’s warm enough to open the windows. There is so much to hear. An ice cream truck has taken up residence at the end of our block and throughout the day the constant jingle comes in and out of my consciousness. Guys working on a car, dropping tools on the sidewalk. A couple fighting. Sirens. A helicopter. A girl yelling, “Come jump with us!”

Please forgive me for neglecting the blog; I have houses on the brain.

One in particular.

I was in Park Slope last week and took some pictures of the Montauk Club. It’s a fabulous, ornate building.

What struck me this time was how the faces of the gargoyles initially appear identical but they’re actually very different. Each has his expression: grumpy, scared, bored, peckish…

They make me think of the lion in the Wizard of Oz. I want them to talk to me.

M is out of town and some people are either missing him a whole bunch or else taking advantage.

I went upstate again today for some further house-buying investigation. This time I took the bus.

Photo courtesy of brilarian on flickr.

Leaving New York by bus mostly involves going through the Port Authority terminal which is vile – an urban level of Dante’s inferno designed specifically for human discomfort.

I was standing in line waiting to board and a soft-spoken young man wearing a white cap and carrying a backpack approached me. “Free poems,” he said, holding out a sheet of paper from the stack of photocopies he was carrying. Out of habit I shook my head and he moved on to the next person, who also shook their head. Everybody turned him away.

I wish now that I had said yes. He was so gentle and he wasn’t selling anything; he was giving away his poem. I wish I had accepted it.

Last weekend I drove up to the Mid Hudson Valley in phase one of project figure-out-if-I’d-like-to-buy-a-house-and-live-upstate-at-least-part-time. It’s a good thing that omens do not deter me because Saturday began with finding the rental car bashed in. In the pouring rain.

I called the police and they showed up quickly so I was on the road by noon. It was still pouring rain. It never stopped raining. The rain got heavier and heavier. There were sheets of water crossing the parkway. On the hills little rivers gurgled along the pavement edge. Then there was the fog. I saw devil deer. And they saw me.

I drove steadily and slowly and felt exceedingly proud of myself when I got to my destination in one piece.

I had a lovely overnight visit with a friend who has known my parents and then me “since day one” as she puts it. Outside it continued to rain. The power went out but we remained unphased, sitting by the fire with candles and tea. She listened to me talk and talk and talk, and I started to see more clearly what my next step might be. Get help. Look at lots of houses. We went to bed and wrapped up cozy for a night without heat.

Sunday morning was another world: blue sky and crisp sun.

During breakfast the lights came on and the fridge started groaning. I drove back over the hill and spent the afternoon exploring the valley and imagining what it would be like. What would it be like to live here? What would it be like to come back and forth from the city? What would it be like to have to drive instead of walk to the store? Who would my neighbors be? And on and on. All the way home.

The plan was that the trip would clarify things, but I’ve come home with more questions. Maybe that’s alway the way. I guess I’m in the process.

On day 2 of being sick I was already so completely and utterly bored that I grabbed one of Barbara Walker’s stitch treasuries, picked a stitch pattern with a large repeat, grabbed some cotton and knitting needles that looked like they would probably work, and made this washcloth.

The problem with the project was that it woke up the giant knitting obsession, but more on that later…

Meanwhile another huge sense of accomplishment was achieved by installing hooks being the door in the studio to hang my no-longer-pile of bags.

Little victories.