The cats have always exhibited a great disinterest in television, except for the one time when Annabelle went behind the set to see if she could catch the cheetah on the screen.

Winged Migration was on PBS last night, and this time Annabelle was watching. Pretty soon Wolfie came along. According to some highly unscientific polling favorites were the Dancing Cranes and King Penguins.

There’s a wonderful thing happening over at one in ten.

Eireann Lorsung‘s mom has suffered a hemorrhage in her brain, and the crafting community being what it is, there is an auction to raise funds to help out with her medical bills.

You can bid on pieces by Lisa Congdon, Amanda Soule, Stephanie and Mav of 3191 fame, and many more crafty bloggers.

You can bid on my leaf earrings:

Find out more about the participants at the one in ten site, or just browse the list of eBay auctions. You have until Friday to get a head start on your holiday shopping, in the name of a very good cause.

Circa 1982:

I’m the one sporting the pink beard with green boogers coming out of my blue nose.

My cohorts are my brother, my uncle, and my best friend in mischief. I don’t remember us making the masks but I remember the excitement of the new polaroid camera and waiting for the picture to appear.

Thanks to the flashback friday group on flickr for making me dig this out.

My friend brought me two shells from her mother who collects them while walking on the beach near her home in Hawaii. It’s an honor that she relinquished a few in my direction.

I’ve been playing around, thinking about cones, and how to construct them. How to build them from a spiral:

Or from circles, like the necklace that is nearly finished now:

My circle obsession gone 3-dimensional.

Tis done. There remains paperwork to fax, and a lease to sign, but we’ve paid our deposit and we have a new home.

There were 20 minutes of real despair when I stood outside the building waiting for the broker, thinking that he wasn’t going to show up, wouldn’t call me, that we had missed our chance. But he arrived, and the sky was blue, and a crew was cleaning up the park across the street.

It hasn’t sunk in – I’m still tensed up and furrowy, doing my usual horizon scan for things to worry about. A little yoga might help. Sleeping in felt great. The growing garage sale pile is making me as happy as if it were my own growing treasure.

Change is frightening, and freeing at the same time.

There’s really nothing more to say.

Searching for a new home is a full-time job that is sucking my will to live. Also, it cuts into blogging time. Hear me groan.

I keep walking past this garden.

It’s private, and there’s a little bench on which I often see a cat. I’m going to go sit in that garden. Please have someone call me when they’ve found me a new home.

I’m listening to Dickens on tape. My favorite quote from Dombey and Son:

Paul sat as if he had taken life unfurnished
and the upholsterer were never coming.

Vacation was over two months ago, but here’s a batch of French doors and windows from that time. I love the colors, both alone and in bold combinations.

The great apartment hunt of o-seven has begun, and I feel like an outsider looking in at door and window, “Could we live here? Or here??…”

The dictionary says moving means these things: the process of changing one’s residence and producing strong emotion. I think the first causes the second.

A little refashioning: I narrowed and shortened the legs of a pair of schlubby short pants which I wouldn’t wear out. Here’s my sophisticated self-portrait taken mid-project:

I also sewed the back pockets closed and cut out the fabric, which was annoying me by bunching. They’re not elegant, but now I have something cool to wear once it quits raining.