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.

I saw this image over at Midge’s Mind, part of a series of eerie underwater sculptures by Jason de Caires Taylor. I find it haunting and beautiful.

It reminded me of this sculpture called Welcome by Raphael Zollinger, presently on the campus of the Pratt Institute here in Brooklyn.

It really creeps me out that people walk by unconcerned. In the same way that it bothers me to think of a circle of figures waiting forever expectant, unseen on the ocean bed.

When I first landed in the US I was very disdainful of iced tea; tea should be hot, and milky, and served at 4pm.

But around the time that I discovered North American summers, I discovered the joys of drinking your tea cold.

Here’s how I make my “special” iced tea:
I take a quart jar and throw in 8 black tea bags, and 6 peppermint tea bags. I fill it about 3/4 full with boiling water and let it sit a while – usually until I wander back into the kitchen and remember that it’s time to scoop out the bags, which I do with a slotted spoon. Then I throw in as many ice cubes as will fit, swirl with the spoon, and I’m good to go.

Put a lot of ice in the glass, this guy’s strong.

I’m back online after being internet-less for several days. Dark times.

It’s been hot and humid. Last Thursday I was walking down a new-to-me street and saw that some people had opened a fire hydrant which was gushing across the road. The day before I had seen some boys running under the spray from a hydrant and I’d been too shy to take a picture.

This time I resolved to be bold. A woman called out that there was a motorcycle that couldn’t pass without being soaked. Just as this big guy sat on the hydrant to contain the water I caught his eye and made the international sign of picture snapping while raising my eyebrows in query.

He smiled, and posed, and just as I was about to put away the camera he called out “Show me!” and then “You go, girl!” when I showed him the display.

Whenever I plant cuttings I think of The Plant Sitter. It’s a children’s book, about a little boy who takes care of his neighbors’ plants while they’re away on vacation.

One night he dreams that the plants grow out of control until they completely fill his house and knock down the walls. He goes to the library, reads gardening books, and prunes the plants, potting the cuttings and giving them to the neighbor children when they come home.

Repotting also makes me think of my favorite teacher in primary school who taught us how to care for green things; we had forty plants in our classroom. It pissed off the school administrator, who thought it was somehow damaging the building, and made us feel like we were on a mission, protecting the lives of the plants.

I came out of the subway on 59th Street. To my left a business man was handing cash to some children at a lemonade stand. To my right the Plaza Hotel, wrapped in scaffolding for it’s transformation into million-dollar shoe box condos. The monogrammed linens and dishes were auctioned off long ago, but outside there is still this:

Maybe the little girls were raising money to save Eloise‘s home.

There’s really no other word to describe this hunk of manliness:

His head gear is reminiscent of the delicious balaclava helmet, yet so much more modern, and he wears it with a casual, rugged insouciance that makes it hard to look away.

Note that the garment’s small size, combined with the use of a chunky yarn and garter stitch, make it the ideal project for a novice knitter.

I found him on Flickr where Flint Knits has posted gems from her large collection of vintage patterns. Check out selections from the 1940s-50s, 1960s, and the 1980s – a decade all too fresh in my mind.

When I started this blog I considered calling it “Things I Make When I Should Be Making Other Things”. Now I think it could be called “Things I Make That Aren’t The Main Thing I Make”. Not too catchy, but pretty accurate.

I was about to post pictures of my latest jewelry design experiments, and then realized that yet again they’re in white pearl – because that’s how I work – so before I do, here’s some color:

I inherited a lot of coral beads, which are beautiful, and I’m using, but I won’t be buying more. Too destructive.

Further evidence of my spiral obsession. I don’t just photograph them, I make them.

Chris took both these pictures. So pretty.