Happy Thanksgiving, everyone! Just a quick note before we run off to Kansas City…
(Actually, as I’m currently sitting here in my bathrobe, having not yet packed our clothes, cleaned the litterbox or fed the cat, I obviously *do* have rather a few other things to do also, before we run off to Kansas City.)
Last night I dreamed that one of the older Duggar girls came out as a lesbian – she had the Bieber haircut and gauged ears and looked super cute and happy. Then I was sightseeing at the library (?) in the National Mall and the Duggars were there, and I was disappointed because they’d apparently disowned that errant “blessing”.
Chalk that one up to “what the hell was I smoking?” (Answer: nothing. Nothing except yarn fumes.)
YARN FUMES, you ask?
Yes. Yarn fumes:
This is yet more evidence – just in case you still didn’t believe me – of Rachel’s dyeing prowess. And also her ability to work with a difficult client (ie, me) to create a completely new colorway (ie, this), in a highly stressful situation (ie, what I cause all around me, at all times).
Even though I already blabbed and told everyone at knitting last night what this is for, I’m not gonna tell you. You’ll see soon enough. It’s super exciting.
I LOVE YARN. I LOVE EVERY KIND OF YARN. AND I WANT TO HUG ALL IT, BUT I CAN’T. CAN’T HUG EVERY YARN. (To the tune of this, obv.)
My mom and her friend were in town last weekend, and I was FINALLY able to turn this:
(those are neatly-stacked boxes containing all of my Currier and Ives, as well as all our wedding china)
My parents bought that hutch cabinet about 15 years ago at an antique store. Recently my grandparents gave them their old and awesomely-refinished pie safe, so Mom and Dad passed this along to me. So now all my china doesn’t have to live in boxes anymore! Yay!
(It’s a seriously sad situation: I’ve never had a place for my china before, so since we moved here – in May 2008 – my china has always lived just like in that first picture: securely packed in boxes neatly stacked on the wall where a china cabinet should stand. It makes me so happy that it’s out where I can see it now! Just in time to move in 8 months…)
While Mom was in town, we went to one of the antique malls on Big Bend. Which is where I found this gem:
I guess they edited out the part in the Bible where Santa comes to see baby Jeebus. And looms menacingly over him like he’s a holy snack. (Hang on, Santa. The “this is my blood, this is my flesh” stuff happens a few years later. And is symbolic.)
I also found this little tchotchke:
Aah, yes. Horribly racist bullshit. Wonderful decor for any home!
(If I had any photoshop skills at all, I’d copy Helen Killer right now and try out “see it in a room”, with much hilarity as a result. But I don’t, so you just get to imagine it.)
And finally, this dude:
I call him “The Contemplative Friar”, and isn’t he kind of awesome? I love the look on his face, and the way he holds his violin just….so. He’s writing holy poetry with music. But he’s on a mug, so he also has a sense of humor.
If The Contemplative Friar is still there next weekend, I may go buy him. He was only like $4.
All right, it’s seriously time for me to go pack and get on the road. Happy Thanksgiving! May all your mugs picture happy, fat Catholics, and may none of your kitschy decorations be racist.