Archive for November, 2012




1) after dutifully waiting two weeks for a library copy of The Passage, I started (and finished) it over the weekend. Then, I immediately downloaded the Kindle version of The Twelve. 

2) We took both dogs for a hike last weekend. Darwin returned with 0 angry, stabby burrs stuck in his coat, while Bear had at least 10. Over the last week, he’s been laying low under the coffee table and slowly gnawing them out; he got all but two, which he absolutely refused to let us touch. This resulted in the purchase of a hair clipper, followed by muzzling and then lots of growling, and shearing him like a sheep. He now looks terrible—like a drunkenly trimmed topiary—but his mood has improved considerably. 

3) I’m sitting at Starbucks listening as the baristas on break discuss the various revolting things that patrons have ordered today, i.e. a grande coffee with 13 packets of sugar, vanilla syrup, extra whipped cream, and caramel sauce. 

4) Obviously, I have nothing new to report about progress on the home front. 

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I’ve been carting around this homely little piece of furniture for the last two years. My mom delivered it to me from Florida because my grandmother thought that I might want to have it—and she was right. It belonged to Aunt Violet, who wasn’t my aunt but rather my grandmother’s aunt: the wife of my grandmother’s father’s brother. I think. My mom refers to this portion of the family as the “flower aunts.” I think she said: some violets, a rose, and two lilies.

I bought a fabric remnant. I did not measure properly. Oops. Joann Fabrics is having a billion sales this weekend, so I bought some different (non-remant) fabric.

My heavy-duty staple gun is scary. It’s electric and really quite excessive for a project like this. I like to fold the edges of the fabric under as I go, stapling every inch or so. That way, the staples have a harder time ripping through the end of the fabric over time. I just went right over the old fabric here instead of tearing it off and re-padding the seat; sometimes, when a piece is old—and it doesn’t smell or have weird stains—I like to keep the original upholstery intact (even if it looks like an old teddy bear). My mom and I recovered her dining chairs at least twice while I was still living at home—what, isn’t that what everyone does in high school?—and they have become stratified like the layers of the Earth.

Because I am a perfectionist, the edges drive me a little crazy. I like to finish all four sides and then spread the fabric across the corners so you don’t have a bulge on one side, but some people just tuck them under on one side (like hospital corners or wrapping paper).

I didn’t bother to fold the fabric under on the selvage side because it won’t fray.

In the end, the edges don’t matter anyway. They disappear into the frame. But I know they’re there.

Such a satisfying little transformation. And a place to perch while putting on one’s shoes.

I like the printed fabric better than the remnant I started out with. I like our new buffet.  I do not like the hole in the wall (we really need a doorstop).






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and now, a thimble.

This is an old picture—and an odd little porcelain thimble that I bought at Cath Kidson in Edinburgh. I’ve been going through the abandoned posts in my drafts folder and found one about the thimble from last November, during one of my frustrating attempts at NaBloPoMo. I posted something else instead, but now here we are again, in November, and I’m wondering where this little thimble has ended up. One of the great mysteries of life? Perhaps not.

I’m not going to commit myself to daily posting this month—as I think T.S. Eliot once wrote, November is the cruelest month for blogging—because I think it makes me both boring and crazy. I really don’t need any more deadlines right now. I’ll just keep going with the intermittent updates. I have an aluminum deer head that I need hang around here somewhere. And I’ll let you know if I find that thimble. Pins and needles.




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