There have been kind requests for a virtual tour of our apartment after 9-months-that-we’re-calling-6-months of renovation. There have been sweet compliments about the dotty chair and seemingly vast kitchen sink (a trick of photography; it’s a regular double sink; stick a camera on the edge of your kitchen sink, and marvel at the canyon of stainless steel). I would be thrilled to relive each and every olive hinge (to re-plate or not to re-plate?) and doorknob (faux vintage but how vintage? how faux?), and share with everyone the many ways in which knitting has influenced my aesthetic journey.
This is the living room, 5 minutes ago. I think it best to save the tour for another day, and to resume my liberal use of the ‘crop’ feature on Photoshop Elements. With ‘crop’, actually fixing things or tidying up is So Last Century.
In the grand tradition of Winston Churchill defending the free world from his bed, I am pretty much living in the dotty chair. I find that there are few activities that cannot be conducted from a squishy yet supportive armchair, provided it has chenille dots on it. And see how the Big Miter has grown. I am down from the original 360 stitches (when I said 432, I was wrong; I have counted) to 153. I’m closing in on completion, and my head is full of ideas on how to turn it from Unwieldy Half-Acre of Knitting into Luxurious Throw For Dotty Chair. More miters! (Ya think?)
On the home front, we are at the precarious, hopeful phase of construction known as the Punch List. This is where you make a list of everything that is not quite right, and you tell the contractor, and they fix it. As you know, My People are a race in which the menfolk are downright ashamed of themselves if they cannot hang a screen door, snake a toilet, and rotate the tires using only tools and materials ordinarily found in their pockets.
As you also know, I did not marry such a man. Here is a typical “Punch List With Hubby” vignette:
Scene: Hubby, Contractor, and Kay viewing bathroom floor.
Contractor: Okay, so what have we got here?
Hubby: I’m very concerned about that gritty substance between the tiles.
Kay: [avoiding eye contact with Contractor] Um. Hon. That’s….grout.
Good times. Love. This. Guy.