I know to you, my legume, “vintage refrigerator” means “that which is 60 years old, 600 pounds and does not keep food cold”, but let’s not be hasty! They are porcelain-coated and shiny. They have door handles that would make a cadillac feel flimsy. Their heft and squatness ensures they are not carried off by burglars very often at all.
They are Large and Square. They have Many Dials and Levers. They were not built to be pretty, oh no: they were built for pioneers not afraid of the newly forged partnership of clock AND alarm AND radio. They want you to know they are not to be trifled with.
Bill and I, we are out of coffee and we are out of tea. We are not getting to the bottom of the laundry pile anymore, and the animals are restless, grumpy, mud-relocating machines. We think the roof might be leaking, but we can’t tell where it’s coming from. Last week, someone drove into my tiny heirloom apple tree and snapped it right in half.
The story, as I hear it told, is that the extra bit of porcelain there is a moustache protecting device—the faithful barrier between one’s cookie duster and one’s tasty warm beverage. Tell me please, is there any truth to this or is this the stuff of legends?
1950s pink suede stiletto heels. Because Valentine’s Day is coming, and it should be about unreasonable, straight-from-the-center-of-your-being true love.
Heavy on knitting posts this week, but squirrel-and-robot mittens, I must salute you. You are everything I hoped you would be. Squirrel, I love your big fluffy tail, your one beady red eye and your tiny acorn.
By skein four, I was thinking about the invisible value of invested time and effort, and whether or not someone could use something like homemade gnocchi as a sustainable answer to life’s big questions. Here’s a secret: Some days, I actually levitate a few inches off the ground on the wings of my own self-importance.
You are, after all, the decided winner of my guessing game, and I’m sure I’m capable of coming up with a fitting reward for such high-powered accuracy. Presuming, of course, your methods were honorable and didn’t involve bribery of either my mail lady or my fiancée, threats (which is like bribery, but cheaper), or even the briefest exercise in home invasion.
All’s as it should be at my kitchen table on a rainy Sunday morning: So long as the rainy weather doesn’t clear up, and I continue to exhibit complete lack of interest in… Read More
Buy this house. For it is my birthday that’s coming next month, and I know you want to do something nice for me.
