The house is sold, for the second time. And we’re actually getting close enough to closing that I’m starting to have to think about moving for real. We got a bite within three weeks of listing, but our first buyers backed out, so we’ve been skittish about this second deal. Perhaps unreasonably so. We’ve also been reluctant to really move into this place when we feel like we’re going to be maybe buying something in some indeterminate short period of time. I tell ya what, though, it will be nice to have a real couch and a real bed again. I’ve had our washer and dryer for a couple of weeks, and I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed doing laundry so much. Living with almost no personal property has also greatly reduced my ‘requirements’ for a new place. I just want it to be so far down country roads that you have trouble finding the place (we had one like that picked out, but now it’s sadly off the market and we can’t really find anything we like nearly as well for as little, but there is a possible contender) and a dishwasher that works.
I took the handspun socks to my MIL for her birthday, but I didn’t have a chance to get a picture of the finished product. I loved how the roving spun up, but the socks were a little bit of a disappointment because of the uneven spinning between the first and second socks. And you can tell just by looking at them; the texture on one is much deeper and more pronounced than the other. I just keep telling myself that I didn’t muck it up on purpose, and it’s not like she knows whether I can do any better, anyway. It’s the thought that counts.
Besides, I think she’s just as happy with the trade we made on her birthday. Bruneaux for Smiley. My rough-and-tumble little-dog attacker for her sweet Australian Shepherd/Border Collie guinea-killer. I think everybody’s happy about the situation (including the dogs) except for maybe my husband, who had repeatedly announced his plans for leaving with three dogs and coming back with two. I got a big lecture on how if you see that a dog seems to spend its days tied up to a chair on the front porch, that you should expect that offers to trade will at least be considered, if not pounced on. Which I should have and did know, considering that Bruneaux spent his last weeks with us sequestered from the little dogs on the sun porch. Fine with me, I’ve wanted Smiley since I met her. She’s a good dog and gets along with the min pins and likes to spend her days sleeping on her back under the ceiling fan. Meanwhile Bruneaux gets to play rough with the other working dogs and live at the ranch instead of being cooped up inside and always in trouble for eating something he shouldn’t.
She's a little brattier than I had her pegged for. For instance, I just told her to go outside and she ran out, turned around, and ran back in again before I could close the door. Turns out she's named for the face she makes when she doesn't want to do something. And she wants to be petted all the time, but that's because she was rescued from a puppy mill where her puppies were fussed over and she didn't get any attention. Poor Smiley-face.
I’ve done a little bit of knitting and a good amount of spinning, but the knitting hasn’t been blocked or photographed and the spinning mostly laceweight and taking forever. And I’ve learned not to rush it.
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