A little while back I posted my Meathead and so many of you commented about the buttons that I figured they were worth a photo. These buttons were all my mother's, and had been stored in a huge Ziploc bag, with individual baggies for each color. We had a five year-old visitor this weekend, so I thought I might dump them all into a bowl so she could play sorting games with them. Turns out she was more interested in such typical five year-old pursuits as The Alias Game ("Now I'm Paulie! No, Darla! Call me Quincy. Why, hello there. How do you do? My name is Shawn Colvin."); No, I Won't Eat Your Pancakes; Why Are You Taking Pictures of Yarn, Julia; and I Don't Like Your Vaccum Cleaner. However, I still managed to take lovely, artsy photos of the buttons, and of Biscuit's own set of huge plastic ones.
Aren't they nice? What a good little blogger I am. How orderly is my life. How crafty. How clean. The Biscuit is such an angel. Why, as I write this, he is busy building a replica of Abe Lincoln's birthplace out of hand-hewn blocks his daddy made in his garage woodshop. After which we plan to cover pinecones with peanut butter and birdseed while wearing hand-stitched smocks and hang them from the tree in the backyard with grossgrain ribbon while I trill away like Snow White, a squirrel perched on one shoulder, a reed basket over my arm.
You know what's coming, right?
Gratifying, isn't it? This is my dining room table. Total chaos. But this is my life, and the longer I look at this photo, the more I see the truth of it. There's knitting- one of four Jess Hutch projects I'm working on for the holiday, a package ready to send out to Kelly who was my 1,001st commenter, my Meatead, Mr. Frick's Furious George album, Biscuit's toys, a pamphlet on grieving, ornaments waiting to be crafted (look to the upcoming Yarnival! for instructions), packages from Robyn and my delightful secret pal, and a bit of my dear Hanny, because a bit is all I get these days, with my best girls scattered hither and yon.
I'm going to start taking more of these kinds of photos. Because when I look back, it won't be the pristine white background that gives me the warm fuzzies, will it?
Coming soon to Fricknits: Is green the new purple? How did Fricknits get stranded? Who doesn't love a robot parade? And yes, Virginia, there will be knitting.