granny up

October already? 2009 nearly gone? No way.

Before 2010 knocks on the door, I want to blow the cobwebs off this here blog. The weather in Houston can finally be described as something other than south hell, and the yarn, the fabric, the painting, the camera -- all the happy pursuits -- are calling, along with a new interest or two.

Dear Ellen wooed me into upping my crochet game. I have to make some version of the amazing white-bordered afghan you see in her post; so I buckled down and learned to make a decent granny square this week. I used this pattern, which is wonderful. I started by making a pillow cover for practice and quick satisfaction.

It took me many days to decide what colors to use. In the end I threw up my hands and made it reversible, because I couldn't decide whether I wanted a warm or a cool palette. Now I can flip the pillow at whim, which is nice.

Ellen has been right all these years: Granny squares are the building blocks of fashion. And they're an absolute blast to make. I'm going to do another pillow cover while I plan my afghan.

My couch is a place holder. I got it from a junkie in Montrose. I've considered what his drug of choice might be, and I decided it's crystal meth, because the guy was pretty scabalicious when I met him. The couch was dirt cheap, though, and it's not in bad shape for its age (probably it was made in the '60s). I've got it covered because I wanted a change of pace (it's green), and I usually have more pillows on it so it doesn't look like an amorphous brown ghost.

The painting behind the couch is the first one I did. I wanted an orange wall, but knew I'd never paint it because I'm way too lazy to paint it back when I move. My love of orange resulted in what I call "The Big Orange Machine." Schmin calls it "Saturn"; so technically it's "Saturn: The Big Orange Machine." (Please don't tell us we're not clever.) It's also an ode to Mark Rothko, my current favorite painter.

One of the many things I enjoy about living here is that this house isn't at all precious. There's no crown molding, no hardwood floors, no built-ins -- nothing that could be considered an architectural feature. Not that these things wouldn't be nice (especially the floors), but here I feel free to display the end results of my impetuous (read: half-baked) bouts of creativity.