Non-Knitting UFOs

All right, clearly my ungainly kitchen exploits have touched a nerve.  Good thing I didn't try cooking in there!  I would like to validate everybody who asked:  

YES.  Any unfinished painting/organizing/decorating project qualifies as a legitimate UFO.  Tired of knitting?  No need to admit it publicly.  Just bust out the spackle and grind on home to the finish.  You will not believe how much that last cabinet hinge/pantry door/wrongly-hung shelf was pissing you off. 

NEWS FLASH:  You Can Get It Done.  Just bust out the spackle knife and haul ass.

Ever have a friend rip back a mistake for you and hand it over at just the point where you loused it up the first time?  Well, I may not be able to find you to do that (this time), but on behalf of all the dumbass projects that have left you unfulfilled, here's my knitterly call to arms: 

YOU CANNOT KNIT ANYTHING PROPERLY IF YOUR TOWEL BAR FELL OFF THE WALL.  It will forever be bugging you, interrupting your knitting time with its insistence that it is a REAL project; a LEGITIMATE use of your time.  And when you get out of the shower, every stinking day, you are being reminded that the towel bar is there to be resolved.  I'm here to tell you that not only can you reclaim your morning shower; you can now explore the vagaries of modular knitting (or whatever) with the certain knowledge that there are no more projects more pressing than the one in your lap.

Take it from me:  There is no satisfaction like the satisfaction of having completed that home-improvement project that you abandoned last summer when it made you mad.  True, that bookcase is no quiviut, but you will not believe the spiritual calm which descends upon you once you vanquish the beast of the crooked soffit.  And if you need a tool to get the job done?  NEWS FLASH:  It's almost Father's Day, and all tools everywhere are on sale now.  Buy the stupid tile saw, or ball-peen hammer, or x-ray vision stud-finder you have been telling yourself that you needed to finish the deed.  Get over it and get on down the road, so you can knit in peace, for pity's sake.

Label the damn spice jars.  Line the stinking lingerie chest drawers.  Change the light fixture in the laundry room.  For crap sakes, it's not hard.  It's not like it's KNITTING, after all!  You only abandoned it because you were too tired to find the solution that time.  Tomorrow, take the electrical tape by the tail and tackle that non-knitting UFO (Not before you've had your coffee, of course.  We're not savages, after all).  

Then send me a picture.  Or a story.  You can do this, by damn.  Remember:  It's not like somebody asked you to make dinner!
 

Pardon My Dust

Evidently I sneezed, because while my eyes were closed, three days passed me by.  See, I was so jazzed by the completion of my sassy (at long last) Loo, that I thought I'd better exploit the momentum I'd created. 

I painted the kitchen. 

Turns out that while I academically understood what was involved (dismount a kajillion shelves, de-grease years of buildup (GAG), case yet more unfinished openings), I have never actually painted a kitchen (and its ceiling) before. 

How, you may ask, did I arrive at this stage in life without ever having de-gunked the dregs of kitchen ceilings and walls before?  No clue.  I'd chalk it up to Clean Living, but I think we all know better than that.  Let's go with Dumb Luck.  Think you're having a crappy day?  Bastards got you down?  Could be worse (turns out)!  You could be SCRUBBING A KITCHEN CEILING WITH TOXIC CHEMICALS!  And darned if the toxic chemicals don't get the job done!  (Sidebar:  I got "Phosphate-Free" T.S.P. {Tri-Sodium-Phosphate}: Doesn't that make it just T.S.?  Discuss.) 

For the Record:  Phillip totally bought into the ceiling business.  Worked his ass off, with nary a complaint.  Dude must really be tired of sleeping in the garage.  We'll See.

So the ceiling was painted a gorgeous blue that lives somewhere between an actual robins' egg and a gift box from Tiffany .  Maybe it's because I live in the Pacific Northwest (where it rains 300 days a year), but I have to tell you:  When it's gray outside, your ceiling can mimic a cloudless day:

This is the (yet unpainted - I had to knit) new casing for the opening between my kitchen and dining rooms.  Note the wall color:  Papaya.  Many thanks to those who liked the Marigold Loo.  Papaya is its somewhat less outgoing, but still scintillating cousin.  I'll show you more when the kitchen cabinets are redone.  Somebody Please Kill Me.  Cabinets?  Really?  This Old House  assures me that it can be done, but there are something like 27 simple steps involved.  I assure you that this is a desperate measure.  I hate my kitchen cabinets with the white-hot intensity of a thousand suns.  There is nothing I could do to them that wouldn't be an improvement.  Stay Tuned. 

From time to time as a knitwear designer, I find myself in this awkward position:  I'm dying to tell you what I'm working on, but it's a secret.  You know how it is:  Certain profit-seeking entities *cough-Vogue Knitting-cough* would really prefer if I kept my otherwise flappy lips pursed till they are ready to share the next big thing.  So while I am totally in love with what I knitted this week, I don't get to show you.  Yet. 

Instead, I will show you that I spun something:

Here are two swell bobbins of "Mood Ring" from our good friends at Abstract Fiber .  I loved it so much when I got it all done that I wanted to make more of it.  Ashland Bay  to the rescue.  How killer are these two things together?  It's like  your favorite jeans and some strappy sandals when you just got a pedicure.  I'm looking at you, four-ply. 

I was so pleased with myself for finishing the kitchen (cabinets notwithstanding).  So naturally, that's when it happened:

The new wallpaper for the dining room arrived.

Clearly, my work here is not done.

Promise to visit me in the hospital if things go badly?

Changing the Scenery

"Marigold" is the color that would happen if Yellow drank protein shakes and took up kickboxing.  Behold my finally-painted Loo:

Amazing how long we human beings will live with what we don't like, because changing it requires more effort or imagination than we can muster.  But when we finally do, we wonder what took us so long.

I consider myself to be in the business of imagination, and this concept blows my mind: Why is it so easy for me to dream up, say, a baby cardigan, but totally impossible to conceive of an orange bathroom without help? 

Susie's visit (and creative input) gave me just the kick in the pants I needed to get off dead center and work on my physical environment.  Next stop:  Dining Room.  I'm even thinking that I'll plan a dinner party so that I have something to look forward to.  And an artificially-imposed deadline never hurts.

Of course, I forgot how much it blows to paint ceilings and walls.  I have aches in muscles I haven't used since the Clinton administration.  And to all of you who are remembering my recent 40th birthday, shut it.  I am in firm denial of my age, and so should you be.

After the painting, I collapsed on the sofa.  Of course, people who go horizontal at unsanctioned times of day must be punished.  Behold the uninvited Huff pile-up, including pets:

No rest  for the wicked.

Oh, and in case you were wondering, the shawl is much-loved:

So's the model.