The big NKK de-stash

In the months since I started my blog and came across all you lovely people out there, I have admired, in a detached sort of way, the discipline involved in going on a de-stash diet.  I have no such addiction to yarn or fabric.  I have yet to become hooked on it all to the extent that I would buy yarn without a specific project in mind just because, well, it was there.  I know.  Will you still speak to me after this?

But before you turn away in disgust, never to read NKK again, I thought you'd like to know that I am staging an intervention with myself.  Because there's nothing like the prospect of moving every last thing you own across the Atlantic to focus the mind on the amount of stuff in your life.  And I have come to a realisation that I have been hoarding my very own stash.

I've always had a bit of a problem when it comes to books.  I love them.  Everything about them.  The feel of them.  The smell.  And of course the stories they give me.

Now, I know there are worse addictions in life.  I could be a crack whore. So, I've always told myself that it was harmless.  That I could stop anytime....  But in the last three years, my book buying has got a bit out of control.  For two years in North Africa, I couldn't buy books, except in rushed visits when we were home.  And I was always conscious that we wouldn't be there forever, so I somehow managed to curb my acquisitive tendencies.

But there's been no such holding back since we moved to New York.  It's been so fabulous to be able to wander into a bookshop and come out laden with treats.  So, it's only as we get ready to pack up and go that I've really thought about all these lovelies on my shelf.  And only now that I realise that I haven't read any of them.  Yet.    Oh, I have read other books.  Lots of them.  But somehow, all these slipped in there along the way and I haven't yet got around to reading them.  Instead I buy more.  Think of it as the literary equivalent of staring at your wardrobe in despair because you have nothing to wear...

So, I have resolved to read them.  And not buy any more books until I have.  Even as I write this, I'm not convinced I can do it.  It's going to be made all the more difficult because the house by the sea is in a small town with an excellent bookshop (one of the main attractions for me).  But even I realise that it would be truly ridiculous to ship all these lovely books back unread and then go out and buy more.

I have devised a few rules.

1. Presents don't count (as long as they're real presents and not me asking Mr. P to buy a book I'm craving).

2. I want to join a book club (if I can find one) when I get home.  So, if I can't find the chosen book in the local library (also excellent, I'm told), then I'm allowed to buy that book.

3.  If I start a book and can't get into it, I'm allowed to not finish it and start another one instead.  (Twenty years ago this would have been unconscionable to me but there are way too many books I want to read and never enough time to waste on badly written or uninteresting one.

4. I will write a review of each book as I go and post it so you get to see my progress.

There.  What do you reckon?  And do you have the same problem?  And would you like to join me?  Have you read any of the books in my piles?  There's all sorts there from the light and fluffy to more weighty tomes.  Where do you think I should begin?

I have no idea whether I can do this.  But I am determined.  And cussed determination gets me through all sorts of things I didn't think I could do.  Which brings me to an update on the wavery ripple.  I am discovering there is something very satisfying about getting to the end of a ball of yarn...

C.x

Loopy Mango

Last weekend was the annual NYC Yarn Crawl.  My first thought when I read about this was that I wished all of you lived around the corner so we could all go together.  As it was, I managed to visit two shops over the weekend.  It was the perfect excuse to visit Purl Soho again.  But I also found a fab new shop called Loopy Mango.  Oh gosh, what a treasure trove!  Yes, it sells wool.  But so, so much more.  It's like the best finds on every flea market stall you've ever visited AND wool.  How cool is that!

The wool is in a back room flooded with natural light from a glass roof.  And there I found this lovely woman, casting on with the biggest needles I'd ever seen.  Really quite Alice in Wonderland...

She was about to make this rug. 

It seems there's a bit of a craze for these at the moment ....

Image from Purl Bee

Isn't that just beautiful?

Anyway, there were lots of treats at every turn, including these lovely craft books...

...and these rather lovely camels (every home should have one)...

...and cloth dolls and china...

... and clothing and cushions....

... and just about everything you might need to prettify a house by the sea (just a random example...)

And guess what?

I didn't buy a thing.  (Mr. P. I do hope you're reading this.)

We have builders and plumbers and electricians and all manner of people working away on our house at the moment.  And the thought of the money involved has put a halt to my gallop (for now at least).  There will be time enough for prettifying when we have actually paid for the roof over our heads.

(Gosh, how wise I am...)

C.x

PS If you ever come to New York, remember the NYC Yarn Crawl site - it's the best all in one resource for where the yarn shops of the city can be found.

Yes, but think of the bunions...

A very photo-rich post today.  But before I begin, I just loved your six word memoirs. I just knew you'd get it!  And welcome, welcome, to new followers.  It's lovely to have you here!

 So, a few weeks ago, the glitterati descended on New York for this:

Fashion week is HUGE here. I'd never bothered with it before, but somehow, knowing we're leaving soon, I have the urge to do all sorts of things we haven't already done. Needless to say, we didn't have front row tickets to the Armani show or anything, but we are lucky enough to live near Lincoln Centre, we we wandered up to gawk one afternoon.

Oh my! Even Mr. P was fascinated.  (No, this isn't us....)

It really was the most wonderful mix of the bizarre and the beautiful.

But what fascinated me, and kept me there with my mouth open long after it was dignified, were the shoes.

First an admission:  I have foot envy.  All my life, I have wanted to parade around in strappy sandals and high heels.  But I have long since accepted that this is not to be.  I wear Sensible Shoes.  I have been known to put a whole outfit on and then change because I have no shoes I can walk in that even vaguely go with the first thing I try on.  In short, my feet are the bane of my life.

So, you will understand when I tell you that I am bit obsessed with what other people manage to teeter around the place in.

 Even the men's shoes were, well, stare-worthy...

But my absolute favourite was this combination:

A journalist whose job it was to record what the clackers were wearing on their feet.  Could she be any more contemptuous?!

And isn't this fab?

I just love this.  Pretty sure it's Marc Jacobs.  I would love this dress just to hang on my wall like a piece of art.  I would wear it, but as my mother would say, where would you be going in it?

And, as if all that wasn't enough to tantalise me, I walked past Dylan's Candy Store the other day and these were in the window:

All made of sweets.  Bonkers.

So, there you have it.  Shoes and the City.  Enjoy!

C.x