Only twelve more days before we move again. But this time, we’re hanging our hats for a good few years, because this darling place is going to be ours. All ours, right down to the garbage collection bills and the taxes. Not to mention one monster mortgage. But how could we say no to such a charmer of a house? Click ye the pictures and come on in for a wee tour:

And most importantly, the den of wooly debauchery yarn parlor:

You can see actual yarn belonging to my aunt on the shelves against the far wall. She’s got a tidy little stash of Indiecita Alpaca, Donegal Tweed, and Heirloom 8-ply wool. Classy lady, my aunt, in case it wasn’t obvious from the furnishings. And see the cute window seat on which to sit and knit? What you can’t see is the spacious closet I’ve staked out for the stash. I’m thinking there will be a goodly tower of stackable clear pastic drawers in there, with containers for WIPs on the shelf above.

How do you make someone else’s home into your home, though? Every time we talk about it, it’s “Anne’s house.” Will it seem more like ours when her things have gone to her new place? All the furniture we have to put into it is coming this week from Connecticut. It’s my grandmother’s. There’s something snug and cozy about dwelling in the familial strata of the women who go before you, but we want it to feel like our own space, too. We won’t have much money to spend on new furnishings this year, or likely next. So I propose to make things. I never considered knitting for my house before I read Ann and Kay’s book, but they’ve got me thinking now. What better way to put your stamp on a new place than to adorn it with the work of your own fingers? No doilies, cross my heart and hope to die. But the downstairs bathroom could use a Mason-Dixon Bubbly Curtain, so the neighbors don’t have to see us nekked in the tub. The entry way could do with a rag rug, and Lord knows Mr. Garter has some T-shirts he could stand to donate to the cause. My grandmother’s persimmon-colored couch (I do not kid – it is exactly the color of a persimmon, and it rocks) might like some pillows with coordinating handknit covers. And some felted containers might jazz up the place and hold the flotsam and jetsam we haven’t managed to shed during the past three moves. (There’s a top-loading washer in the basement – felt on, dudes!)

I promise not to go overboard, though. Slap me if I start muttering darkly about knitting toilet-seat covers or Kleenex cozies. We must impose sane limits on the nesting urge. So have you knit anything for your home place? I want to hear about it.