Where everybody knows your name . . .

Every town has one. That eating place everyone goes to all the time. It's been around forever, the decor is forgettable, the prices are low, and the food is pretty basic.

The Old Hickory House in Dunwoody is that place. It's a barbecue restaurant that really shines at breakfast time. Every Friday morning, T and I meet there after he drops off A at the high school and just before I go to the Nature Center. He likes his big fluffy biscuit sandwich. I like a fried egg and rye toast or sausage links. Nothing fancy, certainly nothing healthy. But we really enjoy the time together.

I just got off the phone with TangleGirl (yo, Kris!), catching up on felted clogs, the forgiveness of felting and the heresy of incorrect patterns. (She purled awhile, exactly as the directions indicated, only to find out it was WRONG and mucked up the pattern. Don't you just HATE that?)

Rip it. Rip it. Blasted frogging.

I'm casting on the mukluks this weekend and will post pix of the yarn and WIP as I go. I'm also continuing on Jaywalker #2. We'll see if fun outpaces tedium.