In New York City, everything is at they say it is. If they say it’s grand and wonderful and amazing, it is. (It is.) If they say to pronounce Houston, as in Houston Street, as “How-ston,” then you do. And anything south of Houston is known as SoHo, using the first two letters of south and Houston. I learned that one right away, as someone was giving me directions to see Purl Soho.
I’d come to New York City with my daughter Barbara, in order to create some memories and have some fun. We’d been doing lots of stuff together the past couple of days, but decided to split up this morning so she could accomplish one of her goals of buying a purse, and I could get to a fabric shop or two.
This section of town is right above Little Italy, which is above Chinatown, which is where I had started that morning with my daughter, who was determined to “buy a purse.” (She bought four.) The picture above is the corner of Broome and Mercer, and just down on the left is. . .
. . . PurlSoho. Whoopee!
The sun is finally shining after two days of rain, as you can see in this shot just inside the front door.
A wall of fabric in hoops. Sometimes we forget that fabric shops like their stash, too.
While this shop is not a “supermarket” type of store in terms of size, its ideas and creative fabrics are supersized. I wanted to buy a quarter-yard or more of everything in there, but how would I get it home in my suitcase? They have mail order, so I was comforted that I could get what I wanted once I arrived home — and their warehouse is in the neighboring county from me. Close, actually, when compared to NYC.
Blurry shot of the back of the shop.
And blurry shot of their yarn wall. Such color!
About this time, my daughter found me (love having cell phones!), exhausted from two and half days of non-stop go go go, so we went to some place close and delish for lunch: Le Pain Quotidien, where I had this artsy cobb-type salad.
She had the Belgian waffle.
Then we both headed home on the subway, and crashed for a couple of hours.