My mom can't come to the blog right now. She's in the laundry room having an argument with the fancypants clothes dryer.
The fancypants clothes dryer is winning.
MO-THER: Listen here, you stupid machine. I want you to re-run the drying cycle so that I can have another cup of coffee and finish the Sudoku without feeling guilty.
FANCYPANTS CLOTHES DRYER: First of all, there's no reason for name calling. For the record, I am a Whirlpool Duet Clothes Drying System and I have more sophisticated parts than the space shuttle. Secondly, the load of clothes that you want me to re-dry has been languishing here in my perfectly calibrated drying system containment facility for a week and a half. It's dry already. Trust me.
MO-THER: But if you don't re-dry them I have to fold them and put them away and then move the load of wet towels from the washing machine over to you and I'm just not prepared to do that at this time. I. Want. To. Have. Another. Cup. Of. Coffee.
FCD (silently sending a text message to the fancypants coffee machine): I see. Well, before you decide to take the lazy way out and fake your way through a day of homekeeping, might I suggest that you take a moment to re-consider? Take these clothes out of me, fold them, and THEN have your cup of coffee.
MO-THER: No. You're a clothes dryer and you can't make me.
FCD: Oh yeah? Well, go ahead and try to re-set me, lady. We'll see who's smarter in THIS little scenario.
(The spinster tries to program the fancypants clothes dryer for a "normal/casual" setting, knowing that it will take 45 minutes. This, she predicts, will be plenty of time to have the coffee and finish the puzzle.)
(The fancypants clothes dryer tumbles the clothes for a minute and seventeen seconds, and then buzzes loudly to indicate that the clothes are perfectly dry and have been perfectly dry for the week and a half that said clothes have been in said fancypants clothes dryer.)
(Exasperated, the spinster stomps out of the laundry room and heads for the kitchen. She readies her coffee cup under the fancypants coffee machine, pushes the "brew" button, and waits.)
(Instead of brewing coffee, the fancypants coffee machine flashes a message. "Fold clothes. Apologize to dryer. Transfer towels.")
The spinster decides to have tea instead.
***************************************
I'd love to tell you that the needles were flying last night, but the truth of the matter is that Mo-ther put about seven stitches into L'Hiver and then chucked it all to watch Mistresses. We were doing just fine with this until the "Season Finale next Wednesday" message appeared. Season Finale? After four episodes? Really? Methinks it's time for me to organize another letter writing campaign to the BBC America.
That's it for a gloomy Thursday, folks. I'll keep you updated on Days of Our Laundry. I suspect that it's going to end with a large household appliance sitting on the curb for the trash man tomorrow. Stay tuned!
With love from your pal,
Stewey
Feb 2, 2012
Jan 31, 2012
PATIENCE, GRASS-HOPPA
I used to tease Aunt Chrissy all the time about her lack of patience. Turns out that she is actually the most patient person I know. (Especially since she has to deal with moi and moi d-o-g.)
I've started Laura J. Perin's Stained Glass Windows in a lovely pink/chocolate colorway, but all I have to show for a Sunday's worth of stitching is 4 3/4 block outlines. I'm driving myself nutso with the "I hope these colors will look OK" and "Why can't I stitch the outline of a square without having a fizzy tit about it?" and "What the heck happened that Adrienne and Lisa hate each other?".
So sometime in the year a billion and seventeen we should see this one finished.
But if anybody knows the answer to the Adrienne/Lisa conundrum, I'd love to hear it.
Jan 30, 2012
DUST OF SNOW FEE NEE
Dust of Snow
Plum Street Samplers
32ct. Navy Bean linen
Needlepoint Inc., Silks
Thank you for such sweet encouragement! I must confess, however, that it really is an illusion, because if you look carefully you will see that I really don't finish all that much in a given year. I also must confess that it is easy to stitch a lot when you a) never leave the house and b) haven't seen the working end of a dust mop in months. But thank you, anyway.
Stewey spent the entire weekend toasting his little buns. I get such a kick out of him twisting up like a little pretzel when he sleeps that I just had to share a crappy photo with you. (I'm sure I'll hear from his legal team for this, but the cuteness factor is worth it, n'est pai?)
Plum Street Samplers
32ct. Navy Bean linen
Needlepoint Inc., Silks
Thank you for such sweet encouragement! I must confess, however, that it really is an illusion, because if you look carefully you will see that I really don't finish all that much in a given year. I also must confess that it is easy to stitch a lot when you a) never leave the house and b) haven't seen the working end of a dust mop in months. But thank you, anyway.
Stewey spent the entire weekend toasting his little buns. I get such a kick out of him twisting up like a little pretzel when he sleeps that I just had to share a crappy photo with you. (I'm sure I'll hear from his legal team for this, but the cuteness factor is worth it, n'est pai?)
Jan 27, 2012
ON A MISSION
I can hear you chanting "GO....GO....GO....GO!". Methinks the second season of Mistresses will get me through to the finish on this one, don't you? Have a great weekend, everybody! Woo Hoo!
Jan 26, 2012
THE BIG WHITE WALL OF NOTHINGNESS GOT A LITTLE WINTER MAKEOVER (AND AUNT CHRISSY APPROVES!)***EDITED***
Please please please forgive the very dreary pictures today, my sweets. It is a gloomy day here in North Hoosierville, and despite my very best attempts to find the camera book that would tell me how to fix this issue, I cannot.
'Member this one? It's Snowflake Serenade from Country Cottage Needleworks. The mat is actually a lovely mossy green, and the frame is a nice warm barn wood, but alas, it looks rather muddled. (And crooked. Hmm. Just noticed that. Looks like I'll have to do some fixing today.)
I put Lizzie Kate's Winter Alphabet above that damn shelf that I don't really like anymore, but it's bolted to the big white wall of nothingness in such a way that I can't get it down! The long pieces above and below the shelf are from Bent Creek, the far left piece is Shepherd's Bush, and the bird is (I believe, anyway) Twisted Thread? ***Nope! It's from Heart in Hand! Thanks, Wendy! Woo Hoo!***
This angle is looking toward the front of the house.
And this is looking toward the back of the house.
Progress continues very nicely on Dust of Snow. I finished two of the trees last night and am headed to the Happy Chair to finish the other two today!
Hope your skies are considerably brighter wherever you are! Woo Hoo!
'Member this one? It's Snowflake Serenade from Country Cottage Needleworks. The mat is actually a lovely mossy green, and the frame is a nice warm barn wood, but alas, it looks rather muddled. (And crooked. Hmm. Just noticed that. Looks like I'll have to do some fixing today.)I put Lizzie Kate's Winter Alphabet above that damn shelf that I don't really like anymore, but it's bolted to the big white wall of nothingness in such a way that I can't get it down! The long pieces above and below the shelf are from Bent Creek, the far left piece is Shepherd's Bush, and the bird is (I believe, anyway) Twisted Thread? ***Nope! It's from Heart in Hand! Thanks, Wendy! Woo Hoo!***
This angle is looking toward the front of the house.
And this is looking toward the back of the house.
Progress continues very nicely on Dust of Snow. I finished two of the trees last night and am headed to the Happy Chair to finish the other two today!Hope your skies are considerably brighter wherever you are! Woo Hoo!
Jan 24, 2012
PLEASE PASS THE JUICE BOX
My mom can't come to the blog right now. She's standing in the middle of her closet trying to find a new "outside" getup. The previous "outside" getup of eighteen year old sweatpants and old man slippers from the Kmarts isn't cutting it anymore, and the recent arrival of a restraining order from our municipality has finally prodded the old lady into action.
After all of the nature around here, last night's trip for a final potty included a) me on a leash, b) a huge black and white golf umbrella with a Viagra logo that can be seen from space, c) a straw hat, and d) a pair of rubber rain boots that were probably fished out of a clearance bin at the Tractor Farm and Fleet about a billion years ago.
My stupid mo-ther read every single one of your comments and immediately decided that in the unlikely event that we were confronted by an angry mob of suburban wildlife, she wanted to be prepared. For most people this would mean the addition of a sharp stick, a cell phone, and a whistle to one's sensible "outside" getup of proper underpants, a well-fitted brassiere, slacks, a suitably patterned sweater, a coat, hat, gloves, scarf, and a smart pair of all-weather loafers, but this is my mo-ther we're talking about.
So, as I'm sure you can imagine, we made quite a pair out there in the driveway in front of God and everybody, with me in my handsome little Burberry and Mo-ther looking like an escapee from the nearest mental health inpatient facility.
Needless to say, she takes every single thing you say to heart and promises me that we will be ever vigilant for vultures, man-eating deer, and any other crazy thing that decides to drop by for a snack in the wee hours of the night.
The title of this post comes from a conversation I heard (OK, monitored) between my mo-ther and my Aunt Chrissy last evening. I had been watching the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills marathon, but one glimpse of Lisa Vanderpump's tiara and I was so disgusted I had to retch into my handkerchief. So when I heard Mo-ther dialing the telephone, I figured that a little listen-in would be considerably more entertaining:
MO-THER: Chellooooo, Aunt Chrissy! What did you have for dinner tonight?
AUNT CHIRSSY: I had oven baked potatoes, a boneless skinless chicken breast, and some green beans.
MO-THER: Wow. That sounds really good. And healthy. Don't you want to know what I had for dinner tonight?
AUNT CHRISSY: Not particularly, no.
MO-THER: I'm glad you asked. I had ham and cheese crescent roll ups, potato chips, and Rice Krispie treats. All I needed was a juice box and I could have been a six year old.
AUNT CHRISSY: Six year olds don't eat like that anymore. They have apple slices and low fat milk.
MO-THER: They do? When did this happen?
AUNT CHRISSY: Right about the time they got trapped behind you at the Targets and had to watch your ample rump waddle its way down the candy bar aisle in your eighteen year old sweatpants. Haven't you heard? You've become a cautionary tale.
MO-THER: I thought that was Paula Deen's gig.
AUNT CHRISSY: Nope. She's a well-paid spokesperson. You're just a chronic condition waiting to happen.
(Perhaps I exaggerate the EXACT wording for effect, but suffice it to say that there was a very long conversation in which my mo-ther tries to convince my Aunt Chrissy that ham and cheese crescent rolls ups and potato chips can be technically considered to be a protein, a carb, and a vegetable and that all meet the USDA requirements for a perfectly balanced meal.)
(As for me, I had a lovely piece of steamed fish, some quinoa, wilted Kale, and an impertinent little Merlot.)
We'll return to our regularly scheduled programming soon, I promise. For some reason, the battery on the camera didn't make it into the charger yesterday, so alas, no stitching picture updates.
Happy Tuesday, my very dear and loyal friends! Until we meet again, I remain your devoted pal,
Stewey
After all of the nature around here, last night's trip for a final potty included a) me on a leash, b) a huge black and white golf umbrella with a Viagra logo that can be seen from space, c) a straw hat, and d) a pair of rubber rain boots that were probably fished out of a clearance bin at the Tractor Farm and Fleet about a billion years ago.
My stupid mo-ther read every single one of your comments and immediately decided that in the unlikely event that we were confronted by an angry mob of suburban wildlife, she wanted to be prepared. For most people this would mean the addition of a sharp stick, a cell phone, and a whistle to one's sensible "outside" getup of proper underpants, a well-fitted brassiere, slacks, a suitably patterned sweater, a coat, hat, gloves, scarf, and a smart pair of all-weather loafers, but this is my mo-ther we're talking about.
So, as I'm sure you can imagine, we made quite a pair out there in the driveway in front of God and everybody, with me in my handsome little Burberry and Mo-ther looking like an escapee from the nearest mental health inpatient facility.
Needless to say, she takes every single thing you say to heart and promises me that we will be ever vigilant for vultures, man-eating deer, and any other crazy thing that decides to drop by for a snack in the wee hours of the night.
The title of this post comes from a conversation I heard (OK, monitored) between my mo-ther and my Aunt Chrissy last evening. I had been watching the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills marathon, but one glimpse of Lisa Vanderpump's tiara and I was so disgusted I had to retch into my handkerchief. So when I heard Mo-ther dialing the telephone, I figured that a little listen-in would be considerably more entertaining:
MO-THER: Chellooooo, Aunt Chrissy! What did you have for dinner tonight?
AUNT CHIRSSY: I had oven baked potatoes, a boneless skinless chicken breast, and some green beans.
MO-THER: Wow. That sounds really good. And healthy. Don't you want to know what I had for dinner tonight?
AUNT CHRISSY: Not particularly, no.
MO-THER: I'm glad you asked. I had ham and cheese crescent roll ups, potato chips, and Rice Krispie treats. All I needed was a juice box and I could have been a six year old.
AUNT CHRISSY: Six year olds don't eat like that anymore. They have apple slices and low fat milk.
MO-THER: They do? When did this happen?
AUNT CHRISSY: Right about the time they got trapped behind you at the Targets and had to watch your ample rump waddle its way down the candy bar aisle in your eighteen year old sweatpants. Haven't you heard? You've become a cautionary tale.
MO-THER: I thought that was Paula Deen's gig.
AUNT CHRISSY: Nope. She's a well-paid spokesperson. You're just a chronic condition waiting to happen.
(Perhaps I exaggerate the EXACT wording for effect, but suffice it to say that there was a very long conversation in which my mo-ther tries to convince my Aunt Chrissy that ham and cheese crescent rolls ups and potato chips can be technically considered to be a protein, a carb, and a vegetable and that all meet the USDA requirements for a perfectly balanced meal.)
(As for me, I had a lovely piece of steamed fish, some quinoa, wilted Kale, and an impertinent little Merlot.)
We'll return to our regularly scheduled programming soon, I promise. For some reason, the battery on the camera didn't make it into the charger yesterday, so alas, no stitching picture updates.
Happy Tuesday, my very dear and loyal friends! Until we meet again, I remain your devoted pal,
Stewey
Jan 23, 2012
STUPID NATURE
From what I hear on the TeeVee, there's some fancypants video game that all the kids are playing these days called "Angry Birds". I'm not sure what it is, exactly, since I am not allowed to use anything electronic without adult supervision, and I don't own one of those cell phone gizmos.
Anywhoo, on Friday afternoon I was in the kitchen minding my own business (OK, if you must know, I was making Rice Krispie Treats), when I heard a very loud BANG coming from the general direction of the back patio window.
A bird had apparently decided to conduct a suicide mission, had flown directly into said back patio window, and was laying deader than a doornail in the pee snow that Stewey created that very morning during his constitutional.
I kept checking on the bird to see if it was moving, and since it wasn't and since I am also a nutjob of the highest order, I decided to take the snow shovel and gently lift the carcass out of the pee snow and give it a proper burial under a nice tree in a meadow. (Or, failing that, I figured I'd scoop it up and fling it into the middle of the big ass field behind the house and be done with it.)
As almost everybody on the planet (except me, apparently) knows, when birds fly into stuff they stun themselves senseless and fall to the ground in a lifeless heap so that they can get their wits about them. (Much like I used to do in my 20's after a night of drinking Long Island iced teas.)
But I digress.
The very moment I got the shovel under that bird, it decided to come back to life and FLY FLY AWAY as I screamed bloody murder and then wondered how long it would be before the neighborhood association served me with eviction papers.
Damn birds.
So as I was standing out there in the back forty trying not to have a heart attack, I catch something moving out of the corner of my eye. Upon closer inspection, it appeared to be a 42 pound meatball wearing feathers, perched about thirty feet up in a tree. Wanna know how BIG this damn thing was? Let's just say that if it would have turned around, I would have pondered the fact that it had the strength capability of carrying me (and my little dog too) several thousand feet up into the air before dropping us off the edge of a cliff to our early (and somewhat disappointing) demise(es).
I know, I know, this fantastic photo makes it look like it's just a bird in a tree. But can I just point out that I used the magnify thingie on the camera and that the branch upon which that thing is sitting is about three stories up in the freakin air?!!
I emailed my friend Kavanaugh under the guise that he knows a lot about birds and would probably be able to tell me what the heck this thing is, but the truth of the matter is that my friend Kavanaugh is a police officer and has a weapon that I am sure he uses with deadly accuracy. Or, if he wasn't willing to come over here and shoot the damn thing in the head (which I want to be very clear he would in NO WAY ever consider), I guess I was hoping that he would instead bring his bagpipes and scare the living beejeesus out of this and and every other living creature within an eight mile radius of Chez Spinster.
Fast forward to last night when I was in the kitchen again (OK. So. I have a Rice Krispie addiction problem), when I spy SOMETHING moving the bushes immediately adjacent to the patio. (What IS it about this darn patio?)
Stewey fired off a few snaps with his cell phone camera, but didn't manage to focus them very well:
So now we know that the sounds I hear while fretting in the big girl sleigh bed at night are not, in fact, thieves and vagabonds trying to break into the house. They are (instead) the din of Happy Hour at what constitutes a TGI Friday's for the Marlin Perkins set.
I hate nature.
I did get quite a bit done on the Plum Street piece this weekend, and I also started a counted canvas piece from Threedles yesterday, but all of this nature photography has depleted the battery on the camera. As soon as it recharges, I'll post some updates.
Happy Monday! Hope your weekend was a bit more....civilized.
Anywhoo, on Friday afternoon I was in the kitchen minding my own business (OK, if you must know, I was making Rice Krispie Treats), when I heard a very loud BANG coming from the general direction of the back patio window.
A bird had apparently decided to conduct a suicide mission, had flown directly into said back patio window, and was laying deader than a doornail in the pee snow that Stewey created that very morning during his constitutional.
I kept checking on the bird to see if it was moving, and since it wasn't and since I am also a nutjob of the highest order, I decided to take the snow shovel and gently lift the carcass out of the pee snow and give it a proper burial under a nice tree in a meadow. (Or, failing that, I figured I'd scoop it up and fling it into the middle of the big ass field behind the house and be done with it.)
As almost everybody on the planet (except me, apparently) knows, when birds fly into stuff they stun themselves senseless and fall to the ground in a lifeless heap so that they can get their wits about them. (Much like I used to do in my 20's after a night of drinking Long Island iced teas.)
But I digress.
The very moment I got the shovel under that bird, it decided to come back to life and FLY FLY AWAY as I screamed bloody murder and then wondered how long it would be before the neighborhood association served me with eviction papers.
Damn birds.
So as I was standing out there in the back forty trying not to have a heart attack, I catch something moving out of the corner of my eye. Upon closer inspection, it appeared to be a 42 pound meatball wearing feathers, perched about thirty feet up in a tree. Wanna know how BIG this damn thing was? Let's just say that if it would have turned around, I would have pondered the fact that it had the strength capability of carrying me (and my little dog too) several thousand feet up into the air before dropping us off the edge of a cliff to our early (and somewhat disappointing) demise(es).
I know, I know, this fantastic photo makes it look like it's just a bird in a tree. But can I just point out that I used the magnify thingie on the camera and that the branch upon which that thing is sitting is about three stories up in the freakin air?!!I emailed my friend Kavanaugh under the guise that he knows a lot about birds and would probably be able to tell me what the heck this thing is, but the truth of the matter is that my friend Kavanaugh is a police officer and has a weapon that I am sure he uses with deadly accuracy. Or, if he wasn't willing to come over here and shoot the damn thing in the head (which I want to be very clear he would in NO WAY ever consider), I guess I was hoping that he would instead bring his bagpipes and scare the living beejeesus out of this and and every other living creature within an eight mile radius of Chez Spinster.
Fast forward to last night when I was in the kitchen again (OK. So. I have a Rice Krispie addiction problem), when I spy SOMETHING moving the bushes immediately adjacent to the patio. (What IS it about this darn patio?)
Stewey fired off a few snaps with his cell phone camera, but didn't manage to focus them very well:
So now we know that the sounds I hear while fretting in the big girl sleigh bed at night are not, in fact, thieves and vagabonds trying to break into the house. They are (instead) the din of Happy Hour at what constitutes a TGI Friday's for the Marlin Perkins set.I hate nature.
I did get quite a bit done on the Plum Street piece this weekend, and I also started a counted canvas piece from Threedles yesterday, but all of this nature photography has depleted the battery on the camera. As soon as it recharges, I'll post some updates.
Happy Monday! Hope your weekend was a bit more....civilized.
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