My mom can't come to the blog right now. She's slumped in the Happy Chair, stinking of Ben-Gay, and muttering something about the road to hell and good intentions. Despite my constant urgings to have a stitchy weekend, the old lady decided that it would be a good time to put up the outside Christmas decorations. Needless to say, there's a whole lot of "I'm too old to be doing this kind of thing" going on around here today.
I will confess that I do think this year's effort is rather pretty, but this is only because my Aunt Chrissy insisted on replacing the worn out front window wreaths with new ones from the Targets. The old wreaths had pine cones and some very sorry looking sprigs of something that was once probably supposed to be red berries. The new wreaths have big red glitter balls and lots of lime green accents. Once Mo-ther got the white lights on them and strapped them to the house, all of the neighbors stopped by to approve the choice, so I think we're definitely on the right track.
Today is laundry day, and I've already promised to behave myself so that a little stitchy therapy might take place. Mo-ther is still happily working on Aunt Laura J. Perin's "Harvest Moon House", but I'm afraid that her meager progress doesn't warrant re-charging the camera battery. Pictures tomorrow, I promise.
I do hope that your weekend was splendid and that you were able to do everything that you wanted to do and nothing that you didn't. Until we meet again, I remain your loyal and devoted friend.
With love from your pal,
P.S. The title of this post refers to the classic hit from Mr. Barry Manilow His Very self. I started humming it the moment I spied those sparkly new wreaths and commented that Chez Spinster was now tarted up like a Vegas show girl....."Her name was Lola. She was a show girl."...