ANTICIPATION TUESDAY, BUT FIRST A WORD FROM MASTER STEWEY ANGUS WILLOWSWAMP HIS VERY LITTLE SELF

We're under a Winter Storm Warning (!) today, so this means that Aunt Chrissy and I ran to the grocery last night for provisions. Oddly enough, the entire store was empty and quiet, so we strolled the aisles as though we owned the place. It was pure heaven.

Now before you get all worried about us not having the proper things here to outlast any natural "situation", might I just point out that I have enough food in my fridge, freezer, and pantry to feed a small country for at least a week and a half. This, of course, comes from the remembrance of living through the Blizzard of 1977 (!), during which we played on a snow pile that went up to the roof while Mom stressed out over making sure the entire neighborhood had fresh milk.

(She was like that, don't you know. Always looking out for everybody and making sure that no matter what was going on, you had dry socks and something good to eat.)

(Hmmm. Note to self: Explore this as possible cause of footwear and food obsession.)

Oh, I'm supposed to tell you that Stewey wants y'all to STOP with all of the lovely commentary on me and my stitching and my writing. He claims that I'm becoming hard to live with, especially since I've taken to printing out comments every day and wrapping myself in them like some kind of "Cool Kid's Cloak of Indestructibility". What can I say? You're the wind beneath my wings.

(Please stand by for eye rolling and retching sounds coming from the general vicinity of Stewey's perch.)

I'm still plugging along on Thoughful Heart and hope to have it completed by the end of the week. And, seeing how we're headed into another Olympic Season, I think I'm fixin' to stitch a Laura J. Perin quilt pattern, but in all reds, whites, and blues. There are so many lovely patterns that methinks I might have to putter about upstairs for a bit to see what I can come up with.

That's the report for today. I suppose that I had better go shovel a path for Little Lord Fauntleroy out back or we're going to be washing drapes all day. I swear I'm going to slap a diaper on him and call it a day, but every time I threaten to do it he whips out our Agreement Of Ownership That Proves Once And For All That We Live In A Household In Which A Dog Is In Charge and then calls his attorneys. Damn dog.