Stewey and I have been lounging in the sun all morning. (Well, OK. Stewey has been lounging in the sun and I have been pushing my brand spanky new Swiffer around the hardwoods (Can I get a big WOO HOO from the congregation, please?).
It seems that Spring has started to creep slowly into the daily happenings here in Hoosierville, but I'm not going to be one bit surprised if/when we get another seven feet of s-n-o-w to cover up all of the mushy brown grass. I'm thinking that May is probably when we'll break out the warm weather wardrobe.
This, of course, gives me plenty of time to panic over my lack of a suitable uniform to get me through the hotter days ahead. I have issues. Clearly. I do. But would it be too much to ask the world's manufacturers of womens' clothings to come up with a cute top that doesn't involve the exposure of my upper arms? Can I GET a 3/4 length sleeve, please?
I'm thinking that I'm going to go Ina this year and get me some lovely blouses that I can wear with cute black pants and be done with it. I read that Ina has her blouses custom tailored in London, but that's not going to deter me from coming up with something similar from the local Fashion Bug. God help me.
Stewey and I have been stitching and movie viewing these last few nights. On Wednesday, we watched The Time Traveler's Wife, but I had to stop the recorder thingie about every ten minutes to ask him what the heck was going on. (Needless to say, the King was not amused). He finally got so frustrated with my total inability to follow the plot that he went into his fort, rummaged around in his library, and came out with the novel clutched in his little paws. "Mo-ther, if you don't shut up and let me finish watching this movie, I'm going to lock you in the laundry room, where I hope you will feel compelled to read the book and do a load of whites."
Appropriately chagrined, I continued watching in complete silence but never did understand it. Nor did I understand last night's movie: The Ghost Writer. For this one, I seemed to be more fixatated on the accents of Pierce Brosnan and Kim Cattral than the actual plot. Why was he trying to sound like Prince Charles? Why couldn't he have had the same accent that he did in The Thomas Crown Affair? Isn't Kim Cattral originally from the UK? Why does she sound like Samantha Jones, but not quite, and yet not quite like she is actually from the UK?
These, and other things had me totally distracted to the point that I couldn't think about anything other than the fact that everybody looked very very cold.
(Note to self before I go off on some other crazy tangent: Why is Stewey in possession of so many books if he is also in possession of a Kindle? Shouldn't the Kindle preclude any further charges on his AMEX card at the Barnes & Noble? Does he have a shopping problem? Is he secretly sneaking out of the house at night to hang out at the mall...drinking coffee and getting up to God knows what with other like-minded youth? Must check this out. If for no other reason than to get my Kindle back so that I can start reading something other than the daily Peanuts cartoon on my little desk calendar.)
Spring Quakers continues and I still love every moment that I spend with it. Based upon my very un-scientific estimates, I think I am almost half-way through this one, so there is a stunning chance that I might actually finish it before the end of the year. Besides, I have visions of finishing this and then taking it and its cousin (Quaker Diamonds) over to the Michaels for some framing.
That does it for today. As soon as I'm finished with the Swiffering I'm going to think about tackling the guest room closet. Before I do, though, I need to find a rope long enough to tie around my waist in the event that I am lost forever in the enormous pile of crap that seems to have accumulated in there. That way, Aunt Chrissy will be able to save me from myself when she comes over for her evening "I just want to make sure you haven't done anything stupid today and that you aren't draped dramatically over the edge of the bathtub whimpering "I've fallen and I can't get up" to the imaginary cameras).
(I'm sorry that I don't take my projects off of their q-snaps before photographing, but once I get those suckers on there in a semi-straight fashion, I'm not likely to move anything for fear that we'll go all cockeyed again. So please forgive me and use your imagination.)