Apr 28, 2011


Stewey and I have started a new tradition here at Chez Spinster. I was sitting in the Happy Chair yesterday, quite bleary-eyed and in great anticipation of that first hot sip of morning joe, when Stewey jumped up into my lap and said:

STEWEY: Mo-ther, I don't feel like doing anything today. Would it be at all possible for me to snooze on my perch while you stare at the walls? Or, if you prefer, we could go upstairs and I could snooze in the studio chair while you stare at your bins and bins and bins of stitchy crap.

I pondered this for a moment or two and then decided that it sounded like a plan.

As I was upstairs pawing through my stitchy crap, I said:

MO-THER: You know, Stewey, today is Wednesday and some people call it hump day.

To which Stewey replied:

STEWEY: Tee hee hee hee heee. You said "hump", Mo-ther.

I gave up on the idea of carrying on any further intelligent discourse with him, and decided instead to come up with a nickname for the day that wouldn't send him into hysterical little fits.

MO-THER: Why don't we call this Futzingday? Each week we could decide to do absolutely nothing at all except futz about, and since the futzing would now have an official day, we could feel very organized that we were, in fact, futzing on the appropriate Futzingday.

Stewey thought about this for a minute and then said:

STEWEY: Mo-ther, you have a way of taking the spontaneity and fun out of everything.

So we had our very first Futzingday yesterday, and I am happy to report that it was just what the stitchy gods ordered. I played around with all of my stitchy crap, kitted up a few new projects, fretted over a few old projects, and started stitching a new piece that I'm going to keep secret for a little while until I'm sure that I won't abandon it and then will have to feel guilty that I blogged all about the damn thing and then never picked it up again.

I did finish the X on the Trip Around The World Quilt and was thiiiiiiis close to starting the Y when I decided to take a short break. I'll need to move the linen on the q-snaps, and since we all know how much angst and hair-pulling THAT will entail, I decided to postpone it for a day or two.

But I am very very happy with the X:

This morning as I was (once again) sitting bleary-eyed in the Happy Chair awaiting that first hot sip of morning joe, I caught this out of the corner of my eye out in the back forty:
Doesn't look like much, I know, but in real life this freakin thing stood about seven feel tall and had a body the size of a small Buick. I am assuming that it was a wild turkey because of the way it walked/waddled away, but considering how I have never seen a wild turkey and was also overcome by an attack of the vapours when I realized that this thing was big enough to serve ME for its Thanksgiving dinner, I'm just not sure.

(Stewey, of course, was completely non-plussed and decided that it's a good thing it wasn't a ham.)

I've received a lot of inquiries regarding tomorrow morning's festivities and whether or not Little Lord Fauntleroy and I will be attending/watching the coverage. By way of explanation, here's the conversation that took place last night before bedtime:

STEWEY: Mo-ther, did you happen to pick up my morning suit at the tailor's today?

MO-THER: No, um, gee, er, I.....didn't get to it. It was Futzingday. Remember?

STEWEY: Well, please be advised that my valet expects to wake me at 3:46, and he will most certainly want to give it a quick pressing while I'm in the bath.

MO-THER: Can't you just wear a nice little hat or something?

STEWEY: (to himself) I could have thrived with a smarted owner.

(He sighs audibly as Mo-ther grunts, rolls over, and starts snoring loud enough to rattle the windows. Momentarily, he wonders if there's enough time to make it to O'Hare to catch a flight to Heathrow, but then realizes that ever since that incident at Buckingham Palace, he probably wouldn't be allowed extrance, and he doesn't want to spend the weekend locked in the Tower of London. He pees on the drapes, looks with disgust at his sleeping mo-ther, and decides to set the DVR instead.)

Apr 26, 2011


Whew! What a whirlwind these last few days have been! Did ya miss me? Huh? Huh? Did ya?

Aunt Chrissy turned 40 and I turned 45 without so much as a bang or a whimper. Despite this being a "big" birthday for her, she spoiled me completely rotten with lovely gifts, a great meal, and complete indulgence of all of my crazy shenanigans without one complaint.

My little puppy tot nephew Bosco is known for giving me gifts that send me straight to the ugly cry, and this year was no exception. See that mug? On the inside it says "Tomorrow I start with a clean blanket." The little figurine is representative of he and I and our propensity for hanging out together just like the best buds that we are. How could you not love a nephew that "gets" you like that?
On the stitchy front, Aunt Chrissy took me on a little shopping spree and I got a basket full of charts and linen and threads that I've been wanting for quite some time. This piece, called Trip Around The World Quilt is from Rosewood Manor, and I can't put the darn thing down. It seems to be fulfilling my need for detailed and layered stitching:
I wish I were a better picture taker, since this sucker is positively gorgeous in real life. The linen is a 32ct. Liberty Gathering Grey, and the threads are all DMC beauties in olive-y greens and smoky lavender purples. What's not to love about THAT?

The Easter ham situation is as dire as it is every year. We have a lovely meal and then ten minutes after the kitchen is cleaned up, I've got my face stuck in the fridge looking for the makings of a ham sandwich. This goes on repeatedly until Aunt Chrissy calls and says "You know? I think left overs sound really good. Can I stop by to pick some up for dinner tonight?" and then I have to sheepishly explain that I have, once again, polished off a nineteen pound ham all by myself, thank you very much, and although I am ashamed and completely bloated to admit it, I simply cannot help myself when it comes to ham.

And potato salad.

What can I say? One of my very most favorite memories is of coming home from college and hearing Mom say "There's ham and potato salad in the fridge for you, honey" before I even made it through the front door. And then I would eat said ham and potato salad until it was time to go back to college and return to the land of "You're a big fat stupid loser who just should have stayed in Lima and gotten married and raised chickens and kids and been happy about it".

So that's my life these days. Stitching and ham. Or ham and stitching. Depends on the time of day it is. 2am doesn't lend itself to ham very well, particularly since Stewey has implemented a new rule of not being allowed in the kitchen after 7pm.

Trust me when I tell you that there's a whole lot of face stuffing going on at 6:45.

I hope you're off to a good week and that you stay warm and safe and dry. We're in for some nastiness later today, so I'm off to the store for provisions and candles!

Apr 22, 2011


My mom can't come to the blog right now. She's just returned from the beauty shop, where she got a full 18 inches of her hair cut off and her bangs trimmed properly by a trained professional. Normally she spreads newspaper over the bathroom counter top and hacks away with a pair of dull pinking shears, but after my very vocal protestations, she relented, put the damn things away, and made an appointment at the FancyPants place near the grocery store.

(She wasn't in the car five minutes, though, before she moussed said bangs into a configuration that can only be described as "Texas Polygamist Wife Meets the Ladies of Jersey Shore", so it would appear we've got some work to do.)

There has been a lot of stitching going on, and I'm sure that Mo-ther will want to tell you all about it in all its gory detail, but that will have to wait until Tuesday. There are groceries to be bought, pies to be picked up, hams to be warmed, and then Dyngusing to be Dyngused before all is said and done.

Don't know what Dyngus Day is? It's the Monday after Easter and apparently celebrated in the Polish community. The local folks do a lot of dancing, eating, and drinking of beer on that day, and from what I gather it's also a day for a lot of hand shaking by politicians. Mom has never partaken, but she once worked with a lady who told her that on Dyngus Day all the boys in town are supposed to hit the girls on the legs with switches, and all the girls are supposed to throw water on the boys. (And you thought Greeks were a little nuts!)

If you're so inclined, please have a Happy Easter and a lovely weekend. Until we meet again, I remain...

Your pal,

Apr 13, 2011


The spinster can't come to the blog right now. She and her wacky little family have all departed for Spring Break...

Bosco was last seen wearing sunglasses and surf shorts while barking a happy little "Later, dudes!" as he headed off for Daytona.

Aunt Chrissy has retreated to her needlework studio, where she is determined to find the Lost Dutchman's Gold.

The Spinster has pulled the covers over her head with sincere hopes that 45 will simply pass her by without so much as a bang or a whimper.

And Stewey has boarded his mini-yacht, The S.S.Urinal for an around the world cruise.

Here's hoping that your week is lovely, uneventful and full of all things stitchy!

Apr 7, 2011


My mom can't come to the blog right now. I blame this fact on TLC's "Extreme Couponing", which captivated both she and Aunt Chrissy into the wee hours of the morning.

Here's a recap:


(sound of dial tone)

MO-THER (muttering to herself): GDMNIT! Why can't I learn to use a telephone like a normal person? Stewey? Come here and show Mommie how to call Aunt Chrissy on this here fancypants contraption....

And on and on it went. Once Aunt Chrissy was summoned and had tuned her TeeVee to the appropriate channel, the two of them sat in stupefied awe at the folks on the show who had enough stuff on hand to ward off a plague of locusts, a pile of hungry frat boys, or a small squad of anal retentive cleaning ladies.

I'm pretty sure it was the toilet paper that got Mo-ther and Aunt Chrissy into such a tizzy fit. The two of them buy the stuff like it's going to be discontinued at any given moment. Mom scours the weekend circulars and then hollers at Aunt Chrissy to get her shoes on because the Targets has Quilted Northern on sale and we're down to our last hundred rolls. (As God is my witness, I'm going to build myself a lovely little ski chalet out of them one of these days)

So once again, not one bit of stitching was completed last night and I was left to fend for myself when it came time for a NightNight story and a proper tuck in. (Mo-ther was glued to the 'puter, furiously lookly for websites that would teach her how to become a Sooper Cooponer.)

Today is rather gloomy and fraut with expectation around here. In exactly five days my Aunt Chrissy will turn 40 years of age and I am at a loss as to what would constitute a proper gift. She is, after all, my very favorite person on this planet, so I feel it necessary to express my love for her in a profound way. But what's a boy to do? I can't drive to the Mall (long story, but car keys are no longer kept within my reach) and online shopping is now off limits because of You Know Who, so I'm left with the prospects of heading up to the studio to craft something out of felt, DMC floss, and whatever left over mess of fabric I can find in the "I'm going to learn how to do all of my own finishing" pile that, alas, never quite materialized.

Any ideas?

I hope that you're having an extremely sooper day of your very own! Know that I remain....

Your loving pal,

Apr 6, 2011


I don't know a damn thing about basketball. I am, after all, short and the approximate girth of a garden shed, and "lightness of foot" is not a phrase that's normally used to describe me. When you add all of that to the fact that the only thing I know about dunking has to do with doughnuts and Starbucks french roast, you've got yourself a pretty good visual as to my overall athletic ability.

So last night as I watched the women's finals with one hand over my eyes and the other clutching my rosary, I was confused by the comment "She's an outstanding defensive player" as it related to Texas A&M's #23, Danielle Adams. From what I gather, "outstanding defensive player" means that you stand still while your opponent runs into you and then falls down. Repeatedly.

Needless to say, I was duly impressed with the sheer physical presence of this young lady, and when I called Aunt Chrissy to provide her with my minute by minute color commentary on the game, we both agreed that if we ever found ourselves in a dark alley with Danielle, we would 1) curtsy politely, 2) pray for bladder control, and 3) run like hell in the opposite direction.

(And before you think that I'm being mean or sarcastic or rude or judgemental, may I just point out that when I say that HER muffin top seems to be constructed of cement and MY muffin top seems to be constructed of...well...um...muffins....I do so with only reverence and respect emanating from my stupid fat little mouth.)

So you go there, Texas, with your bad selves and congratulations on a very fine performance. (At least that's what it looked like from the safe confines of my Happy Chair.)

No stitching to speak of these last several days. Never fear, though, since I'm armed with a vat of dietCoke and several items to watch on the TeeVee. I'll have updates for you (hopefully) tomorrow.

Apr 4, 2011


I seem to be walking around into things today. I think it has to do with the fact that the weather peoples here in Hoosierville jumped up and down last night with warnings of a certain apocalypse that was headed our way in the middle of the night, but rather than just going to bed and not thinking about it, I found myself jumping up every ten minutes to see if the bar-be-que grill cover had blown into the next county. Sheesh.

Aunt Chrissy lost someone very special to her quite suddenly on Friday morning, and despite my best efforts, I'm afraid that I have done nothing soothing or comforting or reassuring whatsoever. Instead, I yelled at her for not barging over to the widower sooner, and then I drug her all over Hell's Halfacre looking for spring-like decorations for my dining room table.

(What can I say? I just positively suck as a big sister, and I'm even worse as the matriarch of our stupid little family.)

(Methinks it's time to return my badge and secret decoder ring.)

There has been a little bit of stitching on this and that, but not enough progress to show. I swear that I'll have some updated (and predictably craptastic) photos for you soon, but that will involve a reappearance of the sun, and that's not likely in this particular lifetime it would seem.

Stewey sends his very finest regards and promises that he will make sure to hold down the fort while I am in Headinheineyville. He seems rather peeved at the overall lack of routine around here, but it is, after all, me we're talking about.

Woo Hoo, Monday. How did you get here already?