IT SEEMED LIKE A GOOD IDEA AT THE TIME

When I re-did my front "gardens" a few years ago, the lovely plant person that actually planted the plants suggested lilies for the long walkway to the door. "Perfect", I thought to myself. "I love lilies."



Not only didn't I know what lilies were, I had no idea of the strong scent they had.

Today the entire perimeter of my house smells like a funeral parlor.

Who would have imagined that 90 plus degrees combined with the same approximate humidity as a terrarium would result in the strong sweet stench of death hanging in the air like so much bad perfume?

Oey.

Here's the progress on Aquamarine (and yup....I finally learned how to spell it correctly):

A WEDNESDAY REPORT FROM MASTER STEWEY ANGUS WILLOWSWAMP, HIS VERY LITTLE SELF

As you know, Wednesday is supposed to be FutzingDay here in Crazy Towne, which means that the 'puter is supposed to be off limits. I am, however, in desperate need of a little sane company, so I thought I would write.

The old lady is presently sprawled in the Happy Chair watching Jeffrey Dean Morgan in The Losers again. It's been on an endless loop for about three days now, and if she looks up at me one more time and says "Stewey, don't you think my future husband Jeffrey Dean Morgan is the most handsome man you've ever seen?" I'm going to run away from home. I get the fact that she's a lonely old spinster and he's a man who knows how to wear a white dress shirt and facial stubble, but for the love of Mike, does she have to use the freakin PAUSE button that much?!

On the stitchy front, here is her progress on Beekeeper's Cottage. I show you this photo not for the stitching, but for the spanky new needle minder that my Aunt Chrissy bought. Isn't it swell? (Yet another thing that I love about my Aunt Chrissy. She really knows how to accessorize even the most modest needlework project.)

Next up is a new piece called Acquamarine. Mo-ther has been such a sweaty hot mess these last two weeks, that I shoved her up into the studio and told her not to come down until she found something that would make her think cool thoughts. I think this one does the trick, don't you? (She's using her own thread combination on this one that includes the Vineyard Silk colors Iceberg, Seaport, Reef Waters, and Seafoam. And the Watercolours are called Oasis and Mediterranean. Appropros, no?):

Once again, I have my Aunt Chrissy to thank for another brilliant idea. This is a scrapbook organizer that she bought at the Michael's for Mo-ther on Saturday:

They originally went there because Aunt Chrissy had spied an organizer cart for herself, but as is her usual custom, my mo-ther threw a big fat pout right there in the store so that Aunt Chrissy was forced to by this thing just to shut her up. I will admit that it is much better than the big basket crammed full of crap that used to sit on the chair-side table, but it has greatly reduced Mo-ther's stitchy time. Instead of plying needle and thread, she just sits in the Happy Chair and twirls this thing 'round and 'round while cooing to it gently. (It sits on a lazy suzan type mechanism and allows you easy access to all of its various and sundry parts.)

Cooing, mind you, is something that I have not been the recipient of in quite some time. If the old lady doesn't remedy THAT situation pretty soon, I just might have to water the drapes.

That's it for now. I'm going to throw my stupid mo-ther into a cool shower and then ignore her for the afternoon. She ran a ga-jillion errands yesterday and tended the garden, so I suppose she's earned it.

Cheers!

With love from your pal,

Stewey

THINGS THAT MAKE YOU GO HMMMMM...

So there I was....minding my very own business, when Aunt Chrissy decided to drop by for a visit.

Well. OK. She actually came over to deliver the contact lens solution that I called her about as she was standing in the Target waiting for a prescription to be filled.

ME: "Hi, Aunt Chrissy. Can you pick up some contact lens solution for me?"

AC: "Why didn't you get it last night when we were here and you said you were absolutely positive that there wasn't one more thing you needed every single time I asked you if you were sure there wasn't one more thing that you might need but were forgetting?"

ME: "I forgot".

So she came to deliver the contact lens solution and then we had meatloaf sandwiches. This, of course, naturally lead us to a discussion of her new cell phone's ring tones.

AC: "I've got you programmed with the music from The Soprano's, but we need to change it. What do you want to be your theme song?"

ME: "What are my choices?"

AC: "For you? Well, here's a small list that I came up with: Here I Go Again , Don't Fear The Reaper, She's a Brick House, The Bitch is Back, and my personal favorite for you...Crazy. What'll it be?"

Subtle, isn't she?

AND THE SPINSTER SAID "LET THERE BE MEATLOAF"... AND THERE WAS MEATLOAF

I'm basically a four year old, so if and when you want or need me to do something, you need to either a) threaten me, or b) bribe me. With a cookie. Or meatloaf.

I don't know what it is about me and meatloaf. I love the stuff. And no matter how many times I make it, or how many times I change the recipe, I always say to myself "Now THIS is a good meatloaf".

Yesterday, for some unknown reason, I planted myself at the kitchen table and managed to do about three years worth of paperwork, bills, filing, general to-doing, and whatnot. It took all damn day, and when I finally looked up at the clock and realized that I had finally made it to the bottom of THE BASKET, I decided to reward myself with a little cooking.

Did I mention that we're having a heat wave? Did I?

Although I'm happy to report that the meal was divine and exactly what I wanted (meatloaf with Smitten Kitchen brisket onions, Ina's Sagaponak corn pudding, old fashioned broccoli salad, and a Popsicle for dessert), I forgot that running the oven all day would mean that the temps in here would go up. And up. And up.

I normally keep the house like a meat locker, which means that up until a few days ago the thermostat was set at 68 degrees. But after viewing all of the helpful tips on the evening news about how one might survive this hot spell, I moved the thermostat up to a whopping 72 degrees so that the AC unit wouldn't run itself to death.

After my cooking extravaganza, the temperature in here was 76.

I should have known something was amiss when I spotted Stewey taking off the hat, mittens, parka, and scarf that he normally sports and when I realized that the flash of heat that I was feeling had nothing to do with the fact that I seem to be standing in the vestibule to menopausal hell.

But we survived.

THANK YOU! from the bottom of my pitiful little heart for all of your lovely comments about the crewel sampler. I have to say that I'm rather proud of this one myself, especially since it involved using a hoop, learning to sloooowwww down and pay attention to where you stab the needle, and not fretting over the fact that the fabric is completely without any discernible holes to guide you. This was most definitely a reminder that this thing of ours can bring utter bliss and total satisfaction, if you just leave the obsessive compulsiveness at the door and vow to have a little fun. So may I just say once again...BRAVA, Madame Posie Your Very Self! This project was a treat from the very start to the very finish.

Deciding what was next on Ye Olde Agenda was a bit of a challenge, but I went with the one thing that I could think of that is the polar opposite of stitching with Appleton wool on cotton twill....stitching with silk on linen!

This is Shepherd's Bush BEEKEEPER'S COTTAGE, and as you can see, I've made a very tiny little bit of progress in between sweating and making meatloaf:

Today is Dad's birthday, which means he would have turned 79. That seems almost impossible to imagine, and Aunt Chrissy and I miss him terribly. I don't care how old you are....nobody should ever have to try to figure life out without a dad there to guide them. (If anybody in Phoenix finds themselves at the St. Francis Mausoleum today, please give he and mom a little pat for us and let them know that their girls are muddling their way through the best they can out here in Hoosierville.)

It's going to be beastliest of the beastliest today, so Stewey and I are hanging out in the cool confines of Chez Spinster. I've closed all of the blinds and drapes and turned the ceiling fans to maximum force, so as long as I don't get any crazy impulses to bake or clean or do laundry, we should be just fine.

That's the report. I hope that wherever you are is exactly where you want to be and that your breezes are cool, your glass is full, and your needles are flying!

DAISYCHAIN ABC'S FEE NEE

Daisychain ABC's

A crewelwork alphabet sampler

Alicia Paulson: http://www.rosylittlethings.com/

100% cotton fabric with silk-screened design

Appleton 2-ply crewel yarn

WHY CAN'T I EVER REMEMBER THE NAME OF THAT SAINT?

When I was in elementary school (a ga-jillion and a half years ago), we learned about the saints. I remember that St. Sebastian was the one who was shot full of arrows, and that St. Ignacius was the one who had his leg blown off, but for the life of me I can't remember the name of the saint that they put to death by cooking him on a big bar-be-que grill. (You know the one...he said "I think I'm done on this side, could somebody please turn me over?").

Or at least that's how I remember the story anyway.

So we're having a heat wave. This means, of course, that I will be firmly planted in my house with the blinds drawn, fans a-blowin', and nothing on but bike shorts and a big girl sports bra. In other words....things are totally status quo here at Chez Spinster and by noon I will be miserable and sweaty and looking for a big bag of ice to take to the bathtub with me for a swim.

I hate hot weather. I'm not built for it. I like cold weather. Like Dr. Zhivago cold, where everybody wears lots and lots of layers and nobody can see that you haven't had a razor anywhere near your shins in months and months. When you can eat things like meatloaf and stew and not feel guilty about sitting inside with your stitching rather than jogging through the park.

(Who am I kidding? I'm 45 years old and have never jogged through the park or anywhere else for that matter. Jogging is not something I ever learned to do and I've got the big fat a** to prove it.)

So Stewey and I are camped out in the family room with iced tea and the Daisychain ABC's crewel sampler for company.

He wanted me to send along his most heartfelt thanks for your good wishes. The eye drops and Prednisone seemed to have done their trick, so I am able, once again to stare into his limpid pools of love. (Actually, his eyes are dilated and as big as saucers, so every time I look at him I think of Lady GaGa and those whacky contact lenses that she wears.)

Here's hoping that your neck of the woods is a lot more comfortable and that your week will be full of cool breezes and lots of stitching.

And a meatloaf.

THEY REALLY SHOULD MAKE PILLS FOR THIS

Once upon a time there was a portly, yet lovable spinster who woke up with a headache. She poured her morning coffee, sat down in her Happy Chair, and decided to read the paper.

But then she remembered that she hadn't posted to her blog.

So she fished out her digital camera and took a photograph of her progress on the Daisychain ABC's crewel sampler that she made while watching Wall Street 2 Money Never Sleeps. (Sadly, she did not understand one word of Wall Street 2 Money Never Sleeps, so she promised herself to find a college textbook on financial markets and other related matters and brush up on such so that she wouldn't feel so entirely stupid.)
As she was looking for the college textbook, she glanced at her dining room table and felt very very ashamed that it was so messy:
Suddenly, she spied the two Quaker samplers that Aunt Chrissy had framed for her at the Michaels. Feeling even more ashamed (because they were still wrapped in their paper and not hanging on the wall), she went to the bedroom to take a nap. (As this spinster is wont to do when the world gets to be too much.) She spied the two empty hooks on the wall that previously held the big picture that she decided would look much better hanging in the office, but now meant that she had two empty hooks on the wall.

So she went back to the dining room to get the Quakers and she hung them on the hooks:
When she came out of the bedroom and walked past the back patio window, she saw her little dog's daisy on the back patio steps. This made her think of the fact that Aunt Chrissy buys this daisy for the little dog each year, and every time she comes to visit, she says "Stewey, let's go look at your daisy" and the little dog and Aunt Chrissy go out to the patio to inspect it to make sure that it is happy and healthy.
And then the spinster started worrying about her little dog, because his little eyes have been so swollen and sore lately, and even the wonderful Dr. Neiman didn't seem to know what was causing it. So she checked and then double checked his medication list to make sure that she had administered it properly and then stood looking at the little sleeping dog for what seemed like an hour and a half. The little dog slept peacefully, but promised himself that as soon as the spinster wasn't looking he was going to pack his bags and move to Portland.

I HAB A CODE IN MY NOBE

My mom can't come to the blog right now. She's passed out on the floor of her office muttering something about laundry and cable vision and cell phones and joining that monastery in Greece where they bring the food up in a big basket.

(At least that what she remembers her mo-ther telling her when she was little. "If you're not a good girl, I'm going to send you to Greece and put you in the basket that they pull up the big mountain to the monastery where they've never seen women and where you'll be taught how to behave properly and stop being such a general pest.")

The repairman came bright and early this morning to fix the new washing machine. His name is Ed, and he was the most smartly dressed fellow I've ever seen carrying a tool box. Very impressive, I must say, especially when you consider that he spent the better part of an hour and a half sprawled out on the laundry room floor.

Turns out that the brand new washing machine is sickly, and is in need of a "door locking sensor" or some such thing, and since he didn't have this particular thing on his immaculate and well-stocked truck, he'll be back on Monday.

So this means that Mo-ther and I will have to sort through the mountain of laundry that has accumulated in both of our closets, and we'll have to schlep over to Aunt Chrissy's for a little wash, rinse, spin, and tumble dry action.

I don't mind this at all, since I love my Aunt Chrissy and could spend hours and hours looking deeply into her eyes while conversing about the general idiocy of her sister/my mo-ther, but my pesky cousin Bosco and my stupid mo-ther make this type of interaction almost impossible. Bosco decides to act like a maniac every time I go over there, and my mo-ther goes into hyper "OMG! Don't pee on anything in Aunt Chrissy's house!" mode to the point of distraction. It is, in short, a big pain in my bottom.

Progress continues on the crewel sampler:
I must say that Mom seems to be stepping out of her comfort zone on this one, since it would seem that there are no discernible grid lines on the fabric to keep her stitches perfectly straight. She holds her breath a lot while stitching this, but as time goes on, I'm sure that her propensity for wanting everything to be perfect will abate a bit and she will just get on with the business of things as they are meant to be and not how she sees them in that whole "alternative universe" that she's got going on in her head.

As for me, I am suffering mightily with these bloody allergies. They usually don't hit me until the Autumn, so I am rather peeved that my summer days are spent in full-on miserableness mode. My eyes are rather swollen and I have taken to squinting in a rather amusing fashion that Mo-ther insists makes me look like Clint Eastwood, so I try to avoid looking in her general direction at all costs so as to avoid the disgraceful puddle of giggles that ensues.

I do expect to feel better very soon, since I've made an appointment with my health care provider tomorrow afternoon. Mo-ther thinks I'm going to a pawticure, but I'm planning to score some industrial strength antihistamines instead.

Cheerio and all of that, my dear friends. I hope that you are enjoying your Wednesday and that you know I send my very best wishes for a lovely day!

With love from your pal,
Stewey

GIMME AN F!

I find it amazing that I happened to be stitching the F last night. You see, Aunt Chrissy and I went to the Targets for the prescriptions that we were supposed to pick up on Saturday, and after we went to the sushi place, we went back to her house so that I could wash some underpants.

(No, I don't normally require adult supervision while doing laundry....it just so happens that I now have a new washer and dryer sitting in my laundry room awaiting the installer guy to come figure out how to get the water into things properly.)

(And yes, I'm supposing that there will be a lot of posts about said washer and dryer coming your way, since both have more buttons and gizmos and whatnot than your average space shuttle.)

(I'm not complaining, mind you. Without said washer and dryer, I'd be down at the river beating my clothings against a rock. So yes, I am EXTREMELY happy and thankful for the serendipitousness that is my little sister's professional life. What can I say? She hooked me UP!)

Anywhoose....Stewey and I were at Aunt Chrissy's doing a load or two, and I sat on the couch stitching the F while Aunt Chrissy tried to get her cable box fixed. When she came home from work yesterday, the cable box in her living room was kaput, but the actual cablevision seemed to be working fine in the other rooms of her house. So she assumed (like I would have also) that it was a cable BOX problem and that the nice Comcast lady could send a magic signal to it and all would be well.

Aunt Chrissy was on hold (the first time) for about 37 minutes. And then when she finally did get "Andy" on the phone, he told her that it was a cableVISION problem and that they were working on it and that the storms had affected the service in our area, blah blah blah. So Aunt Chrissy tried to explain that it didn't seem to be a cableVISION problem, but rather a cableBOX problem, and could he please send a magic signal to it and fix it so all would be well.

It wasn't.

(Hence, the appropriateness of the "F".)

So Aunt Chrissy futzed and futzed and disconnected and then reconnected and then hauled and moved and plugged and unplugged all of the various cable things in her house until she proved that it was not, in fact, a cableVISION problem, but rather a cableBOX problem as she originally reported.

So she called them back.

Another 40 minutes or so on hold, and she got a nice lady named "Felicia". Felicia seemed to understand the problem a bit better than "Andy" did, but alas, cableBOX fixedness was not to be.

(Again, with the "F".)

So we watched a little of the TeeVee (in black and white only, mind you), and then it was time for Stewey and I to pack up the now-cleaned underpants and head for home.

I think what struck me about this whole adventure was something that Aunt Chrissy said to Felicia after trying to figure this whole mess out for the better part of an hour: "You know, Felicia. All I wanted to do was come home and sit in my chair and watch television and do my needlework."


That's all.

She's a woman of very simple wants and demands, and yet somehow the universe wasn't able to accommodate even THAT little request.

When I woke up today I decided that I was going to unplug my cablebox, haul it over to Aunt Chrissy's house, and then re-plug it into her TeeVee, but I remembered what she told me at Christmastime when we got these new TeeVees. "If I ever catch you doing anything other than turning this damn thing on, changing the channels, or adjusting the volume, I'm going to break your fingers. One by one."

Considering how much I'm enjoying my Daisychain ABC's sampler, I figured I would need to have unbroken fingers, so my cableBOX is going to stay exactly right where it is and Aunt Chrissy is welcome to come over here to watch television and do her needlework until the nice people at Comcast can go to her house to make things right for her once again.

So that's the Tuesday report from here in steamy Hoosierville. Stewey sends his fondest regards and says that although he is feeling a little better, he does think that the sniffles are the result of allergies and NOT a summer cold, as I had earlier reported. So meds are now on board and he'll be back to his cheerful little self very very soon.

HELLO, CREWEL WORLD!

Oh, it's just so darn....love-er-ly!

Who knew that this would be just what the doctor ordered to get me through a beastly weekend full of mishaps? But 'twas, and I'm itching to get back in the Happy Chair today to sink back down into this perfect little puddle of bliss. In case you missed it, this is Daisychain ABC's by Miss Alicia Paulson, Her Very PosieGetsCosy Self.

Saturday was not a good day to be a Rich Sister. We headed out early, with our errands list in hand, but we were met with nothing but delays and bad luck. First there was the horrifying fact that Aunt Chrissy's birdfood place was out of birdfood! Out! Of birdfood! For most people, this wouldn't be that big of a deal, but Aunt Chrissy has turned herself right into the Birwoman of Alcatraz over here in Hoosierville, and she dutifully fills four feeders every day. We've been buying 40lb. bags of black oil sunflower seeds at a local nursery, but....well...(see above for the reason why we'll now have to go to the Targets tonight for a little bag to tide her over).

We left the birdfood place and were headed to the Target pharmacy to pick up some prescriptions, when KA-BLAM! ...a really bad car accident right in front of us! I was waiting to turn left across a HUGE intersection, and before we knew what was happening, two cars crashed violently right there in the middle of it all. Aunt Chrissy grabbed her cell phone and was out of the car in a flash to run to the victims, and I was right behind her..."running" as fast as my flip flops and big fat jiggly butt could make it. The smoke from the airbags was still in the air when I reached the passenger side of car #1, and I heard Aunt Chrissy telling 9-1-1 to send ambulances. It was then that I realized that the victims were probably more shocked by a big fat sweaty woman hollering "You're OK! Just stay right there and be calm! We've called for help! They're on their way! You're OK! Don't worry!" than they were by the imapct of metal and glass and car fluids flying through the air at split-second speeds.

Here's a visual aid for you: (images not to scale)


(Just as I was leaning down to comfort the little boy in car #1, my left boob decided to make a run for it and pop out from beneath my big girl sports bra that I only wear for running errands on Saturday afternoons. Needless to say, the sight of me trying to discreetly fix the problem was probably not something that should have been done in the middle of a big ass intersection, but what are you going to do?)

Everybody was OK. Very shaken up and more than a little amused by the two crazy spinsters wondering how to direct traffic in an intersection comprised of two major four-lane roads, but the fire trucks and ambulances and policemen were there in a flash, so we were able to leave it to the professionals and get out of the way.

The funniest part is that when they arrived with lights and sirens blazing, they immediately ran up to Aunt Chrissy and I, thinking that WE were the ones that had just been in the accident. (Guess it's time to re-think my "look", since it apparently screams "Help me!").

After all of the excitement was over, I had to "jog" back over to my car to get it out of the way, and all I could do was pray that the several million people watching all of this said to themselves "Oh, those two women must be medical professionals the way they jumped out and ran over to help. Why else would the big one have attempted to move that fast without proper undergarments in place?".

(Oh, and by the way. I'm pretty sure that statistics would dictate that out of the several thousand people witnessing that accident, there had to be at least seven or eight REAL medical professionals, so shame on all of you for NOT getting out of your cars to make sure we didn't screw it all up and for just sitting there laughing at the big fat sweaty girl trying to wrestle her boob back into her bra.)

Needless to say, we were both pretty wiped out after that, but we did manage to make it to the grocery store so that we could breathlessly tell everybody within earshot about our heroics.

I was so stiff and sore yesterday that you would have thought that I was actually in one of those cars, and despite my very best attempts, not one thing was accomplished. Somewhere around 2:30 or so KA-BLUEY! the power went out, so I headed over to Aunt Chrissy's house for a shower and some air conditioning.

(We had Taco Bell and TeeVee watching instead.)

Today dawned bright and early and I was all set to do a few things around the house when Hoosierville was hit with a thunderstorm of epic proportions. And it came out of nowhere! It's been reported that we had an 80 mile and hour gust of wind, which I believe because I kissed Stewey goodbye and headed under the bed. The power was out for a few hours (again with the KA-BLUEY!), but I'm happy to report that we seem to be back to normal now.

(Well. As normal as one could expect when I'm involved.)

So that's the Monday report from Chez Spinster. We've had an eventful few days, so it looks like I might need a nap or two. Either that or a dietCoke the size of my head.

What's new with you?

WHO NEEDS A POOL?

THIS is what I'll be jumping into this weekend......ahhhhhhhhhhh....blissity bliss bliss!

(You can learn more about this project here: http://rosylittlethings.typepad.com/ )

(I warn you, though....Miss Posie is an addiction that will cause you to lose an entire afternoon sipping a cool bevvie while lusting over her...well...her everything, actually. Whenever I read her blog I feel like the dweeb at the dweeb's table, just wanting to go over and talk to the pretty cheerleader. She. Is. So. Cool!)

And a big fat P.S....thank you Aunt Chrissy!

AND THEN THE DOG WOKE UP AND SNOTTED ALL OVER THE PILLOW

So there I was....minding my own business sleeping in the big girl sleigh bed, when I heard some sniffling and snuffling under the covers. I sleep on my side and Stewey sleeps right beside me with his little nose tucked between my ankles and his arms and legs wrapped around my calves. (If you need a visual, imagine a white squirrel, wearing pajamas, clinging onto the side of a very fat and pasty white tree. With stubble on it.)

I was about a third of the way awake when he peeped his head out, gave me a miserable little sigh, and then sneezed all over the pillow.

I never knew that dogs could get head colds. As a matter of fact, if you would have told me that MY dog would get them regularly and then demand to be left alone so that he could sleep it off on his little perch, I never would have believed it. And if you would have told me that I would be providing said dog with fresh handkerchiefs, tea, and toast to make him feel better, I would have told you that you were indeed crazier than I am.

But here we are.


I've made a little bit of a start on the third to the last block of Stars. I'm hoping that I might finish it today so that there is the possibility of getting the last two blocks done before the end of the weekend and then the final sashing and borders done sometime next week. That would mean that I'm a full two months ahead of schedule. Is that even possible?

SISTER CRANKYPANTS, PAGING SISTER MARY CRANKYPANTS

If I were to post the exact words that are in my stupid brain right now, it would look something like this:

#*($#)Q@ *#)W_)#*$ !!!!!! %T$*(W)R% $ **#*#!!!! %*(#** !!!! *%#()W# !@!!!!

And then I would have to go wash my mouth out with soap and sit in a corner to think about how un-ladylike those words are and how I should know better and was raised better, blah blah blah blah blah.

OK. Confession time, folks.

I didn't mean to. I really didn't. But once Aunt Chrissy started talking about it, I just couldn't help myself.

I spent the better part of the last month and a half getting up in the wee hours of the morning to watch every single freakin' second of the Casey Anthony murder trial.

This, of course, is completely unusual for me, since I don't get involved, obsessed with, or pre-occupied by anything at all usually. (Stop that snickering right this very minute, thank you very much.)

When the whole OJ thing happened, I could have been a juror. I didn't read or listen to or hear or discuss anything at all about it, and for years and years I felt like the one person on the planet who always had to say "Who?" whenever somebody said the name "OJ".

So for me to get sucked into this damn thing was surprising, really, especially when you consider all of the OTHER things I could have gotten sucked into, like housekeeping or dog training or dietCoke drinking or general navel gazing. But a trial? Me? No way.

But way I did, and I am very unhappy to report that today has left me completely bereft and lost and somewhat hungover with all of the emotional investment and hard thinking about stuff that my tiny little cranium has been filled with for so long now. In short....my hair hurts and I'm wondering how fast I could get into law school.

BUT! There has been stitching! And Stewey-ing! And Aunt Chrissy has dutifully called and stopped by each day to make sure that I'm fed and watered and not off on some crazy ass tangent that would involve road tripping to Orlando and/or an attempt to make it onto HLN as an expert panelist. So despite my very best attempts, life did go on. And on and on and on.

I'd be so happy to show you a progress picture of Stars, but I can't seem to find the camera at the moment. I'm pretty sure that it's in the car somewhere, since that's where it was when Madame Muriel was bandied about town last week in preparations for her trip to New Zealand. I promise that I'll head out to Ye Olde Garage later to see if I can wedge myself under the dash to have a look for it, so stay tuned for photographic evidence that I have not, in fact, gone COMPLETELY round the bend. (Just about half way mind you, but the view is lovely.)

Stewey sends his very best regards. He's feeling much better now and is back to snoozing happily on his little perch until the sun warms his patio window spot. I'm sure he'll have some form of commentary on what's gone on (or not gone on) around here, so stay tuned for that as well.

What's new with you?

WHY I'M IN NEED OF A VACATION, BY MASTER STEWEY ANGUS WILLOWSWAMP, HIS VERY LITTLE SELF

My mom can't come to the blog right now. She's off her nut again on some kind of tizzy fitting obsessive compulsive tangent that will probably result in me having to call my Aunt Chrissy for backup before the day is done. God only knows what set her off this time, but I can tell you that it most definitely was NOT me or my propensity for watering the drapes.

(I am watering the dining room chairs these days instead.)

I did want to have a chat about this whole Stars project, though, since the response the old lady has received has been overwhelming. I know that she is blown away by all of your interest and kind words, and if she ever gets her head out of her heiney, I'll make sure that we post some updated pictures of her latest progress.

One thing that you should know, though, is that this infamous thread list that she's been sending to y'all (and that she posted right here on this blog on May 16th) is but a mere suggestion of what's she been using. Each night when she sits down to stitch, she does pull the threads on her list according to what Mr. Minieri says she'll need for a particular block, but I've seen her do a LOT of substituting and switching.

In other words......

Please don't feel like you have to be constrained by her list. Have fun! Pull threads from your stash or go shopping at your LNS for fibers that will blow YOUR skirt right up. I know that Mo-ther has mumbled to herself on more than one occasion (OK, it was more of a whine actually) "But I don't want to use Flair here! I want to use Gentle Art!" and then she sets about using whatever she thinks will look swell at that particular moment.

The only other tip I have for you is that you must pay particular attention to the fact that the sashing can become snagged or rubbed if you're a boob and stitch from the bottom of the project to the top (like you know who has done). I believe that Mr. Minieri tells you to start at the upper left of the piece so that your hand is not coming into constant contact with all of that sashing. This, of course, is because Mr. Minieri knows what's he's doing and should be paid attention to, and my stupid mo-ther should be ignored at all costs. As it is, I know that she's going to have to go back to re-stitch some of her sashing (by sashing, I mean the red borders around the blocks), because she's pilled it all up with her big fat meat hooks.

So that's the report for today. I've got mumus sploshing around in the washing machine and a nice little pitcher of martinis all ready to go! If I'm lucky, my Aunt Chrissy will stop by sometime over the weekend so that I might carry on an intelligent conversation, but I wouldn't blame her if she decided to go to the beach instead.

If you're in this neck of the woods and are so inclined to do so, please have a very safe and happy and wonderful July 4th weekend! We'll see you on the other side with tales of weenies on the grill, I'm sure!

With love from your pal,
Stewey