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

Hello, one and all!  My mom can't come to the blog right now because she's wandering aimlessly about the house muttering to herself.  During the last lap around living room/dining room/kitchen I heard her say "Now I wonder where I put that power washer?".  I don't have the heart to tell the old lady that we don't actually own a power washer (*), so until she starts moving large pieces of furniture around to search underneath, I think I'll let her go.

We're off to a relatively good start to the season here at Chez Spinster.  Thanks to my Aunt Chrissy and her outside expertise, I'm happy to report that the back patio is sporting some lovely lovely blooms.  Mo-ther got a bee in her bonnet this year and decided that she wanted the pretty in the back of the house instead of the front so that she could actually enjoy it, and thus far it's proving to be a good decision.  Aside from a few pulled muscles and a lot of sweating and grunting and complaining (on Mo-ther's part), I would say that the planting went well.

The veggie garden is considerably downsized this year.  Since cucumbers proved too difficult for my crop-challeneged mo-ther to attempt, we went with three simple groupings of tomatoes...one roma, one cherry, and one beefsteak.  We'll see how long it'll be before we're all sporting bright red lips and mouth sores from all of the tomato sandwiches because nobody around here seems to have an ounce of self control when it comes to making wise food choices.

On the stitching front, Mo-ther continues her 300-pound hummingbird routine and flits from project to project until she collapses into a heap of frustration.  She seems to be in a canvaswork mood, but every now and then I catch her with some cross stitch in her hands because she claims her arms are tired from propping up the stretcher bars.  (I'm not sure why she makes this particular claim, especially since I would describe the body parts that prop up the stretcher bars more as "boobs" than "arms", but what do I know?)

Thank you for all of your lovely birthday wishes.  I turned 7 this year on May 13.  As you know, that was Mothers' Day, and it also happened to be the eighth anniversary of my grandfather's passing.  Both Mom and Aunt Chrissy seemed out of sorts all day, so I didn't make any fuss over the lack of cake or party hats.  Besides, whenever we try to have some kind of forced festivity around here, I'm usually the one ending up in time out for peeing on the ottoman.

So that's the report for today.  Same old, same old.  Life with Spinster will do that to a fellow, but every now and then it's nice to be sans drama.

Thanks for stopping by.  Until we meet again, I remain your devoted and loyal friend,
Stewey

(*) The Spinster Stitcher does not own a power washer because her little sister overheard her musing about the effects of said power washer as a weekly cleaning tool for various and sundry parts of the interior of the house.  Since the little sister has absolutely no intention of explaining to the nice repairmen how it is possible that one portly woman was capable of simultaneously stripping the finish off of hardwood floors while removing every molecule of paint from the walls and tile from the bath, she opted for a Swiffer wet mop instead. (The Spinster has yet to use it.)