AND THERE WAS HAPPY DANCING AND WOBBLING AND ALL WAS WELL ONCE AGAIN

Love the Spring

Shakespeare's Peddler

32 ct. Spice Blend Celtic linen from Stitches and Spice

Thread Gatherer Silk 'n Colours

ALMOST THERE....

I'm so close on this I can almost feel the wobbly bits bouncing around now (as I happy dance, of course). (But then again, sometimes my wobbly bits wobble all by themselves without the least little provocation from me whatsoever.)

WHY I'M HIDING THE REMOTE CONTROL BY MASTER STEWEY ANGUS WILLOWSWAMP, HIS VERY LITTLE SELF

My mom can't come to the blog right now. She's in bed sleeping off a stitchy hangover of epic proportions.

It all started after my Aunt Chrissy went home for the evening. Apparently, the two of them decided to go to Five Guys for burgers, because when they got home, I heard Mom muttering something to Aunt Chrissy about how they should call them Crack Burgers because they're so addictive. (This, of course, was said through a mouth-full of fries, which resulted in a malt vinegar and ketchup stain on her sweatshirt will be the bain of my laundry existence today.)

Just as I was about to snuggle in on my perch for a little light reading (I'm a little behind on my New Yorker issues), mo-ther started pacing about the house looking for something to do. So I got off of my perch, sighed heavily, and planted her in the Happy Chair with her stitchy project and a dietCoke for company.

Not three minutes went by before Mom had the remote control pointed in the general direction of the TeeVee armoire (I swear, she doesn't realize that you actually have to aim properly when you use the damn thing), and the OnDemand menu came up before I knew what hit me.

Yup. You guessed it. Tudors.

You do realize that she's already seen every single episode at least four times, right? And you also realize that I've caught her on the puter no less than ten times looking at amazon.com for the availability of the box sets...so much so that I've now activated a parental lock on the account so that it will take her the rest of her life to figure out why she can't shop in her underpants anymore.

Anywhoose...the hangover is a result of her re-watching the first six episodes while maniacally stitching away on her project. I think she managed to finish all of the lettering and now has only a few moteefs to go, but I'm concerned that instead of the lovely verse about Springtime, we'll end up with the words boinking, Henry, and your grace. (Not necessarily in that order, by the way.)

I understand that 2011 will bring us The Borgias, so I'm preparing myself now. But I have to tell you....if she re-decorates this house one more time to mimic the set decorations on these soap operas, I'm going to have to call somebody.

After all...I can only pee on so many drapes at a time.

Happy Wednesday to you all. If the old lady ever stops snoring and comes to her senses, I'll have her take some pics of her progress on Love the Spring. It's really quite pretty, actually, and I can hardly wait to see it in finished pillow form as a perfect little accessory to my boudoir.

With love from your pal,
Stewey

OH, HENRY!

Well, here we go again....off on another obsessive compulsive TeeVee watching tangent that will cost me 39 hours of my life and about sixty bucks at amazon.com to own the set.

It all started innocently enough. My stupid cable company was stupid enough to give me Showtime for a week for free. And since I'm stupider than the stupid cable company, it wasn't four minutes before I was on the phone with the customer service representative ordering it for Chez Spinster on a permanent basis.

At first, Aunt Chrissy and I got hooked on Nurse Jackie, and we both marveled at the fact that Carmella Soprano and Fr. Intintolla could look so completely different without the priest's collar and the acrylic nails. (I got those reversed, I think, but you get the idea.)

Then...very innocently, Aunt Chrissy says to me "You know, I hear that The Tudors is supposed to be pretty good. Wanna' watch it?"

Four days later and I am stunned into submission. At first I was disgusted with myself that I seemed to have fallen asleep for most of the time I was supposed to have learned all about this stuff in school, but then it dawned on me that the versions of Tudor England that the nuns taught us looked NOTHING like a nekkid Jonathan Rhys Meyers and/or his many conquests.

(In my Henry VIII delirium, I even called my friend Kavanaugh and shouted into the phone: "Hey Kavanaugh! YOU HAVE TO WATCH THE TUDORS ON SHOWTIME!!! IT'S THE SOPRANOS FOR YOUR PEOPLE!!!".)

(Oh, and in the event that dear Kavanaugh is reading this...yes, about two seconds after I hung up the phone I smacked myself on the forehead and realized that you are, in fact, Irish, and NOT English.) (Or British.) (Or whatever you say when someone was born in England and not Ireland.)

But back to the nekkid Jonathan Rhys Meyers. (And just about everybody else in the series by the way..my goodness, but these people were frisky!) If history in this form would have been available to me as a young scholar, perhaps I would have actually paid attention? And the intrique! The backstabbing! The shenanagins that would make Paulie Walnuts look like Mister Rogers! Why couldn't I have learned and/or appreciated this when it was time for me to actually learn it? Why? Why did I think that the goings on of boy/girl relations at St. Charles grade school were so much more interesting than Henry VIII changing the entire course of human history?

Anywhoose...I am enthralled with this and am happy to report that I've stopped feeling ashamed that I am so completely dense when it comes to history (well, anything really), and I've set about the task of learning a little more. (This thought came to me in the middle of the night as I was tossing and turning over what an ignoramus I am...I bolted upright in bed and said (God knows, to no one in particular)....I CAN READ! I CAN READ AND I HAVE A KINDLE!!!).

So I've downloaded a few books that are all history-like and maybe, just maybe, I will actually learn something.

Oh, and just a quick note to you Brits....I envy your fascinating history and the fact that you could spend your entire life examining the inner workings of various kings and queens. Now before you reply that we have a little history over here, may I just point out that reading about Dwight and Mamie Eisenhower comes nowhere close to seeing King Henry VIII go completely off his nut for Anne Boleyn?

In addition to all of this Tudor obsessing and TeeVee watching, I did manage to get a fair amount done on Love the Spring:
Yes, I know that the name on the bottom of my sampler is NOT the name that is on the bottom of the chart, but I decided to put Mom and Dad and the year they were married on this. I don't think I've ever stitched a sampler that is supposed to have a name on it, and since I'm not cavorting about the country exhibiting my "official reproduction samplers", I didn't think anybody would mind. (And yes, I know that my dad didn't have an "s" at the end of Robert, but the name Vaceila Roberts is very very dear to Aunt Chrissy and I for a super secret reason, so I went with it.)

Nothing much to report on the Stewey front, other than the fact that Aunt Chrissy was amazed at his torpedo-like blazing speed as he chased after a duck. We have a little family of three ducks that frequent our houses and when Aunt Chrissy opened the back door to let Stewey outside, he took off like a shot and almost caught one. She was completely impressed with his athletic prowess, and has promised not to make fun of his fussy little gentleman tendencies anymore. He, on the other hand, has promised to leave the ducks alone and not break up what appears to be a rather interesting combination....a female and two males. We've speculated that it might be a mom, a dad, and a son still living at home, but it could also be a husband and wife and the brother-in-law Phil. (For the sake of conversation, let's just assume that Phil's wife Betty is off in Vegas playing Keno and having a few rounds of tequila shooters. The thought of this poor little guy not having a mate is too sad to bear.)

So that's the report for today. Just the usual crazy antics of a spinster and her little dog. I hope that your weekends were full of something delicious...

OVER ONE/OVER TWO AND APOLOGIES TO MS. LIZZIE KATE, HER VERY SELF

Well, may I first prostrate myself right here on the hardwood and say a heartfelt "I'm so sorry" to Lizzie Kate? Thanks to one very dear (and very smart reader), I realized that one of my housey pictures was actually a Lizzie Kate and not a Bent Creek. (I HATE it when I do that! Why do I have to be such a boob that I can't write stuff down and get the designer names right? Why? Why?) Good eye, Ms. Katrina!

And another dear (and very smart) reader that does painted canvas asked me what "over one/over two" means. Let's see if I can screw this up enough that y'all will have to jump in to help... OK, Ms. Casey...the little cross stitches on the left are "over one". The cross stitches on the right are "over two". (I did these on canvas because a) I didn't have to get off of my big fat heiney to go fish out a piece of linen, and b) you work on painted canvas so I figured it would be familiar to you).

(At least that's what I'm going with at this moment in time.)

I guess the easiest way to explain it is that "over one" means over one thread. And "over two" means over two threads.

If you're working on a 40ct. linen the "ground/field of design" can be pretty small, so doing the stitches over two makes for a little more visible stitching. (Even though I think people who work on 40ct. linen are amazing and should have some kind of gold hats on their heads or something.)

Sometimes charts will call for a portion of "over one" stitching, and I can tell you that I almost always leave it for last and always always bitch about it. (My experience is that you simply cannot have diet Coke on board while attempting over one stitching, and if you futz it up and have to frog it can be akin to a religious experience.)

(At least mine is, since I mutter a lot of gdmnit's and Jesus, Mary, and Joseph's while trying not to ruin the piece of linen that it took me a year and a half to find.) (Yes, I swear like the filthy sewer mouth I am. Don't tell anybody please.)

Now as for the whole "counting threads" or "counting holes" thing....well, my Stitchy Teacher never really made it an issue, so I never really got confused. I suppose that if I were charting things or actually paying attention to life rather than just letting it pass me by, I would know how to explain the difference, but the truth is...a chart is a chart is a chart. I think threads are threads and holes are holes and you should do whatever blows your skirt up.

That last statement makes me feel like the Pinky Tuscadero of the stitching world. You know the type...pink leather jacket, ciggie butt, big hair, and a propensity for breaking rules. I'm the one standing in the ladies' room talking about doing all of the stuff that we're not supposed to do...all the while making the authorities cringe in fear that the other girls will think I'm cool and will thrown down their cardigans and penny loafers in protest.

(I can hear it now...the next meeting of All That Is Truly Official In Stitchydom will call me before the Tribunal Of All Things Truly Official and ask me to account for my ridiculous attempt to explain something. And then they will point out everything that is wrong with what I just said and then they'll take away my secret decoder ring.) Damn.

So I hope that helps you in some small way and that you will give cross stitch a try. Kinda like "give peas a chance", which cracks me up every single time I see it. (It takes so very little to amuse me.)

We're off to the weekend! Woo Hoo!

LITTLE PINK HOUSES

Last night I did exactly what I needed to do....I started something new.

Out of all of the lovely selections that were in the Spinster Stitcher SpringTide basket, I decided to go with Love the Spring by Shakespeare's Peddler. I'm stitching this on a gorgeous piece of 32ct. Spice Blend Celtic linen from Stitches and Spice. (This is a new company to me and I can tell you that I will look for more of their stuff. Yum. Mee.) I'm also using Thread Gatherer Silk 'n Colors, so when you put it all together, this one is just like BUTT-A. (OK, all done with that now.)

As I stitched the little pink house in the lower right corner, I got to thinking about my whacky stitchy progression through the years. I'm actually a relatively new stitcher compared to most, and although the dates are fuzzy, I think I started really stitching about five years ago.

At the time, Aunt Chrissy was living with me and I'm pretty sure that she was so desperate to get me to shut the eff up already that she taught me to stitch. Then, to REALLY get some peace and quiet, she opened the attic door one day and said "I think it's time to finish off that bonus room and make it into a stitching studio."

And so we did.

My very first project was a Bent Creek house. I don't remember which one it was exactly, and I'm pretty sure that the finished piece is around here somewhere, but all I know is that it was a house. Houses were all that I wanted to stitch. Yep. Houses:

I have no clue what this one is, but let's take a little look-see, shall we? (Oh, come on. You know you want to.) This piece is stitched on 14ct. aida cloth and I used all of the DMC threads that the chart called for. Then, because I was getting really cocky after about three days of being a stitcher, I attached a birdhouse charm to the tree! (Gasp! Could it be that I was already breaking the rules so early in my stitchy career?!) You'll also notice that I put my CJ initials in the lower right corner. (I thought that this was a requirement and that if I didn't do it the stitchy gods would smite me.)

For the next piece, I got totally out of control and did a few specialty stitches! Woo Hoo! I also varied the number of threads that I used so that the piece would have "dimension". I thought I had discovered fire:



Finally, I did a piece with overdyed threads. I think that Aunt Chrissy was so tired of trotting me off to the local Hobby Lobby for supplies that she took pity on me and threw me a skein of Weeks Dye Works or Gentle Art. Once again, I'm pretty sure it was just to shut me up.



The house phase lasted for quite a while, and I'm sure that I could unearth quite a few more house pieces if I tried hard enough.

What cracks me up about this little trip down memory lane is that if you fast forward to Spinster Stitching circa 2010, I would rather clean the kitchen floor than I would stitch a house. As a matter of fact, I've been known to clean the kitchen floor as a means to postpone the task of stitching a house. Sheesh.

Aunt Chrissy's School of All Things Stitchy progressed me from 14ct aida and DMC floss all the way up to stitching over two on 36ct. linen and hand dyed silk. My real turning point, though, came when I was able to do a large Shepherd's Bush band sampler and I successfully read the chart all by my very self. (I made a ham sandwich in celebration of that achievement. I can remember it as though it were yesterday....it was a very good sandwich.)

So as I stitch this piece and enjoy it immensely, I'll be thankful that there's only one little house in this neighborhood and all it lacks at this point is a roof. And I suppose that I will stitch other houses in the future and that I'll bitch about those too, but at least I'll know that I came by my aversion honestly. And...if you ever see me pull out the Large Marge Houses of Hawk Run Hollow, you'll know that I've decided to lose my damn mind in one fell swoop.

I just hope there's a ham sandwich at the end of it.

DAMN, DRAT, AND PHOOEY

First, some housekeeping details. Stewey has asked me to tell you that from this moment forward he will be doing a "One For One" deal with his toys. For every new toy that comes into the house, one will have to go out. And! To make it all even better, Mommie Dearest here has decided that for every toy she puts into the PetSmart cart for Little Lord Fauntleroy...one will go in for a pet at the animal shelter. So there.

(We had no idea how completely obscene the toy basket was until we saw it in the light of day. Too. Much.)

"Why did I have to go and show off? Now I'm going to be toyless!"

So methinks it's time to go back to a little cross stitch now. I tried to get the darn "Love" letters stitched all night last night to no avail. I was getting all frustrated and red in the face when I decided to just put it down for a day or two to see if some kind of Divine Stitchy Inspiration will come to me as to how I should proceed. I do like the backgrounds, though, so I'm not too upset with the progress thus far: Another beautiful day here in Hoosierville. I'd love to take advantage of it by opening the doors and windows, but Stewey has learned a new trick of peeing through the screen at the squirrels on the back porch. Damn dog.

Happy Wednesday, kids! I hope you're doing whatever it is you want to do today!

THE TUESDAY REPORT FROM MASTER STEWEY ANGUS WILLOWSWAMP, HIS VERY LITTLE SELF

My stupid mo-ther can't come to the blog right now. She's too busy limping around the house and whining about her "poor tired muscles" to be of any use to us today. She got the bright idea to clean the house yesterday, and instead of pacing herself and doing a little bit at a time (like I've been telling her to do forever), she had to go gangbusters and act like the proverbial bull in the proverbial china shoppe.

So I decided to grab that very same bull by the b***s (er, I meant to say...horns), and I trotted up to the studio to put together a few projects for our SpringTide stitching pleasure.

I do like what the old lady's been working on, and I fully intend to bogart it for my apartment as a festive little pillow, but methinks she needs to add a little cross stitch to the mix.

First up is a piece that I know a lot of you out there in Stitchy BlogVille are working on right now. I kitted this one up and diagrammed it for Mom to do on one big piece of linen:

Next is a chart that Mom's had in her stash forever, but she's never been able to find the right piece of linen for it. Finally! Success! She found a piece of 32ct. Edinburg linen in "Sapphire Sky" which I think will be very very pretty:

This one is a new design from Shakespeare's Peddler. I love the saying and will probably ask Mom to do this one first. (I am envisioning a lovely chintz pillow for this one when completed, and I will proudly display it in the middle of my night night bed if she ever gets it stitched):
How could I not love a chart titled "A Mind Independent and Free"? I don't expect that this will ever see the light of day, but a pup can dream:

And finally, we have a lovely little piece that she could knock out in a weekend if she just planted her heiney in the Happy Chair and got to it:

After the housecleaning festivities, Mom did manage to get a few more stitches into the Love canvas. I'm going to push her to get this one done asap:

Now before you feel too sorry for my stupid mo-ther, you should know that my Aunt Chrissy came to the rescue and did almost all of the cleaning without one single complaint. See how nicely she stacked all of my toys?

Well, that's it for today. Thank you for visiting with me, and please come again soon. Now if you'll excuse me....there's napping to be done and I need to get right to it.

With love from your pal,

Stewey

BACKGROUND CHECK

A rather quiet weekend was had by all here in Hoosierville. I'd love to tell you that my house is sparkly clean and that the laundry is washed, dried, folded, and put away, but y'all know me too well to pull that one off.

On the Love canvas I'm doing the background first. This is different than what I normally do (I usually stitch the middles and then add the background last), but for some reason it seemed like it would be easier this way. Compensating has been a real bear, but somehow I've managed to get those stitches on there without completely obliterating the letters too much. I even thought about making a copy of this canvas and then stitching the backgrounds right over the letters and then adding them on top, but I chickened out at the last minute and went with this method instead.

(I swear I'm going to take a class one of these days so that I can stop futzing my way through every single painted canvas project!)

Stewey is feeling much much better and thanks you very much for your kind wishes for his recovery. I'm super glad that I got him started early this year, since his allergies can be bad enough to cause his little face to get completely raw and chapped. Believe me when I tell you that we do NOT like Prednisone in this house (someday I'll tell you all about it), but for now the low low low dose seems to be working very well.

That's the report for today! I'm off like a herd of turtles to the laundry room!

THE THURSDAY VIEW FROM THE HAPPY CHAIR

My mom can't come to the blog right now. She's sitting in the corner rocking back and forth with big fat sweaty tears rolling down her chubby cheeks. I can't understand a word she's saying, but it sounds something like "They LIKE me. They really really LIKE me." And then she bursts into fits of boo hoos that make me want to go get a hammer.

Thank you, friends, for such lovely birthday wishes for Mo-ther. I know that she appreciates them down to the tips of her pink toes and that she would kiss you all twice for making her feel so very special. You all just ROCK!

Here's the view from the Happy Chair today.

Mom's making progress on the Love canvas from Sew Much Fun. Isn't it kinda' cool?

Wherever you are, I hope it's where you want to be.

With love from your pal,
Stewey

P.S. I'm on Prednisone now, so my allergies are much better, but it has put me in a rather surly mood:

OEY

So here we are...a few hours into turning the big 4-4. I was waxing philosophical a few moments ago as I pulled the laundry out of the washer and flung it into the dryer, but methinks I will sound like a huge Boobala if I try to tell the world all about the crazyass meanderings of my tiny little brain today. So let's just say that I am very happy to be 44 and that I hope desperately that I will make it to 66 and then 88 and then....

CANVASING THE NEIGHBORHOOD

Before we commence with today's festivities, let's get some housekeeping out of the way.

(By now y'all know that I'm not talking about real housekeeping, because I live in a house that looks as though it had recently been invaded by a large contingent of frat boys. Or squirrels. But, nevertheless, we've got housekeeping to do of the blog variety, so we'll just overlook the eighty-eight pairs of underpants strewn about the closet floor and get on with it.)

Firstly, may I just say a big fat THANK YOU to BlogVille from dear Aunt Chrissy for all of the lovely birthday wishes? Touching and wonderful and very much appreciated, folks. I know that she read each and every one of them with a teary eye and a warm heart.

(We took a little road trip over to New Buffalo, Michigan and found a restaurant called "The Stray Dog". This would have made for a perfect evening had I not got lost on the way home and almost drove us to Maryland, but alas, we made it home safe and sound.)

Secondly, we are, in fact, accepting any and all applications for new sista's. Seeing how our little family consists of just the two of us, we are ALWAYS on the lookout for new victims. (Did I say that out loud? I meant to say recruits.) Membership comes with unlimited access to the Spinster Sisters Stitching Studio and a full bottle of extra strength Tylenol. Just bring snacks and nobody will get hurt.

And finally....the corporate gypsy-like meanderings of the Family a' la Rich (when it consisted of more than just yours truly and Aunt Chrissy:

1. Lima, Ohio - where it all began
2. Bellefontaine, Ohio - where Aunt Chrissy came into being
3. Athens, Tennessee - the early school years
4. Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania - where we cheered for the Steelers from the North Hills
5. Lima, Ohio - home again
6. El Paso, Texas - a bit of a detour on the way to Dad's retirement
7. Phoenix, Arizona - well...nothing to say here except I'm happy to live in Hoosierville *

*Please don't take offense if you actually live in Phoenix. It's just that nothing good ever happened to me there.

My own personal history diverted to Notre Dame, Indiana and then South Bend, and then Margate, New Jersey for a few years, but I can safely say that Mishawaka, Indiana is now the official home of Major League SpinsterNutBall.

So on to the stitching...

I seem to be in a very canvas state of mind, so that's what I've been playing with recently. First up is a painted canvas from Cooper Oaks:

This one is presenting me with a bit of a challenge, since the frequent color changes and small areas of color are telling me to do this all in tent stitch. I'm trying to throw in a few long stitches for the leaves, and I'll do the red flower centers in padded velvet, but for now I'm happy to let the design and colors speak for itself on this one.

Next is a canvas and stitch guide by the same folks who brought us Lily Frog. This is supposed to be a purse insert (I think), but I'm going to do this all in silk and frame it for my bedroom. I like the size of this one, since everything else I've worked on lately has been rather large, Marge:

Finally, is a painted canvas by Debbie Rowley. I've picked out a bunch of different silks and linens, and metallics for this one and am starting to see some funky stitches dancing in my head, so I'll keep you posted as it starts to come to life:

If you're more interested in cross stitch, never fear. I will probably poke around upstairs later today for something that I can do to give my poor fingers a break. They always get a little sore when I switch to canvas. I know, I know...I'm not using a large enough needle to open the canvas hole a little. But I've got a head like a rock and would rather complain about sore fingers than I would actually solve the problem.

So that's the report today. Stewey has asked me to send a fond hello to his fans and loved ones. He's feeling rather poorly due to allergies, but meds are on board and he will be back to his spunky little self very soon!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, AUNT CHRISSY!

My favorite Aunt Chrissy story takes place on Eater Sunday 1975.....

Scene: A bustling kitchen in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. A mother scurries about, getting Easter dinner ready. She glances to her left and sees her youngest daughter standing in the doorway.

Mother: Chrissy, I told you that I'm really busy right now and need to get this dinner ready. Can you go play with your Barbies for a few minutes, sweetheart?

Chrissy: Sure, Mommy. But I have so many things to tell you that I thought I would stand here and talk to you while you cook. That way I can fulfill my need to be talking every waking moment of the day and you get to spend some quality time with me.

Mother: Why don't you go wait for Grandma and Uncle Connie to get here?

The little girl walks to the front closet, gets her little green velvet coat, and heads out to the front porch. She sits on the cold hard cement and thinks about what a bust this holiday has been for her. Yesterday, she and her brilliant and gorgeous older sister Constance were playing nuns. This was an activity that they both loved, and two white terry cloth bath towels were always put into use as a simple yet effective head-covering.

Yesterday, though, something seemed off. Constance was out of sorts and was bossier than usual. "Nuns don't have curly hair", she grumbled. "We need to get rid of those stupid curls sticking out of your head thingie."

"OK", the little girl said as she trotted off to get the big scissors. "Will you cut it for me, Coni Jo? I'm only four and not allowed to use the big scissors."

The older sister grinned as she maniacally snipped and snipped all of the gorgeous light brown curls away from her little sister's face.

"There", said Constance. "Now you look like a real nun."

As she reflected on the ensuing spanking that both she and her sister received, the little girl wondered why it was such a big deal that she would have to go to Easter Sunday Church services with her hat on. Didn't everybody wear a hat for Easter?

Later that afternoon, the mother stopped the dinner preparations to call out to the little girl.

Mother: Chrissy? Where are you, honey? Come here and try a pickled beet for me to see if I've got them right. Chrissy?

Constance: She's outside.

Mother: WHAT!!! WHAT THE HELL IS SHE DOING OUTSIDE?!


Constance: You told her to go wait for Grandma.

Mother: Oh for crying out loud! THEY'RE DRIVING IN FROM LIMA AND WON'T BE HERE FOR FOUR HOURS! IT'S TWENTY TWO DEGREES OUT THERE! GO GET YOUR LITTLE SISTER AND TELL HER TO GET IN HERE!!

Constance: OK.

Sadly, Constance is distracted by the latest Nancy Drew mystery that was in her Easter basket that morning. She heads into the den and buries her nose in the book...completely forgetting about her tiny little sister standing alone outside on the front porch.

Later that afternoon....

The front door opens and several voices are heard.

Grandma: Sig?! Are you home? What the hell is Chrissy doing standing out on the front porch?! We pulled up and she said that she had been out there all day waiting for us! Her little nose is running and she's frozen solid! What the heck are you people doing in here?

The relatives all kiss and hug hello in stony silence as the little girl heads upstairs for a hot bath. As she's hanging up her coat, she glances at the curls hidden in the wastebasket and decides that Christmas is definitely her favorite holiday.

THE END


P.S. Here's a few things you should know about Aunt Chrissy:

1. Yes, the hair story is completely true. When she was little she had positively gorgeous light brown curly ringlets that covered her head. I cut them off. (What can I say? I had a head like a bowling ball and was evil.)

2. My sister talked from the minute she woke up until the minute she passed out in her little bed. Some nights, she would tip-toe to the side of Mom and Dad's bed and poke Mom awake because she had more to say or had "forgetted to tell you something."

3. She was a very good little girl and usually did exactly what she was told, so the story above is as true and accurate as I can remember it. We believe that she had been out on that porch for at least three hours, because when Grandma and Uncle Connie finally got there they said she was really really shivering and her lips were a bit blue.

4. My sister isn't just in my life...she is my life. (Sorry, that's a line from Tony Soprano, but it's just too damn apropos not to use it here.) She is funny and kind and strong and very very brave. She takes care of me, tolerates my silly little dog, and feeds all of the birds, squirrels and ducks faithfully and with great care. She is the rock and the leader of our little family, and there are times when I really wonder what I did to be given such a gift of this particular sister. I love her, need her, and care about her more than anything or anyone I've ever known, and I cannot and will not live my life without her in it.

So there you have it. Aunt Chrissy turns 39 today and I couldn't be happier about it.

JUST THE FACTS, MAMMM

Doesn't look like much, but here's a week's worth of stitching:

Painted canvas from Aunt Chrissy's stash (artist unknown)

(I think she gave this to me out of sheer pity, really, but I'm not questioning it since it's so much fun to play with and will result in something pretty cool when completed.)

Little Rabbit in the Neighborhood

Maggie

This came with a stitch guide, but so far I've managed to ignore it completely and fly by the seat of my very big girl pants

Cirque de Fleur

Orna Willis cyber class

I need to get caught up on my lessons! Only two more to go!

Lily Frog

Sew Much Fun

Here she is! Now she needs to go to the frog hospital for assembly!

HAVING A THURSDAY ON A WEDNESDAY

My mom can't come to the blog right now. She's all bobcomdistulated and can't figure out what the hell day of the week it is to save her life. We've both been a little out of sorts this last week (what with the de-roofing and all), but methinks the old lady has finally lost her mind.

Mom woke up early today and had Aunt Chrissy come over to haul all of the crap out of the garage closet for the air conditioning man, but he doesn't come until tomorrow. Now she's in the bed pouting that she ruined everybody's morning. I swear, sometimes it's all I can do not to smother her in her sleep.

As for me, I'm happy to be back on my perch. I love my Aunt Chrissy's house, but it isn't really conducive to napping because of my pesky cousin Bosco. From the minute the little twerp gets up in the morning until the minute he goes to bed at night he runs back and forth from the front door to the back door barking at anything that's moving within a three mile radius of his house. It's pretty stupid, if you ask me, especially since the birds and squirrels and ducks and people in his neighborhood are used to him being a nut ball, so all they do is carry on with their business as though he weren't even there.

On the stitchy front, Mom finished Lily Frog! I'll try to get some pics for you later today because the light is just not very good at the moment. She's also started a few new things, so there will be lots for her to tell you about. (Don't encourage her too much with this whole canvas thing....I'm concerned that she's jonesing for a bender, and we'll end up with a carload full of new stuff before you can say "My mo-ther has no fiscal discipline whatsoever and should be heavily medicated.")

That's all for today, kids! I hope that you're more combobulated than we are and that you get to do whatever it is you want to do today!

With love from your pal,
Stewey

AWARD SEASON

So here I sit, feeling like a schmuckatude of the first magnitude. (Yes. Yet again.)

I started reading blogs about two years ago. I lurked in the shadows and was a general stalker for about eleven months before our beloved Stitch Bitch called me out on it, and I've been public ever since. (Thank you, by the way, Ms. Anna Your Very Self. This has been one hell of a ride!)

When I saw the first blog awards bestowed, I was pretty fascinated by the fact that you could find such cool doo-hickeys for blogging, and this sent me into a tizzy fit of trying to figure out how to make my very own doo-hickeys. Alas, I was not very successful.

The fact of the matter is that I get all red-faced and embarrassed and sweaty whenever I see that somebody has thought enough of me to honor me and this silly little blog with an award of any kind. To be honest with you, I am completely flabbergasted that anybody would even want to read all of my crapity crap crap...let alone take the time and effort to award me with anything at all. It's both humbling and scary at the same time. Humbling because I never would have imagined that I would get awards for just being me, and scary because I feel like I've stolen cookies from the cookie jar and you're praising me for getting the lid back on straight.

So what does one do when given an award? Say "Oh, no, I couldn't possibly", or "Oh gee whiz, I am just not worthy", or "Wow! You just ROCK to think of me in such a fashion!".

Well, I suppose that I will take the easy way out and say "All of the above, please".

Truth is, kids...I've waited to be at the cool kids' table my entire freakin life. I've always hung back and watched what everybody else does so that I could determine the best course of action for strapping on my WANNA-BEE's and getting down with the group, but I have never in all my life felt so completely safe to be me.

(Funny how I'm now hearing the song "I Gotta' Be Me! I Gotta' Be Me! rambling through my brain now. Damn. I hope it doesn't get stuck in there.)

(What's stuck in there now is "Up On The Roof", which I heard a few days ago when Aunt Chrissy and I were watching all of the episodes of Nurse Jackie on the Showtime Freebie. Not a bad song at all, really, but when it's been lodged in your tiny little brain for a week and a half, you don't have a lot of room for other things. Like pin numbers or important dates in history and such.)

So here I sit pondering it all and typing my mental blah blah blah and the stitchy world not only accepts it, but encourages it with comments and emails and shout outs and awards.

What the heck is wrong with this picture?

Instead of trying to figure out where and when y'all lost your damn minds, I'm just going to bask in the glow of it all and give you the most goofy (yet very heartfelt) grin and say a succint (yet conclusive) thank you.

MRS. PELACHEWSKY WAS NOT AMUSED

I should preface this story with the simple fact that I love my stinky little puppy nephew Bosco with a white hot love that rivals that of the surface of the sun. I mean it. I really do. Bosco and I have a very special bond because when he was a very tiny little guy I would go over to Aunt Chrissy's house to check on him and he invariably greeted me from his nylon travel cage covered in poop.

Bosco has a face and a personality that make you want to carry on long conversations with him. He is curious about everything, and if the dog could talk (which I'm pretty sure he can, but shyness prevents him from doing so), he would use words like "cool" and "dude". Bosco is all boy and plays and romps and barks and jumps with abandon. Then he comes inside panting and smelling like a little two year old who is sweaty and wants a juice box.

I love him. I really do.

Today, however, convinced me that there is a camera somewhere in the universe capturing my every move so that if "The Truman Show" ever has a sequel, I will be the star. I swear that I hollered enough today to last me a lifetime, and if I said "ARE YOU EFFING KIDDING ME??!!!! one more time I was going to wash my own mouth out with soap.

Bosco decided that today would be the day that he would RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN from the front of the house to the back of the house and that he would BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK at every damn thing that came within an eight mile radius of Aunt Chrissy's lovely little abode.

(You should probably know that Stewey arrived at Aunt Chrissy's half asleep and promptly curled up in a patch of sunshine for a nap. All. Damn. Day. Long.)

I figured that little Bosco would calm down after a few minutes and that he was just happy and excited that his Aunt CJ had come to play for the day, but after the fourth hour I called Aunt Chrissy at work to advise her that Puppy Day Care was not going to have a very good report for the little fellow and that if she didn't come directly home after work she was going to find me face down in a pie and minus one dog.

The good news is that nothing was broken and no animals were injured in the filming of today's episode, so I'm pretty sure that we'll be raring to go again tomorrow. Aunt Chrissy will be here at 8:00.

Stewey has asked if he can stay home. I'm seriously considering letting him and hiding in my closet until she leaves, thinking that I've finally flown the coop and am on my way to Jeffrey Dean Morgan's house.

Stay tuned. I'll have pictures for you soon of progress on Lily Frog, I promise. I'd gladly share them now, but methinks it's time to go find a pillow and a Valium (and not necessarily in that order.)

UNDER CONSTRUCTION?

Helloooooo!

By the time you read this, I am hoping that Chez Spinster will be minus one roof and I will be safely tucked into Aunt Chrissy's stitchy chair. God willin' and the creek don't rise, the roofer will be here at o-dark hundred and Stewey and I will be away from the noise and mess.

Thank you all for such empowering comments about me feeling like such a schmuckatude all the time. It's nice to know I'm not alone, but troubling somehow that there are so many nice people out there on the big blue marble that are getting lousy customer service. I really thought that the bad economy would make everybody sit up in the buggy a bit and be more on point with their skill sets and all, but apparently I am still living in a parallel universe of rainbows and unicorns.

On the stitchy front this weekend, I ripped out the tiny progress I made on Fascination and re-kitted it in Wildflowers and Vineyard Silks. The chart calls for Watercolours and Silk & Ivory, but the thickness of both of those fibers was giving me fits beyond what normally gives me fits. The new threads are precisely what the doctor ordered, however, so methinks I'll get going on that more in the upcoming days and weeks.

I also futzed around for about six hours during Saturday Studio Stitching with Sissy time, so I'm happy to report that everything is now in tidy piles and my side of the room looks a little less like the Tasmanian Devil had a picnic in there.

Today I worked a little on Cirque de Fleur but got impatient with the Neon Rays, so I tucked it safely into its little bed and wished it a good night night. Before I knew what hit me, I was plugging away on Lily Frog, so stay tuned for some progress pics! Could it be that I just might stick with this one until the bitter end?

Only The Shadow knows....

PEEVISH

What do y'all do when the world constantly thinks that you are just one big fat pushover? You know what I mean. A stooge. A milquetoast that wouldn't speak up if her hair were on fire. A timid, quiet, mousy little person who won't mind waiting for/foregoing/passing up on something that somebody with a bigger mouth or more pressing need wants/needs/does.

I wish I could tell you where it all started, but the last few days have been one "Here, please bend over so that I can chooch the pooch" experience after another. If it wasn't my fancypants glasses needing repair and the fancypants boutique owner telling me that "they're supposed to look like that", it was the fishmonger throwing $30 with of halibut in a bag and saying "Yeah...it's freezer wrapped." (Sadly, it wasn't.) I spent the morning at Aunt Chrissy's house because I was supposed to get a new roof today and I didn't want Stewey to have to go batshit every time he heard a noise outside, but apparently the roofer decided that somebody else was more important than the testy spinster who has been waiting since last August for the guy to bother to show up. I am, in short, the Rodney Dangerfield of Spinster Lane.

When I moved to New Jersey, I made the mistake of stopping for my very first bagel and coffee without one damn clue how to do so. The place that was on the way to work was very very busy, so after standing in line for about 15 minutes it was my turn at the counter.

"Whadda ya want?", said the big burly guy behind the counter.

"Oh, well, hello and good morning! I've just moved here from Indiana and I've never been in your nice little establishment here before, so I thought I'd try one of your....."

"Lady, if you don't know what you're doing, go sit over there and figure it out so that I can wait on everybody in line behind you that does. NEXT!"

I skulked out of there and never went back because I had just been told that I was too stupid to order a bagel and a coffee.

So when I went to the next place I got my act together and memorized my order precisely. I was just getting ready to squeak it out when a woman barged right back up to the counter and said "TONY! I TOLD YOU I DIDN'T WANT SESAME SEEDS AND YOU GAVE ME SESAME SEEDS! YOU DID THIS TO ME YESTERDAY, PAL, AND I'M NOT LEAVING UNTIL YOU GIVE ME THE POPPY SEEDS THAT I ASKED FOR. GOT IT?"

Tony smiled sheepishly, took the bag with the offending sesame seed bagel in it and said "Sorry, Loretta. Here's your poppy seed. You have a nice day now."

I was stunned.

Here was someone who had asked for something, and when she didn't get it, she spoke up. And, more importantly, the floor didn't open up beneath her feet and suck her down to hell in one fell swoop. She spoke up and she got her bagel.

It occurs to me that what I'm doing is giving off a vibe that says "Oh, please don't respect me or listen to what I have to say or what I want. I'll just stand here quietly and take whatever you give me and I'll be happy about it. " And, if you happen to be a waiter or waitress... this is your lucky day. Because I'm one of those schmucks who will leave you a 40% tip if I'm so bold enough to ask for something extra....like a clean knife. Or a glass that doesn't have bleach in it.

Damn. Where the heck did I get this from? It certainly wasn't from Dad, since I know that he could tell somebody to go to hell and they'd look forward to the trip. And as for it coming from Mom...well, let me tell you that there is a Mrs. La-Z-Boy who will attest to Siggie's firm determination to be the recipient of good customer service. Here's the story:

When we moved into our Lima house, Mom bought two chairs for the family room. Dad's arrived and was wrong. The fabric was flawed, the mechanism was bad, and it was, in short, a lemon. Mom sent it back. About four times. The fifth time, the salesman was standing in the family room arguing with Mom, and when he said "Lady, I don't know what your problem is. We've sent you five different chairs now and you're not happy with any of them", Mom said "No...you've sent me the same chair five times hoping that I won't notice it."

Here's where he made his tragic mistake. "Oh, come on, lady. This is a brand new chair. We at La-Z-Boy would never do such a thing."

With that, Mom flipped the chair over and pointed at her black magic-markered signature written across the bottom of the wood frame.

"See that, fella? That's my signature. And I'll have you know that you've been delivering that signature back to me for about six months now. So if you'll excuse me, I think it's time for me to take this little complaint of mine to the next level. Good day."

Mom packed that chair up and had it delivered to the home of the biggest muckety muck she could find at La-Z-Boy. On it she taped a note that said "Dear Mrs. La-Z-Boy. If you'd have this chair sit in YOUR living room, you're welcome to it. It will not sit in mine."

We got a new chair two days later. And there wasn't one thing wrong with it.

So why can't I just strap on a big fat pair of Mom b-lls and get on with it? I'm not talking about being mean or rude or nasty or unreasonable. I'm talking about speaking up when somebody out there has done me wrong and I'm not feeling particularly compelled to thank them for it.

Stewey wanted me to thank y'all for your concern over these birds of his. We've discovered that they are chickadees. All Stewey wants to know is how something with such a cute little name could be so ridiculously vicious.

That's the Friday rant, kids! I hope that whatever you do this weekend is exactly what you want to do and that if somebody doesn't treat you swell, you'll think of me. And speak up.

DE SPEENSTER EES CLEEEEN

For some reason I awoke at the crack 'o dawn and decided to get out of bed. This is pretty strange for me, since I am more likely to hit the radio button and listen to NPR while drifting back to sleep, but alas, it was not to be.

I managed to do two loads of laundry and watch almost all of Brideshead Revisited before Aunt Chrissy came to make the morning paper delivery. (Yes, you read that right. Aunt Chrissy stops at my house on the way to work to retrieve the paper from the box and place it on the inside garage steps leading to the house.) (I believe she does this to prevent my neighbors from taking up a collection to buy me some proper nightwear.)

Stewey woke up at 9:30 and asked for waffles, so I made up a little tray and the two of us had breakfast in bed while talking about the day's agenda.

"I'd like to go to Macy's for the Clinique bonus, mo-ther. And then maybe we can stop by the PetSmart for some cookies."

"You don't need any more cookies, Stewey. There are at least eight boxes of them in your pantry, and Mommie really doesn't want to have to move stuff out of another closet to accommodate your growing pile of crap."

"Well, if you won't take me, can I have my Visa card back so that I might call a car service?"

"Nope. You're staying inside with Mommie today and I'm thinking that we might clean the house."

"I don't like you very much, Mommie. May I please go live with Aunt Chrissy?"

With that, I gave him a look that said "Don't mess with the Mommie today" and he skulked away to his fort. Dishes were done, the bed was changed, bathrooms were cleaned, and rooms were dusted and swept before they knew what hit them. Bliss.

So now I'm showered and dressed and ready for some heavy duty stitchy action in the freshly plumped Happy Chair. I'm thinking that it will be a day for a springy cross stitch piece, but I think I'll let the wind take me where ever it wants to.

Thank you for all of your concern over the bird situation. I'm still not sure what the heck they are, but I can tell you that the little suckers are fast and ferocious. I stood outside with an umbrella while Stewey had his constitutional this morning, and I thought I was going to be minus an eye.

Looks like it's time for some front yard potty action. I just hope the neighbors don't gossip about Stewey's pajamas.