SPRING COMES SLOWLY TO SPINSTERS CORNERS

Stewey and I have been lounging in the sun all morning. (Well, OK. Stewey has been lounging in the sun and I have been pushing my brand spanky new Swiffer around the hardwoods (Can I get a big WOO HOO from the congregation, please?).

It seems that Spring has started to creep slowly into the daily happenings here in Hoosierville, but I'm not going to be one bit surprised if/when we get another seven feet of s-n-o-w to cover up all of the mushy brown grass. I'm thinking that May is probably when we'll break out the warm weather wardrobe.

This, of course, gives me plenty of time to panic over my lack of a suitable uniform to get me through the hotter days ahead. I have issues. Clearly. I do. But would it be too much to ask the world's manufacturers of womens' clothings to come up with a cute top that doesn't involve the exposure of my upper arms? Can I GET a 3/4 length sleeve, please?

I'm thinking that I'm going to go Ina this year and get me some lovely blouses that I can wear with cute black pants and be done with it. I read that Ina has her blouses custom tailored in London, but that's not going to deter me from coming up with something similar from the local Fashion Bug. God help me.

Stewey and I have been stitching and movie viewing these last few nights. On Wednesday, we watched The Time Traveler's Wife, but I had to stop the recorder thingie about every ten minutes to ask him what the heck was going on. (Needless to say, the King was not amused). He finally got so frustrated with my total inability to follow the plot that he went into his fort, rummaged around in his library, and came out with the novel clutched in his little paws. "Mo-ther, if you don't shut up and let me finish watching this movie, I'm going to lock you in the laundry room, where I hope you will feel compelled to read the book and do a load of whites."

Appropriately chagrined, I continued watching in complete silence but never did understand it. Nor did I understand last night's movie: The Ghost Writer. For this one, I seemed to be more fixatated on the accents of Pierce Brosnan and Kim Cattral than the actual plot. Why was he trying to sound like Prince Charles? Why couldn't he have had the same accent that he did in The Thomas Crown Affair? Isn't Kim Cattral originally from the UK? Why does she sound like Samantha Jones, but not quite, and yet not quite like she is actually from the UK?

These, and other things had me totally distracted to the point that I couldn't think about anything other than the fact that everybody looked very very cold.

(Note to self before I go off on some other crazy tangent: Why is Stewey in possession of so many books if he is also in possession of a Kindle? Shouldn't the Kindle preclude any further charges on his AMEX card at the Barnes & Noble? Does he have a shopping problem? Is he secretly sneaking out of the house at night to hang out at the mall...drinking coffee and getting up to God knows what with other like-minded youth? Must check this out. If for no other reason than to get my Kindle back so that I can start reading something other than the daily Peanuts cartoon on my little desk calendar.)

Spring Quakers continues and I still love every moment that I spend with it. Based upon my very un-scientific estimates, I think I am almost half-way through this one, so there is a stunning chance that I might actually finish it before the end of the year. Besides, I have visions of finishing this and then taking it and its cousin (Quaker Diamonds) over to the Michaels for some framing.

That does it for today. As soon as I'm finished with the Swiffering I'm going to think about tackling the guest room closet. Before I do, though, I need to find a rope long enough to tie around my waist in the event that I am lost forever in the enormous pile of crap that seems to have accumulated in there. That way, Aunt Chrissy will be able to save me from myself when she comes over for her evening "I just want to make sure you haven't done anything stupid today and that you aren't draped dramatically over the edge of the bathtub whimpering "I've fallen and I can't get up" to the imaginary cameras).

(I'm sorry that I don't take my projects off of their q-snaps before photographing, but once I get those suckers on there in a semi-straight fashion, I'm not likely to move anything for fear that we'll go all cockeyed again. So please forgive me and use your imagination.)

BRADLEY COOPER....WHO KNEW?

OK, before we get down to the brass tacks, a few items of housekeeping:

Dear Stitchy Friend Alissa wrote to me with the sad news that a pair of her beloved Ginghers were confiscated at airport security! Yikes! I'm pretty sure that I'd make the news with the hissy fit that I'd throw, but I'm sure that Miss Alissa was far better at comporting herself. So, can we help a stitcher out? Anybody know what the pattern name is for these beauties?:

Nextly, we have Miss Kathy, who has finally joined us here in Stitchy Blogville! Go check her out, but please don't blame me when you spend all of your pin money on some fabulous new charts: http://www.needledelightsoriginals.blogspot.com/

Speaking of fabulous new charts, have you seen this bee-you-tee? It's a good thing that I don't have all of the necessary threads for it in my stash, or we'd be looking at WIP number billion and sixty two:

So, where have I been, you ask? Well, it all started innocently enough. I taped a few shows that I figured I'd listen to as I stitch, and lo and behold, one of them was Inside the Actors' Studio. I love this show, especially since it makes me appreciate how interesting it is to see movie stars up close and all personal like, and I'm always curious how it is that they can get nervous in front of an audience. (Let's pause a moment while the rusty gears of my very little brain grind to a halt while contemplating that one, shall we?)

Last night, I sat bewitched by this new (to me, anyway), handsome hunk of some deliciousness named Bradley Cooper. Where the hell has this guy been all my life? I mean, come on, I feel like I've been dipping into the most fabulous box of chocolates, and right there in the very middle of your Jeffrey Dean Morgans and Robert Downey Juniors and James Gandolphinis was this perfect little morsel of goodness that is EXACLTY what this poor lonely old spinster needed on a cold winter's night.

Holey Schmoley. The guy gave me a case of the vapours!

So CHE-LOW, Mr. Cooper! Please feel free to give me a call if you're ever in these parts, and I'll be happy to whip you up a meatloaf or something. (She says, while furiously batting her Tammy Faye Bakers at him shamelessly.)

But I regress...this is, after all, supposed to be a stitching blog.

Progress continues quite nicely on Rosewood Manor's Spring Quakers. I'm really enjoying this one in all it's soft Spring-like glory:

But, try as I might, I find my eyes constantly straying to this lovely that Aunt Chrissy gifted me with a few weeks ago:


I was going to jump in and start stitching it on Friday night, but I decided to use it as ransom (or, er, um, incentive) to get my house cleaned. So, as soon as every room has been put into proper order, the furniture has been polished, and the floors have been thoroughly washed, you can expect this one to make it onto the TeeVee tray next to the Happy Chair.

I am pretty sure that I've started Fascination at least a dozen times, but this time I think I finally got the right consistency of thread. The chart calls for Watercolours and Silk & Ivory, but for some reason my stitches look really "muddy" when using these fibers. They're just too darn thick for me, I guess, so I switched them out to Wildflowers and DMC floss. Much better:


Then, just as I'm starting to think that my WIP basket can't get any bigger, I start to think about these lovely little guys. Have you ever seen such perfect harbingers of Spring?:

I'm not the only one that seems to have caught the bug. Aunt Chrissy decided that she wants to learn how to quilt, and she has the perfect selection of charts from Miss Cheryl to tempt her:


All in all, not bad for a Tuesday. Stewey tells me that until he has unfettered access to the computer, he's going to boycott the entire Chex Spinster legislative agenda, much like our Hoosierville elected officials have decided to do these last four weeks. Can somebody tell me where I can get a job that will pay me to hang out at the Comfort Inn over there in Illinois?

Imagine the stitching that I would finish.....Woo Hoo!

NOTES TO MYSELF ON A THURSDAY (BECAUSE I CAN'T FIND A PIECE OF PAPER AND A PEN)

1. Movie idea: A portly, yet lovable spinster from the Midwest moves to Hollywood to pursue her dream of writing for a hit TV show. In desperation (and as a means to support herself and her little dog too), she takes a job as a personal chef for an aging bad boy actor who insists on eating breakfast at 2pm, and who then collects porn stars and controversy for the rest of the day. The spinster cooks, keeps her head down and mouth firmly shut (despite being abused regularly by the meangirl porn stars), and soon finds herself living in the posh and secluded guest house. Soon, the aging bad boy actor suffers a case of unrelenting insomnia, which causes him to rise at dawn and prop himself in the kitchen while the spinster prepares the household's meals for the day. They bond over meatloaf, he cleans himself up, and together they go on to create the most successful sitcom in television history.

2. Note to Chuck Lorre: Aunt Chrissy and I figured it all out for you last night, Mr. Lorre. The only suitable replacement for Charlie Sheen is Jud Nelson:

SCENE: Alan opens the door and discovers his ex-girlfriend's ex-husband, covered in soot, and carrying several large suitcases. "Guess what?", he mutters to Alan, "I burned the house down too". He moves into Charlie's room and hilarity ensues.
STORYLINE CONTINUITY: Jake's character is threatening to become stale, but his scenes and dialogue with Eldon (the son of Alan's ex-girlfriend's ex-husband) are some of the best writing done on the show.
CHARACTER REVENGE: Rose returns from Paris, but leaves Charlie to fend for himself in Europe. (Now here is where we'll discover just how angry you really are with him): The character either sends post cards detailing his outrageous exploits, or alternatively, you could have him rot in a Turkish prison.

3. Important safety tip (so as to avoid humiliation): The "Let's Go Out And Go Potty" song should only be sung in the confines of the big girl sleigh bed or the master bath shower. (This morning, as I stood on the back patio waiting for Little Lord Fauntleroy to make his deposit, I sung the following, using the jingle from the movie theaters that says "Let's All Go To The Lobby":

Let's go outside to go potty
Let's go outside to go potty
Let's go outside to go paaaaa-teeee
So you won't pee the drapes.

Charming, no? That's what the gas company meter reader thought as he came around the side of the house, I'm sure.

AT LAST...A FEARLESS LEADER

My mom can't come to the blog right now. I've decided to limit her exposure to the world in an effort to get her head out of her heiney and her feet back down to the ground. She's been spinning out of control these last few weeks, so I decided to step in to restore a little order around here.

(Besides, when the alarm clock went off at o'dark hundred this morning, she rolled over in the big girl sleigh bed and said "Stewey, Mommie Dearest needs you to step in to restore a little order around here.")

So I was happy to oblige.

(Before we begin, however, I feel the need to clarify something that my stupid mo-ther mentioned about me wanting to go to Monte Carlo for Spring Break. I didn't say that I wanted to go to the COUNTRY Monte Carlo. I said that I wanted to go to the CASINO Monte Carlo for my Spring Break. I'm a rated player there, and the folks on the concierge level know that I prefer to breakfast in bed with the Times and a nice tea and toast tray at 10am. They also know that I like to have three fresh white towels laid out for me in my pool cabana, and that they better not even THINK of serving me lukewarm champagne without an apology and bucket of ice standing by at the ready. So before you get the idea that I will be one of the millions of idiots descending on the Florida beaches, I ask you to consider my particular history.)

Life here at Chez Spinster (which shall henceforth be known as Chez Stewey) is going to be conducted according to three very basic principles:

1. A clean and tidy house is a happy house.

2. A clean and tidy Mommie is a happy Mommie.

3. The only way for the day to function properly is to do what Stewey tells you to do exactly when he tells you to do it.

So in that spirit, I think that the Mommie part of the equation is in the master bath, scrubbing the tiles (and then herself) in preparation for the afternoon's activities. These will involve some napping (on my part), some tea and cookies at 4pm (again, on my part), and some quiet reflection as to how we might make this a more suitable environment for someone of my particular intellect and ability.

I'm thinking that a serious culling of all of the bad TeeVee shows will be order, as will a thorough understanding of what constitutes proper reading material. Stitching, of course, will be left alone, since I think the old lady is rather on track in that per-view.

Sometime around 7pm, you can expect to find us, properly attired and bathed (me in my silk smoking jacket and Mommie in her freshly pressed shirtwaist dress and pumps), sitting in the Happy Chair with a lovely mineral water to the left, something stimulating on the TeeVee to the front, and the stitchy things to the right. We might even forego the TeeVee to engage ourselves in some serious conversation about important events of the day, and I think we might also think about a little classical music for background.

Desperate times call for desperate measures, my friends. And, fortunately for my Mommie's sake, I am here to take control of this little goat rodeo. No more messy anythings. No more stomping about in eighteen year old sweatpants and broken down house slippers. No more ranting at the sky or at the neighbors or at the TeeVee over stuff that any normal person would know to ignore.

We're going to be genteel and dignified and productive and calm around here if I have to enlist the aid of an army to do it.

Wish me luck. As I'm sure you can imagine, this is going to be interesting.

With love from your pal,
Stewey

AND.....WE'RE BACK

Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, for putting up with me and my rants. I'm not sure when it happened exactly, but my threshold for bulls*** seems to be getting lower and lower as I get older and older. I finally came up with what really bothered me so much about The Small Airplane Incident of 2011:

All this time I've been flailing about, griping over the lack of common courtesy we seem to be experiencing in these here parts. It's not just the fact that our political and social rhetoric gets so nasty...it's that everybody seem to be living in these tiny little bubbles that extend just as far as the screen on their tiny little smart phones.

I kept telling Aunt Chrissy that the problem we're having getting along with everybody is that people are so glued to what technology is directly in front of their eyeballs, that they seem to forget that there is a real live breathing human being standing four feet beyond the stupid technology they're glued to.

But that's not it.

I mean, come on. How can somebody who lives her life on a blog have any integrity at all whilst bitching about the Internet?

I think what's got me in sixes and sevens is the fact that it seems like (more and more), people are making decisions for me that dramatically impact MY life, yet there is no regard for the fact that it might ultimately do so.

I'm not just talking about the idiot in the plane. I'm talking about the idiot on his cell phone, with ciggie butt in hand, wife in the passenger seat on HER cell phone, weaving down Main Street yesterday as Aunt Chrissy and I nervously followed behind. Why is it that HIS life and HIS conversation were more important than MY life or that of MY little sister? Shouldn't I get to make that decision for myself? Shouldn't I get to decide when I want to take risks or act dangerously or push the limits of what the human person can achieve?

Why is HIS conversation and total lack of attention OK? When I drive my car, I do so with the knowledge that there is an implicit agreement that I won't try to kill anybody in the process and that I'll pay attention, keep it on the road, and not endanger me, my passengers, innocent pedestrians, or anybody else that happens to be doing the very same thing at the moment. Can't I get that same commitment from my fellow drivers....at least?

That guy in the plane made a decision that his fun was more important than the lives of the people below him. And that's not OK with me anymore. If all of the people had climbed on board the plane with him and said "Let's go, dude!", then so be it. But we didn't. We just stood there in our driveways wondering how the hell you control and/or avoid something larger than a Volkswagen careening around up in the sky.

To summarize....I think it sucks that we've gone beyond forgetting please and thank you and that we're now stuck with "I'm going to do whatever I damn well please and there's not one thing you or your little dog can do about it."

(End of pondering.)

One of the things I love about Aunt Chrissy is that she continually surprises me with fabulous gifts. I mean, come on. Who wouldn't love a little sister who calls you up and giggles that she "did something bad today" but that "once it gets here you're going to love it"? Here's the latest little surprise that she gave me (and she says that it's "just because"):
I've loved all things Liberty Hill from the moment I laid eyes on them, so this will be a lovely addition to my little collection. Isn't it swell?

Despite all evidence to the contrary, I have done a little stitching (while catching up on what's happening in Charlie World):

Spring Quakers

Rosewood Manor

Rainforest Crunch

Needle Delights Originals

(my own colorway)

And finally, Stewey wanted you to know that all of this navel gazing, hard thinking, and general lunatic ranting has left him exhausted. Here he is working on his tan for his upcoming Spring Break. (He's asked to go to Monte Carlo this year, but methinks he's more likely to go to the backyard instead.)

That'll do it for a Tuesday. I hope that you are off to a fabulous start to the week and that you find a really special way to celebrate "International Women's Day". (I just saw that on my little Peanuts calender and realized that I forgot to get my cards in the mail. Drat.

THE MONDAY RAVINGS OF ONE VERY PEEVED LUNATIC SPINSTER

*****WARNING*****: The following post contains a level of profanity heretofore not seen on this here blog. This post has NOT been edited for children and/or people who are offended by the use of some pretty salty language. If this type of thing offends you in ANY way, please do not read further, but return to our regularly scheduled programming once I've gotten this out of my system and my blood pressure has returned to normal. I repeat: Don't go any further if you don't like bad words. There are a lot of them to come and I am not going to apologize for them tomorrow.

*****************************

Dear Dickhead.

Yes, I mean you. You were the idiot who decided to climb behind the wheel of a small plane last night and then fly it over Mishawaka (specifically, our neighborhoods), to terrorize and generally scare the living beJesus out of the hundreds of people standing in their driveways wondering when they would get to experience death by plane. And not death by flying IN a plane, but rather death by a fiery crash OF a plane flown by some jackass who thought that joyriding at night over a city would be fun.

If and when they find you, please know that I will be standing in the courtroom directly behind you, hoping that you will wake the F up and decide that you will never ever do something like that again.

Was it fun for you up there swooping around in the sky? Did you laugh as you heard us screaming that you must have been having some type of medical problem or that you must have lost an engine or something? Was it a thrill to come that close to the power lines on either side of Day Road?

What about the hospital that was less than a block away from you and your stupidity? Did you wonder how many people would have died had you crashed that plane into the side of it? What about all of the people sitting in the waiting rooms or the Emergency Room wondering if their loved one would get better, or survive that surgery, or would remember them after their stroke?

Hospitals no big deal for you? How about the eleven churches that were within yards of where you were? And how about the hundreds (if not thousands of people who were sitting in those churches attending Sunday evening services?)

Did you know that Main Street and Grape Road are the most heavily concentrated areas of retail and restaurants in the entire northern half of the state of Indiana, and that your timing was just right to take out thousands of people as they left work/dinner/errands/shopping/or the grocery store for the evening?

OK. So maybe that doesn't get you. How about neighborhoods? You know, neighborhoods where people live their lives and raise their families and eat their food and watch their TeeVees and pay their taxes and dream their dreams and love their loved ones? You picked a pretty good spot if you wanted to crash into a neighborhood. I mean, after all, you had Winding Brook, Savannah Pass, and The Forest all right there to choose from. Did you wave to us as you careened over our rooftops? Was it funny? Did it give you some twisted thrill?

You think you got away with it, you son of a bitch. You think that you swooped and flew and killed the engine and then buzzed the rooftops for forty-five minutes and then just straightened your wings and flew off into the dark night toward Michigan.

But we'll find you. Somebody saw your tail number. And somebody else will be able to give a pretty good description of your plane to the people who are looking for you. And they will. I promise you that. Because I spent MY morning making sure of it. I spent MY morning calling every single police agency and government department that I could find so that when they knock on your door they will know that there is a citizenry behind them that wants to see you prosecuted and then punished to within an inch of your miserable stupid little life.

Yeah, I know. I'm nobody, and I probably looked and sounded pretty silly when I talked to the 9-1-1 dispatcher telling her what was going on. I might even have sounded a little bit nuts when I called the Department of Homeland Security to tell them what had happened, or when I wondered aloud how this area would have reacted to (God forbid) a plane flying into the Golden Dome over there at Notre Dame.

But you know what? I don't care. What I care about is that you thought you would act the fool last night and take not just YOUR life into your hands, but the lives of thousands of people below you. And for that I'm willing to look like the world's biggest jackass.

They'll find you. I know they will. In the meantime, you can go straight to Hell and burn there for being a stupid selfish prick.

**************************************

Dear local media:

The reason we will always be a backwater hayseed nothing of a place is because you think that Twitter is a good way to gather news. Just so you know....not everybody in your viewing audience is in the 18-24 year old demographic. Given the fact that this plane few DIRECTLY OVER YOUR BRAND NEW STATE OF THE ART MULTI-MILLION DOLLAR TELEVISION STUDIO, I would think that you would have thought to mention it on the 11 o'clock news. A simple "This happened, but we're all OK now" would have sufficed. Soooo, until you can get your heads out of your twelve year old asses and get off the damn internet, I'm going to assume that I would be better off watching CNN and reading The New York Times.

***************************************

That concludes our rant for today. Thank you for allowing me to vent all of that out. Needless to say, standing outside at 7:30 at night watching an airplane swoop over you is rather unsettling, and I don't ever want to have that feeling again. I was terrified, as were all of the neighbors gathered in the street over at Aunt Chrissy's house (which is where Stewey and I happened to be for a Sunday evening visit). I am beyond grateful that the whole thing ended without a bang or a whimper, but I'm a little weary of the fact that one selfish bastard can really screw it all up for the rest of us.

I'll be back to normal tomorrow, I promise. In the meantime, I hope YOUR Sunday night was a LOT more peaceful than ours was!

WE FIXED THAT LITTLE PROBLEM NOW, DIDN'T WE?

My mom still can't come to the blog right now. Today she's actually moved into the bedroom closet to contemplate sorting the laundry.

We're making progress.

Last night at about 11 o'clock, I discovered the perfect antidote to the whole "We watch bad TeeVee until our eyeballs hurt" problem here at Chez Spinster:

Just as I was starting to pray for death (or a cable outage), I discovered the "On Demand" feature of the flipper thingie and pressed it as though my life depended upon it.

Trust me. It did.

So Mo-ther sat with rapt attention for a full 120 minutes while we screened "Emma", starring Miss Paltrow Her Very Self. At the conclusion of the film, Mom turned to me and said "You know, Stewey, I always thought I would look good in the dresses that they wore back then, but now I see that I was totally wrong."

(She has upper arm issues, and, to my knowledge, they have not seen the light of day since circa 1987.)

So no more Charlie Sheen for a little while. Today I've queued up all of the Jane Austen I can find, and I'm expecting that I'll finally get a little peace and quiet around here once the old lady nods off in the Happy Chair with an orange pop and a threaded needle in her hand.

(What can I say? She just doesn't seem to tolerate those sedatives like she used to.

(Guess it's time to call my apothecary for an updated dosage.)

I hope that you have a simply splendid weekend, and that you get to do whatever it is that you want to do.

With love from your pal,

Stewey

NOW SHE'S INSISTING THAT I CALL HER THE FUTURE MRS. SHEEN

My mom can't come to the blog right now. She's glued to the TeeVee, flipping through all umpteen hundred channels watching the "All Charlie, All The Time" coverage. I personally think we've entered CrazyTowne when we have news headlines like "Charlie Sheen and Mohmar Ghadafi....Are They Secretly Trying To Overtake The World?", but that's just me.

Life with Spinster has been rather nuts lately. We seem to have fallen into a routine of writing lists about Spring cleaning, purchasing products for Spring cleaning, reading how-to's about Spring cleaning, and then accomplishing a lot of napping. I've decided that there's no point in getting upset about all of it, but if things don't straighten out soon I'm moving in with my Aunt Chrissy.

On the stitching front, Mo-ther has completed another row of outlined boxes on Rainforest Crunch:
I'm rather partial to this one myself, since it seems to incorporate many of the colors on my personal color wheel. (My colorist, Sheila, thinks that the olive green color is particularly fetching when worn with my signature orange scarf, so I might have to snag this one for my fort.) I'm a little surprised that the old lady hasn't thrown herself into a nervous breakdown over this by now, but she seems perfectly happy to pull a skein of thread and just go for it without care or concern as to what's going to butt up against it or constitute the stitches inside of it. Could it be that we've turned some kind of stitchy corner?

Today's agenda includes a mani/pedi with Miss Nekka at 3:30, so I suppose I had better get started with my twa-lette. I like to look nice for the girls over there at "the spa" (which is what I call the v-e-t to get over any unnecessary anxiety), so methinks it's time for a little shave and a spritz.

Don't worry about Mommie Dearest. She'll burn out on the whole "I just want to fix him, and feed him, and take care of him, and become Martin Sheen's favorite daughter-in-law" thing. I just hope it happens soon, or we're going to have to call Comcast for a new channel flipper thingie. (This one is getting worn out with all of the flipping back and forth between stations.)

Happy Thursday, my friends! I hope that wherever you are is exactly where you want to be!

With love from your pal,
Stewey

DEAR STITCHY FRIENDS

When I plant myself in the chair to write this silly blog I do so without an agenda or thought or care in the world (as is evidenced by the ridiculous rambling that usually takes place here.) Every now and then I journal something vaguely related to stitching, and, if I'm really lucky, I'm able to take a digital photograph that doesn't make you want to gouge your eyes out because of its lack of proper lighting, focus, and/or composition.

This blog has always been a total escape for me. I get to let it all fly without worry that y'all will find out what a boob I really am and that you will continue to let me play in your sandbox. I would love to tell you that every single episode of my life has unfolded as I've related it to you, but all I can say is "There might be a little bit of embellishment or exaggeration here and there."

The last several days I've been thinking a lot about perception and legacy and contribution, and it occurs to me that if I read this blog I would think that it was written by a self-indulgent, air-headed, tunnel-visioned spoiled woman who hasn't a clue as to what's going on in the world. There's no mention of the troubles that are hitting this globe left and right, and subjects that are so eloquently talked about on other sites are normally left unsaid here.

I can't come close to the lovely tributes that have been posted out there in Stitchy Blogville about the loss of Judy Harper and Lisa Roswell, but I can try to echo the sentiment of sympathy for the families that are left to mourn their passing.

When our stitchy world loses someone, whether it's a designer, teacher, friend, mom, dad, sister, brother, son, daughter, or fellow stitching pal because of illness or accident or natural disaster or another tragic circumstance, this thing of ours is changed forever. I didn't know Judy or Lisa personally, but I knew and loved their work and I mourn their loss with others that also might never have known them. I tried to articulate this to Aunt Chrissy yesterday as we talked about the sadness that the families must feel today, but all I could come up with was some idiotic rambling about the profound impact that stitching has on thousands of people who might never meet. We stitch and blog and read and laugh and talk and sometimes never have the opportunity to tell someone how much of a difference they've made in our lives.

I suppose that all of this is the result of my continual astonishment by the connection that I feel to other stitchers out there who either write to me or laugh at me or encourage me or challenge me to clean up my act. I've never laid eyes on you, but somehow feel that we've known each other for a million years and that if you walked in my front door I'd know how you take your coffee. Is it strange that I stalk and follow your lives and feel like a mother hen clucking over her brood?

So today I'm thinking about the families of Judy and Lisa and I'm hoping that they know how many of us are sad for them and are sending our prayers and thoughts their way. Sometimes it's nice to know that your loved one mattered in ways that you never could have imagined, and that they will be missed by people you've never met.

LET'S FILE THIS UNDER THE "SEEMED LIKE A GOOD IDEA AT THE TIME" CATEGORY, SHALL WE?

Aunt Chrissy needed me to run a quick errand over to her homestead this morning (a full 7/10th of a mile away), so I popped myself into Dottie Van Buskirk and away I went...pajamas and all. When I opened the door to her kitchen, my little baby puppy tot nephew, Bosco was there to greet me with his wiggly little heiney and his big brown eyes, and, being the sap and tender hearted fool that I am, I bundled him into the car for a Day At Aunt CJ's.

(You'll note that I called Aunt Chrissy for proper permission and made sure that the little guy had his Starbucks Visa card in his little wallet before taking off. On went the harness (for safety in the car seat, don't you know), out went the two of us for a quick bit of adventure.

We made our usual stops...the McDonald's drive through for a Happy Meal (Bosco gets a bite of cheeseburger the approximate size of my thumb nail), and then on to Starbucks for our usual...a Venti latte with and extra shot, low foam, and one packet of Splenda, if you please.

I used to go over to Aunt Chrissy's every Wednesday to get the little guy, and he and I would make this little trip as a means to a) bond together as only nephew and auntie can, and b) to give me an hour or so away from you-know-who. We enjoyed this immensely, but one day when we were all in the car together, Bosco started to go completely batshit crazy when we passed the little shopping plaza that houses the Starbucks, so that was the end of that. After a tearful confession that I had corrupted the little guy with cheeseburgers and caffeine, I was given a stern lecture by my sister about weight control and the fact that little Mr. Bosco had "weight issues" and needed to slim down.

What can I say? I just thought that both he and I were pleasantly portly together and that this would be a source of closeness that would carry us through to the college years. (Sigh.)

(You will note, however, that Bosco is, in fact, not at all portly and I don't think a little cheeseburger ever hurt anybody):

How does he do it? Every year, he seems to magically lose his "winter weight" just in time for swimsuit season:

So this brings me to today, when I seem to have lost my damn mind and decided that the boys needed some time together and that I just wanted to be able to come into the 'puter room to blog and play around without having to stop every ten minutes to change a sentence that doesn't pass the Little Lord Fauntleroy School of Proper Grammar and Writing test. (In other words...I figured that Bosco could serve as a little occupational distraction for the day and that I might get some peace and freakin' quiet.)

So far we've managed to knock over two (TWO!) potted plants, we've peed on the ottoman (Stewey, of course), we've pooped in the dining room (that would be Bosco), there has been growling and snarling and snapping and biting (both of them), and a whole lot of ("He played with my toy!" "He won't let me stand in front of the window!" "He's taking up all of the sun!" "Mo-ther. What's HE doing here?!"

I'm ready to head for the medicine cabinet and call it a day.

I made some pretty good progress on Rainforest Crunch last night and am, quite frankly, completely amazed that the colors are looking this cool. Believe me when I tell you that I didn't agonize over the selection or think about color theory or wonder if this would go with that. I just opened up Ye' Old Thread Drawers up in the studio and pulled things that caught my eye. (Did I mention that it was a dark and dreary day and that I apparently was looking for "cheery?").

(Oh, and thanks for pointing out my big fat Freudian....the fiber is indeed Silk & IVORY and NOT Silk & Ovary. Silly, silly spinster.)

Here's hoping that your Tuesday is a LOT quieter than mine! Woo Hoo!

FORTY THREE ***EDITED TO ADD MY COLOR CONVERSION***

OK. So. I couldn't resist. This is Rainforest Crunch by Needle Delights Originals done in my own colors. Why have forty-two open projects when you can have forty-three?


***Oh, y'all were so kind to ask for my conversion. (Are you sure you want to trust me?!). The chart called for all Caron Watercolours. I switched to: Caron Wildflowers (WF), Vineyard Silk (VS, and Silk & Ovory (SI):

CALLED FOR ------> MY CONVERSION
Sandstone to WF Ambrosia
Antique Brass to VS Zephyr
Cedar to WF Grape
Winter Wheat to VS Lavender
Kelp to WF Cranberry
Rainforest to SI Pomegranate
Moss to WF Nefertiti
Redwood to SI Frog Legs
Mahogany to VS Wisteria
Green Tea to WF Sheherezade
Gingersnap to SI Apricot
Prairie Grass to WF Marigold
Blondie to VS Citron

FORTY TWO

I have done everything in my known power today to procrastinate cleaning the house. (Kell soo preese). So far I've managed to flip through all of my Ina cookbooks looking for the perfect recipe for Sunday dinner, I've given myself TWO pedicures (we don't want to talk about the first one), I've taken Stewey out for about a dozen romps in the snow (he's starting to catch on and is now refusing to budge from the perch until I get this place cleaned up), and I've gawped at, and lusted for, and sighed heavily over all of the sheer loveliness that is you....my stitchy universe.

Perhaps the thing that accomplished the MOST procrastinating, however, was the exercise in futility called "Let's go up to the studio to count how many works-in-progress we have".

Thus, the title of the post.

I won't bore you with craptastic photos, but will instead reveal the LIST:

Sampler Game Board

Wildflowers in Sage and Stripes

Wandering

Indiana Summer

Sanctuary

Mosaic Tiles

Rainbow Birds

Winter Banner

This Heart's For You

Liberty Pin Cushion

Happy Easter, Happy Spring

Reflecting Pools

Cut Glass Dishes

Blooming with Inspiration

Victorian Ribbons

Fascination

Top of the Hill

Rainforest Crunch

Le Printemps

Springtime Bouquet

little bright geometric

big red sunflower

Spring Training

The Big Zipper

Cooper Oaks floral

Into The Night

Christmas Eve

4 Santa Patch Sampler

PS annual Santas

Curly Hat Santa

It's Cold Outside

LHN ornaments

Little Bunny in the Neighborhood

Maggie funky flowers

Black Cats and Flying Bats

Box of Ornaments

Maggie geometric

Snowflake Serenade

Corsage

Stars For The New Millennium

Red Hot Peppers

Spring Quakers

Well, I guess the good news is that I am an equal opportunity offender. There's a little bit of everything in there....cross stitch, counted canvas work, and painted canvas. The only things missing are crewel, hardanger, and wool applique, but the day is still young. (This means that God only knows what else I can get my fat little fingers into today.)

Thank you for all of your concern about the coyotes. I found the perfect solution for dealing with them last night at about 2am when the howling started. With Stewey tucked safely in the big girl sleigh bed (snoring away, I might add), I went to the back patio door, opened it up, and shouted at the top of my lungs: "Night night, coyotes! Night NIGHT!"

That shut 'em up.

The weekend is upon us, and I am looking forward to a few hours with Dr. Zhivago and the entire Godfather trilogy. What's on your agenda?

MISH MASH

PROGRESS ON SPRING QUAKERS:

THOUGHTS ON COYOTES FROM YOU, MY BELOVED LISTENERS:
Y'all go, with your bad selves. Yes, indeedie, I am taking every precaution, and I do so appreciate the story about a woman mauled to death. Makes me want to move. To Pluto.

RECENT CONVERSATION BETWEEN ME AND AUNT CHRISSY:
AC: Are you sure what you heard were coyotes? The guys here in the office said that a herd of deer also make noises and grunt and bark and stuff when they're mating, so maybe you heard a herd of deer?
SS: No, they were coyotes. I know this because they said "We are coyotes and are going to maul your face off if you ever come outside in the dark time."
AC: Tee hee hee hee hee.

SPEAKING OF AUNT CHRISSY (WHAT SHE SAID ON THE DRIVE HOME FROM THE TARGETS AFTER WE BOTH HAD TO WALK AROUND THE IDIOT WOMAN WITH THE CELLPHONE STANDING IN THE GD MIDDLE OF THE AISLE):
"Next time I'm someplace and there's an idiot talking on their cell phone in the middle of things and they are completely oblivious to everyone and everything around them, I am going to walk right up and start looking around their feet. When they ask me what I'm doing, I'm going to say "I'm looking for the cooler with the kidney in it. Obviously, you are somebody very important and you have somebody's organ that is en route to be transplanted, so you're using your cell phone to make sure that you've got the directions right and to tell them that you're on your way with the kidney in the cooler." That'll get 'em to shut the eff up already."

WHY I DON'T TALK ON A CELL PHONE (ANYTIME, ANYWHERE):
Well, firstly, I am convinced that if I do, every single nun I had in elementary school will show up with a ruler and will smack me in the forehead for not being mannerly. And two, I have absolutely nobody to talk to and absolutely nothing to say.

AND BESIDES: Oprah Winfrey doesn't have a cell phone and she's Oprah Winfrey! If Oprah Winfrey doesn't have a cell phone, then I don't need to have one either.

WHAT STEWEY SAID AFTER WATCHING HIS IDOL HUGH HEFFNER (AND FIANCEE) ON THE PIERS MORGAN SHOW LAST NIGHT:
"Mo-ther, I really like Mr. Heffner and want you to know that one day I will realize my dream of turning this filthy sty into a proper Playboy Mansion, but his girlfriend is kind of an idiot."

WHAT MO-THER SAID AFTER SEEING THAT HUGH HEFFNER HAS A SON THAT WOULD PROBABLY BE A MORE SUITABLE MATCH FOR HIS FATHER'S GIRLFRIEND:
"I really like this Piers Morgan fellow."

MORE WEIRD SCIENCE ****EDITED****

I promise...there will be stitchy stuff on this here blog one of these days, but in the meantime:

Last night Stewey and I hit the hay at about 1am. (What can I say? I was enthralled with Piers Morgan's chat with Colin Firth, and Lord knows I can love me some Colin Firth just before bedtime.)

Oh, wait.

That didn't sound quite right.

Let's try again, shall we?

I have long admired Colin Firth and his work, so when I had the opportunity to view an interview that he gave recently on the Piers Morgan show, I watched with rapt attention. Then I went to bed.

That's better.

Anywhoose....not more than an hour after I had wished Stewey good puppy dreams, a PACK (and I mean PACK) of coyotes started howling and barking and growling right outside my bedroom window.

You know the expression "my blood ran cold"? Well, for the first time in my life I had that experience, and had it not been for the fact that there was a whole wall and a window and a pair of Target clearance rack drapes in between me and the PACK of coyotes, I'm pretty sure I would have had to discard my mattress today. I. Was. Terrified.

Given my last post, I would imagine that all of your comments will be "What did Stewey, the fierce and beastly hunter do?".

Let me save you the typing.

Stewey, the fierce and beastly hunter didn't move an inch and continued snoring away under the blankets as though absolutely nothing was happening. As a matter of fact, I'm pretty sure that had I, in fact, had the accident that would have caused me to have to discard my mattress, he wouldn't have noticed and would probably have gone right on sleeping through the dismantling of the big girl sleigh bed right there in the middle of the bedroom its very self.

This morning when I opened the living room drapes, I noticed all kinds of crazy hell out there in the snow that had previously covered the back yard and patio with nary a mark. Paw prints, fur, what I can only presume to be the blood of some poor unsuspecting chicken that was sacrificed in some sort of satanic ritual right out there in my very own back freakin yard, which, by the way, just happens to be right out there in an adjacent position to my very own back freakin bedroom.

I hate nature.


****I realize that y'all might think that I would want something to be "done" to these coyotes or that I am not sympathetic to their plight. So let's get a few things straight about that....firstly, I would NEVER want to hurt any living creature (except, possibly, for the idiot woman on the cell phone in the smack gd middle of the aisle at the Targets the other night), and secondly, I know that these poor creatures have to live somewhere new and exciting because we're all idiots and are not taking care of our planet, blah blah blah....BUT I LIVE IN INDY-FREAKIN-ANNA for cryin' out loud and NOT the Austrailian Freakin Outback or the American Freakin Wild West! I could have been the wife on Green Acres! I don't like things that crawl, hop, slither, bark, gallop, run, howl, mate, and/or live outside of the confines of a nicely appointed condo that comes fully equipped with Crate and Barrel dishes, 300 thread count sheets and a nine pound Jack Russell terrier who watches Charlie Rose while wearing a silk smoking jacket.

WEIRD SCIENCE

I'm bobcumdistulated today for some reason and can't seem to put two consecutive thoughts together. Is it the weather? (Thank you, by the way, Mike Hoffman, for NOT throwing a hysterical fit this time....but do you think you could have fixed that weather report to say "You're going to get snow" instead of "It's going to be 45 and sunny all week"?!)

So I suppose this means I have to go outside to shovel a place for Little Lord Fauntleroy to....well...you know.

Speaking of which...

A few weekends ago I watched the entire season of Downton Abbey that I had taped on the dvr thingie. I enjoyed it immensely, but we had an "episode" here at Chez Spinster that caused me to call Aunt Chrissy and whisper into the phone that something very very strange was going on with my little dog.

In one of the scenes, the residents prepare for a hunt (you know...when the Turkish guy comes for a visit), and everybody gathers on horseback and then the hunt master (or whatever he's called), blows the horn to begin the hunt.

Now right up until this time, Stewey was sound asleep and snoring away on the ottoman, and if memory serves, he was nestled under a blanket and had nary a nose hair showing.

The minute that horn sounded, he JUMPED off of the ottoman and stood in the dead center of the room at full attention with his tail straight out and his little front paw hitched up like he was ready to take off.

It scared the absolute BeJesus outta' me.

When I called Aunt Chrissy, I figured she would say something like "Oh my God! There's somebody trying to break into your dining room window and Stewey is protecting you!" or "Quick! Get out of the house now! There's something bad that is about to happen and Stewey is alerting you!", but instead all she did was sigh heavily and mutter a big fat "DUH!".

(Apparently I am the only person on the planet who doesn't know that Jack Russell terriers were bred to be hunting companions, and that the horn was their signal to come to attention.)

(And, since you all know Stewey....you can imagine that the only hunt he would ever have been involved in would have been for a proper cravat to wear with his little silk smoking jacket and that if, in fact, he were to participate in an actual hunt it would be atop a horse and properly attired in some sort of fetching getup.)

So that's life here today. I am watching him out of the corner of my eye to see what crazypants thing he'll do next and to procrastinate pulling on the boots to shovel snow.

How's your Tuesday going?

OH, BEAUTY!

My brain clicked from canvas work to cross stitch sometime on Friday afternoon. This seems to happen every year at about this time. Strange, huh? Never fear, though. The canvas work and needlepoint pieces that I've been stitching are still safe and sound on the dining room table, so they can come out to play in a moment's notice.

This is Rosewood Manor's Spring Quaker. Isn't she lovely? The linen is a Picture This Plus color called Valor, and in real life it is quite pretty. Very green, but softly so.

Cold, dreary, and miserable day here in Hoosierville. Stewey is curled up on his perch, and I'm curled up in the Happy Chair with laundry sploshing away and a Jeffrey Dean Morgan movie on the TeeVee.

How's your Monday going?

FINALLY ****EDITED****

From the very first day I've had this here blog, I have fretted over the best way to communicate with y'all on a one-on-one basis when you ask me a question. So if you've asked me a question via a comment and I haven't responded to you, please don't be offended...I am just not bright enough to figure out how to reply to you.

So today I came up with the brilliant idea of establishing an email account for all things stitchy related! Woo Hoo for me! (It only took an hour and a half, but hey, the fact that I figured it out is progress for me.)

If you'd like, please add me to your Palm Pilot or address book or whatever it is that you kids are using these days. I promise to try to remember to check the damn thing every now and then, and we can tawk...

spinsterstitcher@aol.com

AAAACCCCKKKK!

It seems that I forgot to mention that Master Stewey will be receiving mail at the above address also, so if you have correspondence for him, please feel free to write to him there. (Damn dog).

MRS. FUTZING. PAGING MRS. BEATRICE FUTZING.

I can't seem to leave well enough alone today. Is it the weather? Could it be a harbinger of Spring? Do I have ants in my pants?

Whatever it is...I'm driving myself (and my little dog too) completely nuts.

It all started with this color palette that I've had in my head for the last six months. I have visions of hot pink, deep orange, lemony yellow, Kermit the Frog green, and chocolate brown dancing about in my tiny little brain. Everywhere I look...BAM! I see that combination of colors taunting me.

Aunt Chrissy gifted me with Ms. Laura J. Perin's Red Hot Peppers chart for Christmas, so as I was rummaging around in the studio last night I thought to myself "Why not pull that wack-a-do color palette out and see what happens?" So I came up with this:
Not too many changes, really. The browns and yellows were already there, so all I needed to do was switch out the Watercolours and stick in a little orange and pink and voila! I think I'm on the right track.

So then I pulled out my big box 'o threads that Ms. Ruth Schmuff pulled for me for Tony Minieri's Stars for the New Millennium and tweaked a few and came up with this: Like a boob, I had asked Miss Ruth to pull colors based on a Waterlilies color called Marigold. Lovely, really, but after I looked at the skein that I have here, I realized that there's not one single speck of pink and/or chocolate brown to be had anywhere. So I yanked out a Wildflowers Potpourri instead, and KABLOOEY! I think I got exactly what I'm looking for...but minus the chocolate.

(What IS it with me and chocolate brown? You know the one I'm talking about...DMC 3371. Rich, deep, dark yummy brown. Am I chocolate deficient in some way? Is it my body's way of telling me that it needs more cake? Should I run out and buy myself some fancy pants new shoes in that color? What the heck IS it??!!!!)

Stewey is convinced that all of this futzing is the result of my recent amplification in the amount of dietCoke that I've been pouring down my gullet, but I'm not so sure. I always seem to do this as the days get a little longer...I find myself reaching for a cold one more frequently than I do in the cold dark depths of winter time. He thinks that if I made a concerted effort to drink less dietCoke and play more outside sports with him I would look and feel much better. Damn dog.

(Note to self. No more Dr. Oz watching for Little Lord Fauntleroy anymore.)

So those are my issues for today...banging around the place like a 300-pound hummingbird without a clue as to what will come next. I guess you could call it crazy, but I'd rather think of it as just another fun day riding the roller coasters at Coni Island! Woo Hoo! (*) (**)

(*) If you lived in South Bend, Indiana in 1989 and went to a sports bar called Coaches and you walked in and asked the handsome bartender for a Coni Island, you got a drink comprised of one part Kahlua, one part Amaretto, and one part Baileys.

(**) What can I say? I was a total idiot back then.

OK. SO. HOW WAS YOUR VALENTINE'S DAY?

My mom can't come to the blog right now. She has thrown herself dramatically across the fainting couch while mumbling something about me no longer being her "Baby Dearest". I have no idea, really, what the heck this means, but I suspect that it has something to do with my Valentine's Day.

My girlfriend, Miss Carmen, always sends me a fabulous package full of wonderful things to remind me that she is my one true puppy love. This year was no exception, and as you can see from the photo above, I was spoiled with all kinds of lovely goodness. Isn't she swell?

Anywhoose, my stupid mo-ther has been moping about the house these last two days with a puss on, and I think it has to do with the fact the she hasn't had a Valentine since circa 1972. This would have been during her Athens, Tennessee years and I believe that Alan Carpenter was her kindergarten boyfriend. (I don't know this to be certain, but I gleaned as much when I read her journal from that year...something about him giving her a kiss in the lunch room and Mo-ther socking him on the arm in return.) (And she wonders why she's single?)

Then, just when I thought that the old lady would just give it a rest already, she whipped out the photograph of her high school boyfriend, and started to make kissy noises at it while wondering what color they would coordinate for the Prom.

She's nuts, I tell ya. Just nuts.

Valentine's Day doesn't normally send my mom into a tailspin, but based on the size of the salad that she hauled home from the Martin's last night, I'm guessing that this one was rougher than usual for her. I tried to give her love and affection, along with some sage dating advice, but all she wanted to do was sit in the Happy Chair and watch bad TeeVee. So I have to ask...what was I to do?

On the stitchy front, Mom did start Mr. Tony's Stars project, but she seems somehow confused by the color selection that had Aunt Ruth pull for her. She got a corner done and threw the canvas down while muttering something about it looking like appliances from the 1970's. (What the hell did she expect? You can't put Harvest Gold and Avocado Green and Chocolate Brown together and not reach for the macrame plant hanger.) She'll fix it though, since I heard her muttering to herself as she stepped into the bath that today would be the day that she would finally get her stitchy act together.

I've got a crazy little squirrel that keeps coming up to the back patio window to taunt me, so I suppose I better get out there and teach the little bugger who's in charge around here. I figure I'll lure him to me with the promise of some peanut butter toast and then we'll have "a talk".

Happy Tuesday!

With love from your pal,
Stewey

MWA

On behalf of the cast and crew here at Chez Spinster......

HAPPY VALENTINES DAY!

AND YOU THOUGHT I WAS EXAGGERATING

Nice Customer Service Lady: Thank you for calling Target Customer Service, may I help you?

Stupid Spinster: Um, yes, I need to speak to somebody in Customer Service.

Nice Customer Service Lady: This is Carrie. How may I help you?

Stupid Spinster: Hi, Carrie. This is (name deleted at the suggestion of Stupid Spinster's dog who pointed out that once you read this you will surely Google me to see if there is some kind of photograph of the stupidest woman on the planet), I need some help with a credit that hasn't been processed on my credit card yet.

Nice Customer Service Lady: Sure. I can help you with that. Do you have your receipt handy?

Stupid Spinster: Uh, no, I don't. I seem to have misplaced it. (She paws furiously through a basket of mail, bills, paperwork, and magazines that seems to have taken on a life of its own.) Can you just look it up without the receipt?

Nice Customer Service Lady: Sure. Let me get your name, address, and phone number.

Stupid Spinster: blah blah blah blah blah

Nice Customer Service Lady: OK. I see here that you returned a blah blah on .... and that we credited your account immediately.

Stupid Spinster: No you didn't.

Nice Customer Service Lady: ??? Um, yes, Ms. blah blah, I see here that we credited the full amount to your Visa card ending in blah blah.

Stupid Spinster: Well, that money hasn't shown up in my account yet and I am pri-tee darn miffed about it, sister. That's a looooong time for a few electronic blippity bleeps to make their way from your store there on Main Street the whole two and half blocks down to the bank right there on Main Street isn't it?

Nice Customer Service Lady: ??? (rolls her eyes at her fellow nice customer service associate). Ms. blah blah, did you, by any chance happen to call your bank? Perhaps it's on their end?

Stupid Spinster: OK, I'll give them a call.

Nice Banker Lady: Hi, this is Michele in Customer Service at blah blah bank. May I help you?

Stupid Spinster: Listen up, Michele. I want my money and I want it now.

Nice Banker Lady: ???!!! Um, ma'am? Can I help you with something?

(The entire story is recounted in a clippity tone by the Stupid Spinster and then she puts her hands on hips and starts tapping her toe...for emphasis.)

Nice Banker Lady: Ms...blah blah. I see here that the credit was issued by Target on such and such a day and that the full amount was immediately credited to your checking account as per the agreement on your Visa debit. Do you have access to your statement online? If so, you will see that the credit appears on such and such a date and does indeed show the full amount being credited.

Stupid Spinster: ........ (sounds of crickets chirping)

Nice Banker Lady: Ma'am? Is there anything else that I can help you with today?

Stupid Spinter: Uh, well, uh, I guess not. Thank you. You've been very helpful.

(As the Spinster hangs up the telephone, the little dog utters a sigh and heads for the drapes....)

Here's what I'm working on on the stitchy front...Winter Sky by Ms. Laura J. Her Very Self. As I commented on her blog, if the winter sky actually looked like this here in Hoosierville, we probably wouldn't wish for the Spring so much!

ONE OF THESE DAYS I'M PRETTY SURE THEY'RE GOING TO ASK ME TO GIVE THE DIPLOMA BACK

It's absolutely no secret whatsoever that I am about as bright as a bag of doorknobs. I don't say this as a means to get you to say "Oh no, Spinster Stitcher. You are so smart and funny and pretty and wonderful."...but rather as a simple statement of fact. I've never really been smart, actually, so rather than try to hide it and be ashamed of it, I figure I'll put it right out there in front so that the world will know not to expect too much of me.

Yes, it's true that I graduated from the University of Notre Dame (which I'm pretty sure doesn't say too much about THEIR brains in admitting me in the first darn place), but what's more important to me is the fact that I graduated from the Great Books Program, or as it's more commonly known, the Program of Liberal Studies/PLS at the University of Notre Dame.

I'm proud of this for two reasons, actually.

The first is that I was able to go to school with the idea that just getting an education was enough for my parents, and that if I wanted to study underwater basket weaving it would be fine as long as underwater basket weaving was what was going to make me happy. (See, Dad was actually a genius, since he figured that I wouldn't TAKE underwater basket weaving because I'd want to impress all of my high school buddies back in Lima by taking the most ridiculously hard classes that I could find...and he was dead on.) So I scoured the university and came up with this major that meant I would have my nose in a book and my fanny at a seminar table for the better part of four years. (I just never realized that faking it wouldn't be an option.)

I'm also proud of the fact that despite my idiocy, my manners and personality were such that my professors didn't ask me to leave the room or to declare another major. They let me stay in the ridiculously hard classes, and some of them didn't even bat an eyelash when it was all I could do to sit in a corner with a coloring book and some Crayons so as to not interrupt the fascinating and heated discussions about the ontological realization of one's self through the actualization of one's psyche as it relates to Homer.

So today I got the email that comes every year announcing the line up for the Summer Symposium. This is a week long event that gives PLS majors an opportunity to return to campus each summer and stretch their brains around a selected topic of discovery. Sadly, for me anyway, they've yet to come up with "An Exploration of the Effect of dietCoke and Specialty Fibers on the Mind of a Rather Unsophisticated Spinster Who Should Probably Stop Telling People That She is a Graduate of our Program". So until they do come to their senses and find a week in which I can go over to Notre Dame and sit and stitch, I guess I'm going to have to figure out if I can do....this:

ANNOUNCING THE THIRTEENTH ANNUAL
PLS/GP SUMMER SYMPOSIUM
JUNE 5-10, 2011

“THE HUMAN ODYSSEY”


This year’s annual PLS Alumni/ae Summer Symposium will be held from Sunday, June 5 to Friday, June 10. We took our cue from suggestions we received from last year’s participants that we include both Greek and contemporary writings in the next symposium. Accordingly, we have organized the readings under the theme of the human odyssey – a term that can refer both to a journey filled with adventures and to a process of development and change. The focus of this year’s symposium will be a week-long seminar on Homer’s Odyssey led by Professor Steve Fallon. Some of the other seminars return to the figure of Odysseus as he appears in later writings. There will be two sessions led by Professor Robert Goulding on Odysseus in classical and late-antique Latin poetry and one session led by Professor Krista Duttenhaver on the treatment of Odysseus in the writings of the twentieth-century philosophers Max Horkheimer and Theodor Adorno. In addition, Professor Bernd Goehring will lead two seminars on the human journey to God as St. Bonaventure understood it. Time and again, the human journey unfolds with a conscious looking backward. Professor Pierpaolo Polzonetti will lead two seminars on the representation of ancient Rome in eighteenth-century opera, specifically Handel’s Giulio Cesare. The journey also unfolds with very deliberate efforts to move forward. In his seminar, Professor Clark Power will juxtapose Platonic and evolutionary accounts of moral knowledge. Professor Tom Stapleford will lead two seminars on contemporary views of homo economicus. In their two sessions, Professors Felicitas Munzel and Matthew Dowd will venture once again into the fascinating encounter of quantum mechanics with consciousness. Professor Henry Weinfield will bring the symposium to a close with two seminars that return us full circle to the understanding of human life in some of the earliest myths of the West, in this case as we find them recorded in Hesiod’s poems, the Theogony and the Works and Days. As always, we promise a very rich week of stimulating conversation on great books and important ideas.







Stay tuned, kids! I've got a few days to ponder whether or not this stitcher of very little brain has it in her to accept a challenge....

GROUNDED

My mom can't come to the blog right now. I've revoked her computer privileges and sent her to her room to think about how she might get herself in line with the new order around here. You see, there's a new sheriff in town, and this particular sheriff isn't going to put up with the present state of the union much longer.



I give you Exhibit A:

See how nicely my toys are put away? See how they're all neatly contained in their basket? See how I've taken the time to carefully place them in a proper place for safekeeping so that when I decide to play with them again they'll all be in one place?



Now let's take a look at Exhibit B: Can you believe this mess?! Have you ever seen such a disgusting display of disregard for tidiness? What the heck is she thinking with this filthitude sprawled out all over the damn place?

Mom read that today is the Festival of the Broken Needles, so she decided to make a needle case. My Aunt Chrissy gave Mom a kit for Christmas, so at about 4 o'clock yesterday afternoon, the big fat fanny got planted in the chair and after a lot of cursing and computer YouTube viewing and guessing and futzing, Mom managed to make this colossal mess and put some parts of the needlebook together.

She has it in her head that hand applique is going to be her next "thing", but after inspecting the results, methinks she better stick with stitching. Either that, or she's going to have to find somebody to teach her how to do it properly, the way my Aunt Chrissy so patiently showed her how to put thread to needle and then needle to linen.

If you've never heard of the Festival of Broken Needles before, check out Miss Susan's blog. (I have to warn you, though. Once you've gone there your eyes will weep with yearning because of the complete brilliance that is Miss Susan and her work):http://plays-with-needles.blogspot.com/

As for me, I'm off to the perch for a little snooze in the sunshine while I've got a little peace and quiet around here. (Don't worry....I'll let the old lady out of her time out in time for her to clean up the mess and make a little something special for dinner.)

Have a Happy Tuesday!

With love from your pal,
Stewey

JUST A QUICKIE

This post is actually a little note to Sally, who is searching for a website for Sew Much Fun. (Sally, I got the biggest tee hee out of your comment about what you might have come up with when you Googled "sew much fun love insert"!) (Who knew we stitchy spinster types could be so darn racy?!)

Anywhoose....Sew Much Fun is the company name for the designer Randi Gelman. I purchased my chart and canvas at a needlepoint shop right about the same time that I purchased the chart and canvas for Ms. Lily Frog. (Sew Much Fun designs charts and canvases of fantastic dimensional animals and such.)

My search for Randi's name came up with the following site: http://cindysneedleart.com/. From what I can tell, this is a shop that does, in fact, carry Sew Much Fun's designs.

I hope this helps and that you have as much fun as I've had stitching her stuff! Woo Hoo!

AND A ONE AND A TWO... **EDITED**

**Hey, kids! Thanks for your nice comments that the Ultrasuede is fabulous on the Cirque de Fleur piece. I agree, but am afraid that I cannot take any credit for this idea whatsoever! All praise belongs to Ms. Orna Willis Her Very Self, the designer. I wouldn't want y'all to think that I had a decent thought in my head, after all. I have a reputation to uphold!**


Grandma Rich used to come visit with us every summer (to escape the Phoenix heat), and one of the things I remember most fondly was watching The Lawrence Welk Show with her. I'm pretty sure that we had red pop and then we tuned in to Marlin Perkins Wild Kingdom and then ultimately The Wonderful World of Disney. Remember all of that?

So last night as the clock struck midnight I had a "And a one and a two" kind of moment as I finished not one, but TWO pieces that I had been working on! (Can I get a big WOO HOO from the congregation, please?)

Here is Cirque de Fleur by Orna Willis:
Who knew that appliqueing Ultrasuede to a canvas could be so darn satisfying? (Oh, and for those of you who asked about this one....it was a cyber class that was offered by Miss Orna last year. What can I say? I'm a little behind schedule.)

And next up is Sew Much Fun's Love insert, which I think is supposed to go in the front of a purse or something. I'm going to make it into a little framed piece for Valentine's Day:

Ahhh, bliss. Three finishes for the year and two of them were WIP's. Now THAT'S a trend that I hope continues, especially since I made a list of every single WIP known to me in the whole entire Spinster Stitcher universe, and I'm thinking that it's time to tackle that puppy once again.

We're off to the weekend! Chicken wings and chip dip for everybody!

I'LL TAKE DO OVERS FOR A THOUSAND, ALEX

When Stewey and I went to bed on Tuesday night (after all of the Apocolypse Now! weather reports), I said to him..."Oh, Stewey dear, tomorrow will be a perfect snow day. Mommie is going to stay in her comfy jammies, brew some tea, finish some laundry, look at some pretty snow, make some delicious chili, bake some cheddar biscuits, watch some good movies, and stitch."

Instead, I was on the phone with Aunt Chrissy at 9pm bitching about how frustrated I was that the entire day was one big exercise in disappointment. It seemed like no matter what I did, it fell apart in my hands....the chili sucked, there wasn't one good movie on the TeeVee, I couldn't get a stitch into anything to save my life, and as for the rest of it...well...phooey on all of it.

I went to bed grumbling that I wanted a do over.

Today I awoke and decided that it would indeed be do over Thursday, so we're off and running with some laundry merrily sploshing away, some fresh jammies on the nightmare that has become my fat self, You've Got Mail on the TeeVee, and Cirque de Fleur in the Happy Chair:
Once I finish the border, it will be time to affix the Ultrasuede. I am so excited about this, but am more excited about the fact that the designer, Orna Willis, gives you total permission to evaluate your piece and think for yourself as to whether or not it's finished. Don't you just love that...when a designer says..."Look at your piece and see what you want to do next. If you don't like something, change it. If you want a different color, go for it. If you want to re-think something, do it." It makes me feel like they're right there beside me, patting me on the shoulder with a "You go, girl" that gives me confidence to proceed.

So MY Cirque de Fleur will be completed once the hot pink Ultrasuede is on there and then I will Happy Dance for all the world to see.

Your comments are always so wonderful and appreciated, but I did notice a theme of "Oh, poor little Stewey. Where will he GO?" So today I went outside and huffed and puffed and lugged and tugged, and came up with this:

The unusual shape is due to two factors, really. The first is that I lost steam before I could square the whole mess up, and the second is that Your Highness has asked for a separate area in which a bidet might be installed. Damn dog.

(The best part of my effort is the fact that immediately after I created this magnificent space, Stewey took one look at it and peed on the drapes instead.)

One of the things that I DO love about my house is the fact that I can show you photos of the front path filled with snow on a Wednesday and on a Thursday I can show you photos of the front path that look like this: No, there's no way that I could claim responsibility for all of that work. I have the boys at MAAC Property Services to thank. (It's good to live in a neighborhood that knows you're an incompetent and hires people to do everything outside for you.) So, bless you, dear young handsome men with snow shovels who came in the wee hours of the morning to do this for me. You just rock.

It seems that it's time for me to go now. Stewey has just bellowed into his little bullhorn that it is poopcicle harvesting time. Better go find the scooper and gloves and get to it or I'm going to have more than drapes to launder today. Cheers!

DEAR EARTH, I'M NOT KIDDIN' AROUND. LOVE, MOTHER NATURE

I guess when they said "We're going to have a blizzard" they meant it this time. Stewey and I awoke to nature's majesty and the forehead-smacking realization that "Ye Olde Snow Shovel That Was My Very First Purchase As A Real Adult Person With A Path That Would Need To Be Shoveled" is now buried under seven feet of snow out there in the back forty. (What can I say? Keeping the snow shovel on the back patio so that I could make a little path for you-know-who seemed like a good idea at the time.)

Speaking of....methinks he's got the right idea as to how one goes about enjoying a snow day:


He's been tucking his little nose into anything that's warm today, so you can imagine my surprise when I opened my eyes in the big girl sleigh bed and saw his little heiney sticking out from under the Target fleece blanket. Normally he sleeps sprawled in the exact middle of the bed, but apparently we're trying something new. All I know is that I will be SOLO for nap time today, with hopes that I might actually get a little shut eye.

(Oh, who am I kidding? This damn dog is impossible to sleep without. He's warm and soft and cuddly and sometimes he even smells nice. How the heck am I supposed to resist THAT?)

We're having interesting potty issues here at Chez Spinster, since no matter where we look there is a pile of snow that comes up to my boobs. This makes for a rather difficult treck outside to find an appropriate place for Little Lord Fauntleroy to leave a deposit. Just moments ago, my neighbors were witness to me standing in the middle of the nicely plowed driveway (in my pajamas, no less) saying "This is a good spot, Stewey. Just go here and Mommie will dispose of it later. No, I can't get you to the grass, Your Highness. You're just going to have to go here and fret about it later."

To which he replied...."You first".

Needless to say, I've positioned several potty pads in the master bathroom with hopes that he will use them whenever the need arises. Damn dog.

I know that the world is sick and freakin tired of all of this darn snow talk, but I thought I'd leave you with a few pics looking out the back and front doors of my little hovel. I just think it's so pretty to see, especially if you like this kind of thing:

(I have no earthly idea what the heck that smudge is on the window, but it almost looks like a feather. I just hope that the spring thaw doesn't reveal any nasty surprises out there.)



OK, everybody. Stay warm and safe and dry today. If you're in the path of anything ominous, please be careful and make sure you take an extra pair of socks.

WHY I'M NOT ALLOWED TO WATCH THE TEEVEE WEATHER REPORT ANYMORE, BY THE SPINSTER STITCHER, HER VERY SELF

My dog can't come to the blog right now. He's on the phone with Comcast trying to determine if there's a way to disable the cable box from receiving any of the local TeeVee stations. Apparently, Stewey feels that I get a little too "involved" in the weather report, and he's tired of me running around the house hollering "The sky is falling! The sky is falling!".

Case in point....today I happened to turn on a local station as they were starting their noon broadcast, and right there on the TeeVee its very self was this HUGE graphic (with accompanying serious music) that said "BRACING FOR IMPACT".

I can't take it anymore.

When I was in my 20's and living here in Hoosierville, I never knew what the heck was going to fall from the sky and I was just fine with that. Concert tickets when they were predicting two feet of sleet? No problem. Just switch out the shoes for some fancypants boots and we're all set. White-outs on the Toll Road? Well, drive slower or just decide to stay over in Chi-town a little longer to wait it out. I was fearless, I tell ya. Fearless.

(I also used up every single last one of my STUPID POINTS, so I suppose that would explain why I am headed to the storm bunker in the master closet if they've spotted so much as a puffy white cloud somewhere over Iowa.)

Thanks for all of your well wishes. Stewey and I are nicely provisioned and are ready for whatever comes our way. Here's hoping that everybody in the "PATH OF THE STORM" is ready and all safe and warm and dry, with a lovely Merlot and some serious stitching in hand.

Woo Hoo!