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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cheers!

With love from your pal,

Stewey

THINGS THAT MAKE YOU GO HMMMMM...

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

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

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

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

ME: "I forgot".

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

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

ME: "What are my choices?"

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

Subtle, isn't she?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But we survived.

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

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

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

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

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

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

DAISYCHAIN ABC'S FEE NEE

Daisychain ABC's

A crewelwork alphabet sampler

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

100% cotton fabric with silk-screened design

Appleton 2-ply crewel yarn

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And a meatloaf.

THEY REALLY SHOULD MAKE PILLS FOR THIS

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

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

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

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

I HAB A CODE IN MY NOBE

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

With love from your pal,
Stewey

GIMME AN F!

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

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

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

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

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

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

It wasn't.

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

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

So she called them back.

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

(Again, with the "F".)

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

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


That's all.

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

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

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

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

HELLO, CREWEL WORLD!

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(We had Taco Bell and TeeVee watching instead.)

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

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

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

What's new with you?

WHO NEEDS A POOL?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But here we are.


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

SISTER CRANKYPANTS, PAGING SISTER MARY CRANKYPANTS

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

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

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

OK. Confession time, folks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What's new with you?

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

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

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

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

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

In other words......

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

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

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

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

With love from your pal,
Stewey

MY BAGS ARE PACKED....IT'S TIME TO GO....

Spinster's note: This post was written by Madame Muriel Flossie Flat Grandma as a farewell to Hoosierville. It's a picture-heavy post, but gives a rather sweet snapshot of some of the life and sights here. She hopes you enjoy!
.........................................................................

Well, it looks like it's time for me to travel on to my next destination. Despite a rather ignominious start, and in spite of the smoking jacket wearing talking dog and the idiot spinster, I've had a lovely time of it here in this little part of the world. (Thank God for Aunt Chrissy!). Before I enter my traveling compartment, though, I thought I'd leave you with a few pictures of some of the places that I visited.

The spinster did manage to go to college at the University of Notre Dame. Yes, I will confess to being skeptical about this fact, but once we arrived on campus, I forgot about her and just enjoyed the spectacular architecture. After illegally parking in the Main Circle, a local celebrity introduced himself and then acted as my tour guide. Isn't he handsome?

The long entrance to the university is really quite pretty, and I can imagine that the autumnal colors on all of this foliage would be gorgeous to behold.


The Golden Dome is lovely, and as I understand it, the woman perched on the top of it is the Blessed Virgin Mary. (The spinster calls her the BVM.) And no, just in case you were wondering...I did NOT attempt a climb to the top, despite the urgings of my hostess after one too many dietCokes.

This handsome fellow is on the corner of a mens' dormitory:

And this is a nice example of the gothic style of architecture that permeates the entire campus:

Here's a better shot of that dormitory. Can you imagine living in such a place?

There are hundreds of other beautiful sights to see on the campus of Notre Dame. I know that the spinster is particularly attached to the Grotto, and I would imagine that we could have spent a few days there snapping away. If you'd like to see more, go to: http://www.tour.nd.edu/
to see what all of the fuss is about.

After saying goodbye to the leprechaun (who doesn't have a name, by the way), we headed down US31/933 to downtown South Bend. It's about a five minute drive from the campus. Here's a link to learn more about the town itself: http://www.downtownsouthbend.com/.

The building shown here houses the South Bend Civic Theater. The spinster's never been, of course, because she never seems to leave her house, but it is on the long list of things that she would eventually like to see with Aunt Chrissy. Again, another link for you: http://www.sbct.org/.


Naturally, the very first stop was food related. Here's the South Bend Chocolate Company:

Just next to it is the building that will eventually house the Official Stitcher's Hall of Fame and Other Nice Things To Do On A Saturday Afternoon. At least that's what I heard the spinster tell Aunt Chrissy she wishes it would be. Apparently it is now the College Football Hall of Fame, but within a few months that will be relocating to Atlanta (or some such place), and this entire area will be vacant. The Marriott Hotel in the background is also for sale, so I would imagine that the spinster has some cockamamie idea as to how to include that in a "Stitchers' Complex of Fun and Activity" once she comes up with the four million bucks it will take to buy the place.

Finally....some history! This is Tippecanoe Place (http://www.tippe.com/), the former home of Clement Studebaker. It is now one of the more famous restaurants in the area. A few blocks to the west of it is the Center for History, but the idiot spinster forgot to take me there.

The Morris Performing Arts Center is a gorgeous theatre that was completely renovated and is now considered to be one of the top event venues in the country. http://www.morriscenter.org/ See the three windows to the left? That's the Palais Royale ballroom and was the scene of many a Notre Dame formal ball back in the 50's when the spinster's dad was at Notre Dame.


No visit to South Bend would be complete without a mention of the St. Joe river. Oddly enough, it flows south to north and empties into Lake Michigan some 60 miles away. The East Race Waterway is particularly interesting and is where kayakers from all over the world come to practice and compete. (Don't expect to see the spinster in a kayak any time soon. I don't think they make them that big.) The building to the right is the Century Center and the South Bend Museum of Art and that pavilion is a great place to listen to live music on a summer Friday night. (If the spinster ever left her house, that is.)

I would be remiss to mention that although the focus of this area is usually on Notre Dame and South Bend, the little city of Mishawaka also has a lot to offer. Mishawaka, the Princess City, is about two minutes east of South Bend and is home to both the Spinster Stitcher and Aunt Chrissy. It's often overlooked, but I can promise you that there is a lot to see/eat/do/and shop here. This is Robert C. Beutter Riverfront Park, and if I understood correctly, will now be the location of early morning walks by the SS and AC. (Yeah, I know. We'll all believe that when we see it, right?) If you'd like to learn more about Mishawaka, go to: http://www.mishawaka.in.gov/.


Well, that about wraps it up from here. Now if I might have a drum roll, please. The official drawing of the next hostess's name was conducted last evening under the supervision of the accounting firm of Dewey, Cheatum, and Howe. We forgot to take photographic evidence, so you'll just have to trust me. Ready?

I'm going to New Zealand! (Cue the dramatic Oprah-esque music now). Madame Margaret Stedman has agreed to show me about, and I just couldn't be more thrilled! Margaret, if you would be so kind as to confirm all of your mailing details with the Spinster Stitcher, I'll make sure that she purchases the necessary travel tickets. We'll also need your blog address so that all of the curious stitchers out there can follow my exploits.

Until I see you again....a fond adieu! I'm really enjoying this romp around the world, and I hope you're enjoying it right along with me!

Fondly,
Muriel

FUTZUS CONTINUOUS

The sun is shining...

The squirrels are feasting...
The Spinster is stitching... And Stewey is mending...

Madame Muriel Flossie Flat Grandma is packing today. Destination to be revealed tomorrow! Stay tuned!

MADAME AMBASSADOR, I PRESUME

Please forgive the delay in sending Madame Muriel on to her next unsuspecting victim. (Um, I mean hostess.) I was all ready to stuff her into an envelope (um, I mean, carefully package her in her traveling compartment), when Aunt Chrissy pointed a few things out to me.

"You know", she said as nicely as she could given the circumstances of having to put up with me (and my little dog too) on a daily basis, "People are going to think that the only thing that this part of the state of Indiana has to offer is spoiled rotten little dogs in smoking jackets, sushi restaurants, and a Michael's. That's rather unfair, don't you think, especially in light of all of the negative publicity that South Bend has been getting about being such a crappy place to live."

I did what I always do in these situations. I hung my head in shame and promised to get my proverbial act together and just go out of the damn house already for something other than newspaper retrieval or a Target visit. I decided to really go show Madame Flat Flossie Her Very Self the sights around these here parts.

And then it got hot and humid.

I mean hot and humid enough that when I took Stewey outside for a constitutional, he asked me if we had moved to some sub-tropical place in the middle of the night and whether or not I had appropriately altered my Clinique three-step to reflect the changes in the atmosphere.

So visiting attractions and photographing them and writing about them has been ceremoniously pushed to the big fat back burner with hopes that Aunt Chrissy and I will be able to spend a few minutes on Saturday tooling around with Muriel stuffed into the Vera. (Um, I mean, with Muriel happily along for company.)

As final evidence of this, you will be happy to know that I called the South Bend Chamber of Commerce today and asked the seven year old intern who answered the phone in the Convention and Visitor's Bureau if she would be kind enough to send me a guide. We'll see what comes.

On the stitchy front, progress continues on Stars. I finished up the Ava Gardner block after several nights of extreme angst, but seem to be plowing through Marlon Brando lickety split:

I am still enjoying this piece immensely, and hope that the final result will thrill me as much as the stitching of it has. And may I just send you all a very big and very teary (and somewhat sweaty) THANK YOU for all of the encouragement and lovely comments that you've sent my way about this one? I can hear you out there cheering me on to the finish line. Woo Hoo!

That's all for now. I really should go see what Stewey is up to. His back is feeling a little better, I think, but he and I are having some really really bad "getting along" issues. If I can get him out from under the big girl sleigh bed, I think I need to issue an apology and kiss him a few times on his little nose. He is, after all, my Stewey Little, and I need to keep reminding myself that life without him would not be worth living.

A SUNDAY AFTERNOON POST BY MADAME FLAT GRANDMA FLOSSIE, HER VERY LITTLE SELF

I can't tell you how ready I am to get the hell outta here. I've been to some pretty interesting places in my life, but this Funny Farm needs to have a sign at its entrance that says "Beware all who enter here."

It all started when the little spinster (we'll call her Spinster Minimus) called the big spinster (that would be Spinster Maximus), and said "Put your shoes on and get those quakers out of the fuppy box. I've got a 70% off coupon at the Michaels' and I want to go get them framed".

To which Maximus replied "Well, um, er, I gee...I hadn't planned on getting those framed right away. And besides, it's all hot a icky out and Flat Flossie and I were just getting ready to sit down and go through all of my scrapbooks and memory boxes and photographs from my grade school career."

Thanks be to God above, Her Very Self, the little one showed up ten minutes later.

"Get in the car. We're getting this done today so that when you drop dead I can hang them in my living room. Is the doll going with us?"

At first, I will admit that I was rather offended, but then I considered the fact that this poor woman has a crazy spinster sister and a little talking dog wearing a smoking jacket to contend with. It's any wonder she's not more in her cups.

We headed out for the Michaels, but what should have taken a half hour turned into an all day event. My goodness, but these two like to run their errands! Our first stop was the medical lab for some bloodwork, and then it was off to McDonald's for an early lunch. (I had a salad. They did not.) After a quick run into Wal Mart for contact lenses, we were finally ready to pull into the Michaels' parking lot:
No, I didn't ride on top of the car, but I can tell you that I definitely would have preferred it to the chitter chatter and old lady driving habits that I had to endure from the back seat.

Once inside, we spent several hours in the framing department. OK. So maybe it wasn't several hours, but after ten minutes of Maximus telling the framing person "Oh, I just don't know about this. Can I see that one again? What do you think?", I was ready to head to the tool section for an exacto knife to slit my wrists.

Minimus finally made the selection and I think she chose well. From what I gather, these will hang in the dining room of the big one's house until such time as she croaks, and then they'll hang in the living room of the little one's house. Needless to say, the framing selection was suitable for both locations.

We returned home in time to give the little dog his medicine and then watch him stumble around before falling into a nice deep nap. He sprained his neck this week, and after a few (well several, actually) frantic trips to the vet, he was prescribed pain meds, an anti-inflammatory, and the order of bed rest. He does, however, seem to cope well with this, since his little fort is stocked with cable, an iPad, and all the tea and peanut butter toast he could ask for. When I went in to check on him earlier, I noticed that he also sports some 900-count Egyptian cotton sheets, so methinks the Spinster should rethink the 200-count set that she's got in the guest room.

I'm just saying.

So I'm ready to travel, folks, and cannot wait to find out what my next destination will be. I understand that there will be a ceremonial choosing from the magic can of destiny later this afternoon. If I understood correctly, it looks like there were over 70 of you willing to take me on.

Thanks for listening. I hope that you've had a pleasant weekend and that we'll see each other again soon!

With kindest wishes,
Muriel

STILL REACHING...AND FLAT FLOSSIE IS READY TO ROCK AND ROLL!!!

Another block down...seven to go!

Madame Flat Flossie is ready to start packing! If you would like to host (or hostess her), please shoot me an email to spinsterstitcher@aol.com. I'll put all of the names into a hat (or possibly an old sock), and then pull the winning entry sometime over the weekend.

Gee, I guess that means that the deadline to enter would be Friday, midnight.

(Some restrictions apply. Consult your physician for an e.... whoops! Nope. Not going to go there.)

Hostessing (or hosting) means that you agree to show Madame Flossie a good time, take a few snaps of her visit, blog a bit about it, help her write about her adventures in her Passport, and then send her on to the next destination with a few postcards and a small (yet lovely) little something for the next unsuspecting victim (er, I mean, stitcher). It's a blast, I swear, and you will really enjoy running here and there with a tiny little "person" as your constant companion.

(If I had a nickle for every time somebody came up to me in the Targets and said "What the hell is THAT hanging out of your Vera?, I'd be in Turks and Caicos by now.)

REACH FOR THE STARS!

Good thing I took this totally craptastic picture. I see now that I've missed an entire portion of one of the gold bits. Sigh.

A MONDAY MORNING CONVERSATION WITH MASTER STEWEY ANGUS WILLOWSWAMP, HIS VERY LITTLE SELF

For purposes of demonstration, Master Stewey Angus Willowswamp, His Very Little Self would like to enter the following as Exhibit A:







STEWEY: Mo-ther, you have received several emails in your Spinster Stitcher account, and one in particular has me extremely upset.

MO-THER: (grumble grumble grumble as she wipes up coffeemaker pee from the kitchen counter)

STEWEY: For some reason, several of your stitchy friends think the video entitled "Teasing Your Dog" is quite hilarious and that both you and I would think it cute. I do not.

MO-THER: For cripe's sakes, Stewey. I haven't even had coffee yet and you're already embroiled in a mini drama? How the hell does this happen so early on a Monday morning?

STEWEY: What do you suppose the reaction would be if I were to film a little video of my own and then post it on YouTube so as to create a viral situation?

MO-THER: (not paying any attention to the little dog dressed in a silk smoking jacket, glasses perched at the tip of his nose, paw tapping impatiently)

STEWEY: Imagine if you will.....
SCENE: A modest living room somewhere in the Midwestern United States of America. Framed fully is the face of a somewhat unattractive, yet somehow lovable middle aged spinster. A voice is heard off camera...

VOICE: So I went into a needlework shop.

(The spinster's face tilts, eyes wide with interest as the voice continues).

VOICE: And I got a big basket the size of a Buick.

SPINSTER: So what did you do with the basket?

VOICE: I filled it to the brim with charts and canvases and threads and organizers and scissors and linens and magnets and q-snaps and stretcher bars and hand lotions and magazines and ort jars.

SPINSTER: Oh my gosh! How many things do you think you were able to put into your basket?

VOICE: Oh, thousands. The basket was so big that I had to move it out to the parking lot and then I called for help in filling it up. No matter how much stuff I put in there, it never got full and I just had to keep adding more and more and more.

SPINSTER: OH MY GOSH! I CAN'T BELIEVE IT!! WHAT DID YOU DO WITH THE BASKET!

VOICE: Well, once I got everything that I wanted, I pulled out a magic credit card and paid for it.

SPINSTER: A MAGIC CREDIT CARD?!!! WHY WAS IT MAGIC?!!!

VOICE: Well, it's magic because not matter how much needlework you put on it, it never reaches a limit.

SPINSTER: You're kidding!

VOICE: No, and when the monthly statement comes, the balance is zero, so you never have to make a payment and you can just keep shopping and shopping and shopping.

SPINSTER: Yeah? (Her ears lay flat against her head and she anxiously gazes into the camera.) So after you bought all of that stuff, what happened next?

VOICE: I woke up.

SPINSTER: WAAAAAAAAAA!

STEWEY: So what do you think of THAT little scenario, Mo-ther? How would you and all of these stitchers that are sending you this thing feel about THAT? Huh?

MO-THER: (not paying any attention at all to the little dog while munching peanut butter toast and trying to figure out the Jumble) Sounds great, honey. Whatever you want. Blah blah blah....

The little dog stomps off in a huff to go pee on the drapes.

So a very big fat smiley THANK YOU to all of you who have sent that video to me. I, for one, think it's pretty darn cute and am determined to find a way to play it on the big TeeVee in an endless loop until you-know-who submits to my every whim. I'm concerned, though, that paybacks might be hell, so I better go hide his iPad.

Damn dog.

A QUICK PIC IN BETWEEN THUNDERSTORMS

Le Printemps

Birds of a Feather

28ct. Platinum linen

WDW, GA, and Impressions

Just a quickie today. All h-e-double-toothpicks has been breaking loose since about 1 o'clock in the morning, so I figured I'd come out of the bunker long enough to show you a little stitchy progress. I thought I would be stitching the summer portion of this series by now, but alas, it is not to be. I'm determined to get this one finished first.

Yup. Trying to do a "Finish two, start something new" routine this summer. Think that will get that WIP list down to double digits?

A POST FROM MADAME FLAT GRANDMA, HER VERY SELF

Hi, all! I've finally found a few moments to myself, so I thought I'd drop a quick post about my adventures here in Hoosierville thus far. (Between us chickens, though, the woman who lives in this dump is pretty nuts, so if I have to go suddenly, it's because she's come up with some cockamamie scheme for an afternoon activity and I need to go pretend that I'm napping.)

My arrival started out well enough. I was shown to the guest room and left to my own devices for a pleasant night's rest. I had expected to be greeted by the dog, but apparently he had another engagement, so he left a note of apology with some artisanal chocolates on my pillow.

(I was pretty sure that this was a harbinger of interesting things to come.)

The Spinster Stitcher is, in fact, an idiot. She seems to be completely clueless as to what constitutes proper hostessing duties, and she insists on calling me Millicent, even though that's not my name. My first few days here were spent listening to the vacuum cleaner and running errands with her sister. (You would think that the Mishawaka Target was Mecca the way these two planned their trip there.) It was almost more than I could take.

After being stuffed into a Vera, I was stuck in the car for what seemed like weeks as we drove from place to place....picking up God knows what and then checking things off of lists. (That seems to be a very big past time here.) By the end of the first day I was ready to chuck myself out of the passenger side window, Vera and all.

Finally, a bit of mercy came my way when I heard the pitter patter of little dog feet coming down the hallway.

"Excuse me, Madame. Might I present myself to you? My name is Master Stewey Angus Willowswamp, My Very Little Self, and I would like to apologize that I have been thus far delayed in welcoming you to our little abode. Duties called me out of the country for a few days, and I've just returned. Won't you please allow me to present my calling card?"

With that, he reached into the pocket of his little silk smoking jacket and pulled out an engraved name card.

(And yes, in case you're wondering, I've fallen down the freakin rabbit hole here and am now stuck in some kind of Alice in SpinsterLand hell. Between the 300-pound hummingbird flitting around and the talking dog wearing a smoking jacket, I'm starting to question my mental state.)

After chatting for a bit and having a nightcap (a delightful little sherry from the Basque region, thank you very much), we decided that we would leave the Spinster to do whatever the hell it is that she does and go out on our own for bit the following day.

The dog has a pretty sweet set up around here, I must say. He awakens at 10:30 am to the soothing sounds of a pan flute, and, weather permitting, has brunch on the patio. Amazingly enough, he reads several newspapers cover to cover and then he retires to his boudoir for his morning toilette. By about 4 or so in the afternoon, he's ready to go.

Getting the car out of the driveway without the Spinster seeing us would have been a problem, were it not for the fact that she was planted in front of her computer monitor, drooling over stitching blogs. Her eyes were rather glazed over and she was muttering to herself, so I'm pretty sure that we could have detonated a bomb in the joint and she wouldn't have moved an inch.

Yes, it's true that we had a little fun at her expense getting out of the neighborhood, but before you think us reckless, may I just point out that the dog has a driver? He's a rather large burly man dressed all in black and wearing an ear piece. When I asked him for his name, and he said "Please call me Number Seven", and then promptly whispered something into his shirt cuff. Very mysterious indeed.

After settling in, we were off. Safety first!:

We drove a few miles to a lovely shopping center called Heritage Square. This is a rather new area of Granger, Indiana, and it promises to be quite a beautiful outdoor marketplace once it's fully stocked with shops and restaurants and such. (I did notice, though, that they are in desperate need of a needlework shop.)

The car pulled up in front of SoHo Japanese Bistro, and before I knew it, there was a crew of about ten people opening doors, rolling out red carpets, and practically genuflecting.

"Mr. Willowswamp. How very nice to see you this evening, sir. Your usual table?"

With that we were lead inside to a wonderful booth, and within seconds huge platters of sushi, appetizers, and all sorts of delicacies were set before us.

(You'll notice that I never once abandoned my stitching. How's THAT for dedication?)

I wasn't too sure what everything was, but with a few minutes of instruction from the dog I was off and running and enjoyed one of the best meals I've had in a very long time.

And then it was time for....sake.

I've never had sake before, so I had no idea what to expect. I seemed fine, I really did, but when I tried to stand up to go to the ladies room everything went sideways and I almost landed face first in the koi pond. Wow. Talk about packing a punch!

(I have absolutely no recollection of posing for that picture.)

The next several hours are a bit of a blur, but I am happy to report that Number Seven executed his duties without incident and we made it home safe and sound. I think, though, that we made several other stops after the restaurant, but every time I ask the little dog about it, he just giggles and says "Oh, I can't wait until the photographs are ready".

(I've since learned that there is a team of photographers that follows the little dog's every move, so once the legal team has looked at them and authorized them for publication, I guess I'm going to see just what the heck I did.)

All I know is that I enjoyed myself tremendously and awoke this morning with what can only be described as the Mother of all Hangovers. I mean it. Those guys in the movie have NOTHING on me, and as soon as the floor stops spinning around, I intend to start looking for the nearest Marriott.

I did manage, though, to get Number Seven to drive me back to Target a while ago for some medicine:

The Spinster tells me that we are going to visit the Studebaker Museum and Notre Dame this weekend. She also tells me that she'd like for me to see a little bit of Amish Country, so we might head over to the Shipshewana and Nappanee area for a few hours.

I just hope I don't throw up in the Vera.

I'll write more as my adventures continue. For now, thanks for sticking with me this long, and please come back again soon!

(God knows I'm going to need witnesses).

GRRRR.....

I'm mean as a snake and twice as ugly today. I know that it is directly related to our weather, which has given me a new appreciation for the fact that I simply do not "do" outdoors. The temperature is approximately the same as that of the west side of the sun and the humidity is enough to make a girl want to take her top off in public. Ugh.

To make matters worse, I awoke to the sounds of the car being pulled out of the driveway, and before I knew it I was watching Stewey and Flat Grandma burn rubber down the street while simultaneously flipping me off. How the two of them managed to get their hands out of the sun roof while steering said vehicle is completely beyond me, but my brain is too foggy to even care at this point.

I did manage to put a few stitches into Stars last night before falling face first into the New Jersey Housewives and Nurse Jackie. I can't decide if all of this ennui is the result of the heat or the TeeVee selections, but I can tell you that my stitchy speed has definitely crawled to a...well...a crawl.

Aunt Chrissy and I have a date tonight! We're going out to dinner with her neighbor, Mr. Joe. It has been a little over two months since Miss Linda's passing, and he seems to be doing OK, but Aunt Chrissy likes to fuss over him like a little hen. He is such a nice man and is little Bosco's very best buddy, so this will be a treat. I just hope he isn't one for wanting to dine outside.

So phooey on me today. I'm headed back to the Happy Chair with some ice and a big fat novel. I'm about 3/4 of the way through Pillars of the Earth, so I suppose that today would be a good day to see if they ever get this freakin cathedral built.

If Stewey and Flat Grandma ever return, I'll be sure to update you with tales of their travels. If you don't hear from me, please be on the lookout for a nine pound Jack Russell terrier wearing a silk smoking jacket and a tiny little doll wearing a granny cap at a bar near you. Knowing Stewey, they are probably knee deep in tapas and an impertinent little chardonnay by now, so this should be interesting.

OH FOR THE LOVE OF......

Tomorrow is the three year anniversary of this here blog. You would think that after three years I would have figured out how to use this silly machine, but alas, I remain....an eegit.

Let me very firstlymost apologize for that stupid type font on the bright orange background. The only good news is that I, too, got a screaming headache as I squinted my way through trying to read all of my drivel, so you weren't alone in your pain. I think I might have fixed it with this new font, but I am always open to feedback.

Madame Flat Grandma has decided that running errands with Aunt Chrissy and I is not exactly what she had hoped her vacation to be, so we are re-shuffling the decks around here trying to find suitable things to do. We will be visiting local attractions in the coming days, but it might take awhile to get my proverbial head out of my proverbial heiney, so to speak. So there won't be any fascinating updates tomorrow in the event that you were setting your alarm clocks or anything. Instead, FG has taken herself up to the studio with a cold beverage, and asked not to be disturbed until Wednesday (or thereabouts). Please stay tuned.

Stewey send his love and affection. We had a rather amusing incident moments ago as the Boston fern decided to pee about seven gallons of water all over the hardwood. I stood there with the empty watering can, gawping in amazement as the torrent of water poured down, and I swear I heard Stewey giggling behind his little paw. As I stomped off to the garage for the mop and bucket I also caught him congratulating Louie (that's the name of the fern, don't you know) for doing the one thing that REALLY torks my pajamas on a Sunday morning. Damn dog.

Here's hoping that YOUR Sunday is off to a better start than ours and that you're doing whatever it is that you most want to do!

LET'S HOPE SHE DOESN'T COMPLETELY SCREW THIS UP *****EDITED*****

My mom can't come to the blog right now. She's too busy running around the house hollering "Snacks! I forgot to get suitable snacks for the cocktail hour!".

At precisely 3:47pm yesterday afternoon our house guest arrived. Ms. Muriel Arlene Myrtle Ethel Adeline "Flat Flossie" St. Clair, Her Very Self was unceremoniously dumped on the front porch by the postman. (I can only assume that he was surly because of the heat and humidity, because he is otherwise a very nice fellow.)

Mo-ther brought her into the house, introduced us all around, and then showed her to the guest room for a little rest and refreshment:I was told to "Leave her alone, and don't even think about doing you-know-what on her fancy traveling dress", so I gave her a few good sniffs and then headed to my perch.

Both Mo-ther and Aunt Chrissy are determined to show Ms. St. Clair a good time this weekend, but I'm concerned that, when left to their own devices, the hostesses will not be able to come up with anything suitable for our visitor. I've been clipping articles for weeks about some of the local events that will happen here in Hoosierville, but methinks that the Target is about as far as we can expect these girls to travel.

Updates on Monday, we promise. In the meantime, Mo-ther has asked me to send her most very heartfelt THANK YOU for all of your lovely comments regarding her recent Happy Dance. It really is very pretty in real life, so I'm hoping she gets this one framed and up on the wall soon!

Have a splendid weekend, and if you have house guests, please don't forget the snacks for the cocktail hour!

With love from your pal,
Stewey


****For more information about the genesis of Flat Grandma and how she came to be visiting my guest room, go to http://www.stitchbitch.blogspot.com/ and read through the posts tagged "Flat Grandma". Or, if you're like me and haven't one damn clue how to do that, look at the posts dated April 22 and April 26.

SPRING QUAKER FEE NEE

Spring Quakers

Rosewood Manor

28ct. Valor by Picture This Plus

Valdani 3-strand floss

ONLY FOUR MORE TO GO!!

Forgive me, please. I am in the home stretch of Spring Quakers and have only four more flower names to go. I'd like to finish this today, and despite my very best attempts, I have not yet figured out how to stitch and read this here silly machine at the same time.

Until tomorrow, moan amees!