JUST BECAUSE WE'RE NOT STITCHING DOESN'T MEAN WE CAN'T READ BLOGS NOW, DOES IT?

Oh dear and faithful readers!  You've asked what blogs I read, and I couldn't be more flattered that you would think me capable of sharing a list with you!  Truth of the matter is that this bleepity bleep bleep computer is giving me so many fits and starts lately that I haven't one clue as to how I would properly put this list into the right format.  Will you forgive it in a post?

I do, however, have one very big fat caveat.  This list isn't complete, but I can't figure out where the missing links are.  So if you have a blog and it is not listed, will you please send me your blog address so that I can add you to this list?  If I have left anybody out, please know that it is definitely an innocent oversight and I am very very sorry for it.

STITCHY BLOGS THAT I LOVE TO READ:

RO PACE

PANDY

CRAN SAMP

CAROL COUNTED

SISTERS

GOOD LIFE

UNBRKEN THREAD

PINS AND NEEDLES
DANIELLE

MARCY

CHARLENE

FAYE

STITCHING DREAMS

THREAD MEDLEY

RUTH SCHMUFF

Laura J. Perin

Happy Stitcher

NICOLE

PUGS AND ME

Stitch Bitch

EDGAR

The Twisted Stitcher

BeckyBee's

PLUM STREET

LIL BIT

SHAKESPEARE

SIOBAN

CORGICOTTAGE

Garden of Stitches

NOT IN PARADISE

AMY

MARNIE

THRD GTHRER

Stitches of Life

Rosebud's Stitching

SCHOOLMARM

mainely stitching

Eye of the Needle

CANDI

LUV 2 STCH

Orts and Ends

SCARLETT HOUSE

Gallery Of Samplers

Smalls TOO

Smalls

SWEET NEEDLE

STCH OBSESS

BRIGITTE

NINA

Tintock Tap

Needle and Thread

Willing Hands

DAFFY CAT

Plush

Just Carol

Willow Tree Stitcher

FAV THINGS

Joanie's World

BELFONTE

The Busy Beehive

Lovely In Chocolate

Needle's Promise

Contemplating

Another Stchg Blog

Karoline's Corner

My Needleful Things

xstitch.nl
Peacock's Feather
Sampler of Stitches
Honeysuckle tree

Cupcake

Knwdg and Ndles

Clydeside Stitching
Day gone by...
View
Cozy Egg
A Kiwi Stitching

Kearnel's Korner

Stitching Obssns

Mad Stitching

X Marks My Spot

Feather Stitching

Coffee Cup

Enchanted Burrow

DaisyGirl Stitching

Lake Stitcher

Ranch

Desert Rat

NeedleNThread.com
The Musing Badger

Bush Blog

Stitching Squad

Be Happy!

Linen Stitcher

Creative Thread

Time to stitch?

Purple Peacock

snippets and stash

Blissful Creations

Crazee

Sweet Pea Stitches

iStitchaholic

Another XCrazy Blog
Cross Stitch Crazy
One More Stitch..

FRONT RANGE

Just String

Little Rabbit Mins

Southern Cross

Black Belt

Noise in my head

JANET PERRY

Plays With Needles
LIZ
Storm
Create Needlepoint!
Ornaments
Needleartnut
Stitchlady’s Weblog
Chilly Hollow

SUE SPARGO

OTHER BLOGS THAT AREN'T REALLY STITCHY, BUT I LOVE THEM TOO!
THE BLOGGESS

PEARLS

FRANKLIN

Crazy Aunt Purl

Posie Gets Cozy

FUTZINGDAY? WHAT FUTZINGDAY?

My mom can't come to the blog right now.  She's in the office hollering at the computer and anybody else who'll listen to "But I DID that!  I FOLLOWED the directions!  WHY WHY WHY?!!!!"

You would think this whole "It's time to upgrade your computer software for the first time since 1982, dear spinster" was a call to arms or something.  My goodness, but we're having a tizzy today.

I thought I would take a few moments to check in with you, my very dear and faithful friends, to bring you up to speed on all of the comings and goings from here in Spinster CrazyTowne.

(sound of crickets chirping)

Yes, you guessed it.  Not one single exciting thing to report.  Life continues on in its same old fashion with my silly mo-ther flitting about like a nervous Christmas ham and my Aunt Chrissy reaching for the antacids.  (I don't think the poor dear has had a single quiet evening in about six years.  If it's not my pesky cousin barking his fool head off at nothing in particular, it's the telephone ringing with my fraught mo-ther on the other end wanting to babble incoherently until it's time for bed.

I think I've finally figured it out, though, so we're going to try to remedy the situation. 

My mother needs a hobby.

And by hobby, I mean one that will provide her with hours and hours of distraction and one that will most assuredly NOT involve firearms, celebrity stalking, and/or the necessity of a local needlework shop.

I'd suggest that she also invest in a pet, but we all know how that goes when the owner/person is about as bright as a 40 watt bulb.  (God knows I could have thrived with a smarter owner.)

So as much as I would love to post gorgeous pictures of all of the stitching that's going on around here, we've got nothing.  There's been a lot of TeeVee viewing and grilled chicken eating and blog stalking, but the actual stitching has crawled to a snail's pace.

Never fear, my trusty associates.  All will be well again, and as soon as the new meds kick in, I'm pretty sure that we're going to see a bit more normal around here.

How's your normal?

With all of the love that one can muster in a household such as this,
Your loving pal,
Stewey

THE WITCHY IS TWITCHY

Once upon a time, a spinster and her father were talking about life.  "There's a book that I want you to read, CJ", the father said. "It's called Who Moved My Cheese and it's all about change and how we adapt to it.  I think you could learn a lot from it."

"What's THAT supposed to mean, Dad!", the spinster cried in her usual hyper-sensitive voice. "Are you saying that I'm incapable of changing and that I'm going to die lonely and alone, frantically trying to put stuff back where I think it belongs?"

(Sighing heavily) "Pass the peas, honey.  Forget I said anything".

Somebody has moved my cheese all over the damn place and I don't like it one tiny little itty bit.  It all started with this here computer and all of the crazypants crap that seemed to change with it overnight.  New programs, new formats, new interfaces!  Why didn't anybody send me a memo on this?!  How in the world am I supposed to cope with the fact that I finally learned how to turn the darn thing on and now there's a whole new set of crap happening that I can't figure out!

(She breathes heavily into a paper bag).

Since this is, after all, supposed to be a stitching blog, I guess I have to confess that there has been precious little stitching going on.  There's been a lot of futzing and organizing and putting of things into baskets, but actual stitching?  Not so much.

I thought I had come up with the perfect idea, which was to gather projects for September, October, November, and December, but that seems to have placed me in a tailspin of cataclysmic proportions.  How am I supposed to figure out whether Autumn Arbor is September or October?  What if it really is a November and I'm just too clueless to understand?  Can I stitch Halloween stuff now, or do I need to wait seventeen days until the calendar clicks over?  What about Christmas stitching?  Too soon?

Do you GET why it's not easy being me?  These dilemmas have had me pacing the floors and pulling my hair out for weeks now.  Methinks I need a sedative.

Speaking of which, Aunt Chrissy and Stewey had a huge surprise for me on Saturday past.  They decided to decorate Chez Dog Pee to within an inch of its life with all of the gorgeousness of the season!  Who knew that in addition to all of her other fabulous talents, my little sister is an expert autumnal decorator? (Stewey supervised and gave her efforts two paws up).

But first, here's a shot of the measly progress on Thine Is The Trick And The Treat:

I offer Exhibit A in the "Doesn't my sister have the very best taste in everything?" category.  Here's the frame that she selected for Rusty O'Toole.  Isn't it swell?

And here's the dining room tableau that she came up with (I added the dust and spindly plant that really should be re-potted but that just seems to do whatever it wants to anyways):

And here's the big white wall with a few new things added.  You'll notice that the table is now nicely covered with some autumnal stitching and my Liberty Hill collection and that there are three new pics on the wall.  The first is a Sam Toft print (the one above the shelf), the second is Rusty (above the light switch), and the third is a little sign that reads "Witch and Famous".

Who's happier than me?

So that's the report for a Tuesday.  I hope that wherever you are is exactly where you want to be today. 

A personal note to Anonymous: Oh, my dear sweet friend.  Yes, I do understand, and hope that you will wrap yourself up in love from all of the crazy dog people whose hearts are breaking for you now.  I gave Stewey an extra little head pat for you and he says to be well and that he's so very sorry for your loss.  Please take care.

AHEM....BY MASTER STEWEY ANGUS WILLOWSWAMP HIS VERY LITTLE SELF

Well, well, well.  What have we here?

I see that you all have encouraged my stupid mo-ther to spin into some crazyass world of "A Spinster Stitcher Who Now Thinks She Is A Meeting Planner, An Entrepreneur, And A Philanthropist".  I awoke to discover that instead of her usual attire of eighteen year old sweatpants and a Hanes t-shirt that should have hit the rag bin years ago, she's now sporting pumps and a power suit.

Yes, you read that correctly.  A power suit.

Apparently it's 1987 again.

Aunt Chrissy and I will be convening this afternoon to initiate a battle plan and to warn the pharmacist that we're going to need a bigger boat.  I'm thinking that an i.v. drip of something soothing will buy us enough time to gas up the car, pack her a little bag, and get her to the Greyhound station in time for the one-way trip to (insert appropriate facility name here).

So please stay tuned for further updates, and please forgive her shameless attempt to distract you from the fact that there has not been one damn bit of stitching to report.

I remain your faithful pal and compatriot,
Stewey

GOOD GRIEF! IT'S WEDNESDAY AND SHE'S STILL BLATHERING! ***EDITED****

Forgive me, please.  As you know by now, I am a bear of very little brain, so once it fills up with a bunch of random crap, I need to empty it a little so that there might be room for new stuff to come in. 

(I like to tell people that I operate on the Kelly Bundy Method -- for every new thing that comes in, one old thing has to go out.)

(And as much as I would love to take credit for that, I can't.  I've never seen Married With Children and haven't one clue as to who exactly Kelly Bundy is.  I learned of the Kelly Bundy Method from my Jersey Boy Rich when he became completely exasperated with me and my...see bear of tiny little brain above.)

So here's what's in there today:

STITCH MOBILE:  Aunt Chrissy and I have this crazypants idea. (OK, if you must know, Aunt Chrissy doesn't have this idea at all actually.  I just always think that if I throw her into the mix it lends instant credibility.)  We want to buy an RV/bus (from one of the manufacturers right here in Elkhart, Hoosierville to help the economy, thank you very much), and we want to trick this thing out so that it's a mobile needlework shop.  We were thinking that we could drive it all around the country and go to places that don't have a LNS and that we could say "Hey...(insert place here that doesn't have a LNS)! We're coming your way and will be in a Wal-Mart parking lot near you very soon!"  And so that we wouldn't be competing with shops in that region, we could make sure that we load up the RV/bus with stuff from their very own shop....kind of like "We know you couldn't go to see them, so we thought we'd bring them to see you."

I know what you're thinking.  How the hell are we: a) going to live in said RV/bus; b) when can you expect the first bitchy post from Stewey as to the sub-par accommodations; and c) where will we find a boat big enough to sail it to New Zealand once we've hit all of the hot spots here in the U.S.?

Details are being worked out.  Stay tuned.

(Oh, and P.S...I, for one, think that we should have a thingie on the top of the RV/bus that will project a signal up into the sky.  You know.  Kind of like the bat signal.  But with prettier colors.)

THE RED "CROSS": This idea is actually something that I swear to all that is holy that I am going to do.  The problem is that Aunt Chrissy thinks there might be a HUGE problem with the name.  Here's the gist:  When a disaster strikes someplace in the world, there are organizations that show up to help the victims. (Like the Red Cross).  They help with food and clothing and shelter and whatnot, but I would imagine that nobody is there to help with stitching supplies.  So I was thinking...what if we started a charity that would help a stitcher who has lost everything to re-build his/her stash?  What if you could call this charity up and say "I've lost everything" and within a day or so there would be a lovely package that would have a few nice little things to get you started and then within a month or so you'd get a much larger package that would help you get back on your stitchy feet?  Every single one of us stitches to relax, right?  So why not provide a little bit of comfort to somebody who is stuck in a hotel room or a trailer or a temporary shelter.  Besides...it would be a very small yet personal way to let somebody know that the stitchy world cares.

I like the name the Red "Cross", but instead of writing the word "cross", what if you turned it on its side so that it looked like....The Red X....as in CROSS....as in stitch?

Ah, philanthropy.  Thy name is...well, in this case....problematic.

AN ONLINE TALK SHOW: This one has me the most twisted in knots.  Primarily because it would involve appearing on camera, and we all know how much I just adore having my photograph or likeness made for the world to see. (What can I say? I have issues.  Clearly.  I do.)  I think it would be completely hilarious to have a talk show with Aunt Chrissy and I up in the studio doing what we do.  We could interview guests via Skype and we could demonstrate stuff and review new things and report stitchy news.  Wouldn't that be a complete hoot?

Yes.  I know what you're thinking.  This is a good ideal only until the Stitchy Police come along and shut us right down for being us.  I can imagine the hate mail now...."You two should have your Ginghers taken away"...."Where in God's name did you get the idea that you knew anything about stitching?"...."You're doing it all wrong"....."Would a little make-up have KILLED you?"

Maybe we better think this one through more.

Finally, I have always wanted to host a STITCHING RETREAT, but I'm afraid that nobody would come to it.  Every time I think about how much fun it would be, I start to shudder at the vision of me standing in the Residence Inn by Marriott meeting room with forty-two empty chairs and a vat of diet Coke.  OMG, how embarrassing.  But if a retreat sounds like something y'all would be interested in, let me know just how over the top you would want it to be and I'll call out the dancing men.

(Oh wait.  That's a different kind of retreat.)

So that's what is rattling around in my head today as I gaze up into a gorgeous blue sky and wish I could go sit under a tree and read a book. (Can't, thanks.  Trees have bugs in them that invariably fall on my head and then I'm caught in public furiously swatting my brains out while shouting "I HATE FREAKIN' NATURE!" and I can never go to that park again.  Or college campus.)

What's in your brain today?

***AAAACCCCKKKK!!!!***** I forgot the most important thing that is rattling around...a GINGHER DESIGNER SERIES SCISSORS FAN SITE!  Seriously, people.  Don't you think we need a place where we can go find out about the new styles coming out, etc?  As it is, I rely on all of yous to give me a heads up and then Aunt Chrissy bee-lines it over to the JoAnns with coupons to see if she can score a couple of pairs.  And if we hear of ones being released to LNSs we badger them until they add us to their lists....oey!

SO HERE WE ARE ON A TUESDAY THAT FEELS LIKE A MONDAY

I was all set to post some pictures of stitchy stuff, but the camera threw a hissy and told me that it's not going to do one more thing until I go to the Targets to buy it a new memory card thingie. If I would have been smart enough to read the instruction manual, I'm sure that I could have figured out how to by-pass the memory card thingie, but this is me we're talking about. (Besides, the time it would take for me to read said instruction manual and then finally give up and ask Stewey to figure it out would be significantly greater than the time it will take to put my bra and shoes on and go to the Targets.)

So no crappy pictures today, folks. 

(This should give the haters plenty of opportunity to say "Stop your silly blathering and just post pictures of stitchy stuff already".)

Lovely and quiet weekend at Chez Spinster. I'd love to tell you that a lot was accomplished, but alas, it was not. I did manage to do some laundry and homekeeping and such, but not before I lounged about in my pajamas for the better part of three days feeling poorly. I don't know if it's the sudden change in weather or if I've been the lucky recipient of an early flu, but there is most definitely a hitch in my giddyup.

The Spinster Stitcher Basket O' Fall Stitchy Fun has been assembled, so we'll see what things I can come up with to occupy myself in the next several weeks. I've pulled several cross stitch pieces and two or three counted canvas projects, so there should be a little something for whatever mood strikes me. I'm also thinking about throwing in a crewel project and maybe even a painted canvas or two, so there should be absolutely no excuse for me not to be well entertained.

That's the report for a Tuesday morning. Hope yours is swell and that you get to do whatever it is you want to do today.

THANK YOU, AND WHY A LITTLE HUMILITY WOULD BE A VERY GOOD THING INDEED

I really don't know what to say about all of the lovely comments that I've received with respects to Stars.

A normal person would accept them graciously, thank you in a courteous and succinct manner, and then make sure to credit the real hero of the story...Tony Minieri.

But this is me we're talking about.

The minute the comment total hit 50, I bolted out of the chair and started hollering for Stewey to bring me the hairbrush. I know what you're thinking...that I wanted the hairbrush so that I might tame the forty pound squirrel of fuzzy brown hair that is atop my head. Right?

Again...this is me, remember?

The hairbrush is actually my Oscar. And my Emmy, and my Grammy, and my Pulitzer, and my Nobel. It is every single trophy that I should have won in the sixth grade, but didn't, because Shelly Mullen was smarter, faster, and stronger, and it's every single prize that didn't adorn my bedroom bulletin board.

(Come to think about it, I didn't even have a bulletin board in my bedroom. Was this because my mom knew somehow that I would fret over its vast expanse of nothingness that rendered an adolescent life meaningless?)

And so this morning I clutched that hairbrush to my big fat self, looked triumphantly into the shiny side of the toaster oven, and said...

Well, I suppose that this comes as no surprise whatsoever that I am totally stunned by this recognition. I'd like to thank those of you who commented, and all of the people in my life who've made this moment possible. Most importantly, however, I'd like to accept this applause on behalf of the talented designer, Mr. Tony Minieri, who created a true masterpiece and gave me the freedom to make it my own. Now if you'll forgive me, I've made just a few notes...(reaching into the pocket of my nine year old summer robe that should have been put in the Goodwill box eight years ago)...It all began on a lovely Spring day in Lima, Ohio. They say that the flowers had started blooming in anticipation of my arrival...

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

What I'd really like to say is a very heartfelt and a very sincere thank you for putting up with me and my shenanigans and for taking the time to say such lovely, lovely things.  Please know that your encouragement will help me channel my stitchy powers for good.  I promise.

If you're in this neck of the woods, I hope that you have an excellent three day weekend.  If you're not in this neck of the woods, well then, I hope you have an excellent weekend too.

(Now in the event that you were thinking I was going to close with a rollicking GO IRISH!, I'm afraid that I will have to refrain.  The opposing team this Saturday is coached by a fabulous and handsome man by the name of Skip Holtz, and I think he's swell.  When I was a freshman at ND, he was very kind to me and never once made me feel like the dopey fat kid from Lima, Ohio that couldn't tell that his cowboy boots were made of ostrich and not, in fact, alligator.)

STARS FOR THE NEW MILLENNIUM

Stars For The New Millennium

designed by Mr. Tony Minieri

18ct. mono canvas

(For a complete thread list, please see the post dated May 16, 2011)

HAPPY DANCUS INTERRUPTUS

Last night at precisely 9:21 p.m. I finished stitching Stars for the New Millennium by Tony Minieri.

Today at precisely 10:02 a.m. I realized that my digital camera is not to be found.

I suspect that it's either a)under the big girl sleigh bed or b)in Stewey's man purse.

(But I'm not exactly sure).

Please stay tuned for photographs as soon as I can either a) unwedge myself out from underneath the big girl sleigh bed or b) I can figure out how to dismantle the combination lock on the man purse.

MONDAY MONDAY

Stewey and I had a rather uneventful weekend. Given the alternative, I suppose that this is a very good thing, so I'm not going to complain one little bit. There were the usual chores and errands...

uh....(she looks dismayed and scratches her head in wonder)

I didn't do any chores or errands.

(I guess that this means that it was a very normal weekend at Chez Spinster.)

Stewey grounded me from the hurricane coverage on CNN and The Weather Channel, so we watched Cleopatra in its entirety instead. He was fascinated by the hair and costumes. I was fascinated by Richard Burton's short skirt.

(As he surgically removed the remote control from my grip, he explained that a person with my level of anxiety really shouldn't be allowed to sit there for sixteen hours wringing her hands over the fate of New Jersey, and that I should probably find something more productive to do with my time.)

So I stitched. And stitched. And stitched.

If all goes according to plan, I should have a colossal Happy Dance for you within the next day or so. And if said Happy Dance happens before sundown on Wednesday, it will mean that I accomplished my goals for August.

How the heck did THAT happen?

VIEWER MAIL

On any given day I am completely tickled pinkety pink pink to be the blushing recipient of several wonderful comments and emails. I do get a random "I hate you, your writing style, your stitching, and everything about your stupid spinster life" every now and then, but then I see that the return address is spoliedrottenlittledogwhoactslikeafusspotandpeesonthedrapes@aol.com and I ignore it completely.

SALLY asked about the dog in window canvas that's in my 2007 slideshow. This is a painted canvas by Two Dog Dezigns and I purchased it forever ago from a LNS that is now closed. I did, however, find it (and a few other canvases by that designer) here: http://www.needlepoint-for-fun.com/module/search_content.htm?showSearchResults=1&search_keyword=two+dog+dezigns.

ELLEN and DAWN asked about the colors that I used in the Aquamarine piece, and whether or not I followed the chart. Well, the answer to that is yes and no. I pulled my own colors and then used the chart as a general guideline, but I didn't think too much about it (to be perfectly honest with you). I just pulled whatever I thought would be pretty in a given area and then stitched it. Here's the thread list:

Caron Watercolours: Oasis
Vineyard Silks: Iceberg, Seaport, Reef Waters, and Seafoam
DMC #5 perle cotton: Ecru, 959, 991
Anchor #5 perle cotton: 169
Splendor: 865

JENNIFER asked about Aunt Chrissy's stitching, and which big-ass sampler she recently completed (while I was blathering on the phone about something completely inane, I'm sure). Well, Jennifer, I'm afraid that I used a little poetic license there, and that AC has been working on several different things. One of these days I will convince her to let me show you her work, since it is positively exquisite. (I've refrained from doing so thus far because then y'all will quickly realize that SHE is the stitching queen in our little universe and that I'm just a big fat loudmouthed fraud.)

MISS QUOTED asked if I've seen Jeffrey Dean Morgan in Supernatural yet. Nope, MQ. Haven't done that yet. But you will be happy to know that I've printed a list of every single thing he's ever appeared in, and I'm slowly making my way through it all. (I will confess, though, that I've worn a groove in the disc of P.S. I Love You because I've paused the heiney scene so many times.)

SHELLY stays with the Jeffrey Dean Morgan theme with her comment that he looks like Robert Downey, Jr. on steroids. Well, all I can say to that is.....well. Um . Gee. Give me a minute.

(We'll return to our regularly scheduled programming right after the spinster is able to recover from her latest case of the vapors.)

I did receive a rather lengthy email warning me that all of this talk about Jeffrey Dean Morgan is getting old and that nobody wants to know that much about the inner workings of my brain, but to that I say....piffle. I mean, come on kids. Have you SEEN him?

I was wracking my brain the other day trying to figure out what it really is about him that blows my skirt up so, and I've come to the conclusion that it is, quite simply, thus: He smiles with his eyes, he looks like he would be nice to me, and I bet he would never get tired of my strange compulsions, my crazy little dog, or meatloaf.

And in the event that you think I am incapable of devoting myself to anybody else, may I just point out my James Gandolfini obsession of 2006? And wasn't last year the year of Gordon Ramsey? And, least we forget....Chef Robert Irvine...yesterday...today...and tomorrow.

Here's the latest progress on Stars:
I'm really going to make an effort to finish this one this weekend. The overdyed colors in that outer border are driving me nuts, so I might have to re-think that area, but from here I think it will be all downhill. Woo Hoo!

Tomorrow is Aunt Chrissy's turn for a procedure, so I will wish you a Happy Weekend a day early! Woo Hoo!

THE THRILL OF VICTORY, THE AGONY OF THE FEET (*)

As y'all know from reading this here blog, we work on a reward system here at Chez Spinster. This means that for every good thing that I do, I get a little treat.

(Kind of like the way Stewey gets a cookie when he pees OUTSIDE instead of INSIDE, or when he gets a Snausage for not alerting the ASPCA that I am completely incompetent as a mo-ther.)

Now before you think me totally self-indulgent (which I am, by the way), I'd like to point out that after 45 years of perfecting procrastination, I have finally hit upon a system that seems to prod me into motion and out of the Happy Chair for more than six minutes at a time.

I write a list of all of the crap that I have to get done, and I review said list with the idea that if I finish all of the crap on it I can have a treat.

Seeing how Jeffrey Dean Morgan has yet to accept my invitation to come over for meatloaf, I figured that a nice reward would be a day of stitching. Yes. You read that right. Just a day to sit in the Happy Chair and stitch whatever my wicked little heart desires. So that's what's on the agenda today. Stitching.

(But I'm still available in the event that Jeffrey Dean Morgan wants meatloaf.)

Here's a little progress that I made on the Prairie Moon piece:


* The title of my post is the result of my unfortunate choice of footwear for yesterday's excursion to the eye doctor. I figured that I would run a bunch of errands since I was already out of the house and had a bra on and all, but I forgot that running through a Wal-Marts and a Targets and whatnot while wearing cute little sandals that really don't fit anymore but are just too damn cute to throw away would result in sore tootsies today. My poor little pinky toes look like they've been in a cage match.

I suppose that would be another good reason why my big b-u-t-t will be planted today rather than attempting to re-tar the roof or dig up the back forty for a cutting garden.

Too bad. I would have really liked a cutting garden.

Happy Tuesday!

THEY REALLY NEED TO START MAKING PILLS FOR THIS...

Despite Stewey's fears that I would do nothing but think about Jeffrey Dean Morgan all day on Friday, I turned myself into a big fat ball of energy and got a lot done. (But yes, in case you were wondering, I still managed to think about Jeffrey Dean Morgan all day long.)

(Note to self: Must really get a more age-appropriate hobby.)

(Like needlework.)

(Or collecting cardigans.)

My kitchen is now officially clean. I mean crazy lady white glove ODC get down on the floor and wash baseboards and then take the window screens out for a good scrubbing and then dismantle all of the appliances clean.

(The repairman will be here Wednesday.)

I'm not sure what got into me exactly, but let's just say that things are much better here in Spinster's Corners now that we know that the cuisine will be Health Department inspection approved. Aunt Chrissy and Bosco even came over for Sunday dinner last night, and I was able relax and enjoy the meal rather than worry about when she was finally going to call in the authorities.

(There was, however, an unfortunate incodent involing drool, a sugar coma, Ina's brownie tart with vanilla ice cream and Mrs. Richardson's Butterscotch Caramel Fudge, but that's another story for another day.)

I finished Aquamarine on Friday night while watching The Losers. (This movie has replaced You've Got Mail as the one that I watch obsessively when I'm just too damn lazy to get out of the chair to switch the disc thingie in the machine.)

I think I'll mat and frame this sucker, but I haven't one clue as to where it will hang in my house. Maybe I'll re-colorize the laundry room to accommodate the colors. Wouldn't they be perfect as the underpants and such splosh around in the washing machine?


I putzed and putzed and putzed on Saturday, and when I finally made it into the Happy Chair for a little stitchy time, I picked up Stars for the New Millennium.

A lot of you have asked why I've selected red, white, and blue as my colorway. Sometime back in April, I was thinking about the fact that this will be the 10 year anniversary of 9/11, and I wanted to "do" something in observance of it. I've always really loved this project (designed by Mr. Tony Minieri His Very Self), so I figured this might be a good time to stitch it. So far, I've been really thrilled with the results, and I've enjoyed every moment stitching it.

Aunt Chrissy got a fabulous little surprise this weekend. She had ordered some stitchy things (as she is wont to do) from The Silver Needle in Tulsa, OK. When she opened the package, there were two perfect little bags of treats in there labeled "Stewey's Mom" and "Bosco's Mom". Now while this wouldn't seem interesting to most people, it just blew our skirts right up because we didn't realize that the girls in Tulsa had ever heard of Stewey and Bosco, let alone heard about us, so we were both just tickled pink and more than a little humbled. Woo Hoo!

The peepers are going to get checked today, and I suspect that Dr. Rhodes will say "Well, Spinster Stitcher. I told you that the day would come when you might need bifocals. Judging by the fact that you can no longer see anything up close with your contact lenses in and no magnifiers in sight...methinks it's time."

(I am ridiculously nearsighted, which means I wear contact lenses so that I can see further than seven inches from my face. I slap a pair of magnifiers on to stitch so that I can still see the TeeVee, but in the course of normal every day life, I can't seem to see a damn thing close up anymore. So I guess I have to a) perch a pair or magnifiers on top of my head, or b) think about bifocals.)

(Given my propensity for setting my hair on fire with the damn magnifiers....perhaps we should look into the bi-focals?)

Oh, and in case I forgot to tell you all this.....Dr. Rhodes is the one that told me that you CANNOT "ruin" your eyes by stitching yourself silly. He said that your eyes are your eyes are your eyes, and unless you injure them, you won't wear 'em out by stitching to your heart's content! Don't you just love that guy?

Happy Monday, everybody!

I'M SENSING THERE'S A TELEVISION SHOW IN OUR FUTURE ***EDITED***

I've received so many comments and emails saying "Hey Spinster Stitcher! Who's this Jeffrey Dean Morgan you keep going on and on about?!"

Please allow me to introduce the future Mr. Spinster Stitcher in all of his hunk-i-tude. Isn't his smile sublime?
Stewey, however, feels that THIS is the better picture of his future special daddy. (JDM'S dog is named Bisou...French for kiss.) (Damnit. I just typed JDM, French, and Kiss all in the same sentence.) (I have to go take a shower now.)

Back to our regularly scheduled programming...

THIS IS THE POST THAT STEWEY WROTE EARLIER TODAY:

My mom can't come to the blog right now. She's frantically searching the Hoosierville Yellow Pages for a "theatrical agent".

(Or at least I think that's what she's doing. I've given up trying to figure this woman out.)

She was sitting at the kitchen table having her brunch (scrambled EggBeaters and whole wheat baguette, thank you very much), when she saw a new show being advertised on the TeeVee. I didn't catch the official name of it, but suffice it to say I heard the words "crazy", "obsessive", and "collections" at the exact moment the old lady jumped up and spilled her cranberry juice cocktail all over the hardwood.

Apparently the folks at one of the discovery/learning-type channels have come up with a new show that will feature various people and their "strange collections". I think one of the young men featured collects vacuum cleaners, and unless my eyes deceived me, there is a woman who collects dolls.

Lots and lots of dolls.

(Really creepy dolls, if you ask me.)

(Now before you send hate mail, please understand that we here at Chez Spinster have absolutely nothing against doll collections per se. As a matter of fact, my mo-ther tells me that she and Aunt Chrissy had a rather extensive collection of Dolls From Around The World, and that it was in perfectly lovely condition before they decided to give Miss Poland a haircut.)

But I regress....

My stupid mo-ther thinks that there is a place for her in the television world, and that it would be fascinating to watch a portly, sweaty, and somewhat deranged spinster careen her way through life...obsessions, exasperated sister, and little dog in tow.

(I, it must be said, am not of the same opinion.)

I would imagine that when my Aunt Chrissy gets home from work tonight, there will be a phone call that will go something like this:

MO-THER: Hi, Aunt Chrissy. How was your day.

AC: Well, I worked on a project and....

MO-THER: OK. Back to me. Have you seen this new show on TLC about crazy people and their obsessional collections?!

AC: No. I work for a living and am not accustomed to sitting around watching television all day.

MO-THER: Well, there's this show, see. And it features people who collect things. And they're not exactly normal things like needlepoint canvases or skeins of Caron Watercolours or cross stitch charts. They're things like vacuum cleaners and really creepy dolls! Can you imagine! Do you know how much fun I would have on a show like that...showing the world how a REAL crazy obsessive collector does things? Oh my gosh, Aunt Chrissy! We're going to be famous! Can't you just imagine it?!!!!!

AC: Put Stewey on the damn phone.

STEWEY: Hello, Aunt Chrissy? This is Stewey.

AC: Hi, Stewey. Do you need me to come over to pick you up?

STEWEY: Yes, please, Aunt Chrissy. I'll be waiting in the driveway.

And so it goes. Another night with my aunt because my mo-ther has decided to go into one of her "Let's think about this and research it and devise and plan and then go write it down and then review it" kind of modes.

Actually, I'm not really all that upset about this one. The happy side of it is that it's gotten her out of her whole Jeffrey Dean Morgan obsession. THIS is the phone call that happened during the apex of all of THAT JDM pondering...

MO-THER: OK, Aunt Chrissy. I need you to pay careful attention. I'm going to go on the Dr. Phil show, see. I figure that I could be one of his special projects, and in the course of sweeps week, he could point out everything that's wrong with me and then fix it.

AC: Uh-hmm. (Not really paying attention, because she's pretty sure that even Dr. Phil wouldn't touch what's wrong with her stupid sister with a ten foot pole).

MO-THER: Now when the producers call you to get background information and childhood pictures and whatnot, I need you to tell them that I am just nuts for Jeffrey Dean Morgan and that if there's any way they could convince him to come on the show to surprise me for the "big reveal", that would be damn good television.

AC: (sound of crickets chirping, because she's put the phone down and gone to the kitchen to fix dinner)

(Don't worry....she comes back every now and then to see if her stupid sister is still blathering.)

(She is.)

MO-THER: So Dr. Phil fixes all of the stuff that's wrong with me, don't you know, and after some extensive plastic surgery, a wardrobe consultation, and maybe a haircut, he invites me to come out on the stage and show the world how I single-handedly re-invented myself. Then, just as I'm about to tell the world how single-handedlyI re-invented myself, Dr. Phil says "I understand from your sister that you have a thing for Jeffrey Dean Morgan". And I say "Why yes, yes I do, Dr. Phil", and at that very moment, Jeffrey Dean Morgan appears on the stage to thunderous applause. So then Dr. Phil tell me that as a special reward for single-handedly re-inventing myself, I'm going to spend the entire day with Jeffrey Dean Morgan. And then we go off hand in hand and have cheeseburgers and fall in love and he forgets all about What's Her Name and we live happily ever after.

AC: (Who has managed to prepare her dinner, eat it, clean up the kitchen, play with Bosco, and finish a huge reproduction sampler she's been stitching while her stupid sister blathers on). Uh-hm. OK, Aunt CJ. You have a good night now. Is Stewey there?

STEWEY: Hello, Aunt Chrissy? This is Stewey.

AC: Hi, Stewey. Go get the dart gun.

STEWEY: OK, Aunt Chrissy.

AC: I'll be waiting in the driveway.

OK, that's enough of our little Masterpiece Theatre for now. Suffice it to say that I'm headed for my fort under the bed for the duration, and that my silly mo-ther will probably NOT be cleaning the kitchen (like she's supposed to be).

Here's her progress on Aquamarine:
Happy Weekend to all! I hope that wherever you are is exactly where you want to be!

With love from your pal,
Stewey

Oh, and a big fat P.S. I just saw a report about the new feud between Anthony Bourdain and Miss Paula Deen. Now, while I certainly can appreciate her propensity for Southern flair and her ability to accessorize, I'm afraid that I must agree with Mosieur Bourdain about the dangerousness of teaching fat Americans how to slather mayonaise, butter, and cream cheese on their corn. I mean, come on, Miss Paula. Would a salad every now and then actually kill us? Besides, if you don't stop teaching my mo-ther how to deep fry everything and then salt salt salt it to within an inch of its very life, she's NEVER going to lose enough weight to be the internationally famous super model that she aspires to be.

INQUIRING MINDS WANT TO KNOW

I receive a fair number of emails every day wanting to know this or that about me and my stitchy habits. The comment that I seem to get most often is "Wow, Spinster Stitcher. You sure stitch fast and crank out those finishes! How do you do it?"

In the interest of full disclosure, I must confess that it's all an illusion.

If you reaaaallllly look at this here blog, you will discover that I have only completed seven things so far this year. Seven! Do you know that there are some stitchers out there who complete HUNDREDS of things in a twelve month period?! (You know who you are, so don't get all bashful and such and pretend like it's no big deal. It is a big deal. You should be quite proud of that accomplishment and shout it from the stitchy rooftops.)

This year I seem to be stitching for the sake of stitching. I don't know what that means exactly, but if something starts singing to me, I pick it up, poke it with a threaded needle a few times, and then see where it takes us. Sometimes I am captivated (like with the Stars piece), and other times I get about five minutes into it and realize that there is no future for us and I quietly leave the table before the appetizers have arrived.

I stitch for pure...welll...um....how can I put this politely? I stitch so that I don't go out in public and make a complete and total jackass of myself by talking ad nauseum about something that most people could care less about. I also stitch so that I don't have to leave my house or go out into nature. I hate nature, and I'm pretty sure it hates me right back.

So while I do thank you for ranking me right up there with the Olympic Stitchers, I have to tell you that I don't belong there in any way shape or form.

Another question that I get a lot is about my stash and its apparent expansion at a moment's notice. The secret here is that I have a little sister who has to put up with me and my crazy obsessions, and every time I say "OMG! Did you see the (insert something stitchy and wonderful here) on the blogs today?!" she orders it for me. A few days will go by and then she'll say (in the course of a completely unrelated conversation) "I did something bad", and as I'm waiting to hear that she's become a Columbian cocaine czar or that she burned down a day care center (because those would indeed be "bad" in my opinion), she tells me that she ordered whatever it was that I was obsessing about just days ago and that it should be in her mailbox within the next day or so.

So in the case of the recent Prairie Moon piece, we were talking about it and I probably said something like "Oh, Aunt Chrissy. You have to buy that for me right this very minute", and she did so and then had to put up with me prancing around asking "Is it here yet?" every ten minutes.

And that, dear friends, is how I acquire my stash.

A lot of you want to know if Stewey is really as precocious as he appears to be. The only answer I can give you to that is the following conversation that took place between Aunt Chrissy and my very self this weekend:

ME: Oh, Aunt Chrissy. I just don't know what to do. Stewey won't listen to me, we're not getting along, and he spends all day stomping around the house moping because I can't figure out how to make him happy. I'm just so worried that I'm not equipped to give him everything that he needs and that he will eventually decide to go live with somebody else.

AC: HE'S A FREAKIN DOG! Listen up, Aunt CJ. If you don't' get your head out of your b-u-t-t when it comes to this damn dog, I'm going to stop coming over here to separate the two of you. You need to take control. You need to be the boss. You need to establish yourself as the alpha in this household, and he has to figure it out and the get over it.

ME: (weeping copiously) I know, I know, but it's just that...I...can't....seem..to get ahead with him. He gets so mad at me and then he goes on that blog and writes such mean and terrible things and then he takes the car and disappears for days and days at a time and I worry. Oh, how I worry so, Aunt Chrissy.

(Sound of door slamming as Aunt Chrissy decides that the only thing that's going to fix this particular situation is to put her idiot sister in a home and let the damn dog turn the house into the Mishawaka Playboy Mansion.)

So to answer your question....yes. Stewey is, in fact, the most unusual little creature you could possibly imagine. But I will tell you what I told him recently: "Stewey, if Jeffrey Dean Morgan His Very Self came into the house and said "Hello, Spinster Stitcher. I'm Jeffrey Dean Morgan, and I'm here to marry you and love you and take care of you and kiss you on your face and be nice to you forever, but you've got to get rid of that weird little dog", I would say "No way, Jeffrey Dean Morgan. It's nice to finally meet you in person and all, but the dog stays". That's how much I love you, Stewey Dear".)

This brings us to our final frequent question/comment. Many of you notice that I seem to flit from man to man and that my obsessions seem to change a lot. This is true. I have a stable of hot and handsome men that I think about from time to time, and depending upon my current mood and/or situation, I'll insert the appropriate character into the scene.

For example, if I'm chopping salad vegetables, I imagine that Chef Robert Irvine is there with his big guns....teaching me proper knife skills while wearing nothing but an apron and a British accent. If I'm out tending the garden, then I see Kevin Costner out there in that corn field from Field of Dreams telling me that he's heard a voice saying "If you build it, she will marry you".

Most of the day, though, I tend to rely on my Old Faithful.....my perfect version of what my perfect boyfriend would be. He's tall and dark and handsome and he looks like he would be very very nice to me. He knows the importance of a crisp white dress shirt and just how far one can push the scruffy facial hair look without appearing sinister, and because he's from the Seattle area he understands my need for a proper cup of damn good coffee every morning. He loves a good joke, smiles easily, isn't afraid to show emotion in public, and (if his role in The Accidental Husband tells us anything), he moonlights as a New York City Firefighter.

(Come on, girls and boys. Is there ANYTHING more wonderful than a New York City Firefighter? Maybe a Jersey boy. Maybe. Or a professional British chef. Maybe. But a firefighter? From Queens? I don't think so.)

So yes, to answer the question. I'm a 45-year old woman who has an unhealthy obsession with Jeffrey Dean Morgan and other men on the TeeVee that will never ever take me to dinner. I kind of like it this way, actually. It means I never have to shave my legs and I can order onion on my egg sandwiches.

Well, I think that's enough peeking into the mind of a deranged spinster blogger today. Please feel free to keep those questions coming, though! It makes me feel good to know that after hearing my whacky perspective on stuff you know that you are, in fact, the most normal person on the planet.

Oh, and before I forget....the linen that I'll be using on that Prairie Moon piece is called "Camofudge" and it's from Stitches and Spice, an Australian Hand Dyed Fabric company. (I think that's what the chart calls for).

(Here's where I can hear you screaming "I HAD TO READ NINE PAGES OF DRIVEL BEFORE YOU WERE ABLE TO TELL ME THAT NAME OF THE DAMN LINEN!!!".) Ooopps. Sorry. I'll try to remember to put the important stuff first, crazy last next time.

Happy Tuesday!

NOW THAT I'M OFF THE NAUGHTY STEP...

I make it a habit to go back a day or two to review my posts. Sometimes I crack my own self right up, but other times I am so ashamed at my ridiculous bitching that I have to go sit on the naughty step to think about things for awhile.

Thus the predicament that I find myself in today. I am feeling very sheepish that in light of all of the truly serious stuff in the world that's wrong and sad and broken, I'm bitching about house painters and colonoscopies.

I owe a very big fat apology to the lovely young gentlemen who painted my house, because the results are spectacular. The leader of the crew showed up early Saturday morning to paint my front door, and after talking with him I realized that he really wasn't so bad after all. (This crew was from one of the high schools here in the area, and their boss/mentor is the drama teacher. Most of these guys were recent graduates who will go on to study the arts in college, so instead of the miscreants that I thought I was dealing with, they were the cast of Glee.)

It also turns out that there is a right way and a wrong way to paint a door. (Yup. It had been painted the wrong way.) So now I have a beautifully painted Black Forest Green front door and a lovely sagey green on the cedar. Looks like a brand new house.

(That'll teach me to judge a book by it's iPod-wearing Red Bull-swilling cover.)

My "procedure" went well. The only complaint I have with Dr. Mark is that he tells you something funny or interesting at the exact moment he's injecting the knock-out drugs, so you end up with the fact stuck in your head for the better part of a week or so. (Kind of like when a hypnotist can get you to squawk like a chicken whenever you hear the word "broccoli".) One time I wandered around for a week thinking about Iceland because he told me he was going to quit his practice and move to Iceland (he didn't, thank goodness, but I couldn't stop thinking about Iceland). This time, he made the mistake of telling me that he and his wife got to meet Chef Robert Irvine down at the South Beach Food and Wine Festival. (Like y'all, Dr. Mark knows my feelings on THAT particular subject.) So I've been thinking about my beloved and walking into walls all weekend long.

(But that didn't stop me from having a Jeffrey Dean Morgan movie marathon into the week hours of the morning while reassuring Stewey that I don't need a therapist to help me get rid of my crazypants obsession with the guy.)

(Hey. A spinster's gotta do what a spinster's gotta do.)

On the stitchy front, I finished Shepherd's Bush Beekeeper's Cottage:

And worked a bit on Needle Delights Originals Aquamarine:

And tonight I will start this lovely piece:

Stewey sends his love. He's started suffering with his seasonal allergies, so most of the morning has been spent in the office chair trying not to gnaw his little feet:


My heart goes out to the folks that were at that concert in Indy. Every time I see the footage of that stage coming down and the crowd then rushing forward to try to help the victims, I get overwhelmed by the thought of ordinary people doing extraordinary things. One of the people in the grandstand was interviewed, and he said that as the crowd started running, he thought that there must be a tornado coming, but he then realized that they were all running TO the stage to help, not FROM the stage to save themselves.

I can't imagine what that must have felt like.

DON'T WORRY, IT'S PROBABLY JUST THE APOCALYPSE

It all started when some (insert dirty word here) hacked my email accounts and then sent crazy messages to everybody I've ever corresponded with (up to and including the customer service team at Clinique).

Many many thanks go out to those of you who got one of these messages and replied "Hey, Spinster Stitcher! Looks like you've been hacked, girlfriend! What a crappy thing to happen to you! Chin up!".

A big fat "REALLY?!" goes out to the people who've known me for 25 years, yet still felt it necessary to send a "Don't ever send me stuff like this again" email, or decided to tell me that they thought it highly inappropriate that a spinster would sell a "sex drug".

Yesterday, just as I thought we were turning a corner around here, I was rudely jolted from a deep deep sleep by the sound of a huge herd of young men with ladders clanging about in the back yard.

(Apparently my house is getting painted and this is the crew that has been entrusted with things.)

(Somebody remind me to send a big fat muffin basket to the HOA.)

From what I can tell, the oldest member of the Painting Crew that Hails from the Seventh Circle of Hell is young enough to breastfeed, so I'm not thoroughly optimistic. When you combine that with the fact that the leader of the group thought it hilarious to stand on the patio and taunt Stewey into barking himself hoarse, I was sorely tempted to unleash my inner bee-yatch and send 'em all home and then call their mothers.

At quitting time, they packed up their iPods and Red Bulls and left all of their crap strewn about the place, so I'm guessing that we're going to have a repeat performance today. (And, yes, just in case you were wondering.... I was too busy looking up at the pretty pretty clouds today to notice whether or not Stewey decided to pee on said crap when he went out for his morning constitutional.)

Today I am prepping for a "procedure", which means I am only permitted clear liquids. This means, of course, that the splitting headache has started, and I am compelled to stand in front of the open refrigerator to look at all of the lovely things I cannot shove into my gaping maw. Like ham. Or bing cherries. Or leftover spaghetti.

I'm normally a real trooper when it comes to this "procedure", so I'm not sure why I've got the big baditude today. I will, however, remedy this tomorrow when I tell Dr. Mark "If you see Jimmy Hoffa in there, please give him my regards", just as he's hitting me up with the Fentenal and Versed.

(I usually say "See you on the other side, Ray", but I seem to be the only person who gets that obscure Ghostbusters reference. This, of course, kinda takes the fun out of it.)

Aunt Chrissy has promised to take me to the Barnes & Nobles this weekend so that I might look for books on planetary alignment and/or astrology. I am assuming that Grumpy has entered my seventh house of Discontent and the rising tide of Are You Effing Kidding Me has caused my sense of Crazy to go into overdrive.

Or something like that.

Don't cry for me Argentina. All will be right again soon. Methinks Stewey and I will retreat to the studio today armed with a vat of dietCoke and You've Got Mail for company. I'm about seven stitches away from completing Beekeeper's Cottage, so hopefully there will be pictures and Happy Dances in my future!

Here's hoping that things in your corner of the world are a little less....fraught.

BLEEPITY BLEEPITY BLEEP

My mom can't come to the blog right now. She's out trying to find a big fat bunch of sage to use to cleanse the house. (She saw that on a TeeVee show once and figured that anything was worth a try to get rid of whatever bad karma is floating around the place these last few days.)

We thought that this week would get off to a better start than the last one did, but alas, it was not to be. At approximately 6:30 this morning, I tapped her on the shoulder and then projectile-upchucked all over the freshly laundered sheets. I felt really bad about it, but I have to say that the old lady was a real trooper and didn't yell or get upset or swat my heiney or anything like that. She just jumped out of bed, stripped off the sheets, and then ran them into the washing room and popped them into the new machine.

(I didn't want to say anything, but my upset tummy is entirely HER fault. She was having a Jeffrey Dean Morgan movie marathon yesterday, and every time I tried to interrupt her for something, she said "Here, have a cookie and go be quiet for a little bit longer." Then, when she took a lunch break, she decided to give me a tiny little piece of the fancypants buffalo chicken deli meat that she and my Aunt Chrissy are addicted to, and then once the movie-watching started again, she went back to the cookies.)

For the record....I AM A DOG and will eat cookies until I get sick to my tummy, which is exactly what I did.

So that was how we started the day.

After things had settled down a little, Mom decided to go out to the garden to see what she could do about fixing the tomato plants. We had a storm yesterday, and the combination of wind and rain did a real number out there. So, armed with some perle cotton and her best intentions, out she went to start propping stuff up. Let's just say that it did not go well, and I saw vines and leaves and tomatoes flying through the air, along with some very salty language.

Gardening is definitely NOT on the old lady's color wheel.

We did manage to get the house tidied up, but not before I pointed out that the water machine in the kitchen had peed all over the floor again. (It did this on Thursday, and the resulting mopping and grunting and sweating and cursing that ensued trying to rectify the situation were almost more than I could bear.) This time, Mom just stood there with a defeated look on her face and then she headed to the closet for her cleaning outfit that consists of eighteen year old bike shorts and a Notre Dame t-shirt that she fished out of the rag bin.

It took every ounce of strength I had to make sure that the blinds were closed and that she didn't wander out to the driveway where the neighbors would see her. (We've got enough trouble with these people thinking she's an idiot without adding any fuel to THIS particular fire. Trust me.)

I almost don't have the heart to tell Mom that it looks like the cable box is broken. I decided to watch a little TeeVee a few minutes ago, but I can't seem to get it to turn on properly. I just keep getting an error message and then when I try to call the Comcast the line rings busy.

Maybe she'll decide to read instead and won't notice.

I do have a little stitchy progress to show. Here's Beekeeper's Cottage by Shepherd's Bush:

That's all the news from Lake Woebespinster today. I hope that things in your world are considerably peachier!

With love from your pal,
Stewey

SONS OF BEACHES, OR NO, I'M NOT SELLING VIAGARA

PLEASE NOTE THAT MY EMAIL ACCOUNTS WITH AOL HAVE BEEN HACKED YET AGAIN. IF YOU HAVE RECEIVED AN EMAIL FROM ME SELLING ANYTHING REMOTELY RELATED TO "YOU KNOW WHAT", PLEASE DISREGARD AND ACCEPT MY APOLOGIES.

(IT DOES, HOWEVER, MAKE ME START TO WONDER EXACTLY HOW MANY MILLIONS I COULD MAKE IF I REALLY WAS SELLING ANYTHING REMOTELY RELATED TO "YOU KNOW WHAT").

SORRY FOR THE INCONVENIENCE, FOLKS.

HAVE A NICE WEEKEND!

I SURE HOPE SHE REMEMBERED TO POKE HOLES IN THAT LID

I've been remiss in keeping you updated as to the travels of Madame Muriel. As we speak, she is jetting her way (First Class, I might add) across the world to Miss Margaret in New Zealand.

Her departure was not without drama, though. First we had to find a suitable "sleeping compartment" for the long journey. Muriel insisted that we duplicate those on Virgin Atlantic, or, if that wasn't possible, we should try to replicate the private pods on the sheik's plane from the Sex and The City II movie. (Methinks she spent too much time with Stewey and became influenced by his "ways".)

We ended up with a Crystal Light container:

Her passport and travel documents are safe and sound in a document folder and a few treats were wrapped and tucked inside for her future hostess.

For such a tiny little woman she sure packs a lot!

You can follow her travels with Miss Margaret here: http://margaretmyblog.blogspot.com/.

Give it a few days, since the United States Postal Service warned me that traveling across the world will, in fact, take a little more than fifteen minutes.

I'll leave you with a copy of the text from her travel journal...

June 8, 2011

After my fabulous visit to Pennsylvania, USA I find myself unceremoniously dumped on the doorstep of a humble little abode in Mishawaka, Indiana….also in the US. My hostess, The Spinster Stitcher, seems excited to meet me, but I will confess that my first impression is that this is going to be a looooonnnnngggg visit.

June 18, 2011

I was correct. So far my stay here has included almost nothing in the way of local attractions or historic sights. We seem instead to be hell bent on running errands, watching a lot of bad telly, and going to the crafts emporium otherwise known as Michaels. I’m not impressed.

June 19, 2011 – June 30, 2011

Hurrah! At last an entertaining, if not somewhat bizarre development! The little dog that lives here with The Spinster has decided to take pity on me and show me a good time. We had a wonderful meal of sushi (and too much sake’, I’m afraid), at a local restaurant, and then it was on to days and days of driving around to see the local features.

The University of Notre Dame was absolutely lovely and probably worth more than a few minutes peeping through leaves at the Golden Dome, but downtown South Bend beckoned and the light was fading. So many pretty buildings…the South Bend Civic Theatre, Tippecanoe Place, the Morris Performing Arts Center. I suppose that one could have a very agreeable time of it on a Friday or Saturday night if one was so inclined.

July 29, 2011

An entire month has elapsed! Due to a rather unfortunate case of meatloaf poisoning, I found myself in the hospital for rest and fluids. Fortunately, the service there was superb and I have now mended back to my former self. I insisted, however, on booking my plane ticket immediately, so I will keep this short so that I can pack. Fare thee well, Indiana! I promise to speak well of you, despite my hostess!

Off to New Zealand….I can’t wait!

THE SPINSTER REGRETS SHE'S UNABLE TO LUNCH TODAY

My mom can't come to the blog right now. She's taken to the bed with a good book, a vat of dietCoke, and all of your lovely comments and cyber hugs for company. Oh behalf of all things Chez Spinster, won't you allow me to send our most heartfelt thank yous for all of your kind words?

At first my stupid mo-ther thought that her feelings of "blech" were the result of this ungodly heat and humidity. Then she suspected that it could be due to an impending stitchy slump. Finally, however, she came to her freakin senses and, after a brisk smack on the forehead, she realized why she wants to go retch into the bidet....

STUPID MO-THER: "Stewey! Mommie has just realized that she's taking the new dosage of one of her pills, and that must be the reason why she is unwell these last few days!"

ME: "Well, well, well. Aren't you just the cleverest Miss Marple? How did you come to that striking conclusion, given the fact that you've got more pills in you than a Walgreens?"

STUPID MO-THER: "Well....I pondered and pondered and pondered (as I am wont to do don't you know) and I realized that I switched to the higher dosage on Sunday morning when I filled up my pill boxes for the week."

ME: "Uh huh..."

STUPID MO-THER: "That, and the fact that your Aunt Chrissy said to me on the telephone the other night..."Are you taking all of your medications?" when I launched into my latest diatribe about something or other and she wondered if they made pills for it."

ME: "Well, that's a good thing, Mommie. Now go back to bed, and I'll alert the public that you're going to live."

STUPID MO-THER: "Night night."


So you see....all of this fuss is due to a 5mg increase in one of the many tiny little pills that the old lady forces down her gullet twice a day. You would think that a mere 5mg would go completely unnoticed, but this is MY mo-ther we're talking about.

We did spend all day up in the studio yesterday (despite the fact that it was approximately 191 degrees up there), and I'm happy to report that after seven and a half hours of futzing not one single thing was accomplished.

Happy Wednesday, folks! I do hope that you are all well and safe and cool and dry and that your needles are doing exactly what you want them to be doing!

With much love from your pal,
Stewey

UGH

That's all I have for today. Just....ugh.

I HAVE A GLITCH IN MY GIDDY-UP TODAY

Have you ever had a day when you just can't bear the thought of being you?

That's me today.

When Stewey poked his little head out from under the blanket, I threw my forearm across my eyes (quite dramatically, I might add), and said "Oh, Stewey. Mommie Dearest is just too tired to move!")

This prompted him to snort rather dismissively, twirl himself around a few times, and then go back to sleep.

So...short and sweet today, my lovelies!

Progress on Aquamarine:
and Beekeeper's Cottage:

IT SEEMED LIKE A GOOD IDEA AT THE TIME

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



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

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

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

Oey.

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