My very dearest friends both near and far,
As you might know, I have been "recently engaged elsewhere" due to some unfortunate circumstances that were blown completely out of proportion by the local media. For the record, I was NOT imitating the University of Notre Dame Athletic Director when I took that podium and demanded air time. I was simply exercising my right as an American, and, dare I say it, as an alumna of all things Blue and Gold over there on campus, and my arrest and the grounds surrounding it remain a mystery to me. I'm innocent, I tell ya! Innocent!
I think that the following transcript will adequately explain all of the hulla-ballew:
"Thank you for coming to my press conference. Before we begin, I would like to announce that this will be a short statement only and will not be followed by a Q&A. I have a limited amount of time before the authorities break the lock on that door and place me into custody, so listen up.
For the record:
I do not know the first darn thing about the game of football. Professional, college, European (in which case I think we Yanks call it soccer), or otherwise.
I was an original member of the Notre Dame class of 1988 that won the National Championship at the Fiesta Bowl in January of 1989. My diploma says that I graduated in 1989, but that's because my mom died and I took a year off. (So give a girl a break).
Here's what I would like to say:
We had an opportunity here at Notre Dame and we blew it. The world of collegiate athletics changed dramatically, and rather than leading the revolution and controlling what were sure to be unsavory aspects of all of it, we caved and decided to continue talking out of both sides of our mouths.
It's not 1989 anymore. College football has become a multi-billion dollar enterprise that drives a machine of sports marketing, television contracts, game day hype, and imprinted merchandising to levels of hysteria not previously thought of. The athletes are exposed to pressures unimaginable, and we're re-writing the meaning of the word amateur at a staggering pace.
It used to be a privilege to come to Notre Dame. You could poll any member of our football program and ask them "Why Notre Dame?" and the answers invariably went something like "I've loved Notre Dame from the time I was three years old" or "My dad brought me to a game when I was in grade school and I fell in love with the place" or "I wanted to know that when I graduated I would have received an excellent education and that for the rest of my life I could say that I played for the "Irish".
Now, we listen as the color commentator discusses the attributes of a player and lists all of the schools that he considered, and that he didn't even know about Notre Dame until the coaches were able to poach him from elsewhere. Our legends appear on Sports Center and do their best to maintain their love of the place, but after a few minutes, they too concede the fact that the guild is most definitely off the lily.
The opportunity that we had was one of integrity. And character. And principles. We had a chance to tell the world that college football might have changed, but the core of who we were was going to remain true and strong and that we weren't going to lower our standards or change our practices or dance the dance anymore.
Our players would live on campus. They would attend class, go to practice, eat in the dining hall with their fellow classmates, and then go to study hall. They would be gentlemen and scholars and team rules would be followed or their scholarship would be given to somebody else. When we won, we would win as a team. When we lost, we would stand firm, know that we had left everything on the field, congratulate our opponents, and then stand together. We would cut our hair and tuck in our shirts and not show our armpit hair. We would link arms with our brothers and sing the Alma Mater appropriately and with great fervor, and when it came time for interviews we would use words like "honor", "respect", and "heart".
The moment the world told us that nobody would watch, we would point to the hundreds of thousands of subway alums who built this school, and to the thousands of alumni who wanted the pride back and who wanted to feel like they were a part of a family again.
We'd tell all of the donors who threatened to pull their millions "Thank you, but we'll find somebody else who wants their name on a building" and then we'd be happy with the second largest endowment in the country and the fact that we hit a fundraising goal years ahead of schedule and that we raised a billion dollars more that we had hoped for.
If we won, we won, and if we lost, we lost. And if we happened to hit the lottery and actually field a really great team that was able to capture the National Championship once again, then we'd make a movie about it and hope that the poor saps who cried during "Rudy" would love this one too. In short, we'd be happy to be Notre Dame, and when our kids chanted "We are...ND", we'd all know what that meant and how no amount of loud rock and roll music would ever take the place of devoted fans cheering their little hearts out and then raising a mitten clad fist in the air as the Irish took the field, and that the biggest Jumbotron in the world would never -- ever -- capture the feeling of sitting in a football stadium looked over by You-Know-Who His Very Self and His mother a few steps away.
Alas, it seems that we chickened out in the face of the almighty dollar, and we hired a man who decided to single-handedly throw tradition and history into the dustbin while puffing his chest and blaming the players for "not buying in" to his way of thinking. He took it upon himself to pit brother against brother...teammate against teammate....and when we won, he addressed the adoring throngs in a smart shirt and tie and espoused his methodology and brilliance and proclaimed that he was "re-building" a program that was, in fact, the very foundation of the sport. When we lost, though, he appeared in his coaching fatigues, looking put upon, and declared that the mental state of a prized quarterback that HE had just set up to fail "was not something he had to worry about", but rather something that the player (who, by the way, had already been humiliated enough for this lifetime) had to handle.
The list of reasons as to why this particular gentleman is not my cup of tea is long, and I realize now as I stand here that nobody in their right mind actually cares what a portly spinster from Mishawaka has to say about all of this mess, so simply allow me to say that henceforth and furthermore I shall refrain from all things negative with respects to my beloved Notre Dame, and I will, eventually, consider drinking the Kool-Aide once again.
But I'm never going to like this guy and you can't make me."
So with that, my dear friends, I leave the stage of commenting and bitching about stuff I don't understand, and I'll leave the game day analysis to those who are paid big bucks to do so. In the meantime, does anybody know a good lawyer?
Oct 25, 2011
Oct 24, 2011
COACH STEWART, I PRESUME? (*)
My mom can't come to the blog right now. Aunt Chrissy and I are trying to scrape up enough bail money to spring her out of the pokey. I'm not sure what the formal charges are exactly, but methinks this weekend's mishaps might have something to do with this:
In a normal household, that picture would mean that my mo-ther was upset about the Notre Dame vs. USC game and that she went out and did something completely stupid.
But this is MY mo-ther we're talking about.
I think that the following conversation between Mo-ther and Aunt Chrissy will explain everything nicely, but you should know that it immediately preceded my mo-ther running out of here with her hair on fire screaming something about making national TeeVee by running out onto the field so as to smack the coach in the face with her lace handkerchief and then hollering "Shame, sir! Have you no shame?":
(I haven't seen her since.)
MO-THER: WHAT THE &$#!!* IS THIS $@(#*%#()@!! DOING NOW???!!!
AUNT CHRISSY: Uh-huh. (She mentally tells herself that this is going to be a very long night.)
MO-THER: OK. LET'S FORGET ABOUT THE FACT THAT I SIMPLY CANNOT STAND THIS GUY. AND LET'S FORGET THE FACT THAT HE ALREADY HAS ABOUT A BILLION AND A HALF STRIKES AGAINST HIMSELF IN MY BOOK. AND LET'S ALSO FORGET THE FACT THAT I AM ASHAMED, I TELL YOU, ASHAMED !!!! THAT MY ALMA MATER COULD BE SO ABSOLUTELY FREAKING STUPIDLY DUMB AS TO HIRE THIS (BLEEPITY BLEEPITY BLEEPITY BLEEP) IN THE FIRST FREAKIN PLACE! BUT NOW HE CHANGES THE HELMETS?!!!!!!! THE HELMETS???!!!!!!!
(Aunt Chrissy thinks about trying to get a word in edgewise, but decides to just hang up and watch the game instead.) (My mo-ther doesn't even realize that she's screaming into a phone that is emitting a dial tone.)
(In the interest of not screaming at all of you, my very dear and faithful readers, can we just agree that the following rant was hollered in a very very loud voice and that my mo-ther's fat face was so red and sweaty as she was hollering all of it that I thought about calling the paramedics?)
MO-THER: The Notre Dame football helmets were iconic. As a matter of fact, part of that iconography was the fact that gold powder from the actual Dome was added to the paint every Friday night so that the players would run out onto the field with Our Lady's protection and support right there on their very heads.
(I think she made that last part up, but I'm pretty sure that you can indeed fact-check the powder part.)
MO-THER: To change the helmets is a direct offense against me, my fellow alumni, and all of the fans and family that have loved Notre Dame for years and years. To spit in the face of tradition is at once arrogant and and an egregious violation of the trust that is placed in the coach as a keeper of the history and lifeblood of a program so rich with collegiate athletic lore. And besides all of that....THEY LOOK LIKE THEY'RE WEARING LAST YEAR'S CHRISTMAS BALLS ON THEIR HEADS!!! WHAT'S NEXT? A STRIPPER POLE ON TOP OF THE DOME SO THAT THE BVM CAN TWIRL AROUND IN HER NEW G-STRING???!!!!! NO WONDER THE PLAYERS ARE FALLING DOWN AND ARE TURNING THE BALL OVER MORE THAN A NURSING HOME FULL OF RETIRED BALLERINAS!!!! THE SHINE FROM THEIR FREAKIN HELMETS IS BLINDING THEM AND RENDERING THEM COMPLETELY STUPID!!!!!
(OK. I admit. I've changed some of the words around because a) I can't even remember all of the cuss words that were flying out of the old lady's mouth, and b) you've come here to read about stitching and could probably give two hoots about football helmets. Apparently, though, this is about much more than football helmets, and I suspect that my mom will try to explain it all to you in a later post.) (Provided, of course that Aunt Chrissy and I cough up enough cash to get her out of that orange jumpsuit.)
Suffice it to say, though, that Saturday night was not at all pleasant here in Spinster's Corners, and I would imagine that the watching of anything remotely related to Notre Dame is hereby embargoed.
OK. Enough of that.
The Prairie Moon piece is now getting framed. Mom forgot to take a picture of it before she took off like a bat out of you-know-where, but I'll make sure that she shows y'all what it looks like once it's hung on the wall. (I just hope she didn't screw up the frame selection like she normally does.)
So we're on to a new project. This is Laura J. Perin's Turning Leaves and my Aunt Chrissy did a color conversion for it since Mom didn't have a lot of the called-for colors and we all know how patient she is when waiting for supplies to arrive. (Don't you just love the way Aunt Chrissy knows the absolutely perfect thing to buy for my mom to get her off the roof?) (Now if she could just figure out a way to get that damn megaphone out of her hands, we'd be all set.)
I hope that things in your neck of the woods are a lot....quieter. I'm going to enjoy some lovely Fall colors today and see if I can't absorb a little Vitamin D while I'm at it. I'll keep you posted on the whole bail money thing, but let's just say that if it took another...oh, I don't know...seven or eight days for us to come up with it, would that be so wrong?
Cheerio!
Your beloved pal,
Stewey
(*) As to the title of this post, it relates to Mom's question:
HOW MANY 50% OFF COUPONS FROM THE MICHAELS DO YOU THINK IT TOOK TO BUY ALL OF THE MARTHA STEWART CRAFT GLITTER THAT THIS JACKASS USED TO CHANGE THE COLOR OF THE NOTRE DAME FOOTBALL HELMETS?!!!
But this is MY mo-ther we're talking about.
I think that the following conversation between Mo-ther and Aunt Chrissy will explain everything nicely, but you should know that it immediately preceded my mo-ther running out of here with her hair on fire screaming something about making national TeeVee by running out onto the field so as to smack the coach in the face with her lace handkerchief and then hollering "Shame, sir! Have you no shame?":
(I haven't seen her since.)
MO-THER: WHAT THE &$#!!* IS THIS $@(#*%#()@!! DOING NOW???!!!
AUNT CHRISSY: Uh-huh. (She mentally tells herself that this is going to be a very long night.)
MO-THER: OK. LET'S FORGET ABOUT THE FACT THAT I SIMPLY CANNOT STAND THIS GUY. AND LET'S FORGET THE FACT THAT HE ALREADY HAS ABOUT A BILLION AND A HALF STRIKES AGAINST HIMSELF IN MY BOOK. AND LET'S ALSO FORGET THE FACT THAT I AM ASHAMED, I TELL YOU, ASHAMED !!!! THAT MY ALMA MATER COULD BE SO ABSOLUTELY FREAKING STUPIDLY DUMB AS TO HIRE THIS (BLEEPITY BLEEPITY BLEEPITY BLEEP) IN THE FIRST FREAKIN PLACE! BUT NOW HE CHANGES THE HELMETS?!!!!!!! THE HELMETS???!!!!!!!
(Aunt Chrissy thinks about trying to get a word in edgewise, but decides to just hang up and watch the game instead.) (My mo-ther doesn't even realize that she's screaming into a phone that is emitting a dial tone.)
(In the interest of not screaming at all of you, my very dear and faithful readers, can we just agree that the following rant was hollered in a very very loud voice and that my mo-ther's fat face was so red and sweaty as she was hollering all of it that I thought about calling the paramedics?)
MO-THER: The Notre Dame football helmets were iconic. As a matter of fact, part of that iconography was the fact that gold powder from the actual Dome was added to the paint every Friday night so that the players would run out onto the field with Our Lady's protection and support right there on their very heads.
(I think she made that last part up, but I'm pretty sure that you can indeed fact-check the powder part.)
MO-THER: To change the helmets is a direct offense against me, my fellow alumni, and all of the fans and family that have loved Notre Dame for years and years. To spit in the face of tradition is at once arrogant and and an egregious violation of the trust that is placed in the coach as a keeper of the history and lifeblood of a program so rich with collegiate athletic lore. And besides all of that....THEY LOOK LIKE THEY'RE WEARING LAST YEAR'S CHRISTMAS BALLS ON THEIR HEADS!!! WHAT'S NEXT? A STRIPPER POLE ON TOP OF THE DOME SO THAT THE BVM CAN TWIRL AROUND IN HER NEW G-STRING???!!!!! NO WONDER THE PLAYERS ARE FALLING DOWN AND ARE TURNING THE BALL OVER MORE THAN A NURSING HOME FULL OF RETIRED BALLERINAS!!!! THE SHINE FROM THEIR FREAKIN HELMETS IS BLINDING THEM AND RENDERING THEM COMPLETELY STUPID!!!!!
(OK. I admit. I've changed some of the words around because a) I can't even remember all of the cuss words that were flying out of the old lady's mouth, and b) you've come here to read about stitching and could probably give two hoots about football helmets. Apparently, though, this is about much more than football helmets, and I suspect that my mom will try to explain it all to you in a later post.) (Provided, of course that Aunt Chrissy and I cough up enough cash to get her out of that orange jumpsuit.)
Suffice it to say, though, that Saturday night was not at all pleasant here in Spinster's Corners, and I would imagine that the watching of anything remotely related to Notre Dame is hereby embargoed.
OK. Enough of that.
The Prairie Moon piece is now getting framed. Mom forgot to take a picture of it before she took off like a bat out of you-know-where, but I'll make sure that she shows y'all what it looks like once it's hung on the wall. (I just hope she didn't screw up the frame selection like she normally does.)
So we're on to a new project. This is Laura J. Perin's Turning Leaves and my Aunt Chrissy did a color conversion for it since Mom didn't have a lot of the called-for colors and we all know how patient she is when waiting for supplies to arrive. (Don't you just love the way Aunt Chrissy knows the absolutely perfect thing to buy for my mom to get her off the roof?) (Now if she could just figure out a way to get that damn megaphone out of her hands, we'd be all set.)
I hope that things in your neck of the woods are a lot....quieter. I'm going to enjoy some lovely Fall colors today and see if I can't absorb a little Vitamin D while I'm at it. I'll keep you posted on the whole bail money thing, but let's just say that if it took another...oh, I don't know...seven or eight days for us to come up with it, would that be so wrong?
Cheerio!
Your beloved pal,
Stewey
(*) As to the title of this post, it relates to Mom's question:
HOW MANY 50% OFF COUPONS FROM THE MICHAELS DO YOU THINK IT TOOK TO BUY ALL OF THE MARTHA STEWART CRAFT GLITTER THAT THIS JACKASS USED TO CHANGE THE COLOR OF THE NOTRE DAME FOOTBALL HELMETS?!!!
Oct 18, 2011
OCTOBER BREAK
When I was in college, my very favorite time of the academic year was October Break.
(And yes, in case you were wondering...I really did manage to go to college and then get a diploma and everything.)
(I'm pretty sure that the clerk that was responsible for handling the paperwork had a head cold that day and didn't pay attention to the fact that I am dumber than a bag of doorknobs and never should have been rewarded ANY kind of diploma, but alas, there it is framed on the wall.)
(Additionally, I'm pretty sure that if I don't stop my bitching about Notre Dame fairly soon, somebody from that clerk's office is going to show up on my doorstep and say "Hey, numbnuts. We screwed up in the first place in giving you the damn thing, and you griping about us isn't really telling us that you wanted it to begin with, so hand it over and we'll give it to some poor schmuck who would have given their left arm to attend our fair university.")
But I regress.
October Break was the perfect time to catch up on all of the stuff that you wanted to do to get ready for school (like purchase textbooks), as well as an opportunity to carefully plan and think about what you wanted to do for the holidays (like fly to Phoenix and sit on the couch). The weather was gorgeous...cool and crisp, yet sunny, and you were able to finally break out the big sweaters that covered a multitude of sins.
So I'm going to take a little October Break this week. Instead of purchasing textbooks, I'm going to take a look at all of the stuff that I wrote down on my to do list back in August, and instead of thinking about Phoenix for the holidays, I'm going to head out to the garage to sort through my Christmas decorations.
As for the big sweaters...let's just say that the present day big sweaters are a lot bigger than the past day big sweaters because my multitude of sins grew exponentially. Who knew?
So talk among yourselves, kids and don't do anything fun without me! I'll be back next week, provided I don't get trapped under anything heavy out there in the garage. Woo Hoo!
(And yes, in case you were wondering...I really did manage to go to college and then get a diploma and everything.)
(I'm pretty sure that the clerk that was responsible for handling the paperwork had a head cold that day and didn't pay attention to the fact that I am dumber than a bag of doorknobs and never should have been rewarded ANY kind of diploma, but alas, there it is framed on the wall.)
(Additionally, I'm pretty sure that if I don't stop my bitching about Notre Dame fairly soon, somebody from that clerk's office is going to show up on my doorstep and say "Hey, numbnuts. We screwed up in the first place in giving you the damn thing, and you griping about us isn't really telling us that you wanted it to begin with, so hand it over and we'll give it to some poor schmuck who would have given their left arm to attend our fair university.")
But I regress.
October Break was the perfect time to catch up on all of the stuff that you wanted to do to get ready for school (like purchase textbooks), as well as an opportunity to carefully plan and think about what you wanted to do for the holidays (like fly to Phoenix and sit on the couch). The weather was gorgeous...cool and crisp, yet sunny, and you were able to finally break out the big sweaters that covered a multitude of sins.
So I'm going to take a little October Break this week. Instead of purchasing textbooks, I'm going to take a look at all of the stuff that I wrote down on my to do list back in August, and instead of thinking about Phoenix for the holidays, I'm going to head out to the garage to sort through my Christmas decorations.
As for the big sweaters...let's just say that the present day big sweaters are a lot bigger than the past day big sweaters because my multitude of sins grew exponentially. Who knew?
So talk among yourselves, kids and don't do anything fun without me! I'll be back next week, provided I don't get trapped under anything heavy out there in the garage. Woo Hoo!
Oct 14, 2011
IT'S BEGINNING TO LOOK A LOT LIKE......OCTOBER?
"Thine is the Trick and the Treat"Prairie Moon
32 ct. "Camofudge" linen with Crescent Colours Blackbird
Life is just one big fat metaphor, isn't it? This morning I read that we normally have at least 18 days of fog here in Hoosierville during the month of October, and I said to myself "October? Why are they talking about October already?" And then I looked outside and realized that I seem to be trapped in a dense fog of my very own.
Phooey.
Thank you for your well wishes for my tiny little brain. Aunt Chrissy has been suffering with similar complaints for much longer, yet you never hear a peep outta' her. Hmmmm. Perhaps there is a finite amount of kvetching that is distributed to each family, and I am responsible for the Rich Sister quota? If so, methinks we're in good shape for a while. (I'm pretty sure these bloody headaches are sinus and/or barometric pressure related, so if I disappear you'll know that a weather front has moved into Indiana. Or, I have a stuffy nose.)
So here we are, knee deep into the autumnal season, and I am still stitching the same piece that I started way back when. No complaints, mind you, but what happened to that spinster who used to have 20 or 30 projects stuffed into the basket? Where did all of my obsessive compulsive stitchy tendencies go? Why am I perfectly content to work on the same project for weeks and weeks at a time without all of the "chicken running around without a head" drama that is my norm?
What happened, I ask you?! What happened?
I'm guessing that the reason why I'm not flitting from thing to thing is that I have finally matured and am now a full-fledged adult stitcher who doesn't need the constant stimuli of eighty billion new things scattered around her in haphazard fashion. I've finally come into my own and am now perfectly happy to enjoy the process of selecting, stitching, and then finishing a project before moving on to the next one. I have grown. I have learned. I have reached a higher level of stitching consciousness.
Yeah, that's it.
The truth of the matter is that I'm too freakin' lazy to get off of my very big fat heiney to go up the stairs to the studio to get "The Basket". I haven't had a day of futzing or pawing or organizing or fretting in weeks! What's up with that? Could it be that my inherent lack of motion has FINALLY paid off and I can now justify never getting out of the Happy Chair again? Holey Schmoley! Finally! The excuse that I've been looking for!
So that's the new theme here in Chez CrazyAss Spinster with an Equally CrazyAss Little Dog. I'm spending 23 1/2 hours a day in an inert fashion NOT because I have the metabolism of a sea barnacle....I'm exercising discipline and stick-to-it-tive-ness with respects to my hobby.
Oh, I feel so much better now.
We're heading into the weekend armed with plans to go to the Snite Museum of Art over at ND to view an Andy Warhol exhibit. Aunt Chrissy has always loved all things Warhol, and since she asked me if we could do this, we're going to make a sissy day of it. If all goes well, we'll see the exhibit and then follow it up with a lovely dinner someplace.
With any luck, I'll be back in the Happy Chair by 8 o'clock.
Have a lovely weekend, my perfectly wonderful stitchy friends! Do something that I wouldn't do and then tell me all about it! Woo Hoo!
BLECH
It's raining and for some reason I've decided to poke myself in the eye with a knitting needle. Repeatedly.
At least that's what it feels like.
When you add this sad little fact to the news that I am failing Oprah's Lifeclass, I'm not sure why the heck I got out of the big girl sleigh bed this morning.
Oh. That's right. I have a nine pound bundle of love dressed up as a shorty Jack Russell terrier who insists on tea and toast at 8am each and every day or there is total h-e-double-hockeysticks to pay.
Damn dog.
Don't cry for me, Argentina. Once my silly brain figures out that it's Fall outside and not a too-ma, all will be well once again. Just pass the Excedrin Migraine and a few frosty dietCokes and I'll be back in the proverbial saddle again.
So what have you been up to?
At least that's what it feels like.
When you add this sad little fact to the news that I am failing Oprah's Lifeclass, I'm not sure why the heck I got out of the big girl sleigh bed this morning.
Oh. That's right. I have a nine pound bundle of love dressed up as a shorty Jack Russell terrier who insists on tea and toast at 8am each and every day or there is total h-e-double-hockeysticks to pay.
Damn dog.
Don't cry for me, Argentina. Once my silly brain figures out that it's Fall outside and not a too-ma, all will be well once again. Just pass the Excedrin Migraine and a few frosty dietCokes and I'll be back in the proverbial saddle again.
So what have you been up to?
Oct 10, 2011
I WONDER IF SHE MAKES HOUSE CALLS?
I finished the witch mo-teef last night and marveled at her tiny little waist. What do you suppose her secret is? Do you think that once she hops off the broomstick, she heads straight for Pilates? Is it a magic potion? A cream? A hex that she puts on everybody so that they will see her as a tiny little blonde triathlete instead of a zaftig brunette spinster in desperate need of an eyebrow wax?Whatever it is, I'm pretty sure it doesn't include grilled pierogi and kielbasa chased with a vat of dietCoke and half a rootbeer bundt cake.
Ugh.
Off to the laundry room! If I'm going to be miserable, I might as well do it in comfortable clothes.
Happy Columbus Day/Canadian Thanksgiving/10-10 Holiday all!
Oct 7, 2011
GRILLED CHEESE SANDWICHES AND TOMATO SOUP
I know this will come as a major surprise to all of you, but I can be pretty obsessive about stuff.
(Stop that snickering, please.)
(Oh. And Aunt Chrissy? If you keep rolling your eyes that hard, eventually they'll stick that way, and then where will you be?)
This week has been all about the grilled cheese sandwich with tomato soup. And because I'm really trying to reduce my size from that of a small condominium to that of a normally-sized spinster, I have only allowed myself to eat said grilled cheese sandwich with tomato soup once so far this month.
(I know it's only the 7th, but I'm pacing myself, K?)
So today I woke up and started thinking about grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup and nothing else has been accomplished.
(Would it BE so wrong to eat lunch at 7:30 in the morning, I ask you? Would it?)
Tomorrow, just because I can, I'm going to make another root beer bundt cake, and I might even preceed the damn thing with grilled pierogi and kielbasa for good measure.
(Somebody pass the Tums and defibrilator paddles, please.)
So here's the recipes (that I finally fished out of the recipe basket that is just begging to be categorized, re-organized, and finalized this winter). Both of these recipes are from the July/August issue of Food Network Magazine, so please put the little "c' thingie after this in your head so that I won't get sued for copyright violations. Tank you beddy mutch.
(Stop that snickering, please.)
(Oh. And Aunt Chrissy? If you keep rolling your eyes that hard, eventually they'll stick that way, and then where will you be?)
This week has been all about the grilled cheese sandwich with tomato soup. And because I'm really trying to reduce my size from that of a small condominium to that of a normally-sized spinster, I have only allowed myself to eat said grilled cheese sandwich with tomato soup once so far this month.
(I know it's only the 7th, but I'm pacing myself, K?)
So today I woke up and started thinking about grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup and nothing else has been accomplished.
(Would it BE so wrong to eat lunch at 7:30 in the morning, I ask you? Would it?)
Tomorrow, just because I can, I'm going to make another root beer bundt cake, and I might even preceed the damn thing with grilled pierogi and kielbasa for good measure.
(Somebody pass the Tums and defibrilator paddles, please.)
So here's the recipes (that I finally fished out of the recipe basket that is just begging to be categorized, re-organized, and finalized this winter). Both of these recipes are from the July/August issue of Food Network Magazine, so please put the little "c' thingie after this in your head so that I won't get sued for copyright violations. Tank you beddy mutch.
GRILLED PIEROGI AND KIELBASA
- 1 pound kielbasa cut into 4 pieces
- 2 tablespoons whole-grain mustard
- 2 tablespoons apple cider vinegar
- 1/4 cup extra-virgin olive oil
- 1 large white onion
- 1 pound frozen potato and cheddar pierogi (do not thaw)
- Kosher salt and freshly ground pepper
- 1/4 cup roughly chopped parsley
1. Preheat a grill to medium. Grill the kielbasa, turning, until marked, 8 to 10 minutes. Transfer to a baking sheet or platter.
2. Meanwhile, whisk the mustard and vinegar in a large bowl. Slowly whisk in 2 tablespoons of the olive oil until smooth.
3. Toss the onion and pierogi with the remaining 2 tablespoons olive oil and season with salt and pepper. Grill, covered, until the pierogi thaw and the onion begins to soften, about 5 minutes. Turn the pierogi and onion and continue to grill, covered, until the pierogi are cooked through and the onion is tender, 4 to 6 more minutes. Transfer to the baking sheet or platter.
4. Slice the kielbasa into pieces and add to the bowl with the mustard dressing. Roughly chop the onion and add to the bowl along with the pierogi and parsley. Season with salt and pepper.
(Please note that I doubled this recipe and then proceeded to eat enough of it to feel the effects for days. Moderation, people. Trust me.)
Now here's the recipe for the root beer bundt (or boondt, if you're the mom in My Big Fat Greek Wedding):
2. Meanwhile, whisk the mustard and vinegar in a large bowl. Slowly whisk in 2 tablespoons of the olive oil until smooth.
3. Toss the onion and pierogi with the remaining 2 tablespoons olive oil and season with salt and pepper. Grill, covered, until the pierogi thaw and the onion begins to soften, about 5 minutes. Turn the pierogi and onion and continue to grill, covered, until the pierogi are cooked through and the onion is tender, 4 to 6 more minutes. Transfer to the baking sheet or platter.
4. Slice the kielbasa into pieces and add to the bowl with the mustard dressing. Roughly chop the onion and add to the bowl along with the pierogi and parsley. Season with salt and pepper.
(Please note that I doubled this recipe and then proceeded to eat enough of it to feel the effects for days. Moderation, people. Trust me.)
Now here's the recipe for the root beer bundt (or boondt, if you're the mom in My Big Fat Greek Wedding):
CLAUDIA'S ROOT BEER BUNDT CAKE
- 1 stick unsalted butter, plus more for the pan
- 2 cups all-purpose flour, plus more for dusting
- 2 1/2 cups root beer
- 1 cup unsweetened cocoa powder
- 2 ounces bittersweet chocolate, chopped
- 1 cup granulated sugar
- 1/2 cup packed dark brown sugar
- 1 1/4 teaspoons baking soda
- 1/2 teaspoon ground allspice
- 1 teaspoon salt, plus a pinch
- 3 large eggs, beaten
- 2 1/2 cups confectioner's sugar
- 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1. Preheat the oven to 325 degrees. Butter and flour a 12-cup bundt pan, tap out the excess flour.
2. Heat 2 cups root beer, the cocoa powder, chocolate, and 1 stick butter in a large saucepan over medium heat until the butter melts. Add the granulated and brown sugars and whick until dissolved. Remove from the heat and let cool.
3. Combine 2 cups flour, the baking soda, allspice, and 1 teaspoon salt in a bowl. Whisk the eggs into the root beer mixture, then gently fold in the dry ingredients (the batter will be slightly lumpy).
4. Pour the batter into the prepared pan and bake until a toothpick inserted into the cake comes out clean, 55 minutes to 1 hour, rotating the pan halfway through. Transfer to a rack. Gently poke the cake all over with a skewer and pour 1/4 cup root beer over the cake; let cool in the pan for 20 minutes, then invert the cake onto a serving plate and let cool completely.
5. Meanwhile, make the glaze. Whisk the remaining 1/4 cup root beer, a pinch of salt, the confectioners' sugar and vanilla in a bowl until smooth. Drizzle over the cake.
Geeze, Louise, if I made a nice little green salad with pecans and cranberries, and opened a lovely little Merlot, this would be a perfect autumnal meal, n'est pai? I could even serve it at the dining room table, amidst Aunt Chrissy's beautiful Fall decorations and perhaps use cloth napkins and the good china!
Alas, I suspect that I'll open a nice little diet Coke instead and will eat this in my underpants while screaming at Air Force to beat the crap out of Notre Dame. (I'm almost back in the fold and will probably revert to cheering for my Irish by the end of the season, but for now I'm still mad at them and reserve the right to wish for them to lose. I know it's not very alumna-ish of me, but until they get their heads out of their heineys over there, I'm rooting for the other guy.) So there.
Happy, happy weekend to all! Do something I wouldn't do and then tell me all about it! Woo Hoo!
2. Heat 2 cups root beer, the cocoa powder, chocolate, and 1 stick butter in a large saucepan over medium heat until the butter melts. Add the granulated and brown sugars and whick until dissolved. Remove from the heat and let cool.
3. Combine 2 cups flour, the baking soda, allspice, and 1 teaspoon salt in a bowl. Whisk the eggs into the root beer mixture, then gently fold in the dry ingredients (the batter will be slightly lumpy).
4. Pour the batter into the prepared pan and bake until a toothpick inserted into the cake comes out clean, 55 minutes to 1 hour, rotating the pan halfway through. Transfer to a rack. Gently poke the cake all over with a skewer and pour 1/4 cup root beer over the cake; let cool in the pan for 20 minutes, then invert the cake onto a serving plate and let cool completely.
5. Meanwhile, make the glaze. Whisk the remaining 1/4 cup root beer, a pinch of salt, the confectioners' sugar and vanilla in a bowl until smooth. Drizzle over the cake.
Geeze, Louise, if I made a nice little green salad with pecans and cranberries, and opened a lovely little Merlot, this would be a perfect autumnal meal, n'est pai? I could even serve it at the dining room table, amidst Aunt Chrissy's beautiful Fall decorations and perhaps use cloth napkins and the good china!
Alas, I suspect that I'll open a nice little diet Coke instead and will eat this in my underpants while screaming at Air Force to beat the crap out of Notre Dame. (I'm almost back in the fold and will probably revert to cheering for my Irish by the end of the season, but for now I'm still mad at them and reserve the right to wish for them to lose. I know it's not very alumna-ish of me, but until they get their heads out of their heineys over there, I'm rooting for the other guy.) So there.
Happy, happy weekend to all! Do something I wouldn't do and then tell me all about it! Woo Hoo!
Oct 5, 2011
LET THE GAMES BEGIN
A conversation overheard moments ago in the friendly confines of Chez Spinster:
MO-THER: Stewey, dear. It's time that we started planning your costume for Halloween.
STEWEY: There will be no planning necessary, Mo-ther. I have already decided upon my costume for this year, as well as started the procurement of necessary materials to make said costume.
MO-THER: Oh, wonderful! What are you going to be? A ghost? A witch? A cowboy? Maybe a comic book super hero? I could even envision you as a ladybug or a pirate, or maybe even a Power Ranger? How about a Ninja Turtle?
(The little dog snorts in disgust and walks out of the room muttering to himself. When he returns, the mo-ther strongly suspects that he has watered the master closet contents.)
MO-THER: How about a hotdog? You know, with a bun on either side and condiments across your back? I think it's more of a dachshund type of thing, but you could probably pull it off with your figure. A fireman? Policeman? Army Ranger? You could do anything in the military category, provided you didn't insist on a gun. I don't like guns. Guns would not be something that I would approve of for your costume, just so you know.
STEWEY: I'm going to be a PanAm flight attendant.
MO-THER: (sound of crickets chirping while she blinks in disbelief, slack jawed)
End scene.
So here's the lousy progress on the Prairie Moon. Sorry about the limited view due to the q-snaps, but it took me about four days to get the damn things on there, so I'm not taking them off now!
Happy Wednesday, everybody!
MO-THER: Stewey, dear. It's time that we started planning your costume for Halloween.
STEWEY: There will be no planning necessary, Mo-ther. I have already decided upon my costume for this year, as well as started the procurement of necessary materials to make said costume.
MO-THER: Oh, wonderful! What are you going to be? A ghost? A witch? A cowboy? Maybe a comic book super hero? I could even envision you as a ladybug or a pirate, or maybe even a Power Ranger? How about a Ninja Turtle?
(The little dog snorts in disgust and walks out of the room muttering to himself. When he returns, the mo-ther strongly suspects that he has watered the master closet contents.)
MO-THER: How about a hotdog? You know, with a bun on either side and condiments across your back? I think it's more of a dachshund type of thing, but you could probably pull it off with your figure. A fireman? Policeman? Army Ranger? You could do anything in the military category, provided you didn't insist on a gun. I don't like guns. Guns would not be something that I would approve of for your costume, just so you know.
STEWEY: I'm going to be a PanAm flight attendant.
MO-THER: (sound of crickets chirping while she blinks in disbelief, slack jawed)
End scene.
So here's the lousy progress on the Prairie Moon. Sorry about the limited view due to the q-snaps, but it took me about four days to get the damn things on there, so I'm not taking them off now!
Happy Wednesday, everybody!
Sep 29, 2011
IF I HAD A HEARING ASSISTANCE DEVICE, I'D TURN IT OFF
Here in Hoosierville, we have a sportscaster named Angelo Decarlo. He's adorable, he really really is, but he has a very distinct speech habit that drives me up a tree. His broadcasts start out well enough...reporting on the day's sporting news, etc. etc., but after about a minute, his voice starts to elevate and he goes into full on Howard Co sell mode with the HE...CAN...GO...ALL...THE....WAY!!!!! And the rest of whatever he's saying is very very loud indeed.
(Aunt Chrissy and I also think it hilarious that when he broadcasts from Notre Dame stadium after a game and he's the only person in the place...he still hollers. Invariably, every single time Angelo comes on the TeeVee, I'll call Aunt Chrissy and say "Why is he screaming at me?" and we'll have a giggle.)
After I tucked Stewey in for his afternoon nap, I crept up to the studio so that I could catch a glimpse of the trial spectacle. (California v. Conrad Murray).
You guessed it.
Screaming. Every single freakin' commentator felt it necessary to scream at me for a full eight seconds before I came to my senses and turned the damn thing off. (Note to Jane Valez Mitchell....PLEASE, for the love of God! switch to decaf! And while you're at it, switch your BFF Nancy Grace to decaf too! And Vinnie Pollitan! All of you! DECAF, people! DECAF!
I'm happy to report that the threads that I ordered arrived in the mailbox yesterday! (I have no idea how Miss Linda from House of Stitches did it, since I'm pretty sure that I ordered them and then four and a half minutes they were delivered, but what do I know about the way things work anyhow)?
So here's the update:
I'll leave you with a snap of Stewey's toy basket. I turned it over so that he could play freely with everything in it, and I have to confess that I've really enjoyed watching his little heiney wiggle as he pounces into the middle of all of those toys and then tosses them all over the living room. (You'd think he was actually a real dog.)
(Aunt Chrissy and I also think it hilarious that when he broadcasts from Notre Dame stadium after a game and he's the only person in the place...he still hollers. Invariably, every single time Angelo comes on the TeeVee, I'll call Aunt Chrissy and say "Why is he screaming at me?" and we'll have a giggle.)
After I tucked Stewey in for his afternoon nap, I crept up to the studio so that I could catch a glimpse of the trial spectacle. (California v. Conrad Murray).
You guessed it.
Screaming. Every single freakin' commentator felt it necessary to scream at me for a full eight seconds before I came to my senses and turned the damn thing off. (Note to Jane Valez Mitchell....PLEASE, for the love of God! switch to decaf! And while you're at it, switch your BFF Nancy Grace to decaf too! And Vinnie Pollitan! All of you! DECAF, people! DECAF!
I'm happy to report that the threads that I ordered arrived in the mailbox yesterday! (I have no idea how Miss Linda from House of Stitches did it, since I'm pretty sure that I ordered them and then four and a half minutes they were delivered, but what do I know about the way things work anyhow)?
So here's the update:
I'll leave you with a snap of Stewey's toy basket. I turned it over so that he could play freely with everything in it, and I have to confess that I've really enjoyed watching his little heiney wiggle as he pounces into the middle of all of those toys and then tosses them all over the living room. (You'd think he was actually a real dog.)
Sep 28, 2011
ON THIS EPISODE OF THE REAL SPINSTERS OF COW PATCH COUNTY...
I'm not a studio executive (I just play one on TeeVee), but don't you think they've got it all bass-akwards with the whole Real Housewives thing?
Each episode features women who are at once so pretty and thin and well-accessorized, that you can only IMAGINE what it would be like to be them. A closet the approximate size of an airplane hanger? De rigeur. Personal chefs in the kitchen? Just an ordinary Wednesday. Dogs wearing little outfits and sipping champagne out of seven hundred dollar glasses?
Oh wait. That's me.
Anyway, my point is this: I don't need anything else to convince me that I should occupy space on a remote and distant planet. Let's face it kids, you cannot be a 45-year old spinster with an unfortunate mustache problem and your own zip code and still feel good about yourself after watching a size triple zero prance around in a bikini while bitching that her thighs are fat. (I've eaten baked potatoes that were larger than said size triple zero, so instead of feeling bad that the poor thing has low self esteem issues, I just want to slap the skinny right off of her and feed her a nice big bowl of effew.)
I am proposing that the Bravo folks get with it and feature some poor slob like me who can't find her way out of a wet paper bag with two hands and a flashlight, and who knows the importance of always having a nice meatloaf on hand in the event that Jeffrey Dean Morgan drops by for lunch. The cameras could capture my every move, and audiences would sit with rapt attention while I tackle that unfortunate mustache problem (see above), wipe up dog pee and champagne (also, above), and contemplate whether or not the pile of laundry could adequately be described as a bio hazard.
Can you say...Emmy?
I know there are shows that reveal poor housekeeping, or addiction issues, or even (horror of horrors) weight-loss situations, but wouldn't it be more fun to watch an ordinary every day person bumblecluck her way through a day filled with nothing but dusting and grocery shopping?
Stewey tells me that I've got it all wrong and that people watch these programs to see how the other half lives, but I still think that an hour of beautifully appointed females wearing two thousand dollar stilettos is hard on the 'ole self-acceptance meter. Wouldn't it be more satisfying to see me woop woop it up in the Target aisle over a pair of eighteen dollar slippers?
(They're fabulous, by the way, and I don't intend to take them off until Spring.)
I'll keep you posted on my progress with the pitch meeting, but please feel free to drop a line or two on Andy Cohen's Facebook page. (Does Andy Cohen even HAVE a Facebook page? If I become famous, will I have to have a Facebook page? More importantly, if Stewey becomes famous, will I have to be the one to update HIS Facebook page?)
These are important questions for the ages. Obviously.
I was making pretty good headway on the Prairie Moon piece when two things happened (almost simultaneously, by the way). Number one is that I ran out of thread. (I know, I know, I should have listened to Aunt Chrissy when she told me that there was no way that four skeins would be enough). And number two, the lights went out.
(By the way...just a word of advice to the gal that answered the phone over at Mishawaka Utilities: Remain calm and carry on, dear. There's no reason to holler "There's trees down and lines are on fire!" while pulling on your rubber boots and crash helmet. We'll be fine. Really. We will be. Just turn the lights back on when you get a moment and try not to panic.)
So that explains the measly progress. (If you stay tuned long enough, the dog will eat my homework, the sun will be in my eyes, and the check will be in the mail.) (I promise.)
I'm off to the laundry room! I thought that I was going to settle in to watch the Conrad Murray trial this week, but Stewey confiscated the remote control, glared at me, and said "Casey Anthony" and that was all she wrote. Apparently, I am incapable of remaining detached from celebrity trials.
Have a Happy Wednesday! I'll post the recipe for the root beer boondt tomorrow! (I have to figure out what I did with it.)
Each episode features women who are at once so pretty and thin and well-accessorized, that you can only IMAGINE what it would be like to be them. A closet the approximate size of an airplane hanger? De rigeur. Personal chefs in the kitchen? Just an ordinary Wednesday. Dogs wearing little outfits and sipping champagne out of seven hundred dollar glasses?
Oh wait. That's me.
Anyway, my point is this: I don't need anything else to convince me that I should occupy space on a remote and distant planet. Let's face it kids, you cannot be a 45-year old spinster with an unfortunate mustache problem and your own zip code and still feel good about yourself after watching a size triple zero prance around in a bikini while bitching that her thighs are fat. (I've eaten baked potatoes that were larger than said size triple zero, so instead of feeling bad that the poor thing has low self esteem issues, I just want to slap the skinny right off of her and feed her a nice big bowl of effew.)
I am proposing that the Bravo folks get with it and feature some poor slob like me who can't find her way out of a wet paper bag with two hands and a flashlight, and who knows the importance of always having a nice meatloaf on hand in the event that Jeffrey Dean Morgan drops by for lunch. The cameras could capture my every move, and audiences would sit with rapt attention while I tackle that unfortunate mustache problem (see above), wipe up dog pee and champagne (also, above), and contemplate whether or not the pile of laundry could adequately be described as a bio hazard.
Can you say...Emmy?
I know there are shows that reveal poor housekeeping, or addiction issues, or even (horror of horrors) weight-loss situations, but wouldn't it be more fun to watch an ordinary every day person bumblecluck her way through a day filled with nothing but dusting and grocery shopping?
Stewey tells me that I've got it all wrong and that people watch these programs to see how the other half lives, but I still think that an hour of beautifully appointed females wearing two thousand dollar stilettos is hard on the 'ole self-acceptance meter. Wouldn't it be more satisfying to see me woop woop it up in the Target aisle over a pair of eighteen dollar slippers?
(They're fabulous, by the way, and I don't intend to take them off until Spring.)
I'll keep you posted on my progress with the pitch meeting, but please feel free to drop a line or two on Andy Cohen's Facebook page. (Does Andy Cohen even HAVE a Facebook page? If I become famous, will I have to have a Facebook page? More importantly, if Stewey becomes famous, will I have to be the one to update HIS Facebook page?)
These are important questions for the ages. Obviously.
I was making pretty good headway on the Prairie Moon piece when two things happened (almost simultaneously, by the way). Number one is that I ran out of thread. (I know, I know, I should have listened to Aunt Chrissy when she told me that there was no way that four skeins would be enough). And number two, the lights went out.
(By the way...just a word of advice to the gal that answered the phone over at Mishawaka Utilities: Remain calm and carry on, dear. There's no reason to holler "There's trees down and lines are on fire!" while pulling on your rubber boots and crash helmet. We'll be fine. Really. We will be. Just turn the lights back on when you get a moment and try not to panic.)
So that explains the measly progress. (If you stay tuned long enough, the dog will eat my homework, the sun will be in my eyes, and the check will be in the mail.) (I promise.)
I'm off to the laundry room! I thought that I was going to settle in to watch the Conrad Murray trial this week, but Stewey confiscated the remote control, glared at me, and said "Casey Anthony" and that was all she wrote. Apparently, I am incapable of remaining detached from celebrity trials.
Have a Happy Wednesday! I'll post the recipe for the root beer boondt tomorrow! (I have to figure out what I did with it.)
Sep 26, 2011
JUST KEEPIN' MY CRAZY ON THE INSIDE TODAY...
So here we are on a Monday and all is well. The sun is shining, the gardens have all been cleaned and tidied, and the mailbox has been replaced.
Yup. Replaced. Somebody decided to smash into the damn thing and then just keep on tooling down the street, so a lovely man named Andre was here before I knew it to put me back on the map once again. (God bless that homeowner's association!)
Between the clean and tidy gardens and the new mailbox, my neighbors are left scratching their heads wondering when I decided to get my proverbial act together, I'm sure. It's not that I'm the neighborhood nutball, per se, but I've never been able to keep up with the Joneses with respects to flowers and ponds and lush greenery and whatnot. Add that to a twitchy little dog and a propensity for organizing my recycling, and you've got one very weird little spinster here in The Forest.
Here's a little progress on the Prairie Moon piece. (And yes, in case you were wondering, I did switch out the R.I.P. for a Boo! Don't ask me to explain it, but I've got some crazypants aversion to stitching the letters R.I.P. on stuff.)
(No, I don't know why I am the way I am, so just go with it and chalk it up to an eccentric little quirk.)
(And yes, to answer your second question. This is the only thing I've been working on.) Phooey.
Aunt Chrissy and I went to the Michael's to pick up this beauty:
The wrinkles don't really show up in real life, I promise. I think it has something to do with the glass? I don't normally use glass on my stuff, but the lovely framing expert at the Michael's really insisted that I use it this time since this was on fabric and not heavier linen or canvas. I'm very happy with this and have temporarily hung it in my office, since the blue is throwing me a little bit. I don't have one spec of blue anywhere in my house, so my whole "matchy-matchy" thing has been thrown into overdrive.
Stewey is well and sends his love. He wanted me to share with you a little gift that he received from his Aunt Chrissy. He's been suffering through some issues lately, and she thought this would be the perfect little pick me up. Her name is Penelope the Piggie, and her story reads thusly:
"With her head-strong determination and good fortune, Penelope is the perfect depiction of overcoming impossible odds! Her personal waGer against anyone using the phrase "When pigs fly!" has brought much abundance and prosperity indeed!"
She sits on my stitchy table during the day, but he insists that we carry her into the bedroom and put her on the nightstand each evening so that he can keep a peep on her throughout the night. Damn dog.
So that's the report for a Monday, my dear and fabulous stitchy friends! I hope that you had a splendid weekend and that your week is off to a flying start!
Oh! and P.S.! I am very happy to report that the grilled pierogi with kielbasa and onions, the chicken stew, AND the rootbeer bundt cake all turned out very very well indeed! (A note of caution, though...although delicious, the grilled pierogi are actually little lead pillows that will make you pray for death if you eat more than ten of them.)
Yup. Replaced. Somebody decided to smash into the damn thing and then just keep on tooling down the street, so a lovely man named Andre was here before I knew it to put me back on the map once again. (God bless that homeowner's association!)
Between the clean and tidy gardens and the new mailbox, my neighbors are left scratching their heads wondering when I decided to get my proverbial act together, I'm sure. It's not that I'm the neighborhood nutball, per se, but I've never been able to keep up with the Joneses with respects to flowers and ponds and lush greenery and whatnot. Add that to a twitchy little dog and a propensity for organizing my recycling, and you've got one very weird little spinster here in The Forest.
Here's a little progress on the Prairie Moon piece. (And yes, in case you were wondering, I did switch out the R.I.P. for a Boo! Don't ask me to explain it, but I've got some crazypants aversion to stitching the letters R.I.P. on stuff.)
(No, I don't know why I am the way I am, so just go with it and chalk it up to an eccentric little quirk.)
(And yes, to answer your second question. This is the only thing I've been working on.) Phooey.Aunt Chrissy and I went to the Michael's to pick up this beauty:
The wrinkles don't really show up in real life, I promise. I think it has something to do with the glass? I don't normally use glass on my stuff, but the lovely framing expert at the Michael's really insisted that I use it this time since this was on fabric and not heavier linen or canvas. I'm very happy with this and have temporarily hung it in my office, since the blue is throwing me a little bit. I don't have one spec of blue anywhere in my house, so my whole "matchy-matchy" thing has been thrown into overdrive.Stewey is well and sends his love. He wanted me to share with you a little gift that he received from his Aunt Chrissy. He's been suffering through some issues lately, and she thought this would be the perfect little pick me up. Her name is Penelope the Piggie, and her story reads thusly:
"With her head-strong determination and good fortune, Penelope is the perfect depiction of overcoming impossible odds! Her personal waGer against anyone using the phrase "When pigs fly!" has brought much abundance and prosperity indeed!"
She sits on my stitchy table during the day, but he insists that we carry her into the bedroom and put her on the nightstand each evening so that he can keep a peep on her throughout the night. Damn dog.So that's the report for a Monday, my dear and fabulous stitchy friends! I hope that you had a splendid weekend and that your week is off to a flying start!
Oh! and P.S.! I am very happy to report that the grilled pierogi with kielbasa and onions, the chicken stew, AND the rootbeer bundt cake all turned out very very well indeed! (A note of caution, though...although delicious, the grilled pierogi are actually little lead pillows that will make you pray for death if you eat more than ten of them.)
Sep 22, 2011
PPSSSSTTTTTT...
You know me...I never want to tell you what to do (tee hee!), but when you have a moment and a lovely hot cup 'o joe (or tea), take thee to Miss Margaret's blog to see a) the adventures of Madame Muriel Flat Flossie Grandma, and (more importantly), b) her completed masterpiece.
(Um, Margaret's masterpiece that is, not Muriel's).
Here's the link: http://www.margaretmyblog.blogspot.com
It will take your breath away. I promise.
Stewey and I are hurtling head-long into the weekend. I'm happy to report that the tiny little itty bones seem to be just what the doctor ordered, and we've gone several days now without one episode of projectile upchucking. (I wish I could say the same for the projectile drape peeing, though). He will go for his annual physical tomorrow, and I'm sure that Dr. Nieman will say "Oh, Stewey. You're fine exactly as you are. Now if we could just get that Mommie of yours sorted out..." Then I'll hang my head in shame and pay the ga-jillion dollar bill and that will be the end of that.
I've just pulled a few recipes that I'm going to play with over the next few days, and if I don't burn the house down in the process, Aunt Chrissy and Bosco might come over for a bite or two. (If I do burn the house down in the process, then that would be a shame and I'd probably have to get used to sleeping on Aunt Chrissy's couch.)
(Or in Bosco's apartment.)
What am I going to make, you ask? Well, on Saturday I'm going to make "Grilled Kielbasa and Pierogi" followed by a lovely root beer boondt cake (with root beer drizzle, don't you know), and on Sunday I'm going to make a vat of chicken stew.
Chicken stew is what I make when I feel myself on the cusp of the blahs (or blues for that matter). I'm not sure if it's the paprika or the warm and comforting nature of it, but after a few bowls of it (OK, after ten bowls of it), all is right with the world once again. Methinks it will be just what the doctor ordered.
So that's all we have for you from Chez Spinster today, my very dearest stitchy friends. I do hope that your corner of the world is a lot more exciting and that whatever you're working is exactly what you want it to be! Woo Hoo!
(Um, Margaret's masterpiece that is, not Muriel's).
Here's the link: http://www.margaretmyblog.blogspot.com
It will take your breath away. I promise.
Stewey and I are hurtling head-long into the weekend. I'm happy to report that the tiny little itty bones seem to be just what the doctor ordered, and we've gone several days now without one episode of projectile upchucking. (I wish I could say the same for the projectile drape peeing, though). He will go for his annual physical tomorrow, and I'm sure that Dr. Nieman will say "Oh, Stewey. You're fine exactly as you are. Now if we could just get that Mommie of yours sorted out..." Then I'll hang my head in shame and pay the ga-jillion dollar bill and that will be the end of that.
I've just pulled a few recipes that I'm going to play with over the next few days, and if I don't burn the house down in the process, Aunt Chrissy and Bosco might come over for a bite or two. (If I do burn the house down in the process, then that would be a shame and I'd probably have to get used to sleeping on Aunt Chrissy's couch.)
(Or in Bosco's apartment.)
What am I going to make, you ask? Well, on Saturday I'm going to make "Grilled Kielbasa and Pierogi" followed by a lovely root beer boondt cake (with root beer drizzle, don't you know), and on Sunday I'm going to make a vat of chicken stew.
Chicken stew is what I make when I feel myself on the cusp of the blahs (or blues for that matter). I'm not sure if it's the paprika or the warm and comforting nature of it, but after a few bowls of it (OK, after ten bowls of it), all is right with the world once again. Methinks it will be just what the doctor ordered.
So that's all we have for you from Chez Spinster today, my very dearest stitchy friends. I do hope that your corner of the world is a lot more exciting and that whatever you're working is exactly what you want it to be! Woo Hoo!
Sep 21, 2011
JUST THE FACTS, MA'AM
Thine Is The Trick And The Treat
Prairie Moon
32ct. "Camofudge" by Stitches and Spice
Crescent Colors: Blackbird
Sep 19, 2011
LET THE FESTIVITIES COMMENCE!
My mom can't come to the blog right now. She is too busy prancing about the house with a leaf wreath on her head, chanting something about "Fall, Fall, it's here! Let' the Festival of the Fall Futzing begin! Woo Hoo!".
We awoke to a cool and somewhat rainy morning today, which means that the old lady and my Aunt Chrissy will soon have the official disposing of the leg razors and the stubble will begin to grow. I'm not sure where it's written exactly, but these two somehow think it acceptable to forego the shaving of the legs as soon as the peddle pushers hit the back rack of the closet. I, for one, am appalled.
We will also have the ceremonial application of the flannel sheets, the concocting of something warm and hearty in the crock pot, and the burning of whatever latest Yankee Candle is on sale that doesn't smell like over ripe summer fruit.
(All in all it's not a bad festival, but I could do without the leaf wreath and the prancing.)
I hope that you had a perfectly swell weekend. We were doing just fine right up until early yesterday morning, when I decided to upchuck all over the bed and a rather horrified mo-ther. She was a real trooper, though, and had those sheets and whatnot in the washing machine before you could say Pepto. The good news is that she has FINALLY come to her senses and realized that I am, after all, a nine pound dog and you simply cannot put eleven pounds of anything into me without some rather unfortunate results. My Aunt Chrissy took pity on me and loaded the old lady up with a Ziplock full of tiny itty bitty little bones, which are, afterall, what I should be treated with in the first place. Damn Mommie.
Enjoy your Monday, my dear and faithful friends! I remain your true and devoted servant,
Stewey
***************************************************
A note from Mommie (as in Dearest, don't you know): Before y'all write to me and say "Oh, Spinster Stitcher, you really shouldn't be feeding Stewey so many cookies and treats", may I just point out that I do so in order to get a little peace and quiet around here, and that the Cookie Dance/Stomping of the Feet and Showing of the Bunny Teeth Until I Get My Damn Cookies gets a little old after awhile. Besides, sixteen years of Catholic school has had a rather unfortunate effect on my ability to handle guilt, and there's no way I'm going to look that little creature in his eyes and then not give in to his every whim. So, before you fret, please know that the tiny itty bitty little bones are indeed appropriate and seem to be working, so as soon as I can find a bra I will be heading over to the PetSmart to stock up.
We awoke to a cool and somewhat rainy morning today, which means that the old lady and my Aunt Chrissy will soon have the official disposing of the leg razors and the stubble will begin to grow. I'm not sure where it's written exactly, but these two somehow think it acceptable to forego the shaving of the legs as soon as the peddle pushers hit the back rack of the closet. I, for one, am appalled.
We will also have the ceremonial application of the flannel sheets, the concocting of something warm and hearty in the crock pot, and the burning of whatever latest Yankee Candle is on sale that doesn't smell like over ripe summer fruit.
(All in all it's not a bad festival, but I could do without the leaf wreath and the prancing.)
I hope that you had a perfectly swell weekend. We were doing just fine right up until early yesterday morning, when I decided to upchuck all over the bed and a rather horrified mo-ther. She was a real trooper, though, and had those sheets and whatnot in the washing machine before you could say Pepto. The good news is that she has FINALLY come to her senses and realized that I am, after all, a nine pound dog and you simply cannot put eleven pounds of anything into me without some rather unfortunate results. My Aunt Chrissy took pity on me and loaded the old lady up with a Ziplock full of tiny itty bitty little bones, which are, afterall, what I should be treated with in the first place. Damn Mommie.
Enjoy your Monday, my dear and faithful friends! I remain your true and devoted servant,
Stewey
***************************************************
A note from Mommie (as in Dearest, don't you know): Before y'all write to me and say "Oh, Spinster Stitcher, you really shouldn't be feeding Stewey so many cookies and treats", may I just point out that I do so in order to get a little peace and quiet around here, and that the Cookie Dance/Stomping of the Feet and Showing of the Bunny Teeth Until I Get My Damn Cookies gets a little old after awhile. Besides, sixteen years of Catholic school has had a rather unfortunate effect on my ability to handle guilt, and there's no way I'm going to look that little creature in his eyes and then not give in to his every whim. So, before you fret, please know that the tiny itty bitty little bones are indeed appropriate and seem to be working, so as soon as I can find a bra I will be heading over to the PetSmart to stock up.
Sep 16, 2011
A CONVERSATION OVERHEARD AT CHEZ SPINSTER LAST NIGHT
STEWEY: Mo-ther, we need to talk about your blog post today.
MO-THER: What about it? (She peers over her stitchy glasses and tries to surreptitiously glance at Jeffrey Dean Morgan on the TeeVee screen).
STEWEY: (Immediately catching on, reaching for the remote, and clicking the off button while Mo-ther sputters in angry disbelief.) I am very disappointed that you would post a picture of me that implies that I do not know how to wipe my nose. As everybody knows, a gentleman always carries a proper handkerchief, and had you pointed out the fact that I had a remnant of my evening snack on my face, I would have happily taken care of it. In private, thank you very much.
MO-THER: For cripes' sake, Stewey. Every time I try to get within two feet of you, you skitter away and act like I'm going to attempt a briss. As a matter of fact, I think I'm going to start calling you Skittles. Yeah. That's it. Skittles. And because you're so little, I'm going to call you Little Skittles.
(She chortles madly as she dials the phone.)
MO-THER: Hey, Aunt Chrissy! Guess what! I'm going to start calling Little Lord Fauntleroy here Little Skittles! Isn't that the funniest thing you've ever heard? Aren't I a comedic genius?!
AUNT CHRISSY: Put Stewey on the phone.
MO-THER: You guys aren't going to make me take those pills again are you?
AUNT CHRISSY: (tapping her fingernail impatiently) Stewey. Phone. Now.
STEWEY: Hello, Aunt Chrissy? This is Stewey.
AUNT CHRISSY: Hi, Stewey. I'll be in the driveway in ten minutes.
STEWEY: OK, Aunt Chrissy. I'll be ready. May I bring my overnight valise with me?
AUNT CHRISSY: Whatever blows your smoking jacket up, kid.
*************************************************
Apparently, I'm the only one around here who thinks I'm hilarious. The dog is not speaking to me, and based upon my attempts to contact her today, it would also appear that Aunt Chrissy has changed her phone number. If I drive over to her neighborhood today and see a For Sale sign in her front yard, I'm going to be very sad indeed.
Still plugging along on the Prairie Moon, but not enough progress to warrant a fist fight with the camera. I really am going to try to work on it over the weekend, but if something new should happen to jump into my hands, I wouldn't be too terribly upset about it.
Here's hoping that your weekend is swell! Do something I wouldn't do!
MO-THER: What about it? (She peers over her stitchy glasses and tries to surreptitiously glance at Jeffrey Dean Morgan on the TeeVee screen).
STEWEY: (Immediately catching on, reaching for the remote, and clicking the off button while Mo-ther sputters in angry disbelief.) I am very disappointed that you would post a picture of me that implies that I do not know how to wipe my nose. As everybody knows, a gentleman always carries a proper handkerchief, and had you pointed out the fact that I had a remnant of my evening snack on my face, I would have happily taken care of it. In private, thank you very much.
MO-THER: For cripes' sake, Stewey. Every time I try to get within two feet of you, you skitter away and act like I'm going to attempt a briss. As a matter of fact, I think I'm going to start calling you Skittles. Yeah. That's it. Skittles. And because you're so little, I'm going to call you Little Skittles.
(She chortles madly as she dials the phone.)
MO-THER: Hey, Aunt Chrissy! Guess what! I'm going to start calling Little Lord Fauntleroy here Little Skittles! Isn't that the funniest thing you've ever heard? Aren't I a comedic genius?!
AUNT CHRISSY: Put Stewey on the phone.
MO-THER: You guys aren't going to make me take those pills again are you?
AUNT CHRISSY: (tapping her fingernail impatiently) Stewey. Phone. Now.
STEWEY: Hello, Aunt Chrissy? This is Stewey.
AUNT CHRISSY: Hi, Stewey. I'll be in the driveway in ten minutes.
STEWEY: OK, Aunt Chrissy. I'll be ready. May I bring my overnight valise with me?
AUNT CHRISSY: Whatever blows your smoking jacket up, kid.
*************************************************
Apparently, I'm the only one around here who thinks I'm hilarious. The dog is not speaking to me, and based upon my attempts to contact her today, it would also appear that Aunt Chrissy has changed her phone number. If I drive over to her neighborhood today and see a For Sale sign in her front yard, I'm going to be very sad indeed.
Still plugging along on the Prairie Moon, but not enough progress to warrant a fist fight with the camera. I really am going to try to work on it over the weekend, but if something new should happen to jump into my hands, I wouldn't be too terribly upset about it.
Here's hoping that your weekend is swell! Do something I wouldn't do!
Sep 15, 2011
OK, OK. JUST ONE STITCHY PIC
A very small stitchy status update:
And a picture of You Know Who:
P.S. His little silk smoking jacket is at the cleaners.
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:
PINS AND NEEDLES
DANIELLE
LIL BIT
MARNIE
xstitch.nl
Peacock's Feather
Sampler of Stitches
Honeysuckle tree
Clydeside Stitching
Day gone by...
View
Cozy Egg
A Kiwi Stitching
Stitching Obssns
Enchanted Burrow
Ranch
NeedleNThread.com
The Musing Badger
Stitching Squad
Linen Stitcher
Blissful Creations
Another XCrazy Blog
Cross Stitch Crazy
One More Stitch..
Just String
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
Crazy Aunt Purl
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:
PINS AND NEEDLES
DANIELLE
LIL BIT
MARNIE
xstitch.nl
Peacock's Feather
Sampler of Stitches
Honeysuckle tree
Clydeside Stitching
Day gone by...
View
Cozy Egg
A Kiwi Stitching
Stitching Obssns
Enchanted Burrow
Ranch
NeedleNThread.com
The Musing Badger
Stitching Squad
Linen Stitcher
Blissful Creations
Another XCrazy Blog
Cross Stitch Crazy
One More Stitch..
Just String
Plays With Needles
LIZ
Storm
Create Needlepoint!
Ornaments
Needleartnut
Stitchlady’s Weblog
Chilly Hollow
OTHER BLOGS THAT AREN'T REALLY STITCHY, BUT I LOVE THEM TOO!
THE BLOGGESS
Crazy Aunt Purl
Sep 14, 2011
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
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
Sep 13, 2011
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?
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.
Sep 8, 2011
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
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
Sep 7, 2011
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!
(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!
Sep 6, 2011
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.
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.
Sep 2, 2011
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.)
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.)
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