HAP-PY DAN-CING!

Now before you think I've gone completely 'round the bend and have neglected to actually finish this canvas before commencing with the Hap-py Dan-cing, I've decided that I'm going to use actual real live (OK, maybe not live, but silk) yellow daisies.  Remember the canvas that I did that with once before?  Well, if it was good once.....

Thanks for all of your lovely comments and encouragement during the stitching of this piece.  I must say that it was truly a joy from beginning to end and that I never could have done it without the design talents of the folks at Melissa Shirley, or the amazing charting/suggesting/tarting abilities of Miss Ruth Schmuff Her Very Self.  Who's better than they are?

Have a wonderful weekend, kids!  Stewey and I are off to the Happy Chair for a little cuddle time and movie watching tonight!  Woo Hoo!

IF ONLY.....

Thank you for all of your lovely comments about the canvas I'm working on, but I really must give credit where credit is due, especially since I am completely incapable of devising a thread/color/stitch scheme that doesn't end up looking like the dog's breakfast.

Unless, of course, it's MY dog we're talking about --  in which case breakfast consists of tea and lightly buttered toast, all served apres' bath on a whimsical little bed tray with the Times and a tea rose for effect.

Damn dog.

When I purchased this canvas, I asked Miss Ruth Schmuff Her Very Self from Bedecked and Beadazzled to kit/craft/tart the whole thing up as only Miss Ruth can do.  She selected all of the threads and stitches and told me when/where/how to do everything so that I could show it to y'all and feel like a freakin' rock star.

She's fabulous that way.

Lots of questions about the bird....she's stitched with a fiber called Fuzzy Stuff made by Rainbow Gallery.  Miss Ruth suggested that I turkey work her, but this is me we're talking about, so I just did a few long and short stitches and then fluffed the fiber with a little brush.

I'm still plugging away on the grass.  Who knew that it could take so long to grow?

SO CLOSE....AND YET....SO FAR

WOOOO HOOOOOO!

It's 2:00 on a gorgeous Saturday afternoon.  Thanks to Aunt Chrissy, the back patio is scrubbed freh and furnitureized with table and chairs, the house is (relatively) clean, and Stewey is snoozing in the patch of sunlight hitting his little perch.

After a hot scrubby shower for yours truly, I am thiiiiiiiis close to finishing my Melissa Shirley canvas.  Methinks there might be a whole lot of wobbly bit wobbling going on later this afternoon!

Can I get a WOO HOO from the congregation?

How's things in your neck of the woods?

WHAAAAAAAAH?

A few moments ago I glanced outside to see if the sun had finally decided to poke its pretty little head out, and I saw snowflankes.

Snowflakes.

On the 24rd day of April.

Oey.

Stewey has passed out in front of the fireplace (which, oddly enough, isn't on)  so I am going to hit the Happy Chair for a little stitchy time before bed. 

Yeah, yeah, yeah.  I know it's only 5:30, but sometimes a spinster just needs to think about going to bed. 

Tragic, isn't it, that thinking about going to bed is the highlight of my day?

NOW THAT'S MORE LIKE IT

Here's the latest progress on the Melissa Shirley canvas. The fourth flower and a few leaves were finished during yet another screening of Ghostbusters last night. Is there a better movie for some late night "I just want to sit here and giggle" sessions?

HEART ATTACKS AND LADYBUGS AND NAVEL GAZING.....OH MY

A sense of perspective isn't something I have in droves, so in light of all of the actual real life important stuff that's happening in the world right now, I hope that you'll forgive an idiot spinster for spending a few moments rambling about her own silly little drama of a life.

On Wednesday, I was driving down the street talking to my Jersey boy on the hands-free telephone contraption, when I noticed a gentleman approaching the intersecting corner.  As I glanced over at him, I saw him clutch his chest, double over, and then fall to the ground.  "I think that man is having a heart attack", I said to my Jersey boy.  "I'll call you back".  So I turned my little red tin can around, pulled over, grabbed my telephone contraption and called 9-1-1.  The gentleman on the ground was alert and conscious and breathing, and told me he thought he was having a heart attack.  I didn't have to perform CPR, so I guess it was my job to make polite conversation with both the 9-1-1 dispatcher and the gentleman having the heart attack, because all I could seem to do was chatter like a circus monkey, give the gentleman having a heart attack a continual thumbs up/you're doing a good job staying alive, Brother gesture, and promising the 9-1-1 dispatcher that I would, under no circumstances jump on this gentleman's chest and holler "Bring me the paddles!  Charge to 500!  Stat!"

Two South Bend police cruisers were there within a matter of seconds, followed by what I presume to be a South Bend Fire Department ambulance, since all of the people in said ambulance had stuff written all over themselves that said "South Bend Fire".  I managed to shut the hell up long enough for everybody to do their job, put Bob on a stretcher, and send him off to the hospital, where I am hoping and praying he enjoyed a full and speedy recovery. 

(And yes, in case you were wondering, I was perfectly calm, composed, and semi-professional right up until the point that the South Bend police officer asked the gentleman having a heart attach what his name was, and when he replied "Bob", I burst into the ugly cry and said "That was my dad's name!  And he had TWO heart attacks!  He's dead now, but I loved him very much and my sister and I miss he and my mother every single day of our rotten little lives because nobody should have to go through life without their parents, especially when they are ill equipped to handle all that comes at them in the course of a normal, yet hectic week here on the planet Earth!")

(Or something like that, anyway.  All I know is that the officer patted my on the shoulder and made sure I was sufficiently OK to drive and get the hell out of the chaos and on to my destination without revealing too much more of my inner messed-up mechanisms.)

Fast forward to yesterday, when I was at the downtown post office.  A young mother and her little daughter came in after what I can only assume was a very very long day of doing a whole lot of crap that the little daughter had absolutely no interest in doing whatsoever.  She managed to stand in line for a full seven seconds before she went into full on melt-down mode, and it was all any of us could do to protect our eardrums.  This kid was m-i-s-e-r-a-b-l-e and she wasn't going to stop until everybody within an eight mile radius knew this, so I decided to be "helpful" and engage the child in what I thought was appropriate conversation with someone in the midst of a nervous breakdown.  "I'm Butterfly McTootie Ladybug pants", I said while bending over to eye height with the kid.  "What's your name?" 

This might have worked at the Target a few years ago with a little boy named Ethan, but THIS particular child was having absolutely none of it.  I could swear I heard her tell me to go "f" myself, but that might have been the poor exasperated mother, who was, by this point, looking up in-patient mental health facilities on her iPhone.  I'm pretty sure that she would have slapped a stamp on her daughter's forehead and mailed her off to Montana if it would have meant that she could have gotten out of there with a shred of sanity and/or dignity in tact.

But I was not to be deterred by this.

"I'm Princess Tulip Buttercup Pansypants", I tried again.  "What's your name?"

This time the kid stopped hollering long enough to turn to her mother and say (loud enough for every single freaking person in the whole entire post office to hear her) "MOMMY!  WHY IS THE STUPID FAT LADY TALKING TO MEEEE???!!!!!  I DON'T LIKE THE STUPID FAT LADY!!!  I WANNA GO HOOOOOOMMMMMEEEEEE!!!!!"

It was at this point that I heard the mother say "Oh, screw it", and she grabbed the kid and hauled her (still screaming, by the way) back out to the minivan.

I could have been humiliated, sure.  And, if I would have had an ounce of self respect, I would have quietly made my own exit so as not to have to endure the quizzical looks of all of the other post office patrons, but I decided to stand there instead, shrugging my shoulders while offering a rather weak (yet effective), "What can I say?  I've put a little water weight on this week."

All in all it was one of those weeks in which I wonder why I tried leaving the friendly confines of my Happy Chair.  To remedy that, I've decided to turn OFF the damn TeeVee, turn ON the You've Got Mail, and get my fingers busy with some stitching.

So how's things in YOUR neck of the woods?

MY SISTER'S PRAYER

"You know what, Coni Jo?  When something like this happens, I don't pray that it never happens to me.  I pray that if it does, God will give me the strength to get the bad guy, run in to help, or give comfort to somebody who needs it."

...said by Aunt Chrissy

After Tucson.
And after Aurora.
And after Newtown.
And after Boston.

FAW-TY SEVEN

Aunt Chrissy would like for me to send y'all a big (and very very heartfelt) THANK YOU for all of your lovely birthday wishes.  She was, unfortunately, quite ill most of the day, so a bowl of mashed potatoes had to stand in for fancypants birthday cake this year.

My own b-day came and went without incident yesterday.  Stewey awoke at dawn with the idea that we would go for a picnic, but alas, Mommie Dearest here was more determined to plant her heiney in the Happy Chair for a little movie watching and stitching instead.

I've almost completed the background of the Funky Flowers canvas, but since there really isn't too much more progress than that to show, I'll hold you in suspense for a few days more.

We're off like a herd of turtles into the week!  I believe that the report calls for nine days of cold rain, followed by a week of "partly sunny" skies, so I see a few more Happy Chair days in my future!

Woo Hoo!

FAW-TY TWOO

Today my little sister turns 42.  How is that even possible?  I wish that I could tell you that we were off on some grand adventure, or that the naked dancing men would be here soon, but the truth of the matter is that it's cold and gloomy and Aunt Chrissy isn't feeling well at all today, so we will probably just take naps and call it a day.  Phooey.

Here's Laura J. Perin's Bargello Egg with yellow flowers:

I just can't decided whether or not to do Laura's suggested background, or to go nutso with a fancypants mat and framing.  For now, though, I think we're going to put this in the FUPPY pile and move on to a little cross stitch.

What's new with you?

WHAT COLORS ARE THE FLOWERS IN YOUR WORLD?

Oey.  I was so excited (and yet sad at the same time...how does THAT happen) to approach the finish line of Bargello Egg.  There I was, stitching away in the Happy Chair while whistling a happy tune, when it suddenly dawned on me that I stitched the flowers in the wrong color.

Brown.

I stitched brown flowers.

Who DOES that?

So after a hot bath and and a little dietCoke for sustenance, I'm headed back to said Happy Chair armed with the proper YELLOW thread.

Uh........duh.

CALLING ALL CARS, PART DEAUX

I awoke to the birds chirping and a to do list stapled to my forehead.  If it weren't for the fact that it was written in Stewey's handwriting, I would think that I got my groove on, and in a fit of domestic organization, decided to get crap done around here.

The list is simple enough, really.  I won't bore you with the intimate details shared between Mo-ther and "son", but it basically means that if I don't get the laundry done, the house cleaned, and the decor changed out to reflect the new season, Aunt Chrissy will have a permanent roommate.

Hmmmmm.  Wonder if I should have thought of this years ago?

In any event, I'm in the Happy Chair with Laura J. Perin's Bargello Egg today (while the laundry sploshes around, mind you), and tomorrow I will tackle the cleaning of the house.  In the meantime, I'm passing along a note from stitchy friend Lynda Baldauf:

 

I'm writing to tell you about my Spring Home Show coming up April 19, 20, and 21.  I run my business, Scandinavian Stitches, from my home in Old Greenwich, CT (a 50 minute car ride from New York City).  

Twice a year, I transform my home into a two-story Needlework shop and open up to fellow stitchers.  Those who have come in the past have had so much fun, that they come year after year, and they bring their friends.  I have door prizes, snacks and a thank you gift for everyone, just for coming.  They meet fellow stitchers and share their projects in a supportive community environment.

I would love to invite more stitchers.  However, I am hesitant to advertise to the general public, since this event is in my home.  Would you consider mentioning it in your blog?  If anyone would like to come, they would just need to RSVP to me with an email to info@scandinavianstitches.com or call 203-637-6832. Then I will gladly send them my address and directions.  

I appreciate your consideration and your time.

Oh, how I wish Hoosierville was but a short drive to Old Greenwich!  If you attend, please have a great time and then tell us all about it!  And can I get a big Woo Hoo from Miss Lynda for hosting such a fun day?  Makes me want to REALLY get this place cleaned up so that we might try it here too!

Have a wonderful weekend, kids!  See you on the other side!

CHELLO, MOJO.

A glorious weekend was had by all here at Chez Spinster.  It all started on Friday night when I got the bright idea that we should have a Game of Thrones marathon in preparation for the season premier.  So I whipped up some shrimp and scallop linguine and we were off to the races.  Laura J. Perin's Stained Glass Windows kept me company for the first evening's episodes (I think there were seven, but I lost count after 1am):

 

I started Laura J. Perin's Bargello Egg on Saturday, and am thrilled to report that I made some pretty good progress in between eating and Game of Throning.  It's amazing what you can accomplish during 21 hours of HBO series programming:

 

But I have to say that the best part of the weekend (in my opinion, at least) were these little beauties:

 

I watched The Pioneer Woman make them on her show last week, and said to myself  "I bet those would be pretty tasty for Easter brunch".  Boy was I right.  Delicious!  (I will confess that I used already prepared hash browns right out of the bag -- the refrigerated kind, not the frozen -- and they worked beautifully despite the warnings from PW that they might not.)   They did. You can find the recipe on her web site here: http://thepioneerwoman.com/cooking/2013/03/eggs-in-hash-brown-nests/, or just do this:

Spray a muffin tin really really well with Pam (or a cooking spray of your choice).

Smoosh the hash brown into the muffin tins and make a little indent in the middle.  (Build a nest).

Bake at 450 degrees until the hash browns are brown and crispy.

Crack an egg into each nest.

Bake at 400 degrees until the eggs are done the way you like them.

I hope that your weekend was swell!  Woo Hoo!

HOUSTON, WE HAVE A BASKET...

For once....no plan.  No rotation.  No angst.  I'm just going to plant my big fat heiney in the Happy Chair with these and....stitch!

Stay tuned!

WE'LL BE BACK AFTER A WORD FROM THESE SPONSORS...

My mom can't come to the blog right now.  She's taken to her bed with the covers pulled over her head, and I swear I heard her mutter something about staying there until the Apocalypse.  Methinks the old lady has been spending too much time in the world of late and it's time to get her back in her little woman cave -- pink fuzzies firmly in place, a dietCoke at the ready, and a little You've Got Mail on the TeeVee.

I suspect that all of this dis-ease around here can be blamed on a combination of things.  As y'all know, my Aunt Chrissy has been terribly under the weather lately, and this causes Mo-ther no end of angst as she tries to figure out how to fix it.  Trouble is, Mo-ther isn't a doctor, she only plays one on TeeVee, so she should spend her energies elsewhere.  (Like, for instance on laundry.  Or popping out to the PetSmart for some new toys for you-know-who.)

I'm just saying.

The second problem is this crazypants weather we're having, and the fact that it has seriously hampered the old lady's efforts in the self improvement department.  She decided that this was finally going to be the year that she hauled her self around the block every morning, but so far Mother Nature has refused to cooperate.  Between darkness and snow and rain and sleet and hail and ice, there hasn't been one day that Mo-ther has felt safe venturing forth.  (You can't blame this one on me, kids.  I'm game for a w-a-l-k any day of the week and twice on Sundays.) 

So there.

The third and final piece of this little mental health puzzle is the list of things that Mo-ther is NOT doing.  In no particular order, this list reads as follows:  Mo-ther is NOT stitching.  Mo-ther is NOT reading.  Mo-ther is NOT writing.  Mo-ther is NOT doing the damn Jumble each morning, and last but not least, Mo-ther is NOT spending adequate cuddle time with yours truly here. 

Well, I'm going to remedy all of that as soon as I possibly can.  I've asked my Aunt Chrissy to come over this weekend for a little sissy time up in the studio, and as long as Mo-ther cooperates, I suspect that the needles will be flying once more. Then, once this happens, you can bet that you'll see her on this here blog with a little bit better frequency, and I know for a FACT that this will mean that all of the other stuff will fall into place thereafter.

So thank you for being such good sports while Mo-ther hibernates, my dear friends.  I would imagine that all of her drama wears thin after a while, so I really do appreciate you sticking with us!  Until we meet again, I remain your loyal and devoted friend.....

With love from your pal,
Stewey

PAGING THE MAYTAG REPAIRMAN...

I'm out of balance.

Kind of like a big fat sweaty washing machine that has too many bulky towels in it and decides to shimmy across the laundry room floor.

Except my shimmy is busted and I wouldn't be able to perform any type of mechanical function whatsoever.

Time to switch the load....

CWAP

Will somebody please explain to me how long it takes to re-learn all of the stuff I seem to have forgotten with respects to this thing of ours?  I used to be able to stitch with two eyes closed, a vat of dietCoke in one hand, the TeeVee remote in the other, and handsome hunky mens on said TeeVee.

Now it seems like I require absolute silence, a moment of fervent prayer, and six people with flashlights just to thread a freaking needle.

Sheesh....if I would have known that when you lose your mojo you REALLY lose your mojo, I never would have left the house!

So looks like it's a bit back to square one for me, kids.  If I'm not back in a week, send reinforcements, please.

WHO'S HAPPIER THAN ME?

It's 7pm on a Saturday and I'm in the Happy Chair with glasses on, diet Coke iced, and this perfect project to play with. Thanks to dear stitchy friend Charlene, I won't have to roam the streets tonight in search of the perfect project.

Woo Hoo!

FOR SALE....RED SHOES, BEANIE, AND A REALLY LOVELY GOLD RING (ALL SIZE EXTRA LITTLE)

My mom can't come to the blog right now.  She's out in the driveway trying to convince my limo driver that a Mishawaka Public Library card is surely adequate payment for my recent excursion from O'Hare to Chez Spinster.  (What can I say?  My flight from Rome was delayed getting in and there was only so much time to grab my valise and hop on board the Hummer stretch that was conveniently parked at the curb.)

Stupid Mo-ther.  She actually thought I was going to take the bus home after the ordeal of being rejected as the next Pope. (For the record, methinks I would have made a very good Pope, especially when you consider that my campaign platform was "Red shoes for everybody!")

Moments ago I heard someone on the TeeVee say "The problem with the Catholic Church is that it's run by humans."  It must be my jet lag, because I found myself snarking "As opposed to other churches that are run by gerbils?"  I mean, even I, a very simple pup knows that that was a silly thing to say.

So now that I'm stateside once again, I hope to return to more regular postings. There really hasn't been a lot to report, unfortunately.  Mo-ther has been on her very best behavior and has even managed to put a few stitches into her canvas, but I'll have to show you later since the TSA confiscated my camera.  (Dirty bastards.)

(Oops.  Maybe that's why the vote didn't go my way.)

I hope that this does find you well and that wherever you are is exactly where you want to be.  Know that I love and cherish you most dearly and that I'll return to this little corner of our world very soon!

With love from your pal,
Stewey Sanctis, Second Runner-up to the new guy, but who is not bitter about it in the least.

JUST ANOTHER DAY IN PARADISE...

Progress continues on the Rishfeld canvas:

Aunt Chrissy is closing in on a finish ('scuse the wrinkles, please):

And Baby Bosco is giving kisses:

EASY LIKE A...SATURDAY?...MORNING

Aunt Chrissy and Bosco are still snoozing, Stewey is on his perch, and I'm contemplating another cuppa.  It has been such bliss to have a house full of sissy love and pups.  Methinks we need to think about doing this permanently.

(I suppose that that little plan would require Aunt Chrissy to feel the same way I do, hmmmm?  Why do I think that the answer to that particular question might not be what I expect? )

(What can I say?  I'm much better in small doses.)

Any whose....we're off for a few sissy errands and then hopefully it's back to the Happy Chair for some weekend therapy in the form of some serious tent stitching for me and some lovely silk crosses for AC.

Are you exactly where you want to be today?  I hope so!  Stay warm and safe and dry and we'll see you on the other side!

SPINSTER SISSY STITCHING

Aunt Chrissy and Bosco have been hanging at Chez Spinster lately and there's a whole lotta' stitching going on!  I finished the green background of the Rishfeld canvas, and Aunt Chrissy made some good progress on Shepherd's Bush Baby Bug Ball.  (She's been a SB fan from Day One, so it's a pleasure to watch her get back into a stitchy groove!)

Here's Aunt Chrissy's piece:

And here's mine:

We're warm and safe and dry and hunkered down with some vegetable soup and homemade bread for dinner.  The weather report for these here parts is a bit dicey, but we're armed with lots of comfort for the duration!

Thank you one and all for all of your lovely notes and cards and letters and well wishes for Aunt Chrissy's speedy recovery.  She'll be on the mend soon and back to her old self as fast as I can possibly get her there.  In the meantime...love love love to one and all!

WELL, AT LEAST SHE HAS A PLAN

My mom can't come to the blog right now.  She's still snoring away in the big girl sleigh bed, with occasional mutterings of how she's never going to leave the house again.  Methinks she has finally gone 'round the bend, poor dear.

What a wonderful world we occupy to have such lovely friends both far and wide.  Your prayers and support and encouragement were everything my mo-ther and Aunt Chrissy needed these last few days, friends.  THANK YOU!!!!  Both Bosco and I want you to know that your concern for our mommie dearests is precious to us, and we will never forget it.

The plan for today is rest and then more rest, followed by an evening of lounging.  Tomorrow, we're going to wash some underpants and push the Swiffer around a bit, and then Sunday is going to be a studio day.  I can tell how much it's bothering Mo-ther that she hasn't stitched in a while, so I'm going to insist that she does so, if only for the good of the planet.  A stressed out spinster isn't god for any body or any thing, so we need to fix it.

As for me, I will enjoy the return to my perch, little bed, apartment, and ottoman.  You'll be happy to know that I have been on my very best behavior of late, so please don't fret that I'm watering the drapes.

Wherever you are is where I hope you wish to be.  Have a splendid weekend, give yourself a big hug from all of us here in Hoosierville, and know that we cherish you sincerely.

With love from your pal,
Stewey

THREE THINGS

1.  Thank you, dear friends.  Your love and support are just what the doctor ordered.  In the lobby of our hotel is a big dispenser of this special water that's supposed to make everything all better. (Well, maybe it's just regular old water with a bunch of stuff in it like fruits and herbs and such, but I've got it in my head that it has magical healing powers, and I make poor Aunt Chrissy take a sip every time we pass it.)  "You do realize that we're in Cleveland and not at Lourdes, right?" she says every time I hand her a cup.  Well, your comments are like that damn water, kids, so I'm drenching her in them every chance I get.

2.  A few moments ago I got a really good chuckle out of her.  We were watching the TeeVee and a commercial came on for Kourtney and Kim take Miami.  So I put on my very best pouty kissy face and said..."Kourtney and Kim take Miami?  How about Crys and Coni take Cleveland!?"  And then we started cutting up about what that might look like and how we'd finally have enough money to do all of the things we'd like to do, like send Stewey to charm school, get Bosco a motorbike, and finally open up that needlework shop.   Look out, Bravo , here we come!

3.  At one point last night I got so frustrated that I am of no help whatsoever that I said (right in the middle of a snotty ugly cry)...."Oh, sissy.  You would have been better of with a labradoodle."  Thank God my sister is my sister and she knows that no matter how bad the circumstances might be....I will find a way to turn it all around and make it all about MEEEEEEE, because she just smiled and patted my hand and made me feel much better.

We headed off to yet another procedure.  This one will involve anesthesia, so at least I know Aunt Chrissy will be able to get a minute of peace and quiet.

Thanks again for all of your love and support!  We're hoping to return to our regularly scheduled programming real soon!

JUST NOT WORTHY

I'm sitting here watching my little sister sleep after what has been a ridiculously bad day for her.  I promised her that I wouldn't tell the whole world all of her secrets, so I will, instead, tell you that my sister is the bravest person I know.

She hasn't been feeling very well for a very long time now, so part of trying to get her better is a series of tests that will tell the docs here in Cleveland how they can fix her.  Logically, we know that these guys are the best, and mentally, we know that this test is what is necessary, but it didn't do a damn thing to make it any easier to endure.

But my sister took a deep breath, wiped away her tears, and said "Let's get this over with" before I was able to figure out where to hang our coats.  She was brave.  Oh, my God, was she brave.  I stood behind her to lend what I hoped was feeble support, but instead all I could do was bawl that my little sister had to be so scared and in so much pain.

It bloody well sucked.

Tomorrow morning, bright and early, she'll have the monitor removed, and then we can prepare for the next test.  The only good thing with this one is that we already know that she will be knocked out for it.

Too bad I won't be, but I promise that I'll try to be a little brave.....and maybe worthy of a sister like our dear Aunt Chrissy....

Keep those happy thoughts, kids.  We'll see you on the other side!

STITCHERS ROCK!!!

THANK YOU! to one and all for the great recommendations!  I think that our stitchy friend Joanne will have several options now....all thanks to you!

I've been in a little bit of a blur these last few days, so when I awoke to the news that weather was bearing down on y'all over there on the coast I said  "Stewey!  We need to invite the entire state of New Jersey home to live with us again!".

Little Lord Fauntleroy was, as usual, not at all amused.

But for all of you in the storm's path....please stay warm and safe and dry.  Eat something wonderful, drink something comforting, and stitch to your heart's content!  We'll be sending you our happiest thoughts for a safe and happy weekend!

Woo Hoo!

CALLING ALL CARS....

Hi, kids.  I'm in the midst of a project at the moment, so not much of an update for you, but a fellow stitchy friend needs help.

If you're a canvas work person, and enjoy doing those types of projects, where do you go for all of your supplies?  We're looking for a "one stop shop" type of place that will have stretcher bars (preferably Evertights), Caron threads, canvas, and other supplies that would help you complete a project.

Comments, please.  Shop owners welcome!

FUTZUS PREMATURIS

I awoke with the happy thought that today was Futzingday (*). 

"Woo Hoo!" I bellowed, as I hopped out of the big girl sleigh bed.  "A whole day of Futzing is to be had by all!".

This was right about the point that Stewey poked his nose out from under the t-shirt sheets and Woolrich blanket to inform me that today is, in fact, Tuesday, and NOT Futzingday.

Crap.

So I'm going to head to an appointment and then come home and start the festivities early.  I'm jonesing for a studio day, and if I can manage to get the motivation to do more than stare at the walls, I might actually make it up there to rummage through my stash for some fun things for the basket.

The basket, sadly, has been empty for quite some time now, so methinks a little rummage might be just what the doctor ordered.

So Happy Futzingday Eve, everybody!  What are you going to do to celebrate?

(*) Futzingay is nothing more than Wednesday, kids.  I named it thusly because I have a propensity to do absolutely nothing but futz on Wednesdays.  So I figured that an official day to do so each week would make me feel less like a slacker and more like a traditionalist.

MONDAY, MONDAY

The red background on the Rishfeld canvas is now complete.  On to the green!

IMAGINE THAT......

Yesterday was a whirlwind of activity for yours truly, but I think that the best part of it all was realizing that I am capable of going out for dinner with a friend without too much adult supervision.  Normally, I am accompanied by Aunt Chrissy, who does her level best to make sure that I don't make a complete boob of myself (at least not too terribly often), but last night I was on my own.

If you asked me when I became incapable of adult human interaction, I couldn't say exactly, but I do know that there was a time in my life when I was able to act somewhat normal, use a proper dining utensil without having a nervous breakdown, and remember my manners for more than four consecutive minutes without having to run to the ladies room to talk to myself in the mirror.

Sheesh...when did it get so damn difficult to just be me?

(Already I can hear the Peanut Gallery piping up, so to that I will say "Settle down, kids.  I may have BEEN a complete social misfit my entire life, I just didn't KNOW it until now.")

So what's new with you on this fine Wednesday morning?  Are you chanting "Gloom, gloom, go away" like we are here in Hoosierville?  58 today....14 tomorrow!


Woo Hoo!

ON THIS EPISODE OF CRACKPOT SPINSTER THEATRE....

Doesn't it look like Heathcliff could come bounding across the moors at any moment?  On days like this, when the fog rolls over the meadow, I expect to see my friend Kavanaugh standing out there with his bagpipes a'blasting.

(And, no, I'm not really sure that the patch of land behind my house is a meadow, exactly, but meadow sounds nicer than "unincorporated county property".  Or...field.)

I'm knee-deep into watching the entire Sopranos series again.  I think this is the ninth or tenth time I've watched it, so by now I can pretty much quote the dialogue in my sleep.  I just hope that I don't do what I normally do when in the midst of all things Tony and Carmella -- which is swear my fool head off and walk around pretending that I actually know what a good "gab-a-gool" is. 

(This, of course, is in direct contrast to what I really am -- which is an idiot spinster who eats her spaghetti sauce from a jar.)

Here's the progress on the canvas.  I am loving that red background stitch, even if it is a bee-yatch to compensate.

See?  Sopranos.

OK. SO NOW SHE'S MAKING MEATLOAF.

My mom can't come to the blog right now.  A few moments ago she lumbered out of the big girl sleigh bed (after dramatically throwing her arm across her forehead while bemoaning how "bereft of energy" she was, by the way) to head toward the kitchen for her morning coffee. 

I decided to remain quietly under the covers so that whatever craziness the old lady has cooked up for the day might pass me by.  Alas, it was not to be.

"MEATLOAF!"  I heard her bellow.  "WE NEED MEATLOAF!"

From what I gather, my stupid mo-ther has been more distracted than usual lately, so she figured that the only way to get one's bull by one's horns is to make a baked slab of ground meat the approximate size of a mini bus.  My cousin Bosco thinks this is hilarious, especially since his nickname happens to BE meatloaf, but I find the entire exercise exhausting.

After a long confab with my Aunt Chrissy, I've come to accept the fact that whatever brain cells were in my mother's head have probably headed south for the winter.  Apparently, I'm not the only one left to wonder what the hell this woman is thinking half the time, but fortunately for me, I know First Aid and am capable of caring for myself in a sufficient fashion.

So rather than doing laundry or cleaning the house or taking down the inside Christmas decorations (I know, horrified silence, right?), or heading up to the studio to once and for all put together a "Winter" stitching basket....we're making meatloaf.

I do hope that this finds your own little corner of the world a little less....disorganized, and that you're headed into the weekend armed with only that which is completely fabulous in every way.  Until we meet again....I remain your loyal and devoted friend.

With love from your pal,
Stewey

WELL THAT DIDN'T LAST VERY LONG

About three and a half minutes into my whole "just go with the flow" needlework plan, I think I've come up with a new one.  The only problem I have is that it involves going upstairs to the studio, and this is not something that is remotely possible when one is canoodled under three blankets with a fuzzy puppy. 

I'm toasty, kids, and I don't feel like changing that at the moment.

So stay tuned to see what nutball configuration emerges from this afternoon's activity.  I don't think it's going to be anything Earth shattering, but maybe it will get me out of the one-at-a-time mode I've been in for the last several months.  Methinks it's time to get some counted canvas work, cross stitch, Christmas ornaments, and WIP's back into rotation.

Woo Hoo!

BABY, IT'S COLD OUTSIDE

Stewey is all snuggled into his perch for a long snoozy, and I'm in the Happy Chair with a damn good cup of coffee and the Sunday New York Times for company.  I love to read it all week, and as I do so, I like to pretend that I'm witty and erudite enough to understand everything that's in it.  By Friday, I get cocky enough to try my hand at the crossword puzzle, and then it's back to Humbleville and the South Bend Tribune and the Jumble, which is apparently more my speed.

Today is a day for stitching, and I'm excited to continue the background work on the Rishfeld canvas:

I've either fallen down and smacked my little head on the pavement, or I've matured as a stitcher, since I have yet to get bored/frustrated/disappointed/or all up in my head over this one.  Every stitch is as enjoyable as the first one, and I'm happy to report that ideas for the flower mo-teefs are flooding my brain.

Every now and then I flip back to the starting entries of this here blog, and the one thing that strickes me is that I really am nuts when it comes to this thing of ours.  There were times when I played with forty-two different things at once, and then there were times when I got into a good rotation that allowed me the opportunity to finish a lot of the open projects in my stash.  The last year or so, though, it seems that I am totally about "the process" and not as much fretting over the silliness that normally occupies space in my tiny little head.  I think I've finally come to the place where I realize that anything having to do with threaded needles poking themselves through something is fabulous.  In other words.....it's all good in the needlehood.

Wisdom?  Naaaah.  I'm probably just tired.

What's up with you?  Are you warm and safe and dry and doing something you love? 

MUST. TURN. OFF. TEEVEE. NOW.

Now I know that this is going to come as a complete shock to all of you, but there are two things that you should know about your whack-a-doodle Spinster Stitcher.

1) She has a propensity to knee jerk.

2) Because she is a person who knows no middle ground, she swings violently between everything being perfectly perfect in every way/oh what a beautiful morning to...oey/we're all going to hell in a handbasket.

Given these delightful quirks, I have made an executive decision to take a little news fast.  Not sure what this is?  Well, Dr. Andrew Weil suggests that every now and then we need to unplug ourselves from the 24/7 stream of news that comes our way via television, radio, computer, smart phone, beeper, iPad, carrier pigeon, town crier, and whatever other method one uses to get one's news these days.  He says that a news fast is one of the 8 Steps to Optimal Health, and when you consider the fact that this is also the guy that said the best thing you can do for yourself is eat a piece of dark chocolate every day, I believe it to be so.

So I'm unplugging.

I don't know if it's the moon, or my mood, or my present predicament of standing in the vestibule to menopausal hell, but I seem to be losing the plot.  Yes, dearies, I've become even more unhinged than is normal for a person of my temperament, so methinks it's time to grab the needlework and You've Got Mail and hit the happy chair for a little soul soothing meditation.

I don't know if Manti Te'o is a hero, a victim, or a villain.  I don't know what (if anything) will come of this whole mess, and I certainly don't want to even think about the fact that it's possible that this level of cruelty could exist in a human person to do such a thing, whether it was perpetrated on him or perpetrated by him.

What I do know is that this is one crazyass big blue marble we're living on, and while I do like knowing things as much as the next guy, I think that sometimes I'm a little better off hearing about it once the circus has pulled out of town and there's nothing left to do but sweep up the elephant poop.  So, forgive me if you were hoping for pithy insight or a well-formed opinion regarding the overall state of affairs, but the truth is....

I got 'nuthin.



P.S.  Do you think Lance Armstrong sent him a muffin basket?

NOW EVEN I DON'T KNOW WHAT SHE'S TALKING ABOUT.

My mom can't come to the blog right now.  She's slumped on her closet floor, clutching all of her Notre Dame sweatshirts, sobbing, ranting, shaking her fist at the sky, and breathing into a paper bag.  At first I figured that this was just another Wednesday and tried to avoid her entire mess of a self, but once she got on the telephone and started hollering at Aunt Chrissy, I couldn't help but overhear.

God only knows what's got the old lady on a roll THIS time, but I think it has something to do with a news story regarding a Notre Dame football player.  And from the limited amount I could decipher in between rants, I think something must have happened to this particular football player that has caused my Mo-ther to feel it necessary to holler (while very red faced and spitting slightly, I might add)...."YOU $#*($& WITH THE BULL, YOU GET THE HORNS!!!!  MEET THE HORNS!!!! RISE UP, NOTRE DAME NATION, AND CALL UPON OUR BELOVED BVM TO RALLY BEHIND OUR FAVORED SON AND SHAKE DOWN THE THUNDER UNTIL THERE IS NOTHING LEFT BUT FEAR AND TREMBLING AND RETRIBUTION".

At least that's how I think it went, anyway.  I was too busy trying to make sure that my crazyass mo-ther didn't knock over the Christmas tree as she was flailing about while trying to tell Aunt Chrissy all about the fierceness with which the Notre Dame family protects its own, and how she hopes that the resulting exposure of all of this mess will finally convince people that Facebook and Twitter are the devil and how nobody in their right freakin mind would ever use a computer -- ever -- and then I think this is when my Aunt Chrissy pointed out the fact that if it weren't for the computer, Mo-ther would be holed up in a cave somewhere with nothing to do but wring her hands while painting to do lists on the walls.

I'm as sensitive as the next pup, but somebody needs to intervene here and explain to my mom that she simply does not have enough time in her day to right the wrongs of the entire world.  And she most certainly cannot right the wrongs of the entire world while simultaneously trying to care for me in the manner to which I've become accustomed.

OK.  Enough about that.  Lots of new stuff to report here from Chez Outraged Spinster.  Mom got two (!) new pairs of glasses today and from what I gather they have some kind of fancypants lenses in them called "progressive high definition".  All I know is that Mo-ther is now able to see clearly both far away and up close, so we should be able archive the several hundred pairs of plastic magnifiers that she's hoarded from the Walgreens.

She also came home with a lovely new painting for the bedroom, so methinks that post-Christmas decorating will be much easier this year.  You see, when the Christmas decorations go up, Mom has to find someplace to put her big ass pear picture that normally hangs over the fireplace.  And this place is usually the bedroom wall, just next to the big ass sleigh bed.  When that picture comes down and goes back into the living room, we have months and months and months of kvetching over the lack of "pretty" in the bedroom, and Aunt Chrissy and I are subjected to endless hours of decorating and then re-decorating and then un-decorating until Mo-ther finally gives up and just falls on the floor in a heap.

But I think she might be on the right track.  Finally.

I'm envisioning all white bedding and some lovely drapes.  Maybe sheer, with a little hint of whimsy?  Whatever she does in there will definitely be an improvement, and I'm promising myself that I won't point out that it took her ten full years of living in this house to get to this point.

That's the report for now, dear friends.  If you're inclined to do so, please pray that things calm down around here soon.  I'm not sure how much more of the hysterics I can take, and God knows if I pack up my little valise and hit the bricks, the old lady will be left to her own devices.

Until we meet again, I remain your loyal and devoted friends.

With much love from your pal,
Stewey

G'NIGHT, CLEVELAND! WE LOVE YOU!

We managed to return home safely, so now the recovery begins.

Most people that go on a medical trip use the word "recovery" to refer to the time it will take to get their personal selves back into the grind of daily living, or the process of allowing the body to heal from whatever thing it was that you went on the medical trip for in the first place.

Recovery for Aunt Chrissy, though, means time to get the heck away from her idiot sister and all of the crazypants stupid incompetent nut ball crap that I do in the course of a day.

I did all of the driving, which was a good idea when you consider the fact that I am a freakishly freaky control freak and do not "do" passenger very well.  I especially don't "do" passenger very well in Aunt Chrissy's fancypants sports car that she drives while wearing her fancypants glasses that make her look like somebody famous, but you just can't figure out who.

(That actually happened to her, by the way.  More on that later.)

So I drove and drove and drove the fancypants sports car and somehow avoided colliding with anything, despite the fact that I kept forgetting that I was driving and was looking around at all of the pretty buildings and whatnot instead.

Aunt Chrissy's list of stupid crap that I did while on this trip would be eighteen pages long, but the only thing that I will really own and confess is paying $57 for four bottles of water.

What can I say?  I was thirsty and figured that the nice people from room service could bring us a few bottles of water to stick in the little fridge, but when it came time to sign the bill, I didn't realize that there was already a gratuity and service charge on there.  So I did math in my head and the waiter walked away wondering why the large sweaty woman from Indiana wearing her polar fleece pajama bottoms was giving him a $50 tip for $7 worth of water.

I'm pretty sure that it will be a while before we stop talking about that one.

I really would like to thank you for the shop recommendations.  They were positively spot on, kids, and we had the opportunity to visit two of them.

After we checked into the hotel, we ventured out for a short trip to The Crafty Ewe.  Holey Schmoley, what a fun time we had there!  The shop was lovely and very well-stocked with everything a stitcher could want in way of cross stitch and other supplies, thus we left there with a nice big fat bag stuffed with new treasures.  The shop owner, Carol, talked to Aunt Chrissy about the Clinic, and I'm not sure if she realized at the time how much that impacted us.  We were both very nervous about things, so Carol's calm and positive and reassuring advice were just the ticket for a great night's sleep.  What a lovely gift that was.  I cannot wait to go back, especially since the bakery next door looked like a place that I could spend some very serious time in after getting my stitchy groove on with the ewes and all of their craftiness.

The plan for Thursday was going to be that I would end up going solo to Wool and Willow, but as it turns out, Aunt Chrissy was able to join me.  This time, the drive was even shorter, and we were treated to some of the most beautiful scenery....street after street of gorgeous homes and tree-lined boulevards.  (This was where I had to remember that I was driving, and I did so right after Aunt Chrissy hollered at me for about ten minutes for not knowing how to turn left through an intersection that was bigger than Lima, Ohio.)  (I'm not kidding.....there had to be at least ninety seven lanes of traffic converging, and when you consider that I was pointing and ooing and aahing and everybody in the ninety seven lanes was honking at me and shaking their fists at the stupid Hoosier in the fancypants sports car that doesn't know how to drive, I think it all turned out rather nicely, thank you very much.)

So we parked and started to approach the front door and I went into a full-on panic attack.  What if there was a dress code?  What if I made an ass of myself and knocked something to the floor?  What if I couldn't get my words to come out right and Aunt Chrissy had to smack me on the back of my head to re-boot my brain?  Needless to say, by the time we had made it through the door I was in a flop sweat and couldn't stop chattering like a circus monkey.

I don't know how long we were at Wool and Willow, but I know that at one point Aunt Chrissy had to point out that we couldn't (much to my sadness) spend the night there.  I was all set to tuck in with a pillow and blanket and make a real bash of it, but alas, I was sans toothbrush and I'm not sure the next day customers would have welcomed the sight of a portly, snoring, sweaty, and jabbering spinster under their big stitching table.

We were honored to meet The Lunch Bunch...a group of ladies that gathers for stitching every Thursday, and has been doing so for many many years.  What a group!  I wish I could tell you how in awe I was of every single one of them, but suffice it to say, I left there truly humbled that my stitchy universe has just expanded to now include them as "stitchy friends".

So thank you, Crafty Ewe and Wool and Willow!  You made a very difficult trip positively perfect in every way.  (We do promise, however, to give you ample warning the next time we come for a visit, and we'll hit the Sam's Club for a vat of Tylenol to help ease the pain that is The Rich Sisters.)

I won't bore you with all of the stash acquisition that happened over there in Cleveland, but will instead show you  the progress I've made on a new painted canvas.  I have been itching to do a little more needlepoint, so this fit the bill perfectly.  The designer is Rishfeld designs, and I'm stitching it entirely in Vineyard silks.  Thanks to the inspiration of The Lunch Bunch and the help of the fabulous, amazing, gorgeous, and talented staff of the shop itself, I am going to do this predominately in tent/continental stitch.  I had to, though, get a little jiggy with that red background.

Thanks again for steering us in the right direction, my very dear stitchy friends.  It's good to be home and back in the proverbial saddle, so hopefully it won't be long before we meet again!

Stewey and Bosco send their love, and thank you for your concern that they were left to their own devices.  Both boys loved their time at Chez Magrane, but we can't get any more than that out of them since Bosco keeps saying "Sorry, Aunt CJ...what happens at Magrane stays at Magrane!"  (I'm Aunt CJ, by the way.  Just like Aunt Chrissy is Aunt Chrissy to Stewey.  Confused yet?)

Happy, happy Monday to you and yours!  I'm off to find a patch of sunshine and a few lengths of that gorgeous Vineyard Silk to play with!

Woo Hoo!
 

WELL THAT WAS BRUTAL

Oey.  The one game that I decide to play nice and cheer cheer for old Notre Dame and we get our heineys handed to us on a crimson platter.  Man.  Broo-tal.

I'm afraid that I don't have any stitching to report since I was too busy watching the carnage, as well as writing lists and such for our upcoming trip to Cleveland.  I do want to thank you all for your concern that I am ailing, but please don't cry for me Argentina....it's Aunt Chrissy's party this time.  Never fear, dears.  She will be good as new as soon as the people over there in Buckeyeville fix her up, but happy thoughts and prayers are always welcome and appreciated.

Full report upon our return.  And in the event that any bad guys are reading this and are thinking about breaking into Chez Spinster while I'm gone, please feel free to push the Swiffer around on your way out.  I'll leave front door unlocked for ya'.

(I'm just kidding, of course.  In addition to a dear stitchy friend on standby, I have several nosy neighbors and a few ex-Marine special forces in unmarked vehicles keeping their eyes on the joint.  So enter at your own risk.  There could be major booby traps, I'm just sayin'.)

Have a happy week and a good weekend and we'll see you on the other side!

D IS FOR... DETERMINED

My mom can't come to the blog right now.  She's on some crazypants organizational kick, so moments ago I watched her head out the door armed with a list of errands to run and a stack of library books.  I suspect that her newly formed impetus for finally getting something done around here is the result of the new year, but more than likely it's just a phase that will burn itself out in a few days.

I have to give the old lady credit, though, since she managed to actually tidy the place up a bit before taking a shower and then dressing herself in proper clothings for the day.  I had hoped that she might have sported one of her new Aunt Chrissy Christmas sweaters, but she opted for a Notre Dame sweatshirt instead. 

(Apparently, there is some sort of sporting contest this evening, and Mo-ther felt that it was her alumnal duty to show some form of support, even if it involves a twenty seven year old sweatshirt.  I did notice, though, that she put her class ring back on, so can the proverbial leprechaun tattoo be too far behind?)

On the stitching front, progress is being made rather nicely on Shepherd's Bush Come Tarry.  Methinks that this was the perfect project to have started, since it seems to be holding Mo-ther's attention for more than a few minutes at a time.  I'm still waiting for the all-day organizing session that needs to take place up in the studio, but for now I'm satisfied that we're back in the Happy Chair with needle and thread once again.

I do hope that this finds you well and off to your own good start for 2013.  Thank you for visiting with me today.  I'm off to find a patch of sunshine for a little snooze, so I'll close for now with the promise that I remain your loyal and devoted friend.

With much love from your pal,
Stewey

THE SAD STATE OF THE SPINSTER STITCHY UNION

So I decided that it was time to grab the proverbial bull by the proverbial horns and take a look at my stitching.  Or should I say lack thereof?

I only had 18 finishes last year, and the worst part of that sad fact is that the last finish of the year was on October 28th.  After that I only played with two projects, and neither of them were remotely Christmas related.  What the heck happened?

The good news is that I'm in the Happy Chair, armed with Shepherd's Bush "Come Tarry", and I'm determined to put more than one stitch into it before I call it quits.

I've also been a terrible blogger, a lazy Mommie, and a lousy keeper of the homestead.  Sheesh....we're off to a bumpy start.

I am, however, quite determined to turn this leaky little boat around, so stay tuned, kids, and we'll see what kind of adventures we can cook up!

Woo Hoo!

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Can you believe we're moments away from ushering in a new and exciting year?  From our home to yours, and on behalf of Aunt Chrissy, the Baby Bosco, and The Artist Formerly Known As Stewey, I'd like to take a minute to THANK YOU for all of the giggles and grins, love and friendship, and encouragement and inspiration this year.  My hope is that 2013 is the best year yet....filled with health, wealth, wisdom, and happiness for all of us!

Happy New Year, dear friends!

With much love from,
Coni
The Spinster Stitcher
(and her little dog too!)

CALLING ALL CARS

Hey, kids.  Aunt Chrissy and I are going to be in the Cleveland area next month, and we're wondering if there are any needlework shops near The Cleveland Clinic?  I hate to impose on all of our fellow Buckeyes out there, but can you help a stitcher out?

Stewed and I are lumping it today and haven't made it out of our pajamas yet.  So much for cleaning the house and getting the laundry done.  Would it be so wrong to call this a snow day and zone out in front of the TeeVee?

I am, however, determined to get upstairs today to get something vaguely stitch related in my hands.  I feel like I haven't stitched in a year and a half.  Drat.

Stay warm and safe a dry, and we'll see you on the other side!

SHE'S SO/SUCH A DOPE

My mom can't come to the blog right now.  She's at the Barnes and Nobles looking for books that will tell her how to be "street".  She's doing this because I caught her perched in her Happy Chair this morning wearing her new headphones while trying to make some sort of crazypants hand gesture that would indicate that she's "down with the lingo that all the kids are using these days".  I swear, if she hadn't gotten rid of her Barbie stereo turntable a few years back, we'd be looking at the horrifying prospects of a dance party.

I'm blaming my Aunt Chrissy for this one, since she decided to get the old lady an iPad.  And because she's my Aunt Chrissy and doesn't know the meaning of "let's take baby steps with my idiot older sister because she's sure to make a hash of it", she went all out and got her more accessories for said iPad than came with our first automobile.

Apparently, headphones are big these days.  I can only surmise that Michael Phelps and all of the other fabulous Olympians had something to do with this, since everywhere you look there are attractive young persons walking around with cans on their heads.

In my stupid mo-ther's mind, she looks like this:  

The reality of the situation, however, is that she actually looks more like THIS:

Well, not exactly, actually.  I see that the lovely lady in the photo above had the good sense to get a manicure before heading to work in the recording studio.  MY old lady hasn't had so much as a good stiff brush anywhere near her paws in about six months.  (Oh, the shame of it all).

So that's the report from Chez Crazy Spinster today.  Mo-ther is trying to recapture her youth while simultaneously trying to figure out where the "on" button is on her iPad, and I'm looking for the sedatives so that I might finally get a little peace and quiet around here.

I do hope that your Christmas was swell and that your every wish came true!  Until we meet again, I remain your loyal and devoted friend....

With much love,
Stewey

 

Wishing you love and peace and joy and happiness.

Merry Christmas, dear friends.

Coni

(and Stewey too!) 

THE GREAT TONIC WATER INTOXICATION OF 2012

Howdy ho, friends and neighbors.  Before I tell you about my latest exploits, I'd like to thank you for your comments on my last post.  I appreciate each and every one of them, and thank you for your thoughtfulness, your insight, your opinion, and your willingness to share your voice.  You've given me an awful lot to think about. Thank you.

Would it be OK if I moved on to a lighter/sillier topic?  I'm determined to solve the world's problems, but until I am able to fully function as an adult grown-ass woman who doesn't need the supervision of her little sister and a team of highly gifted professionals, I should probably just concentrate on one thing at a time.

Like learning how not to poison myself with either a) a pork chop, b) roasted vegetables, or c) a vat of Canada Dry diet tonic water with quinine.

I've been having a bit of a go with leg cramps, so I got the bright idea to have a little tonic water in the evenings.  (And no, before you ask, I did NOT get the even brighter idea to put GIN in the damn tonic water, which probably would have saved me a LOT of trouble and at least FOUR rounds of total embarrassment in the ER when the brand spanking new doctor had to do his very first heiney exam, and he was so freakin nervous he told me to turn my head to the left and cough and I said "But, Michael!  Despite all evidence to the contrary, I don't have what you're looking for down there, and I'm pretty sure that if I had a prostate, we'd be having and entirely different conversation altogether.)

But I digress......

I made a lovely dinner on Sunday evening, cleaned up the kitchen, patted Stewey on the head, and then promptly ran for the hills with what I presumed to be yet another case of food poisoning.  I seem to be getting pretty good at this, so I wasn't at all alarmed, especially when you consider that whatever the food was that was poisoning me came from my very own kitchen, and I knew that no other innocent parties had been affected.

By Monday evening things had gone from bad to worse, so Aunt Chrissy put my shoes on my and hauled my sorry self the block and a half to the hospital.  (It's gorgeous, by the way, and exactly what you'd want in a hospital if you were inclined to want those kinds of things.  Besides, it's got a Golden Corral right there in the front of it, and despite the fact that I can't get over a restaurant that would use a name that suggested a place for keeping one's cattle, I'm determined to go check out that chocolate fountain.)

Again, with the digressing.

My nurse, Alissa, had been on the job for about seventeen minutes, so she was understandably a little nervous about the enormous spinster on the gurney handing her a sheet of paper with a med list as long as a Walgreens, but she was a real trooper and told me what an impressive specimen I was.  (Or maybe I needed to give an impressive specimen?  I can't remember).  Anywhoose, all I know is that she had been an ER nurse over at the other hospital in town, and had just started her new job at the Golden Corral hospital that very same day.  Poor, poor dear.

Everything was going swell until the resident came in to introduce himself.  Aunt Chrissy and I took one look at him and immediately thought the same thing...."Gee, this guy looks exactly like our cousin Brian"...but I was also noticing that his name was Dr. Phelps.  So, in my stupid little head, I immediately said to MYself "Gee, this guy looks exactly like cousin Brian, but I'm going to call him Michael."  (You know.  Michael.  Michael Phelps.)

Poor Michael.  In addition to having to deal with the fabulous glory that is me, he had to try to figure out just what the heck he was going to do to make me feel better.

So he decided to probe me in my under carriage with a gloved finger and a charge nurse for moral support.

Did I mention that Michael was also new to the hospital and had never conducted this particular examination before?  Poor, poor dear.  I'm pretty sure that it didn't help matters any that I was trying to keep myself calm by chattering away like some kind of circus monkey, and when he corrected me by saying "Um, Miss Rich, my name's not Michael.  It's Nathan." all I could think to say was "Well, honey, as long as you're where you're at, I'm going to keep on calling you Michael.  It'll be better for both of us, I promise."

My God.

A few short hours later, and I was sent on my merry way with instructions to hydrate, hydrate, hydrate, and enough pills to make whatever the heck was going on with me go away.  I'm not taking any of them, of course, since I was smart enough to call my regular doc (at the insistence of Aunt Chrissy), and he basically said (as only he can) "Well, it's either food poisoning, too much tonic water, the flu, or something exotic that will take us years to figure out.  Either way, you're going to feel like crap for a few days, so drink plenty of fluids and call me if it doesn't get any better".

(You gotta love that guy, right?)

So here I sit with my Gatorade and my Vitamin water and my diet ginger ale and my caffeine free dietCoke.  I could float a barge, but I'm determined to wash away whatever got in there that wasn't supposed to so that I can get back to the really important things....like napping.  And stitching.

Now if only there was a way to wash away all of the shame over exposing my heiney to Michael.....


Are you all well and warm and safe and dry?  I hope that as we wind down the year you'll have a few moments of pure bliss just for your very self.  Stewey is determined to go caroling this year, so I suppose that I had better find him a traditional costume or we'll never hear the end of it.  Damn dog.

Ciao, for now boys and girls.  Thanks for indulging my need to share my every waking minute with you.  No charge for the awful visuals, by the way....

DO YOU THINK WE'LL EVER FIGURE IT OUT?

I'M NOT AN INTELLECTUAL, I JUST PLAY ONE ON TEE VEE

I've been utilizing our local libraries a lot lately, so my reading life has started to swing back into its pre-stitching groove.  Today my plan is to dive face first into Salman Rushdie's "Joseph Anton" and not come out until I've made a decent dent in it.

Of course, we all know that after about seven and a half minutes of using my tiny little itty bitty pea sized brain I will require a nap, followed by a vat of dietCoke to help get my wit about me once again.

When I was a kid I could read for hours and hours and hours on end, and I don't think there was anything that made me happier than devouring an entire novel in one sitting.  The joy!  The bliss!  The sheer sense of accomplishment of it all!  Oh, how I wish my stamina were that of the 12-year old me.

I'm still loving every moment of Laura J. Perin's Harvest Moon House, but I didn't put a single stitch into it last night.  Aunt Chrissy asked me to tag along to Bosco's annual vet visit (for moral support, of course), and then we headed to Carrabba's for a late dinner.  The plan walking in the door was to have a house salad with grilled chicken.  The result, however, involved a few gallons of Arnold Palmer, a caramelized onion/bacon flatbread appetizer, a loaf of bread, a salad, and then Pasta Weezie.  I. Ate. Every. Bite.  Delicious, yes, but I paid for it all night by having to endure the lovely waft of garlic that seemed to seep from my every pore.

The sun is shining and the Stewey is snoozing.  I'm going to do my very best today to get at least one or two Christmas things accomplished.  I am starting to think that those damn Christmas cards aren't going to jump out of their boxes and address themselves, nor are they going to drive to the post office for stamps, so it looks like I better get on the stick.  Sigh.

Happy Futzing Day, and Happy 12-12-12!