NESTING...THE SATURDAY EDITION

The view from the Happy Chair on a cozy Saturday evening....

Supplies for the "as yet to be completed" Olympic project:

And here's the progress...


I really am enjoying this immensely, so even though the torch has been extinguished, methinks I will keep playing with this for a few more days.

My reading life is back on track.  This morning I finished "The Goldfinch" by Donna Tartt.  I'm still working it all out in my head, but I think I loved this book.  Next up is either "That Part Was True" by Deborah McKinlay or "An Unnecessary Woman" by Rabih Alameddine.


I picked up the book about Zentangle thanks to Miss Susan of Plays With Needles fame.   After reading her post about a recent family class, I went into a three-day obsessive frenzy of learning, watching, and devouring everything I could find on Zentangle.  I completed my first one yesterday with simple pen and paper, so I imagine that once I get my hands on some proper materials, there will be no stopping me.

Have you read Miss Susan's blog, by the way?  If not...take thee there immediately and prepare yourself for the most soulful, lovely, wonderful blog reading experience you'll ever have.  You can find it here:  www.plays-with-needles.blogspot.com.

Stewey is munching a Chewee while silumtaneously toasting his little buns in front of the fire.  We took a nice long snoozy nap this afternoon, and he's been Little Mr. Cozytoes all  day.  Damn dog....sometimes it's all I can do not to just sit here and grin at him.

I'm going to pour another dietCoke, pop a blanket into the dryer to toast, and then snuggle in with some stitching and Sopranos.

What's on your agenda?

AS USUAL, IT'S ALL MY FAULT

OK.  We finally have an answer to the question "REALLY?" as it relates to this crazypants weather of ours.

You see, it's my fault.  Entirely.

No.  Really.  I mean it.  And once you realize that it truly IS my fault, you will delete me from your PalmPilot (do they still even MAKE those things?) and you'll be able to return to life happy and content that you used to know an idiot that caused all of this m.e.s.s.

As a child, I anticipated winter with the same excitement that I had for Christmas.  Winter meant snowpants!  And sweaters!  And sledding at Faurot Park!  Winter was when Dad made perfect fires in the fireplace and I, for once, could sit in front of them with my nose in a book and not hear "Why don't you go outside to play?" every seventeen minutes.

When I came to the hinterlands of Northern East JaBip Indiana to go to college back in the dark ages of 1984, I got quite a kick out of the kids from Southern California and Tampa and other exotic locations walking around campus freezing their bazoombas off and hating every single minute of it.  I would chortle madly as I huffed and puffed my way to class all bundled up in my parka, while those poor fools slipped helplessly about in their perfect J Crew pea coats and illogical shoes.

I've been saying "Oh, I LOVE the cold and the snow and the dark winter days!" for years now...all in an attempt to make people think that I come from hearty peasant stock and am nothing, if not, adaptable.

Today it was minus twenty-eight degrees outside and I couldn't see two inches in front of my face when I made the mistake of going out to get the paper.  The drifts on the side of my driveway are taller than I am by several feet, and if Stewey rolls his eyes one more time at the limited real estate on which he has to make his deposits, I'm going to FedEx him to Florida.

All done now with the cold and the snow and the whatnot, thankyouverymuch, MotherNature.  Can we go back to normal winter now with 30 degrees and just enough white to cover the grass?

FURTHER EVIDENCE OF WHY IT'S NOT EASY BEING ME...

Welcome back to prime time coverage of the Spinster Stitcher Stitching Olympics.  I'm your host, Stewey Willowswamp, coming to you live from Happy Chair Stadium.

Well, it's been a rough week for our competitor.  Project selection and preparation went smoothly, but in the initial time trials, she faltered, stumbled, tripped, and then fell face first:

What can I say, folks?  The sheer disappointment of such a meagre attempt ths far has made our contender, the crowd, and the judges very restless.

Fortunately, coaches were called in and a plan was assembled:

Obviously, this blueprint should have been in place well before the Opening Ceremonies, but it would seem that our contender was more interested in eating Trisha Yearwood's Charleston Cheese Dip than she was concerned with training.  A costly, costly mistake indeed.

As our next week of competition begins, we'll see if our stitch-lete can overcome such a huge obstacle, gain momentum, and finish with some modicum of dignity.  It will be difficult, to be sure, but a chance of Olympic gold should provide the necessary motivation to push forward.

Until then, I bid you a good evening.  Please join us again soon on this channel for full coverage.   Thank you for watching.  Good night.

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

Hey, kids!  While you're waiting for some Olympic stitching updates, please enjoy a rant that percolated in my tiny brain last week.....




The new pope of the Catholic Church is a real pip.  He's got this bizarre notion that priests should tend to their flocks instead of amass airline miles attending conferences, and he has been consistently delivering this message:  "Wake up, kids.  Time to feed the hungry, clothe the naked, comfort the sick, etc. etc. etc.  We need to get back to spiritual basics and re-prioritize ourselves."  And then he went and fired the Bishop of Bling in Germany (or wherever the guy was), refused to move into the Papal Ritz, and pretty much eschewed the wearing of the gold lame' and the big fat ruby ring.

(Rumor has it that he's not wearing the red shoes, either, but I haven't seen a picture of his feet yet to confirm this, so stay tuned.)

It is my humble opinion that this guy has the mental fierceness of a Jesuit, combined with the good nature of a Fransciscan, all wrapped up in the outfit of an old-school priest who didn't think a thing of inviting his homey to ride in the Popemobile with him for a spin around St. Peter's.

(Did you see that, by the way?  There's the Pope....tooling around the masses in the middle of the square, when all of a sudden he sees a guy from home and invites him to hop on board and go for a ride.  Can you imagine the conversation that took place in the Secret Service office THAT afternoon?)

Anywhoose....my point is, I think this guy is pretty interesting as popes go, and I can't wait to see what he does next.

So, with all of that in mind, I share with you the news that a) my beloved Alma Mater just inked a $100 million dollar deal with UnderPants (or some other crazyass uniform place) to dress up the football team for the next billion years and b) they announced a $400 million expansion of the football stadium.

$400 million.

Expansion.

Of the FOOTBALL stadium.

Now all of this wouldn't have been so bad were it not for the fact that the Board of High Exhalted PooBaas of my beloved university had a audience with the Pope (pleasee see above for context here), the day AFTER the announcement of the $400 million expansion of the football stadium was announced and TWO days after the $100 million deal with UnderPants was effected.

Let's go to the Vatican, shall we, and peek in on what I really really hope was the conversation....

BABBO (that would be the Pope):  Fr. John, welcome to Rome!  Thank you for coming to visit and for bringing along your very highly exalted entourage of what I presume to be extremely important peoples.

FR. JOHN (that would be Jenkins.  John Jenkins. President of You Know Where):  Thank you, Babbo.  It's a pleasure to be here (he bends, kissing the ring).  

(It is at this moment that a papal aide discreetly clears his throat to get Babbo's attention.  He leans forward, whispers something in Babbo's ear, and hands him a copy of the previous day's South Bend Tribune.)

(The Pope reads...brows furrowing.)

BABBO:  Fr. John, I see here that you announce great things.  But my English...it's not so good.  What is "stadium".  Is this a place for prayer and contemplation?

FR. JOHN:  Uh, no, Your Holiness.  The stadium is where we play football.

BABBO:  Ah!  Football!  So you are going to take this $400 million and make a place for all of the little children of the world to come play soccer in the name of wolrd peace, no?

FR. JOHN:  (Looking sideways for help from his entourage).  Uh, no, Your Holiness.  Football, as in American style football.  You know -- with pads and helmets and a funny shaped ball?  We have a team called the Fighting Irish, and they play their games in this building.

BABBO:  Oh, I see.  So the $400 million is going to help pay for these poor young men to better themselves on the field of sport, while getting in touch with their Catholic identity as students at your university?

FR. JOHN:  Uh, not exactly Your Holiness.  You see, our football team is already pretty well funded by our new corporate marketing partners, UnderPants.  THAT deal, which we just announced, was worth about $100 million.  THIS deal is for the expansion in which the new $100 million team will play.

BABBO:  Hmmm.  OK.  Again, my English.  It says here that the building will house new features that will further the tradition and Catholic identity of the university.  So these rooms here (he points at the architectural rendering on the front page of the paper)...this is where the praying and the ministering to the poor will take place?

FR. JOHN:  Uh, no.  Those are the new luxury sky boxes.

BABBO:  Sky boxes.  So that one can draw closer to heaven?

FR. JOHN:  Uh,  not exactly.  Sky boxes so that our wealthy alumni have a special place to have cocktails and watch the football game.

BABBO:  (Again pointing to the rendering).  And this room here?  A chapel?  A place for the poor of the community to come if they are in need of shelter?

FR. JOHN:  Nope.  That would be the new ballroom.

BABBO:  Ballroom?  You mean for more of the football?

FR. JOHN:  Uh, no.  Ballroom,  For dancing and parties, and concerts and other important scholarly functions that will help further the identity and mission of our Catholic institution.

BABBO: What about on this side of the football place? (He points to the eastern expansion).

FR. JOHN: (Smiling brightly.) Oh!  That's the new three-story rock wall!

BABBO:  Ah!  Rock wall!  You mean for praying and reflecting, like the one in Israel?  A very holy place where the peoples can come to talk to God and unburden their soul to Him?

FR. JOHN:  No (face falling), a rock wall that our students, faculty, and wealthy alumni can climb on for recreation.  You, know, Your Holiness, for when they get bored or have an extra twenty or thirty thousand dollars a year that they'd like to donate to us in the memory of somebody that was important to them.

BABBO:  (Looking at the rendering while mentally calculating the number of peoples that the $400 million could have fed, clothed, educated, nurtured, and otherwise saved.)  Well, thank you for coming to visit us today, Fr. John.  Here's a blessing for you (he makes the sign of the cross over group).  Please have a safe journey home.  (He turns to his papal aide, slowly shaking his head in disbelief, finishes his work for the day, gets in his Ford Focus and drives himself home to his studio apartment.)

The entourage makes its way to the exit, gets into the waiting limousines, and heads for the luxury jet that will take them to the next destination in their journey -- a yacht moored off the Amalfi coast.

The End.


I'm posting this here rant almost two full weeks after all of that happened.  Can you imagine what the rant would have been like if I would have actually let loose on the very day?  There's not enough soap on the planet to wash out THIS potty mouth, I tell ya!

Olympic stitching is coming along pretty nicely.  I will try to get a few pictures taken and give y'all an update! Until then....hope you're surviving whatever it is that's going on outside your window, and that you're warm and safe and dry with needles loaded and flying!

LET THE GAMES BEGIN!

Stewey and I headed over to Aunt Chrissy's on Friday night for the opening ceremonies of Sochi, but I didn't start stitching anything for the Olympics until last night.  I suppose you could say that I was too captivated by the spectacle of it all, but the truth of the matter is that I was too busy stuffing my face with Trisha Yearwood's Charleston Cheese Dip.

(Just a word of warning, kids.  Don't do it to yourself.  Deadly, deadly stuff.)

So for the games this year, I decided to concentrate on two projects.  The first is Rosewood Manor's Winter Quakers:

The second is Laura J. Perin's Starry Nights, but done in red white and blue threads:

Now before you point out that there is NOT much progress despite the seven and a half hour marathon session of last evening, may I just point out that I had to stitch, frog, and re-stitch the darn outline on that mo-teef TWICE while trying to watch the new Slope thingie event, in which we propel ourselves off the side of a cliff with a piece of shiny wood strapped to our feet.

Holey Schmoley, those kids are nuts.

(Before I forget, can I just say a big fat BRAVO to the Canadian delegation?  I thought your outfits were really swell for the opening ceremonies, and if I wasn't so completely rotund, I would think about finding a pretty red pea coat of my very own to sport through the tundras of Michiana.)

(And THANK YOU, Mr. Lauren, for burning the United Airlines Flight Attendants' unis for our US team this time and a thumbs up on the pretty sweaters.  I'll take two, please.  Size extra, extra small for You Know Who and size semi-truck hit by a bus for Moi).

Today will find me in the Happy Chair stitching away.   I hope that you, too, get to enjoy a marvelous Sunday with those you love and a threaded needle or two for company!

Woo Hoo!
Coni

(P.S.  As for the recipe for that cheese dip, you can find it on the Food Network site, or you can just combine cream cheese, mayo, Monterrey jack cheese, cheddar cheese, green onions, bacon, and cayenne pepper in a casserole dish, top it with crushed Ritz crackers, and then bake until melty and gooey.  Dip a Frito or two in there and you're going to want to slap your mamma.  I promise.)

PONDERINGS FROM MO-THER ON A COLD THURSDAY MORNING

Chello, dear friends!

As I write this, the sun is peeking out from behind some rather ominous looking snow clouds.  I hear that we're supposed to get a few more inches of the white stuff this afternoon, followed by yet another several inches this weekend.

(How happy am I that I have a personality that remains perfectly content to stay inside Chez Spinster with nothing but chicken stew and stitching for company?)

(Oh, and maybe You Know Who Too).

So I've been thinking a lot about this whole "Life of the Mind" crap that Stewey has been trying to get me to embrace.  How the hell I ended up with such a fussy little fusspot intellectual companion is beyond me, especially when you consider the fact that I've never really been smart enough to get out of my own way.

I was never one of the smart kids in school.  I was just kind of...there.  Yes, I tried really hard and I did my homework and sweated out the results of every single test, but I was never one of the ones to achieve academic glory time and time again.  I struggled with stuff and I got mad that I couldn't "get" most of what was being taught, but somehow I made it through and managed to get a diploma and a hearty handshake from Mr. Rupert on graduation day.

Notre Dame damn near killed me.  Let's face it, kids.  I had absolutely NO business going to college, and I certainly had NO business going to college and selecting a major that included thirty-eight brainiacs...and me. While my classmates were reading Heidegger and Erasmus, I was reading Glamour and Jackie Collins.  My friend Michelle Martin read War and Peace in Russian.  I barely made it through the Cliff Notes.

So now I'm a grown-ass adult in a world that knows things, and I'm just happy when I can make it through the day without making a complete a total ass of myself.

But I have to ask.....

Is that so WRONG?

I mean, if the world needs ditch-diggers too, doesn't it also need "simple" people?  Shouldn't it be OK for me to sit in the Happy Chair and poke my needle in and out of something and think about....nothing?  When did it become incumbent upon me to solve all of the mysteries of the universe?  When did it become necessary for me to have all of the answers?  Why do I need to have a working knowledge of physics, or economics, or the inner workings of my washing machine?

Can't I just BE?

Yeah, yeah, I know.  You're going to tell me that knowledge for knowledge's sake is what makes life worth living and that being the smartest person at a cocktail party can do wonders for one's self esteem.  Well, I don't need any help in that department, thankyouverymuch. I am perfectly content to keep my trap shut and learn from somebody else for a while.  Remember that year of being quiet?  That was a good year, kids. Maybe I need to think about that as more of a permanent mantra rather than as a temporary slump.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I'm still going to watch PBS and read books and try to do the damn Sudoku every day, but if it's OK with all of you, I'm NOT going to try to be something I'm not....which is a nine-pound Jack Russell terrier dressed up in a silk smoking jacket with the smug self-satisfaction of knowing that you're smarter of every other living person in your household.  I'm just going to be content to be the dopey Mo-ther, and Little Lord Know It All can satisfy his need for stimulation like nature and God intended....in a chat room for precocious little snobs that could have thrived with a smarter owner.

So the good news is that I now know what I'm doing this weekend.  What's on YOUR agenda?

A LITTLE NOTE FROM MASTER STEWEY ANGUS WILLOWSWAMP, HIS VERY LITTLE SELF

My mom can't come to the blog right now...she's pouting in the big girl sleigh bed because I won the coin toss and we watched intelligent TeeVee programming these last few days rather than zone out in front of a Mob Wives marathon.

The first thing we watched was a documentary on HBO about the political cartoonist Herblock.  It was riveting, and I so enjoyed learning more about that part of American political journalism.  Mo-ther didn't understand most of what was presented, but it did give her pause and stimulated a bit more than her normal drool-inducing fare.

Then we caught an episode of Charlie Rose on which he discussed a new documentary called "Tim's Vermeer".   Oh, how I wish we lived in The City or Los Angeles so that we could attend the limited release premier.  Instead, I will have to add it to my Netflix queue and hope that Mo-the doesn't ground me from my ipad before I can catch it.

Today we watched a lengthy documentary on J.D. Salinger.  I believe it was part of the PBS series Ameican Experience, and I can tell you that I was completely riveted from the moment it started.  I have yet to read much Salinger, but am now determined to do so.

All of this intellectual stimulation has not been for naught, I think.  I heard Mo-ther on the phone with Aunt Chrissy earlier, and I think they had a relatively normal conversation that did not involve the normal banalities.

Stitching tonight will be on Shepherd's Bush "Snow Hill".  As soon as more progress is made, I'll be sure to share some photos with you.

Until then, my friends, I do hope that you are doing whatever it is you want to do.  I am going to retire early tonight with Donna Tartt's Goldfinch...a novel that I am enjoying immensely.  Do you suppose Mo-ther can be persuaded to allow me a small sip of sherry whilst I read away the evening?

Take care, dear friends.  I remain your layal and devoted pal.
Stewey

BRRRRRRR.....OH, NEVER MIND.

Is anybody else tired of talking about how freakin' cold it is?  Stewey and I are hunkered down with dietCoke and pot roast for sustenance, and I'm pretty sure we've entered the hibernation phase of the festivities.  Wake me when it's Spring.....OK?

Last night I put the final stitch into Plum Street Samplers "Hare's Winter".   (I changed the colors of their little outfits in anticipation of Sochi.)  I also used one ply of light blue and one ply of dark blue to come up with the look for the border stitches.  

It's too cold to get out of the Happy Chair, so I will probably pick up Come Tarry for a few hours tonight.  Tomorrow I will head to the studio for a few new things for the basket.  I'm percolating ideas for Olympic stitching, so stay tuned!  (Aunt Chrissy and I had to postpone our get-together, but are determined to do so this weekend.)  I know it will be a canvas work piece, and I know it will be red, white, and blue, but that's about as far as I've gotten.

SILLY MACHINE...

Does anybody have a six year old that they can loan me for a few days?  Apparently, that's what it's going to take for me to figure out how to use this contraption.

If you've sent me an email in the last several months and I have not responded to you, please do write again.  My spinsterstitcher@aol.com account went bye bye for a while and for the life of me I can't find stuff from August 2013 until now.

Stewey thinks it's time to allow his personal secretary, Nigel, to give it a go, but methinks I'd be wise not to open THAT particular can of worms.  I mean, after all, the poor fellow is having a hard enough time catering to the whims of You Know Who and his propensity for pointing out that finding a classically trained British butler was hard enough without me messing about with it all.

Damn dog.

INQUIRING MINDS...

Believe it or not....I am often asked questions about my particular habits when it comes to this thing of ours.  One of the questions that I'm asked most frequently is "Hey, Spinster Stitcher!  Why the heck do you start all of your projects in the lower left corner?"

I've pondered and pondered and pondered how to answer this in a way that will convince you that I am NOT, in fact, a nutball of the highest orders, but alas,  I am unable to do so.

So with that in mind....

I start all of my projects in the lower left corner because I have the compulsive need to create a piece from the ground up.  When you combine that with the fact that I also have some sort of warped and twisted fear that the stitches I've put in will somehow slide off the bottom of the piece unless there's a border there to stop them, you can see how my epitaph rings so very true.

(Remember....tombstone?...."It wasn't easy being me")

So there you have it.   I start my projects at the lower left corner because of a pathological need to control everything around me (except, apparently, what I stuff into my gaping maw each day), and the pathological fear I have that if we stray too far we might just fall off of the edge of something like a needlework project, or the Earth, depending upon your perspective.

See?  Told ya.

Nut.  Ball.

WHAT'S ON YOUR PLAYGROUND TODAY?

Oh, what fun we're having here at Chez Spinster!  I'm not sure why, but I have been stitching my eyeballs out these last few days and have been enjoying every moment of it.

This is Shepherd's Bush "Come Tarry".  It's one of my very favorite pieces, and I hope that I'm smart enough to get this framed and on the wall, rather than let it languish in the FUPPY box once I get it done.

I am pretty sure that what gets me about this one is the saying...."Wisdom tells me I am nothing.  Love tells me I am everything."    It's The Drawn Thread, by the way.

Aunt Chrissy and I are going to get together on Wednesday night to start planning our Olympic stitching.  Since I'm a four-year old and can't wait that long, I thought I would play with this in the meantime.  See the little bunnies?  I'm going to make their little outfits look like US oufits (but without the normal American Airlines meets Ralph Lauren's crazy sister element).

(Stewey wants to know why they haven't approached him to serve on the committee yet.  I keep telling him that an entire delegation of athletes prancing about in silk smoking jackets and cravats would not be good for anybody, but he just mutters something about me being a Philistine and goes back to doing whatever it is that he does to pass the time with his idiot mo-ther.)

Apparently, this is what he does to get away from his idiot mo-ther.

That's it for now, kids.  I hope you're warm and safe and dry and that your very own tummy is toasty!

WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE !!!!!!

Well, first let me express my very best and most heartfelt THANK YOU for all of your concern about my recent....um...what's it called?....oh yeah, that's right....calamity.

I took your good advice and called my doctor, and she suggested a crash helmet and assisted living.  (Seriously...I had a CT scan this morning and think all must be well since nobody hollered anything about cutting my head open STAT!)  I did quite a number on myself, though, so it looks like I will be taking lots of epsom salt baths, popping a few muscle relaxers, and just generally taking it easy for a bit.  But can I just say that when one tumbles to the ground like a sack of hammers, it is so good to know that there are wonderful people out there who will gently tell you to get yourself to the doctor and stop screwing around.

Life goes on, my friends.  Stewey and I are tucked into the Happy Chair with the latest stitchy fun:

I hope that wherever you are is exactly where you want to be and that you will stay warm and safe and dry (and UPRIGHT) !

AND THEN SHE FELL DOWN IN THE DRIVEWAY LIKE A SACK OF DOORKNOBS. TWICE.

Several years ago, I told Aunt Chrissy that I wanted my tombstone to have five simple words on it.  I'm not sure if she paid any attention to me at the time, but after the events of yesterday morning I'm pretty sure that she's called the undertaker and gotten a jump on the whole sorry mess.  (*)

I awoke at the crack of Farmer Stewey needing to go outside to potty at the ridiculous hour of 4am and then finally decided to haul myself out of the big girl sleigh bed at 7.  Aunt Chrissy and I had plans to run errands, so I threw on a fleece and some slippers and headed out to grab the paper for a quick run-through with my first Starbucks.

When I caught sight of the trash and recycling bins, I realized that I had forgotten to drag them to the curb, so I grabbed the big ass blue recycling bin and started down the driveway with my pajamas flapping in the breeze.  I turned and started back up the driveway to gather the trash bin, when WHOOSH!! my legs decided to go right, while the rest of me decided to go left.  

Down I went into the cold four and half inches of ice water, slush and driveway salt.  

Fortunately I am extremely well-padded so after a quick look around, I bounced back up, brushed myself off, and breathed a sigh of relief that nobody seemed to be the wiser that I had just landed slightly to the left of my big fat fanny in a puddle of muck.

A normal person would have immediately gone back inside to hide in shame (and change out of her soaking wet and frozen pajams), but this is me we're talking about.

I headed back into the garage to grab the trash can and was doing well enough getting it to the curb when my entire lower body catapulted itself eighteen feet up into the air in front of me and I landed. Hard  On.  The.  Top.  Of.  My.  Pointy.  Little.  Head.

It knocked me out cold, I'm sorry to report, because when I came to, I was flat on my back in the middle of the fours and a half inches of ice water, horrified that I had just broken my neck because I was too damn lazy to drag the freakin garbage can to the curb the night before.

This time I didn't look around to see if anybody saw me -- probably because my glasses had flown off my face and I couldn't see anything more than six inches in front of my face.  So I stumbled inside, collapsed onto the laundry room floor and had a good long cry.

(Stewey, of course, was soundly asleep in the big girl sleigh bed the entire time this was happening.)

Once I calmed myself down enough to stand, I called Aunt Chrissy, who gently walked me through an emergency triage of questions..."Are you bleeding?...Is anything broken?...Is your vision blurred or are you in any pain?...etc etc etc."   We decided that a call to 9-1-1 wasn't warranted, so I took a deep breath, pulled on my eighteen year old sweatpants, and got on with it.

Today is...interesting.  The lemon-sized lump that had been on my head is now a perky little golf ball, and as long as I don't have to move, I'm feeling pretty good.  A few Tylenol and a vat of dietCoke later, and I'm sure I'll be back to normal (or as close to normal as this particular spinster can get) soon.

(*)  What's the five words, you ask?  In a lovely font, I'd like my tombstone to say:  IT WASN'T EASY BEING ME.

WHY I AM NOW GOING TO HIDE MY EYEPAD, BY MASTER STEWEY ANGUS WILLOWSWAMP, HIS VERY LITTLE SELF

My stupid Mo-ther cannot seem to leave well enough alone, but I'm giving her a pass this time because she started a lovely piece called "Love and Wisdom" from The Drawn Thread that I hope to hang in my pee edd a tare once it's finished and suitably framed.

FINALLY....A CHANCE TO USE THE PHRASE "APPROPOS, NO?"

So there I was, putting the final button on my first Fee Nee of 2014, when Stewey poked his little head out of his blanket cocoon and said "Oh, Mo-ther.  You tickle me so.  How charming that you would stitch something that says "Chill Out" on a night when the temperature has yet to reach minus ten degrees Celcius."

And then he snuggled back under the blankets and I pondered the fact that I just spent the better part of seven days stitching something and never realized what it said.

Here it is kids.  The first official Spinster Stitcher completed project in I just don't know how long.  Can I get a Woo Hoo from the congregation?

FIRE...DELIGHTFUL...YEAH, YEAH, YEAH.

So here we are....in the midst of a blizzard and sub-zero temperatures ( like, it would seem, is the entire freakin' universe at the moment).  Stewey and I are hoping that wherever you are, you are warm and safe and dry and occupied with something stitchily wonderful, like the Purple Snowman.

Woo Hoo!

WHEN IN DOUBT...

When I sat down to stitch last night, Stewey and I got into a heated discussion about what constitutes a proper stitchy basket.  It is his contention that one must spend hours and hours and hours of careful contemplation of exactly which projects will fit the mood, ability, and season of the particular stitcher in question.

Me?  Not so much.

I started Shepherd's Bush "Purple Snowman" last night because it was already on the q-snap thingies and I think the color of the linen is lovely.

Sometimes you just have to go with whatever blows your skirt up, right?

Stay tuned for what I'm sure will be a different opinion from You Know Who-sits.

WELL, CHE-LOW THERE, 2014!

So here we are, happily arrived in the year 2014.  I wish I could tell you why I feel this way, but I am simply convinced that it is going to be a very very good year.  I can feel it in my bones.

Aunt Chrissy and Bosco and Stewey and I have concluded our holiday extravaganza, and I am happy to report that not one person was injured, not one puppy misbehaved, and not one piece of furniture was damaged in the raucous celebrations.

Oh wait.  I forgot.  You all KNOW me by now and are pretty sure that our holiday extravaganza involved nothing more than a ham the size of a Buick, some hard core TeeVee viewing, and a whole lot of stitching.

Aunt Chrissy definitely gets the prize for stitching prowess these last several months.  She has diligently been plugging away each evening on multiple things in her stitchy basket, while I have been prone to sleeping and drooling all over the front of my eighteen year old sweatshirt by 7pm each evening. 

I'm determined, though, and I promise that after I take a nice long hot soak in the tub and eat my way through yet another tray of manicotti, I'm headed to the Happy Chair with SOMETHING involving a needle and thread.  What'll it be?  Who knows, but I do promise to share pictures as soon as Stewey tells me what he's done with the camera again.

Life is swell, kids.  From our little corner of the world to yours, we send you our very best for a healthy, happy, and stitchy New Year!

IT'S BEGINNING TO LOOK A LOT LIKE......EH.....WHO KNOWS.

So there I was, minding my own business, when Stewey hopped up into my lap with his little clipboard and reading glasses.  (This usually means that I'm in for some type of performance evaluation, so I braced myself and got on with it.)

"Mother, I want to talk to you about the year that wasn't."

"The what?"

"The year that wasn't, Mother.  By this, I mean the year during which you managed to do absolutely nothing, stitch absolutely nothing, write absolutely nothing, read absolutely nothing, cook absolutely nothing, and again, DO absolutely nothing."

(It was at this point that he peered over the top of his little reading glasses with what can only be described as utter disgust.)

"I didn't think it possible, Mother, but I think you've managed to break some type of land/speed record for total sloth."

(I ask you.  What the heck am I supposed to say to THAT?)

It took me a few minutes, but I gathered my remaining wit and replied thusly:

"Stewey, you're right.  This WAS the year that wasn't.  Mommie was in some kind of perpetual fog.  I'd like to think of it as The Year of Quiet, Stewey...NOT the Year of Sloth.  For you see, Little, I was tired.  And contemplative.  And worried about things.  And satisfied to just sit and look at the walls some days.  But this doesn't mean that it was a BAD year necessarily...it just means that it was quiet.

Before you came along and before Mommie started writing her blog and going places and doing things, she had a lot of quiet years.  Mommie used to be a very quiet person.  Shy, actually.  And she used to feel really ashamed and awkward about this until she read that there is a book out that says that the world needs people like this....that sometimes an introverted person can provide a little balance to an otherwise loud and TMI kind of world.

So I suppose that I embraced my inner quiet this year and just decided that it would be OK to watch.  And OK to listen.  And OK to learn.  To not have to be the center of attention every damn minute of the day or to feel OK to just...be.

The good news is that this quiet year allowed me to celebrate many many happy things that took place in OTHER people's lives.  Like weddings and babies and graduations and promotions and big project finishes and trips and seminars and classes and happy times with loved ones.

I might have only stitched ten things this year and only finished three....but the happiness I felt when I read about a sister/brother stitcher finishing one of THEIR projects was wonderful.   And since I wasn't frantically trying to up my numbers all the time, I was able to breathe and re-boot and learn new things and discover secrets and news and tidbits that I might have otherwise overlooked.

As for my personal life...I think that being quiet taught me to stop the madness of trying to be Martha Stewart and Ina Garten and Oprah every minute of every day.  Being quiet taught me that it's OK to have an unmade bed and a few dust bunnies for company, and that it's OK to spend an evening in front of the TeeVee with nothing but a dietCoke and an empty brain for sustenance.

Now before you start to fret about 2014, Stewey, let me tell you that I'm already planning things in my head about how the year is going to go.  I've started writing lists of books that I'd like to read, meals I'd like to cook, shows I'd like to watch, and, most importantly, stitching projects that I'd like to accomplish.  I'm going to go to my first seminar this year, Stewey, and I'm finally going to do something about all of that unused stash up in the studio that could bring somebody a lot of happiness.  I'm going to spend more time with Aunt Chrissy stitching, and I'm going to try very hard to write more on our blog about all of the crazy shenanigans that go on around here.  We're going to have fun in 2014, Stewey.  We're going to break out of the shell a little and think happy thoughts and have happy times with people we love."

(Amazingly, enough, my little dog listened to all of this quite respectfully, and then did something that caused me to break out into the ugly cry.  He put his little head on my shoulder, looked deeply into my eyes, and said "I love you, Mommie Dearest.")

Ahhhh......Christmas.  God bless us.  Every.  One.

I hope that you and the people you love will have perfect days ahead....full of everything that your heart desires.  Thanks for all of the love and happiness and joy we've had in 2013 and here's hoping that we'll have more of the same in 2014.

It's going to be a good one.....I can feel it in my bones.

Ciao, my dears.  Merry Christmas.  Happy New Year.  Love and peace and blessing to all!

With much love.
Coni
(and Stwey too!)

HAPPY THANKSGIVING!!!

The turkey is in Aunt Chrissy's oven, the car is loaded, Stewey has his little boots on, and I'm ready for a day of feasting!  We're hosting friends this year, so no stitching until tomorrow, but we'll make up for lost time...I promise!

From our houses to yours....the Rich Sisters (and their little dogs too) send their very best wishes for a happy, healthy, lovely, fun and stitchy-filled day!

Woo Hoo!

DEEP THOUGHTS -- FOR A FRIDAY

I've been serving jury duty this week.  That doesn't mean a whole lot to you, I'm sure, but for some reason, the experience has really got my pea-sized brain working overtime.  If you'll indulge me...here's what's been rattling around in there:

(Try to resist the urge to upchuck...I promise you that the following paragraphs are overwrought and ridiculous...but sometimes a spinster just needs to orate.)

(Know what I mean?)

Jury duty is hard.  It's inconvenient and unpredictable and an intrusion into our normal lives.  The tedium of waiting can be very frustrating, especially when we don't know or understand what we're waiting for.  We grumble about finding downtown parking spaces, having to figure out where to go for lunch, and the "intimacy" of the restrooms in the jury room, but somehow we press on. 

And then it's time to deliberate, and a group of perfect strangers come together in a thoughtful, conscientious, and profound way to examine and consider evidence, argue the meaning of a concept or instruction, and finally render a verdict that will change a life. 

We're bombarded with news accounts and analysis of what's wrong with our country, and there are days when I'm certain that nine out of ten people think that the cause is lost and there's nothing that we as ordinary citizens can do to reverse the course, plot a new one, stick to the plan we prefer, or just scratch the whole thing and move to Canada.

But then we serve jury duty, and we're reminded of everything that is good about our home.  We treat people with respect and honor their dignity.  We give them the benefit of the doubt and weigh things carefully before rushing to judgment, and we look out for one another with the hope that eventually we'll get it right and achieve a society that will allow our children and grandchildren to live happily ever after.

The final lesson that I learned from jury duty was the importance of trust.  We come into this experience needing to trust the judicial system, the players in it, the process, and then finally ourselves.  This last one is the hardest, because we know that we might render the right verdict, but that it might have the wrong outcome.  We know that for our system to work, we have to trust the rules and the instructions and the concepts -- even if they are in direct opposition to that which we know to be true in our deepest heart.

I'm profoundly grateful that I had this opportunity, and I hope that I'll have the chance to tell a fellow citizen to think about the things I've mentioned here if they too are called to serve.  How thankful I am that the fathers of our country had the brilliance to give me this duty...this right...and this gift.

 
(She climbs down from the soapbox.)

So there you have it -- what I'm contemplating as I poke the needle tonight.  I hope that wherever you are is exactly where you want to be and that your needles are flying!

Woo Hoo!
Coni
(and Stewey, too..only the part about wishing you happy times...not about the jury duty stuff)
(He keeps rolling his eyes at me as I ha-rumph around the house humming the Battle Hymn of the Republic)
(damn dog)

DOG FOR SALE

Let me begin with a very tearful and very heartfelt THANK YOU for your inquiry as to how we weathered the storm.  We are all fine here...just lost power for a short time and got to have a little sleep over at Aunt Chrissy's, but we are none the worse for wear.  Our hearts and prayers are with those who didn't fare as well, though, and I extend my usual invitation to anybody who needs a place to stay...come on over -- we'll leave the light on for ya'.

So...on this episode of "Life with a fussy little dog who is slowly driving me to the nuthouse"....

For the most part, Stewey and I are very routine people.  We tend to do the same things at the same time every day,and when these routines are interrupted, we feel dizzy and out of sorts.

Apparently, Stewey's new routine involves becoming a farmer, because for the last month and a half my damn dog has awakened precisely at 4:10 am with the urgent need to go outside to sniff the patio chairs and to then come inside to eat breakfast.  (Three crunchy little marrow bones and a Greenie, thank you very much).  (On the weekend, we have tea and toast in real china cups...but that's another story for another day.)

This morning at 4:10 am when my damn dog shot out from under the covers, launched himself out of the big girl sleigh bed, and ran to the back door, I found myself standing in the hallway shouting at the top of my lungs...."ARE YOU EFFING KIDDING ME??!!!  WHEN DID YOU DECIDED TO BECOME AN EFFING FARMER???!!!"

To which he replied in a manner that only Stewey can..."Mo-ther.  As you full well know, I am NOT a farmer.  I am a so-phis-ti-cate, and if you had more than a tea cup's worth of brain in your head (see what I mean about the tea cup?), you'd know that it is, by all accounts, a perfectly acceptable time for breakfast in Paris.  As a matter of fact, I think it's quite near the brunch hour, so open the door, if you please, and let me examine the patio furniture so that I might come in for a little bite."

I stood there sputtering obscenities for a full ten seconds before I realized that the damn dog had a point and that if I DIDN'T open the door I'd be cleaning up a lot more that Greenie bits and crunchy little marrow bone bits from the ottoman.

So our new routine now goes something like this:

4:10  Morning patio furniture inspection
4:12  Breakfast
4:15  Whine at the side of the sleigh bed until Mo-ther reaches down to scoop me up
4:45  Finally realize that stepping an eighth of an inch away from said Mo-ther's extended fingers as she precariously hangs over the side of the bed while reaching down to scoop me up is probably not  a good idea for this extended period of time, especially given the old lady's propensity for rage, high blood pressure, and the ability to fall out of the sleigh bed and break an ample (yet apparently surprisingly brittle) hip
5:00 Snuggle back down under the covers and wait until the first Mo-ther snore is heard bellowing from the general vicinity of the pillows.
5:01 Bolt furiously from under the covers, jump off the of the bed, and wait to see how many profanities spew forth.
5:05  Stand in the middle of the living room rug to see if Mo-ther will chase me, or if she'll just give up, say "Oh screw it", and roll over to go back to sleep
5:06  Hear snoring, water the drapes, poop in the dining room, and jump up onto perch to await dawn.

(For the record....the alarm clock is set for 6:30.  Do you have any idea how much fun it is to wake up at 4:10 every day knowing that Little Lord Fauntleroy is going to have a full 14 hours of snooze time while I'm out trying to keep him in smoking jackets and Puppy Chow?)

AND THEN, IT WAS SUDAY...AGAIN.

How is it possible that I go an entire week without a visit?  What has HAPPENED to me?  I used to drive y'all positively nuts with my silly blathering, and now I can't seem to get my heiney into the desk chair more than once in a full seven days.

Oh, how I've missed you so.

Nothing really too terribly new to report from the friendly confines of Chez Spinster.  Stewey and I are enjoying the fall colors and a few days of crisp temperatures while I happily stitch away on this:

Yup.  Still pluggin away on Threedles "Looking Glass" and really enjoying it despite the glitzy threads.  How is it that I can still wear glitter eye shadow, yet the thought of a few strands of Sparkle Braid sends me into a tizzy fit?

What's new in your little corner of the world?  Are you warm and safe and dry and keeping your fingers tickled with something fabulous?

Hope so!

AND THEN...IT WAS SUNDAY ****EDITED*****

AAAACCCCKKKK!!!!!!  Y'all have been so nice to tell me that the colors in this piece are just fantastic and that I'm a genius and should be Queen of the World, etc. etc. etc....but the truth of the matter is that I am not at all responsible for these lovely colors.  The designer, Miss Threedles Her Very Self offers several different colorways for this piece, and the threads here are for the yellow colorway.  (I have the yellow canvas, but decided to try it on the marbleized tan instead.)

So I guess in THAT respect, I just might be a genius.  Well, maybe genius-ish.

So, please make sure to remove me from your "Wow, she is really good with color" list and put me right back where I belong.  Tankyoubeddymuch.

JUST ANOTHER SATURDAY IN PARADISE

My mom can't come to the blog right now.  I've sent her to the Targets for some industrial strength Tylenol to see if I can knock back what can only be described as a migraine of epic proportions.  For a small pup, I pack a mighty punch when it comes to pain, so forgive my scattered thoughts as I try to bring you up to speed on the old lady's shenanigans.

The autumnal season started well enough, with Mo-ther heading up to the studio armed with good intentions of a hearty clean-out, followed by a re-stocking of the stitchy basket.  Alas, it was not to be.  Instead of rekindling her passion for all things needlework, she ended up exacerbating a bad case of the "Oh why can't I be a normal person and just do things in moderation blues" instead.

Yup.  Nothing has changed with my stupid mo-ther, despite thousands and thousands of dollars spent in the self-help section of our local bookstore and countless hours spent with me listening to her complain about all of the crazy crap that dances around in her head on any given day.

I swear, I could have thrived with a smarted owner.

All is not lost, however, since I watched in amazement as Mo-ther made herself a healthy breakfast smoothie, and I think I overheard her telling my Aunt Chrissy that she fully intended to spend the day in the Happy Chair working on the final stages of this:

That's "Autumn Jumble" by The Drawn Thread, and if we weren't in the habit of falling asleep with needle in hand at 7:30 every night it would have been completed long ago.

I know that you're probably very concerned about my headache, but please understand that it is only because I am so thoroughly disappointed with this year's seasonal display.  (I use the term sarcastically, of course, since THIS is what constitutes Mo-ther's attempts at welcoming in our favorite season this year):

 Are you horrified?  I know I am.  Remember the fantastic arrangements that my Aunt Chrissy did last year and the year before that?  Well, I'm sorely tempted to call her up with the promise of a glass of an impertinent little Merlot if she'll just come over and help a nephew out.

Tomorrow will start a new tradition here at Chez Spinster.  Mo-ther is going to start a new project that has been languishing up in the studio forever.  It's called "Looking Glass" and is by Threedles.  I think that the canvas color is supposed to be bright yellow, but when we perused all of the threads yesterday, we realized that this mottled brown might just be gorgeous.  Only time will tell.

Well, friends, I suppose that bring us up to speed for the day.  I apologize for my long absence, but please know that you've never been far from my thoughts (or affections).  I will try to be better about writing, but I'm presently between valets at the moment, and the interviews are consuming me with dread.

Until we meet again, I remain your loyal and devoted friend.
With much love from your pal,
Stewey

APPLE.....TREE. OH, HOW I WISH IT WERE TRUE

Today would have been my mom's 80th birthday.  This fact is, in its very self, hard to fathom, since she died when she was 54 years old.  To imagine her at 80 is hard, especially when you consider the fact that she didn't look a day over 35 when she died.

Vaceila Helen Loukos Rich.  Born in Lima, Ohio and raised there with her brothers and sisters until she met and married my dad.  Pictures and notes from her school days show a girl who was popular....probably always the life of the party....and most definitely smart.   She was pretty, too, and always dressed in something lovely.  She had, as my dad used to say "a great set of legs" and wore a 9 AAAA shoe.

When she was 17, she went to work as a secretary to the President of the City Loan.  She always said that she lied on the application to make them think she was already 18, and this caused her to screw up her birth year for the rest of her life.  She was born in 1933, NOT 1932, thankyouverymuch.

She was Sig to everybody who knew her.  Not Vaceila.  Not Miss Loukos.  Not Mrs. Rich.  She was Sig.  I didn't know the origin of that name until a few years ago when my Uncle Connie explained that he couldn't pronounce Vaceila when he was a kid, and what came out was "Sig", so "Sig" it was.   I always thought it was a name given to her by a neighbor lady who saw her as a tomboy that liked to hang upside down in the apple trees munching a snack.

Mom was beautiful, it's true, but what was even more remarkable about her was that she connected with people the moment she met them.  She could walk into a room and make everybody in it feel like it was exactly where they were supposed to be at that moment and that they were the most interesting and perfectly realized version of themselves...all because this nice lady named Sig took a minute to look them in the eye and then ask them about their life.  It didn't matter if they were a CEO or the kid putting the butter pat on the dish....they meant something and she wasn't going to let a second pass without them knowing that.

She was an artist and a needlewoman....loved needlepoint, and used to stitch the most beautiful canvases on Penelope canvas...all in tent stitch...starting from the bottom of a column and working up using the sewing method...and all while holding the canvas rolled up in her hand.  Technically, we've been told that her pieces should have been warped so badly that they would have required serious blocking, but not one thing that she stitched was ever out of kilter.  Don't ask me how she did that.

Funny..witty..smart..elegant...kind....generous...ornery...no matter how hard I try I can't come up with anything that adequately explains her.  She was our everything and we were hers.  Fr. Hesburgh said that the greatest gift a man can give his children is to love their mother.  Well, that worked in spades in our family....especially when it came to love that Dad had for her and she for him.  If I learn nothing else, at least I know what a perfect union looks like thanks to the example that she set.

I tried to describe my mom to my Jersey boy once, and all I could come up with was "She was a killer combination....1950's style housewife who could hit a golf ball 250 yards off the tee...who knew how to keep a gorgeous home and how to tell a joke, and who had the ability to tell somebody to go to Hell and they'd look forward to the trip."  Boy...was that ever inadequate.

All I know is that Aunt Chrissy and I hope that we might find something within ourselves that reminds us of mom.  Will it be our love of stitching?  Maybe a hope that we'll be remembered as kind or generous?  I'd settle for funny or smart, but would be thrilled if the only thing people knew or thought of was.....she's Sig's daughter.

NOW THEY'RE JUST SCREWING WITH ME

 

I would have posted this last night when the game was on, but I was literally struck senseless by the gold lame'.  Federal law now prohibits me from telling you what I REALLY think about this get-up, but I will go so far as to say.....WHERE IN THE FREAKIN' ALMA MATER DOES IT SAY "NOTRE DAME, OUR MOTHER, TENDER STRONG AND TRUE, ALL DECKED OUT IN A SOLID GOLD DANCER OUTFIT AND GREEN SOCKS THAT MATCH OUR SHOES" ???!!!  (*)

Seriously, Adidas?  Seriously?

Dear sweet Jesus, I can't wait to see what the hell they wear next year. 

(*)  For the record...the words are: "Notre Dame, Our Mother.  Tender Strong and True.  Proudly in the Heavens, gleams thy GOLD AND BLUE."  

Nope.  Not one mention of WHITE.  GOLD LAME'.  OR FREAKIN' KELLY GREEN!  

And yes, since you asked....I THINK THEY LOOK LIKE MARSHMALLOW COVERED OOOMPA LOOMPAS THAT WEREN'T SMART ENOUGH TO GET OUT OF THE WAY OF THE GD CLEARANCE BIN CRAFT GLITTER AND THE CRAZY ASS PERSON WHO CAME UP WITH THE IDEA TO MAKE EVERYTHING.....GLITTERY!  AND SPARKLY! 

I'm going back to bed....

HARVEST MOON HOUSE FEE NEE

Ms. Laura J. Perin, Her Very Fabulous Self
Harvest Moon House
18ct. mono canvas in ecru
Fibers as called for on chart

Oh, what a complete and total joy this was to stitch!  I learned so much and felt like such a freakin' rock star the entire time it was in my hands that I didn't want to put it down.  Don't you love it when a designer makes you feel like you actually might someday have half a clue of what you're doing?  Who's better than Ms. P for that, I ask you?

And can I give a big shout out to Miss Charlene, Her Also Very Fabulous Self for a wonderful tip about bullion knots....(use a Milners' needle so that the entire length of the needle is the same circumference and the little knots slip off easier....who knew?  and Miss Elizabeth of Needlepoint Now fame, Her Also Very Fabulous Self Too for a great how-to video on the YouTube that made learning how to actually do the damn little bullion knots very very simple.

Thanks, girls!  You ROCK!

THAT'S AAAA MORE RAY!

One of my very favorite movies of all time is "Moonstruck".  So last night, as I settled my big fat heiney into the Happy Chair apres' dinner (leftover lasagna and a salad, thankyouverymuch), I stitched the moon on Laura J. Perin's Harvest Moon House while belting out the theme song.

Laura says to randomize your tent/basketweave stitches so that you get a good effect with the colors in said moon, and methinks she is a gee-ney-ous, since that's exactly what happened.  Almost looks kinda real, if you ask me.

(Which I know you didn't, but I thought I'd mention it anyways.)

As for the smoke...I'd love to tell you that I came up with those gentle wispy swirls on my own, but they are the result of me following the chart.

See?  Gee-ney-ous.

Today I'll add the leaves to the trees and then the stems to the pumpkins.  I've left those for last, since they are to be stitched in bullion knots, and I've never even tried one of those.  I suspect that there might be a fair amount of cussin' in my future, but I am optimistic that I'll eventually prevail!  Stay tuned!

Don't you just love the Fall?  Makes me want to buy school supplies.....

AAAAHHHHHH TUM

I've got an eighteen pound lasagne in the oven bubbling away, the windows and doors are thrown open to the cool and lovely breeze, Stewey is sacked out in the patch of sunshine coming in the back window, and I'm headed to the Happy Chair for some Sunday Stitching!

Who's happier than me?

Here's a look at what's in the Spinster Stitcher Basket Of Autumnal Fun 2013.  (Forgive the craptastic photos, please.  The camera and I had a big fight today and....it won.)

 Laura J. Perin

Harvest Moon House

Here's hoping that your neck of the woods is perfectly perfect in every way today!  Woo Hoo!

JUST THE FACTS, MA'AM

 

 Laura J. Perin

Harvest Moon House

Look!  A flagstone walkway!  Some lovely bushes!  Now you can make your way to the front door so that Stewey and I can welcome you in for a cup of tea and some wonderful little biscuits!  Woo Hoo!

SO MUCH FOR NO LABOR DAY...

On Friday afternoon, I wrote a list of about 30 things I wanted to accomplish.  "It's a nice long weekend"' I said to no one in particular.  "I think I'll take advantage of it and get some stuff done."

Here's the report...

Friday evening:  Zip.  Zilch.  Nada.  I did manage, however, to drool all over the Happy Chair when I fell asleep in it at 7:30.

Saturday:  Aunt Chrissy and I went to House of Stitches and then It was again with the zip...zilch...nada.  This time I was drooling all over the Happy Chair by 7:15.

Sunday:  Yet again with the...(you get the idea, right?  Do I really need to humiliate myself further by confessing to a nine and a half hour nap?)

Today:  Labor Day.  I called Aunt Chrissy at noon and said "I think I'm going to go for a quadra fecta and not do a thing today."  She replied with a "What the heck is a quadra fecta?"  and wished me good luck.

I'm not sure exactly what happened, but at about 1:00 I suddenly found myself outside cleaning up the gardens, and then it was inside to clean the bathroom, do the laundry, grill the chicken, water the plants, sort the fridge, organize a fall stitchy basket, balance the checkbook, change the bed, wash the dog....it's 8:15 and I'm ready to drop.

Here's my progress on Laura J. Perin's "Harvest Moon House"

CLEAN UP ON AISLE TWELVE....

Once again, I was minding my very own business when.....KA-BLAM ! ! !

My water heater blew up.

And then when I went into the kitchen to make myself some comfort toast, my toaster oven went...KA-PLEWEY!

I emailed Aunt Chrissy, called the home warranty company, and then went to bed and pulled the covers over my head for a week and a half.

I'm none the worse for wear, but confess that I keep looking over my shoulder for the next major appliance breakdown to happen at the most unfortunate moment.  Don't these things always come in threes?

The roof is almost complete on my Laura J. Perin Harvest Moon House, so I'll have pictures for you soon.

Unless....

WELL BLAH-DEE-DA, BLAH-DEE-DA

So there I was...minding my very own business, when I turned to Stewey and said:

"Stewey, Mommie is positively va-clempt with a serious case of on-wee.  What could possibly be wrong with me that I'm not reading, writing, stitching, blogging, cooking, or sleeping?"

At which point Stewey peered over the top of his little reading glasses and the New Yorker that he was perusing and said:

"Mo-ther.  It is August.  We go through this little exercise every year at this time.  I suspect that the reason why you are feeling so out of sorts is that you have come to the sad realization that your summer did not, in fact, turn out at all as you had hoped...much like the previous 46 summers have.  Perhaps if you just dialed down the expectation meter a bit, stopped agonizing about all of the coulda shoulda woulda's in you life, and just got on with it, we could steer this particular little goat rodeo in the right direction once and for all.  Now go get me a cookie and stop that complaining, or I'll give you something to complain about."

Stewey's right.  It IS August.  And in looking back over this here blog, I see that I hit the very same wall at the very same time each and every year.  THIS year, though, I'm finally going to attribute it to a whole bunch of crap that is entirely beyond my control and...just...move...on.

My Jersey Boy didn't come for his scheduled visit because he broke his ankle playing squash.  Yup.  Squash.   From what I can tell, this was the third major "incident" that he's had playing said squash...we've had the heart attack, the concussion, and now the broken ankle.  Hmmmm.  Methinks it's time to consider backgammon.

Anywhoose....once the physical therapy has concluded and he is up and about again, I can expect another marathon cleaning session to ready Chez Spinster for a nice long visit.  (I have visions of Ozzy and Harriet dancing in my head, but with my luck and propensity for disaster it will be more Ozzy and Sharon, I'm sure.)

I think that my stitchy slump is due to the fact that it's not really summer still, yet it's not really autumn yet.  So rather than trying to fit the square peg in the round hole again, I think I'm just going to park my heiney in the studio this weekend and come up with a nice big fat basket full of things that will make my stitchy heart sing, no matter what the season may be.  I know for sure that I want to finish my Laura J. Perin Autumn House, and I would imagine that there are several other fun things up there that will do the trick....it's just a matter of pouring the dietCoke and getting to it.

So that's the report from Lake WoeBeSpinster.  I'm sorry that my absence has caused you any undue fretting.  Sometimes I forget that there are actually other people on this big blue marble that sometimes read (or shake their heads in pitiful dismay) over me and my crazypants life.  Thank you, though, for checking in and making me fell so very.....loved.

Stewey and Aunt Chrissy and Bosco all send their very best.  We are armed with good intentions for the weekend ahead, but have dashed any bright ideas that we might have had yesterday about going to the zoo.  (What can I say?  Aunt Chrissy and I are suckers for marketing, and as we watched the commercial for upcoming events at the local zoo, we both said "Hey!  Let's go to the zoo!" like it was something that we had done a thousand and one times before.)  (For the record, we have not.)

We'll be back soon with updates and more tales, I promise.  In the meantime, please know that we hope your weekend is full of everything that blows your skirt up and much much more!

Woo Hoo!
Coni