THOUGHTS ON TURNING TEN, BY MASTER STEWEY ANGUS WILLOWSWAMP, HIS VERY LITTLE SELF

So far, it's a lot like turning nine.  Mo-ther has promised tea and toast in the big girl sleigh bed for the morning, but I'm not optimistic that her efforts to satisfy me will be entirely successful.  Oh well, I suppose that I will give the old gal points for trying.

Now that I'm ten does this mean I neèd to stop peeing on the ottoman?

CANVAS CONVERSATIONS

I 've been having a conversation with this project as I'm stitching it -- asking it what it wants to be and how I can help it live up to its full potential.  (What can I say?  It's vastly more satisfying than listening to Stewey prattle on about topics I don't understand --- like the impact of foreign aid on the Greek debt crisis or the British Parlimentary elections.)

This canvas keeps telling me that it wants to sing with some basketweave and a little silk, and, if I think I can manage it without making too much of a hash of it, some specilaty stitches and fibers that were suggested by Miss Janet Perry Her Very Self in a stitch guide that she did for me for this piece oh so long ago.

The months away from stitching have made me a little gun shy about getting all fancypants, so the fact that this canvas seems perfectly happy to stick with simple and classic makes me breathe easy.  No need to re-invent the wheel just yet, I guess.

Baby steps.

BACK IN THE SADDLE, AGAIN

It's 8:00 on a Friday night.  I'm in my jammies, the diet Coke is bubbling away in my sippy cup, and the needle is about to start flying!

WOOOOOO HOOOOOO!

By the way....crazy loved this book.  Just can't figure out why, since it is well beyond my coolness level.

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

My mo-ther can't come to the blog right now.  We've had a rather interesting morning here at Chez Spinster, and all I can conclude is that she might have done something incredibly stupid....or incredibly brave.  All I do know is that she is in the Happy Chair with needle and thread in hands, muttering something to herself that she will never ever never ever let anyone or anything come between her and the thing that saved her pitiful little life ever again.

I'm not sure exactly what happened, but I keep hearing the words "hyena" and "enough".  And given the fact that she got up at the crack of dawn, put on her outside clothes and shoes, and then was gone for only an hour or so, I am guessing that she decided to get out of the litter box once and for all and get back to her life.

My mo-ther is a good person.  True, I am the first to point out her failings in the areas of homekeeping, martini making, and general learning how to be out in polite society without breaking into a flop sweat and chattering like a circus monkey -- but she is kind and hard-working and decent and well-meaning (most of the time), and other than a few very dark periods from her past she has been a pretty OK person.

So the fact that this hyena was able to infiltrate her little brain and convince her that she was worthless and incompetent and lazy and stupid is surprising, but not impossible.  She didn't have her shields up.  And she didn't have the capacity to realize that no matter what this animal said or did to her, at the end of the day, she has me and Aunt Chrissy and my pesky little cousin Bosco and all of you to have her back.  

I'm not going to disturb her from her stitching today, since it's the first time I've seen a smile on her face in months, but I did want to let you all know how much your love and encouragement and words of wisdom have meant and have done for her (and me) these last several weeks.  Thank you, dear pals.  From the bottom of my silk smoking jacket clad heart, I love and cherish you deeply.

Now I'm going to get back to my sunspot near the patio door.  But first I need to pee on the ottoman.

With love,
Your Pal Stewey 

IT'S REALLY NOT EASY BEING ME...

Thank you for all of your comfort.  Sometimes all a spinster needs is the tender ministrations of her friends, a pat on the hand, a cup of of tea, and a "There, there, you poor dear" thrown in for good measure.

I made my trip to the bank and spent a delightful time with the lovely representative, who, as it would just so happen, was a classmate from Notre Dame.   I don't think we ever crossed paths while there, but it sure was nice to have a kind face lead me through what was surprisingly a relatively painless process.

Waiting until Saturday to get a new card is a little panic provoking, but I always have Stewey's emergency twenty to count on if I can't make it to the branch for a lobby cash withdrawl.

So I came home feeling slightly better than I did last night, when I discovered that my account had been hit again.  Same online dating site....different amount.

You will be happy and very proud to know that I harnessed my inner potty mouth and called the online dating site to politely let them know that if they hit my card or account again, I might just have to take it up with the duly designated authorities.

At  least that's how it went in my head anyway.

Turns out that I don't have a dog in the hunt, since my bank credited my account for both charges, and it's now up to THEM to chase this down....which, by the way, they probably won't do because the amounts are so miniscule when compated to the ba-jillion dollars that they normally have to keep track of.

So somewhere out there are a couple of people who will enjoy a month or two of online dating, thanks to my bank and the fact that there are apparently more important things in the world than worrying about an idiot spinster's debit identity.

I swear life was a lot simpler when you could buy stuff with two goats and a jar of jam.

GRRRRRR...

Dear person who stole my debit card number and used it to buy a subscription to an online dating site that shall remain nameless....

Really?

If the charge would have been for food, or an electric bill, or medicine for you or a sick child, I'm one of those idiots that would have happily given you the last eighteen cents in my account if I thought it would help you.

But a dating site?

I get it....truly....I do.  Being alone can seem like a very bad proposition, and I suppose that you figured that companionship would fix whatever ails you.  But do you really want to find your Prince or Princess Charming with a stolen credit card?

Phooey on you.  My morning will be spent at the bank ordering a new card, and then on the phone with all of the places that I had that old card on file to make buying things like prescriptions and car insurance and Stewey insurance that much easier.

Can a spinster just get a break, please?

Methinks I am not meant to be in the world writ large, and that life would get a lot better if I just took my little dog and a diet Coke and headed to the studio.

So how was your weekend?

UGH

I haven't stitched since February 1st, which means I haven't been me since February 1st, which means Stewey, Bosco, and Aunt Chrissy are ready to put me at the curb with a sign that says "Free to a good home.  She eats a lot, but knows how to load a dishwasher like nobody's business.  Just don't ask her to actually empty the damn thing, and you'll get along just fine.  Updated on all shots and vaccines, and fairly housebroken, but ridiculously high maintenance and not to be trusted with other pets or small children, since she has a tendency to take their toys."

Ugh.

Ugh.

Ugh.

IT'S THE EASTER JACK RUSSELL TERRIER, CHARLIE BROWN!

I only have a quick minute before You Know Who decides to wake up from his post-luncheon nap, so I'll have to make this quick....

Aunt Chrissy and I had a lovely Saturday with the girls at House of Stitches.  (Waving a hearty HELLOOO! to Miss Linda, Miss Joy, and Miss Cherry!).  Provisions were purchased, threads were petted, and the Spinster Stitcher Basket 'O Stitching Fun was updated accordingly.  (Pictures to follow, I promise).

Easter dawned bright and early (as I think it usually does), and a fine time was had by all.  Stewey participated in an egg hunt on the back lawn of the neighbors, and managed NOT to chew the arm off of three tiny little girls dressed all in yellow.  I was dumbstruck and amazed, but my stupid dog hopped around noodging the hidden eggs, stood over them until a tiny little girl dressed all in yellow came to collect it for her basket, and then wiggled his tail and barked heartily as they scampered to the next conquest.

Whew.

I am DEFINITELY not insured for him to be his usual anti-social ferocious snarling self with tiny little girls dressed all in yellow.

Aunt Chrissy insists that Stewey really is part bunny and that the outfits of the tiny little girls dressed all in yellow were Little Lord Fauntleroy approved, so that's the only reason why we avoided catastrophe.

I'm just happy I don't have to move.

WILLOWSWAMP...STEWEY WILLOWSWAMP

My mom can't come to the blog right now.  She's sitting in the Happy Chair on her ample heiney, drooling into her sweatshirt over a tuxedoed Pierce Brosnan in Die Another Day.

It occurred to Mo-ther that she has never watched a James Bond movie from start to finish, and this particular Thursday seemed like as good a place as any to start.  I would have started with something involving a more classic Bond, but this is my stupid mo-ther we're talking about, after all.  So I will wait until she gets to one featuring Sir Connery before I reveal the news that the most recent Bond looks like Yours Truly with his fair hair and devastatingly handsome disposition.

Thank you for all of the lovely encouragement about the "situation" Mo-ther is presently embroiled in.  As she was boo-hooing the other night about her predicament, I reminded her that this is only a test and that she needn't worry about being made to feel the dumb bell.   There are plenty of us who love her...just as she is.

My Aunt Chrissy will step in eventually and set things to right again.  As she is fond of saying..."My sister?  Yeah, she's a marshmallow,  and she has a little dog that doesn't know he's a dog....but I'm the one you have to watch out for.  I'm the dog that BITES."

You have to love that in an aunt.

Tomorrow has been reserved for homekeeping, and then, as God is my witness, I am locking Mo-ther in the studio on Saturday until she comes out with a proper stitching basket in place.  It has been far too long since she had needle and thread in hand, and although I am a simple pup, methinks that this is surely most of her problem.

Besides, I can only put so many sedatives in her evening tea before the authorities are called and I am whisked away to account for my sins.

I do hope that this finds you well and that you know how much Mo-ther and I love and cherish your friendship.  It's an odd connection that we share, but one that is most truly priceless to us both.

With much love from your pal,
Stewey

IN WHICH OUR HEROINE STARTS THINKING....

So here I am on a late March afternoon, watching the skies drop eighteen feet of snow on the ground.

(OK, maybe it's only an inch or two, but the fact that I'm going to have to put shoes on and find the snow shovel and then perfectly sculpt a path for Little Lord Fauntleroy to go outside to do his thing makes me think that the eighteen feet would actually make all of this silly fuss worth it.)

I'm thinking.

I'm thinking about men.

Before you call the Spinster Union to have my membership revoked, I'm not talking about "thinking" in the filthy and perverted way that a spinster of a certain age should be.  I'm thinking about the fact that at the ripe old age of 48, I have only known men who can easily be classified as extraordinary.  And I'm thinking this because, only very recently, I've been dealing with a man who is most definitely NOT extraordinary, and it has me stopped cold dead in my tracks trying to figure out how to process things.  (And again, before you place that call....I am in no way talking about dealing with a man that would in any way jeopardize my status of a single gal that wouldn't know what to do on a date if said date came with instructions neatly printed on his forehead.  I'm dealing with this fellow in a VERY non-biblical sense.)

Ahem.

The easiest analogy I can provide you, dear reader, is if you were a regular visitor to an animal sanctuary, and you enjoyed looking at and interacting with pretty turtles.  You talked to the turtles, went on long and leisurely walks with the turtles, laughed at the turtles' funny jokes, and even found enormous comfort in the company of the turtles.  In short, you came to believe that turtles are wise and wonderful and generous and kind and lovely creatures that you're just happy to be around.

And then the next time you go to the animal sanctuary, you don't find turtles, you find a screeching, viciously- fanged, feces-throwing heina.  This heina is mean and nasty and cruel and very very unkind, and every time you get within ten feet of the damn thing it makes you start to question your worth as a human being and makes you silently pray for death or a fast trip out of the animal sanctuary.

Wait a minute.

I'm starting to see that my analogy would imply that I somehow think men are animals.  Whoopsie.  Didn't mean to open THAT particular can of worms, I swear.  I'm just trying to explain that for some stupid reason I've had the pleasure and good fortune to know brilliant and wonderful men and now I'm trying to figure out one that's not so brilliant and/or not so wonderful.

It's not a big secret that my dad was my hero.  He was at once the smartest and kindest and most perfect person I've ever known, and the fact that he and I could be the same species, let alone be related to one another baffles me.  Dad was one of only a handful of people I've ever met that was entirely without ego. That didn't mean that he didn't have a sense of self or that he lacked confidence -- quite the opposite.  His understanding of who he was and what he stood for was so firmly implanted in his brain that he didn't feel the need to explain it every seven and a half minutes.  He just lived it -- by example and how he treated people and how he loved and provided and acted and thought and worshiped and talked and...was.  He was the cat's pajamas, I tell ya, and if I could figure out how to emulate one small part of him I'd punch the clock and call it a day.

I've also been blessed with uncles and cousins and great uncles and second cousins who were and are great men.  I've tried so hard to find one that causes me to say "Eh..." but I can't.  Each and every single one of them were and are men of honor and integrity and kindness and decency.  Whether it was my Uncle Connie teaching me how to color with my left hand, or my Cousin David taking me to the movies and then not leaving me in the parking lot when I was stupid enough to leave the car door unlocked and his radio was stolen (I'm still so sorry for that, by the way)...every single one of my male relatives made it easy to love and respect them.

My guy pals are a little nuts for entertaining a friendship with Yours Truly, but as hard as I try, I can't find a scoundrel among them.  For some stupid reason, I found men to be friends with who are smart and funny and kind and decent and lovely.  I've never once had to question why I would want to know these guys, and on more than one occasion, I've secretly wondered if I was worthy of the friendship.  My men friends are the brothers I never had, the protectors I never thought I needed (turns out, I did), and the gifts I definitely didn't deserve.

So this brings me back to Mr. X.  I think that the reason why I'm having such a hard time trying to navigate the waters of my interactions with him is that I haven't seen this particular animal before.  He's throwing me new material (and by that I don't mean pretty patterned fabric with which one might make a sassy little lap quilt).  He's throwing abuse and terror and cruelty and havoc into my world and I'm stumped as to what the h-e-double-toothpicks I'm going to do about it.

I'll ponder and I'll fret and I'll ponder some more, but I can promise you that the moment my hands go to my ample hips and that "look" comes into my eyes and the word ENOUGH crosses my lips, you'll be the first to know about it.  I am, if nothing else, my Mother's daughter, which means that I can be rather determined once I get my moxie up.

Stewey and I (oh, crap on a cracker is THAT another male figure in my life, or WHAT!!) send our very best to you and yours.  We've been doing a whole lot of nothing lately in terms of stitching, but that is going to change very very soon.  The Spinter Stitcher SpringTide Barrel O' Fun is almost complete, and as God is my witness, the Big White Wall of Nothingness is going to get a new Easter outfit if it kills me (which it just might).

Thanks for coming back after such a long absence, my friends!
Woo Hoo!
Coni

THANK YOU, FATHER TED

Rev. Theodore M. Hesburgh

1917-2015

NINE HUNDRED NINETY NINE. AND A HALF.

So I'm looking at the darn Google thingie (a few weeks ago, as it would happen), and it told me that I had written 999 blog posts.

"Holey Schmoley!", I said.

And then I got in the Happy Chair and I started fretting about number 1000.

It got bad enough that when Aunt Chrissy and I went to the TGI Fridays for dinner at 3:00 this afternoon (because that's how WE roll in the big city), I decided to get her loving, wise, sisterly advice.

(OK,  so maybe that really wasn't the reason, but rather it was because she was paying for dinner and I felt really bad about it because I am the big sister and hapless matriarch of this little goat rodeo we call a family and it's my job to keep us in Arnold Palmers and cheeseburgers.)

But I digress.

So I says to Aunt Chrissy...."You know, I've been giving something a lot of thought.  I feel like I created a character called the Spinster Stitcher and that I go on my blog and live in this world with all of these amazing and wonderful and perfect people (that would be all of yous, by the way)....(oh wait, except maybe not Betty and the damn 13-year old who keeps hacking me with p.o.r.n.)...but for the most part, Spinster Stitcher is just that...a character.  Am I really being authentic?  Am I really letting people know ME?  Am I afraid that if I really shared my true self there would be a mass exodus and I would be left here, standing in a dark and deserted parking lot (I mean, come on, can you think of anything scarier?) (except maybe thunderstorms) (or cockroaches).  So I'm thinking that for my 1000'ndth blog post I'm going to tell my T."

It was at this point that Aunt Chrissy snorted a little bit of her cheeseburger out, daintily dabbed at her mouth, and said "Have you been watching The Lady Chablis in Midnight In The Garden Of Good And Evil again?"

(The truth of the matter is that....why yes, yes I have.)

(The Lady Chablis is fabulous.  Talk about a "character".  She is a drag queen in Savannah, Georgia, and her T is that her real name is Frank.)

But I....you know.

"I just feel like I want to tell everybody everything there is to know about me and to make sure that I'm presenting myself to all of my faithful readers (insert more snorting of the cheeseburger here) and that maybe a few of them will appreciate my honesty and integrity and courage to bear it all and it will inspire them to be brave or take a chance or do that thing they want to do, but can't.  I want to make a difference in the world, Aunt Chrissy, and I think my blog is the place for me to do that."

So I listened very carefully to everything Aunt Chrissy had to say (which, remarkably, sounded like blah blah blah blah blah) and I came home to write post number 1000.

I was on a roll, I tell ya.  Fingers flying, confessions confessing, T's all over the damn place.

And then Stewey walked in.

"Mo-ther.  What's all of this nonsense I hear about you committing acts of unspeakable horror on our blog?"

(You'll notice  I let that one go, by the way.  OUR blog?)

 "Stewey, Mommie wants to live a real life.  Mommie loves her faithful readers and wants them to know the real and authentic and true person....not some crazy lunatic with a talking dog and enough facial hair to grow a pashmina.  I've carefully crafted 999 blog posts and I want number 1000 to be special, Stewey.  I want the world to know how much their kindness, and friendship, and thoughtfulness, and love have meant to me, and I feel like number 1000 is the perfect place to do that."

(It was at this point that I realized that Little Lord Fauntleroy had not heard one single word I had said because he was too busy peering through his little spectacles at his iPad.)

"Mo-ther, you haven't written 999 blog posts.  You've written 998 blog posts and one fairly incoherent draft."
 
(Cue the sound of a squeaky hamster wheel turning slowly as my tiny little brain pondered this.)

Happy 999, everybody.

If we make it to 1000 without losing any more of our minds....there will be cake.  For everybody.

WELCOME BACK TO THE "ALL OBSESSING, ALL THE TIME" CHANNEL

There's an built-in bonus danger in being my loyal and trusted advisors.

Just ask Aunt Chrissy.

Today's obsession is....day planners.

Yes.

Day planners.

For the last seven or so years, I've used a Franklin Covey spiral bound day planner showing the week on two pages.  I throw it in my purse, write appointments and such in it, and get on with things in a relatively half-assed, yet totally well-intentioned sort of way.

This year, Aunt Chrissy and I were in the JoAnn Fabrics when we spotted some simple date books that had pretty pictures in them, so I whipped out a coupon and went all Bargain Betty on myself.

And then I came home and went on the Pinterest and came across something called an Erin Condren Life Planner.

Holy Organizing, Batman!  I've got visions of life planning spinning around in this tiny little brain of mine, and I cannot think of anything else!  I want to have a book that magically transforms me into a healthy, well-appointed, perfectly-ordered, happy, and creative person who sprouts rainbows and unicorns from her ears and who can empty the dishwasher without having to take a nap and pack a lunch first.

The Erin Condren search then lead to something called a Rainbow Planner (speaking of rainbows) from Bowl Full Of Lemons, and I went into a whole other tangent of wondering if a DIY planner would be better for a nut job like me who really just wants to use the billion dollars worth of scrapbooking crap she has in her studio, because scrapbooking was going to be "my thing" until I discovered that I had absolutely nothing to scrapbook besides baby pictures of Stewey, and I mean, come one, how many pictures of a sleeping dog with an overbite does one spinster need, anyhow?

So I need your help, kids.  Any Erin Condren/Rainbow Planner devotees out there who want to take my hand and save me from myself?  I don't need full-on executive style day planning, since all I need to keep track of these days is dog pee and appointments, but I wouldn't mind capturing stuff for budgeting/bills, things to do in the house (see dog pee above), and lists and such for this thing of ours.  I'm not at all opposed to becoming a fanatic, by the way.  It will be hard not to approach this without my usual calm, measured, and sensible manner, but if I need to go batcrap crazy and reinvent the proverbial wheel...I'll give it my best shot.

(I can hear you laughing, by the way).

SUPER SUNDAY

A little stitchy...

I'm so sorry that it's taken me this long to tell you the thread colors.  Here they are:
Gentle Art Dungarees
DMC3033
DMC3865
DMC3790
DMC Ecru

The linen color is Fog Cashel.

A little knitty...

This yarn is Loops &  Threads Links in the color Ocean Blue.  The thingie that I'm knitting on is called a long loom.  This is scarf number seven, but who's counting?

A Little Lord Fauntleroy...

STILL STITCHING...

The outside matches the inside today.  

I love when that happens.

SATURDAY SPINSTER BLISS

ALL DOWNTON, ALL THE TIME

I started watching Downton Abbey on Friday afternoon.  I'm on Season Two, Episode Four and cannot tear my eyes away.

Here's the latest addition to my ever-growing scarf wardrobe.

Stewey approves...of both the scarf AND the viewing selection.  He especially loves the Dowager Grantham.

BUN WARMER

This is my favorite view.

Ever.

THE HALF WAY MARK

WELL, SO MUCH FOR....THAT

Wow.  I had every intention of getting back in the saddle last night, but my after-dinner activities involved nothing more than drool, snoring, and then bolting upright at 10pm to discover that Stewey had put himself to bed with his book.

He did, however, manage to leave my weekend TO DO list on the ottoman for me, so it looks like today is going to be filled with chores, homekeeping, errands, and the fluffing of Little Lord Fauntleroy's blankets.

Apparently, he is determined to toast his little buns in front of the fireplace all day while I toil in vain to meet his every whim.

The sun is shining, so methinks I should get on with it so I can enjoy some afternoon stitching time.  Updates soon, I promise!

AND THEN....SHE SLEPT

Remember when I mentioned that my new stupid-soft blanket is somehow imbued with magical powers that cause me to fall asleep every time I get under it?

Well, four hours later and I'm sitting here wondering if I will be able to manage to get the contacts out of my eyeballs, the teeth brushed, and the face washed before falling into the big girl sleigh bed.

Sheesh, I'm tired!

Is this what being in the vestibule to menopausal hell feels like?

BABY, IT'S COLD OUTSI.....OH, NEVERMIND

Good grief, Charlie Brown!  I love cold weather and snow, but even I have to admit that sub-zero windchill is a little much.

Here's a little more progress from last night...there would have been more, but I got caught up in the latest Brandi Glanville drama on Housewives.

Stupid housewives.

I'm still digging the colorway, so I do have that going for me.  Stewey is equally as pleased, since he's convinced that a more neutral color scheme around here might keep me from being....me....all the time.

Here's hoping that your little corner of the world is warm and serene and that you're doing exactly what you want to be doing!

I'M SENSING A TREND...

This is a really lovely way to spend an evening.  Who knew that a tree could make a girl so happy?

MOVING RIGHT ALONG...

Progress continues!

THAT'S BETTER

Aunt Chrissy vetoed the multi-colored approach because a) she knows me and knows that I was hoping for a monotonal look, and b) she knows color and saw that the warm threads were clashing with the cool tones of the linen.

So I'm in the Happy Chair, happily stitching away....a roast is roasting in the crock pot ( or crock potting in the crock pot), and Crocket and Tubbs are getting the bad guys off the streets of Miami.

What can I say?  Don Johnson always did blow my skirt up, and what's not to love about 80's music and tight white t-shirts?

Happy Sunday!

THEY REALLY SHOULD MAKE PILLS FOR THIS -- PART DEAUX

So there I was, minding my very own business and happily stitching away, when I started to think.

I heard that, by the way.

That "Oh, brother, what's she up to now?" that you just muttered to nobody in particular...

I started to think that I might want to stitch all of the blossom/snowflakes in the same color to create some kind of tone on tone moteef rather than the multi-colored version that's called for on the chart.

That's what was rattling around in my head when I turned off the Tee Vee and headed to bed for the night.

I tried discussing my idea with Stewey, but he just adjusted his sleep mask, rolled over, and sighed heavily over the thought of having to put up with me.

So I fretted and fretted and fretted and then fretted some more, and all day today I kept thinking about changing the colors to a tone on tone moteef as I went about the business of being me.

Moments ago, I headed to the Happy Chair to start stitching for the night, and decided that I might like the multi-colored version that's called for on the chart after all.

What do you think?

WOULD IT BE SO WRONG?

So, I ask you....would it be so wrong to call this one finished?

I'm thinking it makes a minimalist statement....you know....one simple snowflake/blossom adjacent to a  bare tree.

Hmmmmm.  Even I don't think I can pull THAT one off!

Back to it...

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Oh, what joy!  What bliss!  

Aunt Chrissy and Baby Bosco came over last night for a little New Year's Eve supper and stitching, and we watched all five episodes of "Parade's End" while I started this:

 It's "Blossom" by Carolyn Manning Designs, and it was exactly what I needed to be doing as the clock struck midnight and we ushered in the New Year.

I'm stitching this on a lovely piece of 28ct. Fog Cashel, and I'm thinking about substituting out the called-for green thread with a few icy blues so that the end result will be more winter-ish.

Included with the chart are these lovely hand-made "blossoms".  Aren't they swell?  Now all I need to do is keep them safely away from You Know Who before he gets the bright idea to adorn his little silk smoking jacket with them.

Speaking of my little nine-pound bundle of joy, we both want to send our very best wishes for a spectacular 2015.  May all of your hopes and dreams and wishes come true.  May you know nothing but peace and health and happiness the whole year through, and may we all be exactly where we want to be, doing exactly what we want to be doing for the entire lot of it!

PEACE, LOVE, AND JOY MY FRIENDS

The Spinster Stitcher, her little dog too, Aunt Chrissy, and Baby Bosco send you love and wishes for all that is merry and bright for you and yours!  Be safe, travel well, and enjoy your holiday.  We'll do the same and will see you in the new year!

Woo Hoo!

Coni, Crys, Stewey, and Bosco

BACK TO MY ROOTS

This is Laura J. Perin's "Victorian Ribbons" and I'm trading out the recommended Camouflage for Holiday to make it all Christmas-y.

COZY COZY COZY

Here's the damage so far:

What looks like a big pile 'o yarn is actually a shawl (the white/cream thingie) and a Christmas scarf (the red, green, and white thingie).  

I've been sporting both around the neighborhood, and must say that the folks at the baby blanket yarn company sure know what they're doing....this stuff is s.o.f.t. and very very warm.

Stewey is unimpressed and has vehemently demanded that I return to counted needlework forthwith, but for now I'm satisfied to play with my bargain a little longer.

(The long loom was about ten bucks and the yarn was no more than seven or eight...all thanks to some well-used JoAnn's coo-puns.)

The outside decorations were hung with care, thanks to the help and supervision of Aunt Chrissy and You Know Who, but that might be as far as we get this year.  Would it be so wrong to just stand in the driveway whenever I feel the need to look at twinkle lights?  I keep thinking about how easy it will be to put all of the decorations away if I never get them out in the first place.

So that's the story from Lake Woebespinster.  I hope that your corner of the world is exactly how you want it to be!

STILL AT IT...

The way this whole thing came about was that Aunt Chrissy and I were in the JoAnn's looking for something to do that would keep us out of the pumpkin pie.

"Hey, lookit!"  I said in the yarn aisle.  "Doesn't this kinda remind you of the spool thingie that Dad made us that we used to knit on?"

(Actually, it was Aunt Chrissy who spied these....and she said (most articulately, I might add) "Oh, this is a loom.  I've always wanted to learn to knit on a loom.  Perhaps we should try this....they are remarkably affordable and I see that the resulting accomplishment of finishing a project would be most satisfying.")

OK.  maybe she didn't say it EXACTLY that way, but the end result is the same.  We've both been loom knitting our fingers off for the better part of three days now and I almost have my first scarf.

It will be quite chunky, it is true, but then again, so am I and we all know how delightful THAT can be!

For those who've asked...this is called knitting on a long loom and you can learn all about it on the YouTube, just like I did.

Stewey and I hope that you are all well and cozy and happy.  If we get our chores done tomorrow I've promised him a tummy rub and some time in the studio putting together our Spinster Stitcher Christmas Basket O Stitchy Fun.

Stay tuned!!

OEY....WHAT HAVE I STARTED?

it's either going to be a really fat and chunky scarf, or a blanket big enough to cover a small vehicle.

Either way, we're cozy and ready for turkey!

UH OH.....WHAT'S SHE DOING NOW?

We can blame Aunt Chrissy for tonight's crazypants obsession.  

Stay tuned.  In a year or two, I might end up with a scarf.

BACK TO OUR REGULARLY SCHEDULED PROGRAMMING...

Forgive me, but it took me a minute to get smart enough to delete all of the crap from the hacker.  Thanks to a loyal and devoted reader explaining it to me, I now know that the only thing that mess was about was trying to spread a virus.  And since the LAST thing I want is to cause grief to those I love  (that would be all of you) I opted o.u.t.

Here's a little progress on Shepherd's Bush "Harvest of Plenty".  It is such a joy to stitch....pulling that silk through that linen is exactly what the doctor ordered.

I REALLY NEED TO GET RID OF THIS DARN BLANKET

Scene:  A living room somewhere in the Midwestern United States.  A portly spinster is sprawled in her Happy Chair, needle and thread in hand, a stupid-soft throw wrapped about her substantial frame.

A little dog appears.

He hops up onto the spinster, peers over his little reading glasses, checks for a pulse, and then gently pokes her a few times to see if she can be persuaded to either a) stop snoring and let him resume his perusal of the latest New Yorker, or b) haul herself out of said Happy Chair and stumble into the big girl sleigh bed for some shut eye.

The spinster grunts, clutches the stupid-soft blanket tighter to her ample (yet saggy) bosom, and mutters something about Jeffrey Dean Morgan and animal shelters.  She does, however, manage to let go of the needle and thread long enough for the little dog to park it safely on the designer pin cushion that the spinster and her sister just had to have during a recent late-night excursion to the WalMart.

Sighing heavily, the little dog turns off the spinster's stitching light, pats her on the head for being the simpleton that she is, and then pees on the ottoman as he makes his way back to his study.

The End.

SATURDAY SPINSTER BLISS

Stewey and I are snoodled up under our new cozy blanket, the Irish are playing Navy, and I'm stitching "Harvest of Plenty" by Shepherd's Bush.  We had snow for Halloween, I made a lovely cauliflower chowder, and tomorrow is the first official Sunday brisket of the autumnal season.

Who's happier than me?

Yes....you're seeing that correctly.  You Know Who insists that his toys remain organized according to season.

Damn dog.

I have no idea what the score is....I've been too busy looking at stitchy blogs!

Ahhhhhh.  Is there anything better than pulling silk through a gorgeous piece of linen? 

Our new blanket is from the Wal-Mart.  It's stupid soft, has a sherpa backing, and was $15.  I am, however, convinced that it has some kind of magical fairy tale sleeping curse capabilities, since I lapse into a serious coma every time I get under the darn thing.

Please forgive my absence these last several months, dear friends.  I don't mean to be away so long, but life keeps getting in the way of things.  All will be well.  Keep the happy thoughts and here's hoping that your own corner of the world is cozy, too!

SORRY, BETTY

Do you remember our friend, Betty, who wrote to me every day to tell me how much she hated every single thing about me and my stupid little life?

Well, brace yourself, Betty.  Because all I have for you today is drivel.  No pictures of stitching.  No pictures of the lovely autumnal decorations that Aunt Chrissy has strewn about my house.  No funny photos of Little Lord Fauntleroy doing whatever it is that makes Little Lord Fauntleroy such an...interesting...companion to one lonely old spinster.

Yes, it's true.  I have been eating my fair share of bruschetta and pudding these last few days, but at least I have a good excuse for it.  I've re-watched Julie and Julia about a dozen times, and one of the opening cooking scenes is Julie making bruschetta for her husband.  You know the one I'm talking about....she fries the thick-cut bread in olive oil and then mixes up some gorgeous heirloom tomatoes and basil.

What can I say?  That sounded pretty good to me, so I did what any normal person would do.  I went to the grocery store, bought about eight dozen loaves of fancypants bread, a truckload of heirloom tomatoes, a small bush of basil, and went to town.  Last night I added crumbled feta just because I could.  Here's the way I perfected Bruschetta a 'la Spinster:

Thickly sliced crusty bread (mine was sliced to precisely 1 1/2 inches)
Good olive oil
Heirloom tomatoes
Fresh Basil
Balsamic vinegar
Feta or Blue Cheese crumbles
Kosher Salt
Freshly ground black pepper
Garlic cloves (you need a few really big ones peeled to rub on the bread)

Pre-heat a toaster oven to broil.  Brush bread with olive oil, add a little salt and pepper, and put it in to toast while you're dicing and mixing the topping.  Chop the tomatoes and basil, drizzle on a little balsamic and olive oil, and salt and pepper to taste.  Add cheese, if you're so inclined.  Flip the bread over to get the other side golden brown, and when it is, take it out and rub it vigorously with the garlic clove.  Top with the tomato mixture, pour yourself a big glass of red wine (or, in my case Raspberry Ice Crystal Light) and enjoy!

Now as for the pudding....I ate that because I wanted something a little sweet and I had two boxes of sugar free/fat free chocolate fudge instant pudding mix in the pantry and I needed to use up the vat of skim milk that I bought because I swore I was going to drink more skim milk.   (I'm not much of a milk drinker, as it turns out, so any time I can figure out a way to sneak it into something, I'm pretty happy.)

So there you have it.  That's the sum total of the last two months of my life.  I have not stitched or even thought about stitching in so long that it's making my skin itch, but I have promised myself a studio day very very soon to remedy that.

Stewey, as you know, is perfectly fine and is getting PLENTY of evening games of Pumpkin(!) in before the snow flies, and Aunt Chrissy and Bosco are making sure that we behave ourselves and don't do anything too terribly stupid.

What's new with you?

SOMEBODY CALL WEIGHT WATCHERS

My mom can't come to the blog right now.  She's sitting in the Happy Chair....eyes glazed over....mumbling something about being normal and just doing things like a person does without having to fall into the "all spinster / all the time" trap.

For the last eight days, my stupid Mo-ther has consumed nothing but bruschetta and pudding.

Bruschetta.

And pudding.

What can I say?  When the old lady goes on a tear, there's not much that I am able to do that will snap her out of whatever crazypants mess she's got cooking in that hot crock pot full of obsession she owns.  Best to just let her tire herself out, and then when she finally falls into a heap, I can call my Aunt Chrissy to come help me clean up the mess.

I hope that your corner of the world is a lot more.....normal.  Until we meet again, I remain your loyal and devoted pal.

With much love,
Stewey

PUMPKIN STORY

Once upon a time, there was a spoiled little dog who loved pumpkins....

IN WHICH OUR HEROINE FINDS A PROFILE PICTURE SHE CAN FINALLY LIVE WITH.....

So I don't suppose it's any secret that I remain anonymous on purpose.  The truth of the matter is that I simply cannot STAND to have my big fat face anywhere near a camera and/or profile picture.

Today, at last (!)  I have finally found one that I can live with.

You might have heard that there is a football game in these here parts tomorrow night.  My beloved Alma Mater (she says with a hearty "Ahem") is playing the University of Michigan.  This rivalry goes back a ways and is intense...just like almost every other rivalry we have with schools like USC, Miami, and anybody else that we've ever played in our storied 150+ year history.

(Wait a minute...could it be that a little Irish Pride has started to creep back into my veins?!  How the heck did that happen!  Somebody alert the authorities...she's starting to cave!!!)

Anywhoose....I thought y'all might get a kick out of having a little inside info in the event that you and yours decide to watch the game:

Notre Dame has officially launched the GOLD GANG.  This gang is a group of student ambassadors that will roam the campus wearing full body suits (of gold) along with t-shirts that commemorate each of the 11 years that Notre Dame has won a National Championship.  The idea is that these roaming gold guys will generate team spirit, hype the hype, and generally be something cool for devoted fans to look at while they're roasting their tailgate wienies.

Now here's where the inside info comes in.....you can tell everybody you know that you just happen to be close personal friends with the person that decorated the uniforms of the Gold Gang!  Yes, that's right, our very own Aunt Chrissy is the person responsible for physically applying the digital transfer to the fronts and backs of all of the Gold Gang's t-shirts!  How freakin' cool is THAT?!

Stewey and I will be back soon with updates on all of the shenanigans at Chez Spinster.  We've managed to accomplish a LITTLE stitching, a little MORE cooking, a LOT of reading, and a TON of sleeping!

Until we meet again.....here's hoping that your very own corner of the world is indeed....GOLDEN!

A NOTE FROM MASTER STEWEY ANGUS WILLOWSWAMP, HIS VERY LITTLE (AND SNIFFLY) SELF

My mom can't come to the blog right now.  The old lady has been on a complete tear ever since THEY revealed the Shamrock Series unis this week.  I swear, if it weren't for the fact that I've been feeling poorly lately and have been unable to accompany her, she would have climbed into the Big Girl VeeHickLe and sped over to campus to demand an audience.

So many of you have sent emails asking where the Spinster Stitcher rant is regarding said unis.  Mo-ther asked me to pass along the message that she is.....formulating.  Stay tuned for what promises to be a rather entertaining few minutes in the life of an idiot spinster.

As for me, I am under the proverbial weather with my allergies.  I awoke this morning with puffy eyes and a runny nose, and I have been sorely tempted to chew at my forearms.  One quick call to my internist, however, and I am soon to be on the mend once my script is on board.

Now if I could only get a prescription for whatever it is that has my stupid mo-ther such a hot mess, all would indeed be perfectly swell here in Hoosierville.

I'm sorry to report that there has been absolutely NO stitching happening in the friendly confines.  I suspect that it is due to the usual August ennui, and that once the temperatures return to something OTHER than that of the surface of the sun the needles will fly once again.  In looking at my previous years' reports, I do see that we seem to enter a very major stitchy slump this time of year, so I'm giving it until Labor Day before I call in the (Aunt Chrissy) authorities.

I do hope that this finds you well.  Please know that I remain your loyal and devoted friend and send you my very deepest and most heartfelt wishes for a wonderfully happy day.

With love from your pal,
Stewey

MAYBE THEY REALLY ARE TRYING TO KILL ME...

BANG A RANG

WHAT I'M STITCHING NOW...

This is Zecca's "Bird in a Nest".  Threads and stitch guide by Miss Ruth Schmuff Her Very Self of Beadecked and Beadazzled fame...

THEY REALLY SHOULD MAKE PILLS FOR THIS....OH WAIT! MAYBE THEY DO!

Chelloooooo!

I am utterly and totally bobcumdistulated today.  I'm pretty sure that it has to do with the fact that I have just spent the last TWO weekends out of town, but the more likely explanation is that I had to be ME out there in the public and not be too MUCH me for more than fourteen seconds at a time.

I think my head is going to explode.

What can I say?  You spend the majority of your life hiding in your house with a fussy little dog and you get a little nuts when you have to wear shoes and a bra and carry on polite conversation about something other than ort receptacles.

The first trip outside of my comfort zone (Read that as: outside the eight-foot perimeter of Chez Spinster), was to Donaldson, Indiana and the annual Sit 'n Stitch with 50 of the most amazingly wonderful ladies you will ever meet.  It was life-changing for me in many many ways, and I learned how to take a shower in the glove compartment of a Ford Focus.

(If you've ever been to the Lindenwood Retreat Center at Ancilla College in Donaldson...insert your guffaws here.)  All I can tell you is that the size of the shower and the amplitude of Yours Truly made for a very interesting morning.  At one point, I figured that the best way to get clean would be to apply the body wash to the walls of the shower/glove compartment, and then just shimmy my way to a bright and spot free shine, but the resulting jiggly bits threw me into convulsions that could be heard all the way down the hall.

A fair amount of thread was applied, removed, and applied again to the Zecca Bird in a Nest canvas, but alas, I do not have it or my camera here for photographic evidence.  Tomorrow....I promise.

This last weekend found me in Lima, Ohio for my 30th high school class reunion.

(I'll save you from having to do the math in your head.  Ready?....I'm 48.)

(You're welcome.)

Now here's where I confess that I fretted and fretted and fretted about this for six months, purposely missed the deadline to attend, and then turned my car around about nine times because of the full-on panic that ensued every single time I thought of having to say "Hi, do you remember me?  I was the one sitting in History class trying to look like I had a clue about what I was doing, but all I really wanted to do was go hide in my locker until graduation."

The flop sweat hit ten minutes after I left the hotel and the red blotches appeared right about the time I realized that there was no good way to run screaming from the banquet room without drawing attention to my big fat heiney hastily packed into twelve year old capris pants and a blouse that was apparently made of thermo-nuclear fabric. (I'm pretty sure that I could have baked a ham in there and had plenty of heat left over for the green bean casserole.)  (Note to self.....find.  better.  deodorant.) (Second note to self....burn. blouse.)

By the time the event started (oh, did I mention that I was about four hours early?), I had worked myself up into a froth of bug-eyed, sweaty, blotchy, messiness that could only be contained in the corner stall of the ladies room.  I spent a fair amount of time in there quietly gritting my teeth and chanting "Get a freakin grip already.  Get a freakin grip already" until it occurred to me that people were probably starting to wonder about the weird girl who spent the night in the john talking to herself.

Yeah.  THAT'S the way to rebuild a reputation.

Despite having to be ME, I managed to have the time of my life, and I can't believe that I was actually lucky enough to go to school with this group of people.

Thank God, though, that I've got five years to recover, get a grip, and find better pharmaceuticals.

Stewey sends his love.  He was happy to spend some time with his Aunt Chrissy, but a bit miffed that it was not (as I had promised him) a vacation aboard a Viking Cruise through the waterways of Europe.  (Can I help it if he's getting harder and harder to please?  A mo-ther's gotta do what a mo-ther's gotta do to get the damn dog in the car seat, after all.)

Here's hoping that your last few weeks have been filled with all things happy.  If you've gone to your own events this summer and would like to pass along any helpful tips about how one might learn to be a little less....Spinster Stitcher-ish, please drop me a line.  I'll take all the help I can get.

Woo Hoo!

JUST ME AND MY EYE PATCH

We awoke at the crack 'o dawn (it really was, but you have to expect that sort of thing when you go to bed at 7:30) , had coffee, and then.....drumroll please...

WE SPENT THE MORNING IN THE STUDIO!!!

I figured out how to turn the record player on and while jamming to Elton, I colorized this:

I'm in the Happy Chair....needle and antiseptic bandaids at the ready, and now....off to stitch!

POKED...

I poked something, all right.

Myself.

Right in the eye.

No, seriously....I sat down to start stitching and promptly reached up to brush a forelock from my forehead and poked myself in the eyeball with the needle.

If it weren't for the fact the Stewey laughed so hard (*) he peed the ottoman, I would have been really traumatized.  As it is, I checked for blood, slapped a cold compress on my head and went to bed.

Sometimes it's just not at all easy being me.

Now here's the good news in all of this.  Because I'm stupid enough to do this stuff and then even stupider enough to tell you all about it, I will get thousands of comments expressing sympathy and suggestions as to how I can live in the world and still be me at the same time.

What would I do without you all?  Thank you for your kindness...your inspiration...your tolerance...and most of all for just understanding . You ROCK!

Here's to happy weekends all around.

I. Am. Determined. To. Stitch. If. It's. The. Last. Thing. I. Do.

(*) In case you're wondering, his laughter is rather like that of the beloved Snoopy of Peanuts fame....high pitched, squeaky little giggles that make his whole little self jiggle and shake.

IT'S LONELY OUT IN SPACE....

I think there's a line in Elton John's "Rocket Man" that says something about "I miss the Earth, I miss my life".

Or, maybe it's supposed to be "wife".  I don't know.  Either way, all I know is that I miss my old life.  I miss having an entire day to think about stitching and then do the actual stitching and then write about stitching and then do more of the thinking about stitching.

Stewey is completely miffed that we seem to have fallen into a terrible trap of....nothingness....that includes a lot of bad TeeVee and even worse meals. I suspect that if I don't clean up my act soon he's going to hit the road for greener pastures.  (I swear I came home the other day to find him furiously stuffing smoking jackets into his little valise while simultaneously berating his stuffed toys for not being more helpful.)

The good news, though, is that I actually had wonderful dreams last night that I WAS stitching.  Nothing too Earth-shattering, mind you.  Just a very pleasant nine and a half hours of dreaming that I was sitting in a lovely comfy chair with a pretty blanket over my legs stitching away on something wonderful.

I awoke hopeful.

So here's to a Thursday on which I, the Spinster Stitcher Her Very Self, do so solemnly swear to pick up a needle and poke something with it before days' end.

How 'bout you?

STEWEY/MO-THER VERSERY

Mo-ther's version:

"Nine years ago yesterday, Aunt Chrissy and I traveled to the wilds of Indiana to pick up my two and a half pound bundle of joy.  I knew the very moment I held that little creature in my arms that my life would never be the same.  I looked deeply into his eyes, took a deep breath, and said:  "I.  Am.  Your.  Mommie."  We drove home, with Stewey sleeping peacefully in his Aunt Chrissy's arms (I think I even made her sit in the back seat for safety purposes!), and then I spent the rest of the night watching my new baby snore happily away in his playpen.  He was potty trained the next morning, learned to fetch a ball the next afternoon, and fully in love with his huge basket of fluffy toys by the end of the day.  What can I say?  Those first several months were sheer bliss and I would not trade one moment of the last 3,285 days for anything in this world."

Stewey's version:

"I couldn't have been picked up by that nice pediatrician and his wife from Cincinnati?"

.....................................................

Hard to believe it, but it's true.  Stewey and I celebrated nine years of being.....us.....yesterday.  I snuggled him every chance I got and he did his level best not to pee on the drapes.  All in all, a very good day.

FIREWORKS

Happy 4th of July to all of our U.S. friends.....

Stewey and I are gobsmacked by the tons of emails that we've received in the last few days asking if we weathered the storms OK.  The short answer is, yes, thank goodness, but many in our area weren't so lucky.

The tornado sirens went off at 1am, we headed for our bathroom bunker shortly thereafter, and the lights went "poof" at about 1:05.

Power is back on and we are none the worse for wear (except for a few trees that look a bit naked), but we're not looking forward to doing THAT again any time soon.

Here's hoping that the weekend is calm and bright and full of stitchy goodness for everybody!  Thanks for thinking of us....WOO HOO!

BLOG? WHAT BLOG?

So there I was, minding my very own business, when I looked up.

"Holy crap, Batman!" I exclaimed to nobody in particular.  "It's almost the end of June!  How the h-e-double-toothpicks did THAT happen?"

The truth of the matter is that time seems to be speeding by us here in Hoosierville quite quickly this summer.  It's not due to anything exciting, mind you, but rather just the general blah blah blah that is my life.

Stewey is fine...toes are all in tact and healed very nicely.  He was totally miffled that he had to have his little cast removed, especially since the sight of it gave everybody a case of the "Awwwww, isn't he the cutest little thing you've ever seen" bug.

Chez Spinster has remained spiffed up, but no visit from the Jersey Boy just yet.  I wait with breath that is batied for the day he crosses the threshold, but am doing my level best not to get too excited about it until I see the license plate in the driveway.

(You have to love that about New Jersey...front license plates!  We don't have them here in Indiana and I really do miss them terribly.)

(I find it comforting to know the home whereabouts of the cars that you're careening into on any given day.  Don't you?)

Aunt Chrissy is all skinny now and sporting her fancypants glasses where ever she goes.  I'm not sure how she did it, but my little sister has managed to get even cuter, all while maintaining her usual aura of exasperated patience with moi and moi's little you know who.

I am stitching a bit.  Managed to finish the little all-tent-stitch-all-the-time piece that I was playing with.  If I ever find the battery to the camera, I'll show you how it came out.

So that's it, kids.  Nothing new.  Nothing Earth shattering.  Just me,.

I'll make sure that Stewey gets back to it soon and updates you on all of his shenangins.  Until then, know that we remain your loyal and devoted friends and hope that you are well and safe and happy and stitching to your heart's content!

Ciao, mee amorays!
Coni

MY POOR BUBBIE....

We've had a sports-related injury here at Chez Spinster.  As of this morning, the Doozie Ball World Champion has stubbed his little toe.  From the sounds of things coming from You Know Who, you'd think we had suffered a partial amputation....

Damn dog.

We're off like a herd of (injured, yet sporting a cute little cast with chickens on it) turtles!

THE WAY BACK?

I've been so frustrated with my lack of stitching (and reading and writing and cooking and blogging and sleeping) that I decided to go back to basics.  A lovely little needlepoint canvas done all in tent stitch with Vineyard Silks.

This is Birds of a Feather's Flowers in a Yellow Vase:

THEY REALLY SHOULD MAKE PILLS FOR THIS

My mo-ther can't come to the blog right now.  She's collapsed (yet again) into a hysterical mess of a heap over this:

As I'm sure many of you are aware, my stupid mo-ther is a self diagnosed agoraphobic with moderate to severe panic disorder....who didn't leave the house for a period of eight years.

(She says it's because she was afraid that she would break out into a flop sweat and then chatter like a circus monkey over the prospect of having normal human interaction, but I think the only reason why she played this little drama to the hilt is because she didn't have a proper bra.  Or haircut.)

So now she's thrown herself across the davenport with her forearm draped across her face while she bemoans the fact that the garden has yet to be planted, the patio furniture has yet to be placed, the geraniums have yet to be positioned, and she is never going to leave the confines of her freshly shampooed Happy Chair again.

If it weren't for the fact that I abhor violence so, I would get a garden spade from the garage and dispatch this situation forthwith.  As it is, I am going to have to call my Aunt Chrissy to ask her to prepare the guest quarters.

Methinks it's going to be a long summer.

I do hope that this finds you well and that things are considerably less dramatic in your corner of the world.

With much love from your pal, 

Stewey

AND THEN THE HAPPY CHAIR GOT A BATH

So there I was, minding my very own business, when it occurred to me that there might be a solution to the Stewey "issue" here at Chez Spinster.

"I can call people!", I thought to myself.  "I can call people who know how to clean things, and I can ask these people to bring their cleaning machines to help me rid myself once and for all of the "situation" we've developed over the short nine years that Stewey has been watering the planet!"

So at 10 am on the d.o.t., two nice men named Terry and Nick arrived with their cleaning machines to spiff things up once and for all.  At first, I was mortified that they would see that I have furniture older than Methuselah His Very Self, but they assured me that they've seen worse and I shouldn't be embarrassed over a piddle or two.

Especially when you consider that Stwey met them at the door wearing his best silk smoking jacket, and promptly offered them a cold beverage. (Martinis, thankyouverymuch.  Stirred, not shaken.  With twists.)

Damn dog.

A few Sure-fit slipcovers later and I'm now suitable for guests.  Aunt Chrissy and my Jersey Boy won't know what hit 'em.

We're not even going to talk about the state of NON-STITCHING that's going on around here.  If I don't get a needle in my hand this evening, there's going to be hell to pay.

What's new in your world?  Hopefully your furniture and carpets are piddle-free and your needles are flying!

NOW YOU KNOW WHAT I'VE BEEN UP TO, BY THE SPINSTER STITCHER HER VERY SELF

I shamelessly boosted this from a fellow stitcher's page on the Facebook.  Isn't it genius?

Seriously, though, kids...all is well.  Just trying to keep my crazy on the inside.  Stewey and I are getting Chez Spinster in some semblance of order for the Spring and Summer, and I'm fretting over a complete lack of stitching progress.

Maybe I should look for a clean dress?