Before I moved to New Jersey (sometime in the year 1993), the worst curse words that I used were rather banal. As a matter of fact, I now hear more and more of these words on network TeeVee, and, to further my point that they really are very bland, not during late night hours. But once I made myself a resident of the Garden State, I somehow thought that a lot of well-chosen expletives would make me fit in.
They didn't.
At all.
The only thing they did was make all of my fellow New Jersey-ans wonder what the heck was up with the hayseed Hoosier stumbling her way around Margate, and on more than one occasion, I caught sight of someone in the Park and Shop shaking their head in wonder that I was able to figure out how to get out of bed in the morning.
What can I say? I'm a doofus and always have been.
So when I woke up this morning and realized that The Illness of Epic Proportions had come back, the words that flew out of my mouth in between hacking up a lung or two were NOT ready for prime time. As of yesterday it has officially been one month since I have fallen ill, and I'm not exactly what you'd call handling it with dignity and grace. I'm miserable and headed back to the big girl sleigh bed with a cuddly puppy and a bar of soap for my potty mouth.
Don't cry for me, Argentina. This too shall pass. In the meantime, talk amongst yourselves.
Oct 10, 2012
Oct 8, 2012
SPINSTER WEEKEND BLISS
lunch with an old friend...reading a library book that didn't make me want to gouge my eyes out...a warm sudsy bath for Stewey....a warm sudsy bath for Spinster...grocery shopping with Aunt Chrissy...You've Got Mail on WE teevee (twice)...46 degrees and raining....house colder than a meat locker....turning the fireplace on for the first time....a warm sleepy puppy giving me kisses.....damn good coffee and The New York Times...finishing the freakin' crossword puzzle in less than eighteen hours...naps...looking outside and seeing that the gardens have all been put to bed for the winter...red mums...sleeping in.....the sun on my face, freshly laundered sheets, and a snoring puppy during a long snoozy nap...studio time....picking up a needle again after a month's hiatus....thinking about how wonderful Mom was and wishing she was here for her 79th birthday...more damn good coffee....shirmp cocktail with extra horseradish in the sauce....Sunday dinner in front of the fireplace...listening to Bach on the car radio...looking at all of the gorgeous Fall color....more naps...more coffee...more newspapers...more stitching....more everything
Turning Leaves
Laura J. Perin Designs
Halloween Treat
The American Needlepoint Guild
Sergei
Plum Street Samplers
Autumn Arbor
The Drawn Thread
Oct 5, 2012
SO NOW WE'RE WRITING LISTS
My mom can't come to the blog right now. She's at the kitchen table (with a big fat Panera bagel, I might add) writing lists.
Apparently, the old lady has decided that if she writes enough stuff down on $1 bin notepads from the Michael's things will eventually get done around here. This, of course, is because my Aunt Chrissy employs the use of lists and always seems to be productive and well organized.
Alas, it is not so with my stupid mo-ther.
The first list that she wrote was for the grocery shopping excursion that will take place once Aunt Chrissy gets home from work and then calls to tell Mo-ther to put her shoes on and get moving so that they can get home a decent hour. Normally, they go to the grocery on Thursday nights, but Aunt Chrissy has requested a change to Fridays to help accommodate the inevitable migraine that will ensue after watching my mo-ther (always unsuccessfully) try to find kumquats. Or exotic handmade noodles. Or some other stupid thing she saw on the Food Network that is surely only available in cities more cosmopolitan than this little cow patch we call home.
I caught sight of other lists like "Things to Do Today", "Things To Do This Weekend", "Things To Do This Fall", and finally, "Things to Do This Winter", but I'm not at all optimistic that anything at all will be accomplished, since I see that the first thing on each and every list is "Clean the House". We're not exactly eligible for a reality show intervention just yet, but let's just say that I've taken to wearing my garden clogs inside the house to avoid the collision of dust bunnies that happens when a breeze causes them to scurry across the hardwood. Also, if the old lady doesn't start putting the freshly laundered clothes away instead of fishing the next pair of sweatpants out of the basket from atop the dryer, I'm going to stop using lavender soap and switch to the generic stuff. (For her clothes only, of course. I do still have MY standards.)
The most disconcerting thing I've noticed on these lists is "Revamp the Studio and Re-Think Stitching". This means that we're in for several months of hair-pulling, sweaty-faced bawling and bitching about the lack of stitching that's gone on around here since the Great Bronchitis Epidemic of 2012 that has rendered my stupid mo-ther even more catatonic than usual. I'm not sure if it's the meds or the fact that she can't seem to go more than nine seconds without hacking up a lung, but I haven't seen a threaded needle anywhere near the Happy Chair in over a month. Pity, really, since she does have so many lovely things started, and one can only imagine how much better the Big White Walls of Nothingness would look with a little framed decor'.
I suppose that this list writing frenzy is inevitable, since I overheard Mo-ther telling Aunt Chrissy that she's coming up on the 10th anniversary of living here in her little house, and these types of milestones always start her thinking about how she might improve things so that she's finally living in a feature article in Martha Stewart Living. I hate to tell her this, but life with Spinster is more like something you'd see in the Psychiatric Quarterly, but I'll let her tire herself out a bit before breaking the sad news that perfection isn't a word that should be in her little dictionary.
As for my own lists, they are short and sweet. As you know, I am prone to bouts of eye-rolling condescension when it comes to participating in banal trivialities like list writing, so I try to keep things on a more sophisticated level. Today will find me researching 18th century dressing gowns as worn by the French aristocracy, and this weekend I plan to review several new indie films from the 2012 New York Film Festival. If time permits, I might make a lovely little cassoulet to enjoy with a good Pinot, but we'll have to see how this impacts my nap schedule.
I do hope that your lists are considerably more promising and that the weekend is full of fun things for you. I'll be back soon to report on Mo-ther's successes and (most assuredly more likely) failures. Until then, I remain your loyal and devoted friend.
With much love from your pal,
Stewey
Apparently, the old lady has decided that if she writes enough stuff down on $1 bin notepads from the Michael's things will eventually get done around here. This, of course, is because my Aunt Chrissy employs the use of lists and always seems to be productive and well organized.
Alas, it is not so with my stupid mo-ther.
The first list that she wrote was for the grocery shopping excursion that will take place once Aunt Chrissy gets home from work and then calls to tell Mo-ther to put her shoes on and get moving so that they can get home a decent hour. Normally, they go to the grocery on Thursday nights, but Aunt Chrissy has requested a change to Fridays to help accommodate the inevitable migraine that will ensue after watching my mo-ther (always unsuccessfully) try to find kumquats. Or exotic handmade noodles. Or some other stupid thing she saw on the Food Network that is surely only available in cities more cosmopolitan than this little cow patch we call home.
I caught sight of other lists like "Things to Do Today", "Things To Do This Weekend", "Things To Do This Fall", and finally, "Things to Do This Winter", but I'm not at all optimistic that anything at all will be accomplished, since I see that the first thing on each and every list is "Clean the House". We're not exactly eligible for a reality show intervention just yet, but let's just say that I've taken to wearing my garden clogs inside the house to avoid the collision of dust bunnies that happens when a breeze causes them to scurry across the hardwood. Also, if the old lady doesn't start putting the freshly laundered clothes away instead of fishing the next pair of sweatpants out of the basket from atop the dryer, I'm going to stop using lavender soap and switch to the generic stuff. (For her clothes only, of course. I do still have MY standards.)
The most disconcerting thing I've noticed on these lists is "Revamp the Studio and Re-Think Stitching". This means that we're in for several months of hair-pulling, sweaty-faced bawling and bitching about the lack of stitching that's gone on around here since the Great Bronchitis Epidemic of 2012 that has rendered my stupid mo-ther even more catatonic than usual. I'm not sure if it's the meds or the fact that she can't seem to go more than nine seconds without hacking up a lung, but I haven't seen a threaded needle anywhere near the Happy Chair in over a month. Pity, really, since she does have so many lovely things started, and one can only imagine how much better the Big White Walls of Nothingness would look with a little framed decor'.
I suppose that this list writing frenzy is inevitable, since I overheard Mo-ther telling Aunt Chrissy that she's coming up on the 10th anniversary of living here in her little house, and these types of milestones always start her thinking about how she might improve things so that she's finally living in a feature article in Martha Stewart Living. I hate to tell her this, but life with Spinster is more like something you'd see in the Psychiatric Quarterly, but I'll let her tire herself out a bit before breaking the sad news that perfection isn't a word that should be in her little dictionary.
As for my own lists, they are short and sweet. As you know, I am prone to bouts of eye-rolling condescension when it comes to participating in banal trivialities like list writing, so I try to keep things on a more sophisticated level. Today will find me researching 18th century dressing gowns as worn by the French aristocracy, and this weekend I plan to review several new indie films from the 2012 New York Film Festival. If time permits, I might make a lovely little cassoulet to enjoy with a good Pinot, but we'll have to see how this impacts my nap schedule.
I do hope that your lists are considerably more promising and that the weekend is full of fun things for you. I'll be back soon to report on Mo-ther's successes and (most assuredly more likely) failures. Until then, I remain your loyal and devoted friend.
With much love from your pal,
Stewey
Oct 3, 2012
IF HE ASKS, JUST TELL HIM IT'S CANYON RANCH, K?
Today I decided to do something nice for Stewey, so at 1 o'clock we're going to go have a little spa day.
Well, not a spa day, really. More like an appointment at the v-e-t to get his toenails trimmed.
But we're going to pretend like it's a spa day so that Mommie Dearest here can feel better about the last month and a half of sheer neglect he's had to endure, and Little Lord Fauntleroy can stop clickety clacking all over the hardwoods.
Do you suppose if I slap a little Enya on his iPod during the drive over there he'll fall for it?
Well, not a spa day, really. More like an appointment at the v-e-t to get his toenails trimmed.
But we're going to pretend like it's a spa day so that Mommie Dearest here can feel better about the last month and a half of sheer neglect he's had to endure, and Little Lord Fauntleroy can stop clickety clacking all over the hardwoods.
Do you suppose if I slap a little Enya on his iPod during the drive over there he'll fall for it?
Oct 1, 2012
WELL, SO MUCH FOR SEPTEMBER
Remember that silly spinster who said "I'm really going to enjoy the Fall this year", and then she went and caught what can only be described as The Plague of Biblical Proportions That She Wouldn't Wish On Her Worst Enemy that caused her to miss an entire month of her life to weapons-grade pharmaceuticals and doctor visits and enough bitching and moaning and complaining to qualify her for her very own reality show on the Bravo Tee Vee networks?
She's ba-aaack.
Well, not completely, but at least I'm able to sit upright in a chair without wondering why somebody saw fit to prop my entire house on some kind of crazyass cantilevered platform that replicated the deck of the Titanic every time I thought about moving my eyeballs more than a millimeter to the left or right.
Throw in liquid Vicodin and you've got yourself some pretty entertaining shenanigans right there, people. (Liquid Vicodin...did you know they even MADE that stuff?) As somebody who carries a big sign around that says "Warning! I'm allergic to narcotic pain meds", I have to say that the recommendation to try this stuff came with the realization that even my family doctor was tired of hearing me complain and that she had finally decided to help me just shut the heck up already.
So here I sit, wondering where September went, but doggedly determined to embrace October and all of its charms. If I can make it up the stairs without having to stop for a nap, I'm going to spend some time in the studio today trying to regain my lost stitching mojo. If all goes well I won't have to call Aunt Chrissy and the Mishawaka Fire Department to come help me back down the stairs and to the big girl sleigh bed and I'll have something worthwhile to blog about in the near future.
What's new with you?
She's ba-aaack.
Well, not completely, but at least I'm able to sit upright in a chair without wondering why somebody saw fit to prop my entire house on some kind of crazyass cantilevered platform that replicated the deck of the Titanic every time I thought about moving my eyeballs more than a millimeter to the left or right.
Throw in liquid Vicodin and you've got yourself some pretty entertaining shenanigans right there, people. (Liquid Vicodin...did you know they even MADE that stuff?) As somebody who carries a big sign around that says "Warning! I'm allergic to narcotic pain meds", I have to say that the recommendation to try this stuff came with the realization that even my family doctor was tired of hearing me complain and that she had finally decided to help me just shut the heck up already.
So here I sit, wondering where September went, but doggedly determined to embrace October and all of its charms. If I can make it up the stairs without having to stop for a nap, I'm going to spend some time in the studio today trying to regain my lost stitching mojo. If all goes well I won't have to call Aunt Chrissy and the Mishawaka Fire Department to come help me back down the stairs and to the big girl sleigh bed and I'll have something worthwhile to blog about in the near future.
What's new with you?
Sep 26, 2012
OEY
So sorry for the long absence, my dear friends. This sickness has totally knocked me for a loop. Truth is, I don't remember when I've ever been this sick for this long.
The good news is that I seem to have lost enough weight that I no longer qualify for my own zip code, but the bad news is that I haven't had a needle in my hand in over three weeks.
Please bear with me....I'll be back as soon as I can. Thank you for all of your lovely thoughts.
Coni
P.S. Both Stewey and Aunt Chrissy send their love and affection and promise that they will continue to take good care of me.
The good news is that I seem to have lost enough weight that I no longer qualify for my own zip code, but the bad news is that I haven't had a needle in my hand in over three weeks.
Please bear with me....I'll be back as soon as I can. Thank you for all of your lovely thoughts.
Coni
P.S. Both Stewey and Aunt Chrissy send their love and affection and promise that they will continue to take good care of me.
Sep 14, 2012
NURSE STEWEY, PAGING NURSE STEWEY.
You know that scene in You've Got Mail in which Tom Hanks shows up at Meg Ryan's apartment when he hears she's sick, and she answers the door looking adorable in menswear pajamas and a trench coat with just the right amount of hair tossle-ness to indicate that she's under the weather? And how she sneezes into the intercom and says "I have a TEMPature!"
(The wads of tissues stuffed into her pockets and a few well-hidden soup bowls also add to effect, but you know what I mean, right?)
Well I'm here to tell you that this, most definitely, ain't it.
I awoke Monday with what I presumed to be the flu, but alas, I am (she says while throwing her forearm across her forehead in dramatic fashion) at death's door with bronchitis.
(OK. Not the door, really. More like the vestibule.)
But I am sickety, sick, sick and can't remember when I have ever felt so lousy. I keep waiting for my mom to come in and put a fresh sheet on the couch, set up the TeeVee tray with ginger ale and saltine crackers, and then smooth my hair from my fevered brow with her cool soft hands.
(Considering the fact that she's been gone for 25 years, this would be quite feat.)
So I'm stuck with one very patient, yet exasperated sister and a dog that insists on wearing a nurses' cap, stethoscope, and Easy Comfort white Career Collection Casuals instead. If he doesn't stop bitching about the fact that there's no official nursing cape for him to sling over his shoulder with his customary flair, I'm going to open the front door and hope that he decides to finally run away from home.
Fear not, sweet friends, for I shall repair shortly. Thanks to some industrial-strength pharmaceuticals (*) and enough Sobe Life Water to float a barge, methinks I just might live to tell the tale, after all.
(*) I'm sorry to report that one of these meds is Prednisone. Although not in the same doses at the Great Prednisone Caper of 2002, they are, nonetheless high enough to invoke the "I Shall Not Write Things, Say Things, Or Have Any Public Interaction With Nice People While Under The Influence Of This Stuff" pledge as was signed, sealed, and delivered circa 2004.
(I will, however, be sure to write something in my private journals each day, and if the proper authorities determine that there is anything is comic value there, we'll publish in the interest of not losing all of my loyal and devoted fans.)
(See? The crazy delusional nutball version of me is coming out already.)
Woo Hoo!
(The wads of tissues stuffed into her pockets and a few well-hidden soup bowls also add to effect, but you know what I mean, right?)
Well I'm here to tell you that this, most definitely, ain't it.
I awoke Monday with what I presumed to be the flu, but alas, I am (she says while throwing her forearm across her forehead in dramatic fashion) at death's door with bronchitis.
(OK. Not the door, really. More like the vestibule.)
But I am sickety, sick, sick and can't remember when I have ever felt so lousy. I keep waiting for my mom to come in and put a fresh sheet on the couch, set up the TeeVee tray with ginger ale and saltine crackers, and then smooth my hair from my fevered brow with her cool soft hands.
(Considering the fact that she's been gone for 25 years, this would be quite feat.)
So I'm stuck with one very patient, yet exasperated sister and a dog that insists on wearing a nurses' cap, stethoscope, and Easy Comfort white Career Collection Casuals instead. If he doesn't stop bitching about the fact that there's no official nursing cape for him to sling over his shoulder with his customary flair, I'm going to open the front door and hope that he decides to finally run away from home.
Fear not, sweet friends, for I shall repair shortly. Thanks to some industrial-strength pharmaceuticals (*) and enough Sobe Life Water to float a barge, methinks I just might live to tell the tale, after all.
(*) I'm sorry to report that one of these meds is Prednisone. Although not in the same doses at the Great Prednisone Caper of 2002, they are, nonetheless high enough to invoke the "I Shall Not Write Things, Say Things, Or Have Any Public Interaction With Nice People While Under The Influence Of This Stuff" pledge as was signed, sealed, and delivered circa 2004.
(I will, however, be sure to write something in my private journals each day, and if the proper authorities determine that there is anything is comic value there, we'll publish in the interest of not losing all of my loyal and devoted fans.)
(See? The crazy delusional nutball version of me is coming out already.)
Woo Hoo!
Sep 7, 2012
Sep 6, 2012
A MIGRAINE HAIKU (FOR YOUR READING PLEASURE ON A RANDOM THURSDAY)
tired cranky mess
stewey ready for a nap
oh, my throbbing head
stewey ready for a nap
oh, my throbbing head
Sep 3, 2012
C'MON, FALL
Anybody else ready for 54 degrees, sweatpants, crockpot cooking, and the smell of leaves in the air?
I know I am.
Thank you for all of your lovely best wishes for my survival. I'm happy to report that I did indeed live to tell the tale and that it looks like all of this clean living is paying off.
I spent the entire day up in the studio (despite the beastly heat and humidity), but I don't have anything to show for it other than a lot of empty project bags and some pretty well-organized thread drawers. As soon as I get my Fall Stitchy Groove on, I'll be back with photographic evidence. In the meantime, here's a pic of Daphne as I caught her mid-kissy with Stewey moments ago:
Hope your weekend/Monday was all you hoped it would be! Woo Hoo!
I know I am.
Thank you for all of your lovely best wishes for my survival. I'm happy to report that I did indeed live to tell the tale and that it looks like all of this clean living is paying off.
I spent the entire day up in the studio (despite the beastly heat and humidity), but I don't have anything to show for it other than a lot of empty project bags and some pretty well-organized thread drawers. As soon as I get my Fall Stitchy Groove on, I'll be back with photographic evidence. In the meantime, here's a pic of Daphne as I caught her mid-kissy with Stewey moments ago:
Hope your weekend/Monday was all you hoped it would be! Woo Hoo!
Aug 30, 2012
I WOULD HAVE PREFERRED A TRAPPER KEEPER
Most people prepare for the new school year with pens and pencils and new folders and notebooks and such.
Me, I prepare with colonoscopies.
Yup. Call it TMI, but suffice it to say that today involves a lot of Jell-o and clear liquids, and tomorrow I will be trying to pretend that I'm at Canyon Ranch enjoying a "rejuvenating cleansing" that will result in shinier skin and a healthy glow.
Truth be told, I don't have one thing to complain about when it comes to these things. My physician, Dr. Mark, is a rock star and has become a trusted member of Team Spinster over the years. He has what can only be described as an appropriate sense of humor for somebody that spends the better part of a day looking at people's heineys, so you have to love that about him and not take the "turn over onto your left side" thing too seriously.
I don't get this test every year because I like writing about it. I get it because Mom died at the tender age of 54 from metastatic colon cancer, and her mother/our gramdmother died a few months before her of the exact same thing. Combine that with the medical wonder that is me, and you've got a surety that a small bit of inconvenience every twelve months will probably save my life. Add that to the sad fact that Aunt Chrissy and I are the last of the Mohicans when it comes to this part of the family tree, and you've got yourself a "shut up and get this done" reason that precludes any discomfort on my part.
So eat your vegetables, do what your doctors tell you, and suck it up and go get yourself checked out every now and then. And if the thought of this type of procedure doesn't blow your skirt up, consider the fact that celebrities everywhere pay tens of thousands of dollars for colonic irrigations that don't come with the added bonus of photographic evidence that you might be around a little while longer to aggravate the hell out of your family members.
End of public health advisory.....
Progress continues on Lavender Fields. I'm still struggling with my color selection, but I think that once everything is stitched I'll like the result. After another slug of Gatorade, methinks it's time to hit the Happy Chair.
Me, I prepare with colonoscopies.
Yup. Call it TMI, but suffice it to say that today involves a lot of Jell-o and clear liquids, and tomorrow I will be trying to pretend that I'm at Canyon Ranch enjoying a "rejuvenating cleansing" that will result in shinier skin and a healthy glow.
Truth be told, I don't have one thing to complain about when it comes to these things. My physician, Dr. Mark, is a rock star and has become a trusted member of Team Spinster over the years. He has what can only be described as an appropriate sense of humor for somebody that spends the better part of a day looking at people's heineys, so you have to love that about him and not take the "turn over onto your left side" thing too seriously.
I don't get this test every year because I like writing about it. I get it because Mom died at the tender age of 54 from metastatic colon cancer, and her mother/our gramdmother died a few months before her of the exact same thing. Combine that with the medical wonder that is me, and you've got a surety that a small bit of inconvenience every twelve months will probably save my life. Add that to the sad fact that Aunt Chrissy and I are the last of the Mohicans when it comes to this part of the family tree, and you've got yourself a "shut up and get this done" reason that precludes any discomfort on my part.
So eat your vegetables, do what your doctors tell you, and suck it up and go get yourself checked out every now and then. And if the thought of this type of procedure doesn't blow your skirt up, consider the fact that celebrities everywhere pay tens of thousands of dollars for colonic irrigations that don't come with the added bonus of photographic evidence that you might be around a little while longer to aggravate the hell out of your family members.
End of public health advisory.....
Aug 27, 2012
WHAT I DID ON MY SUMMER FLU-CATION, BY MASTER STEWEY ANGUS WILLOWSWAMP, HIS VERY LITTLE SELF
My mom can't come to the blog right now. She's sitting in the corner, thinking about what a total beast she's been lately.
It all started with the heat and humidity. We all know how much the old lady loves to dissolve into a sweaty mess at 8:30 in the morning, and the fact that this hot spell has lasted for several months certainly hasn't helped matters any.
Then we had the annual "THE SKY IS FALLING" marathon of West Nile Virus reports, hurricanes in the Gulf, and the ever-present screaming of the local weatherman to take cover. This constant barage of newsiness was not at all what the doctor ordered for my stupid mo-ther's tattered nerves.
Just when I thought things were starting to calm down a bit and we had reached a happy medium of napping, eating, and Food Network Tee Vee watching.....the bottom dropped out. "This Saturday, watch as Gail and Robert celebrate their love on a special episode of Wedding Impossible". My snoring, slobbering mo-ther bolted upright in the chair and started screeching. "HE'S GETTING MARRIED???!!!! MARRIED?!!! WITHOUT ME???!!!" And then, to make matters worse, we discovered that Chef Robert Irvine did indeed get married, and to a lovely professional lady wrestler named Gail King.
Needless to say, THAT particular evening sucked for the full fifteen minutes it took for the sedatives to kick in.
Last week, my beloved Aunt Chrissy came down with the flu and came over so that I could care for her properly. I tucked her into the Happy Chair and made sure that she had all of the stitchy-ness, TeeVee, and fluids she could handle, and I convinced my pesky little cousin Bosco to be on good behavior. I think it was good for my Aunt Chrissy, but I know that by Thursday evening, she was definitely ready to go home to her own bed and some peace and quiet.
There has been a little stitching in the midst of all of this. First up is a piece called Bali Ha'i from the designers Michael Boren and Carole Lake. This is the September project for Mo-ther's EGA guild, and is found on the Caron Collections website as a free chart. I think it must be a very enjoyable stitch, since Mo-ther was quiet and behaved during the five or six hours that it took her to stitch it:
The second piece is called Lavender Fields, and is from Needle Delights Originals. I'm not sure what the hell is going on with it, since the colors seem to be giving the old lady fits and starts. She received this as a complete kit from my friend Teddy at The Scarlet Thread, but apparently a few of the colors were a bit too "hot" for Mo-ther's liking, so she decided to change them. All I know is that it now looks like a hot mess. We'll see if she can salvage it:
August is almost over, so that means that Saturday will find us upstairs in the studio putting together the Official Fall Basket of Spinster Stitcher Stitchy Fun. I'm really looking forward to this, since it seems like there's been precious little stitchy accomplishment around here lately. When did my mom suddenly become a "one at a time" stitcher? Weren't there days when she had eight or nine different things going at once? Methinks it's time to give that a try once again.
Until we meet again, I remain your loyal and devoted friend.
With much love,
Stewey
It all started with the heat and humidity. We all know how much the old lady loves to dissolve into a sweaty mess at 8:30 in the morning, and the fact that this hot spell has lasted for several months certainly hasn't helped matters any.
Then we had the annual "THE SKY IS FALLING" marathon of West Nile Virus reports, hurricanes in the Gulf, and the ever-present screaming of the local weatherman to take cover. This constant barage of newsiness was not at all what the doctor ordered for my stupid mo-ther's tattered nerves.
Just when I thought things were starting to calm down a bit and we had reached a happy medium of napping, eating, and Food Network Tee Vee watching.....the bottom dropped out. "This Saturday, watch as Gail and Robert celebrate their love on a special episode of Wedding Impossible". My snoring, slobbering mo-ther bolted upright in the chair and started screeching. "HE'S GETTING MARRIED???!!!! MARRIED?!!! WITHOUT ME???!!!" And then, to make matters worse, we discovered that Chef Robert Irvine did indeed get married, and to a lovely professional lady wrestler named Gail King.
Needless to say, THAT particular evening sucked for the full fifteen minutes it took for the sedatives to kick in.
Last week, my beloved Aunt Chrissy came down with the flu and came over so that I could care for her properly. I tucked her into the Happy Chair and made sure that she had all of the stitchy-ness, TeeVee, and fluids she could handle, and I convinced my pesky little cousin Bosco to be on good behavior. I think it was good for my Aunt Chrissy, but I know that by Thursday evening, she was definitely ready to go home to her own bed and some peace and quiet.
There has been a little stitching in the midst of all of this. First up is a piece called Bali Ha'i from the designers Michael Boren and Carole Lake. This is the September project for Mo-ther's EGA guild, and is found on the Caron Collections website as a free chart. I think it must be a very enjoyable stitch, since Mo-ther was quiet and behaved during the five or six hours that it took her to stitch it:
August is almost over, so that means that Saturday will find us upstairs in the studio putting together the Official Fall Basket of Spinster Stitcher Stitchy Fun. I'm really looking forward to this, since it seems like there's been precious little stitchy accomplishment around here lately. When did my mom suddenly become a "one at a time" stitcher? Weren't there days when she had eight or nine different things going at once? Methinks it's time to give that a try once again.
Until we meet again, I remain your loyal and devoted friend.
With much love,
Stewey
Aug 26, 2012
GO AHEAD. POKE THE BEAR.
I made a solemn promise to Aunt Chrissy that I wouldn't go batshit ballistic crazypants about this, so I will only offer photographic evidence that my beloved alma mater has finally lost its ever-loving mind.
(The smart alleck in me wants to point out that one would think that one would need to have won a few more football games before one decided to desecrate the tradition of a 125-year old program that was at one time considered to be a member of the elite in collegiate athletics, but what do I know)
(And yes, in case you were wondering, I take all of this crap waaaaaaayyyyy too seriously and personally, and I have to constantly remind myself that Brian Kelly didn't go out of his way to completely dishonor the memory of my dad and all of the other amazing Notre Dame alums.)
(It just feels like he did.)
What's next, coach? A Wonderbra on the BVM? Good thing the boys will be able to wear those spanky new outfits on their debut episode of Dancing With The Stars. Just watch out for all of the gold lame' and glitter, though...it's' positively blinding.
Aug 20, 2012
OLYMPIC SEASONS FEE NEE
Seasons
designed by Amy Wolfson, Amybear Needlepoints
18 ct. mono canvas
Threads used (my own colorway):
Watercolours Cardinal, Snow White, and Night Sky
Vineyard Silk: Wedgewood
DMC floss: 3865, 304, and 3750 (1 ply of each, blended together)
Stitched during the 2012 London Olympic Games.
Aug 14, 2012
I COULD HAVE BEEN A CONTENDER
London -- The Closing Ceremonies of the XXX Olympic Games were briefly interrupted on Sunday evening by a portly spinster's frantic efforts to speak with Lord Coe and the Olympic Organizing Committee. "DON'T BLOW IT OUT YET, MISTER COE!", she was heard to exclaim. "I'M NOT QUITE FINISHED YET!" Despite her rather blatant breech of Olympic protocol (and not to mention the fact that he is, indeed, LORD Coe and not "Mister"), the crowd applauded mightily as she scrambled to the podium.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, honored guests, athletes, and portly spinsters everywhere....I ask you to harken back to a time when you attempted a feat and fell short. I ask you to look within yourselves to the deepest part of your competitive spirits and remember what it was like to come within inches of finally reaching your goal. Doesn't everyone have a memory of a dream not realized -- glory left unattained? It is with a humble and contrite heart that I ask -- no, beg! -- you to allow me to finish my special Olympic stitchy project. I'm so close! I know that if given the opportunity and enough dietCoke I could have the piece finished and off to the framer by week's end! Please! Five more days!"
With this, the crowd erupted into roaring approbation, security was told to stand down, and the spinster was carried from the stadium by a group of Belarus weight lifters who, as it turns out, were the only ones equal to the task. After a few days in the Tower of London cooling her heels, rumor has it that the spinster has returned to the productive confines of her Happy Chair in Hoosierville, USA to set about the task of completing THIS once and for all:
"Ladies and Gentlemen, honored guests, athletes, and portly spinsters everywhere....I ask you to harken back to a time when you attempted a feat and fell short. I ask you to look within yourselves to the deepest part of your competitive spirits and remember what it was like to come within inches of finally reaching your goal. Doesn't everyone have a memory of a dream not realized -- glory left unattained? It is with a humble and contrite heart that I ask -- no, beg! -- you to allow me to finish my special Olympic stitchy project. I'm so close! I know that if given the opportunity and enough dietCoke I could have the piece finished and off to the framer by week's end! Please! Five more days!"
With this, the crowd erupted into roaring approbation, security was told to stand down, and the spinster was carried from the stadium by a group of Belarus weight lifters who, as it turns out, were the only ones equal to the task. After a few days in the Tower of London cooling her heels, rumor has it that the spinster has returned to the productive confines of her Happy Chair in Hoosierville, USA to set about the task of completing THIS once and for all:
Aug 9, 2012
WHERE CAN I GET SOME OF THAT TAPE?
Further evidence of my athletic prowess comes in the form of a stitching injury.
Yes, you read that correctly.
I have a stitching injury that will probably require advanced medical technology and/or the careful attention of a Mayo Clinic trained physician who might look remarkably like Jeffrey Dean Morgan.
Do you suppose that I could get my hands on some of that fancypants tape that all of the Olympic athletes are wearing? You know -- the stuff that they put on their excruciatingly well-sculpted parts to assist them in jumping the approximate length of a football field while simultaneously whistling the theme song from the first Rocky movie?
Here is where I should probably confess that my injury is really nothing more than a sore spot on my finger that is caused by the repeated poking of a needle through this:
It's coming along nicely, and I really am enjoying every minute of it, but I realize now that I would be crazy lucky to finish it before the end of the closing ceremonies on Sunday. I'm determined, though, so I suppose that I had better get back to the Happy Chair before the day gets away from me again.
Stewey, of course, is completely disgusted by all of it and secretly wishes that I would just run away from home. I keep catching him in the closet moving my things about as if he's measuring for a new organizing system for his little silk smoking jackets.
Yes, you read that correctly.
I have a stitching injury that will probably require advanced medical technology and/or the careful attention of a Mayo Clinic trained physician who might look remarkably like Jeffrey Dean Morgan.
Do you suppose that I could get my hands on some of that fancypants tape that all of the Olympic athletes are wearing? You know -- the stuff that they put on their excruciatingly well-sculpted parts to assist them in jumping the approximate length of a football field while simultaneously whistling the theme song from the first Rocky movie?
Here is where I should probably confess that my injury is really nothing more than a sore spot on my finger that is caused by the repeated poking of a needle through this:
Seasons
AmyBear Needlepoints
(color conversion in honor of the 2012 London Olympic games)
It's coming along nicely, and I really am enjoying every minute of it, but I realize now that I would be crazy lucky to finish it before the end of the closing ceremonies on Sunday. I'm determined, though, so I suppose that I had better get back to the Happy Chair before the day gets away from me again.
Stewey, of course, is completely disgusted by all of it and secretly wishes that I would just run away from home. I keep catching him in the closet moving my things about as if he's measuring for a new organizing system for his little silk smoking jackets.
"I could have thrived with a smarter owner."
Aug 7, 2012
OH, STOP. (NO. REALLY. YOU'VE GOT TO STOP ENCOURAGING HER.)
My mom can't come to the blog right now. She and her big fat head are stuck in the shower stall, singing "I, AM THE CHAMPION, MY FRENNNND!) for all the world to hear. I suspect that this is the direct result of all of your lovely comments about her stitching and her "brilliant" thread selection and stitching prowess.
May I just point out that this "brilliance" is nothing more than sheer dumb luck?
Mo-ther can't select threads and/or proper colors to save her miserable little life. If she announces that she's going to do a thread conversion on a project, I call my Aunt Chrissy and holler into the telephone "CODE PINK! WE HAVE A CODE PINK SITUATION, AUNT CHRISSY!" and she comes right over to pick me up. I stay away long enough for Mo-ther to exhaust herself, and I usually return to find her face down on the studio floor muttering something about color theory and the injustice of not being able to find the perfect greenish brown for roof shingles. (Or some other such nonsense.)
In the case of the "needle blending" on our Olympic Seasons piece, I am going to reveal the secret to you all so that you will finally know that my old lady is nothing more than a ginormous fraud.
Are you ready?
Mo-ther decided to use the needle blending technique on this piece because SHE WAS TOO FREAKIN' LAZY TO GO UPSTAIRS TO THE STUDIO TO FIND A PROPER COLOR! SHE WENT INTO THE GUEST ROOM AND FISHED THROUGH THE BASKET OF CRAP ON THE BED UNTIL SHE CAME UP WITH A RED, A WHITE, AND A BLUE FLOSS, AND THEN SHE GRUNTED "GOOD ENOUGH" AND PLANTED HER FANNY BACK IN THE CHAIR.
So all of this genius you're seeing is nothing more than sloth and indifference in action.
We're going to have a quiet afternoon, since Mo-ther seems to have done something to her foot. She awoke screaming in agony and immediately called Aunt Chrissy to advise her that the sky was falling and that never in the history of man had there been such excruciating pain. Considering the fact that my poor Aunt Chrissy lives with a trifecta of complex migraines, my mo-ther and all of her antics, and my stinky (and very pesky) little cousin, I'm surprised that she didn't just call the men in the "special white van" once and for all and disappear into the void.
That's the report for today. I do hope that you are well and that your own needles are doing exactly what you'd like them to do!
Until we meet again, I remain your loyal and devoted friend,
Stewey
May I just point out that this "brilliance" is nothing more than sheer dumb luck?
Mo-ther can't select threads and/or proper colors to save her miserable little life. If she announces that she's going to do a thread conversion on a project, I call my Aunt Chrissy and holler into the telephone "CODE PINK! WE HAVE A CODE PINK SITUATION, AUNT CHRISSY!" and she comes right over to pick me up. I stay away long enough for Mo-ther to exhaust herself, and I usually return to find her face down on the studio floor muttering something about color theory and the injustice of not being able to find the perfect greenish brown for roof shingles. (Or some other such nonsense.)
In the case of the "needle blending" on our Olympic Seasons piece, I am going to reveal the secret to you all so that you will finally know that my old lady is nothing more than a ginormous fraud.
Are you ready?
Mo-ther decided to use the needle blending technique on this piece because SHE WAS TOO FREAKIN' LAZY TO GO UPSTAIRS TO THE STUDIO TO FIND A PROPER COLOR! SHE WENT INTO THE GUEST ROOM AND FISHED THROUGH THE BASKET OF CRAP ON THE BED UNTIL SHE CAME UP WITH A RED, A WHITE, AND A BLUE FLOSS, AND THEN SHE GRUNTED "GOOD ENOUGH" AND PLANTED HER FANNY BACK IN THE CHAIR.
So all of this genius you're seeing is nothing more than sloth and indifference in action.
We're going to have a quiet afternoon, since Mo-ther seems to have done something to her foot. She awoke screaming in agony and immediately called Aunt Chrissy to advise her that the sky was falling and that never in the history of man had there been such excruciating pain. Considering the fact that my poor Aunt Chrissy lives with a trifecta of complex migraines, my mo-ther and all of her antics, and my stinky (and very pesky) little cousin, I'm surprised that she didn't just call the men in the "special white van" once and for all and disappear into the void.
That's the report for today. I do hope that you are well and that your own needles are doing exactly what you'd like them to do!
Until we meet again, I remain your loyal and devoted friend,
Stewey
Aug 6, 2012
WELL I'M DEFINITELY NOT GOING TO BREAK ANY LAND/SPEED RECORDS, THAT'S FOR SURE
You would think that with all of the nothing-ness going on around Chez Spinster these days that the needles would be flying. (You would also think that I would be a 108 pound tri-athlete, based upon the contents of my fridge, but that's another story for another day).
Here's the latest progress on Seasons:
Here's the latest progress on Seasons:
Aug 2, 2012
Aug 1, 2012
A FUTZINGDAY REPORT FROM MASTER STEWEY ANGUS WILLOWSWAMP, HIS VERY LITTLE SELF
My mom can't come to the blog right now. She's snoring away in the big girl sleigh bed while I am left to supervise the landscaping crew. This is not a job I enjoy, but considering the importance of having one's bushes trimmed nicely and one's grass mowed properly, I accept the task with my normal good humor and get on with it. Today, though, the boys are testing my patience by repeatedly blowing things around with their backpack leaf blowers. I ask you....has there ever been a more obnoxious tool invented?
Olympic stitching continues nicely, and according to my calculations will be completed at the stroke of midnight on the last night of the games. If the old lady keeps up the pace and doesn't get distracted by something shiny, we should see another nice patriotic FUPPY for the box.
I did manage a few hours of organizing time up in the studio this morning, so if Mo-ther ever regains consciousness and finds some motivation, we might have some framing to show. I went through all of the finished/unfinished/unframed pieces (aka FUPPIES), and matched them up with suitable frames that were on hand. Several years ago, my mom and Aunt Chrissy got the bright idea to purchase frames from the craft stores whenever they got the chance, but seeing how Mo-ther very rarely follows through on anything, those poor frames have languished in the closet for ages. Well, if I have anything to say about it, she will take the time to carefully pin, lace, stretch, and frame the items I've selected and we can all look forward to a nice autumnal selection for the Big White Wall of Nothingness.
I'll leave you with a photo of last evening's progress. Thank you for your lovely comments!
With hopes and wishes for a wonderful Wednesday and with much love,
Stewey
Olympic stitching continues nicely, and according to my calculations will be completed at the stroke of midnight on the last night of the games. If the old lady keeps up the pace and doesn't get distracted by something shiny, we should see another nice patriotic FUPPY for the box.
I did manage a few hours of organizing time up in the studio this morning, so if Mo-ther ever regains consciousness and finds some motivation, we might have some framing to show. I went through all of the finished/unfinished/unframed pieces (aka FUPPIES), and matched them up with suitable frames that were on hand. Several years ago, my mom and Aunt Chrissy got the bright idea to purchase frames from the craft stores whenever they got the chance, but seeing how Mo-ther very rarely follows through on anything, those poor frames have languished in the closet for ages. Well, if I have anything to say about it, she will take the time to carefully pin, lace, stretch, and frame the items I've selected and we can all look forward to a nice autumnal selection for the Big White Wall of Nothingness.
I'll leave you with a photo of last evening's progress. Thank you for your lovely comments!
With hopes and wishes for a wonderful Wednesday and with much love,
Stewey
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