YOU GOTTA BE KIDDING ME

I was doing just fine.  Really.  I was.  I managed to actually get out of the bed, dry my eyes, blow my nose, and sit up in the buggy like a real live person.

"What ever happened to keeping your crazy on the inside?" I wondered as I poured my morning coffee. "The way you're carrying on, you'd think that you had lost a close family member.  For pity's sakes!  You didn't go this far over the edge when you really DID lose close family members!  What the heck is WRONG with you, anyway?"

So I got on with the business of things until Aunt Chrissy told me that his funeral is going to be on Thursday at the Cathedral Church of St. John the Divine.

And I puddled all over the place again.

No, in case you were wondering, I never met or dated or married or touched or talked to or even came within the same zip code as James Gandolfini.  But I loved him as though he were my very own soul mate, imported straight from New Jersey its Very Fabulous Self....just to make me giddy.

James Gandolfini was the only reason I actually put my glasses on my face some days.  And watching him in The Sopranos was a ritual that I performed as a way to forget about reality for a few hours and go deep into a world full of gabba-gool and Christo-fa!

Yeah, I lived in New Jersey for six years, but I never really "was" Jersey.  I tried.  Really.  I did.  I came home to Hoosierville and impressed the dickens out of anybody who would listen with my tales of life on the shore and all of the amazing things you could find there in the way of food and family and attitude.  I admit it. I became a total wanna-be from the moment I laid eyes on the Garden State Parkway, and planting myself in front of Tony and Carmella and the gang made me feel like I could fit right in rather than get laughed out of the neighborhood for calling it pasta and sauce instead of noodles and gravy.

Then there were the moments when I watched other things with my boy in, like The Mexican and The Last Castle.  Yeah, yeah, I know.  He's going to be remembered for his portrayal of the world's favorite white terry cloth bathrobe wearing mafioso, but to me he was also a guy who could make ice melt with those limpid pools of deep brown love once he set them on you.

Oh.  Sorry.  I got a little lost there, didn't I?

From the time I could begin remembering, Mom carried a coin in her purse that she always said was her good luck charm.  All I knew was that it was about twice the size of a quarter and had a church on it.  I'm sure that she probably told me a thousand times where it came from, but all I heard was something about New York and a cathedral called St. John the Divine.  I don't know if Mom got the coin during a visit there, or if it was given to her by one of her brothers as a souvenir, but she carried that thing every day of her life and then it passed along to Aunt Chrissy and moi as our very own good luck charm.

Over the years, we've kind of passed it back and forth as a little secret way of bolstering each other up during tough times.  We've never actually said it aloud, but when the coin change hands there's an implicit "Boy, are things sure screwed up for you!" that necessitates the transfer of the coin and all of its hopeful good luck.

So as I was sitting and minding my very own business yesterday, Aunt Chrissy walked in and handed me the coin.  I figured that it was her way of saying "Snap out of it!", but instead she just let me hold it for a minute and then she told me that James Gandolfini would have his funeral in the Cathedral Church of St. John the Divine.

And I bawled all over again.

OK.  I'm done now.  Sorry to let my crazy on the outside, kids, but it was getting pretty full in there and I'm almost afraid of the permanent damage that would have resulted from me going one more day with a smile plastered on my face and a simple "Fine, thank you.  How are you?" coming out of my mouth every time somebody in polite society asked me how I'm doing.  So, finally, we're moving on.

Stitching continues on the Rishfied canvas.  I'm concentrating on the center flower and hope to make some significant progress this weekend when we get together with some lady friends for a little Saturday afternoon stitch fest.  I'm so excited about it I can barely keep from prancing around, but I've promised Aunt Chrissy that I will take my medicine and not "be me" no matter how hard it might be to just fake a little normal for a few hours.

Is it just me, or does this look exactly like the progress pic that I posted nine months ago?

 

Stewey sends his love.  He has his very own obsession at the moment, so we're currently in an "all Liberace all the time" mode around these parts.  I swear, if I have to watch Behind the Candelabra one more time I'm going to break something.  When you combine that with the fact that I keep finding rhinestones all over the damn place, it's any wonder I haven't gone further round the bend.

 "Sorry, Mo-ther.  You've got your crazy obsessions and I've got mine.  Get over it already."

I hope that this finds y'all well and safe and happy and healthy and stitching to your heart's content. 

Can you believe that it's June already?

HOUSTON, WE HAVE A PLAN (WELL, MAYBE KINDA SORTA)

So there I was, minding my own business, when it kinda hit me smack dab between the eyeballs.  Instead of agonizing about how in the holy heck I'm going to stitch the leaves on this canvas, I decided to get started on the center flower.  And to do that, I decided to stitch the same cross-hatch stitch in the center so that it will be all matchy matchy and also come a bit forward.  I think that I'm going to stitch that purple loop do loop in the same stem stitch background as the yellow flowers in the outer border, and then the rest of the big flower will be tent stitch.  (Don't fret about the little black dots, kids.  I'm going to tart this sucker up to within an inch of its life with some pretty crystals and beads when it's all done, so those definitely won't get lost in the shuffle.)

Isn't it funny how inspiration strikes?  I find that morning shower time is the most productive, but if I go into said shower telling myself that I'm going to solve the mysteries of the universe...nothing.  But if I'm half asleep and not really quite human at o'dark hundred, KA-BAM!  I'm witty and urbane and smart and organized.  Ideas flow like water from Ye Olde Target showerhead, and before I've lathered, rinsed, and repeated, I'm on fire with brilliant-ness.

(Too bad I can't figure out how to make those few moments of mental clarity last throughout the day, or we'd really get stuff done around here.)

Methinks I'm going to plant my fanny in the Happy Chair with a Magic City marathon and some ice cold Cleveland water for sustenance today (*).   The laundry will still be there tomorrow, and I'm pretty sure that Mr. Fussypants would rather lounge in the sun than hide under the bed to get away from the Hoover.

Here's hoping that your weekend is exactly as fabulous as you want it to be!  Woo Hoo!

(*) Cleveland water:  When Aunt Chrissy and I were at the Cleveland Clinic, there was a big jar of water in the lobby filled with herbs and fruits and stuff.  (Remember that?  I kept making Aunt Chrissy drink it because I was convinced that it was magic and would fix whatever's wrong with her.)  Well, I've started a little tradition here at Chez Spinster whereby I fill a pitcher up each morning with lemons and limes and mint and basil and whatever else sounds good, and I try to sip on it all day.  And yes, before you ask...I scrub the lemons and limes and mint and basil thoroughly and use bottled water, so if this is going to end up killing me, it will only be from good intentions and not some crazyass pesticide that they're using on citrus these days to make it more citrus-like.

Happy, happy weekend, folks!  We'll see you on the other side!

A WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON MEMO FROM MASTER STEWEY ANGUS WILLOWSWAMP, HIS VERY LITTLE SELF

My dear and special friends both far and near....

It seems that several weeks have passed since last we spoke, so I thought I would take a moment to put pen to paper (or paws to keyboard as the case may be) to say hello to my adoring fan club.

(Or as my stupid Mo-ther calls you...."sweet people who are kind enough to put up with the lunatic rantings of a portly spinster and her precocious little dog".)

But I digress...

Summer is upon us here in Spinster's Corners.  Although the temperatures are hovering in the 70's, we've managed to spend a fair amount of time outside enjoying some warmth and sunshine nonetheless.  Mo-ther and Aunt Chrissy have planted the usual garden and flower pots, and it would appear that this year will be no different in that Mo-ther will forget to tend to said garden and flower pots and Aunt Chrissy and I will be left to manage the inevitable hand wringing and complaining that will spew forth from the old lady's mouth once she realizes that she is not, in fact, Ina Garten or the nice lady in the movie It's Complicated, who seemed to grow basketball-sized tomatoes from the top of her straw hat.

I have been behaving myself admirably, but must confess that this is more the result of me spending 7 to 8 hours at a time in my apartment rather than any concerted effort on my part not to pee in the freshly laundered house.  Yes, you read that right.  My mo-ther finally got off her big fat heiney, and she took both the living room and dining rooms apart and scrubbed them to within an inch of their lives.  She even removed the lovely fabric skirts from the chairs that I had been using for "target practice" all these years, so now I am left with nowhere to hide and Glad wrapped chairs legs as a silent admonition not to even think about it.

Mo-ther is still stitching away on her Rishfeld canvas and has applied several thousand basketweave stitches to parts various and sundry.  She's seems perfectly happy to stick with this one, but I am very anxious to get her knee-deep into some cross stitch or other things before the dust settles on the studio stairway and we're unable to remember how to do anything other than simple tent stitch.

My Aunt Chrissy and Bosco are hanging in there and send their love as well.  On particularly bad days, my Aunt Chrissy is lifted up by your love and concern, and she wanted me to send you big fat kisses and a heartfelt thank you.  She will be well soon enough, and since we all seem to be made of hearty peasant stock around here, I suspect that all will be right with the world sooner than we think.

I do hope that this finds you well and that you know how much we love and appreciate you all.  I hope that your needles are flying, your families are thriving, and that until we meet again you remain happy and healthy and wealthy and wise.

With much love from your pal,
Stewey

HMMMMMMM......

I'm having a love/hate relationship with my stitching efforts on the Rishfeld canvas.  There are moments when I look at the yellow flowers and think "Cool.  A little bit of dimension. With a lovely crystal in the center, these babies will really pop!"

Other times I wonder what in the h-e-double-toothpicks I was thinking.

So I've decided to finish those last two in the upper left and then move on to another mo-teef.  Then, when the whole kit and caboodle has been completed, I can decide if the yellow flower "let's just do a few random stem stitches" idea will stay or go.

How's things in YOUR neck of the woods?

OH, OKLAHOMA

We're adding our thoughts and prayers to those of the rest of the world for you, Oklahoma (and elsewhere if you've been hit by Mother Nature).    I'm so sorry for it all...the loss of life, of home, of community...all of it.  I pray that you can find one small moment of peace or comfort in the coming days.




Small progress on the Rishfield canvas...

AND THEN...

My baby dear turned eight years old today.  Seems like just yesterday he was but a wee little two-pound bundle of love peeing in his playpen.  Now he's a wee little nine-pound bundle of love peeing on the drapes.

Damnit, I love this dog!

Happy Birthday, bubbala.  Mommie loves you.  Truly.  I do.

THOUGHTS ON MO-THER'S DAY, BY MASTER STEWEY ANGUS WILLOWSWAMP, HIS VERY LITTLE SELF

My Mo-ther can't come to the blog right now.  She's snoring away in the big girl sleigh bed while I am left to my own devices with this computer and a few pesky squirrels at the bird feeders for company.  I realize that it has been quite a long while since last we spoke, so I hope that this finds you hale and hearty, my dear friends.

Happy Mother's Day to one and all on behalf of spoiled little pups like myself.  (Did I really just say that?  Could it be that I'm turning a new leaf and am realizing that I really do have a pretty good gig here with the old lady and all of her crazy notions of what it takes to raise a "uniquely interesting individual" such as myself?  Have I come to appreciate the fact that, while completely clueless, my stupid Mo-ther always comes from a place of love, even if the end result is usually something that makes me want to tear my little white fluffy hairs out?  Am I learning to be loving and grateful for the happy home that she's bumbleclucked her way into creating?)

Naaaaaaaaaa.

Here is some progress on the Rishfield canvas that Mo-ther started at the beginning of the year.  As you can see, she's completed stitching all of the white flowers, and has added a lovely elongated cross border in between the green and red sections and on the perimeter.  Methinks this will be quite lovely once completed, provided the old lady doesn't go totally off her nut and do something crazy like apply felt daisies to the damn thing.

We're off to a quiet Sunday. My Aunt Chrissy and pesky cousin Bosco will arrive shortly for a marathon session of stitching, snacking, and Game of Throning.  We seem to have finally fallen into a pattern of "Sissy Sundays" that makes my mom's heart positively sing, so I suppose we had better keep doing it for the duration if we expect to keep any peace and quiet around here.

I hope that you know that until we meet again I remain your loyal and devoted friend.  To all of the mothers out there in Blogville, I wish you a most heartfelt Happy Mother's Day and all that comes with it.

With much love from your pal,
Stewey

HE SAID......WHAAAAAATTTTT?! *****EDITED TO ADD

******Sorry, kids.  I see that I probably should not have violated the whole thing about politics, sex, or religion.....I was just surprised that the Pope His Very Self was throwin' shade at spinsters.

(Don't you just love how I'm all hip with the lingo suddenly?  I KNEW watching all these Real Housewives would finally pay off!!!!)

VATICAN CITY (RNS) Pope Francis on Wednesday (May 8) told leaders of women’s orders from around the world to be “fertile” spiritual mothers in the Catholic Church, not “spinsters.”

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Pope Francis waves from the pope-mobile during his inauguration Mass at St. Peter’s Square on Tuesday (March 19) at the Vatican. World leaders flew in for Pope Francis’ inauguration Mass in St. Peter’s Square on Tuesday where Latin America’s first pontiff will receive the formal symbols of papal power. RNS photo by Andrea Sabbadini

---

The Argentine pontiff addressed some 800 leaders of female religious orders who are in Rome for the meeting of the International Union of Superiors General.

Speaking about the nuns’ vow of chastity, the pope stressed that it must be a “fertile” chastity, generating “spiritual children in the Church.”

With one of the more colorful off-the-cuff expressions that have become a hallmark of his young pontificate, Francis said that “the consecrated are mothers: they must be mothers and not ‘spinsters’!”

“Forgive me if I talk like this, but this maternity of consecrated life, this fruitfulness, is important!” he added.

Echoing a theme that has often resonated in his public speeches, the Jesuit pope also lashed out against “careerists” and “social climbers” who “use the Church … as a springboard for their interests and personal ambitions,” saying they do a “great damage” to the church.

The Vatican-mandated overhaul of the Leadership Conference of Women Religious, the largest umbrella organization for U.S. nuns, loomed large over the May 3-7 meeting of Catholic sisters, which is devoted to discussing the issues of authority within the Catholic Church.

On Sunday, Brazilian Cardinal Joao Braz de Aviz, who heads the Vatican office that oversees religious orders, told the meeting that he had been left in the dark about the Vatican investigation into LCWR. The Vatican’s top spokesman on Tuesday said it was “not justified” to infer that there was a “divergence” on how to deal with American nuns.

In his Wednesday speech, the pope reminded the nuns that it is “absurd” for religious women to think of carrying their vocation “outside of the church.”

“It isn’t possible that a consecrated woman or man might ‘feel’ themselves not to be with the church,” he said.

After the pope’s speech, a group of nuns was allowed to briefly greet the pope personally. Sister Florence Deacon, president of the LCWR, “was present at the audience but did not have the opportunity to greet the pope,” according to LCWR spokeswoman Annmarie Sanders.

A LITTLE CROSS STITCHING

MELISSA SHIRLEY SPRING FLOWERS FEE NEE

HAP-PY DAN-CING!

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

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

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

IF ONLY.....

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

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

Damn dog.

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

She's fabulous that way.

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

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

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

WOOOO HOOOOOO!

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

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

Can I get a WOO HOO from the congregation?

How's things in your neck of the woods?

WHAAAAAAAAH?

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

Snowflakes.

On the 24rd day of April.

Oey.

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

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

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

NOW THAT'S MORE LIKE IT

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But I was not to be deterred by this.

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

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

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

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

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

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

MY SISTER'S PRAYER

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

...said by Aunt Chrissy

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

FAW-TY SEVEN

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

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

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

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

Woo Hoo!