SPINSTER STITCHER

I'LL TAKE PERSONAL VICTORIES FOR TWO HUNDRED, ALEX

2012-02-23T14:11:00.005-05:00

Moments ago I catapulted myself out of Dottie Van Buskirk and shouted "Woo Hoo! Look Ma! No cavities!"

There are two things you should know about that last sentence.

One, Dottie Van Buskirk is my vehicle. (Yes, I had come to a proper and complete stop in the garage.)

And two, my neighbor happened to be walking by at that precise moment, so I caught him shaking his head while muttering to himself "What in the Sam Hell is WRONG with that girl?"

But I will take any little piece of good news I can find and turn it into cause for celebration, so... cake for everybody! The Spinster Stitcher got a good report from the dentist and all of the barnacles scraped off of her molars at the same time, so let's break out the Devil's Food and get on with it!

Here's a little progress pic from last night. There would have been more but You Know Who insisted that we go to bed at a decent hour and not sit up until the wee hours poking needles through linen.

We're off for pawticures and grocery shopping tonight, and if the weather people are correct, we'll also get hit with a winter storm. Looks like it's time to break out the crock pot again! Methinks we're in for a stitchy weekend!

Here's hoping that you have your own little victories today and that somebody is there to share them with you! Don't forget the cake!

WHO NEEDS A GOOD HAIR DAY WHEN YOU CAN HAVE A GOOD STITCHY DAY INSTEAD?

2012-02-22T11:27:00.003-05:00

Ahhhh, youth. I remember when I used to wake up in the morning and pray for a good hair day.

(Considering the fact that I usually ended up in full-on RoseAnn RoseAnnaDanna mode by 10am, you can see how this could be a priority for me.)

Now, I pull all of my fuzzy messitude into a pony and try to pretend that I am sleek and polished.

(In reality, though, I'm just old and a hot mess.)

Apparently, I've moved into a new phase of life, since I now find myself saying "Oh please oh please oh please let me have a good stitchy day. Amenandthankyouverymuch."

I'm making some pretty good progress on Le Printemps. I finally figured out that one of the things that was causing me to put this one down so much (in addition to the fact that it is the size of a bedspread), was the colors. I hated them. And before you go thinking that I'm commenting on the designer, I'd like to point out that I re-colorized this one and probably would have been better off to leave that in the capable hands of the authorities. (Aunt Chrissy pulls her own hair out every time I call her and whine that I'm having "color issues", and before I know it she's over here in her pink fuzzies making the world right once again.)

This time, though, it was all me, and I think I finally fixed it.

So here's last night's results. Stewey wholeheartedly agrees with me that I'm finally on the right track with this, but he's still hoping for that good hair day.

She takes pictures of me looking like this and then wonders why I pee on the couch.

So that's the report for a Futzingday from here in Hoosierville. I do have a few answers for some of your questions about stuff upstairs, so....

Robin asked about the little wooden trays. As much as I'd love to tell you that I found them browsing in an antique store in some quaint village someplace....they're from Hobby Lobby.

Yup, Jennifer. That little sewing machine is what I was allowed to use when I first started stitching to edge my linen. Although I haven't been given express written permission to do so, I now use the big girl machine (but still furiously try to fix it without Aunt Chrissy finding out that I've broken it or screwed up all of the tread thingies once again.) The box to the bottom left is what it came it, and I think Aunt Chrissy said that she got it at the Targets.

Hey, Shar! I found the Clip It Up online at a scrapbooking supply place. I think the name of the company is called "Simply Renee", but if you Google Clip It Up, you should be able to find it without too many problems.

Woo Hoo! Thanks for writing!

LOOK AWAY, BETTY! LOOK AWAY!

2012-02-21T12:20:00.007-05:00

My email box blew up with requests for more pictures of the studio. Specifically, it would seem that you wanted more detailed pics of how I'm storing various and sundries up there in...well...you know where.

For those of you who wanted more photos, here they are. For those of you who don't, thank you for stopping by! Have a lovely Tuesday!

AND THEN...SHE HIT A NERVE

2012-02-19T13:35:00.002-05:00

Oh my goodness! Y'all just ROCK my stupid little world with your nice comments! And considering the fact that I have been unable to lift my arms or bend any of my major joints ever since the cleaning marathon...you REALLY rock my stupid little world!

(Maybe that's how I will finally motivate myself to clean the rest of the house...."If I scrub this (insert thing that needs to be scrubbed here) to within an inch of its life and sweat through my terry cloth headband and bike shorts while doing it, maybe all of my stitchy friends will write nice comments that will make the impending pain of death palatable." Hmmmm. Could we be on to something here?)

The first thing I do want to do though is apologize for that post, especially if you thought it was a little too....um...brag-gy. I'm Catholic. Guilt is like breathing for me. So now that I've pranced around for three days going "Look at meeeeeee! Look at meeee!", I'm feeling the need to confess my sin of pride. For all of you out there who thought to yourselves "My God, what an obnoxious blog post", please know that I beat you to the punch.

(But I'm not unposting it.)

Thread storage seemed to be a hot topic. I store my threads according to way I use them. In other words, I keep all of the like with like. Those white three drawer thingies hold all my threads according to number (for things like DMC perle cotton), or alphabetically (for things like Weeks and Gentle Art). And then there's the drawer that says "Misc silk" because I don't really have enough of any one thing to justify a whole drawer for it. I also have a scrapbooking doo dad that I hang all of my Crescent Colours on, but the jury is still out on whether or not that's a very practical solution for me.

I also wanted to mention that zones are a huge thing for me. All that means, basically, is that I put all of the scrapbooking crap in one place, all of the beading crap in another, cross stitch, needlepoint...yadda yadda yadda and on and on and on until I have it in a way that I can find stuff. This really has no other purpose than to prevent me from going to the Michael's every ten minutes for crap that I already have and probably didn't need in the first darn place.

I am always waaaayyyy too happy to tell you all about the way I do crap up there, and I'll even try to give you the brand name of the doo dad that I'm using, but the thing I really really really want to say with full-throated voice and hand over heart is.....

It's all good, people. It's all good.

I don't care if your studio consists of the third shelf in a closet at the back of a storage shed in the middle of a corn field or if you stuff everything you own into a black plastic garbage bag and haul it around in a little red wagon. Anybody, and I really do mean anybody who picks up a needle, sticks a piece of thread through it, and then pokes it into something is OK in my book. And I don't care if you're stitching daffodils or unicorns or quilt patterns or fractals or the latest pictures from your Uncle Fester's colonoscopy. If you're stitching or tatting or knitting or scrapbooking or punching or hooking or doing anything else that remotely relates to this thing of ours, I will sit next to you all day long and secretly wish to be your friend.

So there you have it.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have bike shorts to don and a terry cloth headband to fish out of the "Things I Wore In 1973" bin. There's cleanin' to do!

YOU WERE THE WIND BENEATH MY BATWINGS

2012-02-17T13:04:00.004-05:00

batwing (bat weeng) n. 1. the proturberating flesh of an aging spinster that hangs from the underside of her upper arm. 2. known to knock over small children, objects d' art, and anything else that happens to come into unfortunate contact with that particular part of the spinster.

So thanks to all of you out there in Stitchy Blogville who are getting your Spring Cleaning 2012 grooves on, I am proud to report that I too spent the last two days upstairs making the world safe for democracy.

The Spinster Sisters Stitching Studio has been cleaned to within and inch of its life. Phew!

In this corner, we have a lovely little chair that usually has a sleeping pup on its seat.

(You might notice, however, the pink baby blanket just to the right of the bookcase. This item must be perfectly fitted into the seat of the chair before You-Know-Who deems it an acceptable place for a snoozy nap.)

(Oh, and that little table? That was Mom's. The lid lifts up to reveal little cubbies for sewing items. Apropos, no?)

White walls! White ceiling! White Martha magazines in the endcap of the long table! Methinks we're going to have to do something about all of this white. Aunt Chrissy? Are you up for a trip to the Home Depots?

Ahhhhh, threads. And beads. And charts. And doo dads.

(And a really really crappy black desk chair that desperately needs to be taken to the curb on the next trash day.)

(Note to self. Ask Aunt Chrissy to assist, or you're certainly going to end up in the ER after falling down the steps carrying said chair.)What is it about all of this organizing that puts me into such a state of bliss? Is it the fact that I can now find everything I need? Is it my uncontrollable need to control everything to within an inch of its life? Have I taken this whole "I want to be just like everybody else and do everything they do and have everything they have" thing too far?

Only the Shadow knows for sure...

This next pic is for my friend Betty. Betty writes to me at least four times a week to tell me that she a) hates my ever-loving guts, and b) wishes that I would stop blogging about my crappy life and just show pictures of my crappy stitching. (Hi, Betty! Here I am! Picking up your gauntlet and running with it, girl! Write again soon! I can't wait to see what about me p***es you off tomorrow!)

This one's for you, Betty. This one's for you.

(Oh, and in case you were wondering, this is a WIP, which means that I'm also shamelessly copying THAT group of stitchers who decided to stitch their WIP's this year too!)

(How's THAT for a coherent sentence?)

That brings us to the end of the week, my friends. I hope that you're ready to rock the weekend, stitcher style! Stewey and I are planning a lovely little meatloaf and Merlot, and lots and lots of time in the Happy Chair! We hope your chair is a Happy one too and that you'll tell us all about it on Monday! Woo Hoo!

AND NOW A WORD FROM OUR SPONSORS

2012-02-14T11:07:00.004-05:00

On behalf of precocious little dogs everywhere and the spinsters who love them....

HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY!

Here's hoping that your day is filled with...well....LOVE!

THE PEAS ARE BACK IN THE FREEZER

2012-02-13T11:49:00.006-05:00

Thank you for all of your kind and comforting comments about my little mishap. No worries, though, I have a very very hard head, and me being me means that I am quite used to these crazypants shenanigans.

(Stewey, however, now insists on the purchase of a MedAlert bracelet.)

(I think he just wants to hear me say "I've fallen and I can't get up", but what do I know?)

Here are a few pics of some of the stitchy-ness that happened over the weekend. I'm happy to report that the Winter/Spring Conflict of 2012 is starting to dissolve and that I'm able to stitch away without feeling too much angst, but in the event the Weather Channel is listening....FIX IT! On behalf of seasonal stitchers everywhere, may I just say that we have more winter stuff to do before we break out the Easter bunnies?!

I finally finished all of the block borders on Laura J. Perin's Stained Glass Windows. Now it's on to the fun part!

Aunt Chrissy is working on this one at the moment too, and because I'm still stuck in Single White Female mode, I just had to stitch it along with her.

If my arms didn't get so tired from holding these ginormous q-snaps, I'd probably have this one done already! It really is quite lovely to stitch, but my shoulders are getting a real workout!

Remember this one? It's a freebie chart from Laura J. Perin called This Heart's For You. I am in LOVE with that Watercolours color (which is Geranium), so I figured this would be perfect to play with tonight and tomorrow.
Hope your Monday is a happy one! Woo Hoo!

CLEAN FLOORS ARE SLIPPERY FLOORS, BY MASTER STEWEY ANGUS WILLOWSWAMP HIS VERY LITTLE SELF

2012-02-10T11:16:00.002-05:00

My mom can't come to the blog right now. She's sitting in the Happy Chair with a bag of peas on her head. She's also glaring at me with crazy eyes, but I'm trying to ignore that part of the tableau and just get on with my nap time.

It all started when she came from from the Targets a few weeks ago with new socks. Normally, the old lady opts for the bag of Hanes low rise "footie" socks in a sensible cotton, but this time she and Aunt Chrissy decided to get jiggy with it and she bought fuzzy socks instead.

And by fuzzy, I mean really really fuzzy. And soft too. I would say that these socks are reminiscent of my very own downy soft fur, but that wouldn't be quite accurate, since my fur is white and smells nice and these socks are black and do not.

Anywhoose, when Mo-ther took these socks out of the Target shopping bag, I said to her "Don't you think you should adhere some kind of safety strips onto the bottom of those things?", and Mo-ther snorted at me dismissively and said "There's enough crap on these floors to stop me from sliding around. Besides, safety strips on the bottom of these things would make them look like hospital socks. And I'm not going to wear hospital socks."

Ironic, no?

Had the old lady actually gone to said hospital for treatment of what I am sure is a concussion, she would, in fact, have been presented with...yes...you guessed it....hospital socks.

As it is, she's in the Happy Chair complaining of a headache and blurry vision after smacking her head on the hardwood. At 7:30 this morning she decided that she was thirsty and that she might as well start the day, so she hauled herself out of the big girl sleigh bed, put on the fuzzy Target socks, and proceeded to ice skate across the clean living room floor. Not a dust bunny in sight to stop my stupid mo-ther's momentum, and before I knew it I heard what sounded like a watermelon being dropped from a very tall building.

There was no blood, thank God, but you would think that a person has never fallen down in the world the way she's carrying on about it. She keeps talking about the fact that all of this silliness is Notre Dame's way of getting back at her for dissing their hideous new football helmets, since those football helmets are supposed to provide a safe and sturdy cushion for when the players fall down and smack their own heads.

So I suppose that in addition to the fuzzy socks and eighteen year old sweatpants that are the normal get-up around here, I can expect to see a shiny gold helmet bobbing around the place looking for trouble.

We're hurtling into the weekend and are expecting some snow. I don't know what this will mean in terms of stitching selections around here, but I promise to update you further as time allows. Until then, I hope that you have a warm and cozy and safe (!) weekend with you and yours and that you get to do whatever it is that your very own heart desires.

With love from your pal,
Stewey

LOOK! UP IN THE SKY! IT'S A BIRD! IT'S A PLANE!

2012-02-09T11:48:00.004-05:00

Nope. Just the sun. Seems that it's been scarce enough to make me notice when it finally peeks itself out of the clouds. The weird thing is that I usually don't pay too much attention to grey days....as a matter of fact I think I kind of prefer them since it provides the perfect excuse to hit the Happy Chair for some marathon stitching.

But the sun shining? In February?

What in the heck is going ON with this crazypants weather?

Here's a little progress on Le Printemps. Once I got that sucker off of the scroll rods and onto the more manageable q-snaps, it seemed like it became much more enjoyable to stitch. I still haven't figured out how to negotiate all of the extra linen on these BAP's, but I'm just happy that I haven't stitched this one shut yet.

(You know....when you accidentally stitch the overhanging linen to the back of the piece that you're working on? And then you have to quickly and carefully rip it apart so that nobody will see what a boob you were and that you really shouldn't be allowed to work on things that are the size of a bedspread?)

(At least not without adult supervision anyway.)

But I'm really enjoying this, and hope that I might make enough progress on it that it will see the working side of a frame sometime soon.
That's the Thursday report for today, my friends. Grocery tonight! Woo Hoo!

YOU CAN'T FIGHT CITY HALL

2012-02-07T14:24:00.004-05:00

So I decided that this whole "I have to stitch winter-ish because it's Winter" thing is going to drive me right to the bottom of a super-sized pan of Rice Krispie Treats. Not one flake of snow has fallen in these here parts in quite some time, so I might as well get the whole notion of sitting in front of the fireplace and Dr. Zhivago out of my head.

I fished through my stash and kitted up a few new and not so new projects with a decidedly spring-y theme. Hopefully we'll see some progress on SOMETHING before the Stitchy Police come to take my needles away. (They can be real pills, can't they?)

SEARCH AND RESCUE

2012-02-06T12:48:00.003-05:00

It all started with a lovely little red wreath.

A few weeks ago during a trip to the Michael's, Aunt Chrissy carefully selected a lovely little red heart wreath for her front door. "I'll put this up for Valentine's Day", she said. "Then once Spring comes, I'll change it to my hydrangea wreath."

I, of course, was probably lost in some craft store haze, and I'm sure I muttered to myself something along the lines of "Why do they have the freakin' Valentine's decorations out now? It's only November." Or something to that effect.

The lovely little red wreath is, naturally, absolutely perfect on Aunt Chrissy's front door, and in the evenings when the street light comes on you want to walk right up her front sidewalk and peek in the windows to see if the rest of her house is as lovely as the porch.

For the record, it is.

When you walk into Aunt Chrissy's house, it always smells nice. I'm not sure what it is exactly, but it's fresh and homey and warm and inviting. Then, within seconds of stepping in the door there is a bouncy, happy little dog smothering you with kisses, and he wiggles his heiney and wags his tail and lets you know that he has no use for silk smoking jackets. (Or sarcasm.) Every vignette or wall is decorated perfectly without looking "stagey", and all you want to do is kick your shoes off and curl up on the big couch and look around. There's stitching everywhere, and when you really look at it carefully, you can see the entire history of Aunt Chrissy's life. You can see the piece that she worked on when she took Dad to chemo, the pillows that she stitched when she was still in Phoenix, and even a few pieces that she stitched when she first came to Indiana and spent hours and hours and hours up in the studio. In short, Aunt Chrissy's house is a very very happy place.

This is all by way of explanation of why I had a full-on ugly cry meltdown last Thursday night and how my little sister singlehandedly got rid of a bad case of the Mean Reds.

I'm not sure if it's the goofy weather or an impending stitchy slump or the lack of Jeffrey Dean Morgan sightings, but I have been an absolute pill. Pouty and grumpy and whiny and very very high maintenance.

(Anybody who knows me will tell you that this condition is actually not new at all, but rather a general state of being for me these last 45 years or so, but what do they know?)

Anywhoo, on Thursday night I dropped Aunt Chrissy off after our weekly grocery shopping and I came home and sat down in the middle of my bathroom floor and threw what can only be described as a Veruca Salt hissy fit of epic proportions.

"Why can't I have anything nice?" I moaned. "I hate my house and my stupid decorations and my big empty walls and my ugly front door and my plain old rooms and..and...and" (insert hiccupy ugly cry here).

Apparently, the sight of that lovely little red wreath was enough to send me into hysterics, and I did my level best to play Single White Female until I got exactly what I wanted, which is apparently the ability to be exactly like my little sister and to live in a house that's cozy and nice and not at all like a bus station.

Stewey poked his head in to see what all of the fuss was about, and then I assume that he picked up the phone and called his Aunt Chrissy to request a rescue, because before I knew it my shoes were on and we were standing in the Targets looking for new bath towels. Then it was on to the Michael's to find something for MY front door, and finally, we ended up at the Bed Bath and Freakin Beyond for a painting that magically has the name "Constance" in it .

She started with my front door and she didn't stop until she had transformed my crappy, dumpy, ugly little house into something wonderful. I'm pretty sure that we made eighteen trips to various and sundry places, but the end result is a very very happy spinster who now lives in a very very happy house.

(By the way, another way of saying all of this is: Once upon a time, I was throwing a tantrum at the bottom of a very deep dark well. Aunt Chrissy heard my whining, took out her little flashlight, and hollered down "What's the matter, Sissy? Dry your eyes and grab my hand and we'll make it all better".)

And then she did.

So here's a few pics of her work. I confess that I'm a little apprehensive to post photos of a bathroom, but you get what I'm trying to show you, right?

Look what she did for the Big White Wall of Nothingness! (And yes, I know that the tags are still on the flowers, but we wanted to make sure that they worked there before ripping them all off.) OH! And did you notice the spanky new lampshade? The wattage of the light bulb stayed the same, but I no longer have to wear a miner's hat to see things in here at night! Woo Hoo!

Ahhhh. My front door. (You'll be happy to know that Aunt Chrissy already selected the flowers for March and that they are ready to go.) (Stewey wholeheartedly approves.)

And last, but not least is my new bathroom. Doesn't it look like a woman lives here now instead of a herd of frat boys? (P.S. Who doesn't LOVE some purple?) (Oh, and the painting with the flower has a bunch of French words written on it, and very clearly in the upper left corner is my name...Constance!)

So that's my story for today. Thank you for indulging my need for a "Look at meeeee"moment, but I really wanted you to know that there is no reason whatsoever to feel at all sorry for the likes of me. I might have a dog who ties my tiny little brain up in knots just for the fun of it, but I do have a sister (er, um, I mean caretaker) who MORE than makes up for it!

Happy Monday!

I'M BLAMING THE WEATHER

2012-02-03T13:19:00.002-05:00

It's February.

There is supposed to be snow on the ground.

I am supposed to be sitting in front of the fire with something winter-ish to stitch.

Instead, all I want to think about is spring-ish stuff to stitch.

Damn weather.

OUR LADY OF THE MAYTAG

2012-02-02T12:17:00.004-05:00

My mom can't come to the blog right now. She's in the laundry room having an argument with the fancypants clothes dryer.

The fancypants clothes dryer is winning.

MO-THER: Listen here, you stupid machine. I want you to re-run the drying cycle so that I can have another cup of coffee and finish the Sudoku without feeling guilty.

FANCYPANTS CLOTHES DRYER: First of all, there's no reason for name calling. For the record, I am a Whirlpool Duet Clothes Drying System and I have more sophisticated parts than the space shuttle. Secondly, the load of clothes that you want me to re-dry has been languishing here in my perfectly calibrated drying system containment facility for a week and a half. It's dry already. Trust me.

MO-THER: But if you don't re-dry them I have to fold them and put them away and then move the load of wet towels from the washing machine over to you and I'm just not prepared to do that at this time. I. Want. To. Have. Another. Cup. Of. Coffee.

FCD (silently sending a text message to the fancypants coffee machine): I see. Well, before you decide to take the lazy way out and fake your way through a day of homekeeping, might I suggest that you take a moment to re-consider? Take these clothes out of me, fold them, and THEN have your cup of coffee.

MO-THER: No. You're a clothes dryer and you can't make me.

FCD: Oh yeah? Well, go ahead and try to re-set me, lady. We'll see who's smarter in THIS little scenario.

(The spinster tries to program the fancypants clothes dryer for a "normal/casual" setting, knowing that it will take 45 minutes. This, she predicts, will be plenty of time to have the coffee and finish the puzzle.)

(The fancypants clothes dryer tumbles the clothes for a minute and seventeen seconds, and then buzzes loudly to indicate that the clothes are perfectly dry and have been perfectly dry for the week and a half that said clothes have been in said fancypants clothes dryer.)

(Exasperated, the spinster stomps out of the laundry room and heads for the kitchen. She readies her coffee cup under the fancypants coffee machine, pushes the "brew" button, and waits.)

(Instead of brewing coffee, the fancypants coffee machine flashes a message. "Fold clothes. Apologize to dryer. Transfer towels.")

The spinster decides to have tea instead.
***************************************

I'd love to tell you that the needles were flying last night, but the truth of the matter is that Mo-ther put about seven stitches into L'Hiver and then chucked it all to watch Mistresses. We were doing just fine with this until the "Season Finale next Wednesday" message appeared. Season Finale? After four episodes? Really? Methinks it's time for me to organize another letter writing campaign to the BBC America.

That's it for a gloomy Thursday, folks. I'll keep you updated on Days of Our Laundry. I suspect that it's going to end with a large household appliance sitting on the curb for the trash man tomorrow. Stay tuned!

With love from your pal,
Stewey

PATIENCE, GRASS-HOPPA

2012-01-31T11:25:00.002-05:00

I used to tease Aunt Chrissy all the time about her lack of patience. Turns out that she is actually the most patient person I know. (Especially since she has to deal with moi and moi d-o-g.)

I've started Laura J. Perin's Stained Glass Windows in a lovely pink/chocolate colorway, but all I have to show for a Sunday's worth of stitching is 4 3/4 block outlines. I'm driving myself nutso with the "I hope these colors will look OK" and "Why can't I stitch the outline of a square without having a fizzy tit about it?" and "What the heck happened that Adrienne and Lisa hate each other?".

So sometime in the year a billion and seventeen we should see this one finished.

But if anybody knows the answer to the Adrienne/Lisa conundrum, I'd love to hear it.

DUST OF SNOW FEE NEE

2012-01-30T11:20:00.003-05:00

Dust of Snow
Plum Street Samplers
32ct. Navy Bean linen
Needlepoint Inc., Silks

Thank you for such sweet encouragement! I must confess, however, that it really is an illusion, because if you look carefully you will see that I really don't finish all that much in a given year. I also must confess that it is easy to stitch a lot when you a) never leave the house and b) haven't seen the working end of a dust mop in months. But thank you, anyway.

Stewey spent the entire weekend toasting his little buns. I get such a kick out of him twisting up like a little pretzel when he sleeps that I just had to share a crappy photo with you. (I'm sure I'll hear from his legal team for this, but the cuteness factor is worth it, n'est pai?)

ON A MISSION

2012-01-27T11:46:00.002-05:00

I can hear you chanting "GO....GO....GO....GO!". Methinks the second season of Mistresses will get me through to the finish on this one, don't you? Have a great weekend, everybody! Woo Hoo!

THE BIG WHITE WALL OF NOTHINGNESS GOT A LITTLE WINTER MAKEOVER (AND AUNT CHRISSY APPROVES!)EDITED

2012-01-26T13:09:00.005-05:00

Please please please forgive the very dreary pictures today, my sweets. It is a gloomy day here in North Hoosierville, and despite my very best attempts to find the camera book that would tell me how to fix this issue, I cannot.

'Member this one? It's Snowflake Serenade from Country Cottage Needleworks. The mat is actually a lovely mossy green, and the frame is a nice warm barn wood, but alas, it looks rather muddled. (And crooked. Hmm. Just noticed that. Looks like I'll have to do some fixing today.)

I put Lizzie Kate's Winter Alphabet above that damn shelf that I don't really like anymore, but it's bolted to the big white wall of nothingness in such a way that I can't get it down! The long pieces above and below the shelf are from Bent Creek, the far left piece is Shepherd's Bush, and the bird is (I believe, anyway) Twisted Thread? ***Nope! It's from Heart in Hand! Thanks, Wendy! Woo Hoo!***This angle is looking toward the front of the house.
And this is looking toward the back of the house.
Progress continues very nicely on Dust of Snow. I finished two of the trees last night and am headed to the Happy Chair to finish the other two today!

Hope your skies are considerably brighter wherever you are! Woo Hoo!

PLEASE PASS THE JUICE BOX

2012-01-24T12:37:00.002-05:00

My mom can't come to the blog right now. She's standing in the middle of her closet trying to find a new "outside" getup. The previous "outside" getup of eighteen year old sweatpants and old man slippers from the Kmarts isn't cutting it anymore, and the recent arrival of a restraining order from our municipality has finally prodded the old lady into action.

After all of the nature around here, last night's trip for a final potty included a) me on a leash, b) a huge black and white golf umbrella with a Viagra logo that can be seen from space, c) a straw hat, and d) a pair of rubber rain boots that were probably fished out of a clearance bin at the Tractor Farm and Fleet about a billion years ago.

My stupid mo-ther read every single one of your comments and immediately decided that in the unlikely event that we were confronted by an angry mob of suburban wildlife, she wanted to be prepared. For most people this would mean the addition of a sharp stick, a cell phone, and a whistle to one's sensible "outside" getup of proper underpants, a well-fitted brassiere, slacks, a suitably patterned sweater, a coat, hat, gloves, scarf, and a smart pair of all-weather loafers, but this is my mo-ther we're talking about.

So, as I'm sure you can imagine, we made quite a pair out there in the driveway in front of God and everybody, with me in my handsome little Burberry and Mo-ther looking like an escapee from the nearest mental health inpatient facility.

Needless to say, she takes every single thing you say to heart and promises me that we will be ever vigilant for vultures, man-eating deer, and any other crazy thing that decides to drop by for a snack in the wee hours of the night.

The title of this post comes from a conversation I heard (OK, monitored) between my mo-ther and my Aunt Chrissy last evening. I had been watching the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills marathon, but one glimpse of Lisa Vanderpump's tiara and I was so disgusted I had to retch into my handkerchief. So when I heard Mo-ther dialing the telephone, I figured that a little listen-in would be considerably more entertaining:

MO-THER: Chellooooo, Aunt Chrissy! What did you have for dinner tonight?

AUNT CHIRSSY: I had oven baked potatoes, a boneless skinless chicken breast, and some green beans.

MO-THER: Wow. That sounds really good. And healthy. Don't you want to know what I had for dinner tonight?

AUNT CHRISSY: Not particularly, no.

MO-THER: I'm glad you asked. I had ham and cheese crescent roll ups, potato chips, and Rice Krispie treats. All I needed was a juice box and I could have been a six year old.

AUNT CHRISSY: Six year olds don't eat like that anymore. They have apple slices and low fat milk.

MO-THER: They do? When did this happen?

AUNT CHRISSY: Right about the time they got trapped behind you at the Targets and had to watch your ample rump waddle its way down the candy bar aisle in your eighteen year old sweatpants. Haven't you heard? You've become a cautionary tale.

MO-THER: I thought that was Paula Deen's gig.

AUNT CHRISSY: Nope. She's a well-paid spokesperson. You're just a chronic condition waiting to happen.

(Perhaps I exaggerate the EXACT wording for effect, but suffice it to say that there was a very long conversation in which my mo-ther tries to convince my Aunt Chrissy that ham and cheese crescent rolls ups and potato chips can be technically considered to be a protein, a carb, and a vegetable and that all meet the USDA requirements for a perfectly balanced meal.)

(As for me, I had a lovely piece of steamed fish, some quinoa, wilted Kale, and an impertinent little Merlot.)

We'll return to our regularly scheduled programming soon, I promise. For some reason, the battery on the camera didn't make it into the charger yesterday, so alas, no stitching picture updates.

Happy Tuesday, my very dear and loyal friends! Until we meet again, I remain your devoted pal,
Stewey

STUPID NATURE

2012-01-23T12:55:00.006-05:00

From what I hear on the TeeVee, there's some fancypants video game that all the kids are playing these days called "Angry Birds". I'm not sure what it is, exactly, since I am not allowed to use anything electronic without adult supervision, and I don't own one of those cell phone gizmos.

Anywhoo, on Friday afternoon I was in the kitchen minding my own business (OK, if you must know, I was making Rice Krispie Treats), when I heard a very loud BANG coming from the general direction of the back patio window.

A bird had apparently decided to conduct a suicide mission, had flown directly into said back patio window, and was laying deader than a doornail in the pee snow that Stewey created that very morning during his constitutional.

I kept checking on the bird to see if it was moving, and since it wasn't and since I am also a nutjob of the highest order, I decided to take the snow shovel and gently lift the carcass out of the pee snow and give it a proper burial under a nice tree in a meadow. (Or, failing that, I figured I'd scoop it up and fling it into the middle of the big ass field behind the house and be done with it.)

As almost everybody on the planet (except me, apparently) knows, when birds fly into stuff they stun themselves senseless and fall to the ground in a lifeless heap so that they can get their wits about them. (Much like I used to do in my 20's after a night of drinking Long Island iced teas.)

But I digress.

The very moment I got the shovel under that bird, it decided to come back to life and FLY FLY AWAY as I screamed bloody murder and then wondered how long it would be before the neighborhood association served me with eviction papers.

Damn birds.

So as I was standing out there in the back forty trying not to have a heart attack, I catch something moving out of the corner of my eye. Upon closer inspection, it appeared to be a 42 pound meatball wearing feathers, perched about thirty feet up in a tree. Wanna know how BIG this damn thing was? Let's just say that if it would have turned around, I would have pondered the fact that it had the strength capability of carrying me (and my little dog too) several thousand feet up into the air before dropping us off the edge of a cliff to our early (and somewhat disappointing) demise(es).I know, I know, this fantastic photo makes it look like it's just a bird in a tree. But can I just point out that I used the magnify thingie on the camera and that the branch upon which that thing is sitting is about three stories up in the freakin air?!!

I emailed my friend Kavanaugh under the guise that he knows a lot about birds and would probably be able to tell me what the heck this thing is, but the truth of the matter is that my friend Kavanaugh is a police officer and has a weapon that I am sure he uses with deadly accuracy. Or, if he wasn't willing to come over here and shoot the damn thing in the head (which I want to be very clear he would in NO WAY ever consider), I guess I was hoping that he would instead bring his bagpipes and scare the living beejeesus out of this and and every other living creature within an eight mile radius of Chez Spinster.

Fast forward to last night when I was in the kitchen again (OK. So. I have a Rice Krispie addiction problem), when I spy SOMETHING moving the bushes immediately adjacent to the patio. (What IS it about this darn patio?)

Stewey fired off a few snaps with his cell phone camera, but didn't manage to focus them very well:
So now we know that the sounds I hear while fretting in the big girl sleigh bed at night are not, in fact, thieves and vagabonds trying to break into the house. They are (instead) the din of Happy Hour at what constitutes a TGI Friday's for the Marlin Perkins set.

I hate nature.

I did get quite a bit done on the Plum Street piece this weekend, and I also started a counted canvas piece from Threedles yesterday, but all of this nature photography has depleted the battery on the camera. As soon as it recharges, I'll post some updates.

Happy Monday! Hope your weekend was a bit more....civilized.

AHEM. BY MASTER STEWEY ANGUS WILLOWSWAMP HIS VERY LITTLE SELF

2012-01-20T11:51:00.009-05:00

My mo-ther can't come to the blog right now. I've sent her away on a fool's errand to the PetSmart looking for potty pants. She thinks that if she brings them home I will gladly slip them on to help alleviate the urine elimination situation we're having. I'm sure she'll also buy a Potty Patch, a Belly Band, vitamins, and any other stupid thing she can think of to keep me from watering the furniture.

In the spirit of full disclosure, however, I feel that I must reveal:

1) I was fully housebroken on day TWO of my life here in Crazyville. Mo-ther and Aunt Chrissy were sitting in the living room, and when I went to the back door and indicated that I'd like to go outside to urinate, they both hollered and shrieked and danced around so much that I thought they had won the Publisher's Clearing House.

2) I remained fully housebroken until a) the "special surgery" that Mo-ther insisted would be better for my overall health and would help curtail the shorty Jack Russell terrier population, and b) the arrival of my pesky little cousin Bosco.

3) I pee not so much out of need to do so, but rather as an indictment of the filth that I'm forced to live in with a deranged spinster. I feel that the house should be cleaned at least four times a week and that Mo-ther should channel her inner Amish woman and wash walls, etc., but she seems to think that a bi-annual pass with the Swiffer qualifies as appropriate homekeeping. It does not.

4) The Christmas tree ornaments were not wired onto said Christmas tree due to MY failure to leave the tree alone, but rather, they were wired onto said Christmas tree because my mo-ther insists on sitting on the floor each evening after dinner to "play", and she cannot throw anything with any degree of accuracy whatsoever. During the holiday season she typically knocks at least four or five dozen ornaments from the tree's branches when she misses the dining room completely and launches the tennis ball deep into the recesses of said tree. This, of course, is followed by more curse words that I am allowed to hear.

So before you decide to type "Oh, you poor Spinster Stitcher. How terrible that you have to live with a snarky little dog that pees, I ask you....

Would YOU like to come over here and massage her back fat?

Would YOU like to watch Jeffrey Dean Morgan movies on an endless loop until you think your eyes will bleed?

Would YOU like to listen to her blather on endlessly to my Aunt Chrissy about whatever the obsession du jour happens to be?

Would YOU like to explain to the neighbors that the sounds they hear escaping up the chimney on a cold winter's night are due to my stupid mo-ther's lack of planning and that she has probably realized that she will be short one strand of thread to finish her latest project and that the Michael's and the Hobby Lobby and the JoAnn's are all closed and won't be open for another twelve hours and why oh why can't she just get organized and plan her projects out better so that she's not having to sneak into Aunt Chrissy's studio in the dead of the night like some 300-pound stitching ninja that really should be locked up but who remains free because nobody will have her anyway?

So please, my very dear friends. Don't encourage her further with any kind words, kudos, or praise. That will only result in her prancing around the house chanting "They LIKE me! They really really LIKE me!", and nobody needs to see that more than once in their lifetime. Trust me.

I hope that you remain warm and safe and dry this weekend and that you do whatever it is that your stitchy heart desires. As for me, I will be supervising this, Miss Paulette's Dust of Snow:And THIS beauty:
This is the latest Laura J. Perin that Mo-ther has been chomping at the bit to start, called Stained Glass Windows. I suspect that she will hit the studio the moment she returns from the PetSmart to paw through threads and canvas. Stay tuned for updates. I bet this one gets started before you can say "obsessive compulsive".

So that's it for now, my dear friends. As soon as I water the drapes I'm off to my patch of sunlight for a little snooze. We're supposed to get a winter's storm today, so I guess I better get snuggled in and ready for the flakes to start falling!

With love from your pal,
Stewey

I'LL TAKE "SEEMED LIKE A GOOD IDEA AT THE TIME" FOR TWO HUNDRED, ALEX

2012-01-17T15:26:00.002-05:00

Note to self: If you decide to wire seventeen thousand ornaments to the tree next year because "Surely, that's the way Martha does it", you need to be taken out to the back yard and smacked about the face repeatedly with a two by four.

I've been un-wiring ornaments from the *@#()&% Christmas tree for the last nine hours and I'm not even half way through yet.

(And yes, in the event you were wondering....I exaggerate for effect, people. It's how I roll.)

WINTER ALPHABETS FEE NEE

2012-01-17T12:27:00.004-05:00

Lizzie Kate
Winter Alphabet
32ct Wichelt Natural Light linen
Weeks Dye Werks, Crescent Colours, DMC floss

SO CLOSE, AND YET SO FAR

2012-01-16T10:17:00.002-05:00

I'm blaming this one on the dog. I was all settled in to the Happy Chair last night, happily watching the Golden Globes and stitching away. You know...la la la la la...all is well with the world...I'm happy and content and haven't a care in my little brain. There was a cheery fire in the fireplace, my toes were cozy with some fabulous new socks Aunt Chrissy got me at the Targets, and I figured within a matter of an hour or two I would have my second FeeNee of the new year.

Alas, it was not to be.

At 11:01 exactly, Little Lord Fauntleroy decided that it was time to go to bed. First he whined at the back door. (I let him out promptly, just in case you were wondering if THAT might be the reason why he pees on anything and everything that isn't moving.) Then I went to the cookie jar to get him a tiny bone because he did, in fact, pee on the outside of the house and not on the inside as is his usual custom. Usually he stands right beside me as I reach into the jar, so when I looked down and didn't see him, I panicked a little.

"Stewey! Where are you, my Baby Dear? Come get your tiny bone!"

The reply came from the doorway to the bedroom. (It is here that you should note that he was not IN said bedroom because we now have a lovely baby gate that prevents him from going in there without express permission from moi.)

"Mo-ther. I'm standing here like patience on a monument waiting for you to open this ridiculous contraption so that I might go to bed."

(At this point he turned and gestured dramatically in the general direction of the baby gate.)

"Stewey, Mommie had to put the baby gate there so that you wouldn't go into the bedroom and decide to water my closet, my bathroom cabinets, and the big girl sleigh bed."

"How do you know it was me? Have you been trained in the scientific arts that would conclusively determine that I am the sole source of the problem? How do you know that you aren't waking up in the middle of the night and lifting your very own leg on your clothes, the bathroom cabinets, and the big girl sleigh bed, hmmm?"

(This is when the dumbfounded look came across my face as I contemplated the possibility.)

(And then I realized that I was getting gaslighted by a nine pound dog.)

"You know damn well that it wasn't me, Mister, and if you don't stop with this whole marking thing I'm going to take you back to the swamp where I found you. Enough already. I'm 45 years old and deserve to live in a house that doesn't qualify as a "before" situation on TLC. Now come over here and get this damn tiny bone so I can finish my stitching and then go post about it on my blog."

(With that, he peed on the baby gate.)

So that's why I didn't get the piece finished last night. I am determined to do so this afternoon, though. Right after I take down the Christmas decorations, do the laundry, clean the house, solve world peace, and finally determine why hot dogs come in packages of ten and buns come in packages of eight. If there's any time left over, I promise to go upstairs to fetch the eleventy-billion projects that I've started, organize every scrap of thread in my stash, and separate the ice cubes into categories according to size, texture, clarity, and shape. Finally, I'll watch all of the crap I've taped on the recording thingie, write pertinent and smart essays about each, and then, once and for all try to figure out why Jeffrey Dean Morgan hasn't returned any of my invitations to come over for meatloaf and Merlot.

Stay tuned, kids! I'm feeling inspired!

JUST ANOTHER FRIDAY IN PARADISE

2012-01-13T11:00:00.003-05:00

My mom can't come to the blog right now. She's presently under the bedclothes, muttering something about dog pounds, laundry, and Flomax. I'm not sure what all of THAT could be about, but I'm pretty sure that the last little jibe is intended for me. Ahem.

Today is a full-on snow day here in Hoosierville North. I awoke at 4:30 am to hear the scrape-scraping of the nice men on the front porch, making it safe for fat old spinsters and humanity by getting rid of the drifts and such. I wish I could have reached the doorknob so that I could have told them not to waste their energy on a perfectly shoveled front pathway....nobody comes to visit and we don't use it for my constitutionals, so it's just a lot of work for nothing. But alas, I am only ten inches from pedicured paw to shoulder, so all I could do was bark at them through the side light instead.

(I wonder if that's what has the old lady in such a state?)

Anywhoose, I am going to spend a lovely day on my perch enjoying some peace and quiet. I've had breakfast, perused the paper, and written in my little journal, so it looks like all that needs to be done now is a good soaking pee on the footstool and then I can get some shut eye.

I hope that you and yours have a splendid weekend and that you spend it doing whatever it is you like to do. I have a feeling that ours will be spent in "time out" with a lot of upholstery cleaner nearby, but I could be wrong. Perhaps my Aunt Chrissy will take pity on me and take my stupid mo-ther out for a cheeseburger or two.

Stay warm and safe and dry, my dear friends. Until we meet again, I remain your loyal and devoted pal,

Stewey

BY WAY OF EXPLANATION....

2012-01-12T12:13:00.003-05:00

Y'all are just lovely for soothing my savage beastie self. I'm happy to report that this morning has gone substantially better than yesterday, but I'm thinking that it's because I haven't left the friendly confines of the Happy Chair and I'm heavily medicated with dietCoke and a ham and cheese panini.

So, to explain why I was mean as a snake and twice as ugly yesterday....

The culprit:

The result. (In this case, the focus should be on the "SANITARY" button):

The task that prevented me from driving him to the pound:

A happy thing that will prevent me from standing in the Hobby Lobby aisle next year saying "I KNOW I have wreath hangers somewhere. I just can't find the damn things!"

The evening's viewing selection. (Because I needed to hear Joe Pesci say the eff word a billion and a half times and watching him act like a homicidal maniac was somehow very very soothing):
The stitching progress:

This morning's evidence that I probably shouldn't have been left to my own devices. (Those are Rice Krispie treats, by the way, and if Pfizer ever figures out a way to make them in pill form.....sign me the heck up already.)
*This is where I should show you a picture of my knee, but I have winter legs and I'm not about to go Neet-ing them just for a silly blog picture. When I was helping Aunt Chrissy unload groceries at her house, my puppy tot nephew decided to freakin' clock me in the right knee, thus capping off what could only be described as a day from h-e-l-l. Imagine a fifteen pound little meatloaf projecting itself at you at the approximate speed of light and then hyper-extending your already fragile knee until you hear a lot of crunching and ripping of things that pretty much confirm that you are going to have to get a HoverRound sooner rather than later.

(But to avoid the whole "Why am I so gd passive aggressive thing, may I just send a very heartfelt apology to Aunt Chrissy and Little Bosco for my ugly-cry meltdown? Please forgive me. I didn't mean to get so emotional, but the shock of having my knee broken by the last person on the planet who loves me was just more than I could bear. I'm on my way over to see him this afternoon to show him that there are no hard feelings...just a knee the size of a basketball in a lovely shade of puce.)

So there you have it, my dear stitchy friends. Another day in paradise here in Hoosierville. The weather has just taken a rainy/foggy/miserable turn, so things are definitely looking up! I see a cheery fire in the fireplace and a stitchy movie marathon in my future! Thanks again for your comforting comments -- I've printed them out so that they're ready for the next time things go awry. (At least I'm prepared, right?)

CALLING ALL CARS...

2012-01-11T15:31:00.002-05:00

I'm having the type of day that one does when one suddenly realizes that one should have just stayed in one's bed and pulled one's covers over one's head. Damn, drat, and phooey. Everything I've touched (or even looked at, for that matter) has fallen apart, broken, peed, or otherwise ruined a perfectly lovely Wednesday.

But enough about me. Back to you.

What's new, pussycat?

OH SYLVESTER, HOW I LOVE YOU SO!

2012-01-09T11:05:00.005-05:00

I swore up and down that this would be the year that I would stop throwing my crazy out there into the universe and just make this a stitchy blog, but then I realized that my wiring requires that I blather on aimlessly and there's no way I will ever be "that really lovely civilized woman who takes such pretty photographs and who writes with such eloquence about her stitching", and I got over myself.

(I also swore that this would be the year that I assemble a relatively decent sentence that doesn't make you want to gouge your reading eyes out, but I'm pacing myself people. I'm pacing myself.)

Sylvester Stallone was my very first crush. The year was 1978 and I somehow convinced my parents to let me see Rocky. When they finally relented (in 1984 or so), I fell madly, deeply, head over heels in love with him. He was everything I ever wanted. Sure, I liked the way he looked, but it was his character's undying love for a girl that could have been me, were it not for the fact that I didn't wear glasses and was afraid of pet stores.

Over the years, I discovered that the real life Stallone is actually a very smart guy and that he read books and enjoyed painting when he wasn't hanging from a helicopter someplace trying to save the world. This juxtaposition of brain and brawn completely blows my skirt right up, and to this day I am determined to marry a man who is rough and tumble on the exterior, but who will understand the importance of good skin care and who isn't afraid to settle in for a Meryl Streep movie marathon on a winter Sunday afternoon. You know the type...is as comfortable in a ballroom as he is in a bowling alley....can recite hockey stats in addition to Shakespeare....and who will be as happy with boeuf bourguignon as he will be with meatloaf.

It suddenly occurs to me that this explains a LOT about my obsession with a dog-loving, book-reading Jeffrey Dean Morgan, as well as manly man chefs who also have the ability to write prose that makes me swoon.

That last one is Anthony Bourdain, by the way.

But I'm sure that Robert Irvine would be equally as adept at constructing a rather good story or two.

And what about the fact that Gordon Ramsey cooks AND played professional football in his younger days?

All of this explains the sixteen hours spent sitting in the Happy Chair watching of all of the Rocky movies, as well as the two hour Biography Channel special commemorating the 35th anniversary of the original.

What can I say? I have a box set and I wasn't afraid to use it.

Progress on Lizzie Kate's Winter Alphabet continues. This is definitely a fun one and stitching up much faster that I would have imagined!So that's the report from Chez Spinster today, my friends. Stewey has retired to his fort under the bed and won't come out until I promise to put the inside Christmas decorations away, so methinks I better get to it. He can be a real pill if things aren't exactly in the right place on a Monday, so I might as well forget about getting any peace and quiet around here until the last box is packed and stored away for next year. Damn dog.

VIEWER MAIL

2012-01-07T13:20:00.002-05:00

I'm not normally on the 'puter on a Saturday, but inspiration struck during breakfast and I decided to get my next column for Needlepoint Now sent off to Miss Elizabeth.

(How's THAT for a shameful plug?)

(And before you encourage me further, I should probably warn you that the title of the column is "Coming Soon to a theater near you....Needlepoint, The Musical".)

(As I told Miss Elizabeth in my apology/email to her: There is a reason why people like me should not have coffee machines that brew on demand.)

(Yes. I have forsaken my beloved Capresso for a Keurig, ladies and gentlemen, and I'm never going back. The only problem is that I now refer to the pods as "Crack Cups", which completely mortifies my sister when I announce (quite loudly, I might add) in the Bed Bath and Freaking Beyond that "I NEED CRACK CUPS, AUNT CHRISSY! I NEED THEM NOW!").

But I regress...

Bronny asked about the windowpane linen that I'm using for the Sam Sarah monthlies. Well, Bronny, believe it or not...it comes that way! It's called 28ct. Newport Natural and it's made by Zweigart. Cool, huh?

Paisley has thrown the proverbial gauntlet and hinted that L'Hiver needs to be finished this year. I agree, Paisley, but you do know that there are three other seasons, right? And you do know that I'm a nutball of the highest order and am already stressing over the fact that if I finish ONE of these damn things, then I need to finish ALL of them, and that they should all be finished in the same year. Right?

Sherry, the big red sunflower piece is actually a painted canvas that I'm needlepointing. It's a 13 mesh, and was a gift from Aunt Chrissy several years ago. I have finished quite a good chunk of it, but I just never seem to get it done. This year, though. This year.

Whitney...oh, don't be afraid to start the Threedles piece! What's the very worst thing that could happen? 1) You could fall in love with it and then obsessively rush off to purchase very single thing that this designer has ever done (witness my own Laura J. Perin obsession), or 2) You hit a schlumpadink wall and put it in your WIP pile. Either way....I'm with ya' sista' and will be right here cheering you on. (Metaphorically speaking, of course.)

Hey, Phyllis! A "ready made" is a picture frame that is already painted and assembled at the Michaels or the Hobby Lobby or the craft store mega mart near you. Instead of going the custom framing route, I am sometimes able to find a great "ready made" that I can pop a finished piece into and then feel like a framing genius! Try it! I promise that you'll get a good cramp from patting yourself on the back. (At least I did.)

Laura, as much as I would love to tell you that I whipped out "Snowflake Serenade" this year, the truth of the matter is that I started that one last January and got about 3/4 of it done before putting it away. So my needles didn't smoke exactly. They just plodded along at my usual dopey pace. (I'm not a fast stitcher, people. I promise you that. It's all an illusion, and if you peek behind the curtain you'll see my pile of WIPs that is the approximate size of a Buick. So when I finally do finish one, chances are that it only needed an hour or two to get it to the FeeNee stage.) I'm a complete fraud. A big fat complete fraud.

And finally...Ginny asked me if I was going to frame "Snowflake Serenade". Yup, Ginny. I think I am. Unless I wake up tomorrow and am able to figure out how to use the sewing machine without stitching my sleeves together...framing it shall be.

I think that about covers it for now, kids. There is a small patch of sunshine coming in the back door, so I guess it's time that I go re-position the living room furniture so that You Know Who can catch a few rays! I wouldn't mind it so much were it not for the fact that he insists I spritz him with Evian every fifteen minutes and that I ply him with umbrella drinks. Damn dog.

SNOWFLAKE SERENADE FEE NEE

2012-01-06T13:14:00.002-05:00

Snowflake Serenade
Country Cottage Needleworks
28ct. light mocha cashel linen
DMC floss and Weeks Dye Werks

I HAVE ONE SHOE ON...

2012-01-05T10:46:00.002-05:00

...and as soon as I finish this one it's off to the Michael's for a ready-made. My big white wall 'o wonder is in need of something a little bit...wintry.

THERE ARE A HUNDRED AND TWENTY EIGHT DAYS IN JANUARY, RIGHT?

2012-01-03T13:46:00.006-05:00

Well, that's what I'm going to need if I want to make a dent in the Official January 2012 Spinster Stitcher Basket O' Stitching Fun. I decided that running up and down the studio stairs would be good exercise, apparently, because I am now completely spent and ready for a few hours in the Happy Chair.

Let's take a quick tour, shall we?

This gorgeous thing was one of my stitchy Christmas gifts from Aunt Chrissy. I would have started it the minute I opened it, but methinks I need to switch those stretcher bars to the bigger ones. I like the fact that the smaller/thinner ones are lighter to hold, but this sucker looks like it will need some extra support. Maybe it's time to try Evertights?

This is what I played with until 3am. I was six episodes deep into Kelsey Grammar in "Boss" on Starz, so that little house practically stitched itself. Considering the eighteen feet of snow sitting on the back patio, it looks like this might be today's selection:

Ahhhh. My oldest WIP. I've loved this canvas forever, and as you can see, have also been stitching it forever. This is the year it gets completed! I swear!

Another Christmas stitchy gift from Aunt Chrissy. I saw this on a fellow blogger's blog and just had to have it. Little did I know, though, that there are actually alphabets for every season! Woo Hoo, Aunt Chrissy!

I think that this one has been on my "I'm going to start this on New Year's Day" list for about three years now. Why am I so compelled to "save it for something special"? It'll get started, I promise. But for now I like petting the linen and threads.

OK. There's no way I'm ever going to have this framed and over the fireplace unless I plant myself in front of it and move a needle in and out repeatedly. It does, however, require concentration, so no Jeffrey Dean Morgan movies. Maybe an afternoon You've Got Mail marathon instead?

'Scuse the helper, but he insisted on getting in the picture. I gather that this is Stewey's favorite WIP, since he always seems to noodge himself into my lap the minute this one comes out of its project bag. I was a little unsure about the tone-on-tone nature of that bottom motif, but Aunt Chrissy assures me that it will be gorgeous once completed (as hers almost is):

I never seem to have anything small to grab when I'm headed out for an appointment, so this one will hopefully rectify that:

Yeah, yeah, I know it's a Christmas piece, but how could you not want to stitch this all year long? I started that little bit with only one ply of the Valdani floss, but I think I'm going to have to frog it and re-start with two or three ply instead. The colors are right, but the coverage just isn't what it should be.

Well, there you have it. As of this afternoon, I am officially set. I did manage to have the perfect snow day yesterday -- laundry done, a big pot of soup made, and stitching stitching stitching until the wee hours -- so maybe we're off to a good start for the year?

I'll see you Thursday. Tomorrow is the first Futzingday of the year, so Stewey and I plan on spending it...well, um....futzing! Woo Hoo!

A CHRISTMAS 2011 REPORT, BY MASTER STEWEY ANGUS WILLOWSWAMP, HIS VERY LITTLE SELF

2012-01-02T15:06:00.004-05:00

Happy New Year, friends! I hope that you are warm and safe and dry and that you are spending a lovely day in your Happy Chair with a threaded needle and a cup of something satisfying to keep you company.

Here in Hoosierville we're having our first official blizzard of the year, and I am happy to report that all is well due to the sheer brilliance and determination of my Aunt Chrissy. As Mo-ther was stumbling around yesterday in a fog, Aunt Chrissy showed up bright and early and said "Get your shoes on, Tubby! We're going to get those decorations down today!" and out they went.

(Apparently, Aunt Chrissy caught a glimpse of my mo-ther wringing her hands on New Year's Eve as she watched the weather report predicting, as always, an Armageddon like event.)

"Oh, Aunt Chrissy", she whined. "I am so worried about my Christmas decorations outside. How will I ever get them taken down and put away with all of the snow and wind that they are predicting?"

Aunt Chrissy, of course, was completely nonplussed, and muttered something under her breath about not needing to take decorations down in "the home", and then she wondered how fast she could move and not leave a forwarding address and whether or not I would reveal her new super secret location.

(For the record, I would not.)

Anywhoose, the two of them spent a full six minutes unbolting all of the wreaths and such, so when the winds started howling and the snow started flying, there wasn't one single phone call with one single bit of whining whatsoever. Isn't my Aunt Chrissy brilliant that way?

Christmas 2011 has come and gone. Because we had very mild weather and not one speck of white stuff on the ground it did seem a bit odd. But we managed to muddle through quite nicely, and the old lady even capped off the holiday with a spa day and a few little sips of Proseco as the ball dropped in Times Square.

(And yes, in case you were wondering...the spa day was Aunt Chrissy's idea and treat. I am quite happy to report that Mo-ther returned from such with a full twelve inches removed from her hair, some perfectly shaped eyebrows, and festive red polish on her hands and hooves.)

As for me, I will let the pictures tell the story. Commentary, naturally, is from my mo-ther.

Stewey can be a very vicious beastie when it comes to opening presents. And rather than take an organized and civilized approach, he decided that hurling himself into the bag would be more efficient:
His perfect little cousin Bosco, on the other hand, behaved himself beautifully, and seemed to be more interested in the goings on outside than he was on a greedy grab for Snausages:
Alas, Stewey finished tearing through his own gift bag, so he decided to convince his Aunt Chrissy to let him have a go at Bosco's:
But he lost the argument and appealed to his Mommie Dearest for back-up.
She was, however, ineffectual, as usual.

That's a small glimpse into our holiday, my very dearest stitchy friends. I hope that you and yours had lots of fun and laughter, and that YOUR gift bag was full of great stuff! We're off to the new year! Here we come 2012!

With much love from your pal,
Stewey

MERRY CHRISTMAS AND HAPPY NEW YEAR FROM THE SPINSTER STITCHER (AND HER LITTLE DOG TOO!)

2011-12-23T11:47:00.006-05:00

On behalf of Spinster Stitchers everywhere (and their little dogs too), I'd like to say thank you for allowing us to sit at the cool kids' table with you, and for being such a big fun part of our whacky little life.

We wish you a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

MRS. GIRTHY-NESS, PAGING MRS. SPINSTER GIRTHY-NESS

2011-12-19T11:42:00.002-05:00

"I've decided that I'm going to eat with impunity for the next two weeks, and then come January 1, I'm going to start a program", she said with conviction.

Aunt Chrissy and I held the annual Rich Sisters Day of Baking and Christmas Cursing Extravaganza on Saturday, and I am happy to report that we now have the following items carefully containerized and ready.

Ready for what, I'm not really sure, but we bonded. Let's just leave it at that.

10 dozen koulorakia (those damn Greek twist cookies)
8 dozen cuccidati (Dad's favorite -- Sicilian fig cookies)
450 reindeer eyes (you know, the round pretzels with a melted Rolo and an M&M inside)
7 dozen fat girl crispie treats (also known as Ooey Gooey Karo Krispers)
3 pounds of white chocolate bark
3 pounds of dark chocolate bark
5 pounds of peanut butter fudge
9 dozen Buckeyes (peanut butter balls dipped in chocolate -- from our homeland)
6 dozen espresso snow cap cookies

....and a partridge in a pear treeeeeee!

Oh, and did I mention that I seem to have also developed an unfortunate Jelly Belly addiction as well as a ham and cheese panini made with garlic Naan bread fixation?

That last one I'm blaming on Aunt Chrissy entirely, since she's the one that bought the damn naan bread in the first place.

I just wish my mind didn't work in this twisted and evil way that makes me want to put everything on my panini press.

Even I am appalled as I read this, and I can promise you that January 2nd will find me face down in a salad.

With Russian dressing.

Oh, and some of those really crunchy and buttery Pepperidge Farm croutons.

And a pickle! We have to have a pickle!

Seriously, kids. If I so much as mention anything other than vegetables in 2012, will somebody come put me in a facility? I can only widen doorways so much around here before the structural integrity of the house is compromised, and I'm quickly running out of my quadruple X sweatpants supply.

What did you do this weekend?

IT'S A GOOD THING WE WERE TALKING ABOUT HAM

2011-12-15T11:15:00.003-05:00

My mom can't come to the blog right now. She's locked herself in the master closet, and from what I can surmise thus far, she's sitting on the floor rocking back and forth, while simultaneously sobbing and breathing into a paper bag.

If you've lost a few years of your life reading this here blog, then you are very well aware of the fact that my stupid mo-ther doesn't "do" nature. As a matter of fact, I've heard her describe herself as the Zsa Zsa Gabor character on Green Acres. You know...New YORK is where I'd rather be...and all of that.

(Let's face it, folks. If they made one big enough, I'm pretty sure that my mo-ther would install herself into a big plastic bubble much like the one seen in the 1972 sleeper hit "Boy in the Plastic Bubble" staring John Travolta. The problem with this, of course, is that Mo-ther has a propensity for sweating profusely whenever the temperature rises above that of a meat locker, so you can imagine the logistics of a rotund woman in a full-on flop sweat wearing eighteen year old sweatpants...all while encased in Saran Wrap.)

But I digress.

Yesterday morning, the old lady finished her blog reading and decided to head into the kitchen for some holiday baking. As she rounded the corner out of the office, this is what she saw:Her first thought was (and I quote): "Why are those cats eating bird food and wearing feathers?"

And then she crept closer to the window for a closer look:

I was happily snoozing on my perch, and before you could say "Assisted Living Facility", my stupid mo-ther managed to throw herself into a massive panic attack while knocking over the Christmas tree, stubbing her toe on a dining room chair, and then finally collapsing into a weepy heap under the kitchen sink, where, I assume, she thought the can of Pledge would protect her.

At first I didn't bother to alter my position, since falling Christmas trees, loud profanity, copious weeping, and drama are de rigeur for a Wednesday. But then I decided to take a look for myself in the event that Jeffrey Dean Morgan had finally decided to come for a visit and Mo-ther got caught with her head in a vat of potato salad and had not managed to take care of that unfortunate little moustache problem .

It is here that I must confess that the first words out of my mouth were Holy $(-)!* because I never would have expected to see two gi-NOR-mous wild turkeys helping themselves to the bird food.

All is well, though, since (after donning my outside shoes) I politely explained to them that although it is illegal to discharge a firearm within the city limits of Mishawaka, I was pretty sure that my Aunt Chrissy would have no problem whatsoever grabbing their sorry asses by the tail feathers and dragging them twelve feet to the south, which just happens to be county property and not within the "don't shoot wild turkeys in the knees to make them go away" jurisdiction.

Then I went and loaded my little pink pea shooter for effect, and this seemed to get the message across quite nicely.

(Before you call PETA, may I just point out that my stupid mo-ther's biggest nightmare is that the Chic-Fil-A cows will show up one night and stuff her into her Weber grill, so we are now on a "Beef only once a month" regimen that has completely destroyed my fun. I used to love a nice Cowboy Rib-eye with an impertinent little Merlot every Monday night, but alas, it is not to be.)

So THAT is why there was precious little stitching yesterday, as well as why we will NOT be openly talking about how much my mo-ther and Aunt Chrissy hate turkey. We did, however, manage to finish watching the entire box set of The Tudors, so I can only assume that we'll be on to The West Wing before the week is through.

I hope that you have a wonderful Thursday, my dear friends. Until we meet again, I remain your loyal and devoted pal,

Stewey

WHILE WE'RE ON THE SUBJECT OF HAM...

2011-12-14T11:04:00.002-05:00

The answer to the question "Does Stewey like ham?" is fraught with drama (as are all things related to Your Lord Highness of The Whole Entire Universe.)

Stewey suffers from seasonal allergies, as does his cousin Bosco, but unlike his cousin Bosco, Stewey demands that he be administered his allergy medicine in precisely 1/8th of an ounce of Wilson Virginia Ham.

Sliced precisely to .5mm from the deli at the fancypants grocery store.

On a Thursday evening in which the ambient temperature of the vehicle does not exceed 54 degrees Fahrenheit.

And said ham must be carefully folded around said allergy medicine perfectly, or within a split second and a half Mommie Dearest here has to fish it out of the shag carpeting and try try again.

(Now before you tell me to get cheaper ham or use a piece of cheese or buy the Greenies pill pockets, can I ask you a question? Have you MET Stewey?)

You'll be happy to know that I had not one, but TWO ham and cheese panini yesterday. I'm viewing that little sad fact as a training exercise and not an indication that Aunt Chrissy needs to call Dr. Drew and Co.

Again.

"On this episode of People Who Think They're Celebrities Rehab, the Spinster Stitcher tries to overcome her addiction to cured luncheon meats while simultaneously revealing that she is, in fact, knee-deep into her Jeffrey Dean Morgan obsession, and would like to finish stitching every single work in progress found languishing in her studio."

YOU KNOW YOU'VE GOT ISSUES WHEN....

2011-12-13T12:22:00.003-05:00

...the lovely lady at the Honey Baked Ham Company knows you on a first name basis:

HBH: Good morning, Honey Baked Ham Company. How may I help you?

SS: WOO HOOOOOOO! IT'S THE SPINSTER STITCHER CALLING TO ORDER THE 2011 OFFICIAL SPINSTER SISTERS' CHRISTMAS HAM FEAST!!!!

HBH: (turning down the volume control on her headset) Hi, Coni! You're early this year! What would you and Aunt Chrissy like to order?

SS: (realizing that hollering into the ear of the lovely lady at the Honey Baked Ham Company isn't a very nice thing to do, especially when you-know-who is recording her every move for his report to Santa Claus) Well, according to the release form I've obtained from my kidney specialists, it looks like we're going to have to go small this year. Got anything in the 22-23 pound range?

HBH: (shaking head in sad disbelief) Will there be more than two of you this year? We'd be thrilled to accommodate you, but are you sure you need 22 to 23 pounds OF HAM for just two people?

SS: (blushing furiously as she realizes that her ham addiction has been made public) Um. Gee. Er. Well....no, it's just...um....ok, it's just the two of us.

HBH: OK, dear. I'm going to put you down for a mini, OK? That way you'll have plenty for the two of you for Christmas dinner, and there will be left overs for the several dozen ham sandwiches you'll stuff into your face before New Year's. (making a note on the order form that under NO CIRCUMSTANCES is the crazy spinster with the fussy little dog to be given more than a mini-ham, and if Dr. Kidney calls, they are in no way liable for the seventy two pounds of water weight that their patient will certainly gain between December 24th and 29th.)

SS: Can we have some au gratin potatoes too? And a pie? OH! AND WHAT ABOUT THE RUM CAKE!! WE NEED TO HAVE RUM CAKE!!!!

HBH: (gently, so as not to set the crazed ham-loving spinster off further) Certainly, dear. We'll have everything ready for you when you come in. Remember, though, that your sister needs to be with you so that she can help you carry everything out to your car.

(This, of course, is the super top secret agreement that was made between Aunt Chrissy and the Honey Baked Ham Company after the 2007 incident in which several innocent bystanders, and a rather large display of dinner rolls was knocked over when the heavily laden spinster tried to carry the official 2007 Spinster Sisters Christmas Feast to the car without adult supervision.)

So....as of 12:37 today we're ready.

Bring it, Christmas.

Bring it.

(P.S. Did that last part up my street cred? Hope so.)

TRY NOT TO LET THE PERFECTION OF MY PHOTOGRAPHIC SKILLS OVERWHELM YOU

2011-12-12T12:17:00.003-05:00

So the gods gave me a choice: "You can either be a competent photographer and learn how to take a proper picture with that camera of yours, or you can qualify for your own zip code because you insist on eating ham and cheese panini for breakfast, lunch, and dinner six days a week."

Guess which one I chose?

Birds of a Feather L'Hiver
(that bird took me nine episodes of The Tudors to finish)

Am I the only person who thinks it hilarious that Stewey crosses his legs when he lounges?

AT THIS RATE, WE'LL SEE THIS ONE COMPLETED SOMETIME IN THE YEAR 2092

2011-12-08T11:45:00.002-05:00

Progress continues on L'Hiver, but if I say to myself "Gee, this really stitches up pretty quickly" one more time, I'm going to hide my safety scissors from myself.

Why do I always sit down with a piece and think "Oh, I'll have this one done by the weekend, surely"?

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

2011-12-06T12:59:00.003-05:00

Each evening at bedtime, my mo-ther and I execute the same routine:

1) She snorts herself awake in the Happy Chair, stumbles into the kitchen to set up the coffee pot for he next day, and then carefully fetches our evening medicines. (An anti-anxiety pill for me, more pills than I can count for her.)

2) One last trip outside to wee on the front bushes while a pajama-clad Mo-ther keeps her eyes peeled for coyotes. Or stray cats. Or raccoons. (I'm not a big fan.)

3) All of the various and sundry lights get turned off, the doors are checked (and re-checked and then re-checked again), and the back patio light is illuminated. (And anything else that happens to be hanging upside down from the bird feeder.) (Like an opossum.) (Again, not a fan.)

4) Mo-ther falls into the bed with an "I love this bed", while I frantically search through my toy box for the eight or nine stuffed toys that I require for a little pre-snoozing snuggle time.

5) Futzing, futzing, futzing.

6) Rather loud and grumpy hollering, as my 700-pound gorilla of a mo-ther leans over the side of the bed to pick me up, but discovers that I am standing about 1/64th of an inch past the tips of her fingertips, and as soon as she makes physical contact, I take one tiny little baby step back so that she is forced to haul herself back up into the bed, throw off the bedclothes in disgust, holler some more, and then get out of the bed to pick me up and toss me into the middle of the pile of bedclothes, stuffed toys, and whatever else I can think of to annoy the living hell out of her as she tries to create a peaceful sleeping evnvironment.

7) Futzing, futzing, futzing.

8) Finally, when I hear the first snore and I see that the book she was reading has dropped to the pillow, I tippy-toe up to her face, measure her breathing for a few moments, and then give her a big wet kiss on the nose as I dive under the covers.

9) The moment I plop myself down next to her, the old lady says "Night, night my little price. Mommie loves you. Have good sweet puppy dreams and I'll see you in the morning." (She's said this particular phrase for as long as I can remember, and if she somehow forgets it, I kick her in the shins until she wakes up enough to mutter it, if only somewhat incoherently.)

So in the spirit of good night nights, I am donating all of my pocket money this month to the following organization. It is, I believe, one of the coolest ideas I've heard yet:

http://www.projectnightnight.org