Deadly Dull and Boring

I decided I was going to try to blog every day in November.  Normally, once the evenings start getting longer and darker, I tend to stitch more--so I figured I'd have something to say.

Hasn't happened so far.

I thought, well, I could write about my day--and then realized just how deadly dull and boring my non-stitching life is.

Today . . .

I went to work.  Currently, the IT people are migrating a system that I use to a larger server which is supposed to have a larger capacity (we're overtaxing the one we're on) and increased speed.  They tell me that I can continue to use the system during the migration.  Apparently they are migrating via The Planet Originally Known as Pluto, since we are about three weeks behind the original schedule.

This means that I spent a ridiculous amount of time watching a little whirly thing whirl while it tried to connect me to the system, then I had to watch it whirl some more while it tried to do what I wanted it to do, and then I got a blank screen.  About every fourth attempt, I got where I needed to be and was able to do what I needed to do.  That makes for a very long day.

In the middle of it, I spilled yogurt down the front of my work sweater. Which I had just washed. So it has to be washed again.

At long last, I was able to come home.  Dearly Beloved met me at the door with the news that he had no shirts ironed.  Would I please iron if he cooked dinner?

Ironing is on my list of things I like to do about as much as I enjoy a dental procedure. However, I can whip through a shirt in ten minutes or less. Dearly Beloved takes at least an hour per shirt (I think he does it on purpose) and inevitably scorches something. It's easier to do it myself than it is to endure the pain of watching him.  Besides, he does a really good job on London broil, much better than I--so it was a good trade-off.

All of that meant that the start of the evening was delayed. I decided to go ahead and take my shower since I needed to wash my hair and it takes awhile to dry.  (If I blow dry it with the amount of static in the air, I look more like a deranged dandelion than usual.)  I showered, got out of the shower . . .and realized that I had not rinsed the conditioner out.  Senile, much?  Back into the shower.

Finally got out, realized that my hands were the general consistency of sand paper, and put the heavy duty hand cream on them so I could work with silk. However, the paradox of this situation is that it takes a loooong time for the heavy duty hand cream to sink in enough to be able to stitch.  So I may get to stitch for about fifteen minutes before I go to bed.

So I think I'm going to sit here, watching the hand cream sink in. I think I may turn on the TV and drool over Mark Harmon, after I throw my work sweater in the washer, that is.  Just one exciting moment after another . . .

Bah, Humbug!

Dearly Beloved and I went Christmas shopping tonight.

Yech.

Please don't get the wrong idea. I love the people we were shopping for.  The things we wanted to get for them are things they would love to have.  We pretty much took care of our list.

And that's the rub. I hate Shopping With a List. It turns into a job. Whether it's a Christmas list or the dreaded Finding an Outfit for an Occasion, it becomes a pain.

Now I am the Queen of Browsers.  Give me a cute gift shop, a bookstore, an antique emporium, a pottery store, a boutique, even a big box store, and I will putter around for hours. I will even meander through a mall as long as my wonky knees will hold out.  If I find something I like and want by sheer serendipity, that's fun--it's the thrill of discovery and the joy of surprise.

But Shopping with a Purpose is just plain work.

And I am wiped out. I am going to bed with a good book.

Good Intentions

I planned to work on Martha Edlin all day today.

I got sidetracked.

In cleaning out my little corner, which was acting like the Blob and spreading out with the intention of taking over the world, I realized I was a couple of months behind in filing the information I've printed out for the Cabinet of Curiosities class. I had a stack of papers several inches tall. I also had some newsletters from the various guilds I belong to that I wanted to hang onto because of information about upcoming events and they needed to be filed.

So I started inserting pages into page protectors and putting them into their notebooks, and filing the pertinent parts of the newsletters away, which meant I had to scan each newsletter to figure out why I wanted to hang onto it, and then I started reading as much as I was filing and inserting, and the next thing I knew the afternoon had pretty much evaporated.

And I'm only about halfway through the stack.

Leaves and Twigs

While I had the sharp needle out, I decided to fill in some of the little satin stitched leaves on the vines.

This is another one of those little fiddly bits--again, spending more time starting and stopping threads than actually stitching.

I also spent a good bit of time today clearing out my nest so I don't have quite so many projects piled up around my chair. It was getting more and more difficult to crawl out of the corner over the stacks of instructions and rings of Floss Away bags and baskets full of stuff. I think that almost impaling myself on a scroll bar was the final straw.  So I have rearranged and moved some things that are currently inactive up to the Stash Room.

Yes, there is a Stash Room, sad to say.  I have always been prone to biting off more than I can chew and this room is a prime example. I have decided it's gotten overwhelming and it is on my list to deal with.  I am looking at cabinets at Ikea. I just wish they didn't have so many choices and combinations and permutations. Every time I think I have it all figured out, I find another "storage solution."

And this is one area that isn't being hit by the downsizing bug, sad to say. I fully expect to do every single project. All forty bazillion of them.

And with that to do, I'm going to go stitch some more.

Another Birthday

If my father had lived, today would be his 95th birthday.  He's been gone for over ten years, but I still miss him.

And as a true child of the South, I called him Daddy.

He was born during WW I.  His father died when he was four, leaving his mother with him, his younger sister, a crippled aunt, and his blind grandmother to support. Somehow they made it through those hard early years and then the Depression hit. They persevered.

He went to war in WW II and we're still not quite sure what Daddy did during the War.  He let it drop one time that he had to write letters to his mother for weeks ahead because he wouldn't be where she thought he was, and that he had met Ike and Winston Churchill.

He came home from the war and found a job. A few years later, he met my mother, who was ten years younger.  He fell in love at first sight apparently--she wasn't so sure because he was an "older man." She finally came around to his point of view.  They were married for 48 years.

In that time he worked for the same company for decades, bought his dream house, had two children, then doted on his two grandchildren.  His ancestors came from Wales, and he had a glorious bass singing voice.  Actually, he had considerable voice training before the war broke out and he was called up.  He had a wicked sense of humor, a strong sense of responsibility, and a desire to continually better himself. He was a voracious reader, especially history and biographies, and literally wore out his library card. He created the best Saturday morning breakfasts ever, he loved Christmas and Thanksgiving and any other holiday that brought the family together, and he took care of everyone.

Sadly the last few years of his life were difficult. After a series of mini-strokes, he was diagnosed with senile dementia and he forgot who we all were. He knew we were supposed to be familiar, but he couldn't quite place us.  We missed him and mourned him for years before his physical body finally stopped.

But, as the years have gone by, those hard times have passed away and we remember the Daddy who read to us for hours at a time, acting out the characters. We still hear the booming bass voice singing in the choir and around the house. We can almost hear his voice as he figured out the best route to go when heading on vacation (we never went to the beach or the mountains--we always travelled to historical sites and significant places). We remember the gentle hands that cradled his grandchildren and  the smile on his face as he talked to each of them as if they could understand every word--and I sorta think they did.

So, Daddy, I think of you almost every day and wish you were still here as you were when I was little and you called me Cottontop because of my curly, blond-almost-white hair.

(However, I have to admit, I do not miss being called Cottontop, loudly and in public, when I was a grown woman with children of my own. Somehow fathers never quite believe their baby girls ever grow up.)

Stalking the mail carrier

I've been stalking a representative of the United States government.  I have been less that frugal lately, and I knew that the delivery of a number of things was imminent.

Not that I need to add to the stash or the library, but the allure has been great and I am weak.

On my flying trip by the house to throw my computer case in the door and pick up my stuff for sampler guild last night, I found that Gloria Seaman Allen's latest opus, "Columbia's Daughters," had arrived. I ripped it out of the mailer and threw it into my sampler guild basket for Show & Tell. After I made it back home, I sat down for a minute and glanced through.

Add it to your library. Even though I have fallen into the 17th century and don't really want to climb out, the books that have come out in the last ten years on American schoolgirl samplers have been phenomenal.  You better get 'em while you can--they don't have enormous print runs and once they're gone, they're gone. Except on the secondary market where they can be quite expensive . . .that's my rationalization and I'm sticking to it.

Then today, my order from Gay Ann Rogers' eWeek sale arrived. In a bit, I'm going stash-diving to pull threads since I daresay I have most of what is needed for at least two of the projects. If you're curious, I ordered Oriana--I have Flora--the perforated paper sampler garden box--the little flower in its pot--and the Winter Garden geometric.  I think Gay Ann still has the pictures on her website (gayannrogers.com).  Mary and Bess had already come to live with me, and I piloted Echoes of Elizabeth and the Townhouse etui and Ruskin and Roses, so I was able to economize this time around. And that's another rationalization I'm sticking to.

And finally, the new issue of Sampler & Antique Needlework Quarterly arrived. I do believe it's my favorite needlework magazine of them all.  And while I am stash diving, I plan to see how many threads I have to work the purse on the front cover. I do need 50 count linen, I know I don't have any of that. 

It appears that that will lead to another rationalization.

Sigh . . . 

Drive-by posting

I told myself that I would try to post every day in November.

I had a sampler guild meeting tonight. Consequently, I have not stitched a bit.

Ironic, huh.