I am stitching around my lovely biscornu to get it ready to be stitched. I found a thread in my current WIP that compliments it, so will be using that. It provides a good cover so that SO doesn't see me working on his stocking. I'll work on finishing this this weekend between going to the LNS and getting the stuff for my garden. It is my fondest hope that every tomato we eat this summer lives its entire existence never seeing the inside of a supermarket, and I really want to get into growing heirloom plants. My boss told me that I must have an old soul, cause I am into the old ways, and to be honest, I consider that a compliment. I've always looked at stitching as a way to connect to the past, and heirloom plants, well, they are just pretty darn fun to look at. And,let's be serious, is there anything more DELICIOUS on a summer day than a burger with a slice of home-grown tomato on it? That is proof, way more than beer, that God loves us, and wants us to be happy! Wasn't it Weezer in Steel Magnolias who said that wearing funny hats and planting tomatoes in the dirt is what Southern women do? I've always said I would have been the perfect Southern belle, skilled in the needlearts, French, music, and not much else . . . Now where's my funny hat?
Ohhh, Robbie is doing better. We had a whole day problem-free! He has, of course, decided that he is now going to go on the boneless skinless fat free chicken breast diet (supplemented by dog cookies) forever. The other dogs have started an eating strike in protest. In my next life, let me not come back as a dog if a boiled chicken breast is something worth getting excited over--I've had them, and they are foul, especially boiled without salt. GAAAACK. He was still not allowed to sleep in the bed last night, which he is not pleased about, but he's pretty normal. My vet called today--honestly, she's about as fed up with our frequent-flier status at the e-vet as I am. She thinks probably the latest visit was due to him really being sick on the stomach, then getting back pain, then having a reaction to the Rimadyl and getting like this. I figured the Rimadyl figured into the equation somewhere--he is Robbie of the iron stomach, but at the same time, he's a former worldclass showdog, he's dainty! So she noted in his file to find something other than Rimadyl to treat him if he needs a painkiller. Hopefully, we're finally seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. Cause I'm so tired. All I do is go someplace lately. Go to work, go home, go to the vet, go to Mom's, go pick stuff up, go to sleep. I need a day to sit and enjoy doing absolutely NOTHING.