the last of the pvc . . .

I sent Frank out on one more run. This is the holder I made for my friend Sheri. Thought it might help cheer her up.


The pipes are 6", 4. something" and 2.4" high.

Good golly, Miss Molly . . .

Look what I did . . . little miss how do you turn on a computer. Of course I had step-by-step help from one spectacular teacher . . . Jessica Sprague . . . but I did it. Me. LOL. I am giddy beyond words . . .

cod box . . .

What are you going to do with it?
Is it something on which you can sit?

Is it big, or is it small?
Would you call it short or tall?

Can you use it for storage?
Will it hold porridge?????

I want to see your cute cod box!
I want to see it lots and lots!!!!

(Kelli W.)

I fell off my chair I got to giggling so hard when Kel sent me her Seuss channeling . . . still pimp!!

And all I did was tell her I was taking a digi break and altering a cod box. Who knew . . did you?

sigh . . .

this morning I was keeping myself occupied by cataloguing all of my newly acquired "digi" goodies stored on CD's . . . making covers listing contents . . . rummaging through finding goodies I had forgotten, just generally having a good old time . . . UNTIL . . . I ejected the last CD out of my ancient computer and a blip popped up telling me that the CD was corrupt and all contents had been deleted . I quickly reinserted it and everything was gone less two files . . ACK! Only 20 or 30 freebies and my shopping haul from Designer Digitals . . . Double ACK! put that on the list along with another non-functioning drive, a major crash, a misbehaving monitor and a brand new video card and my PC is definitely on its last legs. On the off chance that the computer Gods were smiling on me, I popped the CD into my laptop and ta da . . . the CD was intact. Whew! With that fresh in my memory, some advise from Jessica's husband Jared and Kelli, I will soon be the broke but happy owner of a new computer. Big enough to sail through digi work. Hooray! Thank you, thank you!

in a life time far, far away . . .

As I approach my 60's, I understand that the majority of my life is behind me. That in itself is not a bad thing. My life now is deep, warm, deliciously good. I spend my time with my best friend . . . he who I love with all my heart. I amble about doing this and that . . . I am a putterer extraordinaire. I am happy. Will I leave behind a mark on the world . . . no, not unless, hopefully, it is a warm spot in the hearts of those I have loved . . .


But I sent an email the other day confessing a 'sin' from an earlier life and I began to wonder about the trip from there to here and wondered if that colored her perception of me and would others feel that difference as well.


I started off life a carbon copy stolen from the set of Ozzie and Harriet or Leave it to Beaver. The perfect childhood . . . two loving parents . . . a rural setting outside a big city . . . the best of all worlds. As with all good stories a little drama is needed so at the age of 13, my mother died of cancer and off to boarding school I went. (To be clear, I was not shipped off . . . there were very clear perameters and my agreement was number 1. Ozzie was adamant about that.) I think boarding school was the start of my walking another path. Or maybe it was just me railing against the confinement . . . she who was used to flying free down country roads was not happy with clipped wings. I was expelled along with three cohorts in crime for skipping church one Sunday morning, crossing the railroad tracks and enjoying coffee and a cigarette in an off limits diner where the proprietor was happliy teaching us modern day Greek. The expellment lasted all of one day . . . phone calls were made. College opened Pandora's box, it took exactly one year for my wing feathers to grow back stronger than ever. It was 1968 and the world was a fascinating place . . . a smorgasbord of delights . . . a phantasmagoria. The pendulum had swung and off I went shedding my imprisonment with abandon. It was wonderful to be alive. But slowly, ever so slowly . . . as was inevitable, the pendulum swung back to center and when it swung up the other side, things had changed. Ozzie and Harriet were back, old values held, time sweetly changed and brought with it, new life.

It makes me wonder . . . are the crayons of life in permanent layers. Do people see only the layer they are familiar with or can they see all the layers . . . and if so, do the layers then become muddied or do they combine so that each person's life rainbow shows through?

day 3 continued . . .

I can't help myself . . . this stuff is addictive . . . and if I don't practice, I don't learn.

We will return to regular scheduled blogging February 18th!!!

day 3 in digi land . . .

this is the first time I tried to use my new found knowledge without going step by step with someone leading me by the hand. I discovered I have no memory banks and the vast majority of yesterday's lesson went in one ear and out the other . . . I need to practice, practice, practice






I feel like the little engine that could . . . I think I can, I think I can, I think I can!!!

digi rocks . . .

ok, so I may never be able to part with all things paper, but the world of digital scrapping is exciting and fascinating. I just started my second in a series of digital classes that Jessica Sprague teaches and am loving it. Here is my first attempt from lesson 1







So many techniques to learn . . . so much, fun. If anyone is interested, she is offering another beginning class February 18 - March 16, 2008. You can check it out at JessicaSprague.com - Home Well worth the money if you are at all interested . . . and man, I thought stamping was going over to the dark side . . .

gotta love him . . .

One of the things I wanted when I found I was really going to have a dedicated scrap room, was space on a wall for my collection of stamps. But, being persnickity me, I didn't want just any shelves, I wanted the bracket-less ones. We priced them at IKEA, Pottery Barn and Lowe's. Ouch. So my handy dandy hubby announces he can do it for less. This weekend he not only built and painted them, he installed them. Doing a happy dance . . .

I love them . . . they are perfecto . . . tippity tappity snippity snappity . . . happy happy me!

happiness is a little red . . .

one piece set of long underwear . . . complete with trap door!!! OK, so I am not cut from conventional cloth . . . that has been a problem all my life and one I have gleefully passed on to Katie . . . yes, Katie, that's where it comes from . . . but come on, you knew that.

We were in a local equivalent of an Army/Navy store . . . Frank was looking for an old fashioned wool army blanket . . . when there in the corner I spied the familiar red package . . . come on, fess up . . . you of a certain age remember long winter underwear . . . I know you do. As I wistfully turned the package over and over, he who does all things that make me happy, added them to his stack of goodies at the register.

I will not subject you (no Sue) to the sight of me in them, but I happily tinkered at my desk this morning, warm and comfy in my red cocoon . . . they are perfect. What more could I ask for . . . ?

kitten mysteries . . .

How does an indoor kitten with white paws turn them gray?


By sneaking past the fireplace screen and playing in the ashes.

just call me 'dork' . . .

last night at the nth hour, I decided to invite my brother and sister-in-law to dinner and I thought garlic bread would be a good go-with. Now usually I roast the garlic first but I didn't have time so I decided I would prep the garlic and stick it in the microwave for a couple of minutes. It was a great idea until I hear Frank yell something about trying to burn the house down. I look over and billows of smoke are pouring out of the microwave and the plastic "microwave-safe" container is having a major melt down. So combine scorched plastic with the smell of garlic . . . PU . . . we flung open all the doors. The house still reeks this morning. So does the microwave, even though it got a bath in lemon juice. When did I become so dangerous????

Lowe's . . . my second favorite LSS . .

We were leaving the garage yesterday and I noticed a 2" remnant of PVC from my last adventure. I asked Frank how many there were and he said only two, there were three but he hadn't realized I had wanted them and chucked one . . . silly man. So after another trip to Lowe's, I now had six, two plus inch tubes with upper and lower lids.

Presenting . . . my new embellishment boxes. Giggle. I am easily amused.

question: who came to visit?

answer: we have no idea!!

I looked out the loft window early in the morning before the dew was off the cage screen to see that we had had a visitor. Bigger than a cat or a squirrel . . . clearly defined claws (which don't show in photos). Could be a coon since they are nearby residents. I guess we won't know until whomever unceremoniously falls through and we find him doing a backstroke in the pool. Life goes on . . .

back from the gym . . .

yep . . . I signed up at a gym again. I was forced into it when reality hit me on the head . . . literally . . . I had slithered off the far side of Katie's bed, trying to fetch something, and got trapped . . . . head on the floor . . . I had no arm strength to get myself up and I was wedged between the bed and the wall. What happened to the sanctity of the cave? Oh the shame.

Now my romance with "the gym" has never been particularly successful. I just can't find the perfect match. The last attempt was the worst . . . where the "slug", me, and Brunhilda the Beast, my trainer . . . failed to see eye to eye on my progress. Yes, I am motivated and yes I want to get back into shape but my idea of a good time is not being pushed until my breakfast threatens an encore or I am so dizzy I walk into walls. There has to be a happy medium. Brunhilda and I divorced . . . it was messy.

So I go cry on the shoulder of the owner of my old gym. It is within walking distance, the average age is ancient so I fit right in, (no more perky little things flouncing around showing camel toes and aureoles) . . . and he promises I can get back in shape without being ripped limb from limb by a Brunhilda look a like.

I have now completed session three and am a happy camper. Yes, I wake up the next morning with an anatomy lesson pointing out some lesser used muscles but it is all good. I can do this . . . I can do this . . yes I can.

and sometimes the bear bites you . . .

I finally got caught up on all of the vacation laundry, bedding etc and was really pleased with myself until I pulled the last load out of the dryer. I kept wondering what all the fuzz was. The lint screen was packed. To my horror, I finally pulled out my brand spanking new black CASHMERE sweater, now covered in lint and several sizes too small. Apparently, I had inadvertently gathered it from the load headed to the dry cleaners. UGH. Now it's not like it was a hugely expensive present . . . we actually found it at Old Navy . . . but I really adored it. Sigh.

So what do you do when you make a major boo boo? Drown your sorrows by making a huge pot of pasta fagioli . . . the smell of garlic makes me happy . . . . add a red leaf and tomato salad and some hot chiabatta bread and man o man . . .

a joint effort . . .

Adrian brought it up . . . Laura egged me on . . . Sue showed me her Solo cups . . . Frank suggested PVC . . . ta da . . . drum roll please . . . my new pen holder!!! Thanks for all the help guys . . . I love it!!

ACK!!!

if you know me, you know where I live . . . they are predicting snow flurries tonight?!?!?!? Things that make you go hummmmmmmmmmm.