more playing around . . .

Credits: Paper: Julia Makontinsky, Frame: Scarlet Heels, Font: Broken Ghost

Monday means . . .

a new challenge at the Spraground. This time we merely had to utilize any previously unused frame from our stash. Easy peasy.

Credits: Frame and element: Katie Pertiet; Fonts: Grunge Alpha Brush Set by Roben-Marie Smith and CK _ali's writing.

The old gray mare . . .

Some days, just when I have convinced myself that I am still really only 23, life lets me know, it ain't so. Today was one of them. It started with the all too common insomnia, which meant when I finally did get back to sleep, after perusing every infomercial known to modern man for three and a half hours, that I over slept and was late for my Monday morning bout at the gym. I could tell I was tired, not just because the resistance machines won handily but because I melted long before my 1/2 hour walk on the treadmill was even partially over. I crawled home with my tail between my legs.

Now my goal, you see, is one active hour of exercise, six days a week. So with this in mind, and fortified with some French Vanilla yogurt and fresh blue berries, I decided to attack the small stand of trees outside Frank's den. It was grossly overgrown. I pulled, pucked, hacked and finally sawed as much as I could reach before dragging out the ladder. Ladders and I don't fare well together. Something I am sure about balance or rather my lack thereof. When I finally realized I was leaning far enough out to be in danger of losing my perch, I scampered down and dragged it back to its hide-a-way on the far side of the house . . . considering myself fortunate that we had not, indeed, parted ways while I was still atop. Whew.

A quick break from the heat and I was back outside weeding. Something I rarely do. Not that I mind weeding per se, its just that I am horrifically allergic to poison ivy and some of its relatives. Five days after the normal itchiness begins, I become one massive interconnected hive and my tongue swells to enormous proportions. I have learned, at first itch, to grab my standing prescription of prednisone. And since I absolutely hate that stuff, I avoid weeding until I am in jeopardy of being ousted by the home owners association . . . that rather intimidating board of covenant upholders, that wield their mighty pens over any and all infractions . . . large, small and infinitesimal.

Back inside, I am still not convinced I have met my mark so I attack the living room with the vigor normally reserved for spring cleaning, until I realize that the vacuum cleaner, while not making exactly strange noises, is at least making different noises. A quick check confirms my inital thought. The rotor bar was no longer rotor-ing. Fifteen minutes later with three pounds of cat and human hair unwound from the beater we are back in business. I found a mere eleven wads of paper, one tennis ball and three catnip toys under the sofa. Evidence that the herd does not indeed, sleep 24 hours a day. Also evidence, as if more were needed, that I am not about to win any housekeeping awards any time soon, or to be perfect honest, ever.

In need of a break, I plop down on my freshly vacuumed sofa in time to watch someone stir a pot of stew bringing an armadillo head up with the first scoop of the ladle. Ewwwww. This is not the food channel. Click. Meanwhile, Frank, kind soul that he is, is fashioning arm protectors for me from a pair of his old socks. Yep, you read that right. Gotta love him. He doesn't like me itching any more than I do. Ingenious man.

My friend Laura, with whom I chat mostly at three a.m., sent me a passel of recipes in the mail the other day. There was one standout looking recipe for chicken fajitas that I combined with an older recipe she had sent me for Rio Grande Rice. Yummy. A definite do again.

OK, so back to the topic at hand. I am too old for all this stuff. I am bushed . . beat . . . pooped! I should have just simply crawled back into the cave and into bed straight from the gym. What am I trying to prove? Old age is catching up. Although I refuse to give up the fight, it is time to recognize that the old gray mare ain't what she used to be. Sigh . . . . or rather . . . . hee-haw, hee-haw, hee-haw.

wordle . . .

Want to play with words . . . the ease way . . . no frustration . . . just good old punch a few buttons fun???? Click here . The fun part is that you can change the font, use your own hex #'s, do whatever you want. Move it, mix it, flip it, funk it up. Just have fun!!!



p.s. Thanks Gary for the the tut on how to get it to PSE.

Karma . . .

It's been an odd day all around. Ran to the gym early, just to get it over with. Back home before Frank's even awake . . . shower and head out to run errands. I get no further then the entrance to the neighborhood and realized I have forgotten my cell phone. Do I really need it? Why would I need to call someone that couldn't wait until I got home? I am neurotic, that's why. I need my cell. Turn around, pull in the drive, hit the remote . . . the garage door starts to go up, then stops and heads down again. I tap the button again and up it goes, down it goes. I thump the button hoping to make it rise higher. No deal. After initial lift off, it sags back to earth. Huh? Duh!!!! Frank is on the inside trying to get out to go to his gym, while I am on the outside trying to get in. Tug of war with the remotes. Silly.

Run in grab my cell and head to Goodwill, the first stop on my list . . . I am donating my skinny clothes. Someone needs to get some use out of them . . . it certainly doesn't seem to be me. Finishing there, I pull out down the narrow side road. It's a beautiful day, I'm in a good mood and I have a lead foot. Oops. Right in front of a cop. Did he see me? Please don't turn on those flashers . . . . Darn it, I said "please"!!! So I pull over and he asks the inevitable question: "Do you know why I stopped you?". It isn't exactly like I haven't heard those words before. I know I should do better. I do try. But there is something about good weather, a little red Miata and sigh . . . well, that's me. Double sigh. As he heads to his car to write me up, my options spin in my head. How many more "gimmes" do I get before I can no longer opt for school versus points???? Aren't I at my limit? So I call Frank. Being a retired police chief, he gets some perverse enjoyment out of these calls. I listen to his giggle turn to a full throated chortle before I hang up on him. Back comes the officer. He hands me the paper work and nonchalantly announces that with the new increases, the fine is now $400. Thunk! My jaw hits the steering wheel. I feel light headed. Then he breaks into a slow grin. "Just kidding ma'am!" "Oh, and by the way, I am just giving you a warning." I stare at the paperwork. Yep, this warm hearted soul has refrained from writing me a ticket. I am safe. At least for today. As I get back into traffic, I start to think about karma. Did he see me pull out of Goodwill's drop off? He could have. Then again, maybe not. Either way, I hope someone does something nice for him today.

After stops at the library, dry cleaners and hardware store . . . which just so happens to be next door to Frank's gym, I can't resist popping in and waving my warning ticket under his nose. I know I shouldn't, but I can't resist. It feels too good.

bodacious . . .

I love that word . . . love how it rolls off the tongue. Dictionary.com defines it as:

adjective South Midland and Southern U.S.
1. thorough; blatant; unmistakable: a bodacious gossip.
2. remarkable; outstanding: a bodacious story.
3. audacious; bold or brazen.

I have a friend who lives in Mississippi . . . met her on line years ago . . . have never met her in person but I don't need to, to know that she is indeed unmistakable . . . outstanding, and in her own way boldly audacious. Her humor is amazing . . . she is witty and bright with instant come backs . . . . She could have given Erma Bombeck a run for her money. She is in a word . . . bodacious!

Email and IMing are two of the world's greatest equalizers in my humble opinion. You learn to appreciate someone for other than looks. Physical attributes are indeed quite secondary after all. But I do know that she has been uncomfortable with her weight. So, she went out and did something about it. Lost 84.5 pounds and counting AND in the process went from sedentary to gearing up for a 60 mile, three day walk for charity this fall. She is now walking up to 10 miles a day. Yes, folks you heard that right. TEN miles. Now THAT is Bodacious!!

So the other day, tucked in amongst some other shots of her trip to Italy, was one of the very first photographs of her I had ever seen . . . other than as a tiny head in a crowd.

Kelli, I have no idea who you see in the mirror each morning. The woman I see is stunning: bold, beautiful and bodacious. Girl friend go forth with pride. (Go get that sucker! He'll never know what hit him. Oh, and p.s. don't forget to report back!)

July: week 3 challenge . . .

Every week there is a new challenge over at Spraground. This week was to use Simply Sarah: Layered Template #42 (back on numerical track) this template . . . all 17 shots. Definitely not my style but 17 masks later, I can honestly say I can now use a template. Whew!

the ultimate chick flick . . .

I can't believe I am going to say this, but I liked it even better than Sex and the City . .

Mama Mia!!!

just a thought . . .

Kelli and I were chatting about the merits of Spanx . . . and I, as usual, have dug in my heels and refuse to budge. Something about exploding sausage skins . . . But then it dawned on me that what I really need to do is to get over myself about this weight issue and realize that, at darned near 60, I am lucky I am still alive . . . especially considering some of the stunts I have pulled in this precarious life of mine . . . and then to have your buddy reply, "I know I'm grateful you are!" Well, isn't friendship what it is all about? Friendship and family! There is nothing else.

Street performers . . .

Having wandered all over town, looking at the old homes in the Victoria district, we had worked up a thirst . . . so we headed back to River Street to grab a cold beer at one of the patio bars. Across the street, there were two drummers and a couple of break dancers. We grabbed our drinks and wandered over to watch at close range. They were amazing.

Credits: LJD stamp cluster 01paper: Jessica Sprague, Beautiful You, red.Fonts: CK Ali's writing, FluoxetineTag: Katie Pertiet, Stick Pinz

This also qualified for Jessica's, July 15 challenge, requiring sequential shots. Nothing like killing two birds with one stone.

Savannah, Day 2 . . .

If it has a light house, I am there . . . off to Tybee Island. We only managed to get lost twice, which is pretty good for us . . . and the light house was so worth it . . . all 178 steps of it.


Passing on these stairs was precarious. After our first encounter with folks going the opposite way, we would wait on the landing until the coast was clear and scamper up to the next level. Which was fine going up but apparently, I don't scamper well going down . . . something about clutching the railing too hard . . .

The great light. Why do these fascinate me so much?



It was very early in the morning and the fog had yet to lift, but again, well worth the climb.



and because Frank and I never really grew up, there was this shot taken from the fort across the street . . .




We honked around the battery for a while . . . Frank being entranced with all the WW1 goodies and then off to Fort Pulaski just to snoop around.




Frank was definitely in his element when we discovered Fort Pulaski was vintage Civil War. I was afraid we might be moving in . . .



re-enactment




and yes Katie, your parents still climb trees . . . we just won't get into the details.






Then of course are the numerous roadside junk stores that I have to rummage through . . .





My friend Sue, upon hearing we were headed to Savannah, recommended The Crab Shack, said the food was amazing. And it WAS! So was the set up.






and lest you think they are yet lacking in entertainment, just wander over to their very own baby gator farm. I counted three in this shot but I think there are more.




Once back in the city we did what I love most . . . wandered the street taking shots of architecture.






and these last two . . . they will be turned into overlays because the texture is so awesome.



So, after some dinner and a walk home, we were ready to crash. Frank loved Savannah. I, clicking my ruby red slippers, was ready to come home.

Savannah Day 1 . . .

We ran away. Savannah to be exact. I love the process of hotel selection. Even with today's technology, it is still only slightly better than throwing a dart and going wherever it lands. This time however, we hit the bulls eye: The Marshall House.

Got to love this room . . built in 1851 it still has the original floor boards. Yes, they decidedly tilt one way or the other but they are stunning in their age old patina. And the brick fireplace, although no longer functional added to the ambiance. Loved the 18" high base boards and the crown molding was to die for. The color scheme . . . everything . . . I want this room. The place is haunted, or so they say. During the end of the civil war, it was used as a yellow fever hospital.

Happily, no one shared the room but the two of us . . . still, the possibilities . . . .

Downstairs, they served breakfast in the original atrium . . . now covered and wine and cheese off the lobby.

The staff was perfect . . . no exceptions. I was a happy camper, especially since this was the least expensive of the historic district options.

Since the room was not ready when we arrived, we walked down to River Street for lunch and a quick trip on the paddle wheeler. I can now safely say I have seen and heard my fill of the foibles of container shipping on the Savannah River. Sigh.

Dinner downtown and yep, there I was taking shots of the interior walls. They just shook their heads and blamed it on tourism . . . hee hee hee.

Back to the hotel for some well earned sleep.

still playing . . .

Credits: Jessica Sprague: Four square template, Katie Pertiet: Mask

scraplifting . . .

sometimes you just gotta go for it. My friend, Anke, does stunning work. I mean STUNNING work and when I went snooping over at her blog the other day my jaw dropped. And then like a common thief, I stole. Here's my version.

Credits: Papers: Kellie Mize & Summer Driggs, Tags: Katie Teague, Katie Pertiet, Scrappers Baby Love, O'Scraps, Flower: S. Bartolini, Frame: Katie Pertiet

Now to see the original masterpiece, feast your eyes here. International House. I hope I am not barred for life for pilfering.

shopping . . .

I think the reason I adore blue jeans and T's is because A) they are so stinkin' comfortable and B) they cover a myriad of bodily sins. Slap on a pair of flops and I am ready to rock . . especially now that my wardrobe no longer requires business suits and heels.

However, occasionally, I need to pretend I am a grown up and dress appropriately. The other day, I was not so subtlety reminded of this and headed out to start building a wardrobe of more "elegant casual attire", whatever that means, for a cruise we will be taking next June.

A friend recommended Chico's and since there is one just two short miles from the house, I found myself wandering aimlessly in circles trying to decipher their sizing. What ever happened to the normal 6 -8-10-12 or even S - M - L? There I was left to my own devices . . . was I a " O" -(decidedly not in any language) 1, 1.5 etc. Good for the ego, bad for trying on.

Finally, "DoraLynn" came to my rescue . . . or so I thought. She gave me a quick eyeball and started grabbing stuff off racks telling me I needed more color and tons of accessories. I could feel my brain shutting down. Thrown in a dressing room with florescent lighting and yards of synthetic fabric, I was starting to fade, but dutifully tried on the goods. Not in this life time are my hips and bottom ever going to look good in knitted fabric. It was like a nightmarish advertisement for Breakstone's. As "DoraLynn" poked her nose in to see how I was doing, her mouth puckered and out spewed a single word: Spanks. There is something to that phrase - ignorance is bliss -. They may very well be on Oprah's number one list but once "DorLynn" lifted the fabric of her slacks to reveal her spanks, I was out of there like greased lightening. The last time I wore a girdle or anything vaguely resembling one was in 1964. They disappeared even before my bras.

I did leave clutching two comfy T's and having mail ordered a cute linen dress but I ran immediately home to inhale the slightly bleachy, all cotton smell of my freshly washed jeans . . . plopped myself down to a bowl of fresh raspberries and tried to push the entire fiasco into some far off recess of my mind. The thought of having to repeat this trek eleven more times in as many months is just repelling. ACK!

and to celebrate insomnia . . .

This little goodie from a challenge over at Little Dreamer Designs.


Credits: Brackets: MzP, Font: Ashley K, All else: Julia Makotinski
And to all a good night.

A little ShaZAM . . .

Jessica's new Photoshop Friday lesson came up. WOW! Amazing what a little 'pop' will do for a photo. Click to enlarge to see a little better. Here are the instructions: Home - Sprague Lab - Scrapbook Alchemy

OK, so I got a little carried away with the burn along the edges, but love the difference a little wizardry can do.

just playing around . . .

Credits: Paper by Angelique, Stitches by Grunhild

Thanks, Kelli . . .

My friend Kel, boasts this quote in her email siggy line. I really adore it. It speaks volumes. With my photography at a stand still, I decided to play with the William Carlos Williams quote.




Credits: Paper by Fotosu, Brackets by MzP, Font: Ashley K

Challenge 7.7.08

This weeks challenge was to use this grunge photo treatment by Katie Pertiet.

I miss my munchkin.
Credits: Grunge Frame: Katie Pertiet, Heart Frame: Scarlet Heels, Fonts: Ashley K. and Hannibel Lecter.

passing a church . . .

it's marquee caught my eye :

You can't direct the wind
but you can adjust the sails.

Think about it.

monday morning . . .

I knew this would happen. This week's lesson talks about aperture and my brain shut down, just like it always does when bombarded with numbers that go the wrong way and more light equaling less of an area in focus. ACK. It all seems so convoluted. But I am hanging in there and bugging the freckles off everyone, trying to get this straight. I will learn this, this time. I will, I will, I will.

In the meantime, I went to the gym and did 1/2 hour on the tread mill or as I like to refer to it: 180.2 calories. Ran through my machines for a total one hour work out, came home and consumed 592 calories in a cute little ham and cheese on a hard roll with mayo. Talk about convoluted. Snort.


Here's another shot of Katie, just to make me feel better:

it was a good weekend . . .

my munchkin came home in time to go to the fireworks and we had lots of mom/kidlet time to catch up . . . nosh . . . play rummy . . . take a drive up the ocean with the top down and my most favorite . . . an impromptu photo shoot. Well, maybe not a totally off the cuff photo shoot, because I was whining a lot about not having any recent shots . . . never under estimate the power of a mom in need of photos of her child . . . but she gracefully acquiesced.

Here my favorite:

She has headed back to school and I am waiting up for her call to say she got there safely. If you're a mom, you understand . . .

memories . . .

I was starting to reply to my friend Sue's comment, telling her I am a complete sucker for fireworks, parades, and family bbq's and got off track, lost in my own memories. When I was a kid growing up in the 50's, we used to have a Fourth of July parade every year. I'm not talking about the whole town, just the neighborhood. All the kids would dress in red/white and blue and weave r/w/b crepe paper through their bicycle wheels or clip playing cards to their spokes with an old clothes pin. It was a race to see whose bike made the loudest clacketety clack. There were little kids being pulled in little red wagons waving American Flags, old men in uniform, ladies bearing homemade cakes and pies. We would all march down Cedar Road to the lake, neighbors hanging out in lawn chairs in front of their homes to watch the festivities and cheer us on. Final destination . . the club house on the lake. Now, about this club house, don't be thinking fancy smancy, it had four wooden sides and a roof atop a cement floor . . . screened windows with wooden covers hooked back to the ceiling flanked one side and it sported one of those old creaky screen doors on a spring that closed with a resounding thwack! The work areas had been painted over so many times and blistered from the heat but those women would scrub them til they darn near shined. There were hot dogs and hamburgers cooked over an old round red charcoal grill, dripping with homemade relishes and chutney from someones spring garden, spicy potato salads, and coleslaw ripe with celery seeds. But those desserts. Oh my. Apple goo bubbled over the sides and out the air holes . . . blueberry crisps oozing with goodness . . . and homemade ice cream straight from the churn. Only the dreaded rhubarb pie sat forlornly and unappreciated in our eyes. We'd spend the rest of the day in the water until our lips were blue and our finger tips shriveled and water logged. We had sparklers when the sun finally went down but nothing so expensive as fireworks. No matter. We'd drag our tired bodies back up the hill and into bed, dirty feet and all. Those were days worth remembering.

Candice Stringham, you ROCK!!!!

Katie, Stephanie, Kaity, Annette, Frank and I were once again part of the amazing massive crowd gathered to watch the fireworks over the river. Love, love, love this event. And this year, to make it even better, I actually managed to get some shots of the fireworks, leaving with a huge grin on my face instead of my usual, I didn't get one single shot, frustrated scowl. My family thanks you, Candice, from the bottom of their hearts. So without further ado .

and last but not least, a smiley face!!!

Amazing what you can learn with the right instructor.