my new penchant . . .

. . using photos blended into a background paper to create a new paper. So that this photo:


plus this paper . . .



becomes this background . . .

Credits: Paper: O'Scraps, Word Art: Anna Aspnes, Element: O'Scraps, Font: Jaime

May this kid never lose her zest for life.

As if . . .

just call me . . .

an extremely happy little pack rat. I can't help it. It is compulsive behavior. I admit it, especially when it comes to scrapping stuff. I can't let go. I hang onto EVERYTHING. So this morning, while searching for a back up disk for a file I lost, I rediscovered the CD's that came with the Scrapbook Answers magazine that was published in 2006 before going belly up. I hauled them out thinking I would check out the fonts that came on each one. Instead, I discovered that each of the CD's held digi kits!!!! Really, really neat digi kits!!!! Kits by Michelle Coleman, Rhonna Farrer, Jackie Eckles and more. A treasure trove. A veritable hive of digital honey. Tippy tap, tippy tap, tippy tap.

ACK!!!!!

It's a secret . . .

now you know what I do when my husband watches shows I don't love . . . don't tell . . .

eight days later . . .

Finally I am feeling not so punk and very hungry. So after eight days of ice chips, chicken broth and yogurt, I was oh, so ready for food . . . food glorious food . . . And since I hadn't been cooking, Frank was also more than ready to eat a decent meal too. So we made a little side trip to our favorite butcher and came home with a couple of filets, some artichokes, corn on the cob, fresh tomato, basil and baby mozzarella balls. Let the fun begin . . .

You'd have thought I would have taken a couple of shots as the food hit the table but my animal instincts got the better of me and I was well into dinner before I even thought about a camera.




and by then, the artichoke bowl was almost full with empty leaves and I was busy dissecting the heart and dipping it in the drawn butter. Oh, how does life get so good.



but really the best was the baby mozzarella and fresh ripe tomatoes with basil. Sigh.



I am happily sipping a glass of wine . . . ignoring the label on the last of the antibiotics. This is what it is all about. Good company, good food, good wine. Double sigh.

playing with masks again . . .

I forget about these little gems sometimes . . . . just a brain burp. But one of the girls at Spraground made THE most fantastic album using a masking template kit. It started me thinking and then playing. And here we go.

this from Kelli of course . . .

gave me a much needed fit of the giggles . . . .

so when I get bored . . .

. . . I get into trouble. This time I wandered through the photography section of The Pioneer Woman's blog. She was explaining using hard light and the dodge and burn tools in Photoshop Elements to make a photograph more dynamic. So you know I had to play. Here is the SOOC . . straight out of the camera.


and this is what I came up with when I played around.



The general idea is that you saturate the colors deeply and then using the dodge tool to lighten and the burn tool to darken, to create your emotion. I think I like this.

whine and cheese minus the cheese . . .

You know that Mucinex commercial where the fat, green, cigar chomping, germ moves into some unsuspecting slouch's lungs with his entire family including Aunt Ethel and Uncle Harry???? Well, his first cousin twice removed woke me up Thursday morning by using my left tonsil as a sparring bag. From there, it was all down hill and, thanks to Fay, the doctor's office was closed. By the time I got a hold of him on Friday, I could swear I'd been munching on razor blades with a whiskey chaser. Yowzers it smarts. So freshly armed with Azithromycin, Chloraseptic and Cepacol I did what any self respecting slug would do . . . made some pudding, grabbed some ice chips and sat down to watch back-to-back chick flicks on HBO. I'm only 15 years late in seeing Mrs. Doubtfire for the first time. I wish I'd been that late in seeing Out on a Limb. I might have been lucky enough to have forgotten about seeing it at all . . . yep it was that bad. Frank, kind soul that he is, sat through Georgia Rule with me. We spent the entire two hours asking each other if the step father did or did not do it . . . glad they finally cleared it up in the end.

So long story short, I have done absolutely nothing productive in the last 48 hours, unless of course, you count the pity I felt for the herd . . . running around with crossed back legs . . . so I did change the litter boxes.

turn around . . .

Where are you going, my little one, little one,

Where are you going, my baby, my own?

Turn around and you're two, turn around and you're four

Turn around and you're a young girl going out of my door.

Where are you going, my little one, little one

Little dirndls and petticoats, where have you gone?

Turn around and you're tiny, turn around and you're grown

Turn around and you're a young wife with babes of your own

Turn around, turn around,

Turn around and you're the young girl going out of the door

Where are you going, my little one, little one

Where are you going, my ba-by, my own?

OK, so we are a little premature on the 'babes of your' own part but this is one of my all time favorite songs.

Credits: Photoshop Friday 2006 9a Tutorial by Jessica Sprague. Papers: Manuela Zimmermann, Circle Text: Jessica Sprague, Font: Everyday Ghost, Circle Swirl: Katie Pertiet.

Indecisive woman . . .

Fay that is. Originally headed up the center of the state, she decided to change her mind and visit us. Yikes. But like a true woman, she changed her mind again and headed just below us and then out to sea. Yay! But then, she changed her mind AGAIN. Now she's decided to hug up the coast and come in on top of us. It's a wee damp outside with rain coming down in almost horizontal sheets. Both the fat old oaks and the limber pines in the back yard are bobbing and weaving in some strange ancient druid dance. I wish she'd make up her mind, she's sitting on my last nerve!!! Go away!!!

EDIT: 4:34 a.m: She has stopped dead over us. As in not moving. As in stuck. Aarrrghhh! The good news is that with her eye hovering directly above my living room, things are relatively calm as we wait for the back swing when she pulls out. Steph and Craig are not so lucky. They are sitting under her stalled bands getting pelted with high winds and rain. Quack, quack, waddle, waddle.

Week 3 August challenge at Spraground . . .

Week three is usually templates. The down and dirty is that I stink at templates. Templates muddle my mind. So not wanting to feel left out, I decided to use their template as a starting off point and made my layout from scratch. Here is Sev's beautiful template.


Here is my version. Oops.

Credits: Paper: Manuela Zimmerman, Tree and Leaves: Birgit, Font: Jaime, Bird and Branch: Katie Pertiet

catnaps . . .

Yesterday, I shared a tidbit with my friend Kelli and in response she sent me this shot. Very apropos.



So what does this sweet adorable little ball of fur have to do with yesterday's mishap? Aha, good question! As is my Sunday morning ritual, I made myself comfortable in the lounger in the loft and settled in with that week's crossword puzzle . . . . another addiction of mine. Part way into the puzzle, I noticed that Bear . . . my not so small Maine Coon cat, had made himself comfortable on the counter in front of my desktop computer. Hard at work at the task of trying to shove twelve letter words into nine letter spaces, I looked up again to notice that my computer screen was now sideways in the monitor. Yep, sideways. As I get up to take a closer look, Bear stretches again and resettles himself, spreading various body parts over my keyboard. Being completely computer illiterate, I do the only thing I know to do when things go wrong . . . . I reboot. Up comes the Dell logo right side up. Hooray. But wait, my desktop screen is coming into view . . . and it is still sideways. Not only that, but my mouse is acting as if I was holding it sideways as well. Huh??? So I call India and explain the situation and the man, who I'm certain, routinely eats cat without a qualm, tells me how to fix my screen . . . laughing the entire time. Harumph! So how does one very wily Maine Coon do this to a computer? Easy . . . he lays his head on the ALT and CTRL buttons while he presses his foot down on the left arrow key. Try it. You can make your screen spin in your monitor: round and round . . . that is of course unless you get seasick easily. In which case . . . forget it.

you ain't nothing but a hound dog . . .

Years ago, I had an old friend tell me a story about his sister's two hound dogs. They were working dogs on their farm in Iowa and as such were outside beasties and not permitted in the house. Now lest you think his sister and her husband callous, they did let the dogs into a closed in porch come inclement weather. So when a particularly bad storm arose, she called both dogs and shut them in the porch overnight. In the morning, she opened the door to let them out only to find the pair of them rolling on their sides, ah-roo-ing and moaning, their fat little bellies extended beyond belief. Seems there was a sack of potatoes stored on that porch and the dummies, having sniffed the contents, managed to consume the entire 50 pounds or so of raw spuds. She quickly called the vet who chuckled and said put them outside and let nature take its course but don't give them water as their already full tummy's would be in worse shape. The dogs survived and were never again paired with taters.

The point to this story? Well, Saturday night, I decided to try out some of the culinary delights I had culled from the Food Network . . . food junkie that I am . . . and use my relatives as the guinea pigs. So with Frank, Joe, Jackie and Stacie scattered around the table, I served Tyler's Roast Pork with Cider Gravy, Giada's potatoes and cippoline onions, my husband's own recipe for spinach sauteed in garlic and olive oil, hot rolls and butter, red leaf and tomato salad and Ina's Apple and Pear Crisp with vanilla ice cream (minus the pears). I must say, it was quite good and I ate until I thought I would explode.

Two days later, I still feel like those Iowa hounds and am leery of water. But it was worth it.

still and always . . .

if all else fails . . .

read the directions. At my age, you'd think I'd have learned this by now . . . not I. I just jump in feet first, thinking I can do this. Wrong. I bought these marvelous Tattered Frames and Overlays this morning on sale at Cat Scraps here by Lynne Marie Favreau. I used one of the frames around the picture of Snoop in the previous post. It was trial and error but I finally zoomed way in and hand erased all the bits of photograph sticking outside the boundaries of the frame. Loved it . . . time consuming but well worth the trouble.

That is until, insomnia struck and I once again decided to stick my nose into the passel of goodies I bought this morning at Cat Scraps . . . and there amongst all the frames in her package, were . . . . . . directions. As in a one click process to do what took me quite some time.

And this is what I got.

I am in awe. Love this stuff. And now, after having read the instructions . . . sigh . . . I'm going to be using these a whole lot more often, along with some other goodies in my stash to which her instructions apply. But, do I have to admit directions might just have some merit?????

everyone's a critic . . .

I was working on this layout this morning when Frank looks up from his paper, focuses on my computer screen and announces that he doesn't like it. Curious, I asked him why. His response: the colors don't match Snoop's eyes. You know, he's right. But never in a million years am I going to admit that to him. I'm stubborn like that. Instead, I'll grumble and pout and generally misbehave. Now that is what I do best!



Credits: Papers: Katie Pertiet, Jessica Sprague, Cat: Irene Alexeeva, Flower and Stitches: Katie Pertiet, Alpha: Catrine, Swirls: Scarlet Heels, Card board edge: Catrine, Frame: Lynne Marie

last post on this subject . . .

Yes, we pigged out in Savannah. It was my favorite part. The Crab Shack was fantastic but it could have just been my penchant for places where you throw all the leftovers and utensils down a hole in the center of the table. They even have a gator breeding ground next door. And no Ali G. was not on the menu.




Credits: Frames: Something Blue Studios, Tags: Jackie Eckles, Katie Teague and Julia Makotinsky, Paper: Julia Makotinsky, Font: Crys

I know these look bare but this is before I added the IRL stuff. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

almost done . .

Frank and I were cracking up looking at these pictures. This was the WORST side trip ever. Well, maybe not if you were into ports . . . come to think of it, my dad would have been fascinated. We were not. Neither was the couple from Texas with whom we struck up a conversation. All four of us were laughing like hyenas about the visuals. OK, so maybe you had to be there . . . but I sure hope you never have to be.




Credits: Paper: Shabby Princess, Tag: Peppermint Designs, Font: Cyrs, Frames: Something Blue Studios, Swirls: Katie Pertiet, Staples: SG, Acrylic Letters: Meredith Fenwick, Ribbons: O'Scraps.

and a tad more . . .

Nothing special to these. But, I think I pick vacations by whether or not the destination has a lighthouse. Thankfully, the Georgia coast has a ton of them so we still have plenty of options for get-a-way weekends.






Credits: Paper: O'Scraps, Flourishes by Anna Aspnes, Font: Trajan Pro

More from Savannah . . .

Again, these are only partial layouts . . . the final touches being hybrid due to printing restrictions. I feel like a paper scrapping heretic but digi is ever so much more flexible and fun.

back to Savannah . . .

When I started this project . . . even before we left, I chose a pastel palette of pinks and greens because I thought it would stretch me . . . I being so not a pastel person. It apparently didn't help. I am back to my old earthy tones. What can I say, I am older than dirt and I don't like change . . .




Credits: Papers: Manuela Zimmerman, Fonts: Crys, Date Stamp: Katie Teague, Element: Jessica Sprague
Since the actual album is 6 x 12 and I trashed my wide format printer (long story), these layouts are, in real life, shorter and mounted on card stock with a few more embellishments but it is easier to upload this way.

Shamelessly begging . . .

As I mentioned before, my buddy Kelli, is in training for a three day, 60 mile, fund raising walk-a-thon to benefit the Susan G. Komen breast cancer fund this coming November. While this is something I would not normally post on my blog, it is something near to my heart . . . and because it touches so many, I am shamelessly begging. If you can, please donate. If you can't, a simple prayer will do or even good thoughts for those who face this struggle and for those that work so hard to find a cure. My mother survived breast cancer, only to succumb ten years later to ovarian cancer at 44. I was just 13. Cancer in all forms is devastating. Please won't you help?

a new award . . .

Thank you Anke! I'm so glad you are my friend. This award is a little different . . . more about blog friendship. The rules: Four out of five have to to be dedicated followers of your blog. The fifth has to be new and from far, far away. And last, you have to link back to she who nominated you.

As usual, I am making up my own rules. So I am nominating Michelle, who I harassed into finally starting her own blog after some, what, 10 years of cyberland friendship? . . and Sue because she is always so supportive, and Paula who doesn't even have a blog but needs to . . . hint, hint, hint and Tinka, who again should have a blog and doesn't but always leaves me neat comments and then there is that stranger in a strange land . . . Leonore, who has dropped off the face of the earth and needs to come back up for air, and last but not least, the slightly off kilter Kelli, who makes me laugh until my sides ache.

I love you all.

aftermath . . .

She pulled out of the driveway with her car cram packed with her worldly possessions, two containers of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies, Moak yowling his discontent in his croaky little cat voice and four teeth in a plastic bag. Yep, that's my kid. Another rite of passage successfully completed.

So today I will return the DVD's that kept her entertained, call the dental surgeon for her to find out how long it takes for the stitches to melt, and last but not least call Stanley Steemer and hope they don't ask exactly what comprised the stain I need them to remove from carpet next to her bed. Suffice it to say Oxycodone and red drinks are not a good combination.

Once again the house is eerily quiet when it should be reverberating with her sounds . . . the thumping down the stairs. . . the yelling from the other end of the house . . . iTunes at full volume . . . the slamming of the refrigerator door . . . and those soft and sweet: I love you moms. Sigh.

arrrghhhh . . .

I so messed up this Photoshop Friday tutorial. Here is the original. But in the process, I figured out why I was suddenly having trouble moving my elements. It helps if you have the "auto select layer" checked. So that was one lesson well worth the frustration.

Credits: Papers by Irene Alexeeva, Ribbon by Marianne, Frame by Something Blue Studios, Font: Hannibal Lecter

Two days later . . .

Katie is now recuperating, propped up in bed resembling some odd little chipmunk who stuffed her cheeks a tad too full of nuts but refuses to swallow. I could be mean and post the video clip she insisted I take as she was finally coming out of the anesthesia . . . a few short seconds of her giggling uncontrollably and hiccuping non-stop . . . but even I am not that mean. I do, however wish I had a clip of her teetering between the two nurses to the car . . . one step forward, a lurch to the right, one back and two forward again . . . a sort of drunken land crab tango. Or trying to talk to her friend on the phone but making no sense. I have to give Cheri credit, she hung in there and let Katie babble along uttering not one intelligible word . . . none of these events now remembered by my child. But then again, I am not in a hurry to erase that tidbit from my phone either. You never know when it might come in handy . . . says she, who has never been above a little blackmail. So life is slowly returning to normal and I will soon be nagging her to pick up her clothes while she rolls hers eyes and counts the hours until she can escape back to her own place. But she can't fool me . . . I know she is as happy to be back in the nest during this ritual of young adulthood, as I am to have her.

melancholy . . .

Yep, I am suffering from that elusive disease called melancholy. Probably because we are now just an hour away from Katie's surgery. I know, big deal, huh? It is just teeth. Well, I guess to me it is. She has after all, my heart. No smart aleck retorts from me. I love this kid. And sitting here trying to catch my spinning mind full of 'what ifs', Slipping Through My Fingers by ABBA softly playing in the background:

Schoolbag in hand, she leaves home in the early morning
Waving goodbye with an absent-minded smile
I watch her go with a surge of that well-known sadness
And I have to sit down for a while
The feeling that Im losing her forever
And without really entering her world
Im glad whenever I can share her laughter
That funny little girl
Slipping through my fingers all the time
I try to capture every minute
The feeling in it
Slipping through my fingers all the time
Do I really see whats in her mind
Each time I think Im close to knowing
She keeps on growing
Slipping through my fingers all the time
Sleep in our eyes, her and me at the breakfast table
Barely awake, I let precious time go by
Then when shes gone theres that odd melancholy feeling
And a sense of guilt I cant deny
What happened to the wonderful adventures
The places I had planned for us to go
(slipping through my fingers all the time)
Well, some of that we did but most we didnt
And why I just dont know
Slipping through my fingers all the time
I try to capture every minute
The feeling in it
Slipping through my fingers all the time
Do I really see whats in her mind
Each time I think I'm close to knowing
She keeps on growing
Slipping through my fingers all the time
Sometimes I wish that I could freeze the picture
And save it from the funny tricks of time
Slipping through my fingers...Slipping through my fingers all the time
Schoolbag in hand she leaves home in the early morning
Waving goodbye with an absent-minded smile...

OK, we are off. Wish us luck.

Hooray . . .

Thank you Anke for nominating me for this award. I am not sure I deserve it but I am grabbing it and running and you can't have it back. Oh wait, I have to share . . . . it is now my turn to nominate 7 more blogs and keep the goodness rolling.

My first thought is that three of my most fascinating friends are delinquent in the blogging end of business and have yet to share publicly their antics and life stories . . . no Michelle and Leonore, My Space does not count. Come out and join us in the blogging world, the water is great. That means you too Paula. Out with you all!!!!

So, I am cheating and that leaves four more. So check out Kelli's blog for amazing photography, Sue's blog for the neatest cards this side of the heaven, Janelle's blog for uber scrapping that has always left me drooling and finally Gary's blog because everyone needs a dash of his zaniness.

The flame is yours . . .

Passing the torch . . .

Nothing like a trip to the mall to define the lines of generations. I promised Katie, age 20, and Kaity, soon to be 13, that I would buy them each a new outfit. Kaity, because school is starting soon and as one of three grandmothers, it is my responsibility, nay, my pleasure to spoil her. Katie, because some time after twelve noon tomorrow, will be missing four wisdom teeth and the prospect is daunting. Heck, if I could afford it, I would buy the kid a whole new wardrobe for going the distance with the oral surgeon. But I digress.

Hollister calls like a siren to girls between 12 and 21. I don't know if it is the dark mystic interior, the ingratiating aroma of their signature scent or the loud pulsing music, but the place is a teen magnet. Oh wait, could it possibly be the incredibly Ralph Lauren-esque male counter help drenched in pheromones, casually but conspicuously draped among the racks of clothing?

Katie has no problem. She is a pro at rifling through the stacks and zeroing in on the perfect little lacy top. One down, one to go . . . . Kaity, is more hesitant, savoring all the colors, sizes and styles. Armed with several choices she heads for the dressing room. Items one, two and three are immediately dismissed. She opens the door to display option number four and I can see Katie's eyebrows rise off her face that split second before she looks at me to see how long it will take me to nix the obvious lack of fabric on the bodice. She is right. And as my brain falters and sputters, trying to reshape the words, HELL NO, into something a little more appropriate, she comes to my rescue and suggests a tank to be worn under the offending garment. Yay Katie. She saved the day and both girls are happy.

On to that bastion of student delight . . . American Eagle. This I know is going to be harder, having just been through one aborted search for the perfect jeans with Katie the previous Friday. No less than eleven pairs had been pronounced unacceptable before, knowing her frustration tolerance was peaking to unacceptable levels; we had beaten a hasty retreat from Buckles. Amazingly, pair three in AE was a match made in heaven. Whew! Kaity, meanwhile was waffling between two pairs of shorts and a skirt. This time I must have missed Katie's warning eyebrow because I could hear her slightly raised voice telling Kaity, "No way! Mom wouldn't even let ME wear them that short." To which Kaite replied, "My mom let me buy a skirt this short just last week." And turning to me in distress, urged me to call her mom and confirm. Call I did . . . only to be told to use my judgment, which loosely translated means, 'I may have goofed but if you let her get another one, I can blame you when Kaity's dad raises the roof.' Much to my Katie's dismay, I agreed to let Kaity try on the offending slip of material telling her she had to pass both the 'bend over' and the 'sit down' test. I could see the steam wafting from Katie's ears. What had happened to the fuddy duddy who had ruled over her clothing choices at that age???? Thankfully, Kaity opted for one of the two pairs of shorts and the world as we know it is saved once again from the storm cloud that would have been Katie AND the tornado that would have been Kaity's dad had she come home with that tiny smattering of fabric. Kaity, herself, was still stinging from his pronouncement that he was not allowing her to date until she was at least his 40 something vintage. Man, I could have told her that was coming.

So there I am, realizing that the rules for each generation do indeed change. I discovered that yes; I probably would have allowed my granddaughter to buy something I would not have allowed my daughter to wear at that age. As this tidbit sunk in, with still smoldering looks from Katie, I realized that in truth, I had merely passed being the keeper of modesty onto the shoulders of the next generation. I had enough to worry about with Katie. Craig could handle Kaity.

Early morning goofin' around . . .

Credits: Paper by Amy Teets, Grids, Stamps and Stickers by Katie Pertiet, Frame by Something Blue Studios, Word Art by Anna Aspnes.

Solitude . . .

Jana, one of the girls at Spraground, created THE most awesome layout using a word cutout from a photo. Loved the layout and the technique, so, of course, I had to try it. It took more tries then I care to admit but I think I finally managed to get it.


Credits: Paper: MZD, Florish: Katie Pertiet, Fonts: Impact and Floxentine

Thanks, Jana and everyone else on that thread, for the inspiration. You ROCK!