injustice . . .

Chapter 1:

The 9TS and I were standing in the driveway last night chatting with our neighbors, (hi Nancy!) when Frank's cell rang . . . it was one very tearful kidlet. So I excused myself to see what was causing this sea of tears. Injustice. Katie has been volunteering for the American Cancer Society's Relay for Life chapter, almost as long as she has been on campus. This year she is chair. This year is also the year her old ACS liaison retired and XXX came on board. The first thing XXX did was suggest she fire her co-chair, whom he simply did not like. Katie refused to fire Mike since they had successfully worked together as a team and XXX not liking him was not grounds for dismissal. Frustrations started to build as XXX failed to provide the chapter with the materials and support they needed to successfully function. Finally, yesterday, XXX marches into Katie's place of business, plops his body in a chair across from her desk and asks her to step down from her volunteer position. Yep. Fires her. He has replaced her with a freshman who just so happens to be the daughter of a family friend. Yikes.

I know that she was bound to run into the XXX's of the world sooner or later. I had just really hoped it would be later. I was never sure why those pompous souls whose power hungry mentality exist in the first place but they do. They crop up in the work place like lava from a volcano, blustering, sputtering and spreading destruction. I've met my share.

So I offered two options: quit or accept the proffered reassignment. Being a firm believer in not burning bridges, I pushed for the latter, also suggesting she help the new girl during the transition and continue to do her level best. (The 9TS offered two broken kneecaps!)

Chapter 2: (Instant background: Katie was offered her on-campus job this summer because, in part, her now boss was her campus adviser for RFL last year and knew her capabilities.) Needless to say, when her boss heard the reason for Katie's tears, the ground rumbled. They have decided to fight the decision. Not sure where Katie gets her chutzpah but I am so proud of her.

P.S. Katie got an email from her replacement who, it turns out, neither requested the job nor wants it. She feels she is too shy, too new and too unprepared. I like this kid.

5 things I hate to admit . . .

"And now I'm supposed to tag two other people to do this and then they tag two people and so on and so on. So I'm tagging Mary and Jeanne!"

Gee thanks Michelle!!! Hummm, list five things I hate to admit about myself. Can't I just steal your list . . . it's pretty much all inclusive

1. Yep, I can hold a grudge longer than anyone. Not a nice trait but I am so good at it, I'd hate to give up something that took me 60 years to cultivate.

2. I am a sloth! (habitual disinclination to exertion; indolence; laziness) heck, I even fit the remainder of the definition: any of several slow-moving, arboreal, central Florida edentates, having a long, coarse, redish-brown coat often of a greenish cast caused by algae, moving along in a habitual upside-down position . . . . Well, except for the algae part. I am not so much into mold.

3. I'm a tad anachronistic. I belong in the late 60's. I was happy back then protesting the evils of the world, dancing barefoot in the woods . . . .

4. I am resistant to change. I like my world the way it is. I don't see the point in fixing something "if it ain't broke."

5. Did I mention SLOTH!

OK, here's the fun part, I get to tag two others to let it all hang out. Normally I would tag Kelli but she is down to the wire training for her three day/60 mile Breast Cancer walk in Dallas and, by the way, it is not to late to donate . . . . So, I am passing the flame onto Anke and Marg, who are both probably growling at me as they read. Ta ta.

clueless . . .

My darling daughter is a whiz kid. She just sort of thinks outside of the box . . . heck, she lives her life outside of the box. She is my quirky kidlet who rarely sees the forest because the trees are so darn fascinating. She walks to the beat of a different drummer. In high school, she was consumed with doing well . . . both academically and athletically . . . graduated with a 4.2 gpa, co-captain of the track team, second degree black belt . . . consumed to the point that her social life such as it was, really never got off the ground. No time for that particular forest.

But college is a different matter. Whereas before she wasn't quite in command of her quirkiness, she now embraces it. She is flying on her own and doing a damned good job. Still the over achiever, she is carrying 16 credit hours, works 15+ hours a week, chairs her college Relay for Life team and still finds time for her other passion: photography.

So whats missing from this equation? That forest known as boys; the male population. Yes she has male friends. Always has. She actually prefers them to mecurialness of women. I'm talking dates. Boyfriend/girlfriend. She is clueless. So clueless in fact that it continually gets her into trouble. Last week, she gets an email from the boy who does what she does at her school for his own school. Chairs Relay for Life and they both work in the same capacity on their respective campuses. She likes him. Packs up all her RFL stuff and heads over for their meeting. After a few moments of RFL, the conversation takes a totally different tact. Four hours later and he keeps wanting to know what she wants to do. She, confused, replies that she needs to go home and finish studying. He makes a few alternative suggests. She is more confused. She leaves.

She is still confused and rummages through her recall to try and understand what is what here. Finally, five days later, she rereads his email. "Hey you! Call me later. We should get together tonight." Hummm. No mention of RFL. The light bulb goes off. This was a date. A real date. And she had not known. So much for being in the whiz kid department of dating. Not.

And another story. Cute boy where she works. Says, "Let's go out." Clueless replies, "Oh, as friends?" Boy, "Well of course, cough, as friends, cough, absolutely, cough, of course I meant as friends." Finally, clueless' radar kicks in and she thinks possibly he was asking her out on a date, but not totally sure until her friends and her mother clue her in. Truthfully, she only likes him as a friend. All is good.

Now she was dating a nice guy last year. But again until he kissed her after the movies the first night, she hadn't realized it was truly a date. Sigh.

So how can a kid so bright, be missing a fairly essential gene? Usually, girls start to experiment in kindergarten, when Billy has something they want. Billy, doesn't know why he forks over the prize, but fork it over he does. Billy is sunk. Billy never had a chance. Katie, she just reasoned with him and Billy acquiesced. Not the same thing.

But she is starting to see the light. There is a glimmer on the horizon. She will catch on and live happily ever after. Like everything else in her world, she will, at some point in time, excel in this as well.

P.S. Lest you think I tell tales out of school, Katie had creative editing rights. She has this wonderful capacity to giggle at herself. Gotta love this kid.

and one for the road . . .

Credits: Paper: Michelle Coleman, Hullabaloo, Stamp: Scarlet Heels, Exquisite, Font: Chaos, Frame: PSE, Mask, Katie Pertiet.

Woke up at 5:00 this morning. Not a lot you can accomplish without waking the dead in this house. And the 9TS is not a happy camper until at least 9:00, so I played. Thus the layout of my favorite blue eyed cat.

Credits: Paper: Katie Pertiet, Blue Line Botanical, Stitching: Julia Makontinski, One Fine Day, Mask: Katie Pertiet, Messed Up Photo Block
Pin: Corina Neilsen, Font: CK Ali's_writing, You are loved, Tag: Designs by Vicki, Vinegar and Brown Paper

Surprisingly, the temperatures dropped last night. It's 56 this morning. By all rights, I should be making beef stew or some equally cold weather meal but instead, I just finished making a batch of bruschetta topping to go with dinner tonight . . . if it lasts that long. I am a chow hound when it comes to bruschetta . . . some toasted crusty bread, fresh tomato, basil, olive oil, garlic, a little locatelli cheese, some Balsamic vinegar . . . Frank doesn't have a chance. It won't make it past lunch.

ennui . . .

. . . a feeling of weariness and dissatisfaction : BOREDOM. I am in it's clutches . . . annoyed . . . dissatisfied . . . bored. I'm even irked it is pronounced on.we! Here I've been running around with en.ewe.ee bouncing off the walls of my brain. Yikes. So what does one do to entertain themselves in the midst of ennui, she asked in her very best fake french accent?

You play with this little gem Yearbook.com , that I picked up over at Pioneer Woman. And you can do this little vintage 1952 gem to your dear, dear hubby:

or update him into the 70's

and while fair is fair, put yourself in the 70's with him . . .

or go a little wild in the 80's . . .

or get rid of your long straight hippy hair altogether . . .

Either way, the results are worth a chuckle.

But if you still have ennui, you can go back to basics with paper and make a quick, down and dirty album of your adventures at Busch Gardens.

or decorate the cover of a plain 3 ring binder for all your Tips and Tricks instructions for PSE6, because without these handy dandy little cheat sheets, you wouldn't remember a darn thing you've learned over the past year.

Is my ennui gone? Nope but I had a good time putting it at bay for a bit. Now if I could just get through the piles of laundry and ironing . . . .

Oct Week 4 Jessica Sprague Challenge . . .

The challenge requirements for this week:

1. Use type as a design element.

2. Your layout may or may not contain additional journaling.

3. Make sure your layout has at least one photo in it.

Credits: Paper: Katie Pertiet, Fonts: CK Ali's_Writing, Yukon Gold, You Are Loved, Overlay: Kimi B.

On growing up . . .

The last time we went to visit Katie in her apartment just off campus, we beat her there by a few minutes. When she walked in the door, Frank asked, "Did you get hurt" . . . Katie, being used to her father, glared at him. Even I knew what was coming. He finished his sentence . . ." when the bomb went off?" Yep, that pretty much covered the disaster of her poor apartment . . . the one we helped her move into . . . that cute little haven . . . all decorated and oh so cute. Where had it gone . . . under the piles of rubble, the mountains of dirty, no clean . . . no dirty . . . laundry. The empty pizza boxes, soda bottles here and there, stacks of books and paperwork, sink piled high with dishes bearing remnants of assorted leftovers . . . we were lucky to find Moak in all the mess. Ewwwww.

Two months ago, I got a plaintive midnight call. There was a spider in her bedroom. Katie's view of spiders is dim to say the least. She is beyond phobic when it comes to those little creatures. They abjectly terrify her. She inherited this quality from me so I totally understand. Totally. So Katie did what any rational person with a phobia would do. She vacated her bedroom in favor of the futon in the living room and called for reinforcements . . . Mom, can you come help me clean and get rid of the spider. But of course. However, life got in the way for the 9TS and I until yesterday morning. While she was at work, we arrived with a camel load of cleaning products, garbage bags, a back hoe, and my ever trusty Dyson. Not that her vintage 1950's Electrolux doesn't work, but nothing, I repeat NOTHING, works like my Animal.

I unlocked her door expecting a visage of destruction. Surprisingly, it was not bad. Gone were the dirty dishes, the fast food bags etal. Really all we found was some typical college clutter and a mountain of laundry. It took me a couple of hours to empty her closet, clean and vacuum and reorganize her clothes as they came, load by load, out of the dryer. Her stripped bed was made with fresh linens and my trusty Dyson vomited a mere three canisters of dust and cat fur. By the time she arrived home, all that was left were a few more loads of laundry and a pile for the dumpster. Tonight, she could once again sleep in her own bed.

For dinner, she found us this really delightful Italian restaurant. Family run. Delicious. As we parted ways, she whispered in my ear . . . mom, don't tell anyone, but I think I'm really starting to like to clean. Hallelujah! I am so proud of this kid. She is growing up. She is learning to fly. And, she is doing one heck of a good job. Have I mentioned how much I love this kid . . . spider phobias and all? I do, I really, really do.

Today is brought to you by the letter C . . .

Cuddly. Critter. Curiosity. Colorful. Cute. Charming. Cheerful. Capricious. Crafty. Cunning. Charismatic. Choosy. Crazy. CAT!

Bearly awake . . .

You know it's a lazy day when you have to wake up the cats for a photo op. Ninja took one look, slithered off the bed and then under it. Snoop glared, stood his full height, stretched to make sure I knew exactly how big he really was, turned his back and left for points unknown. Only my snuggle bunny obliged. Well, maybe not obliged, but Bear did open an eye, acquiesce to a few shots and went right back to sleep. Gotta love this cat.

one snake, two snake, see my wake . . .

This morning, as every Sunday morning, I went grocery shopping. Unlike most Sundays, a large tub of Kaukauna Port Wine Cheese spread hopped into my cart along with a box of Ritz . . . nice buttery Ritz crackers . . . So I had some for breakfast . . . and lunch . . . and . . . Then came the major case of guilt. And, since we had just yesterday, readied my bike for the season, I thought I would take a ride up the street and checkout the new sidewalks they have been building for the last year. Halfway to my destination, I spied the first one. Big and black and wiggly . . . I just caught sight of him slithering his way into the brush. Yuck! I am not a fan of snakes. Knowing that was surely the last of the unpleasant beasties, I kept on pedaling, when lo and behold, I spy ANOTHER one. And this one is crossing my path. I quickly gauged how fast we are both going and figured out he will have crossed over to the other side before I get there. And my calculations would have been correct if the darn snake hadn't panicked and doubled back . . . right under my wheels. My feet, of course, at this point in time, were safely on my handle bars, right next to my wildly thumping heart. ACK! Time to turn around and head home . . . frantically scanning in all directions like some swivel-headed loon.

All was fine and dandy until my still beating heart and I got to the last intersection. The new road, still under construction did not quite meet the lip of the sidewalk . . . think two inch gap. So I did what I had done for years . . . sped up and jumped the lip. Here in lies the problem. Apparently what is second nature at age ten is not so at age 60 and down I went. Of course it was my ego that was bruised more than anything . . . I think maybe it's time to put my bike away for the season. I need a glass of wine.

cats and kidney stones . . .

Between Thursday and Friday, I hauled all three beasties to the vet for their annual check ups. Bear and Ninja traveled together in separate carriers . . . not happily I might add. Although Ninja appears brave on the surface and, is indeed, brave in the safety of her own house, she melted into a pathetic mess of stressed out panting fur with enormous wide eyes. Not a pretty site. Bear, always the chicken heart, was not much better. Pronounced healthy, they were happy to be back on home ground and immediately checked out the house to make sure nothing had changed and fell asleep in one mass of fur.

Snoopy is a tad trickier to get to the vet. God bless Pill Pockets and Acepromazine. After a few hairy moments, a very subdued Snoop was in his carrier and on his way. Unlike his cousins, he is not vocal during the trip. Instead he is paralyzed with fear. Wide eyed. Frozen. And since he will not allow normal chores to be done at home, he gets more attention at the vets . . . nails clipped . . . Advantage applied . . . an extra shot because he goes out onto the screened in pool deck. And yesterday to compound his misery, he got an X-ray. He has a kidney stone. Poor baby. At least he and the 9TS have something in common. The 9TS was getting a C-scan at the very same time to see if his kidney stones had changed or migrated. Cosmic influence I say!!!!

All three are rescue kitties. How could you throw out a face like this? Don't get me started! Sigh.


Credits: Background Paper: Julia Makotinski, #17 Tiny Jewels
Dotted Line: Andrea Victoria
Butterfly: Julia Makotinski, French Country
Fonts: You are Loved and Pea Jay
Stacked Element:
Photo Frame: Katie Pertiet
08: Katie Teague, Best of Volume one.
Red Tag: Katie Teague, Best of Volume One.
Paper Clip: Shabby Princess, Fun Festival
White Lined Paper: Jessica Sprague, Journaling Blocks
Brown Edged Paper: Designs by Vicki, Vinegar and Brown Paper

cosmic order . . .

Last night we had a horrific storm. At 5:00, as I was starting dinner, it was black outside. . . . as in as dark as a normal midnight sky can get. At 5:30, I glanced outside to see the world an eerie green . . . like something straight out of the Wizard of Oz. Not long after, everything was bathed in a golden hue. Twenty minutes later, all was back to normal. Awesome and fierce mother nature! Awesome and fierce.

Sometimes I think there is this magical cosmic order to life. Not exactly deja vu, not merely coincidence, surely not always accidental. Stacie sent me a couple of shots that her neighbor and friend Pam took after the storm. She had not read my blog when she forwarded the photos to me.





Co-inky-dink? Naw. Mother Nature and Cosmic Order.

chasing rainbows . . .

Yet one more trek to Moffitt Cancer Center. More good news and we don't have to do that drive again for another four months. Hooray. Going over this time was more than a little hairy for she who does not like interstate driving even on a good day. And this was no good day. Thankfully, the nine toed sloth was up for doing the driving in this:

Which left chicken heart (moi) and her camera to hunt for these lovelies which seemed to be popping up around every corner. I know they are rather faint but give me credit for catching anything at 70 mph!!!!

and I think I'll sneak one last new one in for Michelle.

seriously disturbing . . .

I have a new place to visit on my pre-dawn meanderings. http://vi.sualize.us/ An amazing little site that lets you collect . . . in one neat tidy place . . . all those audacious little visuals you discover on the net. I was first introduced to this site by Jessica Sprague during her Type+Writer class and started collecting simple samples of typography. Like this . . .


and this . . .

and this one . . .

or even this . . .

and then, going back to my first love . . . pen and ink . . . I discovered sketches like this . . .

and these three
1.

2.
.
and 3.

and then discovered this . . . .

which led to this . . .

and last, but not least . . . here

at which point, I realized, of course, that I had slipped over into that territory known as . . . seriously disturbing . . . but oh so hysterical. (Thanks Carmela for leading me to the last two.)

this one is for Michelle . . .

Because she needs cheering up and because we all know about her affinity for these little guys.

and these . . .

And these . . . not sure what happened to them. They look a tad pale.

Did we make you smile????

telling tales out of class . . .

Monday, shamed by the Homeowners Association meeting, I did some weeding, bagged the results and set them on top of another bag to wait for pick up day. Yesterday, I dragged both bags to the curb. Yesterday, was also Frank's first solo outing . . . he took his baby to the tire store. Just three short minutes after he departed, I get a call announcing he had run over one of the weed bags while backing out of the driveway and would I please clean up the mess. Grumble, grumble, grumble. I pouted for twenty minutes or so before meandering out, fresh trash bag in hand, to clean up the mess. There on the curb was bag #2. Bag #1 was no where to be seen. But there was a trail. Not a thick you-can-sweep-it-up trail, but still an obvious trail. It led from the curb, around the cul-de-sac and off down the street. I followed it like some wayward blood hound toward the entrance to the neighborhood, expecting any minute to see the remains of the bag. Nothing. Just the thin trail of dust and dirt fading off into the sunset.

When Frank returned, he did mention that someone pointed out the remnant of a black plastic bag hanging from his left front wheel well. Sigh. Now you understand why I am better off not weeding.

Today, we ran errands. One of them entailed a visit to Target where Frank snagged himself an electric buggy. He sat a stride the beast and took off with a hearty Hi-Ho-Silver. Away! Of course I think he tried to run down half the other patrons (and me), with his lean mean traveling machine. You should have seen us scatter. Then there was the end cap display he nicked . . . and the precarious corner he made in the garden section. With a maniacal gleam in his eye, he complained about its lack of speed and its one 'square' tire . . . . Surely he was channeling Mr. Toad. What a terror! They were glad to see us go.

Note to self: Remove the link to my blog from Frank's computer. He is not fond of me telling some of our adventures . . . this could be one of them.