Photo editing . . .

I mentioned before that I was taking an on-line photo editing class by my favorite digi guru, Jessica Sprague. This class is awesome. As I finished the 'week two' assignment, my jaw dropped. It is amazing to me how what I thought was a pretty decent image was, in reality, pretty boring until hit with a little fairy dust a la Photoshop.



I took this shot of three little girls watching their father fish, a couple of months back. The top image is straight out of the camera. The second shot is after being edited in Photoshop and the last image, after being edited in Adobe Camera Raw. And this is just the beginning. How can I help but be beyond jazzed.

Caught this guy yesterday at the beach. He looks better if you click on him to make him bigger.



Credits: Mask by K.Pertiet

celebrations . . .

The 9TS is a year older today. Unlike last year when he wanted a huge blow out and then didn't and then did and then didn't, and ended up with a giant surprise party. And, it really was a surprise . . . as in poor Vic and Adam, appearing first on our doorstep, were greeted by the 9TS with a hearty, "What are you doing here?" Anyway, this year he wanted low key and low key he shall have ... I haven't even made his card yet. ACK!

On another note, as of late, I have found myself getting a little burned out on scrapping. I know, I know. The horror of it. So I am taking a break and concentrating on my first love, photography. At first I blamed this renewed obsession on Veevs who got me so jazzed about textures and then I blamed Jessica because her on-line photo editing class went live and then I blamed the Saturday morning photography classes that came with my camera. And then I realized. No blame. Just shear happiness. I am loving taking photography to new levels. Many thanks to Veevs, Jess and Ritz (the store, not the cookie), for making me gleeful again.

And then last, but not least. The pièce de résistance and the reason for my new camera, the 9TS and I are going on our much delayed honeymoon. When we first got married in 1997, Katie was seven and had been through the very major upheaval of a divorce and paternal abandonment. I just couldn't, in all good conscience, say, well kidlet, your life has been turned upside down and now it's adios for a week or two. Nope. Couldn't do it. But on our last family vacation she announced she was pretty much done with that sort of escapade. The 9TS and I looked at each other and our eyes lit up. Honeymoon, here we come. June 2009. Stay tuned. Tippy tappy, tippy tappy, tippy tappy!!!!

food for thought . . .

Sunday, being Sunday, I made a big dinner. I know, I know. It's a hold over from the days of the dinosaurs when Sunday dinner was a huge deal. We would wake up grumbling about not being allowed to sleep in, bathe, apply baby oil to our patent leather shoes, dress in our Sunday best, squirm and slide around on those big hard polished pews for an hour, come home and have to stay in our finery until dinner at 1:00. It was always something special . . . a juicy roast of beef . . . roasted chicken . . . a plump turkey . . . lamb. The rest of the week might be casseroles but Sunday dinner was my mother's claim to fame. And that made Sunday night a free for all, her night off, we fended for ourselves. Ode to PB&J.

Some traditions are hard to break and I still like to make Sunday dinner a little bit special. This time it was a roasted chicken with stuffing, mashed potatoes, corn on the cob, steaming crescent rolls, homemade gravy and cranberry sauce. Yummo.

But then comes Monday and while the 9TS is not big on leftovers, I was happily googling new recipes for chicken salad. I found one. And it was good. So good in fact, I am going to make another batch this morning.

Chicken Salad - From Food Network Kitchens

2 cups diced poached chicken
1 stalk celery, cut into 1/4-inch dice
1 teaspoons finely chopped fresh tarragon or fresh dill
1 tablespoon finely chopped parsley
1/2 cup prepared or homemade mayonnaise
1 teaspoon strained freshly squeezed lemon juice
1 teaspoon Dijon mustard
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt freshly ground black pepper

Directions:

In a mixing bowl, toss together the chicken, celery, scallions and herbs. Set aside. In a small bowl, whisk together the mayonnaise, lemon juice, mustard, salt and pepper to taste. Add to the chicken and mix gently until combined. Refrigerate until ready to serve. Cook's Note: Serve on a bed of lettuce with sliced tomatoes, in half an avocado or in a chicken club sandwich made with artisan bread, crispy smoked bacon, vine-ripened tomatoes and lettuce.

OK, for you purists, I modified it. I am not a raw onion eater. Sauteed, yes. Raw, no. Scratch the onion. I also didn't have fresh dill and parsley hanging around. Dry was good. Honest. The lemon was fresh. As in plucked off the tree minutes before squeezing.

Oh, and as for the 9TS and leftovers . . . he finished off what I didn't eat.

tales from the cart . . .

If you live in or have visited the Southeastern United States, chances are you have shopped or know someone who shops at Publix . . . my favorite grocery chain and I'm not just saying that because it provides two of the 9TS's kids their livelihood. Every Sunday morning, there I am, pushing my cart past the Boar's Head meats, down among the stewed tomatoes and artichoke hearts, through the Wheaties and Rice Crispies, amidst the cat food tins and down along the produce . . . pinching, plucking, pondering. That be me. I'm not sure what it was that set me to thinking this morning about some of my more illustrious escapades in those aisles but one by one they popped out of the recesses of my mad cow infested brain . . .

Like the time I was minding my own business trying to decide on which block of cheese I wanted when this odd little woman sauntered up along side me . . . in my face close . . . looked me right in the eye and yelled: SHUT UP! and then skittered away. Huh?

Or the time Katie was itty bitty brand new and in a Snugli. Another little old lady came up, peered into my sling and started with the usual . . . oh how cute . . . how old is she? etc., etc. I didn't mind her following me down the first two aisles but after that it got a little tiresome and when she turned around for a second, I was three aisles away hiding between the Kleenex and the toilet paper, happy to be rid of her. I know that is unkind. I know she was just elderly and lonesome and some day I will be beleaguering new parents just to keep the memory of my young motherhood alive. But honestly, she was getting creepy. All went well as I loaded my goodies, one by one, onto the conveyor belt and, this being a small town, the girls on the register had seen me go from skinny minnie to bloated cow over the last nine months, as had the bag boys. So when the old lady reappeared out of nowhere, and asked politely for HER baby back, more than just my head shot up. We all stared at her. Again she asked, nay demanded, her baby. And again, yet louder, until she was shrieking and I was freaking out. A phalanx of Publix employees surrounded Katie and I and escorted us safely out to my car while the poor woman screamed in fear for the loss of her child. I was shaken to the core. I can only imagine the pain she was in.

And then the time I escaped to Publix sans Katie . . . she being age 3-ish. As I walked in one entrance, a woman holding MY daughter's hand walked in the other. I had to do a double take to realize that although her little blond haired waif was wearing an identical dress to one Katie owned and the identical pair of shoes . . . she was indeed not my child. But she looked so much like a combination of Katie and a reflection of myself at that age, I stood rooted and gawking. Soon the other mom was glaring back. I couldn't blame her. I blathered out the reason for my ill mannered behavior and we started chatting. Turned out her daughter was born at the same hospital and amazingly just one day prior to Katie. We had been in the hospital at the same time. What a remarkable coincidence. After a bit, we parted ways. Now if you know me, you know my odd little brain has a tendency to run its own rather convoluted thought processes. Here was this child who looked more like me than my own kidlet . . . who was born in the same hospital . . . just one day prior . . . and into my brain were seeping thoughts of hospital mistakes and switched babes. ACK. I sped home, hugged my munchkin, called a friend who knew I was a freak and finally calmed down. To this day I am ever so happy when people say they see the resemblance between the Bean and I.

OK, remind me again why I like this store?!?!?

Seriously folks . . .

The 9TS loves war movies. His special favorite is anything having to do with WW2. But if it even hints of military, he is watching it. Me, not so much. I'm more a chick flick kinda gal who leans toward the Bruce Willis/Steven Seagal/Denzel Washington knock down/shoot em up genre. But, as long as I have my laptop, I really don't care what he is watching and that included last nights HBO movie Taking Chance. So between it being war related and starring Kevin Bacon . . . sorry Footloose fans, he does nothing for me . . . I took one peek and dove back into computerland.

But I couldn't help myself . . . something drew me in. At first I kept waiting for the movie to start. You know . . . waiting for the hook. No hook. So I decided I had to know where this was going and googled the movie. Next thing you know, my laptop is in hibernation and I am . . . well . . hooked. Incredibly well acted. Incredibly heart wrenching. Incredibly simple. Incredibly patriotic. A must see. As in, if you don't get HBO, steal it from a neighbor who does. It's that good. End of story.

Does your mom read your blog . . .

was a question posted over on Cjane's blog and it got me thinking.

No, my mother, having passed away in 1962, most certainly does not read my blog. So who does?

My darling quirky kidlet does and is good about leaving evidence thereof in the form of comments . . . the 9TS's eldest . . . waving to Stacie . . . also reads my blog but never leaves comments, but could, I mean if she wanted to . . . hint, hint, hint. Oh and speaking of the 9TS, he did ask at one point if I would bookmark it for him on his pc which I did. But then after watching him cringe as I read him excerpts as I was typing, I sneaked downstairs and deleted the connection. I think he is happier that way.

At one point I added FEEDJIT to my side bar to see who was reading my ramblings but it started to freak me out since I don't know anyone in Idaho or Montana or Outer Mongolia or that remote fishing village half way down the Amazon . . . so I deleted it. Maybe I don't really want to know who reads my blog. I mean maybe they are really lovely people and I would enjoy having them as next door neighbors and sharing gossip over a cup of Joe every morning, but what if they are weirdos ensconced in their barcaloungers in their damp clammy basements, hooked up 24/7 to their laptops, furtively reading the lives of others while fondling their Star Wars figurines??? I'm just saying . . .

So, if you do read my blog, it's OK to leave a note and say hi. I'd like that.

ready . . set . . .

Action!!!! I finally tried an action today. And this was the result. Is this photo not gorgeous? And all I had to do was press a button. One little button. Amazing.


Credits: Paper and pin head: Vinnie Pearce, Pin Body and text: Katie Pertiet, Action and mask: Something Blue Studios.

Here is the original photo so you can see the difference.

It would literally have taken me hours of fiddling around to create something similar to Lynn's action. Doing a happy dance. Tippy tap, tippy tap.

There is something . . .

so appealing about something so bizarre it just makes me chuckle. Can you imagine sporting a slab of bacon on a cut? How about a knee covered in pork? A blister cuddled tenderly under a hunk of ham? It would give new meaning to pig's knuckles when wrapped around a phalanges.

And whose mind is it that comes up with these goodies. Was it the studious kid in the front row, raptly attentive during anatomy, who flew through his gifted classes, graduated from Johns Hopkins with honors and then suddenly, inexplicably, burned out like . . . well, like bacon sizzling in a skillet.

Or was it the jokester from the back of the bus . . . the one who never did his homework but reveled in his title of class clown? Was he sitting in front of the T.V. one night, beer in one hand, munching on a peanut butter and bacon sandwich with the other, when the light bulb went off?

I have no idea. But it obviously amuses me. So to whomever it was that created Bacon Strips, I thank you.

the fascination . . .

with overlays and textures continues . . .


Credits: Paper: Linda Roos, Dots and Overlays: Roben-Marie Smith @ Paperbag Studios, Fonts: LB_Typewriter and CK Alis_Handwriting, Heart and Stitches: Taylor Made, Staples: Pattie Knox

And no, that is not my house. I could however, be induced to occupy it in a moments notice. Really, I could.

Life's little oddities . . .

This morning the 9TS and I left the house at 5:15 a.m., heading to Tampa for his four month check up. I woke up long enough to catch a shot of the moon setting . . . in my side of the world, we normally catch it rising over the ocean.



The news was good and although we were doing a happy dance, I was inevitably bored on the second leg of our four hour trek. Out came my camera. Lots of silly stuff going on.

My favorite of course, are the Air Streams which apparently dove one after another off the diving board into the pool having forgotten to first check the water level.







Then we have the normal power lines.



But because we are in mouse territory, we have these.





And although I have passed this roadside artifact numerous times, this is the first time I noticed the poor man, doomed for all eternity, to hang half way out the plane door. Hope he went to the bathroom first.



Beats playing I Spy.

Mayhem in the Manor . . .

Tuesday, the 9TS came home from the gym, expounding the virtues of a new step machine he had tackled. He was invigorated. Pumped. Totally jazzed. That is until sometime past dinner when, after disappearing for a bit, he reappeared looking decidedly perplexed. It seems that along with the normal awkward rhythm section that is his rebuilt heart, he had added a piccolo. A slightly nervous piccolo. A drunken piccolo as it were. The 9TS was not happy with this interloper, neither it seems was his blood pressure. After much consideration it was decided that the band should pack up its bags and march to the hospital for a private performance. And there was the piccolo, on screen in his big debut, doing his utmost to keep up with the base drum and the snares . . . failing miserably . . . off beat and off key. They kept the 9TS overnight.

The next morning, slightly drugged, the piccolo was more cooperative and while still in desperate need of a Julliard education, he was now playing nice with the big boys and I was allowed to bring the 9TS home. The entire band has decided to lay low for a while.

On another topic, I woke up this morning to someone gently stroking my hair. Deftly lifting the curls off my head and dropping them softly onto the pillow. It was quite a pleasant sensation in my semi sleeping state until I awoke enough to realize that it was not the 9TS and therefore not quite so endearing. I contemplated the alternatives and realized it was none other than Ninja trying her best to weasel down between the covers which were wrapped tightly around my neck. In this below freezing weather, the temperature in the house had apparently dropped sufficiently so that her favorite black coat was no longer doing its job and she was, in actuality, trying to dig her way under the covers to nestle along side me rather than on top. I obliged.

The boys on the other hand decided 6:31 a.m. would be a good time to spar. I wouldn't mind so much except once again, I had drifted off to sleep. Sigh.





and yes, I do keep my camera next to the bed . . . "the better to see you with", said the big bad wolf.

texture . . .

Veevs, one of the girls over at Spraground, does THE most marvelous photographic treatments using layers of texture and blending modes. I look at her work and drool. I finally got up my nerve and asked for a tutorial and she obliged. How sweet was that?!?. So I printed off her instructions, pulled open a photo and went to town. Here is my before:



and my after:



I love knowing how to do this. But, if you want to see a pro at work, check out Veevs site here. She really turns photos into works of art. Thanks again Veevs, for the tutorial. Amazing stuff.

Terror on the merry-go-round . . .

Sunday is laundry day in this neck of the woods. All my clothes were separated and waiting their turn for the joyride of their existence . . . spinning and frolicking among the suds and water. They were so excited. The darks . . . always the pushiest of the bunch strong armed their way to the head of the line and obediently hopped, one by one, into the drum, giggling with excitement. Closing the door behind them, I filled the drawer with detergent and started the machine. You could hear them kibitzing . . hold tight now . . . keep your eyes closed and your arms up . . . don't look down . . . oh, they were having a ball. The faster the drum sped, the happier came their voices until somewhere during the final spin, something went terribly awry. I could hear the terror inch into their cries, they were holding on tightly to each other . . . starting to panic. The knocking inside the drum becoming deafening. Both the 9TS and I ran to see what the commotion was . . wondering if our dear winter woolies were safe. Finally, the jack hammering stopped and I quickly opened the door. At first, the darks were all stunned, sitting there in a damp huddled mass. As I gently lifted each one out in turn, and gave them a careful shake to bring them back to life, little bits of plastic rained down onto the floor.

With all the little fellows tucked in the warm, safe cocoon of the dryer, the 9TS started his investigation and shortly discovered the entire drum was out of line and huge chunks of plastic had been shaved off the edge and spewed all over. The 9TS's bathrobe quickly announced he really was not so dirty after all, and the whites took off for points unknown. Only the towels did not budge. Knowing their life to be a utilitarian one, they understood, should they be damaged, they would be resurrected as a floor mop . . . a dust rag . . . a shoe polisher . . . all well respected occupations. But, alas, there would be no second ride today.