bike week . . .

Credits: Paper: Shabby Princess. Fonts: Retro Rock Poster, CK_Ali's Writing, Century Gothic.

anticpatory glee . . .

This morning is the sign up for Jessica Sprague's Scrapbook Alchemy class. I am so looking forward to this class and typing up a storm with little gooey fingers. The perfect marriage . . .
hybridosity. Hooray.

On another front, Lynn Weber over at debbiehodges.com is offering an intermediate editing class on things like removing wrinkles and turkey neck. I need this. And it's one heck of a lot cheaper than botox or a face lift. Heck, do a face lift on me and my nose may stop visiting my chin and go back where it belongs. The foibles of old age.

So I am excited. New goodies to learn. And of course if I am busy learning, I can't possibly be off weeding, cleaning and other various and sundry chores not on top of my favorite things to do list. Now can I?

the zoo be done . . .

Thanks for being patient while I worked on the zoo album. Piece by piece. It is finally done and bound. So much fun.

Front cover:


Back cover:


Inside sample:

you've seen all the rest . . .

and the last page. Bear. OK, so he wasn't really at the zoo that day and he really isn't a b.e.a.r. . . . but don't tell him. He thinks he is a wild and woolly bear of epic proportions.

playtime . . .

Sometimes I just don't want to play by the rules. Today was one of them. So I took Katie's shot of our Scottie door stop, duplicated him and dumped him into his very own doggy yard with a little help from: Lynn Mare Favreau, Summer Driggs, Julia Makotinsky, Fei, Cinnamon, Danielle, and some of my own flowers. So there!

texture tantrum . . .

Here's my entry for this periods Texture Challenge. Although I don't get the rich textures and colors that Veevs and the crew get, I really like working them

Credits: Photo by Kate. Textures and overlays by SBS Studios and Katie Pertiet

Happy Birthday . . .

TINKA!!!!!

Mad Skillz . . .

Taking a little Mad Digital Skillz class from Pattie Knox over at www.debbiehodge.com while waiting for Jessica Sprague's Alchemy class to start on the 30th. Today's lesson was on removing parts of overlapping elements such as paper clips. Fun stuff.



Credits: Design and paper clip: Pattie Knox. Papers and frame: Katie Pertiet, Journaling Spots: Lynn Grieveson, Alpha; Catrine, Font: MaFishy.

sproing . . .

I'm a barefoot, jeans and T-shirt kinda girl. That was my uniform of choice as a child, lent itself well through my hippie years and what the heck, things were going so well, I was all of a sudden in my 50's and still happily clad in them. Denim and cotton, the fabrics of my life . . .

Middle age spread came, thankfully, late in my little corner of the world, but when it did, it came with a single minded veracity . . . I was exponentially exploding. I whizzed out of my size 4's and 6's, into 8's, stopped in 10's long enough to say hello and kept on going. Jeans were no longer comfortable around my spreading waist and other burgeoning body parts. I mean lets face it ladies, unless you are aged somewhere between 12 and 20, there are lumps and scrumps to be dealt with. Yeah, I'm including you . . . well, some of you . . . OK, just me. Sigh.

As long as my old wardrobe was being purged, I figured I might just as well acquire a little more style and headed on a shopping expedition. After unburdening my woes, the saleswoman expounded on the virtues of stretch fabric. I returned home with three pairs of really cute crop pants, one of which was, of course, denim because I am after all, an old dog and we all know about those beasts and new tricks. When I tried them on in the store, they were perfect . . . no obvious pantie lines, no more tight in the butt but big in the waist or vice versa. I was a happy camper.

So I rise in the morning, slip into my new duds and start my day happy and comfy and finally looking a little more put together than usual in my matching top and scarf. A few hours later and I was still reveling in my new found comfort zone . . . loving no longer feeling like a sausage jammed in casing, hanging from the ceiling of the deli section. But by lunch time, I realized that after repeatedly hiking up my pants, things were getting decidedly looser. And by dinner the crotch of my pants were inching toward my knees. I added a belt. As I undressed for bed, the darn things slipped right over my hips and onto the floor without stopping to be unzipped or unbuttoned. The next time I wore them, the same thing happened and I was now considering the merits of suspenders. Is this really what is meant by stretch fabric? I happily returned the other two pairs for a smaller size.

one of the great things . . .

about living where I do is the occasional night time entertainment called shuttle launches.



Of course on the 11th the only thing I got was the moon . . . the shuttle being aborted.

But tonight. Through the trees across the street, we get this:



and this:



and to lighten it up a bit . . . we have the trail . . .



and the mouse thinks he has the happiest place on earth . . .

and the ants go marching two by two . . .

Credits: Paper: Julia Makontinsky, Staples: Catrine, Sticker: Adrian Ropp, Font: MaFishy, Frame: Ali Edwards, Alpha & Brush: Katie Pertiet.

wimp . . .

Now I know myself pretty well and while I am, on the whole, quite happy being me, I fall tremendously short on the confrontation front. I hate face offs in any way, shape or form. I will avoid them like the plague . . . run screaming the other way . . . hide under the bed . . . dig in my heels and generally behave worse than a two year old. And why do I bring this up? Because for the last three or four, maybe . . . seven months, I have been out of one particular hair product sold locally at only one salon. The one at which I used to get my hair done. And why don't I march right in, money in hand and purchase said product??? Because I am a wimp. And she scares me. There, I said it. The Brunhilda of the hair industry scares me.

She was the first person to color my hair and the first person to cut it so that it's natural curl was let loose. I loved it. Brunhilda was my idol. I had an outstanding cut and a no more gray. Perfect. But ever so slowly, as the years rolled by, it dawned on me that Brunhilda, queen of the snippers, was a tad, well . . . territorial and rigid. She had found my style and that was that. And while I wanted to tone down the red just a tad, Brunhilda wanted to up the wattage and up it she did. I was starting to resemble Bozo the clown. And when I suggested, magazine in hand, that it would be neat to have my hair stacked in a bob, she unceremoniously dumped said magazine in the trash amid a tirade of monumental proportions. No stacking for me. She had found my style whether I liked it or not . . . and I was definitely leaning toward not. I walked out of the salon for the last time in an orange haze of fluff . . . never to return.

As the gray started to inch its way back into my life and my hair started to sprout in twelve cowlick-y directions, I faced the monumental task of finding someone else to tame the tendrils. I was at a total loss. I have this problem letting someone whose hair has been bleached and processed beyond recognition, play with my hair. If that is the best you can do for yourself, you aren't coming near me . . . I was getting shaggier and grayer by the moment.

One day, I walked into the salon where the 9TS keeps me in massage certificates and bemoaned my fate. The receptionist motioned for this waif to come forward and I poured out my soul. She grabbed me by the hand, directed me to a perfectly cut stacked bob and announced she had just finished it. Oh, happy day. My hair is the color and cut I like.

But I have run out of Phytocurl and while I can buy it on line, I hate paying exorbitant shipping fees. So today I am going to venture forth . . . courage screwed up . . . into the den of Brunhilda . . praying it is her day off. Wish me luck.

EDIT: Brunhilda was in and in rare form. After her initial hello, she lost it. Announced to whomever that she was tired of designing styles only to have them stolen by others. Huh? Then proceeded to tell me my cut was so-so but my hair was dull. "Are you coloring it yourself?" ROFL. Poor Brunhilda, she does have an Achilles heel after all. I grabbed my bottle of goodness and sprinted back to my car. I am woman, hear me meow!

with a quack, quack here and a . . .

quack, quack there . . .


Credits: Paper and floral elements: Vinnie Pearce. Ribbon: Roben-Marie Smith, Font: MaFishy, Photo frame: Katie Pertiet, Frame: Ali Edwards

So I get this layout together and I realize I have no idea what kind of bird it is. I google herons and storks and nothing looks just right. So I email the JAX Zoo and ta da. He is a Stanley crane, also known as a Blue crane or a Paradise crane. And, his name is Stanley . . . . Stanley Crane. And you thought I had a warped sense of humor! Thank you Donna Bear-Hull, Curator of Birds.

Vroom, vroom . . .

We are going for a drive today. A very long spin on the interstate to St. Augustine to blow out the carburetor of my Miata. If it had a carburetor. Actually it has a gunked up catalytic converter. Maybe. My mechanic isn't sure. But I still like him. This is a last ditch effort to get rid of that infernal engine light that had been glaring at me from my dash board lo these many months. We are hoping for self correction.

I love tooling along the interstate in a car the size of a jelly bean, getting whiplash every time a semi blows past me. Miata's were not made for long straight stretches of asphalt doing 85 mph. They were made for winding, curb hugging switchbacks . . . screaming down country lanes . . . jockey rocketing off stop lights . . . they were made to spin out in loose gravel and ricochet back under control . . . not that I would know any of that first hand . . . Lord, I love my little aged Miata. It pains me to see it ailing.

Anyway. That's where we are going. Oh, and of course my camera is coming too. If I left him behind, he would get all weepy which of course would cause major internal damage and we can't have that.

Oh and did I mention it's a drop dead gorgeous day . . .

*********************************************************************************

The main street of historic St. Augustine.


This is the least crowded I have ever seen it and the weather is perfect.


The entrance to one of the museums.


OK, so wherever I go, there is some type of oddity. I am an oddity magnet. I just happened to like this one.


I hate interstate driving. Have I mentioned that? I really do. And who wants to drive with a passel of road rage enhanced lunatics when they can drive home along the ocean instead.


I'm just asking . . .

bongo, who? . . .

Credits: Paper and elements: Vinnie Pearce and Lynne Favreau. Font: MaFishy. Staple: Catrine.

elephant walk . . .

Credits: Paper and sticker: Vinnie Pearce, Frame, tag, twill: Katie Pertiet, Staples: Catrine.

here kitty, kitty . . .

Credits: Paper: Vinnie Pearce, Sticker: Irene Alexeeva, Photo Frame: Katie Pertiet, Font: MaFishy, Staples: Catrine, Frame: Ali Edwards.

this one's for the birds . . .

Can you stand one more? . . . snicker, snicker. Or two? or more? I've decided to put together an album.


Credits: Paper and embellishments: Vinnie Pearce, Staples: Catrine, Frame: Ali Edwards, Font: MaFishy.

On another note, Katie was home for an appointment bright and early this morning . . . rolled in late last night. So we decided a family breakfast at Denny's was in order before she headed back. Little did I remember, hanging around the cave as much as I do, that it was bike week in these here parts. Denny's was packed. We were finally shown a booth and as I scurried toward the inside seat, the 9TS plopped in along side me and was suddenly, a good three inches shorter
. . . he, having fallen down the rabbit hole that was his portion of the bench . . . the strips of duck tape should have warned us.

So there we were, knee high in French toast, Grand Slams and hash browns being entertained by the non-stop parade of bikers. They come in every size and shape but our favorite was the rather rotund fellow, with the sleeveless T, multiple tats and a spiked mohawk that stood in salute over his otherwise bald dome. The 9TS, eyes twinkling, quickly offered to set Katie up with him. Orbs flashing back, she was not amused.

Finally in this sea of leather, do-rags, and testosterone came four clean cut collegians of the male persuasion. Katie's eyes lit up. The 9TS's dimmed. I love watching the two of them spar using nothing but their eyes. They have perfected it to an art. Vroom, vroom, vroom!

Oxymoron: Today is Happy Emo day.

If you can't lick 'em . . .

join 'em. Anke made me curious. Curious enough to buy Cassie Jones' tut on extractions. Took me a while and I made such a mess of the shadow, I deleted it and redid it the old fashioned way. I will tackle Cassie's version another day. Here is Jeffrey just busting out of his frame.


Credits: Papers and elements: Vinnie Pearce, Staples: Catrine, Dots: Roben-Marie Smith, Font: MaFishy.

Whew! she said, wiping the sweat from her brow. That is done. Oh, and p.s. did I forget to mention that it was Katie's hand holding onto Jeff's lunch??? Just a little factoid thrown in there.

a great suggestion . . .

from Anke. She thought it would look great if I did an extraction and made the giraffe pop out of the frame. Love the idea. But . . . ROFL . . . I have no stinkin' idea how to do a decent extraction let alone have it pop out of anywhere. Did I sleep through that lesson????? Do I need to pass out 3D glasses before viewing????

I tried though . . . struggling with the extraction because of the leaves and the mane. I gave up, but refused to admit defeat. I tried a new tact. I pulled out my trusty eraser and went to town on that poor unsuspecting giraffe. I erased the stuffing out of him and his midday snack and then got the brilliant idea to convert what was left of him, into a .png file. Ummmm, not my best thought process at work. Then I layered the new, slightly moth eaten looking, .png over the original photo and enlarged it a bit to cover the giraffe behind door number 2, so that his lunch was now poking out of the frame. Not Jeffrey's best look. So I merged the frame and the .png and it looked a tad better. Then I moved the sticker to cover the boo boo on his butt. Are you with me so far? It's done. Edited and posted. Turns out I am just not one of Jessica's two thousand success stories. Totally not her fault.

The village called. They want their idiot back. That's my excuse and I'm sticking to it.

goodness in the tummy . . .

My friend Laura, has been feeding me Mexican flavored recipes for a while now, from a book she got many moons ago when first married. We've become attached to her choices. Even Katie. The other day, I received a brown paper package in the mail addressed from Wisconsin. To my utter delight, it was a copy of the 40th Anniversary Recipe Collection, from the makers of Pace Picante Sauce. The very same recipe book she'd been using all these years. Her husband found it in a book store and knowing how much we enjoyed it's contents, snagged us a copy. Hooray and thank you Dennis.

Yesterday when I was making out the week's grocery list, the 9TS requested a beef free week . . . he, having exceed his allotted consumption in the previous few days. Out came THE book. And tonight, before heading to the movies, I made the Southwest Skillet Supper over Laura's rice. OK, so technically, its called Rio Grande Rice, but we've been calling it Laura's rice for so long, the name has stuck. Yummo! Talk about low fat goodness . . . the 9TS was a happy camper and pronounced it a "do again" which means it had been added to our permanent list of must eats. And so, I must share.

Southwest Skillet Supper

1 medium onion cut into 1/2 inch wedges
1 garlic clove, minced
1 tablespoon butter or margarine
2 cups diced cooked chicken
2 cups zucchini, cut into 1/2 inch cubes
1 medium red or green pepper, cut into 1-1/4 inch strips
1 teaspoon ground cumin
3/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup Pace picante sauce.

Cook onion and garlic in olive oil until onion is tender. Add chicken, zucchini and pepper; sprinkle with cumin and salt. Pour picante sauce over chicken mixture; mix well. Cook over medium high heat, stirring frequently, until vegetables are crisp tender and most of liquid has evaporated, about 3 to 4 minutes. Make 4 servings. 180 calories per serving.

Laura's Rice (Rio Grande Rice)

1-1/2 cup regular long grain rice.
1/2 cup chopped onion
1 garlic clove minced
2 tablespoons vegetable oil
2 -3/4 cups hot chicken broth
1/3 cup Pace picante sauce
1 small carrot, peeled and finely diced (optional)

In large saucepan over low heat, cook rice, onion and garlic in oil until rice is lightly browned, stirring frequently. Stir in hot chicken broth, picante sauce and, if desired, carrot. Cover and simmer until all liquid is absorbed, about 20 minutes. Makes 6 servings.

NOTE: This house is Italian. We use olive oil for everything. So 86 the veggie oil and butter. And since I don't have the same restraints as the 9TS, I topped my plate with a goodly dose of sour cream and taco sauce. I'm telling you, this is excellent. And yes, I will be taking a prevacid before bed. So worth it!!!

Thanks so very much Laura and Dennis.

Sing along with me . . .

We're going to the zoo, zoo, zoo;
How about you, you, you?
You can come too, too, too.
We're going to the zoo, zoo, zoo.

I love zoos and this was no exception and surprisingly non-aromatic. Actually other then running out of gas and getting mucho crabby toward the end (sorry Bean), it was great. We did all the normal fun things like riding their little train around the park, watching the elephant create his own mud bath, snapping Katie feeding the giraffes, wandering around the aviary, getting pooped on. Yep, pooped on. There I was happily shooting the exotic birds when I felt something warm and wet slap me on the back of my neck. Felt like one huge warm rain drop. I checked the sky. Clear as could be. I stuck my finger back there and it returned slightly white. I called for Katie. She took one look and burst out laughing. No further diagnosis needed. Well . . . poo.

But on the good side, I came home with 185 shots. That should keep me busy for a while. And while I know I said I was going to take a hiatus from scrapping for a bit, we all know I lie. A lot. And I did edit the image, so all is good.


Credits: Staples:Catrine, Stickers: Vinnie Pearce, Alpha: Fi, Fonts: MaFishy, Garamond, Frame: Ali Edwards, Paper: Lauren Reid.



Credits: Paper, Frame, Sticker: Vinnie Pearce. Staple: Catrine. Font: MaFishy