the last of the pvc . . .

I sent Frank out on one more run. This is the holder I made for my friend Sheri. Thought it might help cheer her up.


The pipes are 6", 4. something" and 2.4" high.

Good golly, Miss Molly . . .

Look what I did . . . little miss how do you turn on a computer. Of course I had step-by-step help from one spectacular teacher . . . Jessica Sprague . . . but I did it. Me. LOL. I am giddy beyond words . . .

cod box . . .

What are you going to do with it?
Is it something on which you can sit?

Is it big, or is it small?
Would you call it short or tall?

Can you use it for storage?
Will it hold porridge?????

I want to see your cute cod box!
I want to see it lots and lots!!!!

(Kelli W.)

I fell off my chair I got to giggling so hard when Kel sent me her Seuss channeling . . . still pimp!!

And all I did was tell her I was taking a digi break and altering a cod box. Who knew . . did you?

sigh . . .

this morning I was keeping myself occupied by cataloguing all of my newly acquired "digi" goodies stored on CD's . . . making covers listing contents . . . rummaging through finding goodies I had forgotten, just generally having a good old time . . . UNTIL . . . I ejected the last CD out of my ancient computer and a blip popped up telling me that the CD was corrupt and all contents had been deleted . I quickly reinserted it and everything was gone less two files . . ACK! Only 20 or 30 freebies and my shopping haul from Designer Digitals . . . Double ACK! put that on the list along with another non-functioning drive, a major crash, a misbehaving monitor and a brand new video card and my PC is definitely on its last legs. On the off chance that the computer Gods were smiling on me, I popped the CD into my laptop and ta da . . . the CD was intact. Whew! With that fresh in my memory, some advise from Jessica's husband Jared and Kelli, I will soon be the broke but happy owner of a new computer. Big enough to sail through digi work. Hooray! Thank you, thank you!

in a life time far, far away . . .

As I approach my 60's, I understand that the majority of my life is behind me. That in itself is not a bad thing. My life now is deep, warm, deliciously good. I spend my time with my best friend . . . he who I love with all my heart. I amble about doing this and that . . . I am a putterer extraordinaire. I am happy. Will I leave behind a mark on the world . . . no, not unless, hopefully, it is a warm spot in the hearts of those I have loved . . .


But I sent an email the other day confessing a 'sin' from an earlier life and I began to wonder about the trip from there to here and wondered if that colored her perception of me and would others feel that difference as well.


I started off life a carbon copy stolen from the set of Ozzie and Harriet or Leave it to Beaver. The perfect childhood . . . two loving parents . . . a rural setting outside a big city . . . the best of all worlds. As with all good stories a little drama is needed so at the age of 13, my mother died of cancer and off to boarding school I went. (To be clear, I was not shipped off . . . there were very clear perameters and my agreement was number 1. Ozzie was adamant about that.) I think boarding school was the start of my walking another path. Or maybe it was just me railing against the confinement . . . she who was used to flying free down country roads was not happy with clipped wings. I was expelled along with three cohorts in crime for skipping church one Sunday morning, crossing the railroad tracks and enjoying coffee and a cigarette in an off limits diner where the proprietor was happliy teaching us modern day Greek. The expellment lasted all of one day . . . phone calls were made. College opened Pandora's box, it took exactly one year for my wing feathers to grow back stronger than ever. It was 1968 and the world was a fascinating place . . . a smorgasbord of delights . . . a phantasmagoria. The pendulum had swung and off I went shedding my imprisonment with abandon. It was wonderful to be alive. But slowly, ever so slowly . . . as was inevitable, the pendulum swung back to center and when it swung up the other side, things had changed. Ozzie and Harriet were back, old values held, time sweetly changed and brought with it, new life.

It makes me wonder . . . are the crayons of life in permanent layers. Do people see only the layer they are familiar with or can they see all the layers . . . and if so, do the layers then become muddied or do they combine so that each person's life rainbow shows through?

day 3 continued . . .

I can't help myself . . . this stuff is addictive . . . and if I don't practice, I don't learn.

We will return to regular scheduled blogging February 18th!!!

day 3 in digi land . . .

this is the first time I tried to use my new found knowledge without going step by step with someone leading me by the hand. I discovered I have no memory banks and the vast majority of yesterday's lesson went in one ear and out the other . . . I need to practice, practice, practice






I feel like the little engine that could . . . I think I can, I think I can, I think I can!!!