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.