Tuesday, January 24, 2012

CAS Cardmaking Class Day 1

I've been taking an online cardmaking class presented by Kristina Werner, Jen McGuire, and Julie Ebersole which has taken me out of my lethargy and encouraged me to start creating again. I think I'll be using what I've learned the last two weeks to make a dent in my stash and finally send some cards to OWH for our heroes to send home. (Only the good ones will make it in the box of course) but I'll be sharing some of what I've made here on ye olde blog which has been sorely neglected the last couple of months while the mojo has been non-existent. My projects will probably not exactly follow the order of the class but I'm hoping to put each and every lesson to use.
First up is a little something based on a sketch shared in class. Since I'm trying to be methodical about using up my stash, I've started with one of the oldest paper packs I own - Tickled Pink by CTMH - which was released and retired a few years ago. My first attempt at a card was horrific. So I just decided to place each element as portrayed in the sketch. A little better, but still not all the way there. I know that once I do a few more cards my work will improve. Until then, here is the second attempt.

I love all the clean white space I see everyone creating with, but I can't seem to do it myself, so I inked up HA Small Stitched Flowers background stamp with some PTI Smokey Shadow I bought a few years back, took off some of the ink with a paper towel and stamped a plain white notecard. The blue scalloped cardstock was part of a scrapbook kit I bought when I was learning. It came in 8 colours and about 10 different shapes, so you'll be seeing them a lot in the next few weeks. The sentiment is from PTI Fillable Frames #1, stamped in Versamark, and heat embossed using black Zing. Butterflies are the smallest of the A Muse Studio Butterfly Trio dies.

The card qualifies for two challenges: Flutterby Wednesdays-Open, and Lollipop Crafts Wing It. Not too shabby if I do say so myself... and I am.

It was good to pull out my heat gun and get ink on my cheek again. Gotta do it more often...

Hugs and Kisses.

Monday, January 23, 2012

Funday Monday #2

Yeah I know. Those resolutions are for other people. But I'm really trying to be more active than I have been in the past. I've lost quite a few pounds doing nothing special and it's now time to move on to the next step. Time to dust off those walking shoes.

Hold on, let me finish these brownies first...

Hugs and kisses,

Monday, January 16, 2012

Funday Monday #1

To those of you who know me well...
Source: facebook.com via Tracey on Pinterest

Except in my case it would be "hang up and send me an email"...

Hugs & Kisses

Friday, January 13, 2012

Great Story Found While Surfing the Net

...found this story recently and thought I'd share...
The Pickle Jar

The pickle jar as far back as I can remember sat on the floor beside the dresser in my parents' bedroom. When he got ready for bed, Dad would empty his pockets and toss his coins into the jar. As they were dropped into the jar, they landed with a merry jingle when the jar was almost empty. Then the tones gradually muted to a dull thud as the jar was filled. I used to squat on the floor in front of the jar and admire the copper and silver circles that glinted like a pirate's treasure when the sun poured through the bedroom window. When the jar was filled, Dad would sit at the kitchen table and roll the coins before taking them to the bank. Taking the coins to the bank was always a big production. Stacked neatly in a small cardboard box, the coins were placed between Dad and me on the seat of his old truck.

Each and every time, as we drove to the bank, Dad would look at me hopefully. "Those coins are going to keep you out of the textile mill, son. You're going to do better than me. This old mill town's not going to hold you back." Also, each and every time, as he slid the box of rolled coins across the counter at the bank toward the cashier, he would grin proudly. "These are for my son's college fund. He'll never work at the mill all his life like me." We would always celebrate each deposit by stopping for an ice cream cone. I always got chocolate. Dad always got vanilla. When the clerk at the ice cream parlor handed Dad his change, he would show me the few coins nestled in his palm. "When we get home, we'll start filling the jar again." He always let me drop the first coins into the empty jar. As they rattled around with a brief, happy jingle, we grinned at each other. "You'll get to college on pennies, nickels, dimes and quarters," he said. "But you'll get there. I'll see to that."

The years passed, and I finished college and took a job in another town. Once, while visiting my parents, I used the phone in their bedroom, and noticed that the pickle jar was gone. It had served its purpose and had been removed. A lump rose in my throat as I stared at the spot beside the dresser where the jar had always stood. My dad was a man of few words, and never lectured me on the values of determination, perseverance, and faith. The pickle jar had taught me all these virtues far more eloquently than the most flowery of words could have done.

When I married, I told my wife Susan about the significant part the lowly pickle jar had played in my life as a boy. In my mind, it defined, more than anything else, how much my dad had loved me. No matter how rough things got at home, Dad continued to doggedly drop his coins into the jar. Even the summer when Dad got laid off from the mill, and Mama had to serve dried beans several times a week, not a single dime was taken from the jar. To the contrary, as Dad looked across the table at me, pouring catsup over my beans to make them more palatable, he became more determined than ever to make a way out for me. "When you finish college, Son," he told me, his eyes glistening, You'll never have to eat beans again . . . unless you want to."

The first Christmas after our daughter Jessica was born, we spent the holiday with my parents. After dinner, Mom and Dad sat next to each other on the sofa, taking turns cuddling their first grandchild. Jessica began to whimper softly, and Susan took her from Dad's arms. "She probably needs to be changed, " she said, carrying the baby into my parents' bedroom to diaper her. When Susan came back into the living room, there was a strange mist in her eyes. She handed Jessica back to Dad before taking my hand and leading me into the room. "Look," she said softly, her eyes directing me to a spot on the floor beside the dresser. To my amazement, there, as if it had never been removed, stood the old pickle jar, the bottom already covered with coins. I walked over to the pickle jar, dug down into my pocket, and pulled out a fistful of coins. With a gamut of emotions choking me, I dropped the coins into the jar. I looked up and saw that Dad, carrying Jessica, had slipped quietly into the room. Our eyes locked, and I knew he was feeling the same emotions I felt. Neither one of us could speak.

Author: Unknown

Sometimes we are so busy adding up our troubles that we forget to count our blessings. Sorrow looks back. Worry looks around. Faith looks UP!

Hugs and Kisses

Friday, January 06, 2012

Flutterby Special

Two posts in two days? There's some excitement here on the old blog-o this week! I know I haven't been here for a while. I was deali...