Too Much Stuff

Mixing Up Stickers

I worked on another challenge from last week at Shimelle's. This was the Stickery challenge. For this challenge, you had to use stickers from more than one collection. The stickers on this layout are from Susan Branch, Creative Imaginations and Little Yellow Bicycle. There are also some dimensional fabric embellishments from Little Yellow Bicycle.

 

I Didn't Start Here

Last weekend, I participated in the festivities over at Shimelle's, and I didn't start at the starting point. I came back to it though with this LO. I liked the simplicity of the basic design, and using the design allowed me to get this LO done in short order. It uses some old Scenic Route papers (Oh, how I miss them!) and not much else. The best thing about this LO is that it tells a story about my nephew, so that he's better represented in our albums.

 

It's Feeling Retro In Here . . .

I didn't have a lot of scrappy time this weekend, but I thought I'd participate a bit in the weekend festivities going on over at Shimelle's. She's had contests and challenges all weekend, and I created a LO inspired by the Retro challenge.

My LO has photos taken in 1992 when I visited London on business. I'm sure I took other photos, but I've never scrapbooked the trip, and these were the photos I had. I loved that I used some ancient Chip Chatter letters by Pressed Petals and that I finally got this page done for my Places We Go album.

 

Books Books Books

I've been spending the hot days inside reading, when I'm not at work. Look on the left sidebar to see my three most recent books and a short review. If you want to see more of my reviews on Good Reads, click the link at the bottom of any of the reviews.

I Finished Something!

I finally finished something and got it off a horizontal surface. Several years ago, I had a class with Jennifer Stewart at the Inspired Artist Workshop. The class was a photo and fabric collage on a 12 x 12 canvas. I got it partway done but never seemed to find a couple of things I needed to finish it. This week, I decided to make do and use what I had to finish it, and I was amazed how quickly I was able to get it done and up on the wall. The space where partially-completed it and all the remaining pieces sat is now empty and clean, and I have a cute piece of art for my scrapbook room wall.

One down, how many to go?

 

I'm A Starter

But I'm not a finisher. I've known this about myself for a long time, and you'd think I'd use that knowledge to help keep me from starting new things. I don't. It doesn't help that I love to learn, so I'm forever taking classes. Many of those classes involve a project but not enough time to finish said project. For some reason, I feel guilt if I don't finish the project, even if I don't particularly like it. I'm really a process person, not a project person. But I'm a process person with guilt. This past weekend, I realized those unfinished projects have taken over my small sewing/scrapbooking/crafting space. I need to do something about them, but neither of the options is appealing to me. The obvious choice would be to just throw them out. I know firsthand the amazing lightness that can come from getting rid of things you don't want, don't like, don't need. But the guilt wins - I paid good money for that class or the materials, so how can I just throw it away? I feel too guilty to throw it away, but I don't like it enough to finish it. So the unfinished projects, my dislike and my guilt are in a three-way stalemate. My craft space is the victim.

I have managed to locate the floor, and I've cleaned off my scrapping table. The rest of the room? It's shrouded in a mist of stuff. Unfinished stuff. Perfectly good stuff I might need but can't put away because there's unfinished stuff where I'd like to put it.

Over time, I get more and more frustrated with the stuff everywhere and the lack of space. One day, the frustration becomes overwhelming and I start throwing things out, sometimes things I want later, just to create some room in my space. I'm almost there. All it's going to take is one more unfinished project to push me over the edge . . . . . .

Happy New Year!

I'm having a hard time believing Christmas is past and we're launching into 2011. My mind isn't adjusting to how fast the days seem to be moving. This morning, my mind takes me back to past New Year's Eves - I don't know what made these memories pop into my head, but I thought I'd capture them.

These days, our New Year's Eve consists of staying in as a family and having what our son calls "make up dinner." I guess it's made up because it's not cooked. We feast on smoked salmon, smoked oysters, cheeses and spreads, caviar, olives, crackers and fruit. The grownups have champagne and the not-quite-grownup has sparkling cider. It's been our tradition for close to 20 years. We've been at it so long it will probably remain our tradition forever, even after the not-quite-grownup has grown up and left home.

I remember the first New Year's Eve after I went to college. I was home on winter break, and my cousin invited me to a big party. I don't remember where the party was held, but it was a very nice venue and there were several hundred people there. I enjoyed seeing many friends from high school, and we spent the time catching up and dancing. Near midnight, I ran into my boyfriend from 10th grade. He lived much farther from school than I did, but he'd often skip the bus and walk me home, carrying my books. And his. Ours had been a sweet, innocent romance consisting mostly of talks standing by the mailbox and a little hand holding. We had never kissed. I didn't see him much my junior and senior years of high school. Ours was a large school, and we didn't have many classes together. I was enjoying catching up with him and dancing. We danced several dances in a row, and we were on the dance floor at the stroke of midnight. All the dancers stopped dancing to count down, and for some reason, Gene took me in his arms and kissed me. It was a sweet, wonderful kiss followed by another and then another. We both wondered aloud why we'd never kissed when we were in 10th grade. Not long after, the party ended and people began to leave. Gene and I said our goodbyes and shared one goodbye kiss. That New Year's Eve was more than 30 years ago, and I haven't seen Gene since. I went back to Pensacola for only a few months after graduation and then began my Air Force adventure in Colorado. I didn't make the one reunion, the 10th, I know my graduating class had, a reunion Gene organized. By that time, I was in Maryland. I always thought I'd make the 25 year reunion, but I never heard of one being organized. I'm still in touch with a few high school friends back in Florida. I've never asked about Gene, but I hope he's happy. Thinking about that New Year's Eve always makes me smile.

When I was a very small girl, about 9 or 10, my mom and dad would go out for New Year's Eve, and I would stay with my Big Mama. I always loved staying with her, and New Year's Eve was no exception. I don't remember much of what we did, but I do remember we would stay up until midnight. Although everyone used the back door at her house, at midnight, we'd go out onto her tiny front porch and listen to the church bells ring. I think every church in town rang their bells at midnight, and it was a wondrous sound. We would listen until they stopped ringing and then go back inside. When I was 12, Big Mama passed away. I wasn't ready for my times with her to end, and it was years before I could think of her without tears. This New Year, I think of her and smile. She gave me so many wonderful memories. I just wonder if they have church bells in Heaven.

Where ever you are, I hope your New Year is happy. Go make some memories.

My Christmas List

Once again, today's blog post was prompted by The English Geek. Like Amy, don't many of us fail to manage our expectations (and overestimate our capabilities) during the holidays? This year, I took a class at Big Picture Classes called Cut the Crazy Out of Christmas. The class was basically a planning exercise, including the construction of a holiday planner. By leaving the planner out where you could see it, you should be motivated to get things done earlier. And it worked. Of course, the class teaches the planning process is a, well, process. You won't be where you want to be the first year, but you'll be on your way. So where am I, now that we're one week away from Christmas?

Sitting her blogging and totally ignoring the overwhelming list sitting on the breakfast table. Why is it overwhelming? Because I didn't do anything on the list yesterday. What's left to be done?

• Clean the house, and I mean really clean it
• Wash the shower curtains and bath rugs
• Get those pesky baseboards
• Vacuum, vacuum, mop, mop, mop
• Put clean sheets on all the beds, including the bed in the guest room
• Finish a bit of baking
• Ice a half a gazillion sugar cookies
• Put up a few decorations I purchased last weekend
• Maybe put the garland on the stairs


Does it sound manageable? Not to me. But I'm not going to beat myself up because I've already gotten a lot done.

• My shopping is done, finished, complete, including stocking stuffers.
• Everything is wrapped and either under the tree, with its recipient, or in a box on its way.
• I've baked 2 batches of iced lemon cookies, 2 batches of Christmas cookies (with candied fruit), 2 batches of iced Nutmeg Butterfingers and mixed up a batch of Nieman Marcus Chocolate Oatmeal cookies.
• The tree is up and decorated and has been since the day after Thanksgiving.
• The lights are up on the porch.
• The Christmas cards, complete with family photos, were mailed the first week of December.
• I've been taking holiday photos almost every day.

What do I call that? Success. Sure, I have a lot left to do, but I don't think anyone has ever considered Christmas a disappointment because there was a bit of dust on the baseboards or the bathroom floors didn't sparkle. And if we don't get to the pumpkin bread? We'll eat cookies!

I hope you take a little time for you today. Sit back and think of all you have accomplished. Brew a cup of tea, or get some eggnog, and enjoy the lights.

 

A Christmas I Don't Want to Forget

I have to thank The English Geek (Amy) for the capturing of this memory. It's a recent one, but it's also one I could have let slip away. Amy's been posting a hodgepodge of holiday things on her blog, and this memory is something prompted by one of her posts. I owe Amy a big thank you because I now have this one written down.

 My favorite thing about Christmas is the early morning, while it's still dark outside. We three get a fire going in the stove, and we sit together, lit only by the light of the fire, the tree and one small lamp. We are together, the mother, the father and the son. We get coffee or cocoa and take turns sharing what's in our stockings. It's slow and easy and special.  I treasure those mornings with "my boys." But we have no family here, where we've chosen to live, so some Christmases we travel to be with those we love. Last Christmas, we traveled to be with my mother. She's alone; my dad passed away six years ago. The holidays are especially hard for her because Christmas was also my dad's birthday. He loved the time between Thanksgiving and Christmas, the decorating, the cooking, and most of all, having family near. So last Christmas, we traveled to be with her. I knew my brother would be home.  He works for weeks at a time on a boat, and often misses holidays. My sister said she'd be coming with her daughter who had just finished college, but her husband and two sons wouldn't be able to come. I was resigned to not having my special Christmas time, but it was OK. Christmas morning, it was just Mom and we three, and I could see what it meant to her to have us there. Then my brother and his wife arrived, and it was even better. Mid-day, I looked out the window and saw my sister and her daughter get out of the car - they'd driven 6 hours that morning to be with us. But they weren't alone; my brother-in-law and two nephews piled out of the car, too. The oldest is 27 and out on his own, so we really didn't expect him. And then we were all together, the whole family. My mother had all her children and grandchildren around her, and the joy was visible on her face. Thinking about her joy brings tears to my eyes today. Last Christmas was not the Christmas I thought I wanted, but it was the best Christmas I could have ever imagined.

Textuality Writing Challenge #2

Because I never do things in order.

I'm taking the class Textuality at Big Picture Scrapbooking, and the teacher, Amy Sorensen, posted this challenge on her blog.

Today's writing prompt:

Write a vacation memory. It can be from a trip you took last week or one you took seventeen years ago; the time of the experience doesn't matter. Rather than writing a list of what you did on the trip, try to focus on exploring one small moment, some small experience (it can be good or bad) that has stuck in your memory. Write with the goal of getting your reader to feel what you felt.

This is my memory.

 

He was my mother’s uncle. Sort of. Actually, he was her stepfather’s brother. But her stepfather raised her from a toddler, so that made his brother her uncle. We visited them when I was eleven years old. The aunt spent all her time in the kitchen, wearing an apron. Even when she left the kitchen, she didn’t take the apron off. They had a phone with a party line and a mynah bird in a cage in the kitchen. The bird’s name was Joe.

They lived on a farm, but since they were old, they didn’t farm much any more. They had raised prized Herford cattle, and they still had a small herd. They also had a big garden patch, and even though there was a big fence, the deer got into the peas and beans every day. And they had Bonnie, an old Tennessee Walker mare. She was dark bay with a black mane and tail, and she had taught many children to ride. You had to work hard to fall off of her. Somehow, she just knew which way you were going, and she’d step under you. She was as gentle as a just-hatched chick, but she did have a mind of her own. And I was going to ride her. I was almost afraid to breathe. Like most girls my age, I was horse crazy. I lived, breathed and dreamed horses. I had a whole shelf full of Breyer model horses, but the closest I ever got to riding a horse was going around and around on a grumpy pony at the fair.

He saddled her up and boosted me up to reach the stirrup. She was a big horse, and I was breathless. But I wasn’t afraid. The only fear I had was that I would wake up and it would all be a dream. He had another horse, and we rode together. He told me that if I were out alone and I didn’t know which way to go, to let Bonnie go and she’d come home. We rode through some of the pastures where the cattle grazed, and the new calves watched us with their liquid eyes. He took me to another pasture with ordinary cattle and showed me a cow with one calf who had rejected its twin. He was bottle raising the rejected calf, and I wondered why a cow would reject one calf when the other calf seemed just like it. We left the pasture and rode on narrow roads through the woods, and he showed me funny looking places in the banks where he said the deer licked to get the bit of salt in the soil

And the next time I rode, I rode alone. In the early morning fog, Bonnie and I rode past the fenced garden and watched the deer, ghostlike, fly over the fences and away. We rode through the pasture of prized cattle, and I discovered Bonnie loved to run through the herd and split it into two smaller herds. With my hair streaming behind me and my laugh lost on the wind, I discovered I loved it, too. This time, the calves didn’t look at us with liquid eyes, they ran. And the bull bellowed his anger at our intrusion. I think Bonnie laughed a horse’s laugh back at him. She may have been old, but no bull was going to catch her.

We rode into the woods and let the quiet overtake us. We wandered down dark, narrow trails, almost totally shaded by huge trees overhead, and lost ourselves in a slow rhythm that must be a bit like Heaven. We rode until my stomach began to rumble and Bonnie began to hang her head just a little. Where were we? I didn’t know, but Bonnie did. I turned her around, loosed the reins and said “Let’s go home, Bonnie.” We did, and it wasn’t a dream.