Archive for November, 2008

Dance Class

a-chorus-line_webWhen I was almost 5 my family and I went to California on vacation and I was determined to share my newly found skills and love of dance with the neighborhood.  Being bossy and a leader was easy for me, but choraling a host of kids I didn’t know wasn’t.  I don’t remember being successful at it but I do remember loving dance.

This is my first attempt at digi-scrapping, learned from Jessica Sprague from her site on the web and a class called Stories In Hand.  Thanks Jess for sharing this class with a whole bunch of us for free.  I will be back to learn more but only after getting a new computer.

The one I am on right now will go out the 2nd story window if it doesn’t straighten up.  It is an antiquated machine that has no memory left.  I have been eyeing a new laptop but can only get one after the first of the year.  So for now I will have to put my digi scrapping aside for know and hope for better days to come.


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You would think I would learn to put the eggs out of a childs reach after the first incident.  It was getting close to easter and I had done the weekly shopping making sure I picked up the extra eggs for the Easter Bunny to color.  The small town we lived in had 2 grocery stores but of course there was no competition just price fixing so the expense was a little higher than we normally paid.  I picked up 6 dozen eggs along with the rest of the groceries and had the bag boy load them in the car.

Hamilton is a tiny town located in N.W. Missouri, just a bump in the road, a blurb on the map, but the boyhood home of J.C. Penney, as everyone will tell you again, and again, and again on and on and on.  So do you get the picture.  We lived in a 2 story prarie style home (not quite as grand as others you have seen) complete with wonderful woodwork and beveled glass in the front door and built-in bookcases.  In the foyer was a built in seat that doubled as the cold air return.  Well just as I finished unloading all the bags into the house and had them set on the seat, nature called and I had to run upstairs to answer the call.  I grabbed the Enquirer because I knew I would be more than a few moments.  After taking care of business, I started downstairs and stopped on the landing as I spied my middle daughter taking her turn at “Bowling for Dollars” with the last of the 6 dozen eggs.  The floor in front of the door, where they were bowling, was a mass of shells, yolks and the wiggliest slimiest egg whites that has ever been my misfortune to come across.  Do you know how had it is to get that gunk up off of tile……..?   Yuck!  After putting away the remainder of the refrigerated food, I loaded the car with kids and went to the store to buy more eggs.  So instead of Hy-Klas, we went to IGA so that no one would question what happened to the eggs I had bought only 20min. before.

Now if I could end my tale there it would be great but having 3 children at the time the stories build and continue.  Not more than 5 months later my youngest daughter decided to get up early and to do something really nice for her mommy, who slept like the dead (in other words like a brick).  She went to our kitchen and got a skillet, brought it into the living room and proceeded to place it in the middle of the room on the (then fashionable) harvest gold shag carpet.  She then went back to the kitchen and got a dozen eggs and brought them to the other side of the room by the loveseats that had wood arms.  There she set up her kitchen and cracked the eggs on the arm of the loveseat and carried the remainder to the skillet in the middle of the room.

As I finally rolled over and decided to get up from bed, one of her sisters came in and said that the littlest was making me breakfast.  Of course I thought she meant cereal and was horrified as I once again hit the landing and could see what she was doing.  All I remember was yelling STOP! and in one fell swoop was down the stairs grabbing her chubby little hand in one of my own while grabbing for the phone to call Hy-Klas.  The poor clerk thought I was crazy as I screamed into the phone, “quick have someone deliver the steam clean machine, I have egg on my carpet”.  So I have no moral to this story…….just a hard fast rule…….children are not allowed in any way shape or form around my eggs lest I end up with egg on my face.

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This post today is an explaination of sorts on why I chose to blog.  I have been lucky enough to sign up for an online class given by Jessica Sprague called “Stories In Hand”.  With the tools she has developed and so generously shared with us free of charge, we have been able to take an incredible journey into our memories with the “sparks” she has provided.  I have to tell you this is the first online class I have ever taken and so far I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.  The board is jumpin’, my fellow students kind and generous in sharing their stories and any hints for those of us “techno newbies”, and the prompts or “sparks” are taking me places I had forgotten about.

I don’t mind writing and am not really good at it (grammar police stay away), but I love the process and have wanted my scrapbook pages to reveal more than “we went to the party and had a good time.  The cake was chocolate.”  I wanted my viewer to experience the richness of the chocolate on the tongue, the velvety smoothness of the icing and the lightness of the cake.  I just needed a system to get it out and on paper.

So dear reader, stay with me as I learn how to do this blog thing.  I will be adding content and dealing with scrapbooking, writing, books, design and especially interior design, other blogs that I love, couponing, saving money (man that is so hard to type in the same paragraph as scrapbooking) and any other topic that tweaks my fancy.  I am fascinated with everything and love learning lots of new things, hence the blog, so come back and visit and see where this ride has taken me.

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In the Hollow Tree

Hot and sweaty, hands all muddy from digging at the edge of the creek, my brother Steve and the other neighborhood kids would look for crawdads “for dinner.”  Thank goodness it was a pretend dinner…..blech! The creek wound its way around the vacant lots that measured a good 250 acres and was the center of our world as children.  Standing in all its glory right next to the creek was the hollow tree, complete with steps nailed up on the inside and a platform up in the branches where we could survey all that surrounded us.  This is where we escaped to everyday in the summer and as often as we could during the rest of the seasons.  As a matter of fact we were there daily because of the “trail” that we had blazed as a shortcut to school.  I know it doesn’t happen much now a days but we would walk to school (and yes it was a mile) and back using this trail right past the hollow tree.  It was the heart of our adventures…..pirates, cowboy and indian, tarzan and jane or any number of scenerios that we could come up with in our fertile imaginations.  Standing on the platform we could survey the hills that were mountains to us.  We named them cowboy mountain and indian mountain and played the conquering heros on many occasions.

Not far from this wonderland for kids was also a heavy burdensome reality.  Living at the other end of the 250 acres in a rundown ramshackle house that was directly across the street from the Methodist church I attended was a family of 8 kids and the mother and father, so poverty stricken it was hurtful to watch even to my young heart.  They never joined us in our games, in fact I think I compartmentalized them into another area altogether, and never socialized with them.

In my young life all that was important was the escape and peace that the woods and the hollow tree brought to me.  I could be there for hours and often was, whiling away the days, daydreaming or reading or planning what my life could be.  Maybe that is why I am so drawn to trees……….hoping one might be hollow.

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