OK so the titlisn't very originl and there have been a few manic Mondays, but it was.
Nothing special just very busy. VERY busy. but good.
And it got better when I came home and found I had won a prize. There was a random prize for people who did the texture challenge and I was randomly selected. Cool. It was for the textured hearts I made with stencils and gesso.
It is always nice to win a page but doubly nice when you have also learnt a new technique you may use again. So thank you Tink.
The new scrapping I have done is all CT work and so I can't share it yet, but I have a page I made for UKS cyber crop which hasn't been shared yet.
The class was all about autobiography and I chose a picture that encapsulated a sort of defining moment in my life.
1983 - a very interesting year!
I had been engaged, had my wedding booked and planned and then my fiance told me he couldn't go through with it. There was someone else. Had been for a while. It was all so awful. I was devastated.
My friend, Nigel, picked up the pieces, dusted me off, talked to me endlessly and then - well then the rest, as they say, is History!
Just 4 months after the break up I found myself whisked away to America and in a relationship that was to be so totally amazing with my best friend. The photo, taken in Rockport, just sums it up. I was young (slim) and in love and right at the start of what would be a lifelong adventure with Nigel.
Today I'm thankful for
- a friend's daughter (OK te same ex just ote out but we are still friends) having a baby girl today
- a surprise win
Jules Molly's Den is just off the Mountbatten Roundabout. If you apprach from Wallisdown Road the first exit leads down to Canford Heath, the second will take you to the industrial site where Molly's Den is and if you take the road to the Range you have missed it.
And for those of you who asked about Fiki - yes he did get over his nerves but it was the shock of having the neighbours come in to feed him the very first time we ever left him home alone, so to speak, and he is still scared of them and of the doorbell. Such as shame as they are wonderful caring people who would never want to cause our cats any unease.
And I have a beautiful inpirational story today - I hope yu enjoy it s muchas I did
It's just a small, white envelope stuck among the branches of our Christmas tree. No name, no identification, no inscription. It has peeked through the branches of our tree at this time of the year for the past 10 years or so.
It all began because my husband Mike hated Christmas. Oh, not the true meaning of Christmas, but the commercial aspects of it. You know, the overspending, the frantic running around at the last minute to get a tie for Uncle Harry and the dusting powder for Grandma, the gifts given in desperation because you couldn't think of anything else.
Knowing he felt this way, I decided one year to bypass the usual shirts, sweaters, ties and so forth. I reached for something special just for Mike. The inspiration came in an unusual way.
Our son Kevin, who was 12 that year, was wrestling at the junior level at the school he attended. Shortly before Christmas, there was a non-league match against a team sponsored by an inner city church. The kids were mostly black.
These youngsters, dressed in sneakers so ragged that shoestrings seemed to be the only thing holding them together, presented a sharp contrast to our boys in their spiffy blue and gold uniforms and sparkling new wrestling shoes.
As the match began, I was alarmed to see that the other team was wrestling without head gear, a kind of light helmet designed to protect a wrestler's ears. It was a luxury the ragtag team obviously couldn't afford. Well, we ended up walloping them. We took every weight class. And as each of their boys got up from the mat, he swaggered around in his tatters with false bravado, a kind of street pride that couldn't
Mike, seated beside me, shook his head sadly, "I wish just one of them could have won," he said. "They have a lot of potential, but losing like this could take the heart right out of them." Mike loved kids-all kids. He understood kids in competitive situations, having coached little league football, baseball and
lacrosse. That's when the idea for his present came.
That afternoon, I went to a local sporting goods store and bought an assortment of wrestling headgear and shoes and sent them anonymously to the inner city church. On Christmas Eve, I placed the envelope on the tree, the note inside telling Mike what I had done and that this was his gift from me.
His smile was the brightest thing about Christmas that year and in succeeding years. For each Christmas, I followed the tradition - one year sending a group of mentally challenged youngsters to a hockey game, another year a check to a pair of elderly brothers whose home had burned to the ground the week before Christmas - on and on...
The envelope became the highlight of our Christmas. It was always the last thing opened on Christmas morning and our children, ignoring their new toys, would stand with wide-eyed anticipation as their dad lifted the envelope from the tree to reveal its contents.
As the children grew, the toys gave way to more practical presents, but the envelope never lost its allure. Still, the story doesn't end there.
You see, we lost Mike last year due to cancer. When Christmas rolled around, I was still so wrapped in grief that I barely got the tree up. Yet Christmas Eve found me placing an envelope on the tree, and in the morning, it was joined by three more. Each of our children, unbeknownst to the others, had placed an envelope on the tree for their dad.
The tradition has grown and someday will expand even further, with our grandchildren standing around the tree with wide-eyed anticipation, watching as their fathers take down their envelopes.
Mike's spirit, like the spirit of Christmas, will always be with us.