by Julie McGann My name is Julie McGann and I am a wish-granting digital artist who captures the imagination of little dreamers worldwide by giving them the dream pet they have always wanted. Child…
Source: Storystorm Day 12: “Dances with Ketchup” by Julie McGann
I love the way Julie creates her imaginative art! Perfect for kids of all ages.
A childhood song came dancing through my mind this morning, singing to the new year and new beginnings. After several days of reading blog posts and emails about New Year resolutions and words for the year, my thoughts were certainly considering all things new.
Isn’t it wonderful to have a fresh start? Why can’t we do that every day, all year long? Every January, I find myself more energized and committed to my goals and dreams, yet from past experiences (years upon years), I’m pretty sure I will experience fatigue and begin to prune my high expectations. Or at least forget my word of the year (which I have yet to discover). Life will interfere, changes will happen, and by the end of the year, those beginning plans will have fallen by the wayside or will have been altered so much they barely resemble original thoughts.
That’s ok, though, really. We cannot foresee the twists and turns of life, so wisdom would dictate that we make adjustments and refine our goals, dreams, plans.
Fresh resolutions every morning would be much more manageable.
Write. Read. Learn. Love. Do.
A basic plan, a few words, doable. Perhaps too broad, but easy to adjust each day. And the perfect-for-me way to enjoy new mornings every day as the sun rises.
The original fresh start and new beginnings?
“The faithful love of the LORD never ends! His mercies never cease. Great is his faithfulness; his mercies begin afresh each morning.” Lamentations 3:22-23 (NLT)
and
“Then He who sat on the throne said, ‘Behold, I make all things new.’ And He said to me, ‘Write, for these words are true and faithful.’” Revelation 21:5 (NKJV)
Care to join me in a fresh new beginning each morning?
Karen Witemeyer penned similar well-crafted thoughts about new beginnings. You can find her at Inspired by Life and Fiction.
It’s party time, followers!
Thank you for voting in confidence
for my posting and blogging bent.
I’m so glad to meet you here,
sharing where we went.
Horrid, I know, but meant very well;
Thanks for hanging with me.
The (blog) world is our oyster!
Forward now, to see what we see.
As we learn and play and chat and goof,
join in the fun, my dears;
Welcome, friends, each and all,
and happy, happy New Years!
The snow that has fallen would easily reach the second step, but diligent shoveling makes finding the welcome mat possible!
The welcome mat is out. Snow covered. But out.
Bundle up, jump in the one-horse open sleigh, and drive over the river and through the woods to Nana’s house. I mean Nana and Papa’s RV.
First, we’ll visit and catch-up. Of course, in our tiny space, this may require sitting in shifts or booting a cat off the chair. Speaking of cats, the floating fur is free.
For the exercise portion of our gathering, shall we shovel some snow? As it seems to fall continuously, there are a couple of acres ready for your attention. We’ll add in a bit of slip-sliding our way up the hill to the irrigation ditch, view the wildlife, and sled back down into the pasture.
To conclude our fun times together, toasty hot tea or coffee and perhaps a snack or two shall be served.
As we wave you out of sight, know our hearts and RV are warmer and happier. Thanks for stopping by. Hope to see you again soon.
Just aim for the welcome mat.
The Christmas tree that shall stand in place until probably March – or until the snow melts enough to get to the base. It’s still beautiful, so I shall enjoy it until then!
Snow, glorious, snow.
Falling, drifting, growing
Into mountains
And triathlon driving adventures.
Snow, fabulous, snow.
Beautiful, peaceful, blanketing
Covering all
And putting to bed those who live under.
– By Angie Quantrell
Mabel considering which drip to consume.
A Haiku Poem
unexpected help
nose, tongue, whiskers, nimble paws
cat window cleaners
Monet removing frozen condensation from the window
by Angie Quantrell
I so love Paris! I thought it would be fun to read (and see) about our stay in the City of Light back in 2009. Bienvenue!
Bumper to bumper cars
That’s it. As far as the eye can see, cars sticking bumper to bumper. I am SO happy to not have a car while living in Paris. The Metro is just perfect, thank you. Or my own 2 feet.
I am fascinated with drivers in Paris…it’s amazing how little damage actually occurs as people get from A to Z in as little time, distance, and space as possible.
Some observations about parking in Paris, just in case you want to drive and park while here:
No limit except vertical walls
Motorcycles, scooters, bicycles…pretty much can park anywhere. They are supposed to follow normal driving rules, but motorcycles have a secret lane between the outside 2 driving lanes, and both motorcycles and bicycles will pass stopped vehicles and get in front of them to get away first when the light turns green. Or if there are no pedestrians…
Optional parking on top of cones
Your choice – between or on top of cones.
Space between vehicles is negligible
Bonus points are awarded for vehicles with minimal space between bumpers.
Accidents WILL happen.
Expect some slight scratches or bruises
Clever drivers will gently ease into tiny parking spots, avoiding major warping and scrapes on bumpers and fenders.
And my personal favorite trick for in city driving ~
Always carry duct tape.
It’s true. Duct tape can fix anything.
Despite these captivating photos, drivers in Paris really are amazing. There are few accidents, pedestrians remain unharmed, vehicles stay on the road, and traffic flows in seemingly flawless pathways. Hats off to the competent drivers!
How about you? Where is your favorite destination? How are the drivers? We’d love to hear!
The sweater of a thousand photos joins me as I corral and snuggle our 5 grands!
New beginnings.
January always brings fresh hope and promises of renewed dreams, goals, plans.
View the sweater of a thousand photos.
This wardrobe piece awaits my beck and call all hours of the day and night. Menopause requires layers. And this, my Goodwill find from years past, is perfect. Cold? Snuggle in this button-up baby. Hot? Fling it across the room without any answering complaints. Fold it. Wad it. Wash it. Toss it. Wear it. Love and hate it.
From my viewpoint, the sweater of a thousand photos matches every item of clothing I own. Because I wear it with any and every thing. Coordinating or not.
As evidenced by photos. At least 1,000 of them.
Life in the RV has finally taken its toll. Laundry facilities are stranded across compacted snow and ice trails inside the stick house of our son and his family. Sometimes one forgets to empty the dryer on time. Usually that is ok. But just this once, it was not.
For the sweater of a thousand photos has been damaged. Heated too long and too hot. The yarns melted into permanent wrinkles. Never before static cling haunts attempts at layering. What once was fuzz and softness is now thin and bare. The sweater of a thousand photos, MY sweater, the $2 deal, is nearing the end.
My heart is sad but realizing the futility of wearing holes and wrinkles held together with bits of yarn. It is time to move on. Let it go. Wave a fond farewell, not looking back.
Unless it is in photos.
New beginnings come in different forms. Out with the old, in with the new. Or maybe new-to-me.
The hunt has begun. This year, I resolve to capture the next sweater of a thousand photos. The search will be in reverse order, according to hunting aficionados, but this works well for clothing.
Hunt. Bag. Shoot.
What will you be hunting this year?
wafts of spice tickle
quivering noses and tongues
gingerbread delight
~ Angie Quantrell
There is most decidedly a reason that gingerbread has become synonomous with Christmas.
The scent.
The fragrance of warm spices, the steam of a hot oven, the soft melting of toasted cookies melting in your mouth…
Welcome, gingerbread. Welcome, Christmas.
I just completed stocking number 5. Or 11, depending on how far back you want to go.
Autumn, the youngest grand princess, wore her Christmas stocking just in the nick of time, since all other stockings are hung by the chimney with care, and mommy and daddy were patiently waiting for Nana to finish sewing for the fourth family member.
Christmas is a very short time away, right?
Making Christmas stockings became a tradition as soon and my honey and I were married. I strip-pieced matching stockings for both of us about 31 years ago. They have been used every year, except this one, when they are hiding in storage. And maybe next year, which will most likely be the same.
After each of our two children were born, I made them giant strip-pieced stockings. Somewhere (again, in the storage unit) are pictures of them wearing their stockings. As adults, Taylor and Chelsie both have their stockings in their own homes. Spouses (and child-of-our-hearts) received their own stocking. All that was missing were the baby pictures in stockings, but, well, they are just too big to wear them!
Jump forward to the next generation of grands.
First came Hayden, our 4-wheelin’ boy. Nana got busy right away to make him a stocking.
Next came Khloe, Princess of the Blue Eyes. Nana stitched and sewed to get her set for Christmas.
Donavyn, the brown-eyed ducky boy, came next. Here he is wearing his stocking beside his baby sister. He barely fits!
Gage, little wild man, made his appearance over a year ago. Nana dusted off the sewing machine and created his stocking.
And finally, Autumn. Last winter, when I was making Gage’s stocking, I cut out the base for another stocking, since we knew grand number 5 was on the way. Good thing for me, as we didn’t know we would soon be shoving all of our belongings into a tiny storage unit. When my Christmas senses kicked in, all I had to do was pull out the trunk with my fabric, dig out the stocking base and Christmas fabric, and I was reading to sew.
Stocking number 5. Or 11, depending on where you want to start counting. For us, it all began 31 years ago.
Dear Kitties,
I know it’s cold in the RV. In fact, sometimes it’s Jack Frost icy. I realize that furry coats don’t always do the job in the warm-me-up department. I even acknowledge that though there are only 2 of you (and you are sisters from the SAME litter), touching each other often causes undo excitement, hissy fits, and flying bits of gray fluff.
We have a queen bed. In the RV. Crammed into a tiny alcove. Six-foot two-inch hubby requires most of the square footage available on said bed. That leaves me a tiny sliver, I’d even say the edge is my only slumber real estate.
I know we have an electric blanket. I admit to enjoying the toasty slide into pre-warmed sheets. The heater ducts blow comfortably hot air into our bedroom. This makes our room the most desirable location during long winter nights.
It also makes me be squished.
Sliver of bed. Closet alcove for darkness naps. Tall husband. Two cats.
Kitties. I have short legs. But even then, when you are both snuggled and sleeping like furry gray rocks along the bottom of the bed, I am left with nowhere to put my feet.
Out of the covers? Brrrr. Between you? This is one event where you allow yourselves to touch, even become glued together with your sibling. Beneath you? Your elephanty weight belies your small stature. Against the hubby? Uhm, his long legs leave no room. Up against your warm bodies it is then.
A ball. You will find me rolled on my side up near the outer wall of the RV. Sushi roll style, head wedged against the “dresser,” shoulders along the “headboard,” hands and knees tucked into the middle like bits of julienned carrots and radishes. The seaweed wrap of electric blanket coccooning me. And there the sushi mama roll will stay all night, on her less than 1/4 of the bed area.
You, my kitties, will have plenty of sleeping room. Purring contentedly, stretching at ease, lengthening and contracting with the rise and fall of space and temperatures.
Thanks for keeping us company and for blanketing our bed with your heat and snuggles. I don’t mind sharing with you. Not a bit.
Sleep well, feline foot warmers.
The Sushi Kitty Mama
Love, Laughter, and Life 