Monday, February 28, 2011

Birthday Card

Once again the little girl is from fabric and the balloons are stamped onto patterened paper and cut out.

Thanks for looking.

Thank You Card

A customer at work told me I wasn't posting enough. So I will try an do a better job. The birds are made out of fabric.

Thanks for peaking.

Wednesday, February 16, 2011

Amanda's Birthday Card

I made this card for Amanda. Hope she likes it. Happy 19th birthday.

Sunday, February 13, 2011


Just thought I would share a few more cards that I just made.

The above card is made with the Three Bugs in a rug dinosaur collection. The stripe paper is unknown. Something from my scraps.

This one is by My Little Yellow Bicycle Twig collection.

Thursday, February 10, 2011


Today when I arrived home from work I was greeted at the door. I am always greeted at the door when I get home but it is usually by the dog. He is always so happy to see me, I can barely get in the door and close it, but today my husband was at the door as well. I received a nice welcome home hug and was told dinner was ready. It smelled delicious. I take my outdoor clothes of and go to the kitchen to fine the table all set with table cloth and wine glasses the whole nine yards.WOW! He had made grilled salmon, scalloped potatoes and broccolli. I also saw a long stemed rose and a card.

For desert we had chocolate raspberry cake, Ice Wine (Yum) and tea.

Here is the real surprise. He made this card. He went to my craft room, found some card stock, cut it to size, printed of a lovely verse and put it all together. If you click on the verse you can read what is says. We are both very busy this weekend so he thought today was the perfect time to have a Valentines dinner.

Love You John.

Monday, February 7, 2011


The Sandpiper

by Robert Peterson
She was six years old when I first met her on the beach near where I live.
I drive to this beach, a distance of three or four miles, whenever the world
begins to close in on me. She was building a sand castle or something
and looked up, her eyes as blue as the sea.

Hello," she said.
I answered with a nod, not really in the mood to bother with a small child.

"I'm building," she said.
"I see that. What is it?" I asked, not really caring.
"Oh, I don't know, I just like the feel of sand."
That sounds good, I thought, and slipped off my shoes.

A sandpiper glided by.
"That's a joy," the child said.
"It's a what?"
"It's a joy. My mama says sandpipers come to bring us joy."
The bird went gliding down the beach. Good-bye joy, I muttered to myself,
hello pain, and turned to walk on. I was depressed, my life seemed completely out of balance.

"What's your name?" She wouldn't give up.
"Robert," I answered. "I'm Robert Peterson."
"Mine's Wendy... I'm six."
"Hi, Wendy."

She giggled. "You're funny," she said.
In spite of my gloom, I laughed too and walked on.
Her musical giggle followed me.
"Come again, Mr. P," she called. "We'll have another happy day."

The next few days consisted of a group of unruly Boy Scouts, PTA meetings, and an ailing mother. The sun was shining one morning as I took my hands out of the dishwater. I need a sandpiper, I said to myself, gathering up my coat.

The ever-changing balm of the seashore awaited me. The breeze was chilly but I strode along, trying to recapture the serenity I needed.

"Hello, Mr. P," she said. "Do you want to play?"
"What did you have in mind?" I asked, with a twinge of annoyance.
"I don't know. You say." "How about charades?" I asked sarcastically.
The tinkling laughter burst forth again. "I don't know what that is." "Then let's just walk."
Looking at her, I noticed the delicate fairness of her face.
"Where do you live?" I asked.
"Over there." She pointed toward a row of summer cottages. Strange, I thought, in winter. "Where do you go to school?" "I don't go to school. Mommy says we're on vacation"
She chattered little girl talk as we strolled up the beach, but my mind was
on other things. When I left for home, Wendy said it had been a happy day.
Feeling surprisingly better, I smiled at her and agreed.

Three weeks later, I rushed to my beach in a state of near panic. I was in no
mood to even greet Wendy. I thought I saw her mother on the porch and felt
like demanding she keep her child at home.

"Look, if you don't mind," I said crossly when Wendy caught up with me, "I'd
rather be alone today." She seemed unusually pale and out of breath.

"Why?" she asked. I turned to her and shouted, "Because my mother died!" and thought,
My God, why was I saying this to a little child?

"Oh," she said quietly, "then this is a bad day." "Yes," I said, "and yesterday and the day before and -- oh, go away!"
"Did it hurt?" she inquired. "Did what hurt?" I was exasperated with her, with myself.
"When she died?" "Of course it hurt!" I snapped, misunderstanding,
wrapped up in myself. I strode off.

A month or so after that, when I next went to the beach, she wasn't there.
Feeling guilty, ashamed, and admitting to myself I missed her, I went up
to the cottage after my walk and knocked at the door. A drawn looking
young woman with honey-colored hair opened the door.

"Hello," I said, "I'm Robert Peterson. I missed your little girl today
and wondered where she was."

"Oh yes, Mr. Peterson, please come in. Wendy spoke of you so much.
I'm afraid I allowed her to bother you. If she was a nuisance,
please, accept my apologies."

"Not at all --! she's a delightful child." I said, suddenly realizing
that I meant what I had just said.

"Wendy died last week, Mr. Peterson. She had leukemia
Maybe she didn't tell you."

Struck dumb, I groped for a chair. I had to catch my breath.

"She loved this beach, so when she asked to come, we couldn't say no.
She seemed so much better here and had a lot of what she called happy days.
But the last few weeks, she declined rapidly..." Her voice faltered, "She left
something for you, if only I can find it. Could you wait a moment while I look?"

I nodded stupidly, my mind racing for something to say to this lovely young
woman. She handed me a smeared envelope with "MR. P" printed in bold
childish letters. Inside was a drawing in bright crayon hues -- a yellow beach,
a blue sea, and a brown bird. Underneath was carefully printed:


Tears welled up in my eyes, and a heart that had almost forgotten to love
opened wide. I took Wendy's mother in my arms. "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry,
I'm so sorry," I uttered over and over, and we wept together. The precious little
picture is framed now and hangs in my study. Six words -- one for each year
of her life -- that speak to me of harmony, courage, and undemanding love.

A gift from a child with sea blue eyes and hair the color of sand
-- who taught me the gift of love.

NOTE: This is a true story sent out by Robert Peterson. It happened over 20
years ago and the incident changed his life forever. It serves as a reminder
to all of us that we need to take time to enjoy living and life and each other.
The price of hating other human beings is loving oneself less.

Life is so complicated, the hustle and bustle of everyday traumas
can make us lose focus about what is truly important
or what is only a momentary setback or crisis.

This week, be sure to give your loved ones an extra hug, and by all means,
take a moment... even if it is only ten seconds, to stop and smell the roses.

This comes from someone's heart, and is read by many
and now I share it with you..

May God Bless everyone who receives this! There are NO coincidences!

Everything that happens to us happens for a reason. Never brush aside anyone as insignificant. Who knows what they can teach us?

I wish for you, a sandpiper.


Sunday, February 6, 2011

Bird Cage

I took a break from making cards after Christmas and took up reading. Now it's time to start the cards again. This set of stamps is one of my favourites, I love the bird cages in this set.

My inspiration for this card came the Card Maker book and I used Basic Grey cappella papers.

The above card is done with the double dot c/s.Can never have enough of this card stock.