This is Ralphie

This is Ralphie.

I found him at the Long Beach Outdoor Antiques and Collectibles Market that takes place on the 3rd Sunday of the month in Long Beach, CA.




He was haphazardly thrown on a blanket with various other gee-gaws. I almost walked on by, but then I saw HIM. I stopped dead in my tracks. I gazed into his big, perpetually surprised, eyelidless felt eyes.








I picked him up. Those hand stitched features.


The funky acrylic beard. The brown boots. Who doesn't love brown boots?

I had to have him.


Quickly feigning a detached sort of interest, I nonchalantly picked him up and asked the guy in charge of the blanket strewn area how much. I held my breath. How much would I spend? $20? $30?

"Three bucks," the man said.

Blink. Someone at some time MADE him. Three bucks???

Okey dokey!

I tried very hard not to dance for joy, as that might have tipped the gent off that I was getting (in my own mind, remember) the bargain of the century.

We completed our transaction and I lovingly placed Ralphie in the basket on my bike. I giggled half of the way home.

Bliss.

He now occupies a wee nook to the left of my computer monitor. A sort of constant companion in the studio, I guess one could say.

My husband thinks I am insane. But he loves me enough to share his space with my odd finds and my boxes 'o' junk that I use in my work, which means that he must truly, truly love me as well. It balances out, don't you think?

Until next time, happy bargain hunting!

Theresa

Why Tae Bo is Abusive

OK, maybe it isn't abusive to everyone, but it erodes my self esteem every time I get that DVD out. Just a little.

Granted, it is a great workout...for those people who can actually follow basic dance steps. And I can do all of the leg lifts, punches, and footwork. Just not together.

I have found that I am a danger to people, pets, small children and furniture. It is just not right. The cat sees me move the coffee table and runs to hide under the bed until the music stops.

Smart cat.

Attempting Tae Bo reminds me of the early 90's when I thought I would jump on the club fitness bandwagon. I became the proud owner of an official gym membership that was automatically deducted from my bank account on a monthly basis so that when I realized I was a) totally clumsy and b) not likely to use it half of the time, I would be under contractual obligation to continue.

I was so excited! It was going to be fun! And it WAS until I actually went to the gym.

It was bad enough that all of the girls with the perfect bods were in every class that fit my schedule, but I just could not get the hang of ANY of it. If they were moving left, I was going right. If they were moving up on the step, I was coming down. If they were criss-crossing forward, I was stepping on my shoelaces.

And forget trying to hide in the back. Mirrors, mirrors everywhere. One of the instructors, subconsciously sensing my distress, used to switch the back to the front and front to the back. My attempts at fading into the background were useless. I ended up step tapping from side to side for most of the class, trying not to bump into anyone.

And, unlike the lovely little lycra outfits on most of the fit, firm gals, my boyfriend's sweatpants would bunch up on me in the most unattractive way at the least opportune times. Blah.

It was then that I discovered treadmills. LOVE them. No skill required, other than walking, of course. Even I can walk. Most of the time. Sheesh! The the whole sweatpant bunching thing became a non-issue.

Does any of this really matter in the big scheme of things? No. But it is a sad, sad day when I am alone in the living room with a DVD I have done dozens of times and can still, on occasion, have the fleeting sensation that I am a clutsy dink.

I do know that, should I ever join another gym, I would just do my own thing in the back of the class and chuckle. Steps, schmeps. I am there, right?

What I realize now that I didn't realize then is that no one cares that I am a lame-o. And if for some odd reason they did care, it wouldn't matter anyway.

That is the best thing that comes along with aging.

Time for a cookie. Or two.

Until next time, happy tripping.

Theresa

Squints The Angry One Inch Bear

You'll have to pardon Squints. He is a little bit angry and a lot bit jaded. You would be, too, if your creator thought it funny to give you only one eye.




It's bad enough to be super tiny, but to be tiny and have one of your better features removed? Unforgivable.

He was supposed to be a two eyed "cute" little bear, but I liked the grumpy countenance so much that I just had to leave it be.

Given the look on his face, I don't think I will be forgiven any time soon. He is looking to move in with that Blythe hottie. She will understand his sensitive side and give him a cuddle or two regardless of his physical appearance.

Squints is one inch when seated, a scant 1.5 inches when standing. He is thread jointed and can move all of his limbs and his head. Head movement makes it easier to scowl at everyone.

Until next time, happy creating!

Theresa

You'll never have to keep an eye on your coffee again...

Because it has an eye of it's own!

This is what I made for the May Felting Challenge. It had to be something that had a practical/functional use.

I can't decide if it is creepy cool or just creepy.
Here's looking at you, kid!

Until next time, happy coffee consumption!

Theresa

Happy Memorial Day

What did you do today to honor and remember?

Theresa

What's that Lassie? Timmy has fallen into the well?

Talk about being duped.

My cat is a solitary little beastie. She can be affectionate; she just chooses not to be most of the time. Don't get me wrong; she sleeps in with us, she wants to be patted on her little kitty head and "talks" to us. She just isn't a lap cat and fails in the cute interaction category.

That is why this morning set off my alarm bells.

Let me explain.

It was about six in the morning when she first popped her head over the side of my bed. She was dipping her head down towards mine, nose to nose, kitty concern written all over her feline brow. "Meow"?

I rolled over. After all, it was six'o'clock on Sunday. I can sleep in on the weekends. 'Nuff said about that.

She was persistent, however, which was a bit of a shocker and extremely out of character for her. Usually if things don't go her way, she instantaneously abandons her mission and pretends like she didn't really care if you noticed her or not. Cleaning her nether regions is the activity of choice at times such as these. Just enough to say, "See how little I care? I am cleaning my various parts! Ha!"

Back up on the bed, pacing, little chuffing noises, touching me with her nose. Very out of character.

By now, I was awake enough to let my mind start to wander...news stories of how the family cat woke everyone just in time to escape a horrible fire, tales of heroic animal persistence that ended up alerting the family to an earthquake just prior to it hitting, posts about the cat who predicted a child's seizure and subsequently saved the boy's life.

Now I was awake. Fully.

Feeling quite energized, I leaped out of bed and followed her fuzzy little feet down the hallway. To the ....kitchen. Perhaps there was a fire in there? Nope. Perhaps something was dreadfully amiss? Nope.

She was hungry.

Sometimes I hate my cat.

Happy weekend!

Theresa

Polymer Clay? Nope! Cake.

OK, I thought I would be working with my clay by now. This is the ONLY craft that I haven't been able to jump right into! Weird! I don't usually balk at new-to-me products.

I ended up making a graduation cake instead. It isn't a stellar example of what I can do, but since I only had a few hours to throw it together, it is just "OK".

My tiles look dingy in the picture, too, which means I will have another job on my plate next week. Grout time!

As I made this cake, I came up with a million dollar idea. Feel free to take it and become rich, if you wish. I am far too lazy, but will surely grouse about how I came up with the idea when I see your new yacht and polo pony.

If one could come up with an inexpensive way to make cake "decorations" that didn't look possessed by Satan, one could surely make some money. Every little gee-gaw I saw at the cake supply shop was wall-eyed, cross-eyed, poorly painted, or missing paint. One of the poor graduation girls had no hair in the front. She looked like some kind of cult member. Another graduate had a green dot on the nose. Honestly, who in their right mind would buy a figurine with an obvious disfigurement...on the FACE, no less. (Unless, of course, you happen to have a big green blotch on your nose, in which case I owe you an apology. Sorry!)

Not to mention that one doesn't know what kind of paint was used. Mmmm. Lead-y. Makes the frosting stick to your ribs.

This was the best one in the bunch and it took me fifteen minutes to find him. Note the uncolored hair resting on his forehead. Could be a tumor or some sort of wicked wrinkle. Perhaps Botox would be of help?

At any rate, it should be tasty, and that is the real purpose of cake, right? And my nephew will know that I cared enough to attempt to make something for him rather than buying it. (When he sees it, however, Costco might seem like a glowing beacon of "fabulous-ness" in comparison.)

I had to add the guitar. My nephew is obsessed and is getting really good. It is so exciting to watch, as he has found his passion. Wonderful!

Until next time, happy crafting and happy lead-free cake baking.

Theresa