Food for the Soul. . .a Shabby Chic Victorian Cottage

The New York Times ran this article by Joyce Wadler about a woman named Sandra Foster, who built a Victorian retreat out of an old hunting shack on her property in the Catskills. That she also lives in a 1971 trailer with a husband who has his own "man cave" (albeit truck-sized and tarp-covered) is another intriguing part of this story.
But oh my - I am enamored with this Victorian retreat. It seems poised to inspire great writing or great painting or . . . maybe just great living.
Every one of us needs some space in our life that's just ours, in whatever unapologetic shape and form suits us best. It's a very Virginia Woolf-ian concept, I admit, but an idea to which I've always aspired. Granted - I'd probably be freaked out worrying that some sneaky snake might be lurking in the corner, and DaBoys would have to come along - muddy feet, doggy hair and all - but still. . . I could retreat across a rock-bridged stream in the Catskills to sit in this cottage on a rainy afternoon.
Couldn't you??

If I Have to Explain It. . . .

Here's my take on Lucy Chesna's Card Sketch for June 2010. I'll post a copy of her sketch on my Scrappy Projects page up yonder. You have to click over there for sure and see all the amazing cards and layouts the design teams created.

Banners seem to be one of The Big Things right now. I've discovered they're a little like potato chips - after I made my first banner, it looked like I needed to add banners to every LO or card I made.
So, of course, I put a banner on a layout I did of my Baby Boy when he really was a Baby Boy. Yep - that's my Mattie at six months of age.
Once a cutie, always a cutie.
Sigh.
Or maybe I should say once my Baby Boy, always my Baby Boy because that's what he'll be no matter how grown up he gets. Last Saturday, I just about popped my buttons with pride as I watched my Baby Boy cross the stage in Mershon Auditorium to receive his MBA hood from Fisher College of Business at Ohio State University. Suddenly, I thought of his kindergarten graduation. I remember watching him coming down the aisle with his little diploma from St. Mary School and thinking to myself that this would be just the first of many diplomas my Baby Boy would get.
A mother just knows these things.
Explaining how we know these things is impossible. It's like the Olympic sport of curling: you either get it, or you don't.
So is scrapbooking. I don't waste too much time proselytizing anyone whose eyes glaze over at the mere mention of it. I figure someday their great-grandchildren will be clutching poorly composed photos and crying out in frustration "Who in the hell IS that??!!?"
My great-grandchildren, on the other hand, will look serenely through lovingly handcrafted scrapbooks, sip their cocktails and understand for the first time why their therapists tell them they have obsessive tendencies.

Can You Guess. . . ??

. . . what this is?

Hint: It's not bigger than a breadbox.

It is, however, going to be unveiled tomorrow at My Sketch World so you'll have to pop over there for a looky loo!

And if you're really good, we might stop for ice cream on the way home.