Letters - REPOSTED for Veterans Day

This is a repost in honor of all of our veterans.  Thank you each and every one of you. 

He was young and newly married. By all accounts his bride was sweet, funny and beautiful and I'm sure they were starting their new life with a lot of hopeful expectations.

The letter was not in the plans.

But it came anyway. It looked alot like this:

In 1969, the number of troop levels in Vietnam had only slightly declined from the peak established two years previously.

The young marriage never stood a chance and was over before the end of his Basic Training.

Testing at the end of the Basic and Advanced Infantry Training indicated he was eligible for NCO Training school. Knowing that the odds were high that every draftee would be sent to Vietnam, he surmised that the 6 weeks of training would be 6 weeks less he would be in the middle of a nasty war.

They called guys like him "Shake n Bakes". They threw them into 6 weeks of training, shipped them off to Vietnam and called them Sarge. He was 20 years old.

His brother-in-law drove him to the airport. He was the only one in the family that he would tell even the date of his departure. He did not want any "goodbyes". It was likely a combination of not wanting to have a dreadfully emotional family departure, not tempting fate with a goodbye that could be forever and not wanting to lose control of his own emotions.

So he went off the "serve his country" for the next year. He still has the calendar where he marked off each day one by one. Was he afraid? Oh yeah, I would bet he was. Only someone mentally unstable could not be afraid.

Reality struck hard as the night flight was arriving in the midst of the war. Below you could see the rounds of the enemy fire. The pilot explained they would be turning off all of the outside lights of the aircraft while they landed in order to keep the enemy from shooting the plane or the young soldiers as they departed. Upon landing the guys literally had to run to a bunker while the bullets rained around them.

Most of the year he spent in a fox hole or beside one in his personnel carrier. There was little time in base camp. His mother sent a "care package" every three weeks or so. He still remembers them "saving" him from starving from the C rations. If you think those thoughts fade over time, you're wrong. Yesterday, without any discussion whatsoever that would trigger that memory he repeated those words. It was resurrected because he had taken a can of Vienna Sausages to work, thinking those tasted so good back then. I guess they did if you lived on C rations for nearly a year. Yesterday's lunch made him gag after forcing down three sausages. He recalled the guys practically fought over Beanie Weenies C rations . He shared the care packages with his troop, well at least some of them. He still recalls how they were estatic when there would be a drop of a pallet of warm beer.

War was different then. The Vietnam war cost 55,000 American lives. It was not waged smart. It was not waged to win. I'm reminded of a quote by General Schwarzkopf during Desert Storm, "when you go to war, you go to WIN." The general learned that lesson in Vietnam, where we sent our boys in trickles. Kill enough of them and then just send in a few more. It was not strategic. If was not even labeled a war, it was a "police action". There were no battle lines as in past wars. It was bloody and there was no way to accurately distinquish your enemy from your ally. By all accounts, American involvement lasted close to 20 years.

He would tell you there wasn't alot of sympathy of the deaths of 12-year-olds, because they were the ones who would walk up next to your buddy and casually put down a "satchel charge", a bomb hidden within an inconspicous satchel. Even young kids were your enemy and would kill you if given the chance.

Christmas Eve 1969: At night, the armored vehicles would form a parameter, much like a wagon circle of the olden days. His personnel carrier ended up just in front of a previously created bomb crater. This was one time his size was on his side. At 5'5, he could fit inside the crater unlike his fellow troops. He went to sleep that night lying in the crater.

At 1:00 a.m. Christmas morning, the night sky lit up like the 4th of July. The Viet Cong went on full attack. The other guys in the armor vehicles next to him were in the line of fire. The crater was small so he scrambled to get up to get to the personnel carrier and the machine gun. But he couldn't.

Only 6 months ago did he finally tell the following part of the story.

He felt as if something was physically pushing him back down. Confused, he tried again. And again, he was "shoved" back down. It was not fear, it was not a lack of courage, he had been tested for those too many times before and had "passed". When he was finally able to tell this part of the story it was because he could finally admit that he believed that night a force greater than himself actually forced him back. He never told that story because he didn't think anyone would believe him and he was simply overwhelmed by the feeling that it was only because it was simply not 'his time". A few minutes later he tried again, finally managing to scramble out of the crater and climbing up to the machine gun where he began firing the clips.

After a prolonged fight, he said the guns would get so hot that when you stopped firing they would continue firing rounds all on their own. They called that problem "cooking off". The guns were cooking and fired on their own until they cooled off.

Forty years later, Christmas Eve still brings back memories of that night. Two of the men were shot beside him. It was not a quick death. He heard their screams continue all night. The battle was too intense for the medics to arrive or for anyone else to help them. The men screamed through the wee hours of Christmas morning until they finally died from their injuries. Their screams finally ceased, well, except where they continue in his head to this day.

A few months later he would temporarily lose his hearing when a missle hit the side of his personnel carrier. It was supposed to have exploded on impact. If it had, he would have lost more than his hearing, he would have been dead. But again, it was not "his time".

Each night while the armored vehicles rounded up in their circle, one of the vehicle's crew would stand watch. They would station themselves on foot about 1/4 of a mile beyond the parameter of those sleeping. Back at the parameter every 15 minutes or so, they would request you to "break squelch" three times, which meant all was clear. Break squelch is silently hitting the transmit button on your field radio without speaking. It was a silent way to let the troops at the parameter know all was well. If you didn't respond or didn't break squelch three times, then the guys at the parameter knew there was a problem.

He talks of the night where he could hear the enemy walk right past him. It's moments like these where you learn to be stealthly quiet. He had to wait. He had to let them get past him before he could radio back to fire a round of illumination in order for them not to hear his transmission. Firing an illumination round would tell him where the artillery was pointed and then he could tell them where to adjust the rounds to ensure they were aiming toward the enemy and not the guys on watch. If he was off on his coordinates, it would have been very very bad.

Requesting an illumination round also carried a great risk. Firing it also warned the enemy. Once they spotted the illumination, they would run like hell. Which meant they could run right back into you if they scattered back in your direction.

Again, it was not his time. His coordinates were accurate and the enemy did not run in his direction.
An entire year spent in his young life. He tells of the plane ride home. All lights were out during take off and all was silent within the cabin. Any light or noise could let the enemy know a plane was leaving and it would be shot down, killing the soldiers who, up until then had been lucky enough to survive their tour of duty.

Upon reaching the proper altitude, spontaneously all of the men let out a deafening cheer. They had made it.

They were going home.

Except for very few men in his family, he never spoke of his time in Vietnam. It took 30 years when he finally began to tell the stories. Things like how the Koreans would go up into the mountains at night and brag to the Americans how many VC they had killed. The soldiers didn't believe them until one morning they brought back four severed heads of the enemy. Some men held the heads up by the hair for pictures. He refused claiming he never wanted his mother to ever find a picture of him in such a pose. He had sent the pictures to his step father, swearing him never to share them with anyone. Years later, they were returned to him and lay today among the other pictures that were taken at that time.

He harbors no ill for the guys that split to Canada. It was what it was. He never used a "Vietnam excuse" for anything in his life although now he wonders if it didn't harden his emotions, making him less open to expressing his feelings towards those he has loved throughout the years since.

He fought for his country. Every time, and I do mean EVERY TIME the National Anthem is sung, he stands still and if you look at his forearms you can see the goosebumps rise. The same is true for Lee Greenwood's Proud to be an American.

The day after 9-11 he adamantly stated that if the military would take someone his age he would enlist, he would go and fight and die for his country if need be. This time it would be his own choice. But of course, the military would enlist only men and women half his age.

He's not particularly political, nor does he keep firm tabs on world events. But he firmly believes in defending this country and keeping a strong military defense. To do otherwise invites the evil in this world to overtake the very freedoms that he and thousands before and after him have fought for.

America "appreciated" his efforts along with thousands of other young Vietnam soldiers by calling them baby killers and condemning them for being drafted into a war and serving their country. Only now do most Americans realize how badly the soldiers were treated.

Occasionally he would come across some of the things he had from the war and his service. About five years ago he wrote to the Army to get some of the medals from his service which were now missing, either from being lost or having never received. He wanted to make sure he could "pass them on" later.

The process was to write a letter to the Army. They would research your records and send you a notice of the medals you should have received and then you could request any missing medals.

The letter arrived while he was working a side job and his wife opened it, curious as to which ones he didn't have. They had been married for 15 years and when they met, enough time had passed so that he had told her nearly all of the stories that he had been hesitant to tell over the years.

Reading the listing of medals, she was confused. He had repeated over the years which ones he had and which ones were missing. She didn't remember all of the names, some were for the units in which he served, some of his rank and some of merit. But she was sure she never heard him mention one she saw on the list the Army sent.

She called him at work and asked him which medals should be on the list. He recited them off from memory and did not mention one of them that was on the list. The same one she had never heard him speak of.

He had served his country. He didn't do it by choice, but he had done it willingly and proudly.

He had not been awarded the missing medal in a ceremony nor even told of it in 35 years.

Weeks after receiving the offical letter from the Army, 35 years after his discharge, a goverment employee delivered the missing medal.

There between the electric bill and a sale catalog for Macys, the postal worker casually tossed a small package that contained his long-ago earned Bronze Star into the rural mailbox.

Please, if you have former war vets in your family, ask for a time when you can sit with them and find out all of their stories. I have Uncles who were in WWII and the Korean War. All of them are now gone. When my Uncle Bob passed away he had medals with the scription of "The Last Man" There was more than one. He fought in Sicily (if I remember correctly). I cannot imagine what must have happened to have "earned" that medal. I wished I had asked him to tell me about his war medals.

These stories should not be buried with our heroes. Ask someone you know, write it down and save history for our grandchildren.

Thank You Veterans

H/T to An Angry American

No Words

Know Your Candidate's Stance

Just found this online   Regardless of your political leaning, reviewing the current voting records of those in elected offices is very informative.

Here's one that is up to date. 

UPDATE: This was apparently only being updated during the Presidential election, however I found it interesting to see Mike Pence's voting record.

For my liberal family and friends, you may not want to watch the video, but I believe in this man enough to post it.

The Bad Guys Always Wear Black

Quick question.   How many of you would open the door of your house and let two complete strangers in that look like this?

If I saw these guys at my door, I have no doubt I would not only not even go to the door, I'd be calling 911 before they even hit the front porch.

Now on the other hand, let's imagine another set of strangers that just might look like these guys.

Who would look at those two and hear that little voice in your head that tells you to be cautious?  Voices?  None, nothing, nada, zip. 

And so it went this morning for my father-in-law. 

A couple of normal looking guys come to the front door, which has security bars on it and fast talk their way into their very modest home.  They had a roll of linoleum.  My father-in-law can't hear that well and these guys managed to fast talk their way into the house.  I can only assume my father-in-law couldn't hear them and absentmindedly let them in the house.  They looked like normal guys, right?

The fast talking began and they claimed they were opening a store and one held up the linoleum roll while the second guy made his way into a spare bedroom and proceeded to go to the closet and steal a box of gold coins. 

Somewhere along the way, they found my mother-in-law and one of the "hope-you-burn-in-hell" men greeted her with a hug and a kiss on the cheek.  While the linoleum was still being shown to my father-in-law, he hears the front door shut.  Then the other guy leaves quickly, they jump in their car and they are gone in just a few short minutes.

I'm aching for my in-laws tonight.  The slap of reality that these two scum were in their house and knew right where to go within just minutes will leave them sleepless and scared for how many nights?  And the worry if they could be coming back, next time for something even worse.

Bob was just a few minutes away by the time his mother called.  He arrived as the police were still there.

Bob told the detectives that the guys had to know there was an elderly couple that lived there.  They knew the layout of the house and they knew where to look for the coins. 

Two weeks ago, they had cable installed and a week ago, another cable guy came back out to fix the signal.  When Bob mentioned that to the detectives, his mother said they didn't go into the bedroom.  Bob pointed out that the cable guy was there awhile and they could easily spend a few minutes without the constant eyes of my in-laws.

The cable guys have been the only strange guys in the house lately.  The more we've thought about it, the more we're convinced one of them may be working with these con artists.  He can tell them which are likely victims and where something of value may be. 

It was all too slick not to have had prior knowledge of the people, the house and the location of valuables.

It's a good reminder for us all to stay with repairmen, cable men, and strangers you have in your house all of the time they are there. 

These scum didn't just steal away with a few gold coins, they stole my in-laws' security, peace of mind and, I have no doubt, left my father-in-law feeling like a fool.  It just makes me sick.  But, they were very, very lucky that it was just a few coins and not some tragic event that we would have been hearing about on the news tonight.

Tonight, please say a little prayer for their continued safety and for some peace.

Coming Soon.......

From October through May. 

Florida Stone Crab Claws.

Right now, I'm imagining November 15th or 16th, I'll be enjoying a plateful of these babies, making a mess as I crack the claws.  Dipping and dripping them in warm butter. 

Best meal on the face of the planet.

Go Rest High on That Mountain

This wonderful woman finally went Home on Thursday evening.

While I thought that last post months ago was written on her final days, she rallied back like she had so many times before.

Last weekend we got a call from my husband's ex who told us Great Grandma had said she missed us. I'm thankful for that call. We went to see her last Sunday. She was so much more alert than I had seen her in months and she was so excited to see us.

She laughed, she cried, we laughed, we cried. Her arms were covered in the bruises from the IVs and I told her she looked like she was in a fight. She told me she had and she always WINS. God, I loved her spirit. What an inspiration. She told me that she would be 99 in January and she was going to make it. I believed her, although you could hear that her lungs just sounded tired.

I reached down to touch her hand and she smiled and held on for the entire time we were there.

She told us she would see us again "if not here, then in heaven." At that time her voice broke. Although her vision was almost gone, she looked back at Bob and said, "This stinker is going to be around a long time." We all laughed.

She talked about our grandkids, her great great grandkids. She missed them. She saw them alot when her granddaughter (Bob's ex) watched them before they were in school. She left this world with 20 grandchildren, 29 great grandchildren and 9 great great grandchildren. And us, not now legally related, only by the heart. I loved her and I could see her eyes light up when we would walk in the room. Divorce doesn't always end in broken relationships, sometimes it just adds to the family. I'm fortunate they allowed me that relationship with this wonderful wonderful woman.

I will miss her so.

So How Was Your Commute?

Luckily I got word early that my normal route to and from work would not be available.

Here's why...

Looks like that section of the interstate may be closed for weeks.  A tanker truck crashed below, taking out a support and weakening the steel beams. 

News reports indicate the truck driver was pulled from the truck just prior to the fire and a couple people have non-life threatening injuries/burns.  Keep them in your prayers.

How Well Do You Know Your Neighbors?

How much would you pay for a mailbox?


I mean a NICE mailbox. 

Bob (not MY Bob, but the one who used to live in the house across the street) ended up spending close to $1k for their mailbox.

Oh no, he never intended on spending that, but Bob made the mistake of not calling what is referred to around here as "Holey Moley".  See, even though we live in a rural community,  you are supposed to call Holey Moley a couple days in advance before digging on your property.  They come out and mark your property where the underground wires are buried.

Some distracted and/or drunk driver took out both our mailbox and Bob's.  So Bob decided to "plant" a really nice mailbox.  He dug and dug and dug.  At one point his wife was there with him, so I decided to tease them both a bit and took a cold beer from our fridge and walked it out to him while he repaired their mailbox.

A couple hours later I see a telephone truck driving V E R Y  S L O W L Y down our road.  Obviously they stop when they see fresh dirt.  Evidence. I checked our phone line and yep, it's working.  Not so much for the people on down the road from us.  Bob, the Neighbor get's a nice large bill from the phone company later.

We liked to tease him about his expensive mailbox.  Bob was the type of guy that you just had to love.  We told ourselves I don't know how many times that we needed to go out to dinner with them.  But life gets in the way and time moves on.

Bob always had a certain charm about him.  He and his wife had been married for years and you could just tell that he had spent his younger years having a bit too much to drink and getting into several bar fights along the way.  Bob's wife had spent those years somehow managing to tolerate his wild days and they had learned how to mature into a wonderful couple.  From the few times I talked with them, it was evident that Bob had settled down somewhat and  his wife loved him throughout.

They built a big house across the street from us along with 10 acres, installing not only a swimming pool, but digging a big pond, nearly lake size in the very back.  Their boys blessed with them 6 grandkids, at times living with them when they were between houses.  Bob and Betty lived for those grandkids.

In the summer, we would wave across the street when Bob was cutting his grass with his zero-radius turn tractor and in a heavy snowstorm, we would find the two of them in a pickup with a snowblade in our driveway, scraping the snow for us.  More than once, I would slip on some shoes and run Bob out a cold beer for the favor.

Three winters ago, we had a tremendous snow storm.  My company was closing, so I was working from home upstairs.  I heard the noise and I see Bob and Betty in his truck in our drive.  The snow was too deep and I was too busy to take him a beer.  The snow was so bad that Wednesday, they plowed our drive twice, along with everyone else's in the neighborhood. 

They had decided to build an even bigger home a few miles away.  We didn't want to see them go and they had trouble selling the house across from us.  It was right before the real estate downfall, but Bob wanted alot of money for the 10 acres and the house.  ALOT of money.  In the meantime, the new house was being built and Bob had his own plumbing business, specializing in new construction.  New construction was plummeting, houses (especially in the 3/4 million price range) weren't selling.  All in all, it was just plain bad timing. 

March 2007, I was fighting my own demons.  I had just spent 4 days in critical care with septic shock and was shocked at how quickly you can seem healthy and then be fighting for your life and not even realize it.

I was weak but recovering.  Bob and Betty moved to their new home and they got a last minute offer on their house across from us.  A few weeks later, the deal fell through.

At 9:30 p.m. while out celebrating my birthday in early April, I see my doc's name pop up on my cell phone.  An unexpected call from your doc at 9:30 on a Friday night can not be a good sign.

He's reading the reports from my hospital stay in March. The report has nothing to do with the septic shock, but a CAT scan they did while I was there.

"solid mass off the left ovary"

I know what that means.  I had listened to one of my closest friends for five years as her sister fought stage IV ovarian cancer.   I know "solid mass" is rarely good.

Short story.....I see my family doc, we schedule an appointment with my ob/gyn.  I wait to tell the rest of the family.

They had been shaken enough over my little "spell" of the septic shock, bacteremia, pyelonephritis episode just four weeks before.  There is no need to worry them over something (even if it's a solid mass) until I know what we're dealing with.

At the same time we were closing on some additional vacation property in Florida.  My company had shut down and I was talking with another company about a contract position.

But always in the back of my mind is the scary thought that I might have to tell my mother I have ovarian cancer.  I was still incredibly weak from the sepsis.  I would spend a day helping to get our new place put together, then I would be down for a couple days recovering from the energy it took out of me.

And when I would lay down, those dark thoughts would enter my mind.  How in the name of God would I tell my family, my MOTHER that I might have ovarian cancer.  I did not yet even have a diagnosis, but I still felt the guilt. 

So one bright sunny day while we were returning from the beach, Bob's phone rings from one of our neighbors.  Everytime we go through that intersection, I remember that phone call.  Bob, the Neighbor was dead.  It didn't make sense.  He was only 52, how can that be?

At first it seemed like a tragedy, but then more information came through. 

It seemed as though Bob may have gotten themselves into just a bit of financial trouble and with the retraction of the contract, he was even under greater stress.

He had spent the evening at their new home, gone outside to play with the dog, talked with a good friend, then drove to his office.

He wrote a note to both of his boys and one to his wife.  He called her and said he was not coming home.  Then he called 911 and said they would find someone dead at the office, hung up the phone and shot himself in the heart.

I had probably only talked with Bob the Neighbor a half dozen times in the dozen years he lived in the neighborhood.  He was so delightful, helpful and as I said, charming.  But you could also sense that there had always been a selfishness there too.   But no one, no one in the neighborhood would have ever guessed he would have done such a horrible thing to his wife, his sons, his grandkids who adored him and to US. 

Suicide is the ultimate selfish act. 

Tonight Bob and I drove home and looked over at their old house and cried and cursed Bob the Neighbor again.  And we barely knew him.

I was angry when we found out three years ago.  I had been spending days feeling guilty that I might have to tell my family I could have some deadly disease and here was some wonderfully, funny, selfish man who inflicted that horrible pain on his famly that will be etched into their very souls forever. 

I'm still angry.    How could you hurt your grandkids, how could you do that to your sons, how could you leave that pain and guilt on your wife and how is it that you never had a clue of the sadness your suicide would inflict on your friends and neighbors?    And Bob?  I'm sorry I didn't just run through the last of the 3 feet of snow and hand you a beer when you plowed our drive for the last time ever.   There will never be another snowfall that I don't regret not getting you that beer and I won't cuss you out anyway for doing something so selfish, painful and permanent.

Note To Self

When closing the liftgate on your SUV, check EVERYWHERE.

Including where your head is!

Excuse me while I go find the pain killers.

Let's Teach Our Kids Respect for America

Fishin' buddies

Have you ever met someone where there was an instant connection?

You know, within just a couple of minutes your souls bond and nothing....nothing on earth can change it. Not distance, not time, not age, not anything.

Sometimes I think God just sits upstairs and connects two souls just because it's a fun thing to do.

Here are two but for the grace of God would have never, ever met, but now they are related and not just in a family connection.

(Releasing the fish she caught.)


The same is true for her sister and me. There is just simply something there that can't be explained in earthly terms.

If you notice my tight grip on this little girl, I'm pretty sure I have needed her more than she's needed me.

Tony Stewart's Underwear

OK, I must be on a video streak, but this is just too funny. (Awwww, I hate it when the video overtakes the rest of the screen.)

Innovative Toys

Growing up, we had the most wonderful, exciting toys and games you can imagine. And that IS the word, isn't it? Imagine, Imagination?

No one had heard of video games, kids didn't sit in front of TV's watching cartoons. They were only on early on Saturday mornings, and I don't recall spending much time in front of the black and white, 4 channel TV.

So what did we do?

When I was born we lived in a "double" on Rural Street. They're called "duplexes" now. We moved out to the "country" when I was four, but I can still recall a little bit about living there. Our version of a playground was sliding down our stairs on our butts.

Over and over.

I'm surprised we didn't end up with splinters that would have been hard to explain.

Video games? I suppose the closest we came to that was when we would sit in front of our neighbors oven and stare at the little window and the light inside.

Ok, I have never claimed we were the brightest bulbs on the street.  But I do remember sitting in front of an oven that looked like this and thinking it was funny letting our mouths drop open and utter, "uhhhhhhh".  I don't know how my parents resisted hitting us upside our heads to make us stop.

We had a tiny backyard that was bare of grass.  I suppose when you have four little rugrats running around, there would be no way you could manage to keep a little grass growing back there.  My brother Mike loved it since he could spend hours creating roads in the dirt for his little cars.

Our neighbors who shared the half of the double had only one son.  At the time it seemed like they were rich.  Ricky had every toy you can imagine.  Of course we weren't allowed to play with them.  Not sure I can blame them, who would want 4 rugrats destroying your kid's toys.

Since my siblings were 6, 5 and 4 years older than me, naturally there were some toys that I was too little for. 

To this day, I can still remember the most coveted thing my siblings received. They each got a package of what I referred to as "Dick Tracy Sparkledy Paints". 

Of course I was not allowed to touch them.  But OH how I wanted them.

For my 50th birthday, my sister bought me a "sparkledy" paint kit.  It wasn't Dick Tracy, but it'll do. 

I am saving it for some special time when I can share it with some other little girl.

For those that think American Idol never produced any talent.

This one's for the guys.

My God, this woman is gorgeous and talented. I thought Bob was going to have a heart attack watching this video.

Have you no shame? Have you no decency?

This man's speech said it all.

How it Works

Let's say, you have been hired to do a job. 

Your job is to process papers and move them to the next area.

Intuitively, you know that processing papers would obviously entail that you process them correctly before moving them to Next Area.  You like your job, you are thorough, fast and accurate.

Along comes a great idea from Management.  They want to incent you to do your job better and quicker.

So they devise a plan.

The Compensation Plan for Processors.

"If Mr/Ms Processor processes the paperwork and it averages that 95% of the paperwork arrives to Next Area within 3 days in any given month, that said Processor will recieve an additional bonus compensation payable on the 15th."

Everyone hails the Great Plan. 

About three months into the Great Plan, something seemed to go wrong.  The overall goal in the Great Plan by Management was to actually finalize the ENTIRE transaction sooner, not just Processor time.

But what happened?  You could refer to it as the Great Unspoken Conspiracy Among Processors.

Mr/Ms Processor realized it didn't matter if Paperwork was complete or accurate or ready for Next Area.  And there was no Penalty Clause in the Great Plan for having Paperwork returned to Processor because it was either not complete or accurate.

The days to finalize the transaction actually increased rather than decreased.  And the Processor compensation not only did not suffer, but was rewarded.

Thus began what Big Bad Banking Company called enlightenment.

You Get What You Incent.

No quality standards within the Great Plan resulted in no quality. 

This account is a true story.  The names were changed to protect the innocent.

When we were still only 48.

Who couldn't love Red Skelton?  

I wish I had appreciated this time back "in the day".  And I wish we could have entertainers like this again.  

H/T to Beej.

SAFE

Joseph began his "career" as a clerk in a general store.  Three years later, he and a friend purchased 30 acres of land.  The purchase was what I guess you could call "profitable".

The next year Joseph and his partner started a dry goods store. 

But Joseph had what no other merchant in town possessed.

A safe.

The other merchants began leaving their money in Joseph's safe.  It became known as "the safest safe in town."

Twenty years later, he formally opened an official bank, in the middle of a Civil War.

Along the way, Joseph helped build toll roads, was a delegate to the Republican National Convention, and continued building several companies and routes from Indianapolis to Greenwood.

William G. Irwin, Joseph's son, after graduating from Butler University, began working as a cashier at Irwin Bank.  Eventually Will succeeded his father as President of the bank.

Clessie Cummins never made it past the 8th grade.

He was rural farm boy and eventually was hired.  As Will's driver and mechanic.

And you've likely heard of him although you may not know it.

While working for Will, he designed a new diesel engine.  So much for formal education.

Together they founded Cummins Engine in 1919.

Hugh Miller was hired as the Assistant Cashier of Irwin Bank and must have presumably courted and married Will's niece, eventually he followed up by becoming the President of Irwin Bank.  Their son, J.I. continued the family businesses and together with his sister set about making Columbus, Indiana a remarkable "small" town in the middle of nowhere. 

In 1954, J.I. created Cummins Foundation and funded world reknown architecture in the small town by the likes of Eero Saarinen, Eliel Saarinen, I.M. Pei, Kevin Roche and Richard Meier.  In Nov/Dec 2008's National Geographic Traveler's Magazine, Columbus was named 11th of 109 historic destinations.

Irwin Union Bank continued to grow.  When banking laws were changed in Indiana to allow branches outside of contiguous counties, Irwin was the first bank to purchase a bank.  Midwest National Bank had been a minority owned bank in downtown Indianapolis and was experiencing some difficulty.  Irwin purchased the bank, eventually selling it to Huntington Bank.  They also bought Inland Mortgage.  The bank and holding company were innovative, growing, prospering.  Inland Mortgage became very successful.

In 1990, J. I.'s son, Will became the Chairman and CEO of the bank holding company.  Will had been on the bank's board since 1985.  Becoming active in the management, Will did not immediately storm his way through the daily detail of actually running the company.  Instead, he would sit in management meetings and committee meetings and take long notes.  Some were impressed that he didn't waltz in the door and assume he knew how to manage the company on a day-to-day basis.

By the time J. I. and his wife passed away, they had amassed quite a fortune.  The Miller House had become a museum of sorts, designed by Saarinen and contained a collection that ended up at the Christie's Auction in London.

A single Monet painting was sold in 2008 for 80 MILLION DOLLARS.

Last Friday night, a few people dressed in business suits walked in the door at 5:30 p.m. and forever closed the doors of Irwin Union Bank.

If you're looking for an evil villian here, I can't help you.  There was no one looking to make a fortune.  In case you missed it, the fortune had already been made.

Did they make mistakes?  Of course.

Did they get involved with what is now considered "risky" real estate business?  In hindsight, absolutely.

But, I'm sure there are more than a few tears in this non-sleepy little town of 40,000.   It's not the end of a bank, it's the death of an era.

Tiara World

When my niece asked me to be her Matron on Honor several years ago, I was more than a little stunned and thrilled.  The thought still brings tears to my eyes.

The day she got married, she decided that all "the girls" in the wedding would have their hair done at a local beauty shop.  It seemed like it took forever to get her style done.  When it was about half way there, I was getting a little worried, it looked a bit odd, but by the time they were done it was absolutely beautiful. 

My sister had made her veil and the beautician only had to put the tiara part in her hair and the rest could be attached at the church.   So the bride and all the girls all walked back to the car.  My niece was driving and since it was mid-day, we thought we would run through McDonald's drive through.  The line was long, but we passed the time chit chatting like "girls" do right before a wedding.  We finally made it up to order and then slowly poked along getting up to the window to pay.

My niece went to hand the lady the money and the lady said, "Oh, you don't owe anything."  We were all confused.  She said, "The car ahead of you already paid." 

We see a white SUV pulling away.  My niece says, "But we don't know them."  "Well, they paid for your meal."

What a sweet memorable gesture.  And now, several years later we still talk about how some wonderful stranger apparently saw "the bride" behind her in line and decided to give the bride an unexpected gift.

My niece said, "Cool, we should always wear tiaras."

Fast forward to a couple months ago.

My niece is in the middle of adopting two wonderfully sweet girls.  The littlest one thinks she's a princess and wore a tiara during one of the visits to my sisters.  When it had fallen off her head, I stuck it on mine.  It didn't take long before I completely forgot about it.  I usually stick my sunglasses on my head and it's really easy to forget. 

Several hours later we were about to leave for a restaurant and someone mentioned my tiara.  THANK GOD.  Someone else said they should have just not mentioned it to me.  Nice.

Then my niece related a recent story.  She was at home and had also taken her new daughter's tiara and stuck it on her head, completely forgetting it was there.

Hours later when she came in from mowing the lawn, she saw herself in the mirror.

Imagine what the neighbors thought.

H/T to Thoughtsofaregularguy.

I Love This Dad

What a CATCH!  I just love the way he hugs his baby girl after she does the unthinkable.



Little Girl Tosses Back Foul Ball - Watch more Funny Videos

Chaplain Mychal Judge

The World Stopped Turning

That Tuesday morning I was sitting in my "big girl's cube" listening to the local talk radio.

Mom had come up the night before and my brother had taken her and her friend to the airport that morning, heading to Las Vegas.

Honestly, I barely noticed the first news report. I was thinking "Isolated Incident" nowhere near where I live.

Then I heard the second report. Two planes, not one. Not some small aircraft that got confused and somehow impossibly flew into the World Trade Center. TWO planes. I remember telling my next-door cube mate what I thought I had just heard on the radio. He said, "What?" I told him it sounded like a terrorist attack, but I still didn't really believe it. And I certainly could never imagine the magnitude.

Not yet anyway

I walked out of my cube into a conference room and found that one of the IT guys had already brought up the news station and it was airing against the wall through the projector. That was when I was stunned into silence. The images of the second plane were airing and I felt my hand immediately cover my mouth. Watch the videos of anyone watching and we all cover our mouths. What is that? I can only assume it's an unconscious movement to keep you from screaming.

And it only got worse.

As the chaos grew, I emailed my nephew to find the flight tracker website so we could monitor mom's plane. I never feared for her safety, maybe because I did not yet realize how pervasive the attacks were.

When all the planes were ordered to land, I remember watching the flight tracker and for a good 30 minutes her plane apparently continued on it's course. She was over New Mexico. Then I couldn't get any data.

My phone rings.

This is during the middle of a national crisis, right? By now, no one in America was not aware of what was going on in our country, hell no one in the WORLD is not aware. We were being attacked and I get a call from "ASAP Brenda". She was known in the company for always thinking everything she did required you to drop what you are doing and fix it.

She was asking for another stupid request that amounted to nothing on a normal day much less in the middle of a NATIONAL CRISIS. I finally said, "You know Brenda, I really just don't care, right now my mother is in the air and I'm trying to figure out where she is and if she's safe!!!" What a freaking idiot

Suddenly the flight tracker showed mom's plane destination was now Albuquerque. I called for a hotel reservation, then I called several people in my family in case mom ended up calling one of them.

People in the air?

Mom's friend told her she thought they had turned around. Mom thought she was crazy at first. Her friend tells her the sun is now on the other side of the plane, but they didn't think they were near Las Vegas yet.

The pilot came on and said that there had been "a national emergency in New York" and they were ordered to land the plane. Now, think about that. You have to realize how confusing this had to have been for people in the air.  On a plane bound to Las Vegas from Indy, why would a national emergency in NY cause them to land immediately?   What was going on was inconcievable for those watching it, it would take even longer for those not glued to the news during this time.

When they landed in Albuquerque, mom thought they would just find another plane.  Someone told them they MUST leave the airport.  It made no sense to those people just getting dropped in another city.  Amazingly the Red Cross was already at the airport assisting people.  This organization must be unbelievably organized.

When she got off the plane, mom called the only person in my family I had NOT told I had a hotel waiting.  She called my brother-in-law. 

Southwest Airlines.  You've heard some of the horror stories of how people were treated by the airlines.  Not Southwest. THEY found the passengers a hotel, THEY PAID for their rooms and THEY refunded their tickets.  Nice to know some companies took responsibility for the passengers when this nation faced the worst crisis ever.

The owner of the company I worked for was from New York and he came from a long line of fire fighters in New York City.  Sometime mid-day he called the company together and gave what he called one of his "Desktop Talks".  He stood on a desk and told us his family background and that at that point he was still not sure of all of his loved ones statuses.   He told the salepeople they were not to make any sales calls and then he said, "But we WILL work.  It's obvious those who are attacking us do NOT want us to work and I don't want them to win."

Now obviously I can't say that ALOT of work got done, there was too much going on throughout the day.  But everyone admired his courage knowing that he was worried about friends and family back home. 

Mom wasn't able to fly home until Friday.  My brothers and I all went together to get her at the airport.  It was eerily quiet and empty at the airport and being patroled by the National Guard.  It was both reassuring and amazingly scary all  at the same time.  

Neither Bob nor I slept well for months.  As I related in a previous post, Bob said that if the Army would take someone his age, he would have enlisted and fought against whatever war was obviously being waged upon us. 

9/11 changed my life.  No, not in some drastic way that I imagined on that morning, but in a more subtle way.

When I see an older movie, I think, "Was this before 9/11 or after?"  When I think about things that happened within the last few years, I wonder the same thing.  I find that unconsciously I have divided my life in half.   What happened before 9/11 and what happened after.  I can no more forget what happened than those that lived through Pearl Harbor.   

I no longer believe I am safe.  Even here in the middle of this wonderful country.  I no longer believe we are safe.  I cannot ever support cutting back on our military spending, it would just give a green light to those that simply want us dead.

When we were in Italy, our private driver was telling us that his then-girlfriend called him that day and told him that she had friends in NY and they were in the World Trade Center and she was hysterical. 

I told him that there are many in our country that believe we should forget about 9/11.  He said, "I don't know how you could ever do that."

Neither do I. 

Neither do I.

And I'm MAD all over again.

Another Reminder: Heroes are NOT from Hollywood or DC.

Letters From Home

No, This was NOT because I am Blonde.

When we first decided to join the church I referred to in my last post, they had a dinner one night at the church for the new members. 

While few of our friends can believe it, Bob and I are actually still shy, especially when we are in a big crowd of people we don't really know.  One on one, no one can detect it, but it's really difficult when we are invited to a group where we don't know anyone or only know a handful of people.

So we go to this dinner and just inside the front door was a table where we were to write out our names on nametags.  Having to write a nametag evokes some bad demons on those of us that have that closet shyness that they desperately try to hide from everyone. It immediately signals that "fight or flight" syndrome meaning that to stay after that point will mean we actually have to speak and think of something to say

There were a couple dozen tables past that where we were to sit.  As I was starting to fill out my nametag, Troy suddenly appeared and he and Bob were talking away. 

I handed Bob the marker to write his name and he told me to just fill it out for him.  He does that alot, so I didn't think much about it.  I was listening to Bob and Troy and I began to fill out his nametag without actually paying much attention to what I was doing. 

If you've ever had a little bit of shyness (which as I said, people find it really hard to believe either of us are now), you'll realize that you spend alot of time worrying about where you'll sit, who you will sit with, what you will say.  It's silly, really.  I compensate for it by trying my darndest to remember that everyone likes it if you just ask them questions about themselves and you just start a conversation.

It's still not something I like to do. 

So, anyway.  I'm listening to Bob and Troy and I'm wondering where we'll sit and if we'll just be out of place and etc, etc etc.

Then I hear Bob ask me slowly (and not exactly quietly), "W H A T  

A R E  Y O U  D O I N G?"   I'm confused by his question and then I look down at where he is looking, which is where I am writing his nametag. 

I swear, I looked at my hand like it was an alien hand or possessed (which isn't a good thing in a church).

At the tips of my fingers was the nametag and a black marker with some weird hand that had just written:

G e o    

and the possessed hand was just about to write an R.  I was writing the name George on Bob's nametag.  I'm pretty certain that my eyes bugged out of my head kinda like that Twilight Zone(movie) episode of the creature on the wing of the plane. 

Let me be clear. 

I really don't know a George.  Well at least not for years and years.  I don't work with a George, we have no George's in our family.  I have no freakin' clue as to why my weird possessed hand was writing the name George. 

We ended up sitting with Pastor Jesse and his wife for the dinner and we were to tell things about ourselves (which is also a horrible thing to have to do for us closet shy people).  So I told the story about the George nametag.  The quickest way for me to get over feeling awkward in front of people I don't know is to tell a ridiculous story about myself (you would think that would be the opposite, wouldn't you?)

So Pastor Jesse loved calling Bob George after that.  It was one of the first times we had interacted alot with Pastor Jesse other than him welcoming us to the church every Sunday and it was quite an ice breaker.  And since the story got around quickly, many people couldn't remember what his real name was.

What Kind of Church?

Several years ago, Troy worked with my brothers and husband for a big retailer.  We knew Troy was what some people would label, "Very Religious".  All I knew was that he was part of a church that consisted of around 10 people who met in their houses.

So, I remember wondering, what kind of church has 10 people and meets in houses?  Seemed really kinda weird at the time.  But I knew Troy and he and his wife were very very nice people.  So if they seemed to have a strange religion, who am I to judge.

And Troy was never pushy with his religious beliefs, he was just kind and wonderful to everyone, whether they followed his beliefs or not.

Troy and his fellow church members met for a few years and their membership of "whatever" church kept growing, eventually growing big enough that Troy quit his job with Big Retailer to become a Youth Minister of this church.  I remember his going away party.  It was heartfelt as Troy had touched all of the people he worked with, especially my husband.

About 17 years ago, Troy's Whatever Church outgrew their house meetings and began to look for a "real" building to meet.  They prayed about finding a place and happened upon a strip mall that had some open space that was owned by "Locally Owned Big Grocer".   They called Mr. Big Grocer's business and asked about leasing the space.   Mr. Big Grocer's man said the rent would be $7,500. per month.

By then Whatever Church had a real name and their membership was growing, FAST.  But this was a local community and that rent was not within reach, which they informed the owner's agent.  The agent said he would check on something and get back with them.  In the meantime, Troy and the other Pastors began to pray about what they should do.  The members prayed about what they should do.

A few days later the agent called them and said that if they would pay the utilities for the property, they could occupy the empty space.  Which they did.  For FIFTEEN years, growing and growing all along.  Taking up more and more of the retail space.  All of which was rented by only paying the utilities.

We went to one of the services at the strip mall about 10 years ago, along with my brothers when we heard that Troy was going to be giving the sermon.  It seemed to have a lot of life and a nice band and interestingly enough, it was not some weird religion that I had envisioned when I had heard of it years before.

Three years ago this church had been able to save enough from the free rent and the generous donations of their ordinary members to build their own church.

We decided to go to the grand opening service. 

What we found was amazing. 

The lobby of the building was gorgeous and inviting.  The "auditorium" had three huge video screens and soft comfortable seating.  Having grown up Catholic, this was a far cry from the wooden benches and the punishing "kneelers" that were in the Catholic Churches in the 1960's.

The place was packed.  We arrived early and found seats as more and more and more people entered.  The auditorium will hold around 800 people and it was quickly filling up for the first service.  We were greeted at our seats by a kindly old gentleman who introduced himself as Pastor Jesse.

He was making his rounds shaking hands, giving hugs and welcoming members and "Just Visitors" like us.

Suddenly we heard a familiar voice behind us looking for seats.  It was Troy and his wife.  We had not told them we were coming, and you could tell they were delighted to see us.  Then everyone stood as the church band began.

We had never listened to contemporary Christian music and were amazed at how incredible the band sounded and the main singer blew us away.  We were even more blown away when the music was done and the singer walked up to the microphone and began his message.  He was not only the main singer, he was the Senior Pastor.

We had gone out of curiosity.  Pastor Mark began to talk what seemed like a message directed to us.  The big screens showed a video that not only brought chills to my arms, but tears to my eyes.  The next week would continue the series message and we were hooked.

Within just a few months, we began the classes to become official members.  The next August, they held the first baptism in "the pond" that was built outside.  There were over 100 people that "got dunked" in the pond that day and we were among them, with Troy holding onto Bob as we went under. 

He gave us both a big hug, while standing waist high in the water and finally said to me, "I have been praying about this for years."  He never pushed his faith on anyone, but just quietly prays over those he loves.
 

Sadly, last year, we lost Pastor Jesse.  It left a big hole in our hearts and a loss we still feel every Sunday, not having him greet us with a big hug. 

So Troy's "Whatever Church" was not some weird cultist backward church.

It was and is a simple "interdemonational" church who gear their message to the unchurched.  They do not have saints attending on Sundays.  They have just plain old ordinary sinners.

They don't offer judgment, and yet they do not sacrifice God's Word to appeal to the masses.  They appeal to the masses by being simple true Christians.   And "we" have now already outgrown this new huge building. 

I'm sure it was not even dreamed about when they started the church in their homes.  But I'm glad they had a vision that I could not have fathomed.

God, I Just Have ONE Question.

Ok, that's not entirely true.  I have alot of questions, but this one is on my mind tonight.

If heaven is better than the feeling of having two little arms wrapped around my heart, can we all just cut to the chase and get there already? 

 

Guess Who?

Gotta Love Those Family Get Together's

I love having family gatherings. It's so much fun! The following email was "stolen" from emailsfromcrazypeople.com.

THANK GOD, my family is not like this, but I know there are some out there that are close.

So I found an imaginary family holiday pic to go with the email from some psycho party planner.

From: Marney

As you all know a fabulous Thanksgiving Dinner does not make itself. I need to ask each of you to help by bringing something to complete the meal. I truly appreciate your offers to assist with the meal preparation.

Now, while I do have quite a sense of humor and joke around all the time, I COULD NOT BE MORE SERIOUS when I am providing you with your Thanksgiving instructions and orders. I am very particular, so please perform your task EXACTLY as I have requested and read your portion very carefully.

If I ask you to bring your offering in a container that has a lid, bring your offering in a container WITH A LID, NOT ALUMINUM FOIL! If I ask you to bring a serving spoon for your dish, BRING A SERVING SPOON, NOT A SOUP SPOON! And please do not forget anything.

All food that is to be cooked should already be prepared, bring it hot and ready to serve, warm or room temp. These are your ONLY THREE options. Anything meant to be served cold should, of course, already be cold.

HJB—Dinner wine

The Mike B Family
1. Turnips in a casserole with a lid and a serving spoon. Please do not fill the casserole all the way up to the top, it gets too messy. I know this may come as a bit of a surprise to you, but most of us hate turnips so don’t feel like you a have to feed an army.
2. Two half gallons of ice cream, one must be VANILLA, I don’t care what the other one is. No store brands please. I did see an ad this morning for Hagan Daz Peppermint Bark Ice Cream, yum!! (no pressure here, though).
3. Toppings for the ice cream.
4. A case of bottled water, NOT gallons, any brand is ok.

The Bob B Family
1. Green beans or asparagus (not both) in a casserole with a lid and a serving spoon. If you are making the green beans, please prepare FOUR pounds, if you are making asparagus please prepare FIVE pounds. It is up to you how you wish to prepare them, no soupy sauces, no cheese (you know how Mike is), a light sprinkling of toasted nuts, or pancetta, or some EVOO would be a nice way to jazz them up.
2. A case of beer of your choice (I have Coors Light and Corona) or a bottle of clos du bois chardonnay (you will have to let me know which you will bring prior to 11/22).

The Lisa B Family
1. Lisa as a married woman you are now required to contribute at the adult level. You can bring an hors d’ouvres. A few helpful hints/suggestions. Keep it very light, and non-filling, NO COCKTAIL SAUCE, no beans of any kind. I think your best bet would be a platter of fresh veggies and dip. Not a huge platter mind you (i.e., not the plastic platter from the supermarket).

The Michelle B Family
1. Stuffing in a casserole with a serving spoon. Please make the stuffing sans meat.
2. 2.5-3 qts. of mashed squash in a casserole with a lid and serving spoon
3. Proscuitto pin wheel – please stick to the recipe, no need to bring a plate.
4. A pie knife

The June D Family
1. 15 LBS of mashed potatoes in a casserole with a serving spoon. Please do not use the over-size blue serving dish you used last year. Because you are making such a large batch you can do one of two things: put half the mash in a regulation size casserole with lid and put the other half in a plastic container and we can just replenish with that or use two regulation size casserole dishes with lids. Only one serving spoon is needed.
2. A bottle of clos du bois chardonnay

The Amy M Family (why do I even bother she will never read this)
1. A pumpkin pie in a pie dish (please use my silver palate recipe) no knife needed.
2. An apple pie in a pie dish, you can use your own recipe, no knife needed.
Looking forward to the 28th!!
Marney

Live Like You Are Dying

Officer Timothy "Jake" Laird

Five years ago tonight a terrible event happened in our town.

A madman began an assault on his neighborhood. First on the scene was Officer Tim Conley. Officer Conley was hit in the abdomen and leg while still in his car.

See, the assault rifle had been returned to the madman recently by the court. Officer Conley was responding to 911 calls from the neighbors of shots fired. The officer radioed that he was experiencing gunfire and reversed his car to a bit more safety.

Next on the scene was Officer Timothy "Jake" Laird and Officer Kim Cissell. Upon exiting his vehicle, Officer Laird was shot high in the chest, above his protective vest. Officer Cissell got Laird in her car and then drove him away meeting up with an ambulance which took him to Wishard Hospital.

Still brandishing his weapon, Kenneth Anderson then continued his walk through his community. There he encounters Officers Leon Essig, Andrew Troxell, and Peter Koe.

Anderson took cover behind a Jeep Cherokee and fired several rounds at the three officers. Essig was hit in the arm; Troxell in the hand; and Koe in the knee.

Pete Koe was a former Marine and a SWAT Team member. Officer Koe had been known for being overly agressive at times, according to some insiders.

Having been shot in the knee, Officer Koe still managed to continue the fight. He made his way toward Anderson during the shooting. In fact , he got so close, that at one point they both ran out of ammo in their weapons.

Taking from his Marine and SWAT Training, Officer Koe took the butt of his rifle and smacked Anderson in the head while they were both going for their second weapons.

That decision gave Koe enough time to reach his auxilary weapon before Anderson. So IF Koe had indeed been reprimanded for being overly aggressive previously, I say, "Who the Hell cares?" Officer Koe exemplified the exact amount of necessary aggressiveness to take out a madman while he was on a rampage.

Rumor has it, that he pumped five shots into Anderson's head and chest when it was all done.

Because it was the law, Anderson's previously confiscated weapons had been returned to him in March, which left many in the Indianapolis Police Department worried.

"I have a feeling this guy will be a suspect in a homicide very soon," one IPD officer wrote in an e-mail. "I just hope I don't get dispatched to his house."

Sadly, for Officer Laird that was true.

I woke up the next morning around 4:30. I had gotten dressed and went downstairs to catch a bit of news before I went to work.

Channel 13 came on with breaking news of FIVE Indianapolis Police Officers shot.

It was the teaser, before a commercial break.

I ran upstairs to wake up Bob.

You see, our son-in-law (at that time) was an officer in that department.

We watched the news, our anxiety growing with every moment. As soon as that segment was over, our phone rang.

It was our son-in-law. I hear Bob say, "Yeah, we just watched it."

"That wasn't your buddy, was it?"

"OH NO"

Our big city was stunned. Our son-in-law was heartbroken and everyone I knew in town was hurting.

Jake had a young daughter and he left behind alot of people who loved him. His favorite song was Tim McGraw's Live Like You Are Dying. After his memorial service, one of the local radio stations took that song and interspersed it with bits from his service, including part of the eulogy our son-in-law gave.

Our town hasn't forgotten.

His friends, family and fellow officers haven't forgotten.

Leave Jake and his family a message.

http://www.odmp.org/officer/17421-officer-timothy-jacob-(jake)-laird

And remember to thank our peace officers. They risk their lives for our sakes everyday.

HTML Hell

I write very specifically.

I know when I want to start a new paragraph for emphasis.

So why is it that Blogging For Idiots decides that my hitting the Enter key twice is NOT starting a new paragraph?

Or that hitting the Enter key twice require 20 freakin' spaces in the blog?

I do not write HTML. I really don't want to learn it even though I'm fairly technical.

But every stinkin' time I add a pic, Blog For Idiots messes up my paragraphical skills.

Finally tonight, I just got sick of it and did a quick google search.

UPDATE: Ooops, I forgot that if I typed the html code it would ACTUALLY put in a paragraph instead of the code. DUH.

< "P" > Without the spaces or quotation marks.

Duh.

Was that so freakin' hard? Really?

If I can do it, I know Blogging For Dummies site should be able to.

And to top it off? I was trying to put the < "P" > in the labels and it just told me that < "P" > was not allowed!!!

Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time

Mom had an ancient old van that had traveled all over the country in it's day. May have been worth $500. It had gotten to the point where she was afraid to drive it anywhere far by herself and my brother had gotten a "wild hair" for her to get a new car.

She ended up getting an absolutely great deal, but she felt a little sad that the old van was going to be destroyed.

She got one of the first deals on the Cash For Clunkers and waltzed out of the dealership with a nifty Ford Focus.

I'll admit this was one idea that I first thought made sense. I could see that it got some people to buy new cars who weren't quite in the market yet, it generated a ton of business for the car dealerships, got more fuel efficient cars on the road and even made business for the junk yards.

By Friday of the first week, the small dealership where she bought it was suspending their program. They had over $50k in outstanding cash, even though they had made sure they followed every detail of the plan. There simply was no one to process all the claims and give the dealers their cash quickly.

What kills most small business is NOT a lack of profit, it's the lack of cash WHEN you need it. You can make a huge profit, but if you don't have the cash when it's due, you will fail.

Then I started feeling it at home.

You see, Bob has a little side business. He buys a few trade-ins and sells them retail. Most of the cars he sells will retail under $5k. You know, the kind most American's buy for their kids' first cars. You know, the kind of car that was being traded-in for the Cash For Clunkers deals. He knows alot of the dealers and car guys. They are all hurting. Badly.

The dealerships that were participating are out of cash, the people that need some cheap car for their kids or themselves cannot find any decent used cars and the small dealers who profit from the trade-ins now have no inventory.

But Mom sure looks good tooling around in her new Ford Focus and we don't have to worry so much about her being out on the road with unreliable transportation.

Bicycles and Sewing Machines

Imagine that you don't live in some comfortable suburb or city in America.

Imagine that you were born in a country with extreme poverty.

Imagine that your house looks like this:



Imagine that you are a young girl born into a family of 9 other children.

Imagine that your father has TB and your mother has no method of feeding the family today.



Now imagine you are the mother and you have no idea how you are going to feed your children TODAY, much less tomorrow or next week.

You are desperate. What would you do? How far would you go to be able to simply feed your family?

Then imagine that there is a way for your family to eat. There is quick cash to be had, enough to feed your family a long time.

Someone offers to buy something from you. The only valuable asset you own.

Your daughter.

Sitting in my lazy boy, watching TV, keeping out of the heat by running the air conditioning, it is SO incredibly easy to judge.

No way in hell, right?

But.....I know I have enough food in my house to eat for weeks if I had to. I don't have an entire family wondering how I will feed them.

I'd really like to judge a mother who would make that choice, but God knows I have absolutely no right to judge anyone. Well, EXCEPT for the evil one who wants to buy the girl and the even more evil pedophiles who will travel halfway around the world to have sex with a little girl.

My family's interest in Cambodia began just a few years ago when my nephew and some of his international friends decided to visit Thailand and Cambodia on vacation.

While the group was there, they pooled their money together and bought several supplies and toys and delivered them to a children's hospital. The Administrator was from Rhode Island and was extremely grateful for the badly needed supplies.

The next year I received a snail mail letter from a very good friend of mine who said she was going to Cambodia on a mission trip to visit a place called Rapha House.

Rapha House provides shelter for young girls who have been rescued from the perverted sex trade industry that is prevalent throughout Cambodia.

We, as a family, decided we would pull together some "loose change" to send along with Debbie and the group. I delivered $300 in cash to her just a couple days before she was leaving. She asked me what my family wanted her to do with it.

I told her that we were not putting any restrictions on the money. We trusted that God would direct her in how it should be spent. And that He did.

While there she was talking with Stephanie Freed, the Director of Rapha House along with the staff. They told her that education was difficult in Cambodia. Most young girls do not go on to the 8th grade. Not having been told that Debbie had some uncommitted cash along, Stephanie told Debbie that they teachers had been going through training about how to incent the young girls to continue their education.

Apparently having a bicycle is not only a means of transportation, but a status symbol. The training had discussed how using incentives could persuade some girls to continue on to the 8th grade. Rapha House had decided that they would promise the girls at the end of 7th grade they would be provided bicycles if they continued their education. Stephanie explained they didn't yet know how they would afford the bicycles, but that was the plan.

Debbie asked how many they needed. Five. Then she asked how much they cost. $50. Debbie looks over at her daughter who had accompanied on her trip. She thought, "Five bicycles and one to sit in the hall of Rapha House as a reminder for the next year's class."

It was then that she told Stephanie about the $300 in cash.

And so began what our family calls The Cambodia Bicycle Club.

After Debbie returned and told us about what became of our small contribution, we decided that we, as a family could easily support this on a continuing basis. So, whenever we get together, we have a small bag with a brass bicycle ornament where anyone can toss in some extra dollars throughout the year. The amounts really are very small and yet can make a big difference in the lives of a few girls each year.

Fast forward to a few months ago.

Debbie's husband, who swore he would never go on a mission trip felt called to go this year.

Again, we pooled our money together, separate from the Bicycle Club and sent Clint on his way with an extra $300 in cash.

There he met the mother I referred to above. It's a family at risk of feeling forced to sell their young daughter into the sex trade industry so the rest of the family could simply have food.

The host family he was staying with explained you cannot simply hand the family money. The real problem is the lack of ability to be able to support themselves.

As they say, "....Teach a man to fish..."

They explained that if the mother had access to a sewing machine, she could make a living and support her family.


Sewing machine. $250.
Supplies. $ 50.

So Clint knew exactly where the $300 was to go.

They bought the sewing machine, putting it in the host's family's house to keep it from being sold or stolen.

Here is the mother from the story above.

$300. That's all it was. $20 here and there out of our spare change while we sit in our comfortable houses.

We don't even notice the little bit of cash each of us contributed.

But someone in Cambodia does. One woman will be able to feed her family.

And at least one little girl won't be sold to the sex trade industry.

Here's another post about the impact from one of the members that attended with Clint.

Once there click on the Alley Challenge.

http://www.centerforglobalimpact.org/

My House is on Fire, But Don't Come Over

Last night, Mom calls my sister, who literally lives 90 seconds away.

"My house is on fire, but don't come over."

OK, who in their right mind would say, "Ok, talk to you later, mom."? Obviously my sister and brother-in-law went right over.


Mom was out on her large covered back porch when the lightning struck. Not realizing the roof/antenna was actually hit, mom was not aware the fire was smoldered in the attic for a few hours.
Luckily a neighbor noticed that her roof "looked hot" around 7 or so and went over to tell her.


Some electrical damage, carpet burnt where a hot outlet "popped out" of the socket and still assessing the damage to all of the electronics and appliances. House intact, as is Mom, thank God.


Yes, she was very lucky. That morning a guy I work with got a call that his house was on fire from lightning from the same storm, destroying the entire thing.

Crazy storms throughout Indiana yesterday.

Losing My Husband

We've been married 18 years.

And yet, in one short weekend he fell for another girl.

Oh, it was so obvious from the moment he saw her. No one could mistake that look.

She's used to wrapping men around her little finger. At first she tried to play hard to get. And she even started out getting me to participate in her little scheme of capturing my husband's heart.

She whispers in my ear, "Tell Michael I'm afraid of vacuum cleaners."

I was confused, there was no Michael (yet) in the house. I said, "Who's Michael?" She points her tiny fingers at Bob.

I said, "That's not Michael, that's your new Uncle Bobby."

She whispers again,, "Tell Uncle Bobby I'm afraid of vacuum cleaners." I told him, even though there were no vacuum cleaners in sight and I'm not sure why that tidbit was important.

Yes, he fell in love, actually with two girls. As did I.

I mean, do you know anyone who couldn't fall in love with this smile?

Or these eyes?

Yeah, I lost my husband this weekend. Two sweet precious girls stole his heart away while I was distracted with them stealing mine.

Life is Good

Ahhhh, sitting here with the windows open. The smell of newly mown grass fills the air. Temps in the mid 70's, no humidity ( which is SO rare this time of year). Just had a wonderful dinner with my precious grandbabies. Can it get any better than this? I would never have guessed that it could.

A year and a half ago I was at a women's retreat and the one phrase that struck me through and through was this, "God can change the unchangeable." I wasn't sure about that then.

But I am now.

I Know Someone Who's Been There

Yes, I do know someone who's been there.....and back again. His story left me with chills. I'll relate it another time.





And this one. For all those who are now experiencing painful painful grief.

Third Day - Cry out to Jesus
by ramus311

A Special Kind of Stupid

Ok, you can call me heartless, but this was my first (and ultimately only) thought when I read this today:

A Swedish couple seeking the golden beaches of the Italian island of Capri were disappointed when their GPS navigation system led them 400 miles off course, landing them instead in the industrial northern town of Carpi.

"Capri is an island. They did not even wonder why they didn't cross any bridge or take any boat," said a bemused tourism official in Carpi.

Ummmm. They wanted to DRIVE from Venice to the Isle of Capri.

Now, maybe I just find this INcredible because of my recent trip to Italy, but wouldn't you at least think that maybe you would have a slight clue as to whether you COULD actually DRIVE to your destination?

OK, find Venice on the northern Adriatic sea side. See that small dot off of Naples? Just south of that is the Isle of Capri.

Carpi? Find Bologna (just south west of Venice) and then go north west.

Now granted, they were at least at some point heading in the direction of Capri and I'll concede that driving through Italy can be crazy.

BUT, 2 hours to get to Carpi and 7 hours to get to Naples?

OK, I either have to assume they are really really directionally challenged, or they are just free spirits who got in a car with a GPS and said, "HEY, let's just take a road trip, how about Capri?" Completely unplanned, never researched, never looking at a map of Italy.

Sounds really liberating being such free spirits. Either that or they are just plain stupid.

Ummm, sister-of-mine. Maybe you shouldn't read this post since you just followed me and Beej around wherever we led you. Even when we got turned around walking in Rome and you knew we were going in the wrong direction, but you just figured we knew where we were going.

A Great Punch for the History Books

Give one from me Buzz! OH, this is NICE. Youtube must have deleted this video. Unbelievable!!!!!!



Well here's one they haven't yet removed. YET!

Backyard Menace

He glared at me.

I stood my ground. No, sorry about your luck bud, but you don't scare me.

Then he came even closer.

I said outloud, "Hey, I have a right to be here. This is my deck."

I swear I almost heard him say, "Yeah, but it's MY sky."

Touche.

Cougar

Just saw this one while watching Mecum Auto Auction. Hilarious!

Cougar - Hagerty Classic Insurance - Watch more amazing videos here

Two Feet of Real Estate

I get up early on Saturday mornings to go to the local farmer's market. It used to have 20 or so stalls by all the local farmers. One couple always attracts a huge crowd because they grow Ambrosia. Never heard of it? Here it is:

OK, where's the butter? I'm sooo hungry now.

Of course it's too early for corn yet. It's been a cool spring and summer here and it's too early even for the tomatoes.

We lived on five acres growing up. Dad always planted a huge garden. Even though he hated tomatoes, he would begin planting dozens of tomato seeds every February. I never smell a tomato plant (yes they DO smell) without thinking about him. I've even considered a time or two about planting one by his grave, but the thought of digging in a graveyard is a little too Stephen King for me.

Beginning this time of year, we only had to step a few feet outside and bring in fresh corn, tomatoes, green beans, those nasty things we used to call mangoes, but are now considered to be green peppers. We may not have had alot growing up, but we ate well, especially in the summer.

Although my friends tell me I now live in the country, I know better. I live in a rural suburb where everyone has an acre or two. OK, there ARE cows behind us, but that still doesn't count.

I miss having a garden, but it's nice at least being able to buy locally grown fruits and vegetables. The farmers market was normally packed and you have to go right at the time they open or the best things will be gone.

Politics ended up getting in the middle of the market this year. Apparently the "downtown" restaurants began to complain because some began selling breads and homemade foods. So they ended up splitting the market. Most went to the fairgrounds, which allowed the food. So far only two have shown up in the downtown area and there is no crowd.

I spoke with the older couple that will sell the Ambrosia when it's ripe. Apparently they would have had to pay rent at the fairgrounds, a tidy sum. Hey, I'm gonna follow the Ambrosia guy, no matter where he goes.

I do have a bit of "land" where I can always grow tomatoes. It gets messy because Bob puts the tomato cages up in the attic and by the time he gets around to getting them for me, it's too late. Last weekend he said, "Oh yeah, I'll get those cages for you." I said, "Are you crazy? You can't put tomato cages on these things now." Although that is EXACTLY what he did to my poor tomato plants last year.

I didn't mention that Bob doesn't like tomatoes either, did I?

So, he grouses about the tomato plants because this is the BEST place they grow.




THIS is my two feet of gardening real estate. Guess he should have gotten the cages out when I asked, huh?

I decided to just plant cherry tomatoes this year. Every night I come home and there are just a handful that are ripe. When I was a kid, I would have just plopped them in my mouth out in the garden. Now, instead I wait until I've washed them off.

Which leads me to my "Bob's a City Slicker" story. About ten years ago, some of our neighbor friends lived around the corner and always had a huge garden. We had taken some plastic bags and I went to pick some green beans. I told Bob to get some of the corn a few rows over.

A couple minutes later he comes up and says, "I think something's wrong, this corn doesn't look right."

There he was, holding a pristine white-silked baby ear of corn.

I was appalled.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"

He had picked the second ear on the stalk. How could he not know that? He seems to know how to do everything else, but getting around in a garden? Not so much.

I threw the tiny, wasted ear of corn down and said, "Get out of the garden, you City Slicker."

Geez.

When Did This Happen?

Staying up too late again tonight.

And in the middle of watching too much TV and reading too much online, there is Lee Majors. Remember him?

It was a Lee Majors Hearing Aid commercial. Let me tell you, if I could have found an accurate picture of him on the commercial I would have posted it. All I can say is the commercial makes the pic below look like it was taken 30 years ago.

High School Reunions

I've only attended one. Don't ask me why I even went then.

I was incredibly shy when I was a kid and I had kept in touch with the only person from high school that I really wanted to, but for some strange reason when my 10 year reunion came around I decided to go.

I had long since shed my shyness, had plenty of friends and a fairly successful career. Maybe I just wanted to prove that, I don't know.

My best friend from school and I decided we would attend together without our (then) husbands. They would be bored anyway, so why drag them along.

So I figure we'll go, maybe meet up with a few old friends and have a good time.

But, the minute I walked in the door, some weird, unexplainable thing happened. The person I had become in the last ten years went "poof" and I was instantly transported back into the misery of high school. I had no clue what to say to anyone, I felt stupid, ugly and unpopular.

First off, they have name tags for each of us. AND, the tags included our high school senior picture. Let's put it this way, I didn't "peak" in the looks department when I was in high school. So, at 28, my senior picture was not something I wanted to wearing around on my chest all night. I found some kind of sticker and placed it directly over the picture leaving my name. I knew that some of my old friends would no longer recognize me, but they would remember my name.

Then I spotted a girl I recognized. In high school Shirley had the most unruly hair, thick glasses and if it was possible, was less popular than I was. I remembered her, I remembered being friendly to her when everyone else was really not very nice at all. Ten years later, she hadn't exactly turned from the ugly duckling into a swan, but she had controlled her hair a bit.

Now I expected the "popular" kids to ignore me, not know who I was and not care. But Shirley walks up with this haughty air about her. It was so obvious she was there to make a new impression on everyone and I suppose she was going to start with me. I said, "Hi Shirley." She looks down her nose at me, God knows why and checks out my name tag. I'm thinking, OK fine, we were never really friends, but honest to God, I was about the only person who spoke to this girl in high school.

With my picture covered, she repeats my full name, as if she was trying to recall who I was. I wasn't going to lose any sleep over Shirley not remembering me, so I just stood there looking at her. Then she repeats my name again.

And she says in the loftiest tone ever, "I don't remember you. What were you involved in?"

I had had enough. I looked straight at her and said, "Not a DAMNED thing" and walked off.

The rest of the night I met up with a few old friends and laughed to myself watching the fading popular kids trying to impress each other and people like Shirley still trying to impress everyone else.

Thank God the rest of life isn't like high school. People who know me now never believe I was shy. And I NEVER show them my senior picture.

And I've never felt the need to go to any reunion since. No one would know me anyway, including myself.

Whatever Grandma

I'm sure from the way I talk about my grandkids, most people would assume I'm a big pushover. So yeah, I let them play in the water or make a mess in the house or sometimes stay up later than they should, but that's the priviledge of being a grandparent, isn't it?

But I doubt my grandson would agree that I'm a pushover. I'm from the old school, so I was raised by being whacked a time or two by my parents and it didn't kill me. I knew not to push too many buttons, so I didn't get spanked very often. My brother Mark, well, he just wasn't smart enough to know when to shut up, so he may have a different opinion about the spanking thing than I do.

For the most part, when my grandson was a toddler, I could just tell him no and he was fine. When he was about 18 months old, he threw a tiny hissy fit and threw one of his John Deere toys. I decided it was time to try out the "time out" process. If it didn't work, I would know fairly quickly, but if it did work, that was even better.

We were in the garage with 47 toy John Deere tractors and trucks around us and I said something that must have made him mad. He picked up one of the trucks and threw it across the room. When I told him to pick it up, he just gave me a look.

Since we were in the garage and the corners were all packed I couldn't make him stand in the corner, I said, "OK, now you're going to have to stand by the wall." I picked him up and placed him within a foot of the only bare garage wall. At 18 months, he didn't get it at first. I stood behind him, so my legs could block him from walking away. When he realized he wasn't going anywhere and this "standing by the wall" was punishment he began to cry. It broke my heart, but I knew if we didn't start off establishing what was acceptable in our house and what wasn't, we'd be in big trouble later.

A couple minutes later, I lifted him up and hugged him and told him that we would not allow him to throw his toys. He held on to me for a while, then went over and picked up the toy.

So, we've rarely had to make him "stand by the wall" in the years since. He knows the rules. Shortly after that experiment, Bob was saying something silly to him. He rolled his head around and said in a funny deep voice, "Bop! You need to stand by the wall."

When he was about 3, he began to attend a day care. Until that time, he was watched by another grandmother and I got to watch him on Fridays. Within a short period of time I noticed he began to use a bit of snotty tone to his voice. Snotty tones are a pet peeve of mine and I was not happy to hear it coming from my sweet precious grandson.

I decided to wait until we were playing with his toys and we were just talking about things. Then I asked him if he knew what "tone of voice" meant. He was a sponge during these kinds of times when it appeared he was too deep in playing but I knew this was the best way to get my point across. So I asked him if he could tell the difference between when I said, "No." and when I said, "NNNNOOO" With the second No, he looked up at me very quickly. It got his attention. I said, "Did you tell the difference? Didn't it feel different to you by the way I said the same word?" He agreed. I told him that was called a "tone of voice" and by using a different tone, it leaves a different feeling. It was obvious he got it and I deliberately did not go ahead and bring up times when his tone was bad. I thought it best to wait until the next time and then remind him of our discussion. A time or two of that quelches alot of arguments.

It worked like a charm and years later still does. A few months back he didn't agree with what I had said and he had just the slightest aggravation to his voice. I just turned around to look at him. I didn't need to say anything. HE looked at me and smiled and said, "TONE". So he knew. I then laughed as did he. And there was no more tone to the discussion. It was nice that he recognized it right away.

But the biggie, at least to me was when he was around three. He was sitting at the bar in our kitchen and I was getting him something to eat. He wasn't being very cooperative and I called him on it, maybe I even threatened the "wall". His reaction surprised me. He cocked up his hand toward my face and said the dreaded word. "WHATEVER!" Ok, the one-two knockout of whatever plus the hand......

Oh no, that was simply not going to fly. He knew he had stepped over the line right away,, he hopped off the bar stool and went running. Luckily I was still able to catch up to him, while saying he was going to be standing by the wall. When I reached him, I picked him up by both arms and brought him up to my face and first said , "HEY" with TONE. He looked me in the face and he just burst out crying. He's not a cryer, so I know these are real tears. It was obvious to me that I was not going to accomplish anything at that time by making him doing the "dreaded" wall stance. He was crying like I had thrown him across the room. I just had to hug him. Tightly. Grandma caved, but I said, "Look, I love you, but you cannot talk to me like that. I don't talk to you like that, Papaw doesn't talk to you like that and we don't allow people here to talk like that." He hugged me tight and his crying began to stop. I gave him another "I Love You But" sentences and then we were off playing again.

It was funny from then on though. The "Whatever" had become such a part of his speech back then that even he didn't realize how often he would say it. For the next few hours he would start to say, "What...e.........are you doing?" Kids are pretty darn smart about what they can get away with and where. I don't think he's ever said "Whatever" to me since.

And so I have become a believer in the "standing by the wall" process. I doubt it works for all kids, but it's been easy with the grandkids.

Last month his little sister got her first experience of the standing by the wall. She threw chalk down in the garage. I told her that was not nice and to go pick it up. Well, she's her own child so she proceeded to stick out her lip, folded her arms and just stood there. I told her twice and then told her that she would have to stand by the wall. No change. It was a standoff. She's a bit more of her own personality than that of her brother. We don't have her as often as we did her brother, so maybe she thought I was a pushover.

I literally walked her over to the chalk and she still just kept her arms folded. I took her arm and moved it toward the chalk. NOPE, she deliberately left her hand in a fist. OK, garage wall here we come. She cried right away and I let her cry.

In the meantime her brother is dancing around like a Native American laughing at her standing by the wall. I warned him that he would be next if he didn't stop, but I stiffled a laugh at his antics. After a couple minutes I stooped by her and asked her to go pick up the chalk. Nope. OK, another couple minutes while her brother and I continued to play games in the garage, ignoring her crocodile tears. I said again, "Now are you ready to pick up the chalk?" "yes" So, over she went, picked up the chalk and we all went back to playing normally. She wasn't happy about not winning the standoff, but she was fine a minute or two later.

Honestly the chalk think wasn't a big deal, but I knew from her stance that she thought she would get away with anything at Grandma and Papaw's house and I felt it was time for her to learn that there are rules at our house and there are consequences when she breaks them.

I gotta tell you, it's easy when they visit. They don't question us when we tell them to do stuff. That's not to say they still aren't kids and they still don't pull our strings occasionally. We don't want Stepford kids after all. But we don't have a couple of bratty kids with nasty tones running the house when they are here. All four of us enjoy our time together since we don't have to spend our time now doling out punishment every 5 mintues and we're also not overrun by bratty kids to rule the house.

And as a side benefit, I use "TONE" at work. It's a joke of course, I explained it was what I said to my grandson and when someone's getting a little irritated having to explain something to me mostly as a joke, the "tone" drifts into the conversation. I just say "TONE" (which is now being picked up by everyone else directed back at me) and everyone laughs and it breaks the tension and gets the "toner" to readjust the discussion. I even had someone IM me "TONE" when I asked why they had done something. I IMexplained "WHY?" was tone, "why?" was not. It's quite entertaining to the entire group.

How many do you remember?

Chalk Boards

Mimeograph

Three Channels

Jiffy Pop

Mr. Misty's

Adding Machines

Carbon Paper

White Out

TelStar

Sputnik

1968 assassinations

Hot Wheels Tracks

Real doctor's house calls

Home Ec

Workshop

KoolAid

Jump Rope

Hop Scotch

Dirt Clods

Movie Cameras

Brownie Cameras

Popping the bubbles in the hot asphalt with your bike tires.

Kick The Can

Crack the Whip

Paper Dolls

Green Ghost Game

Johnny Quest Game

Mr. Potato Head

Silly Putty

Etch a Sketch

Transistor Radios

AM Stations

Lost in Space

Car 54 Where are You

Branded

Betsy McCall

Sparkledy Paints

Perry Mason

Alfred Hitchcock

Lindner's Ice Cream - Hmmm, Hot Fudge Pecan Ball

Jerry's Restaurant

Jump Ropes

The Beehive

Pete Steffey's

Effie's

Moon Walk - NOT Michael Jackson's

Tilt a Whirl

Detasselling corn

Bailin' hay

Mini Bikes

Sloppin' the hogs

Stokin' the coal furnace

Hippy Vans

VW Beatle

Kent State

Sea Monkeys

Hula Hoops

Francie Dolls legs bend

headlight buttons on the floor

push button transmissions

6 pack decorations

swag lamps

perculators

Lilies of the Field

Room 222

That Darned Cat

The Flying Nun

metal ring horns on the steering wheel

lightning bugs

Console TVs

Black and White TV

Twiggy

Mod Squad

Pixie Cut hairdos

Clip on earrings

Cracker Jack prizes

Chocola

Pixie Stix

jacks

Magic Rocks

Nutter Butter

Tang

Peanut Butter and Marshmellow Cream

Manual typewriters with a carriage return bar

Glass Milk Jugs delivered by the Milk Man, packed in ice in the summer

Wood panelled walls

Cardboard fireplaces for Christmas

Real lead icycles for Christmas

Playing in the sprinkler on hot summer days

Snapping bushels of fresh green beans under a shade tree

Finding bushels of morel mushrooms in May

Laying in the back window of the car on road trips

American Bandstand

Haley Mills

Mr. French

Paul Dixon

Ruth Lyons

Party line phones

Falstaff

Double Cola

That Was the House That Jack Built

Farm Life

Just a short few years back, some little boy I'm related to (and won't name names) drew this for his class. And no, it was not my grandson.

This little guy is smart and his family farms (obvious from the picture). His mother posted this on our family website with the description:

I about CRIED with PRIDE when he brought this home from school today. It is supposed to read, "A cow standing on another cow's back." I just hope his teacher remembers this picture for parent-teacher conferences!


His aunt added this as a comment:

OH MY GOD!!! He told me about this the other day when I picked him up. I was trying to figure out what he was trying to tell me. He just kept saying that this kid in his class told him that it wasn't possible for a cow to stand on another cows back. And he told the kid it was possible and that he saw a cow on another cows back before!!! I was kinda cracking up then, but then he said "... what would you say if I told you that a cow can stand on another cows back whould you believe me?" I was just trying so hard not to laugh and I said yes I would believe you. I had no idea he was going to draw a picture of it!!!!!:-O

I dredged this story up again tonight because I needed a good laugh. How 'bout you?

A Feel Good Movie

I few years back we joined one of those DVD clubs. We don't buy alot, just enough to get the 5 or 6 for a penny and then enough to fulfull the obligation and then quit.

Anyway, I had ordered several movies. One that got good reviews and had one of the most amazing kid actors and was recommended by my sister.

I put the DVD in and Bob asks, "What kind of movie is this?"

I said, "I don't know, I think it's one of those 'feel good' movies."

It caught our interest right away.

Excellent movie.

But.

Feel good?

By the end I was literally sobbing out loud like a little girl.

One of best movies ever, but Pay It Forward is NOT a feel good movie. But then again, I have to admit, I'm a sucker for a movie that makes me cry.

Wait. I have to stop now. It's on TV now and I need to find a heavy duty Kleenex.