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H/T Fox News and bluefamilies.org

Only In Indiana

Taken from Evansville's police scanner watch on Facebook.

#ewatch 2600 Mt Vernon Ave. Caller states that she arrived home to find her ex boyfriend had broken in her house. He is no longer there but he left a female there that the caller does not know and that subject is wearing the caller's clothes. EPD en route. IJ61

Only One Surprise

Bob turned 65 last Thursday.

He is nearly impossible to surprise because I can never count on him being home at a certain time unless we make plans. And we really don't go out that often. So I finally had to tell him that we were going to dinner with the kids and grandkids. No big surprise party, just a nice evening out which is something we never do.

He had been talking in the last few months about wanting to get some family pics, real pics, not just snapshots at get togethers. I told him we would never be able to get everyone together.

So I plotted with his girls and a great photographer that I knew took some fabulous pictures. Then came the problem of getting him to be at the house at 1:30 yesterday. He's usually out either buying or selling cars and other "piddlefarting" around that he does all the time. So I told him the grandkids wanted to have a little party for him.

Even with that he managed to get home just after the kids all got here but luckily about 5 minutes before the photographer did.

I brought her in through the garage door and when I went to introduce her yoi would have sworn he knew about the surprise.

He's not a fan of surprises, he seems to think that he will be unprepared or something.

I had managed to convince him that he needed to buy some new jeans just told everyone to wear some fall colors.

Unfortunately it rained most of the day, so most of the pics were indoors. We did get some on our front porch and the swing on our deck that my dad had built.

We then had time to relax awhile, then headed to an expensive dinner downtown at Fogo Di Chao. It was a nice time and a good dinner, however I certainly wouldn't review it as one of the best restaurants. That didn't take away from us having a great day.

Bob's first comments this morning was this his best birthday ever. It may sound like a normal birthday for most, but we are finally at a point where there is no extraordinary drama. Normal is such a relief after years of not normal.

Can't wait for the pics.

Great Day

Pics and details to follow.

Leave those kids alone

 

Why yes. The grass is always greener

I mean literally.

 

Remember my late night rant when I was wrapped up in the heaviness of living in a Tuscan farmhouse and dreaming of being an Expat?

Just a couple days later we sat with our wonderful hostess on a rainy afternoon and she began to explain exactly what is was really like living in Italy.

Like her FIFTY-SEVEN PERCENT income tax on top of the hotel tax she has to collect from her guests.

And that the government decided that anyone using a tractor must have a drivers license and attend a driving course paying around 500 euro. They had an 80 year old farm hand that had driven tractors all his life and did not have a drivers license. Suddenly Italy decided he needed to pay them 500 euro for them to teach him how to drive a tractor that he's driven for 7 decades.

Our upstairs neighbor in Fort Myers actually lives most of the year in Rome.

We had a long discussion one day at the pool. Apparently Italy requires her to prove the amount of property taxes she pays in the state of Florida. And it's not enough, so they have to pay property tax in Italy for the property they own in Fort Myers Florida, United States of America. You realize of course that's on top of the income tax they pay in Italy.

So yes. The grass is always greener.

Some Italians are suggesting a revolution unfolding. A deliberate revolt against the oppressive rules and taxes they are burdened with.

I have always maintained I couldn't live in Italy because I'm too used to our conveniences. But it appears that some of the inconveniences actually have nothing to do with physically moving about the country.

I wouldn't mind staying a couple months though.

 

Tired of all the political nonsense?

 

If this didn't stop them

In June of 1944

Why did anyone think these would stop them today?

And apparently the Park Security decided to be no match for these heroes. 

My Rant on Facebook.

I'm pretty sure the founding fathers never intended for the federal government to be the largest employer in the US.

I'm sick of all the politicians.

Frankly if every elected official could only run one time maybe they do the right thing for America instead of voting only for political reasons. 

And their votes couldn't be bought.

I think we should ban political parties entirely. The elected officials should vote for what's right, not what their party tells them to.

A note that will make the strongest man cry

We went to Bloomington today to meet my family to celebrate Bob's 65th birthday a little early.

Great time, it would have been nice to be outdoors, but Indiana got some badly needed rain all day.  

You may remember this from a few years back when my niece adopted two precious little girls from her school. 

Both of them stole our hearts away, but the youngest one had an instant connection with Bob that can only be explained by the likes of the Good Lord bringing these two souls together when they were both  were in need of such a connection.  This is a pic of their first fishing trip tossing back a baby fish.

Today Bob got some very sweet cards from all our great nieces and then an extra note from one little girl that was given to our family one very cold sunny afternoon in a courtroom in southern Indiana. 

If that doesn't bring a tear to your eye, then you have no soul. 

(Translation on #3 was a teddy bear she named Cuddles. She brings it when we see her and Bob has to spray Cuddles wih Bob's cologne.)

If I Owned a Tank

This story might have ended differently. 

I ran a quick errand to the Hallmark store in my little town and parked on a handicapped spot, tossed my little temporary handicapped sticker in the front dash and hobbled with my crutches into the store. 

The store is in a local strip mall so there are very few parking spaces that are that far from the store, but it was nice to get one that didn't take me five minutes to get to the store. 

It's a great hallmark store, especially for my little town. When I was buying my great niece a birthday present, the clerk asked me if I had a fortune cookie. I had no idea what she was talking about. Then she offers me a basket full of cookies and said that whatever discount was in the cookie was my discount for my entire purchase. 

Ok, I thought that was a nice touch. I opened the cookie and the darned thing had a 40% discount!!!!  If I had known that I would have bought quite a bit more.  Dang, that was a nice surprise. 

So I happily waltzed, well as much as you can waltz with crutches, out to my handy parked car. 

That was when I nearly blew a gasket. 

Some freaking idiot, sans any type of handicapped plate, sticker, or other identifying result, not only parked in a handicapped space, but so close, I could barely manage to get in my car on the driver's side. 

He literally parked about 12 inches from my driver's side door. 

I should have taken a picture. I got this one from google which, I'll admit is actually closer than my idiot, I might have had an extra five inches over this one, but still not enough to easily get in my car. 

I stood outside debating between calling the local cops to ticket the SOB illegally parked in a handicapped space or waiting until the creep came out to their car so I could ask them just how I was supposed to get in my car without climbing in the passenger door or slamming my car door to leave a horrible nasty dent in their passenger door. 

If I had been driving some piece for crap car, I would have done the latter. Surprisingly the knucklehead had a fairly nice car. 

Instead I left a nasty note about their illegally parking in a handicapped spot and parking so close that made someone else barely able to get in their car. He had plenty of space of the driver's side, so he had no excuse. 

I wish I had a copy of the pic below to leave under the windshield wiper. 

Yuck

That's the why I feel right now.

Sad things going on that I can't post about.

Nothing health related, nothing that is earth shattering just yucky things happening for some people I love.

Anyone need some oregano?

 

A couple years ago I planted some oregano in the back which I had done several time before like I do with the basil. 

After such a mild winter in 2011, I wasn't necessarily surprised when the oregano lived through the winter and I was able to use it again last summer. 

Last winter we a little bad weather, more normal for our area, but definitely not horrible. 

This spring the oregano came back with a vengeance. It even overtook some perennials. 

Today I decided I needed to take advantage of the abundant crop and figure out a way to have fresh oregano this winter. 

With this motherlode I'm thinking I should try at least three methods of preserving the herbs. Stay tuned for how it works out. 

Well, not at my house at least

Building the World

We had our two grandkids last Saturday.

Normally we try to play outside as much as possible, but with Bob's swollen face from the hole they tore in his head with the MOHS, he was moving a little slower than normal. And I was still sporting the crutches.  

So stayed out a little, then took them to a local arcade for an hour or so. 

When we got home our grandson had his IPod and I asked him about Minecraft. I knew he played and I thought we could keep him from getting bored if we managed some Minecraft time. 

I loaded the app on my IPad and since we could play it together. 

It was actually pretty cool. He showed me what he had built in his world, so then I created a new one and away we went.  When I would start building a house, he would be in another room building a huge screen TV and living room furniture. 

The game is actually kind of creative. We played for a few hours, with my granddaughter joining in on her IPod. That gave Bob some time to take a little nap on the couch. 

Bob took them home Sunday morning while I was fixing some chicken and noodles for my Texas "daughter" and her family that arrived Sunday afternoon. 

If I Hear

One more toilet paper commercial talking about bums or enjoying the go I swear I am going to boycott toilet paper.

Ugh. It's as if Cottenelle hired the same horrible marketing team as Charmin.

What are these people thinking?

Now where did I out that Sears Roebuck catalogue?

There's No Place Like

A Good Run

It's been 30 some odd days in a row I've managed a post of some kind, probably not my bests one by far. 

That streak may come to an end this week.  

Grandkids tonight, then tomorrow my "daughter" from Texas is coming up with her husband and twin girls for a few days, and then it's time to get things ready for Bobby's 65 birthday. 

Nothing special, just a dinner out with the girls and the grandkids. 

On Tuesday he had MOHS performed at his temple to remove some "minor" basal cell skin cancer. They had to go back on SIX times which left a very large hole about half the size of his ear (which are not small). He had them snap a picture before they sewed him up. The picture looks pretty ghastly so I won't post it here (although I'm tempted). 

Last night my two brothers and my sister came over while Bob was out galvanting around somewhere. 

I realized I could not remember the last time that just the four of us were together by ourselves. It was kinda strange really. No spouses, no kids, no grandkids.  Just the four of us. It was a wild time. Well not exactly. We watched a movie, waited for Bob to bring home pizza and just chatted. 

Anyway, I will likely miss this daily post thing that I've been trying to manage. I doubt anyone will notice except for me. 

Happening Too Often

Rest in Peace Officer Bradway

Stirring Up Trouble

I was finally able to shake and bake a couple of chops the other day. Bob had picked them up at a newly opened butcher shop in town.

I hobbled around and managed that fine meal with some of the Schwann man's frozen corn. Sadly the last of the sweet corn is now gone. 

While things were roasting I was back in my recliner with my foot up when out of the blue I had a sudden hunger for my dad's peanut butter fudge. 

I don't care for most fudge, it's just too sweet, but my dad used to make the best peanut butter fudge. He made it in an old cast iron skillet. I can still see him stirring that golden goodness around in the heavy skillet. 

I don't think he ever had to test it to see when it was done, he just knew. 

We could barely wait until it had time to set. 

This recipe might be close.

Dad always made a complete mess whenever he cooked. And he never bothered to clean anything up. 

We all still remember Mom coming home one day when Dad had made his peanut butter fudge, but decided to ice a cake with it. 

It wasn't just the mess he made, it was that he put the cake directly onto the counter and then poured on the peanut butter fudge icing. She was furious, but the cake was delicious. We kids didn't mind scraping our piece of cake off the counter, instead of a cake plate. 

I think that was probably a bigger mess than when he went to boil about a half dozen eggs. We had had our first microwave about a week, when he figured that the eggs would boil a lot quicker in the microwave. 

Within about a minute, eggs covered the entire microwave. 

It's been over 21 years, but man I still miss him.  

And his peanut butter fudge. 

One for the boys.

Who's Fighting Who?

An analogy for high school.

We Still Miss Him

Be Careful What You Steal

The screams came piercing through the night waking up everyone in the house. 

We ran outside to find one of our neighbor's relatives standing in the middle on the road. Her husband was still trying to run after the truck that was being stolen while they had been sleeping in the back of the truck camper. 

Since the old house across the street only had one bedroom, the family was sound asleep when they realized that someone had broken into the truck and was starting it up. 

The husband jumped out of the camper to try to stop them. The mother was trying to stay in the camper since their four year old daughter was sleeping in the back also. 

However the husband wasn't able to stop the young thief and when the kid floored the gas pedal, the mother came tumbling out of the back of the camper, landing in the middle of the road, leaving the little girl in the stolen camper. 

My parents ran to call the police. Crime was rare in the neighborhood back in the 70's.  Nearly all of it was usually conducted by teenagers looking for a little thrill. 

The mother was hysterical. She was trying to remember if the camper door swung shut behind her. It was a case of deciding which would be worse for her daughter. To fall out of the back, or be taken to God knows where. 

It was an awful couple of hours, trying to soothe an hysterical mother and tend the the large swelling that was occurring where she had hit the pavement. 

Around 4 in the morning, an older couple living in the valley heard knocking on the door. When they looked outside, they found a small girl in her pajamas at their door.  She told them she thought her mommy and daddy had died when they fell out of the truck. They had no idea where she had come from. 

They phoned the police and matched up the two stories. 

The boy that had stolen the truck hadn't realized anyone was asleep in the truck and never knew that he had actually kidnapped a little girl in his haste to steal an easy mark. 

He had ditched the truck in the back of a dying community center. The little girl had gotten out of the truck and walked through the weeds to the nearest house. 

No Right to Complain

When I worked downtown, I would see a gentlemen several times during the week because he parked in the same garage. 

His smile was infectious and I never saw him without it. His journey to his van was always swift and the few times we exchanged words he was kind and forgiving. 

Today I'm sitting here on this pretty fall afternoon missing my own cooking. I've put in my first week back at the new job sporting my laptop in a backpack and climbing the stairs to the second floor where I sit among about 50 other techie type people for 40 hours a week. 

Supposedly the building doesn't have an elevator. I'm sure it does somewhere, probably in the warehouse below where my badge doesn't let me in. 

So I move my crutches to my left side and use my right hand to take one step at a time. 

The saying is, "good foot goes to heaven, bad foot goes to hell". If that confuses you, try it the wrong way going up or down the stairs with a surgically enhanced foot on the wrong step. 

Bob has been waiting on me. Bringing dinner home as its next to impossible to stand on one foot and cook. Even though I'm tempted. I'm quickly untempted when I stand long. Some days are okay, some days my left foot wants absolutely no weight bearing on it.  I can screw up the tendon that was used to having a meaningless tumor wrapped around it if I put weight on it too soon. 

So I want to whine. 

But then I remember that smiling guy that I used to see in the parking garage. I noticed him the first time when I saw him on the street and I went into the glass enclosure where the elevator and stairs were.  I hadn't realized he was coming in and I instantly apologized for not holding the door open for him. 

He smiled and said that it was not problem and he pushed the button for the elevator and wheeled his motorized wheelchair quickly into the closing doors. 

He made it look like his life was a breeze.  Maybe he complained at home,but I doubt it. 

What is Torture?

I went to see Zero Dark Thirty when it was in the theaters.

If you've seen the movie, you know the first half hour or so is very hard to watch. 

Watching it again tonight I am stuck by what is and what is not considered torture. Everyone remembers the uproar over waterboarding. 

But in watching the methods depicted in the film, the waterboarding was not any worse than the other forms of "interrogation".  Quite honestly in my eyes all of it seemed like torture. 

So for the first thirty minutes the movie makes you squirm. 

But at about the one hour mark, the impact of seeing the group of CIA agents being blown up, nothing in the first thirty minutes of the movie suddenly seems to be out of line. 

And it only gets worse. By the time they get to the scenes in Pakistan, I felt like the terrorists were being treated like royalty during the first thirty minutes. 

So what is torture?  I don't have a clue. Why is being strung up with your arms above your head for hours or being locked in a small box for days not considered torture but having water poured over a cloth in your head is?

These weren't men we were "torturing", they are animals.  

Grand Dad

Yes, that's the name on the bottle she is holding.

And the second gentleman from the left was mine. We called him Crappaw. 

Not sure I remember why, but he had a limp.  Frasier's dad, Marty Crane reminded me a lot of him.

His name was Emmett Felix, but no one ever referred to him as Emmett. He was Mike.  Apparently when he was young he hung around an older gentleman named Mike, and they began to call him Little Mike.  The name stuck.

I was 13 when he died.  Mostly I remember him in his old recliner watching his beloved Saint Louis Cardinals play ball.

When Grandma would get on his nerves he would retire to the bathroom where he kept a jug of whiskey behind the toilet and an ashtray stand. He would be there for hours.  Maybe that's where we came up with the name Crappaw instead of Grandpa. 

I Will Never Be the Same.

Let's Roll 10:04 a.m.

9:53 a.m.

Delivering the news 9:05 a.m.

9:03 a.m.

8:46 a.m.

.......

So where were you when the world stopped turning?

In honor of all those whose lives were taken too soon.

This is who I am

I wrote this in draft form a few years ago.

Not much has changed since I wrote it except for a spell between clients two years ago which lasted six months and this year when I alternated between my trip to Italy and lining up the next client which started three weeks ago.

So here goes.



I believe that Jesus died for our sins, even though I am not worthy, I will go to heaven because of His ultimate sacrifice.

I believe that Jews are God's chosen people.

I believe that I will be joined in heaven with those good people of other faiths.  I don't have to understand how that will happen, but I know it will.  I believe these people will be given a first class ticket over those people who cause misery and suffering to everyone they meet.

I believe that even devout atheists deserve my love and non-judgment.  I sometimes find it interesting to have friendly, thought-provoking discussions of our differences.  As with political difference, those discussions must not turn personal or all meaningful discussions turn into insults and that ruins the relationship.

I have been completely fooled for years by some people that I thought were good sincere people who were close to me in many ways.  I will not let a few truly evil person change my belief that most people are true and good nor make me wary of anyone in the future.  I believe if I change my view of the world, the evil ones win.  I'll take getting badly burned a time or two versus thinking everyone is not who they present themselves to be.

I believe in America.

I believe that life begins at the moment of conception.  It may have been a "gotcha" question to Pelosi the other day, but you really need to wonder, for those that claim Christianity AND are pro-abortion how can they answer the following question...."At what point did Jesus as an "embryo" have a "right to live"?"

I believe in being responsible.

I believe in helping those less fortunate.  I don't believe the beggars camping out on the interstate exits are less fortunate, no more than I believe the scam artists we saw in Rome, crippled over in front of churchs until their shift was up and they would simply walk away.

I believe you should live your life now.  But unfortunately, I don't always, strike that, I rarely practice that.

I believe God blessed me with the greatest family.  I feel so sad for those not born in such a loving environment.  We had our issues when we were growing up, but bar-none, when all else fails I know there are so many people that will have my back.  We are family.

I don't believe the government knows better than I do what I should do with my expendible income. 

I have worked full time since I was 18 years old, part time since 16.  The longest time I have gone unpaid in my life was 5 weeks when I was hospitalized with septic shock and was losing my job in 2 weeks.  The next longest time was 3 1/2 weeks that same year after having major surgery. 

I take highly personal offense when some says "teabagger".  It's obvious they do not understand that people are fed up with being insulted because they weren't born into some "elite" status.

The Crazies.

Diamond Dave brought it up in my last post. 

So while looking through some images to use online in reference to the Sphere that was damaged in front of the World Trade Centers, I happened upon all kinds of nuttiness from the truthers to the every-event-is-a-sign-of-the-last-day-ers.  

Although its a different artist, I captured this picture from inside the Vatican.  

With St. Peter's Basilica in the background, this sphere was created in 1990 by Arnoldo Pomodoro. 

Of course for many American's, it brings to mind this image. 

Which leads to this one. 

The sphere that stood next to the World Trade Center was commissioned by the Port Authority and built the German sculptor, Fritz Koenig in 1971. 

There are some reports that it was built by the sculpture to symbolize world peace. I don't know of that's true, but what was left of it after 9/11 is a testament that some never want peace. 

Never. 

Today it remains at Battery Park. 

May it remain standing to remind us. 

I'm Beginning My Descent

Into my few days each year of my white hot anger.

If that's not how you deal with the grief and anger, you may not want to visit for a few days. 

For me, it feels like that is my memorial. I HAVE to remember.

I must remember. Or it all becomes meaningless. 

And we will forget. 

Instead, we want to give aid to the assholes who did this. They hate us. Deal with it.  

Because I Said I Would

Anyone else amazed at this young man's courage to stand up to his mistakes?

H/T The Five

Pictures Worth

Well you know the rest. 

Our last day coming down this lane, I snapped this picture. 

This picture is NOT edited. These were the actual colors that last evening in Volterra. 

The rest of the pictures belong to my nephew. 

The last afternoon was rainy off and on. 

However that afternoon will likely stay in our minds longer than all others of our time in Italy. That's because we sent the afternoon talking with this beautiful Italian hostess and learned about her amazing life. 

After a couple hours, Marinella brought us out some snacks and some wine. 

We hated saying goodbye.