Call It What You Want...

The whole thing started in May. Well, sooner, but for that I'd have to scroll back and see when I first posted a photo of one of my kids to my blog.
But in mid-May 2012, l started getting a bunch of really weird emails from my web server from my blog -- referral to a particular post from another website. I figured it was spam. I moved the 600 referral notices to my spam folder. More came. It was weird.
No. I did not go to the website. I had no idea what it was. Probably a spammer trying to get to me. I have had weird referrals and stuff to my blog from companies selling, er, enhancement drugs and whatnot. I just file those away in the spam folder.

A few days later, I received this email:
"Hi Jenny,

I'm not sure anyone has contacted you with this information.  There's been a scam artist using your little boy's pictures and claiming he's her own child.  

http://warriorelihoax.wordpress.com/2012/05/14/i-found-the-real-eli/ 

I'm really sorry to tell you this.  I'm the one who has been writing the site and I forgot to let you know about it.

If you have any questions or anything or want more information, please let me know.

Taryn Wright"

Weird, to be sure. That address was the link that had been on all the referrals. And there is was. And it was weird. An adorable (and slightly pitiful) photo from my blog, of Adam somewhere between bouts of tears, only being portrayed as a child with cancer. Yikes! Weird! And this lady has busted the crazy person who was behind it.

Moving on, I dismissed this as a weird but strange incident. What else do you do? I like having a blog and I guess that is the risk, though I DO NOT APPROVE SO DON'T GO USING MY PHOTOS FOR YOUR PURPOSES, THANKS. But my mom reads my blog, and I sort of figured she was about the only one. And besides, I was powerless to do anything about it.

In September, I got another strange email -- this one from my brother. Now my brother's emails are often strange (we come from a strange family, after all), but this one was something I knew about.

"Hey, Jenny,

I got this e-mail today - I don't know if it's legit or scam. If you want to follow up, that's your call.

Brian

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: Druckerman, Shana
Date: Tue, Sep 25, 2012 at 5:30 PM
Subject: ABC News, 20/20 - question?
To: "brian's email address" <>


Hello Pastor Brian,

Please excuse a kind of random email, but I'm trying to reach out to a family member (I believe) named Jenny Sherrill.  She writes a blog called "Call It What You Want."

I couldn't find proper contact information on her website, and so I thought I'd try to see if I could reach her through you.

I am working on a story for ABC News about an alleged internet hoax and I believe one, if not more, of her personal photos was used by someone else under false pretenses.  Perhaps she's already aware of this whole thing, as I believe a number of people have been contacted in one way or another.

As part of my research, I wanted to reach out to every parent I could find whose photos were used and I was hoping Jenny might be willing to have a quick chat by phone.  If you're comfortable passing this along, I would really appreciate the help.

I am best reached at this email address or on my cell phone ---------.  I will also be reachable at my office tomorrow and Thursday at -----------.

Thank you in advance for your help.

Best,
Shana"

Interesting. So I sat on it for a little bit, then emailed this lady back saying I wasn't sure what I could do to help, that Taryn seemed to have covered it all. I posted on Facebook, asking my friends, "What would YOU do if a 20/20 producer contacted you?"
I wasn't really sure what my input would do to advance the story, or if putting us out there would bring out the creepers...
Then the other brother made the comment that people really are victimized by these sort of creeps on the internet, those who claim to be something that they are not. (He also comment that Brian was the correct brother for her to have contacted, and that if she'd contacted HIM, he'd have knitted a really delightful story of his own that would have put the hoaxer to shame for being so mundane and non-dramatic. But that's beside the point.)
I decided to give this producer a call. We chatted a bit. I described a couple of the photos Taryn had used on her website, photos of this poor "child with cancer", "Warrior Eli", that were actually Adam.
"I have those photos on my desk right now," she said. "That is so weird. I am looking at photos of your son here in New York."

The perpetrator of the hoax, a woman in Ohio, had sent photos of Adam in a "care package" to someone who was following "Eli's" cancer battle, along with "Warrior Eli" bracelets and pictures "Eli" had colored.



Those two photos -- the baby with the giraffe? the boy with the hat? -- Both Adam. (Also not a 4-year-old, as portrayed, but when he was between 9 and 18 months.)

I agreed to send this producer some current photos of Adam -- and his family -- to show that he is actually a normal and healthy child and to help the viewers connect the fact that these aren't just "stock photos" borrowed from some business but real, actual people whose likenesses have been used to elicit something false from others. In the case of the perpetrator of this hoax, she apparently just enjoyed weaving a complex and dramatic story -- one that spanned 10 years or more and had much tragedy and sorrow. (Had she not chosen to "kill off" the "mother" of this family, she might not have been uncovered, but a dramatic Mother's Day vehicular crash that left the "mother" dead and a baby born by emergency surgery had set off the hoax alarms in the mind of Taryn, the Chicago woman who uncovered the hoax.) But why not let people send money to help this poor family? Why not accept gifts from others? She had taken advantage of the kindness of others -- she had preyed on the sensitivity of followers of this tragic story and made them feel like fools.

The segment was slated to air in October. Then it was bumped for more "current" topics. I set my computer to record 20/20. The show got bumped again. I stopped hearing from Shana, the producer.

This morning, I got up to three messages in my Facebook inbox.
From Emily: "Were you just on 20/20? I swear there was a picture of you and the boy on 20/20."
From Linda: "Natalie just saw your 20/20 show. It was on tonight. She was freaking out."
From Natalie (Linda's neighbor): "I just saw your picture on a 20/20 special about fb scams! I took a picture of the picture . Isn't this you?" and the photo at the top of this blog.

When I checked my emails from yesterday, there was a note from Shana, but I'd missed it because Tim was using the computer to work on Mark's Pinewood Derby car (making stickers -- NASCAR cars need stickers).

Fortunately, I have been recording 20/20 all along, so we have the segment (which was short, and near the end of the show) to watch and save for later.
It's also available online at http://abcnews.go.com/2020.



And now you know how I missed my photo on national TV. (Oh, and I used a not-so-great photo of myself because 1) I am not vain and 2) It was from the same day as the photo of little Adam with the giraffe.)

This winter, my brother The Thief proposed a challenge for himself -- and anyone else who wished to try it. (For those who wish to read the original blog post, the date was January 20.) I am up for a good challenge, and so I decided to join. The challenge? Reading the entire Bible through during Lent.

Lots of people asked where I would find the time to read the entire Bible in 40 days. This amounted to 30 chapters a day, beginning in Genesis and ending in Revelation, with Sundays off. Frankly, when I am quite interested in a book that I've checked out from the library, I can read it in a day or two. (Usually these are riveting fiction books -- often in the mystery category -- but still!) I can make time to read if I want to.

Thus began my Lenten journey. Instead of "giving something up" for Lent, I took something on. (Of course, this led to "giving up" recreational reading, which completely vanished for the period, to instead focus on my new discipline.) The plan that worked best for me was to do my reading in and among my housework in the morning, and then, when the boys were upstairs for their naptime, to finish whatever reading I hadn't already completed -- before I was allowed to start working on "projects." Because it's spring, the season is starting on the Prairie, and everyone wants their clothing finished, this meant that I had to get cracking in order to work on people's clothing. Sometimes I would start the next day's reading before I went to sleep at night.

I started a few days early, and only once didn't complete my reading in the given day -- a Saturday, when I started sewing in the morning because the guys were gone and then we had a church dinner that night -- but was able to borrow a little of Sunday to finish it. I finished on schedule, the Wednesday before Easter.

It took about an hour and a half per day for reading. I used Eugene Peterson's The Message for my reading for a couple of reasons. First, as a paraphrase rather than an actual translation, I thought it would be easier to read -- you know, modern language and all. Second, I figured this version, less familiar to me than the ones I usually use (NIV, NASB mostly), and as I tend to skim when I'm reading familiar passages, I wanted to try to make sure I would read a little more closely.

So. In the end, a challenge like this, just done to get it done, isn't worth much. What did I get from it? Did I learn anything? Do I have anything to "take away" from the Lenten Bible Reading Challenge?

1. 1. I do have time to do whatever I choose. It's all about priorities. This is not said to shame anyone else who didn't find the time or was unable to finish. This is said as a point for me. It's all about what I make time for. (And during Lent, I didn't do much cleaning around the house...)
   
2. Reading through the Bible from start to finish is a great way to get the "Big Picture". Many times I have tried to read it through on a "plan" that included a little bit of the Old Testament, a little bit of the New Testament, and a little from Psalms (a typical one-year Bible plan). It turns out that just doesn't work for me. Reflecting on the fact that I like to organize my closet by color as well as type of garment, and that I used to shelf my books alphabetically by author (and by order of publication within the author), is it a surprise that I prefer reading the Bible in the order it's published? No jumping around for me. While I realize that the books are not in order in the Bible chronologically, I don't like jumping around, and this exercise certainly involved no jumping. And when things came up in Obadiah that I recognized from earlier, it made a lot more sense. The major and minor prophets wrote a lot about the exile of the Israelite people -- when I just read about it in another book, while a little repetitious, it makes more sense. once again, Big Picture.
3. Reading the Gospels and other books written by different people give different "flavors" to the stories and passages. When the paraphrase is compiled by one guy -- with consultation from others, to be sure -- some of the flavor is lost. I missed that. I also found that I didn't care as much for the contemporary language as I thought. It just didn't "sound right", possibly because I've been so familiar with the actual translations. (A few times I thought about switching to one of my "regular" Bibles but decided to finish in The Message if only for the completion factor. Aside from liking things "in order," I also have a compulsion to "finish".) Peterson himself would say this isn't a substitute for a regular Bible translation, but that it's a good place start or a nice addition.
   
4. I found neat stuff that I either don't remember having read before or had never really comprehended before. I have read the Bible through before, but over a several-year time period, and never as an adult. Ezekiel (aside from the weird wheel thing) was a pretty interesting book. Ezekiel 18 was great. Psalm 119 sometimes doesn't get a fair shake because it's sooooooo long. (Hey, what's 150 verses when you're reading 30 chapters???) It's a really good chapter. 
5. I feel like, with the "Big Picture" I have a better grasp of "THE BIBLE" as a whole. Far from a full understanding, of course, but better. It is an ongoing, developing story, whether narrative, prophetic, poetic, or just downright crazy. When you read it "all at once" it's a lot easier to follow the story. 
6. I didn't study what I was reading. i just read it. I tried to read it closely enough that I wouldn't re-read a passage a few times with no memory of having read it, but in order to finish, I couldn't really spend a lot of time on it. Study is for a different challenge. Read and study the Pauline letters during Lent? Study the Gospels during Lent? There are many study options to take on another time.
   

Will I do it again? Maybe in a long time. Not next week.
Would I recommend it to others? Yes. It was a great exercise and experience. But not to those who would "beat themselves up" for "failing". I wouldn't see not completing it as a failure, but simply as not finishing.
Would I use the same Bible? No. Next time I do it I'll use one of the translations.
Ha. I just said "Next time." It makes me chuckle. Last week i said "Never again." It might be like The Thief, who, upon finishing a marathon, said, "I never want to do this again"... until he decided to do another marathon.

Right now, I'm reading other books. But because I've gotten accustomed to reading "hard" stuff, I'm finding it easier to read things that don't move quite as quickly as my favorite Susan Wittig Albert book. I recently finished Elizabeth Gaskell's Cranford (a little slow for the reader of a quick mystery novel, but fun all the same) and am now reading the 500+ page Reminiscences of Levi Coffin. (I do plan to hit the library soon for something a little more fun.)

So. I read the Bible through during Lent. Now I need to go do some laundry.

me: "There's where I get to go on Thursday to get my teeth worked on."

Mark: "To get your cavities filled?"

Me: "Yes. I will try not to cry."

Mark: "You won't cry. You'll try counting to ten."

Me: "I will?"

Mark: "Yes. That's what Little Critter did, and then the doctor said it was all over."

Me (getting a little teary): "Yes, you're right. That is what Little Critter did."

Mark (confidently and reassuringly): "Little Critter counted to ten. You should do that."



I think I will do just that. And listen to some music. And take some valium. But if I get too worried, I think I will try counting to ten. After all, Mark is sure that it will work. How could he be wrong?

We went to see Grandma Skelly today at the rehab center. When we got there, she was snoozing in bed with crocheting in her hand. That makes me smile, because Grandma has always been all about the crocheting, whether super-attractive vests (ahem!) or afghans for Christmas (one year all the cousins got them; I still have mine) or doilies or angels or clothes for an entire Barbie wedding party (maybe just the girls?) or new baby blankets for my boys or... the list goes on and on.

In another wing of the rehab center is a nursing home "for retarded people," Grandma told me, and she's crocheting lap robes for them. There are sixteen people there. She knew she'd never get 16 lap robes made, but even if she made a few, it would give her something to do.

She's up past 10 now. Apparently the people at the rehab center cleared out their yarn stash for her. The finished ones are in all different colors; the one she was working on today was in pinks and reds and white.

And then she told me that when she first got back to the rehab center, she had a bad attitude. She was feeling nasty all the time. When someone would walk by her door talking, she'd feel mad that they were talking about that -- whatever it was. Since crocheting has been the way she's filled her hours and days and weeks for years and years now, she decided she'd see if she could do some crocheting.

Now, something like a month later, she has piles of these lap robes for the people in the nursing home, she has something to do, and she has a better attitude -- and she'll tell you that, too.

No wonder the people in the craft room cleaned out their yarn stash for her!

So let's hear it for the 98-year-old (two months from 99!) lady who's keeping her hands busy and has found a way to improve her attitude. (And who has Aunt Jeannie pick up a couple of cute cars for my boys when they came to visit today. They loved them. And Mark said, "We are thankful for what we got," when we got home.")

Turns out that the boy who doesn't like fruit is getting better:

No cut-up pieces for me, thank you very much. I'll have it "in the slice," as Mark calls it.

And today, "Bite!" he requested as he walked past the bananas on the counter. Yesterday at the store they had the first decent bananas in a long time. (Apparently there was a bad banana harvest in the places where they grow bananas.) He ate his whole banana, from the peel as well, like a big kid.

And Mark.

Apparently Mark can raise one eyebrow.

This calls for a little story. Back in high school, when I was keeping company with a young man who was employed at the local grocery store, I met a classmate who could raise one eyebrow most dramatically. I had always wanted to raise one eyebrow, and the classmate agreed to teach me to do it -- basically, he told me I needed to hold one eyebrow down and practice in the mirror, which was fine with me, because I was vain.

Now I can raise one eyebrow, though not very dramatically, and not as well if I'm not looking in the mirror. But Mark can! (This was his response to trying a new food.)

Adam was taking a little by-himself respite in his bedroom, and so I thought it was the perfect opportunity to mop the kitchen floor and get up all those things he's left there over the past few days. I told Mark to stay off the kitchen floor so it could dry, but of course, that was when he needed to come into the family room.

No, I told him. Walking on the floor will get your socks all wet.

A few minutes later, he asked again, from the edge of the kitchen floor (not on it) closest to the family room door.

"Can I come into the family room?" he asked.

Really. The floor was dry by now. "Okay," I told him, "the floor is dry now."

Then I looked. He had taken off his socks so that they wouldn't get wet.

Have I mentioned lately how LITERAL three-year-olds are????

I laughed until I had tears in my eyes, and told him that he could walk on the floor if he needed to.

 

And, dear readers, thank you for your participation in Identify Those Lyrics! I liked the Home on the Range suggestion, but I think you'll laugh when I tell you it's the next verse (who knows which verse in the grand order of the song) from "When the Saints Go Marching In" (also known as "When the Six Goes Marching In"):

   "Oh when the band
   Begins to play
   Oh when the bamboo gets to play...
   Oh how I want to be in that number
   When the bamboo gets to play!"

That's right, YOU, take a second and pray for my friends Jay and Mary Beth. The college where Jay is a professor, imparting knowledge and, I hope, wisdom to young minds, was hit by a tornado last night.

According to Mary Beth, also known as PastorMom, much of the campus was damaged, and they were opening their home to an "unknown number of cold, wet, and hungry students."

A local newspaper reports that none of the injuries that sent 51 students to the hospital were life-threatening but tells of a great deal of damage to the campus.

So. Say a quick prayer of thanks for protection for the students, and a prayer for the people who are taking students in, and for the students, faculty and staff in general...

 

For all of my true blog fans, you may go now to see our Christmas letter for 2007.

It has a lot of pictures, so it takes a while to load.

Merry Christmas, late, and when are you coming over?

Just in case you haven't seen my boys in a while, this is what you're missing. Apparently, just after getting home from watching them, Grandpa was asking Grandma when they would get to see boys again... :) Tee hee hee. Good thing he's retired!

Write your own caption for the above photo. The winner will be published next to the picture in a future post.

In this photo, Mark helps Daddy get the background set for an exciting photo session with our friends Anna, Noah, and Elijah and their parents.

This is Blankey Bear. It is Adam's favorite friend, and he got it from Uncle Brian and Aunt Tara. He likes to hold it and suck his fingers. It means it's bedtime. This is the day that Blankey Bear got washed in the washing machine because his nose was all brown (this is what happens when you suck on the nose and then rub it on the ground/floor/etc.), and then he almost got another bath in the bathtub.

This is most of the kids who went hiking a couple weeks ago with Pathfinders. Anna and Adam didn't make the picture because the swing was too full, and we don't trust anyone to hold someone on their lap. That's Dylan, Elijah, Noah, Mark, Ethan, and Ryan. Everyone was having a lot of fun that day at Cool Creek Park.

This is Adam with his horse on his birthday (when it was new). A few weeks ago, it quit working. It's been sitting on the kitchen counter waiting for new batteries, and every time Adam sees it, he wants it. So today I got new batteries. They cost more than the toy did! :( Oh well. Then I installed the new batteries. The horse didn't work!

Ugh. I got a tiny screwdriver and took the thing apart to see if there was a broken connection I could fix or something, only to discover, after I got it all apart, that the batteries were installed upside down. I turned them over. It worked. I put it back together, got the wheels back in place and all the screws in, to discover the red "C" circle fell a little wonky in the putting it back together and doesn't push in. I think I'm going to leave it. It still plays music and the other letters and shapes seem to work just fine. Hey! With a little pushing, I made it work, too!

Oh, and by the way, I had enough hair to donate, so I got a haircut the other day.

If you've never read anything by Madeline L'Engle, my favorite author of all time, pick up one of her books this week to read. Besides the obvious Newberry Award-winning A Wrinkle in Time, I recommend A Circle of Quiet (memoir), A Swiftly Tiltling Planet (science-fiction, I guess), and A Ring of Endless Light as three of my favorites, though I haven't read one yet that I didn't like.

We 'll have to finish the stories of the Murrys and the Austins for ourselves...

Thank you, Madeline, for the best writing I have ever read. And I hope you and Hugh have a great time exploring Heaven together. :)

November 29, 1918 - September 6, 2007

Pastor Mom tagged me on this a couple days ago. After the computer ate my first work-in-progress, I finally finished it.

Enjoy...

1. I have to post these rules before I give you the facts.
2. Each player starts with eight random facts/habits about themselves.
3. People who are tagged need to write their own blog about their eight things and post these rules.
4. At the end of your blog, you need to choose eight people to get tagged and list their names.
5. Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog.

So… My random things…

1.      I love to write when my brain lets me. My novels, all hard to categorize except under the heading “Jenny’s”, will probably never be published, but I write them for my own amusement. And they’re all better than The Enigmatic Fugue, the grand piece of literary brilliance several of us started many years ago, inspired by, well, a "great" author. (I still have it, in case anyone wants to resurrect it.)

2.      I have a compulsion to finish books once I start reading them. I almost never put one down without finishing it. But this week I did. I found this book so dreary, depressing, and dull that I gave up. I didn’t care what happened to these down-on-their-luck characters. Sorry Oprah.

3.      When I can’t sleep, I organize my thoughts alphabetically… verses and sayings, songs and song lyrics, names and adjectives. Most of the time I don’t get past the middle of the alphabet.

4.      Anyone who knows me very well already knows this, but I have a serious mistrust of the telephone. I don’t call people. It doesn’t even cross my mind to call people. If I think of it, I might do it, but I don’t. Is it because Big Mama has always hated the phone? Is it because The Dad carefully itemized the phone bill and charged us for any calls (plus tax and fees), meaning we had to admit when we’d called someone, which was more embarrassing if it was a boy (egads!)? Is it just because I’m a freak? Only the phone knows, and it’s not telling. (And this is why the pay-as-you-go mobile is a good idea for me. Except for the weird text messaging issue.)

5.      Yes, it’s true, my favorite stuffed animal that I had to sleep with every night for many many years was named after my brother (the Thief). Baby Brian was actually a series of stuffed animals, originally dogs (sans plastic collars and ears, which I immediately ripped off), but ultimately a ratty bear-ish animal that lasted some eight years.

6.      My favorite ice cream is raspberry fudge cordial. It is yummy. The Thief can attest to that, too, as can Mrs. Thief, and now that Big Mama can eat ice cream again, I’ll take her to Alexander’s and get her some, too.

7.      My favorite sound is hearing Mark and Adam laughing in the car, usually when we’re driving on a hilly road. The benefit of one facing front in his carseat and the other facing the rear is that, in effect, they sort of face each other and egg each other on. Fortunately for now, that’s to laugh more. When they’re up to no good, they won’t be in baby seats anymore (I hope).

8.      No thanks to sandy beaches; I like shores strewn with boulders. Preferably with woods along them, too. And water that’s doing something, not just sitting there. (Sandy beaches just have sand that sticks to your feet – a nod to the Thief and his opinions – and creepy things living in them. Don’t tell me anything about rocks; I have already imagined the things living in the crevasses.)

Okay. Who do I tag? I don’t usually have eight people to send on these errands. Repressed Librarian is already doing this over at her place. I’m fake-tagging her because my list is short. J
Big Mama, of course, gives you a reason to gratuitously talk about yourself. 
Thief, if you have nothing better to do
Andrea, who is still in hiding – I mean, your 2-year-old is out of the country right now! Stop the partying and do this one! J
Baby J! Your mom tagged me!
(Add yourself to the list if you want to do this! Just leave me a comment so I know to keep an eye on you…)

Happy Stinkin' week of the Fourth of July.

 

Indiana's new fireworks law, which went into effect last year, royally STINKS! (and for the delicate nature of some of my most devoted fans -- my mom -- that's the language I shall use.)

􀂾 FIREWORKS MAY BE USED ONLY;

→ON THE USER’S PROPERTY; OR

→ON THE PROPERTY OF SOMEONE WHO HAS CONSENTED TO THE USE OF FIREWORKS ON THE PROPERTY

→AT A SPECIAL DISCHARGE LOCATION

􀂾"special discharge location" = a place designated for the discharge of consumer fireworks under temporary policies of the State Fire Marshal in effect until the Fire Prevention and Building Safety Commission adopts rules

􀂾CONSUMER AND SEC. 8(a) FIREWORKS MAY BE USED ONLY BETWEEN 9:00 A.M. AND 11:00 P.M. ON DAYS OTHER THAN HOLIDAYS

􀂾HOLIDAYS INCLUDE MEMORIAL DAY, JULY 4, LABOR DAY AND NEW YEAR’S EVE

 

What this brilliance means is that anyone can shoot off whatever they want, wherever they want to, however late they want to, except on those listed holidays, when the law requires that they do it even more than they want to.

So. It's not even July yet. (But it's the weekend night before the 4th.) And so, for the past, oh, hour and a half or so (since it got dark), there has been the continued barrage of explosions large and small. And it only gets better.

I have to give a shout-out to the brilliant political and legal minds who thought this was a good idea.
(Law details from http://www.in.gov/dhs/fire/branches/fire_and_building_code/fireworks/newlaw.pdf; all punctuation is as appears in the document.)

alternately titled "Just how nerdy am I?"

On Wednesday of our vacation week, Tara offered to watch the boys while Tim and I took a day off. We had a lot of choices of where to go and what to do, but we chose a trip over to Kelley's Island. (The nickname "An Island for all seaons" is a bit of an exaggeration, since the ferry stops at Thanksgiving and doesn't start again until April, so if you want to get there in *some* seasons, you have to fly.)

Why, you might ask, did we choose Kelley's Island?

Um. As I mentioned in the previous blog, it was because of a recipe in the Buckeye Cookery, a cookbook we use in our 1886 farm, the delectible Kelley Island Cake, written by Miss Greeley Grubbs: One cup butter, two of sugar, three of flour, four eggs, half cup milk, three tea-spoons baking-powder; bake in jelly-tins.
For filling stir together a grated lemon, a large grated apple, an egg, and a cup sugar, and boil four minutes. Did I mention how absolutely wonderful this cake is???

We caught the ferry at Marblehead, having purchased our tickets at 8:31:58 for a boat that leaves on the hour and half-hour. That was okay; we had a nice little wait and Tim took pictures of trucks and cranes at the conveyor for the quarry, an obvious marketing extension for the e-coal-conveyor business in western Kentucky. A 20-minute ferry ride with our bikes brought us to the island.

We arrived at 32 (just below the "downtown" square) and rode our bikes north on Division Street to 42, the Glacial Grooves. After our visit there (see the previous post for a photo), we continued up the road to a hiking trail that took us through the woods and around to the rocky shore on the north side of the island. NIIIIICE.

Then it was back onto the bikes and down Titus Road (just south of the Grooves) to Lakeshore Road to Kelley's Island Brewery for lunch (that's 34 on the map). The proprietor let us know it would be about 20 minutes for the fryer to be ready to make our walleye and perch (what's island dining without fish?), so we settled in with a glass of their Island Devil and a game of battleship and lake views. (Did I mention NIIIICE?) It was a bit of wait, so the nice lady solved the question of whether to order another of the handcrafted beers by giving "Tim" a refill.

After that, it was a ride back into downtown to check out the shops and Historical Society (43) then, later, a ride out to Kelley's Island Wine Co. (35). Back into downtown, we got our obligatory ice cream (mine was coconut cream pie, Tim's was... um, I don't remember. Mine was good enough to forget Tim's), a souvenir for the #1 fan of Kelley Island Cake Dave A., some fudge for Tara (to share with us, of course!)... and back to the ferry to head back to Lakeside for dinner.

We were as tired as could be, but it was a lot of fun and quite relaxing. Is it a place I go back to every time I go to Lakeside? Hmm, probably not, though the Kelley's Island Brewery was gooooood. And the weather, though hot, was perfect, as the lake breezes kept us nice and cool on our bikes.

Yep, that's me, all happy and looking at pretty water. :)

Is over once again.

Most of the stories will have to tell themselves at other times and in other places.

But imagine if you will those questionable characters you see above as some of your ancestors. And shudder just a little.

It was a glorious weekend; I lost track of all the wonderful conversations I had with guests. For the first time, I found myself more able to connect and engage adults than children. This was because we were a little lacking in "interactives" -- chores for the kids to do, appropriate period items for the kids to play with, etc. -- and because a lot of the talk about the Civil War was more theoretical. Aside from learning some very interesting information about a time period I don't know much about, I also gained some valuable successes in interpreting to adults, connecting with things they know already and then bringing in things they don't.

What about costumed third-person interpretation? Hmm. I like it on occasion for a special project -- I think it gives our guests an "inside peek", letting them feel "in on" what's going on behind the scenes. I think that if you did it all the time, it wouldn't be special. And there wouldn't be the other side, the really terrific first-person interactions, where guests feel like they "actually" met someone from history.

I haven't worked three days in a row since the preschool closed. And I certainly haven't worked three days in a row at the Prairie with more than 1000 guests in, well, 15 years. We had something like 1,400 school kids on Friday (plus other guests), and near 4,000 per day on Saturday and Sunday. The weather was perfect, there was a lot going on, and I think just about everyone had a good time.

See what a few days' perspective will do for a person?

Says Aili: "I shot me a Yankee!"
"I got one, too," replies Mel.

John wants us to know soldiering is serious business.

Kyle wants to know why spoon bonnets went out of style.

Yesterday I put a lot of work into making a map of our backyard, putting permanent green marker the things that are destined (for whatever reason) to stay, like the fence, the house, the honkin' huge maple tree that pretty much takes over the south end of the yard (and thus, most of the sunshine)... Then I highlighted the things that I want to take out, and made a list of tasks needed to accomplish the closer-to-perfect backyard.

Last night, after hubby put kids to bed and I mowed the grass and took a shower, we sat down to look over that drawing, and the second one, that had the permanent items in it and space to draw in with pencil some of our ideas. I got a little bent out of shape when, instead of saying, "wow, honey, you did a nice job on this. I can see what you want to do and some great places to start," he asked what my priorities were. I had thought I had highlighted them, but apparently there were too many, and he wanted something a little more attainable.

"These are my priorities," I told him, gesturing to the highlighted page (back landscaping, timbered area behind the back porch, stump in the north end of the yard, maple tree in the center [not the huge one], lilac bush, mess in the corner by the kitchen window...okay, maybe that was a lot...).

What was it about pride in the fall? But it's spring!

This morning I was checking blogs after Mark had finished breakfast and he gleefully came in to show me that he'd "painted" his trash truck. That's weird, I thought. His markers are "color wonder," which means they only color on special paper. And it's yellow, but the marker on his hand is green, just like....

YIKES!

The papers were still on the living room floor. With the markers.

They are moved to the table for this photo. Note the coloring through the center holes on both pages. The one on the left got colored through to the clipboard. The other made the tiniest green smudge on the carpet by the couch, not discernable unless you're on your knees looking for it.

And the worst thing is, it's all my fault. In what world is it a good idea to leave your yard plans on the floor with a couple of markers????????

Proverbs 16:18 (New International Version)
18 Pride goes before destruction,
       a haughty spirit before a fall.

P.S. Mark did NOT get in trouble for this. Once again, whose fault is it???

 

 

(or at least Big Mama's)

(Two Cousins, already good buddies)

(All the boys playing nicely together!)

We've been busy being outside, going to Ohio, working... I'll write more when I don't have kids all around, but I've been feverishly reading Civil War info for an event at work in May, and it was garage sale weekend this past (got nothing except 6 pants for Mark)... Oh, and Adam's teething and his ears have been hurting, too, and did I mention I've been working?

Tim took this picture a couple weeks ago when I was gone to something-or-other...

The Repressed Librarian has sent to me the “not-from-Katie-Couric” interview questions (see her blog for her questions and answers). Being self-centered and often imagining what I would be asked if I were to be the interview subject (and how I would answer), I was quick to play along.

Here are my questions from her (and answers). If you’d like me to make up some questions for you, let me know in the comments, and I’ll email you questions to answer in your blog.

1. If you could go anywhere on vacation, without considering practical things like money and logistics, where would you go?
   This is tough, because I am not sure if I would want to go somewhere *new* like an African safari or Alaska or Antarctica, or if I would go back somewhere I’ve been like Japan (as a guest of Japanese people, who are always soooo hospitable when you’re their guest, rather than off on my own without a guidebook or any idea of what to see) or Russia or a loooong visit in Great Britain, which would include London (again) but add places like Bath and Scotland and more museums with fabulous old clothes.
2. What is one of your favorite guilty pleasures?
   The really horrifying one that will just disgust 98% of my blog readers is America’s Next Top Model, which I will not even link to just so people have to work to see just how low I go. But it is SOOOO hilarious, I can’t resist. And the people on it – from the producers, hosts, and judges to the contestants – are such shallow, insipid and freakish people that it’s like a train wreck that you just can’t stop watching.
3. If you could acquire a skill or ability that you do not currently have, what would it be?
   I suppose I would like to be more fit – but I would like to “acquire” this and not have to work for it! J
4. What inspires you?
   Two things: good scenery (places like Cedar Campus or Snowshill Manor) and good writing, like Madeline L’Engle.
5. What was your favorite or most memorable class in college and why?
   My favorite class might have been Russian History, which is funny because it wasn’t in my major or minor, but just something I picked up on the side. I liked it because I was getting ready for a trip to Russia the next summer, so the topic was something of interest, and because the professor, Richard Gawthrop (here’s a shout out) was extremely knowledgeable on the subject, taught virtually without notes, and made a very complicated subject interesting.

I don't do "Memes" very often but did this one, found over at the Repressed Librarian's blog, because it went with the alphabet, and I really like the alphabet...

I changed a couple just because. It's my blog.

A- Available or Single? No. Happily married (10 ½ years).
B- Best Friend? Hmm. Outside of family, Anne, Andrea, Linda, Mel
C- Cake or Pie? Cake. Ice cream cake. Or marble cake with fudge icing.
D- Drink of Choice? Hot chocolate with a shot of DaVinci Hazelnut syrup
E- Essential Item? Computer
F- Favorite Color? Blue?
G- Gummi Bears or Worms? A worm in the nose is worth… (No, that was my brother)
H- Hometown? Kokomo, Indiana
I- Indulgence? Dark chocolate and cinnamon ice creams mixed with something to chew on.
J- January or February? Um, no, but thanks for offering.
K- Kids and names? Mark Daniel and Adam Michael
L- Life is incomplete without -- ? Books
M- Marriage Date? July 20, 1996
N- Number of Siblings? 2 brothers, 2 sisters-in-law, 1 brother-in-law, two half-sisters-in-law, 1 half-brother-in-law
O- Oranges or Apples? Apples, fresh from the orchard
P- Phobias/Fears? Many: heights, the stringed instrument in Animusic that strums itself, people behind me…(shiver)
Q- Favorite Quote? For now, “One individual life may be of priceless value to God’s purposes, and yours may be that life.” Oswald Chambers

R- Reasons to smile? Mark and Adam

S- Season? Late spring, early fall
T- Tag 3 people? This will give my mom something to do. Mom, here’s an assignment. J (Anyone else who wants to…)
U- Unknown Fact About Me? I am obsessed with alphabetical order
V- Vegetable You Hate? Yes
W- Worst Habit? Talking too much
X- Xrays You’ve Had? Foot, wrist, leg, teeth, and, in a notable exciting experience in a Russian hospital, jaw
Y- Your Favorite Foods? Shrimp.
Z- Zoo animals? Giraffes. Elephants. Rhinos.

 

We had our last (probably) round of Christmas-present festivities today with Grandma AJ and Grandma Marv (no, they're really a traditional couple, but for some reason Mark keeps forgetting to call him "Grandpa"). Mark had to wait and wait and wait to open the presents that appeared under the tree during his nap; finally I could take it no longer and he helped me gather them into a basket so he didn't have to keep staring at them. Only then could he start playing with his cars and toys and such instead of worrying when Daddy and Grandma would be home from the store and we could open them.

Adam sat happily with Grandma for a while, and then with Grandpa, sucking on tags, his fist, his bib, other people's fingers... whatever he could get into his mouth. He missed his second afternoon nap, so intent he was on the goings-on.

I failed to keep a decent list of which of Grandma's friends which gift came from (bad me), but suffice it to say, cute CDs, cute coloring books, cute outfits for Adam... Tim's aunt Estee supplied a bear for the baby that's about as big as he is... Mark wanted to read every book as he got it and color with every crayon before moving on to the next item.

Then I was off to the kitchen for my first foray into The Best 30-minute Recipe from America's Test Kitchen: Quick Maple-Glazed Pork Chops. Yes, it took 30 minutes, and yes, it was reallllly yummy. I also really went all-out and opened a bagged salad, complete with sliced almonds and cranberries and its own dressing. But the focus was truly the pork. The glaze was sweet and tangy with just a hint of heat (1/8 tsp. cayenne), and the pork was cooked just the way it oughta be. Well, it should be; they've tested it so I don't have to, isn't that what they say???

Dessert was a berry pie that I made this afternoon. To bed early so I can look alert and happy and well-rested for Adam's big day tomorrow. (I also have two more recipes to try from the book while Grandpa and Grandma are here. More on those later...)

It's the time when I go to my parents' house and go through some boxes from their attic and whittle away at the masses of things I have stored there for another time...

When I arrived, I had 10 boxes in the attic. The parents have a system of filing cards that number each box and tell roughly what's in it. There's also a clever map of the attic. Dad agreed to bring down the six specified boxes. [Thanks Dad ("If it weren't for you, I'd still be scraping skid marks off the Prickly Heat World Ministries Waterslide...").]

I came home with two, one rather solidly full of like-sized things that fit well, and one rather jumbled. Dad acquired another box of "goodies" for ebay or Goodwill. Three empty cartons remained behind. Nothing went back into the attic. Oh yeah, and three garbage bags were waiting for Mr. Phelps (the garbage hauler) to take away.

Yes there were some goodies to be found. A selection of fine items that may be familiar to some of my blog readers is below. Do you recognize anything? Test yourself before enjoying the tales below...

Clockwise from top left:

Headband from camp at Rainbow Christian Camp, circa 1989; Lieutenant Legg, a food fighter, Christmas in the 1980s; t-shirt, Prom 1990; Scrimshaw, fall semester 1988; nametag, Cedar Campus SLT, 1993; friendship pins, ca 1981; Ribbon from Haynes Apperson Festival Big Wheel Rally, 1978; Quilt block, ca. 1980

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, this is Lieutenant Legg, one of the Food Fighters action figures. My brothers pitched in together to buy this for me one year for Christmas. This. Not this and something else. This. They were the finest examples of generosity ever imagined. (I don't recall having gotten them -- either of them -- anything stellar that year. But still. And yet I still have it...)

Lt. Legg is standing on a t-shirt that was given to me by my smokin' hot prom date, 1990. You can't see the mullet from here. Or that his dad was wearing his best clothes for the picture. It wasn't like it is now, putting images on t-shirts. This was kinda crazy and new and surprising... Hey Brenda, show this one to "Little Bobby G."...

Here's my SLT nametag. I know I have at least one fellow SLT-er checking in here from time to time (Hi Howard). Everyone else's driftwood was flat. Mine was rounded, scruffy and full of character. A lot like me. SLT was an amazing month at one of the most beautiful places ever.

See, I had friends in fourth grade. (I'm not telling you how many of that collection I made myself...)

And the quilt block. No, that's not keystoning (an effect caused by taking pictures of square things at an angle, or projecting a square image on a wall from below, making the image a trapezoid instead of a square) -- that quilt really is that uneven.
Third grade teacher Mrs. Fewell had us quilting during recess. My sewing skills really shine in this closeup of the center of the quilt:
Who knew I would grow up to do better???

There's a lot more in there, and many more stories, but I'll have to save those for another day. And another time when I dig further into those boxes I brought home.

P.S. Hey Thief, is that your Big Wheel Rally ribbon? And how did I end up with it? I don't recall participating in the event except as a fan. Or maybe it's the Dunce's?

It's only a week old. Notampering has been done with this photo. The hair is as it naturally falls. Really.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Did I get an even haircut?

What's so weird about the view out my kitchen window?

Um. There is one.

I washed the window yesterday (both sides; they're the lovely tilt-in kind). I don't do that often enough. It's now clear on both sides. Every time I walk past it, I get startled for a moment. I know how the birds feel when they think they could fly right through it.

EVERYONE CAN MOVE AGAIN! The lost is found...both items (but not Jay's pizza pan) appeared under the oven. The assumed scenario is that they got caught on the upper side of the oven drawer and, when the drawer was pulled out, they got pushed back onto the floor. *Please note that I did look there earlier but apparently didn't have the right angle.* Of course Big Mama was asking probing questions like "Could someone have been over and thought it was theirs and taken it with them?" (I don't know, I think that thieving Linda had her hands full with triplets last time she left. Ha ha. And Matt isn't big enough to hide it under his jacket.)

Now I can only hope that Jay's pizza pan turns up somewhere in the Bernheisel home...

No, I have not been sucked into the ABC series that has swallowed so many of my friends. It's my mind. And our pizza peel.

Tell me: How do you lose a slab of wood large enough to hold a family-size pizza?!?!! It's not like you put it into the wrong slot in the silverware drawer or it got stuck behind a piece of mail in the "in" basket.

The other night when my beloved asked where the pizza peel was and I rolled my eyes and asked if he looked in the drawer under the oven (where it goes) and he said "Yes; it's not there," I considered it a case of not looking very well. He's not always known for really digging, and it's probably my fault because I always swoop in and find things for him rather than giving him time to hunt. So when I'd shaken off enough of the plague to sit upright, I sat on the floor and took everything out of said drawer...

And it's not there.

It's not in the cupboard with the large-ish small appliances, or with the pots and pans, or with the baking pans, or with the small small appliances. It's not in the dishwasher, or under the sink, or in the pantry closet, or in the recycling, or in the garage (as far as I can tell). It's not in the dining room, or on the kitchen table, or in the living room being used as a ramp. It hasn't wandered out to either front or back porch.

It has to be somewhere! Things around this house get lost from time to time, but something this size, like I mentioned, doesn't just vanish. (But it seems to have done just that.)

I guess if it doesn't turn up, we know what to get Tim for Christmas.

[Editor's Note: It now seems a little more interesting: my favorite baking sheet has also gone AWOL. It is also large -- to large for the dishwasher, in fact -- leading me to believe the two might be together somewhere. I am going to have to start looking in stupid places, because the smart ones have already been checked...]

So it's kind of hard to get a minute to sit at the computer and write, especially since I really ought to be sleeping most of the time I don't have a boy in one hand or the other.

So here are a couple of random thoughts...

* How funny us it when your almost-two-year-old is running around alternating between his own pronunciation of "Bon jour" and "Bozo"? ("Bow-joe" is the first, which is how it morphs into the second...)

* How is a mommy supposed to keep a straight face when telling said almost two year old not to stuff his rice into the back of his bent knee (especially when Grandma and Daddy are laughing into their napkins)?

* Why did a piece of bacon fall out of the load of laundry I was moving from the washer to the dryer? (I guess why it fell out is, it got dislodged. The question is, I suppose, where did it come from and when?)

* How cute is this???

As we approach the need to have a second car seat in the minivan, I'm looking for opinion/advice from people who might have experience in this: Where do I put the baby?

Imagine this nice minivan (it's even the right color). Both side doors (driver and passenger sides) open automatically with the push of a button. Since we got the van, Mark's seat has been located on the driver's side. That way, I don't have to load him into the van and then walk all the way around.

Now, with the impending arrival of Esmeralda or Edgar (made up names, not the ones we've picked, as if we'd picked names out yet...), I must decide. Do I move Mark's seat to the other side of the van and put the baby seat on the driver's side? Or do I leave Mark where he is and put the baby on the passenger side? Does it even matter? I will have to be on both sides of the car anyway.

We have a carrier-style seat for the baby, so it will easily "drop" into the base. Mark does not yet climb into the car or his seat, and does still have to be strapped in. Friend Linda uses the rear seats and one of the first-row seats, but she has three the same size that need dropped in at once, and she has the other first-row seat "stowed" into the floor so that she can get to the rear seats to put babies away.  

Our van potentially looks like this:

(Well, less leather, and without the console by the driver's seat. And there's a car seat in the first-row seat behind the driver.) Any of the first-row or rear seats can fold into the floor with the clever stow-and-go system so beloved in Chrysler vehicles.

So, does it matter? Where do I put the baby? Weigh in with your opinion, even if you think it doesn't matter. This would be a nice time for all my friends who I don't already know or who wander by and haven't commented to put in your two cents' worth -- or two pounds, if you're in Britain, which makes your opinion count for more.

Have I mentioned how much I like neighbors who are currently out of work?

I would be happy to mow my own grass, but am really not up for it. Well, maybe not happy, but I'd do it. Tim would be similarly amenable to doing it, if he were home and without a list of tasks a mile long to do in those few hours he is home. Daylight saving time helps some, but...

A couple months ago, our next-door neighbor, Cindy, came over. "You guys have been so nice to us since we moved in, and I wanted to do something for you. Can I mow your grass?"

Gee. I suppose. Twist my arm really hard...

She fell in love with the snazzy lawnmower Tim got me that has variable-speed self-propelled-ness and an electric ignition. She came over and mowed a couple more times, including when Tim was in Europe.

Also we have Jerry across the street, looking after things, helping the waddling pregnant lady keep things picked up. One week he put the garbage cans away when Tim was gone. Another time he had his landscaping guy take some old landscaping trash away. Then he cleaned up the debris from the curb so it could be hauled away.

Today, Tim has a list of things to do when he gets home. Top of the list is mowing. Except...

Doorbell rings. Can't be Cindy; she finally got a job after many interviews at many good places. Ahh, it's her husband Jeff. He's now out of work. And bored. Can he mow my grass?

Just in case I haven't had enough to say lately, I thought you should know...

Mark has moved into his big boy room today.

Last night Daddy moved the last of Grandpa Arnfinn's and Grandma Ruth's furniture into the new and improved guest room (formerly my sewing room, and still a catch-all room for my craft stuff as well) and put up the valances I made to go with the quilt, and so today, I took apart the crib and moved it across the hall (this would have been much easier had two doorways been about two inches wider and lined up instead of staggered a little across the hall from each other). Mark helped by playing with trucks and only knocking the side of the crib over on himself once... and he didn't let it smush him but caught it and held it up while I came to his rescue. Also I moved the dresser and some clothes from the closet, and took out the toddler bed that Jonathan used when he was here last.

He's now taking a nap in his same old bed in a new room, and I even let him take a bulldozer into bed with him so he may never want to get up. The room-darkening shades seem to work well, and I did bring his CD player in, but I didn't move the monitor over, so I really can't hear if he's carrying on. (With this comes the question: Do I continue to have a monitor in his room? Do I leave the monitor in the room for the new baby? Hmmm...)

I will try to post some pictures, at least of his new accessories, but they'll have to wait to be taken until after the boy gets up.

This is bed, quilt and left window valance. The trucks on the quilt are repeated on the valances, three for each.

And this is the right valance. This fine set includes cement mixer, tractor, dump truck, box truck, school bus and fire truck. There is a chance the boy will be too excited about the trucks to sleep at all.

Fitting with tradition, Pathfinders got rain for the 4th of July, but we managed to have fun anyhow! This time we gathered at the Reynolds's, but Shawn was off saving lives, so we had to party without him. (Don't worry, Shawn, we didn't destroy anything.)

The kids got a kick out of the pools, though by the time Noah got his turn in the baby pool, he wasn't sure he wanted it.

This wasn't a declared game of Follow-the-Leader, but... Mark had a great time following Chase and trying to do what he did.

"Here, Elijah, take it!" Mark was hogging too many of the baby-baby pool toys, so we asked him to give one of the ducks back to Elijah.

While everyone else gets kids in the house, pools dismantled, the sun shade taken apart, and cameras put away, I wait while ominous clouds seem to creep closer...and closer...with a bit of a lapful.

We did manage to gather the "Pathfinder Cousins" for a group picture before we got them all worn out. That's (left to right) Chase (age 3), Noah (7 1/2 months), Abby (2 1/2 months), Elijah (7 1/2 months), Anna (Mark's best girlfriend, 7 1/2 months) and Mark (21 months). That's Mark, trying to look nonchalant while he's got an arm around a cute girl. Tell me, does he pull it off?

It's my friend A's birthday this week, and so in my own blabbery little way, I am going to write about her.

I met her in college. She and I didn't exactly hit it off. In fact, there were a lot of times throughout those years that I rather intentionally pushed her buttons just to get a reaction. (I've confessed that to her. I think we're good.) And there were more than a few times that I thought she was way off base, and what was *I* going to do about it? What I didn't realize/acknowledge then was that not everyone had to think just like me all the time. There were the times that I thought I should "set her straight" on something, when I got the message from Above, loud and clear -- "NO". That didn't always fix things, or set ME straight, but there were a few times when it slowed me down a little.

She met a man. She married him. She calls him her "fairy tale". He was someone we all knew from college, someone I was in classes with from my freshman year on. (He hed a goofy sense of humor, and he almost always did the reading and almost never skipped, which was good when it was just the two of us and one other person in a class together). When he passed away, my heart ached, especially for her. She'd been through God-only-knows-what in her life -- I just knew it hadn't been easy -- and the love of this man made her different -- happy, confident, strong. She could've crawled back into that old shell, the one with the false smile and wall a thousand feet thick. She could've listened to those thoughtless people who made pronouncements they had no business making. But she wasn't going to do that. She was going to live, and to grow.  

She continued her education -- something I suspect she'll always do. She moved to a new town, near a woman who'd been a friend to her and her husband. She took the time to take a trip to Nashville, Tennessee, just so I didn't have to drive alone when my mother was in the hospital. Just a trip down and back (all those hours in the car), and all she could do was wander the campus of Vanderbilt University. (Such a punishment for a person who loves academia, but still...) That, and encourage me to call a friend I'd lost touch with who lived in Nashville. (I felt very vulnerable admitting to her I was afraid to make the call. She didn't even laugh at me, even though a fear like that is out-of-character for the person I try to be.)

She threw herself a 30th birthday party, and I was happy to go. We got to meet some of her friends, including M, her mentor and dearest friend. As M was leaving the gathering, I took a second and told her how much it meant to us to know that A had her as a friend. I knew M was very ill. Later, a co-worker (who also knew M ... it is a small world) informed me she was terminal. I guess I'd realized that, but I didn't want it to be, because of A. When the co-worker left me a note in my mailbox the day M passed away, I cried, not so much for M, who'd led a full and wonderful life, but for A. Again? But she continues on. I have wanted to do more, to "fix" things for her, but she keeps her head up.

She moved again, further away, where it's not easy to see her. She sent Mark a present when he was a baby -- something smart and educational, of course (and which he loves and still plays with). She works, she tries to make friends in a less-than-friendly city, she talks about moving back, she takes a job that isn't always fun and works to make it better -- not just for herself, but for others.

A has gone from someone I worked to irritate to an inspiration. She has a strength of character that perseveres no matter what. No one can tell her she's not worth the universe, because she is. (And there are those who try.) There is an amazing spirit and an incridible purpose in her life. She has a love for learning and a fierce independence, along with the normal desire for friends and a place to fit in and feel loved.

And so, A, before you get all embarrassed and make me take this down, I want you to know I admire you and love you and realize that sometimes we can be blind and miss out on incredible people, but I'm glad that I eventually did get to know you and stopped being an opinionated butthead (at least to you) because you're a truly wonderful person. Happy Birthday.

I am still receiving AOL Instant Messages on my phone.

The next option is to change my number. I don't care to do that. I finally got onto the "no call" list and don't care to go through that again. ("Most of our pay-ahead customers don't get telemarketing calls," said Cody. Yeah. Mine did.) I think I just sit back and let it ride.

Recently I received a "Hey Sexxxy" message from Amadolla. I decided that it would be worth it to reply and let her know that I don't think she'd find me sexxxy at all. Apparently I am her ex, no less, and I really did a number when I dumped her. Incidentally, I'm in the Marines. Could it be the same person after all?

I told her my name's Jenny and I'm just a mom in the burbs (somewhere -- she doesn't need to know where). She says "I've" been on her buddy list for years and why did she get a message from this screen name if it's not her ex? I tried to explain that AOL's been a bit messed up and so on.

She ended up saying I was (blank)in lying to her and she would never talk to me again.

So far, everyone that I've TOLD what's going on, I've stopped getting messages from. "Momwith"etc and a couple others I haven't replied to, but think I'll probably have to in order to stop getting their messages too.

T-mobile people have "never heard" of this before.

Yeah. Whatever.

And so we went, off to the Indiana State Museum to see the fabulous traveling Lord of the Rings exhibit. This impressive exhibit of all things LOTR is the authorized LOTR exhibit and has toured the world's major cities, including Boston, London, Sydney, Singapore... and Indianapolis.

The Dunces and the Noblesvillians happily forked over our admission fees and made our way to the third-floor galleries that house this exhibit. There we feasted our eyes on stunning costumes, armor, jewelry... Wow. That stuff, the real stuff from the movie, right there. We got to try out some green-screen effects (the Dunce was a Gondorian soldier, the Noblesvillian was an elf, and I was an Uruk), feel the incredibly light-weight but real-looking chain mail (the boy liked that a lot), wander the gallery seeing familiar objects, check out the scale-models, and try out some other special effects as well. And how much cooler was it when I met up with a buddy from my own museum, who is now working at the state museum supervising this very exhibit?

It was also mighty cool to try out the scale model trick they used to make Frodo look that much smaller than Gandalf on the cart heading into the shire. The video screen showing it as we did it looked pretty funny, but the photo (two pictures, trading sides so each party gets the chance to be big, for $6. But it's a one-time thing...) was even more impressive. Wowie, look at the GIANT BABY!!! (And his tiny duncey uncle!)

 

 

Yes, we got to be tiny, too.

And yes, there was a gigantic model of the cave troll. (Bigger than Uncle Dunce, that troll.) The small boy was particularly impressed with the giant monster. Frightened? Oh no. He stared up at the creature's hideous face. He talked to it. He waved at it. As we left the gallery, he turned back to the cave troll, waved, and jabbered at it.

Bye Bye, Cave Troll

I went back to the old alma mater for a retirement dinner for a much-loved professor. I was concerned (as always) about who I would know who was there. Turns out, they were a little concerned about me.

"Who is Jenny Sherrill?" the professor had asked the head of the p.r. department who was putting on the event. "I can't remember a Jenny Sherrill at all." They wracked their brains, but to no avail. They couldn't for the lives of them (either of them) come up with who this Jenny Sherrill might be. They called the Alumni office. There, they learned the truth. This unknown "Jenny" was, in truth, JR. THAT name, they could handle.

It happens most every time I'm with my college cronies or other college friends, chums, pals, or gang. Someone calls me JR -- my college name -- and then apologizes. "I forgot; you're Jenny now, aren't you?"

Well, yes, most people call me Jenny now, but I refuse to leave JR behind. JR was good times. It was more than a nickname -- no one in college thought of me as Jenny unless they'd been dating me for a while (or unless their friend Tim had been dating me for a while and had been calling me Jenny, which then created some weirdness, when OTHER people besides Tim called me Jenny in those days...) -- it was who I was. It was only because there was another Jenny Vinson on campus that I took the nickname to begin with, and she'd been there a year already when I arrived, so it wasn't fair to try to change HER name. JR had some fun times: trips to Cedar Campus and other InterVarsity events, good times on campus, sorority events, friends, even classes that had some interesting and fun in them.

Yes, there was the time that, as I was going through Shirk Hall (home of the journalism school), I was asked by an editor of a campus publication (I don't remember which), "JR, do you have periods?" A rather appalling question, you have to admit, and a little more personal than I wanted shouted across the building to me. Actually, they wanted to know if it was "J.R." or "JR" or "Jr." or some other such arrangement. ("It's whatever you want to make it, but the J and the R both stand for things.")

Of course there's the question of what the R stands for. The standard answer was "Ravioli." There was a story behind that, but this is a family show... Ha ha ha. Imagine the surprise of one sorority sister a year later when she found out Ravioli wasn't really my name. Surprise, and a little offense, too, I have to admit, that I'd lied to her. (I didn't think she'd believe me... or that anyone else named Brent Etzel would believe me either, which he did as well.)

But JR was a nice nickname to have. It gave me a little something different, rather than being one of a gazillion Jennys running through college those years, though I did hear about "Who Shot J.R.?" a few thousand times too many. (Yes, you were original when you said it, I'm sure...) And then there were the questions (or comments) along those lines -- "What does the R stand for?" (we've covered that) "Is it Junior?" (not to you...) "Do you pronounce it 'JUR'?" (only in your case)...

It was a nice name to have. It was a nice person to be. And when someone from then calls me JR, I do still answer to it. And I sign things JUR from time to time.

It was eighth grade. It's a bad enough time to be alive without a ninth-grade brother to complicate things.

I walked into rehearsal for the current play I was in, and one of my friends, a Mr. R____, was behaving in a strange manner. After some time of awkward avoidance, he finally told me, "Your brother says you like someone in this cast." What? I was taken aback. How would my brother know such things? I would certainly never have told him anything of the sort, even if I had happened to have spoken to him (entirely by accident, I am sure). I wouldn't have mentioned to anyone else any interest in any young man of our acquaintance. And to whom would he be referring?

Hmm, looking about, the options were endless. It was a rather large cast, and, indeed, I had a rather large list to choose from. There might have been one or two who would land higher on my list (and those of every other eighth-grade girl in the cast), and there were certainly those who weren't even in the running (even for me, hard to believe but true).

Mr. R____ finally came out with it. The person my brother had told him that I liked was... him. My brother, discretion personified, had, apparently (and so it was found to be true) read my diary, and had harvested juicy tidbits for future use. What a dear boy he was, and so insightful to find the book stashed in such a secret spot. (Knowing me, I'd probably left myself a note of where to find it.) But back to the revelation.

How does one answer such a thing????? You can't admit it, for heaven's sake. Even if he had occupied one of those higher spots on the list (which I don't think he did, though time and knowledge of future events might shape my recollections here), it would be beyond the humiliation facing me to admit any particular feelings toward this individual. Let it be known here and now, though, that my attentions and interests at the time were neither highly focused nor selective (those who know might remember "Herman" and other notables who shall remain unnamed for the sake of this writer and any innocent bystanders). So to say that R_____ may have garnered a mention in my personal literature would not be surprising as the list included a great many young men of my acquaintance -- and not a few with whom I was not acquainted. If admitting it would be humiliating for me, what does denial do for the party who has broached the subject? "Gee, R_____, he must be mistaken, for I find you repugnant. Good heavens, how could I like you? I would sooner like (fill in the name of a more repulsive cast member here)!"

I don't remember how I answered the comment, but I think it was some hot denial of even keeping a diary. I doubt it flew. The next day he was "going with" A___, a girl in my grade who I did not know well, but to whom he introduced me. She was a very nice girl. I did make a point of noting that in my non-existent diary for peeping eyes to read. In the years to follow, though, R____ remained my friend, and never again did the issue of the diary rear its ugly head. At least in that circle. I am sure said brother read it for the rest of its life, but I didn't hear about it after he outgrew that ninth-grade stage. I also did not become much more discreet, though I did start using code names. Which I then decoded in the back of the very same book. Boy was I a smart one. At any rate, the diary no longer is a part of my memoribilia. Whew. I'm glad I destroyed it. There are journals worth reading after the person is gone. Mine was not.

My friend Andrea recently was a "safe house" in a cool youth group activity at her local church, called "Underground Church". From her blog: "Basically, kids are divided into groups, find people who give them maps and instructions, and then go out into different neighborhoods. Certain houses are safe houses, and their job is to get to a safe house without getting caught by the "secret police", teams of people armed with Super Soakers. Anyone the secret police manage to get wet gets taken to "jail". Anyone who makes it to the safe house would give a password, and if admitted to the house, could call the leaders to come pick them up. The point of the activity, in addition to having fun, is to raise awareness of persecuted Christians around the world."  So Andrea would be waiting for 12 kids to make it to her house (three did). They would give the password ("Are you with the YMCA?") and she would respond with the proper response ("Yes; are you?"); they would give their team color, and she'd invite them in. Add to all this excitement the interesting fact that while her house number is in the 700s, all of the other houses around hers are in the 500s. Makes the game a little more interesting.

This was meaningful for Andrea because her husband is Chinese, and, while his home country is becoming more open to Christianity, there is certainly a history of underground church activity being necessary.

This made me think about the deeply meaningful youth group activities that we did "back in the day" as part of the group at the church where we grew up. Naturally there were the retreats and lessons and activities led by our most capable leader, but once we got into high school, she couldn't teach us anymore, as only a man would be appropriate to lead youth of that age. (Pardon me while I choke on that one.)

I was going to list the most meaningful youth activites here, except I came up a little short. Aside from anything led (or heavily participated in) by that leader who shall remain nameless (but whose code name is "MOM"), I'm coming up with nothing that was organized by our youth leaders. There were some youth rallies at other churches (perfect for meeting new guys or running into old ones), ICYC (the last of which was horrible enough to darken the memory of all the rest), and of course all of the activities at the OTHER church that HAD a youth group. And there were the activities that were fairly self-led (boys who shall remain nameless having hymnal wars in the back row, painting our very own high school room "whatever color we wanted"), and the puppet and drama activities led by that famous person-of-a-gender-that-can't-lead.

There were some dark times, chair-throwing incidents, devotions with other youth groups, youth ministers whose er, extra-curricular activities led to serious legal implications, leaving youth rallies early so we could get home to watch our favorite TV shows. This is what we get when "only" men can lead youth groups? Get serious.

Best fun, one-time activity I can think of? PHOTO SCAVENGER HUNT: Our group was divided into two teams, each of which was given a list of things to find and a Poloroid camera. We were assigned a van and a driver, and we were given a certain length of time and assigned to go around town and try to get as many of the assigned pictures as possible.

• Picture of your group "somewhere you shouldn't...be": Brian's group (with the church van) photographed themselves climbing the sign for the Hiphugger lounge; our group (with a mercifully anonymous van) took a group picture at the front door of the now-defunct adult bookstore.
• Picture of your group "behind bars": Brian's group went to the jail; mine went to a salad bar.
• Picture of your group with someone who looks like someone from "Goonies": Brian's group got a kid at the mall to pose with him, not telling him that he reminded them of "Chunk". (I had a picture from some cheesy teen magazine.)

It wasn't a bad activity. It was a lot of fun. Both groups had a lot of stories to tell later. (And I think that unnamed youth leader had a lot to do with putting it together.) Not everything has to be meaningful, of course. She had enough things with content that were. If only some other people had learned from her.

Take note, youth leaders. You can have fun and meaning too.

It's a day for random thoughts, so here they are...

You can't go home again. But it's nice to stop in for a visit. Last weekend was my college homecoming and 10-year reunion. It was nice to see people I haven't seen in years. There weren't a lot, but those who were there, it was good to see. It was quite funny to see this little knot of sorority sisters (including me) sitting at a table at the local [this is about the best website ever] (using my brother's British sense of the word), pulling out pictures of our kids and talking about immunizations. The guys had hangovers from partying the night before -- some things never change. But everyone was nice and friendly and acted like they were happy to see everyone else. Back on campus, we had a class photo taken by the tree planted in memory of a classmate (and sorority sister). Hard to believe that tree is that big... Then it was off to see campus. At the DDD suite, they pulled out the photo album from my freshman year. Lovely. At the theatre, there was a photo album out that chronicled my four years. It was fun to point out myself (I'm so vain) in the few pictures I was in, and remember some great shows and interesting people. It was fun seeing different people, and it was nice to find at least one who lives nearby. (Can you say playdates?)

Accomplishment is a nice thing. Sometimes I set out to "fix" things and end up destroying them instead. Tim is always very understanding when I break something instead of repairing it. But I think I had success today with a minimum of destruction when I pulled the bike stroller out and put it back together and got it all attached to the bike and gave Mark a little ride up the block and back. Success. Whew.

Walking. A week ago the kid couldn't walk by himself. Today, while Tim and I were finishing our supper, he was doing laps around the dining room table. Giggling with glee. Carrying a block (for balance, I'm sure).

Visiting Grandma. Yesterday Mark and I went to Kokomo to get his birthday pictures (very cute, very cute), and we surprised Grandma by stopping by to see her. "I wasn't looking for you to come today," she said. Which is good; gotta keep the "old bird" on her toes. Left off a couple pictures for her and one for Aunt Betty, of course. Got caught up on all the news. She saw so-and-so, so-and-so else had surgery, someone else is feeling better, someone's moving back to the U.S. (and no, Aunt Jeannie isn't doing a happy dance for that... no, she is after all)... All the while Mark wanders around the house, checking all the rooms out. He has such fun.

good grammar. My mom did a happy dance and she didn't know why the other day when I picked up a friend's prescription and said, "I am not she; should I still sign here?"

 

I read this in this weekend's Indianapolis Star. Really.

For many people, mainly women, fat on legs, hips, and buttocks actually may help ward off heart disease and diabetes, recent research suggests. University of Colorado researchers reported this past week that in a study of 95 women past menopause, being bottom-heavy was linked to better scores on triglycerides and sugar levels.

"Our body of research, as well as some others, suggest that leg fat is good fat," said Rachael Van Pelt, the lead researcher on the study in The Journal of Clinical Endicrinology & Metabolism.

I would do a "happy dance" but I'm afraid it would take too many inches off my hips, butt and thighs. I'll have a celebratory cookie instead.

Photos not included. See The Dunce or The Thief for their photo commutes.

This covers the question "Which route is best for me to get to work?"

Google maps suggests a straight shot down 38 to 32 to Allisonville Road, but I personally wish to avoid the hustle and bustle of downtown Noblesville, and have sought the best OTHER route.

Choice 1 (my current favorite):

This involves going north-northwest out of my driveway to Little Chicago Road, then straight south through the construction on LCR onto the newly aligned Hazel Dell Parkway (a.k.a. Hazel Del Ha Ha for reasons that just can't be detailed) all the way to 146th Street, then across to Allisonville and down to Conner Prairie.

Stops include 1: Buttonwood at LCR (sign); 2: LCR at 38 (light); 3: LCR/HDP at 32 (light); 4: HDP at 146th (light); 5: 146th at Allisonville (light)

Time is approximately 15 1/2 minutes. Distance, thanks to the Google Map Pedometer, is 10.36 miles. By 2 miles the longest distance, but with the fewest impediments like stoplights and other cars.

Choice 2:

This selection enjoys the sights and sounds of downtown Noblesville. I take Buttonwood South-southeast to 38, then take 38 to where it joins with 32, cross the river, then turn south on Eighth Street, thus bypassing the hubbub of downtown. Carbon Street cuts over to 10th (Allisonville), which I then take south to Conner Prairie.

Stops: 1: South Harbour Drive at 38 (light, very long); 2: 38 at Logan Street (light); 3: 38 at 32 (light); 4: 38/32 at 19 (light); 5: 38/32 at Eighth (light;) 6: Carbon at 10th (sign); 7: Allisonville at 146th (light)

Hasn't been timed. 8.33 miles

Choice 3 (has been a Wednesday night favorite because it passes Long John Silver's):

Start the same as Choice 2, heading south-southeast on Buttonwood to 38. Turn south at River Road, cross 32 (stop at LJS). Continue south on River Road, slowly winding through curves at the quarries, to 146th Street. Take 146th Street to Allisonville Road, and Allisonville to Conner Prairie.

Stops: 1: SHB at 38 (long light); 2: River Road at 32 (light); 3: Drive through at Long John Silver's (usually long, though last week amazingly quick); 4: River Road at 146th (light); 5: 146th and Allisonville (light)

Time: 17 minutes Distance: 8.6 miles

Oddly enough, the typical reverse route is choice 2, through town. Don't ask why; I don't know.

The Wednesday night reverse route, however,  skips the Carbon Street turn and takes 10th Street to downtown, past 32/38, stops alongside the street by Ericka's apartment for her to get out, then on to Logan Street to 38 (adding stops at several streets downtown and along Logan, but with the added benefit of Ericka not having to sleep at the Prairie on Wednesday nights).

Someday perhaps some photos will be included on this site especially for those who know Hazel Del Ha Ha and River Road "back when".

After a conversation with a friend recently and the revelation of deep, dark secrets, I thought I should write a blog about my own deep, dark secrets.

Then I realized the shocking truth:

I don't really have any.

I mean, there's the assorted collection of "Yes, I actually dated that person," and "Yes, I actually liked that song," and the horrifying "Yes, I owned that album -- on cassette of course -- and even sometimes still listen to it when I come across it" (Nena, 99 Luftballons). But real deep, dark secrets? My mouth is way too big for that.

Mom found out before the statute of limitations had passed that the roadtrip to Hell with my brother actually involved more than the roads being "a little slick" on the way home. I confessed to one very dear friend that sometimes I did things (back in college) just to annoy her. (I apologized for that, too. She's a terrific person and I regret the way I treated her...) I never stole anything -- not even one little candy -- and I never started a fight (though I did finish a couple, including one in fifth grade when D.J. jumped on me and started trying to hit me, in front of the teacher, no less, and I polished him off rather quickly, to the teacher's amusement, and one in a college theatre class, which ended similarly). I never hid a grade card and never cheated on a test, and never told a really really big lie. Of course, there was the lie about the thermometer (Yes, I confess, I broke it), but Mom saw through my innocent look and my denial like glass. (Maybe it was because I was four years old and hadn't taken the time to learn from the master.)

Perhaps it's a boring life not to have deep, dark secrets. Nothing to pull out at parties to make people gasp. Nothing to write about later in my tell-all memoirs. But I sort of look at it from the other side (the goody-goody side): I don't have to remember who I told what. I'm too simple to keep it all straight.

Lots of happy things...

Tim got the new elliptical machine properly calibrated, and I had a nice "fat burning" workout. Tim has the idea to make a poster to mark down when we work out, to keep track and keep us motivated. It's a good thing to hae a chance to do some working out. Before we moved, I had a membership at a women-only circuit-training-based fitness club; loved it, but it only took 2 minutes to get there. More of a job now, so I can now go downstairs. I'll keep you posted.

Carrots. Oatmeal. SWEET POTATOES. Three of Mark's favorite foods. There are few things cuter than that little boy, orange food smeared all over his face, holding his spoon in his mouth, smiling, bouncing in his high chair, squealing with glee. The other thing that is so cute at meal time is when we hold the spoon out about nose level and he opens his mouth wide to have the next bite -- maybe too quickly! (Daddy discovered that trick...)

Now that Mark can sit up mostly by himself (still toppling but only very rarely), he needed some NEW TOYS. We were shopping on Saturday and checked out a toy store. You know the toy you're holding is going to be a hit when the baby in the Bjorn is flapping wildly (more like his cousin than ever). So now Mark has the Fisher-Price "Activity Atom". Rather noisy, flashy lights, goofy music.

In addition, Mark got some new clothes, and some new books. He got an "I SPY" alphabet book and a terrific DK math book, with counting, adding, subtraction... Lots of fun. He loves his book -- as a snack...

Friends. We visited Saturday with Andrea and Leo and their girls, Audrey (4 1/2) and Aislinn (3 months). It was fun to see them. Audrey and I are great pals, and my pet Aardvark (invisible of course) and hers get along famously. Mine went with her and hers when they went to China last year. Unfortunately my aardvark has been a little neglected since Mark's arrival, so he's staying with Audrey's for a while. And Mark and Aislinn were caught holding hands...

And then there's a day Mark got to spend with his friends Auntie Kim and Chase. Gratitude from me, since I went to work, and a nice fun time Mark got to have, too. Chase knows the word "friends" now, and uses it to describe Tim and Mark and me, and also the kids on the sticker on the bus, and just about any other group of people. I'm just glad he knows we're friends.

Friends are good. So are a good workout, new toys, and sometimes even carrots.

This is my first entry. It is a momentous occasion. I am writing profound things inspired by my exciting life, just like all the thousand million other bloggers out there. Leave it to me to be a few steps (or more) behind the trend. My Cabbage Patch dolls were WAY after the fad. But does anyone know that now?