In Service of God and Country

Families were uprooted and expelled from Scotland by the English king. My great-great-great grandfather, Robert Nesbitt and his family arrived by ship into Charleston harbor, somewhere around 1767. They lived in South Carolina until Robert and his brother John were conscripted to serve in the Revolutionary War. They served to ensure the birth of a new nation, where they could live and worship freely.

After the war, the brothers were given military land grants in what is now Dickson County, Tennessee. They traveled there to claim their land, along with two younger brothers. The four brothers, Robert, John, Jeremiah and Nathan, settled the land, and family members still live within a 5 mile radius of the original homesteads location.

Today I write in honor and respect of those who came to this country to make a free life for themselves, and those who have served to protect and defend our country. Read on if you will, or pass by. This is simply a tribute to those in my family who have served.


Colors of the 8th Illinois Cavalry, Civil War Reenactors

There are no photos from this period, but great grandfather James Lewis Nesbitt served in the Confederate Army, Company B, 14th Tennessee Regiment of the General Archie Brigade. Rural life at this time was tenuous at best, and the women and children left behind had to keep the farm going. This was subsistance farming and if they were not successful they would not survive. Letters home reflected the men's concerns about the childrens health, and whether or not the wife had been able to obtain salt. Salt was vital to preserved the meat when a hog was butchered in the fall. This meat was essential for the family to exist through the winter.



George Washington Newton, my paternal grandfather, served in World War I. It was quite an adventure for a simple country farmer to travel to Vancouver, Washington to train. The photos from this period in time were actually postcards, as soldiers would not have access to a camera. The back of this postcard, which shows the soldiers setting up camp, reads, "This is a beautiful place. Say, I suppose you are almost read to plow corn. So long, George."

George's brother, Tinnoman Newton, also served in World War I. He trained at Fort Bragg, North Carolina, which is still one of the largest training facilities. He also sent a postcard.





My father, Franklin Ray Newton, enlisted in the U.S. Navy 6 months after the attack at Pearl Harbor. He had just graduated from high school. His service included tours on destroyers and the U.S.S. Midway. He was aboard his ship in the Sea of Japan the day the treaty was signed with the Japanese government, ending the war. This photograph hung in his bedroom as long as I can remember, up until his death 17 years ago. The U.S.S. Midway is now a floating museum, docked in San Diego.

After discharge my father married my mother and started a family. His was working to save money for a home when he was called back into the Navy to serve in the Korean war. One thing I will say about his generation is that they were not whiners. Not a word was every said about having their plans disrupted to serve his country again. He served, was discharged a second time and they got on with their lives.

His brother, Jackie Newton enlisted in the U.S. Army after Pearl Harbor and served in the European theater. He was a German prisoner of war for over two years, returning to his beloved Florida panhandle where he farmed peanuts, cotton and sugar cane. He still lives within 3 miles of the family homestead.



Cousin Charles Sheldon served two tours in Vietnam. He was a career man, older than the troops he commanded. Died of a heart attack while serving in Vietnam. His half brother Mack Nolen was an enlisted man in the U.S. Navy for 25 years, serving also in Vietnam. My husband Paul Kathro, drafted into the U.S. Army in 1966, serving at Fort Knox, Kentucky during the Vietnam war.

To all these men I say, "I remember".

(This entry is republished from my photoblog,

Want to learn more about the history of Memorial Day? Read this:

MEMORIAL DAY

Chicago Blackhawks

We interrupt this regularly scheduled blog for an important message.

GO BLACKHAWKS!!!!

The Chicago Blackhawks are providing a good deal of excitement for fans here in Illinois.

I'm a fan.

Hockey was HUGE, back in the day. The rough and tumble antics on the ice suited the equally tempermented crowd in the stands. It was often standing room only and standing meant planting your feet in a layer of beer and mustard that had morphed into a sticky mass.

There were more fights in the stands than on the ice. Hockey was the territory for the blue collar working stiff. None of this celebrity and well-heeled banking and commodities crowd, steelworkers from Gary and teamsters ruled the old stadium. The players were superstars, Stan Mikita, Bobby Hull and Eric Nesterenko were our heroes.

My own personal cachet rose when schoolmates discovered I'd babysat for Bobby Hull's kids.

Oh yeah, crazy hockey.

GO BLACKHAWKS!!

...... We now return you to your regularly scheduled program.

Getting a Sunburn with Bill Bryson

If last week was Bacon Week here At Home.... this would be Book Week.

Author Bill Bryson has the best job ever.

I'm not kidding. Think about it. He gets paid to travel and write about his experiences. In my mind this is a dream job.

In the book, "From a Sunburned Country", Bryson takes on the enormous Australian continent. This is a subject that resonates with me. My four stepbrothers and one stepsister all live in Australia, spread out from one end of the continent to the other.

Bryson visited the major Australian cities several times during book tours but those frenetic schedules did not allow for any meaningful connection with the land down under. He made plans to return for an extended stay, setting himself an ambitious itinerary.

At one point in his trip he had a traveling companion, a professional photographer. What a lucky man because Bryson is my kind of tourist. He goes to a place without any preconceived notions and he hits the ground running. Literally. His plane lands, he establishes base camp at his hotel and he hits the streets, walking the neighborhoods and commercial areas, often finding himself in strange situations...... such as surrounded by a pack of dogs in a secluded park.

He gives his impressions of each of the major cities, including the architecture, the people and the general sense of the place. He understands and is able to communicate the excitement of discovering a place for the first time. In my experience, a place is never as exciting or interested as the first time you visit and everything is a fresh experience.

Bryson is funny to be sure, but there's no mean spiritedness to his humor. He geniunely LOVES Australians and his enthusiasm for them and their land is contagious. He's constantly amazed at their nonchalant attitude towards the hoards of very dangerous creatures that share their land. Ten of the world's deadliest snakes, poisonous seashells, Great White sharks and the most poisonous creature on earth, the delicate box jellyfish.

There are great adventures to be had in this larger-than-life place, and he avails himself of the opportunity to experience as many of them as he can. He takes the famous railway across the Nullabor Plains and drives a rental car from Darwin to Alice Springs and Ayers Rock.

My mom and stepdad made many trips to Australia and experienced many of the same things he describes in the book. It's fun to compare what my mom had to say with his account. Remember when I told you how my stepsister couldn't wait to get back to the U.S. where she could stuff herself with American bacon? I almost fell off the chair laughing when Bryson mentioned how he loved Australian bacon - couldn't get enough!

Bill Bryson does something more than simply write a travelogue. He does exhaustive research and dishes up history and knowledge along with fun and games. He's included some facts that even the experts have failed to mention in their books.

Have you seen the movie, Rabbit Proof Fence? Did you wonder why there are millions of rabbits denuding the continent? Read the book and discover the answer. (Aussies - no fair telling them why in the comments section!)

The best thing about this author is that he has maintained his childhood wonder, far into adulthood. He has an imagination, a sense of humor and a manner of writing that allows us all to take a trip Down Under.

I highly recommend this book.

Here's a link to Renae's blog. She one of my readers from Down Under. I had to laugh at my stupidity. I was reading her blog and looking at the pictures of her visit to Herronswood and couldn't figure out why her and her husband Colin were all bundled up! Sheesh. You'd think it was wintertime or something. HA ....IT IS winter... in the southern hemisphere. Duh.

RED WREN

And yes, Renae.... you should read this book and give us all a book report! HA.

Bill Bryson - The Thunderbolt Kid

I like Bill Bryson. He's a born and bred midwesterner who, for some inexplicable reason decided to settle in England. I won't hold it against him. Perhaps it's because he fell in love with an Englishwoman. But still, he's gotta miss the cornfields.

In the past two weeks I've polished off not one, but two, count 'em, two Bill Bryson books. The first is called "The Life and Times of the Thunderbolt Kid - a Memoir".

Unlike "Dandelion Wine" which are stories loosely based on Ray Bradbury's childhood, Bryson's book is an all-out remembrance of growing up in Des Moines, Iowa. The title refers to his ability to ZAP unsuspecting people with his imaginary thunderbolt.

He speaks of his family with loving clarity. The foibles and follies are dished up in equal parts, making his family delightfully human. He let's us know that it's OK to say our families and our lives were not perfect. They weren't!!!

Anyone who grew up in the midwest (or anywhere for that matter) in the 1950's and '60's will remember the scenes played out in his Iowa hometown. Even if you didn't grow up in that time period, you'll still enjoy reading about it.

The beautiful old movie theaters (more than one), the magazine and candy shop, the odd neighbors, teacher and classmates are all familiar.

He jogged my memory of things long forgotten... my brother's electric football game. He'd spend an hour or so arranging all the players just so and then he'd plug in the game and turn it on. The entire board buzzed and vibrated, sending all the players skittering and falling in every direction. Another hour would be spent rearranging the set-up and it would all start again.

He made me laugh and wonder how we ever got through our childhood's without a helmet! He also reminded me of being pushed outside first thing in the morning with the admonition, "Don't come back until dark". We spent entire days, weeks and lifetimes out of doors in the fresh air having adventures of our own invention. I rarely, if EVER, see a kid playing outside anymore.


He made me remember a time when kids were not assured every waking moment of their lives that they were "special". We weren't really special. We were just kids in the American midwest, growing up the best way we knew how.

Bill - Thanks for the memories!

The second Bryson book I finished deserves it's own post, so check back tomorrow when we'll all get sunburned with Bill.

Edit:

OOOOPS!!!! I forgot to mention Bryson's memory of the A-bomb drills we were all subjected to in school. It went like this:

Drop to the floor.
Tuck yourself into a ball underneath your desk.
Put your hands over your head.

Seriously.

I might have been only 8 years old but even I had enough common sense to find this laughable. Maybe it made everyone (parents and teachers) feel secure that they had a "plan" in the event of attack. No need to worry about giving us nightmares about the possibility of attack because at that point in time. I was more worried about aliens attacking from outer space.

My real fear came later when I was a young adult. The Russians still had thousands of missiles pointed in our direction but the most immediate danger was from my fellow citizens who were busy burning our own country down. What a special time that was.....not.

Dandelion Wine

My friend Cindy is a writer, a real writer, the kind that gets a degree and spends a lifetime honing her craft. She doesn't write simply when the mood strikes her. For years she produced a weekly column for her local newspaper, pulling from her life experience for inspiration.

I once read something by an author who said that he often sat in front of a blank typewriter until beads of blood formed on his brow. Yeah, sometimes writing can be that hard.

It is sometimes true for reading also. There are books that simply do not grab your interest. I can read 50 or 60 pages and decide that it's no longer worth my time or effort to continue. When I was young I had the crazy idea that reading War and Peace was a good idea. Pretty soon I was lost in a sea of characters whose names gave me a headache. I quit.

About ten years ago I was mentoring a young co-worker who was making at attempt to get a college education, the first in his family to do so. He was having some difficulties in a literature class and I said I'd read Grapes of Wrath along with him. Pretty soon my head was hurting. I could barely get through a page a day. I was afraid to say anything lest I squelch any enthusiasm for the work on his part.

One day he called and said, "I want to start a bonfire. Gotta any logs? I've got kindling."

"What do you mean?" I queried.

"This book is the worst, ever," he replied.

I could not disagree and we entered into a conversation as to why it sat on us like lead weights.

For me it was just so heavy handed. It's dry. It's dusty. It's poor. It's chaos. It's melodramatic. It's all too much. Page after page Steinbeck hits you over the head with the images. I got it. Seriously, I got it on page 3, and 6, 7, 9, 42, 53, 135......ad nauseum. It's a literary version of that bird that's singing in my yard.

For those of you who love the book, that's fine. Very knowledgeable people declare that it's a classic, so who am I to say otherwise? We all understand that tastes in reading are as varied as tastes in food or wine, which brings me to the wine. Dandelion wine to be exact. My friend Cindy had suggested the book, "Dandelion Wine" by Ray Bradbury.

I purchased a paperback copy on Amazon for a penny plus shipping.



It has a lovely stylized illustration on the cover, although I'm sure that neither Bradbury nor his mother actually looked like this.



The book is a collection of stories loosely based on his childhood here in northern Illinois. Shortly after the book arrived I carefully set up my nightstand with a small snack and something to drink. When everything was just right I climbed into bed under the covers to read. I read five pages, ten page, twenty-five pages. Oh gosh!! This is not grabbing me. It simply is not resonating with me and I was feeling very confused because I know that Cindy has very good taste in books.



Maybe it had something to do with the fact that the paperback was older, yellowing around the edges, produced in a very small typeface.

Finally, I gave up and laid the book aside on my bedroom bookcase. Maybe in the future I would pick it up and try again.

Months later I picked up the book again and found myself engrossed. I started from the beginning, page one, and was soon captured and engaged. What was the difference? Why, the first time around, did I find it so strangely unappealing? Why? Because I tried to read Dandelion Wine in the wintertime!!

This is a summertime book, something Cindy realized. She reads it once a year, at the beginning of summer. Great plan. I shall do the same.

As for giving Steinbeck another shot...... I think not.

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Cindy LaFerle has written her own book. It's entitled "Writing Home" which is a memoir and a collection of stories of home and family life. Proceeds of new book sales go to organizations supporting the homeless.

WRITING HOME

Her blog:

CINDY LA FERLE'S HOME OFFICE

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How about you? Do you ever give a book a second chance?

Suz-Annie Get Your Gun

I'm looking for a gun.

Why, you ask? Because there's a critter that's asking for it.

Don't get me wrong, I love nature. I've read all of naturalist Loren Eisley's essays and I even go on eco-tourist vacations.

No one was more anxious than myself for winter to end and spring to take it's place. I dreamed about throwing open the windows to the breezes and the tranquility of our rural location. Nature in all it's glory exists just outside my bedroom window.

Tranquility. Until this year.

A bird has taken up residence in the neighborhood. He's crazy, neurotic and the Johnny Two-Note of the avian world. Seriously, what is wrong with this bird?

twee-too
twee-too

..... he chirps in couplets lasting approximately 1 1/2 seconds. I timed them. Crazy, huh? Timing bird calls is the desperate action of someone being slowly driven mad by a bird.

twee-too
twee-too

..... inflections up, inflections down. The second sounding like B-flat. It's the auditory version of Chinese water torture...drip, drip, drip.

twee-too, twee-too, twee-too, twee-too, twee-too, twee-too, twee-too, twee-too, twee-too, twee-too, twee-too, twee-too, twee-too, twee-too, twee-too, twee-too, twee-too, twee-too, twee-too, twee-too, twee-too, twee-too, twee-too, twee-too, twee-too, twee-too, twee-too, twee-too, twee-too, twee-too, twee-too, twee-too, twee-too, twee-too, twee-too, twee-too, twee-too, twee-too, twee-too, twee-too, twee-too, twee-too, twee-too, twee-too, twee-too, twee-too, twee-too, twee-too, twee-too, twee-too, twee-too, twee-too, twee-too, twee-too, twee-too, twee-too, twee-too, twee-too, twee-too, twee-too, twee-too, twee-too, twee-too, twee-too,

Well, you get the idea. From just before dawn till 7 in the evening. Let's do the math.

13 hours x 60 minutes x 60 seconds = 46,800 seconds
Divide that by 1.5 (a couplet of twee-too's every 1.5 seconds) = 31,200

Yeah, at LEAST that many.

If this is a mating call this dude is grossly ineffective.

Oh no, the call just changed. He's dropped the twee and we're getting a extended string of too's.



I think he's in that dark tree. From my second floor vantage point it's clear that my neighbor's little silver plated derringer ain't gonna do the job. I'll need something with a high powered scope.

I think he's hiding in that darker tree. He better find a new territory, if he knows what's good for him.

Monday Morning Staff Meeting

Good morning everyone. It's good to see your smiling face this morning. I desperately need some human contact. More about that later. First, let's eat.

This morning we're going to have an oven baked apple pancake, one of my favorites.



It's good with real maple syrup, or just some powdered sugar.



Help yourself, there's plenty. If you'd like the recipe, go here:

GERMAN APPLE PANCAKE

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I mentioned the need for human contact. It's because I've been sequestered in my house with a paintbrush in my hand. It's been all painting, all the time around here lately. I feel as if I was born with a paintbrush in my right hand.

There are only four shutters needing a second coat. Let's do the math. Thirty-two shutters, each needing two coats is equal to painting a shutter 64 times. I'll probably get on that task of finishing those four shutters as soon as this meeting is over. And thanks for all the offers of help. If you were my neighbor I would certainly take you up on it.

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I've also finished painting the old desk I purchased at a local antique store for $35. It's from the late 1930's or 1940's. My uncle had a similar desk in his childhood bedroom, along with a wagon wheel headboard and cowboy wallpaper.

The finish on the desk was looking sad and worn. Instead of refinishing it in a dark stain, I painted it black to coordinate with the other things I plan for my sewing room. I used three thin coats of black satin enamel instead of one heavy globby coat. Since I hate working with urethane (thin, drippy mess) I finished it off with a coating of paste wax.

I love this stuff. There's a brand called Butcher's Bowling Alley Wax that is terrific, but I had this on hand and I wasn't about to go purchasing more. It's similar in texture, smell and formula to shoe polish. You know, the one that comes in a can with the twisty key on the side. It works pretty much the same way. You apply a thin coat of the paste wax with a soft cloth (I used an old white sock), let dry for 10-15 minutes and wipe and buff to finish.

It's not exactly easy work though. I call it the "Karate Kid" method of surface finishing - Wax on.....Wax off. It's necessary to apply some pressure to get the desired buffed effect. I also used some Brasso to fresh up the hardware.

Picture of the finished desk to follow soon.

The desk is in my sewing room which I've totally torn apart to remodel. Here's the chaos.



And more chaos.



There was no way I could totally empty out the room and so I just moved stuff back and forth while I painted walls, two at a time. I love, love, love the new wall color which is also the color in my bedroom closet. It's an Olympic color called "Morning Fog". I had it color matched and mixed in a Behr formula because I like Behr paints. It's a very calming beach glass blue.

I'm starting to put things back together.



I've got plans to nicely tie back those curtains and hang some shelves and artwork.

Stay tuned.

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I've been devouring books lately. In the past week and a half I've read two of Bill Bryson's books. More on those later this week.

So, what have you been up to? I'm turning the meeting over to you. Feel free to discuss...... whatever!

Bacon Candy

Yes, you read that right. Bacon candy. That's what I served with sweet potato pancakes at the Monday Morning Staff Meeting. I thought it would be a good pairing. What did you think?

Normally I serve Bacon Candy as an appetizer but this time it was for breakfast. Bacon is the new darling in the world of chefs. You can find bacon in all kinds of recipes. A local chef has it on the menu as Chicken Fried Bacon. The bacon is dipped in batter and deep fried. It's absolutely delicious and different.

There's only one business in our little community and that's Pete's Hot Dog place, out on the main highway. He serves a pork bomb called the Pork Producers Sandwich, which is a gut busting combination of boneless pork chop, ham and bacon, topped with cheese on a bun. Overload.

In nearby Chicago they held a Bacon Fest. Remember, Illinois is a big pork producer and when I was a kid Orien Samuelson would read the commodities numbers on WGN radio very early in the morning, ticking off rates for corn, soybeans and pork bellies.

When my stepsister arrived in the U.S. from Australia to do a six month walkabout after finishing medical school, she vowed to eat bacon for every meal. She was raised in the U.S. until the age of 10 at which time my stepfather had accepted a job down under. She fondly remembered the bacon of her childhood and assured me that there's nothing like it in Oz.

So, that's what she did. She ate bacon at every meal and every opportunity. She at bacon with pancakes, bacon sandwiches for lunch and for dinner we got creative and added bacon to salads or carbonara. I'm pretty sure she tried to smuggle bacon on the plane.

Here's how to make bacon candy!

BACON CANDY

10 slices of regular bacon (not thick sliced)
1/3 cup of brown sugar

Sprinkle brown sugar over the bacon and press down firmly so the sugar sticks to the bacon. Place on a wire rack over a foil lined baking sheet. Bake in a 350 degree oven for 15-20 minutes until crispy. Let bacon cool and harden. (I didn't have a wire rack so I just baked them on a foil lined pan and it worked fine, just drain on paper towel after baking).


Arrange bacon.


Press in the brown sugar.

Enjoy!



Do you love bacon?

Monday Morning Staff Meeting

Good Morning everyone. How are you this fine morning?

I recently read a series of questions posed to one of our local weathermen, which included a query about a pressure system (or something meteorological) that sits over Greenland, creating something similar to the El Nino/El Nina phenomenon on the west coast. The result of this Greenland thing is that our summer will be a bit cooler, as it was last year. That's good news for me because I hate the heat, although the corn needs heat to develop properly. Anyway, the weather has been absolutely gorgeous the past couple of days with clear skies and nice mild temperatures.

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First on the agenda is food. We're going to be having pancakes and bacon this morning, but not just any old pancakes and bacon. We're going to be having sweet potato pancakes made with this mix I found at the local food store.



Sometimes I just grab a product that I see on the shelves that looks interesting. I love to try brands that aren't mega-marketed. I've never heard of Bruce's before. These pancakes are awesome, very moist and different than some of the regular pancake mixes that are dry. I love when I find something great like this but I'm always afraid that the store won't continue to carry the item.

I've worked in retail and let me tell you that manufacturer's really fight for shelf space. The little guy is very often squeezed out. I'm glad to see that Bruce's has an online presence and it's a Cajun business with lots of other great things. I can continue to order even if the store gives them the boot.

Bruce's Foods

Anyway, help yourself to some pancakes.

Oh, and the bacon.




There's something different about the bacon. Taste it and tell me if you can figure it out. I'll be back later this week to tell you a great bacon story and give you this recipe.

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I'm making progress on painting the house shutters. I'm in a race to see if I can finish before neighbor Bill finishes painting the house.

To those who have asked, no, I'm not using a sprayer. I'm painting them by hand with a brush. Thirty-two of them. It's actually very relaxing to me. I paint in the garage, very early in the morning. It's just me and the birds chirping outside.

We were tired of the green shutters and since our new porch lights are black, we decided to paint the shutters black. Photos will be posted when everything is back in place.

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It seems like I'm painting anything that doesn't move around here. I'm painting a desk for my sewing room and also a vintage sewing machine table for an art auction to raise money for Make A Wish Foundation. The challenge is to create art from a piece of furniture. We'll see how my concept turns out.

Here's the before:



Look familiar? I bet your mom or your grandmother had one. The sewing machine was hidden inside until it was called into duty.



This table housed my lavender sewing machine.

I've no desire to ever create anything with a "message". Gosh how I hated it when teachers insisted that we find the message in a story, a book or a piece of art. It drove me nuts because I just wanted to enjoy it, not pick it apart until we'd beaten the life out of the thing.

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This is the part where I turn the meeting over to you. Whatever you want to discuss is fair game.

If you want to stick around till the meeting is over and help me paint shutters, I'll find you a spare brush!

Adventures in Northern Illinois

Does anyone else remember the TV show, "Adventures in Paradise" with Gardner McKay? I'm dating myself because this show aired for four years between 1959 and 1962. I don't think I missed an episode. What's not to love? McKay was Hollywood gorgeous and he portrayed Adam Troy, a Korean War vet who bought the sloop Tiki and sailed the South Pacific.

Thinking back, I was always fascinated by adventure and the world beyond my small neighborhood.

The Farmer and I are big fans of adventure travel, both here and abroad. We stay on islands with no roads (or phones or TVs), travel in boats that are as flimsy as Dixie cups and have flown all over Central America in small planes whose have instruments attached to the dashboard with duct tape.

I've never been afraid.

Life is a pretty fearless adventure as far as I'm concerned. I listen to my instincts but beyond that I'm good.

However, I do not like bridges. It could possibly be categorized as an extreme subconscious dislike. Thinking back, I've pinned down my uneasiness to an incident that occurred many years ago when I was visting my dad in Florida. A ship hit one of the huge supports on a bridge that led south from St. Pete across the bay. It was at night and the impact damaged the support and caused the entire center section of the bridge to fall into the bay, sending cars and people to their death. Unknowingly, drivers continued up the bridge and off into the void.

That did it for me as far as bridges were concerned.

This weekend at the Bloggy get-together I met Michelle and quickly determined that she lives in Iowa just west of Savanna, Illinois.

"That means you must have crossed THE BRIDGE to get here," I said.

"And you must cross THE BRIDGE to get home," I continued.

"Yes," she said. And everyone at the table who lives in the area gave a light, nervous chuckle.

They know the bridge. It's the one without a solid road bed. The bridge is very narrow, scary narrow and when you look down you realize you're driving across an open metal grate. Yeah, like the subway grates in the city. This ain't natural!!!

I'm just glad that I not the one that has to drive home over that bridge.

So what do Gardner McKay and south sea adventures have to do with my trip to White Pines State Park? Well, I've visited the lodge several times but I've never taken the time to explore the park further. So, after I left the ladies in the parking lot I headed out and made a right to see what was beyond the bend.

There were very beautiful rock walls to the right. Signs told me that the camping areas were ahead. I followed behind another vehicle similar to mine. I couldn't see around it and little did I know what laid ahead, UNTIL................ I notice the car in front of me is driving through water. Lots of water.



Wait, this is alot of water. This is a river. Well, maybe a medium sized stream, but still. He's driving through water, and leaving a wake.



I don't know, but I'm pretty sure that cars are not supposed to create wakes. And look, that's a waterfall to the right. If he slides to the right, he's over the edge.

I know, it's not Niagara Falls but it's definitely a drop off.

It's too late. I can't turn around. I have no choice but to go through.



He made it safely to the other side, maybe I can too. And then the thought hits me that I'll need to go through again to get out of here. YIKES.

The sign says it's a "ford", and I know that certain people ford a stream every day to get home. But not me. Cars and water don't mix in my book.

I might consider returning to White Pines but I'm not going down this stinking road again! I've sailed my ship for the last time.

Monday Morning Staff Meeting on Tuesday

A Monday Morning Staff Meeting on Tuesday? That's heresy, I say.

I was here. You were here. We were all here waiting to have a meeting but Blogger locked the door on us and I wasn't about to hold a meeting in the hallway.

Was it just me? Say it wasn't just me. I couldn't get into Blogger to save my life. I couldn't even get in to read all my favorite friends. I could see you all in Bloglines but when I "clicked"....nothing, nada. I thought perhaps it was the computer but when I tried to connect on the computer in the Farmer's office, I also came up empty handed. Late in the afternoon Blogger seemed to get it's act together but it was too late to hold a morning meeting. And so, here we are!

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What have you been up to this last week? Things continue at a crazy pace around here. Neighbor Bill is painting our house. That's a story in itself.

We asked him to do some small handyman jobs around here, one of which was to take the shutters down so that I could paint them. The paint had faded and gotten a chalky finish and needed some sprucing up. We really didn't realize how sad the house was looking until those shutters were removed.

The house looked downright forlorn. A faded sandstone colored House on Haunted Hill.

Bill mentioned that the house really needed to be painted and we knew he was right. But didn't we just have the house painted a couple of years ago? When I looked up the information we were shocked to learn that it had been 9 years.

Think about wearing a nine year old frock to a party. Sad. And even though we're all still unemployed in this household, Bill made us an offer we couldn't refuse. The Farmer's dreams of spending the tax return check on a huge-screen-TV had vanished in a puff of smoke..... or a paint can.

Unlike the last guys who painted our house with what seemed like watered down tempera paint, we're using real, thick paint, each molecule applied with a brush. Just to make sure we're not doing this again any time soon....two coats! Woo Hoo.

We were tired of the green shutters so I'm painting them black. It all looks very crisp and clean with cool new porch lights. I'll point pictures when it's all done.

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Last Saturday I drove out to White Pines State Park in Oregon, Illinois to meet up with some fellow bloggers. If you have not attended or organized a blogging get together, I highly recommend it. I've been to many of these, the first being a photoblogger get together about 5 years ago.

It was such a beautiful day and a lovely drive west towards the Mississippi.



White Pines lies about halfway to the Old Muddy.



Isn't this a lovely scene? Can you imagine yourself sitting back in this chair and listening to the wind in the tall pines? The smell of the pine needles was heavenly.

We met for breakfast and Lori (the organizer) was already there when I arrived.



Left to right: Michelle, Lori, Debbie and Angela.



Shelly and Joyce.

Those lovely potted plants were gifts from Lori.

Lori asked us to create nametags for ourselves to wear to the event. Omigosh, these are some talented and creative ladies. I was crazy for Joyce's nametag, an altered tag with a piece of patchwork made with teeny tiny piece of fabric.

Look......


She claims it was easy, using the paper piecing method. OK, now I'm off to look for a class in how to do this. I can sew, but have never yet been a quilter.

I invite you to do a little blog hopping and check out their blogs.

Michelle - Life on Vine

Lori - Mountain Woman at Heart

Debbie - Of His Pasture

Angela - The Unexpected Return Home

Shelly - Surviving Munchinland

Joyce - JM Quilts

And here's Nancy's website. She couldn't make it at the last minute but was with us in spirit.

Nancy - NMB Photography

Thanks ladies for an enjoyable morning of sharing and lively conversation. I need to get out more often.

After our breakfast I had an unexpected adventure in the park. Stay tuned for the crazy story. I've decided to sweep away obligations and make some time for blogging this week.

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Remember last week when I said I had something pink coming? Yes, it's the pink sewing machine that I've been pining for. Thanks to all of my wonderful readers who have given me leads.



Very well packaged.



Pink handle on the case.



Pink Atlas. Actually a salmon pink color. Ways a ton. I'm not kidding. It tips the scale at almost 50 lbs.

The catch? It does not sew!!

Advertised as "working machine". When someone says that a sewing machine "works", doesn't that mean that it should actually sew??? This person felt that if he plugged it in and the wheel went round-and-round that it would be categorized as working. The needle MUST go up and down!!!!

So, bottom line, I'm packing it up and sending it back and with a refund to my account.

I've made many, many, MANY purchase through Ebay and this is the first problem I've ever had. The pink sewing machine situation is getting me totally frustrated.

My friend Linda found me one at a pawn shop in Oklahoma City. They assured her that they regularly shipped things nationwide but when I called they refused to sell the machine to me. The guy explained that the shipping charges would be a little more than what they were asking for the machine. I said, "I'm willing to pay it."

He stalled, stammered and all around acted strange. Bottom line, he refused to sell me the machine. When I talked to Linda, we both wondered aloud what they were up to. I thought that they figured they must have some hot property on their hands if someone was willing to ship it to Illinois. Sure enough, the machine showed up on Ebay in the last couple of weeks, listed at twice the original price they'd placed on the machine. Guess what? They haven't gotten a single bid in over two weeks!!! Joke is on them. I'm not bidding on it. I'm over my pink sewing machine envy for good.

I did mention something lavender and black. Yes...two machines. A lavender 1950's Fleetwood for $10 from Goodwill and a black Singer Featherweight from Craigslist. So now I don't even need a pink machine. So there!!

Pictures of the new machines to follow and a contest to name the beauties.

I'm also redecorating the sewing room to make a proper "stable" for the steeds.

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Also, some time this week a most unusual recipe. Really, really different. Stay tuned.

OK, my arm is killing me from wielding the paintbrush all day long.

I'm turning the meeting over to you, and NO, I didn't cook today. Sorry!