The Stiltskins

Frank Creed

2007-11-25T01:18:00.000-05:00

Vanilla Warning

2007-11-16T14:18:00.000-05:00

You know the saying "All that glitters is not gold"? or "You get what you pay for"? Well, here is a warning I thought I'd pass on to all you cooks (as well as those who eat what the cooks whip up!) . . .

Ever heard about or seen those HUGE bottles of vanilla extract in Mexico? You know the ones, 1 quart for $5 . . . what a deal!

We use vanilla in baking all the time and only buy the pure extract which is pricey. While in Puerto Vallarta we were taken by the cheap bottles of vanilla and the only reason we didn't bring one (or a suitcase full, as we would have liked to!) was fear of the glass bottle breaking.

However, just read something alarming to be aware of when purchasing vanilla in Mexico:

Courmarin, the bad guy of the vanilla industry, is a flavouring similar to vanilla but derived from the Brazillian tonka bean. It is used extensively in Mexico to make synthetic vanilla, but it is a known carcinogen that can cause liver damage and should not be used. If you purchase vanilla in Mexico, steer clear of the bargain-size bottles and make sure it is labelled "courmarin-free."

(Source: Canadian Living Magazine, November 2007)

Lest We Forget

2007-11-11T14:13:00.000-05:00

The poppy became the symbol of Armistace Day (now Remembrance Day) in Canada and Great Britain in the last year of WWI. Moina Michael was so inspired by the poem below that she led a campaign to have the poppy the official symbol of remembrance. "In a high moment of white resolve, I pledged to keep the faith and always to wear a red poppy of Flanders Fields as a sign of remembrance and the emblem of 'keeping the faith with all who died."

The poppy remains a prominent symbol in Canada and gymnasiums fill with public school children during Remembrance Day ceremonies take place before this national holiday. The poem that inspired this tradition "In Flandaers Fields" was written by a Canadian John McCrae, a surgeon attached to a field artillery. After a brutal time fighting in France, the Canadians moved to Flanders in mid-April, and were positioned around the Belgian town of Ypres.

On April 22-23, in their first major battle, they distinguished themselves by holding out against the first German gas attack of the war while others around them fled. Dr. McCrae wrote this poem after giving the funeral service for his friend.

In Flanders Fields

By: Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae, MD (1872-1918)
Canadian Army

IN FLANDERS FIELDS the poppies blow

Between the crosses row on row,

That mark our place; and in the sky

The larks, still bravely singing, fly

Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead.

Short days ago

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,

Loved and were loved, and now we lie

In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:

To you from failing hands we throw

The torch; be yours to hold it high.

If ye break faith with us who die

We shall not sleep, though poppies grow

In Flanders fields.

It's Here!

2007-10-16T12:30:00.000-04:00

The first good news is that the printer has completed Flashpoint and the book looks great! the 2nd good bit of news is that it is available at amazon. com (and elsewhere, of course) --must be record-breaking time!

. . . the reviews are pouring in and they are stellar-plus . . . only six appear at amazon so far, but after next week's blog book tour there should be another 10 or so! The blog tour central is at blog.lostgenreguild. com. But more about that next week.

Here is the synopsis for those of you unfamiliar with Frank Creed's novel:

Flashpoint: Book One of the Underground is the story of an alternative future where patriotism meets tyranny, the Patriot Act waxes Stalin-esque and the violence of terrorism has united the world. Set in 2036 Chicago against the backdrop of a global government, the only threat to the One State's absolute power is non-sanctioned religion—fundamentalist beliefs of any kind have been pronounced illegal and treasonous.

We meet main characters David and Jen Williams as they flee peacekeepers busting their home-church. This sparks a Flashpoint in the Body of Christ (BoC), living in the abandoned parts of the Metroplex. Through the use of brain-wave technology, the saints living in the underground are re-formed. David and Jen are uploaded with mindware, and take code names: Calamity Kid and e-girl.

With the aid of high tech gadgets and non-lethal weapons, Calamity Kid and e-girl's terrorist cell in the BoC set out to free imprisioned family, friends and neighbors before they are brainwashed—or worse.

A Party!

2007-09-27T02:04:00.000-04:00

Your ticket to Frank Creed's online book-launch party at SecondLife.com Come meet new friends, win prizes, receive a special offer!
When 7:00 p.m. Pacific, 10:00 p.m. Eastern--Saturday, September 29th.
Where Flashpoint's a cyberpunk novel--the party will be in a 3-D virtual world on the Web, of course! secondlife. com

If you're not a secondlife member, download free software and register at: http://www.secondlife.com/
Already a SL'er? Here's the SLurl http://slurl.com/secondlife/Eduisland%204/238/83/25
Newbie-rookie-cubbie-pups--after you join, simply paste that address in your browser bar. It'll take you to a web page with a map of the area and a link to click. All you gotta do is click it--your SecondLife program will open, you log in, and automatically join the party.
Frank's SL name is Cal Kidd, and his publisher set him up with a striped-tail fox costume! Just point and laugh.

FLASHPOINT: Book One of the UNDERGROUND
Frank Creed's Biblical cyberpunk/ end times fiction.
Advance orders at thewriterscafe. com, order before October 15, get free shipping and a gift

Coming soon: Forever Richard, Sue Dent's sequel to Never Ceese.
Biblical vampire-werewolf fiction from The Writers Café Press
Advance orders available.
Disclaimer: The Writer's Café Press will not be held responsible for shoppers not wearing a cross.

Flashpoint BookTrailer

2007-09-26T12:37:00.000-04:00

Just in the nick of time . . . FLASHPOINT: Book One of the UNDERGROUND has a book trailer. You can view it, if you like, at YouTube.

Thanks goes to The Writers’ Café Press, and to Clank who creates his own "Robo-Mechanical" electronic music, for the use of his awesome BeatWave.

Is it too Edgy? Light at the Edge of Darkness

2007-09-20T20:54:00.000-04:00

The new anthology, Light at the Edge of Darkness, has been described as edgy, and in fact is edgy, although that was not the authors' goal. Light gives Christian readers of secular sci-fi, fantasy, horror an alternative: entertaining well-written fiction from a Christian perspective.

The authors of Light write speculative fiction or spec-fic (fantasy, sci-fi, cyberpunk, horror, etc.) that is scripturally sound; it is intended for the Christian audience. It does not evangelize but neither does it cloak Christian beliefs in euphemism and analogy. So, what purpose does Biblical spec-fic serve?

Founder of the Lost Genre Guild, Frank Creed, says this: I'm a longtime fan of spec-fic, especially sci-fi. When shopping Christian bookstores long ago, it didn't take long to realize that there was nothing in my favourite genre on the shelves--so I turned to secular sci-fi. I grew tired of the [often] anti-Christian underpinnings in sci-fi, but the only other option was to quit reading fiction altogether; so I gritted my teeth and ignored anything pointedly anti-Christian. Later, I put my hand to writing sci-fi and fantasy from a Christian worldview. It stood to reason that there were other Christians readers out there who would be interested in a good story that was respectful of Christian values.

Biblical spec-fic, and by extension, Light at the Edge of Darkness, is not white-washed or diluted secular fiction. The good stuff must be able to hold its own as far as plot and characterization goes. It must be "real" in the fictional sense. It must be meaningful. Let's give an example:

"Undeniable" by Canadian horror writer A.P. Fuchs, is horror. It tells the story of a man and son incarcerated in a Chinese jail; the two characters have a choice: renounce Christ or be tortured. These are strong Christians who chose the latter. The torture is palpable and provides the reader with meaningful depictions of the lengths to which the torturers and the strong Christians will go. Without this imagery, it is doubtful that the author would have successfully made his point: how far would you go before compromising your values and beliefs.

"Undeniable" can hold its own in the secular world as quality entertaining horror and at the same time is Christian in nature! Is the violence depicted in this story gratuitous? No. Is it meaningful? Yes. (The difference between gratitous and meaningful is a whole other issue).

Light at the Edge of Darkness contains sci-fi, fantasy, horror, endtimes, time travel, cyberpunk, dystopia and more. The stories are well-written and have been thoroughly enjoyed by fans of spec-fiction. The stories are edgy; they don't succumb to the writing guidelines of the big Christian publishing houses that intimate that their readers are all delicate butterflies who will perish if they read meaningful description--in the words of one large publisher: "sometimes it is better to tell, not show."

The stories in Light do not break this fundamental rule of writing, rather, they are edgy in the sense that they are written from a Christian worldview yet still maintain the writing quality of secular fiction--these writers, along with many others, are edging Christian fiction into something that is real, something that is entertaining, something that is well-written.

If you are a person who does not like the spec-fic genre in the first place, will you like this book? Debatable. Is it fair to judge this book or indeed, a story like "Undeniable" according to your reading tastes? I say a resounding "no." But . . . are Light at the Edge of Darkness and other novels coming from the Lost Genre Guild too edgy? That answer depends on each individual's reading preferences.

--definition and discussion of Biblical speculative fiction can be found at Wikipedia

I'm in a novel!

2007-09-19T10:47:00.000-04:00

Great, I am a living being . . . and now people will think I am fictional! thanks to Frank Creed.

Oh yes, better introduce myself:
Mavis Ann Abdullah, though for a number of years I used a diffewent surname: McWavis because "Abdullah" seemed to bother people!

Anyhow, I've twaveled all over the US and the west coast of Canada (my Gwamma and Gwampa live near Vancouver), sometimes Dad (the slave driver) makes me take the wheel. Sheesh. Recently my dad, Fwank Cweed, has started dwagging me to author-events. Guess he needs some kind of prop.

Wecently, I learned from the publisher, that Dad has me as a "character" in his new WIP! Hello? Ever hear of "permission?"

So, for now I will keep my counsel but please help me keep an eye on it, k?

Dad's website: Books of the UNDERGROUND and Frank Creed.com
Publisher's site: The Writers Cafe Press

"Love to eat them mousies,
Mousies what I love to eat,
Bite they little heads off,
Nibble on they tiny feet."
B. Kliban

The Mean Kitty Song

2007-09-16T12:55:00.001-04:00

Mr. Safety, Cory Williams posted this video on YouTube a week or so ago and has had +2 million views already!

Debriefing document, Body of Christ in the underground, Chicago Metroplex, October 6th, 2036.

2007-09-15T07:30:00.000-04:00

Begin file . . .

Why had an anti-Christian like her risked coming here? Nobody crashes a Body of Christ mission.

I poked my head inside the hallway’s first open doorway and activated my mindware's re-formed sensory perceptions. Nothing. Even the electromagnetic spectrum was empty.

Click. A doorknob’s mechanism popped softly behind me.

I peeked around my door-frame.

A head emerged one-door-down—I fired a snapshot from my com-shades. I ducked back, inspecting the image on my glasses’ heads-up display. It was definitely her.

Footfalls sounded. I ducked behind the door, hooked my sunglasses on my shirt-collar, and peeked through the crack.

She wore a long-sleeved grey thermal-underwear shirt and urban-camo fatigue-pants. An Armalite M6-A1 assault-rifle barrel preceded her into my dark doorway.

I caught her scent as she passed: gun-oil, military-grade wool, and fear. Not fear of a fight—her joints rolled with combat confidence—coiled energy on a mercury switch. This Chica was pure lethal waitin’-to-happen. But we all know that's not what the game’s about. I was here to fight a spiritual battle. For our struggle is not against flesh and blood . . .

I slammed the door and slid along the black room's wall. Mindware switched my re-formed eyes to starlight-intensifying and thermographic modes. She spun and fired a three-round burst through the door.

Light leaked in. The better to see you with, my dear.

From her head's angle, I knew she couldn't see. Her primary sense had switched to hearing.

I closed on her in carpeted silence.

Not silent enough—she swung her chin right at me, pupils fully dilated, blind—her assault-rifle’s barrel followed.

In a single smooth motion I snatched the Armalite from her trigger-finger's pressure, tossed it across the room, and retreated from her imminent strike.

It never came.

Heartbreaker took two steps back, froze in her muscle-memory’s fighting stance, knees bent, hands like blades, chin oscillating her collarbones, scanning for sound-waves while protecting her throat.

Why had she broken-in?

I stalked around behind her before striking. I pinned her arms to her sides and squeezed just under her bottom ribs. Air rushed from her lungs. I used only enough of my re-formed strength to suggest it’s-useless-to-struggle. She knew I could have crushed her ribcage.

After a few heartbeats I felt like a thug. I cautiously eased my squeeze and let her breathe. Still she just stood there. As though this was what she wanted. No, needed.

I relaxed my arms to a mere hug.

She didn’t resist. We were now communicating with body language and her message of this-is-what-I’d-hoped-for came sunlight-through-greenhouse-glass clear.

I eased until my arms merely hung loose around her. I'd left myself vulnerable. She could leg-sweep my knees—I'd only immobilized her upper body—I knew she knew how.

As I withdrew, my hand brushed her calloused palm. On an instinct of its own, it moved to take hers. She reached back, and our fingers interlaced. Our lost-other-hands groped until they met.

Her fear-scent doubled. There was nothing sexual about this. We stood that way for too long, her chest heaving in far-more-air than I'd squished out. She slumped back, tilted back and cocked her head in the dark, questioning me with a look. Her eyes had adjusted.

That's when things went south.

Her knees collapsed, her hips became a lever and she flipped me. My back slammed on thinly carpeted concrete. As I fell she pushed off the floor in an acrobat handstand. Her dangerously-muscled frame twisted gravity like a falling cat. She landed straddling me, every muscle alpha-dog tense, hot breath tickling my ear. "I know who you are!"

"Heartbreaker . . ."

She drew back. "I hate that name!” she hissed.

"Oh-kay!" I overpowered her wrists.

"My name is Lethe.”

I relaxed. She crossed my arms over my chest like a mummy, and then laid over them.

"Lethe, why?"

Her features twisted tearfully; droplets traced down her face.

She finally wilted in dead-wait.

Mindware automatically sorted thirty ways to take-her-down. I pushed them all aside.

“My retirement has been scheduled . . . please, I have nowhere else to turn.” She sat limply up, her face contorting emotions across her face, locking fear, guilt, and hatred back into her soul's dungeon. "It's a matter of life-or-death."

“Lethe, you have no idea.”

*(EPH. 6:12 NIV).

Listen to Episode 8 of Light at the Edge of Darkness radio theater

2007-09-11T08:53:00.000-04:00

Episode 8 of the Light at the Edge of Darkness radio theater is ready for download or you can go to the Lost Genre Guild blog and listen to it there (as well as any of the other short stories you may have missed).

This week's episode, "Chosen of God" written by Andrea and Adam Graham: Casino owner A.L. Snyder comes of age in the years of the Empire and must find his place in the world.

A Preview:

“COME ON IN TO Snyder’s Casino, the best place to gamble without going to Reno. Come on in to Snyder’s Casino.”

Snyder put his feet up on the chips counter. He could listen to that all night. The dancing girl quit after a mere two hours of singing that, so now he just played a loop from his radio ad. That had been a calculated risk—Idaho had a law against gambling.

He puffed on his cigar. Not much of a smoker; the cigar just projected the right image.

The sheriff sauntered in. “Got my money?”

Most in these parts had a superstition against the international currency, or rather that trading in it required a computerized ID tag embedded in the right wrist. Irrational or not, who could resist the big bucks available tax-free on the underground market?

He pulled out a pile of silver from beneath the desk and slid it across the counter. “Here.”

The sheriff pocketed the archaic currency. “Mind if I play a few?”

“Sure.” Snyder opened his drawer and handed the sheriff fifty red chips. “First fifty dollars is on the house.” He’d have his silver back before dawn.

Thank God Mama Borden still lived in Boise. He’d disappointed her enough without the casino. Still, for a high school dropout who chose enlisting over the pen—and got court-martialed three years ago to boot—he hadn’t done half bad. Most twenty-two-year-olds he knew were up to their noses in debt and bussing tables, or something equally glamorous.

Chico ran in. “Boss, someone outside wants to see you.”

“Tell them to come in.”

Chico frowned. “He refused to enter a place that hires Spics.”

Snyder reached under the counter and grabbed his old friend Colt.

The scent of fear poured from Chico. “Hey, Boss, you promised your old woman—”

“—I’ll try and be peaceful.” Snyder slipped the gun inside his coat. “But it doesn’t hurt to be prepared to speak a language he’ll understand.”

Lost Genre Tour in Aiken, SC

2007-09-09T21:51:00.000-04:00

WEEKEND SUN & READS

Aiken, SC

A few of the Lost Genre Guild members converged in Aiken, South Carolina this weekend in the latest stop on the Lost Genre tour: Susan Kirkland and Donna Sundblad from Georgia, Sue Dent from Mississippi, and yours truly, Cynthia MacKinnon came from Indiana with The UNDERGROUND star, Mavis.

The event was held outdoors in the beautiful town of Aiken as a benefit for the widower and children of Melissa Bernard who recently passed away after a brave struggle with cancer. (The photo to the right shows Donna, Brian Bernard and Susan Kirkland. Brian and Susan are wearing the Shalom! t-shirts that were made to show support for Melissa's battle with cancer.)

It was no chore at all to sit in the shade of oak and pine trees on a beautiful day. Spirits were high and despite other big events occurring in this town at the same time, there was a good turnout for the book basket raffles and book signings. Two reporters from different area newspapers were on hand; Suzanne R. Stone's article appeared in today's Aiken Standard. Each of the authors present had a successful day signing and selling their books—proceeds from which went to the Bernard benefit. (Sue Dent and Donna Sundblad at the book signing table).

The book basket raffles were a huge success as well. Autographed books were donated by many authors, including A.P. Fuchs, Jill Elizabeth Nelson, Donna Sundblad, Sue Dent, Michael Vance, Caprice Hokstad, Rachel Thomson, David Brollier. Also donated were some lovely illustrated prints of writer John's poetry. The Writers' Café Press donated copies of Light at the Edge of Darkness to go in each of the dozen or so adult-oriented baskets, plus other Light items, Starbucks products, and items for 4 kids baskets. A local store made a wonderful donation of a couple of pet baskets as well and Christian Fiction Review Blog founder, David Brollier, also donated a great number of bestsellers (in a box so heavy I had a hard time carrying it out to the car)!

All-in-all, the event raised over $1500! which was a pleasant surprise to all of us. The best thing about the event, however, was meeting on-line friends in person and meeting the friends and family of the Bernards'. Us out-of-towners were given hearty welcomes and treated like part of the Aiken family. I think I speak for all of Lost Genre tour members in saying that it was a pleasure and a joy to be part of this event.

Frank Creed: Feature Author on Yellow30 Sci-Fi

2007-09-04T20:43:00.000-04:00

As ya'll know, Frank Creed's FLASHPOINT: Book One of the UNDERGROUND is due for release at the end of this month.

Well, Frank is Yellow30 Sci-Fi 's feature author for September! They have an interesting and often humourous interview with Frank and of course, you can read Y30's review of Flashpoint on their site as well (page 2 of "Footnotes").

Go see what you think!

While you are there, check out Yellow30 Sci-fi's whole site. There is a wealth of great information on speculative fiction!

www.yellow30scifi.com

www.frankcreed.com

Bernard Fundraiser

2007-09-03T21:55:00.000-04:00

Anyone live near or around Aiken, SC?
Come on by the O'Dell Weeks Activity Center between 10am and 4pm and say hi!

Members of the Lost Genre Guild, Christian Fiction Review Blog (CFRB) and The Writers' Café Press have joined together under the leadership of author S.M. Kirkland to organize a benefit.

"Weekend Sun & Reads" was organized as a benefit to help the widower and children of the late Melissa Bernard. More information about the Bernard Benefit can be found in an Aiken Standard article (Monday, Sept 3, 2007) or check out the poster.

Hifalutin' Groovy Cheesehead

2007-08-21T02:00:00.000-04:00

I think that there may be one or two "anyone"s out there who may be saying right now . . . did you see the getup Creed was sporting at the Chicago Tribune's Printers Row Book Fair this June?

And, even though Mr. Creed maintains that he wore the getup because he was meeting another Packer fan (Johne Cook who just may want to remain nameless and is certain to be very relieved that he was not part of the photo op . . . ), the true reason is that he likes to bait Bears' fans.

Now, because I am a kind-hearted soul, I will not post the photo. Just try and conjure up your own image.

Okay, so I lied.

I can't be "IT"

2007-05-10T18:01:00.000-04:00

I have a confession to make . . . I tagged myself.
How?
I was doing Frank's post (I usually do his posts though he writes them first) to save him some time and I was scrambling for blogs to tag.
In a pinch, I tagged this blog.
Unfortunately, now it is on record and so I have to play along (with myself . . . how pathetic).
So I will post 8 random facts/ habits about me, not because they will be of interest to anyone nor will they be witty, but just in the spirit of fairplay.

How does this work? Well in theory, it goes like this:

What is it to be tagged? Well, according to HRH (who tagged Frank)
"Tagging is a game played in the blogging community whereby one blogger writes up his or her own list on a certain topic and then "tags" a certain number of other bloggers to respond with their own lists on the same topic."The first rule of the game, however, is to post the rules of the game. Here they are:

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

In reality, however, I am not going to tag anyone else because, as I said above, I am all tagged out.

8 Random Facts about Me

#1 I was married for the first and only time at the age of 45 or 46, I can't exactly recall because I can't actually recall my exact age.

#2 I taught in a public school in British Columbia for 15 years before moving to Indiana. And no, I don't miss it. Not for a moment. However, I could write a book called, "Kids Say the Darnedest Things and Reveal Many Private Secrets of which their Parents Hope to Never See the Light of Day."

#3 I met my husband-to-be online by freak coincidence. My husband will say "there is no such thing as coincidence--there is only providence," whatever . . . it is still incomprehensible to me that a. I am married (was a confirmed spinster) and b. that I married the greatest guy alive on the face of the earth.

#4 I rescue thrown-away pets. It has become an obsession for me. I feel called upon to do as much as I can to help these creatures and unfortunately, here in Indiana, I have had far too many opportunities. In consquence we have 7 cats; good thing my husband is a cat-lover and that we live in a large house. Sad thing is: try as I may to be in charge, I have become a slave to all seven.

#5 I speak Spanish well enough to get by nicely as a tourist. I understand Spanish poorly enough to be a ripe target for cons. Hey, I thought if there was a tag on the chains that said 18K gold, that under law, they had to be 18K gold. How was I to know! And this was the con that cost me the least.

#6 I once took a trip to San Diego with three men. Okay, it was a computer educational conference and yes, we had separate rooms, but still, technically I took a trip with 3 men (and not one of them protested when I bought the above 18K gold jewelery though all laughed about it as soon as we got back to the hotel).

#7 I can't stand mess and clutter around me; I find it difficult to focus on the tasks at hand. I am a messy and clutter-prone person and have a desk that looks like Neo's at the beginning of The Matrix (my dear husband pointed out one evening).

#8 I grew up on a dairy farm in British Columbia's Fraser Valley (my parents still live there) and learned to drive a tractor when I was three, can milk cows by hand or with machinery, could lift 100lb bales of hay and when I was 15 stayed home alone to run the farm while my parents and sister drove to Alaska (where they were caught in a National Geographic film though they didn't realize it until we were watching a video tape 12 years later). When I was about 13, I overturned an entire hay wagon of . . . hay by driving over a large bump. I enjoy the sensation of walking barefoot through cow pies in the summertime (not warm ones though).

So there!

--cyn

Interview with Frank Creed

2006-07-20T21:42:00.000-04:00

Christian-fiction author of the cyberpunk Underground series; White Iron, part one of a fantasy braided novel; and contributor to Daniel I Weaver's speculative-fiction anthology project answers tough questions about his tough worlds.

Q: Writers have different motivations. What drives you?
A: I've always loved reading fantasy, sci-fi, horror and the other sub-genres of speculative fiction but until recent years, Christian bookstore shelves have been barren of spec-fic. Fans of this genre shop secular shelves because we've offered them nothing. It's been said that spec-fic is the handmaiden of philosophy. It is a perfect vehicle for delivering a worldview because it's so easily woven into your setting. Depending upon my intended audience, my motivation is either evangelism or post-evangelism by portraying characters heroically living their Fundamental faith even in the worst conditions. I feel that I use the best-suited but most neglected genre for the task.

Q: What is post-evangelism?
A: Post-evangelism is discipleship. Once someone is saved, then what? Many believers have a hard time applying Biblical wisdoms to modern issues. Through Flashpoint and the rest of the Underground Series, I hope to inspire direction and change in the lives of Christians who don't understand Scripture's lightning-strike answers to the classical philosophical questions.

Q: I thought Flashpoint was for readers age-twelve and up? Isn't that kinda deep?
A: In our society, big ideas are dry and boring. Flashpoint is set in the 2036 Chicago Metroplex and, thanks to home-grown terrorism, religious Fundamentalism is illegal. Teen-aged Calamity Kid and e-girl are the only members of their home-church not taken into custody. Their only refuge is an underground "terrorist" cell called the Body of Christ. Wide-eyed kids dodging barbed wire checkpoints, armed peacekeepers and violent gangers, while being hunted by the Federal Bureau of Terrorism, are thirsty for answers: through them, so's the reader.

Q: Don’t you fear that such a story is too racy for the Christian market?
A: I knew going into this novel that I'd be walking this 'graphic' fine line. I know what the rock-music-is-of-the-devil demographic of the Christian subculture will think of my writing, but controversy sells books. Regarding the morality of peaceful resistance, I stand on the Biblical arguments of Francis Schaeffer.

Q: Aren't your beliefs threatened by Sci-Fi?
A: What’s to be threatened? The church feared Galilleo’s Heliocentric theory of the Solar System, yet here we are today and the Earth is not flat. Fundamentalists already believe in intelligent alien life-forms: angels. If He created the entire Milky-Way and Universe just for humans (angels are extra-dimensional), my finite sensibilities see the universe as a terrible waste of space. Hebrews 1:2 reads, “Hath in these last days spoken unto us by his Son, whom he hath appointed heir of all things, by whom also he made the worlds” --King James Version and the New King James Version. Hebrews 11: 3 contains a second reference to ‘worlds’. Editors of the NIV chose to translate ‘world’ in these verses as ‘universe’. The totality of worlds is indeed the universe, but A) this was written in a day when that was not common knowledge, and B) He could be hinting that we are not alone. There are Christians who for some reason believe that if alien life-forms were discovered, our faith would be disproven. Standing on these verses, I am not among them.

Q: May I take that to mean, you believe in aliens?
A: My guess is that He created other planetary species in His own image and because His plan seems to rely on each person's faith, I doubt that any of us will ever meet. I’d love to interact with a race-from-the-stars though, just to compare Messiah-notes: did Christ's blood cover the universe or were there many Incarnations? It is mind-boggling enough to know that He loves us humans enough to become mortal and endure what Jesus endured--the thought that the Son endured this hundreds of thousands of times gives me goose-bumps.

Q: No War of the Worlds scenario?
A: That would take all the faith right out of it. I doubt He’d allow that kind of violence to befall Earth.

Q: Since you brought it up, don't you see Flashpoint as violent?
A: I see violence all around me, and I’m not going to let Hollywood teach my kids about the proper uses of violence. Should the United States have allowed the Third Reich to take Europe? My fiction is an opportunity for a discussion of Biblical values, not just of violence but across the moral spectrum. In our fallen world, pacifism is a pipe dream. In the world of Flashpoint, the government has set itself up as god, and underground Christians refuse to bow to a false god.

Visit Frank's website at http://www.frankcreed.com
Frank has a novella published in a high fantasy anthology (Tales for the Thrifty Barbarian); is currently involved in a Christian Spec-fiction anthology due to be released this winter, and his novel Flashpoint, (see his website for the synopsis) is due to be released in autumn '06.

To Add Insult to Injury . . .

2006-07-20T11:39:00.000-04:00

Well, I finally received it . . . my Indiana Learner's Permit! I have been driving for 3 decades but, I am a foreigner, oops, Alien in Indiana and apparently they are not positive that I can successfully maneuver along the treacherous roads of the state. The biggest challenge I have encountered to date has been the discovery of cellular phones here in Lafayette. I can't count the number of near-accidents that have occurred with folks on the phone going through 4-way stops, red lights, etc. -- all oblivious to the havoc they have just produced.

You probably can't make it out, but the license is dated January 25, 2006 -- yet I received it in July. Why? the bureaucracy lost my paperwork and then demanded more. First of all I had to wait for a year and a half to take the written test and then during the time they were to verify my documents, my visa expired and was replaced (apparently) by a permanent resident card (which never arrived though it was mailed in May '06). So, my documentation was out of date . . . however, since another bureaucracy misplaced my p.r. card--I was then left with no documentation at all! and, the licensing branch refused to send me my learner's permit.

Well, I don't know what went wrong/ right . . . but I still don't have my p.r. card but I did get the approval for the documentation anyhow? Go figure?

Now, I have to make an appointment for a driver's road test and then the whole mess starts all over again. Before they will send me my official driver's license (given I pass the road test), they have to, once again, verify my documentation. Hmmmm, I wonder if it will be four weeks as they say, or will it take another 23 weeks?

Meanwhile, I haven't heard back from the INS about where on earth my p.r. card is and when they will be issuing a second one. Time to get on the phone.

Cynthia

BAB

2005-08-25T16:56:00.000-05:00

by Cynthia MacKinnon-Morris

Scott recently commented that he would not consider moving further south in the United States because of the bugs--apparently they grow to mammoth proportions the further south one goes. Well, I have news for dear Scott. The bugs in Indiana are mammoth! I've never seen the like, except on the Discovery Channel. I am so amazed by their sizes that I have begun to collect them--thanks to my lovely assistant Mavis.

We taught Mavis a game when she first arrived: PawBall. We throw a bouncy ball and she leaps into the air and catches it in her paws. Now, each and every evening, Mavis plays PawBall with Scott and I. Being a very bright young creature, Mavis has transfered her play skills into practical use and Mommy gets specimens for her collection!

Here are some photos I have taken; unfortunately, I have not mastered close-up photos with our digital camera so some lack focus...and being bugs, sometimes they won't sit still long enough for me to re-take their pictures!
This Praying Mantis had been living in our rose bushes outside this window and it was interesting watching it grow from big to HUGE! I thought it was large to begin with and never imagined that it would get to this size. I made sure that Koda (who is a very large tabby) was at the window so we would have a size comparison. It really is as long as Koda's head.

Mavis also caught a Praying Mantis this summer for me. I set it on the driveway, left Koda in charge of the bug and went for my camera. By the time I came back, Koda had disappeared and so had the deceased Praying Mantis. Who knows?

I found this beetle in our winter supply of firewood and called Scott to come see! He obliged my need for a hand-model and scooped up the bug. Scott did research the type but I call it the BFB--plain, simple, to the point. Hey, a beetle is a beetle!

Once the picture-taking session was over, Scott took the insect back to the wood pile so it could continue with its business. However, it took a shine to him and would not let go! Its little 'hands' just would not come loose even when Scott gave his hands a shake--I am not sure how it ever came free but it still resides in the woodpile!

I was out watering the garden one day when I discovered this grasshopper in our not-flowering weeping cherry (long and sad story). Again, I recruited Scott's hand to show the size comparison.

I was absolutely amazed by this thing! Earlier in the month, I found a grasshopper nursery in the planter of carnations. These grasshoppers were the size of the ones we get in B.C. --not newsworthy at all. However, I didn't realize at the time that they were indeed babies!

The next couple of insects are Mavis' finds.
First another grasshopper and a nice big one too. When I am out weeding the berm, I have come across a few of these grasshoppers enjoying the garden--dunno if they like the shade, the rocks or the vegetation. They are in constant peril from the cats though. They are so large that when they land on the driveway or on the patio, it catches the attention of whoever is within range. I am constantly shooing grasshoppers away! Of course, I did not see this one in time--but Mavis did!

Mavis caught a couple of these huge green grasshoppers. I had never seen one like this so I did some Google research. First look-alike was a potato hopper--then I read on to note that potato hoppers average 1cm in length. I tried and tried again to no avail. Finally, in desperation, I typed in "green bugs" in Google's image search and voila! there it was.

Up close, this insect looks a lot like a mass of leaves all tightly layered on one another.

My final insect of this post. The cicada. It isn't very nice looking--in fact resembles a big nasty brownish fly that we used to find in cow pies during the summer! However, it is much bigger as you can see.

Apparently, every 13 or 17 years is a cicada year. Periodical cicada populations are synchronized so that most of the group matures at the same time! It was supposed to be a cicada year in 2004 but none (or few) appeared. They were definitely present this year, in great numbers. The noise that one cicada makes is extremely loud. I assumed from the volume, that each tree was inundated with cicadas--but no, all that noise was from a lone insect. Their "song" or acoustic signals are made by tymbals in the abdomen--only males make this noise. I found it amazing that these insects have such long life cycles. They actually spend their 13 or 17 years underground before emerging as an adult! Some people refer to them as 13-year or 17-year locusts but actually they are not true locusts (which belong to the grasshopper family).

One of the nicest aspects of our berm is that the flowers and shrubs attract many insects. We sit out on the patio and watch bees go about their business, colourful pastel moths flit to and fro and large beautiful butterflies exploring the wonders of our garden. We are so pleased to be able to provide a home or at least a resting place, for so many insects.

The Trip Home: Part III

2005-07-20T00:38:00.000-05:00

by Cynthia MacKinnon-Morris

From what I can recall, the trip back to the midwest was pretty uneventful. So, why do I bother to blog it, one may ask? Because I have a couple cool pictures to show and because no story is complete without an ending. So there.

We left Nicomen Island (the farm) on July 6, early in the morning. It was difficult to leave my parents when I was fully aware that I probably would not be allowed back into Canada for a couple of years. Actually, I would be allowed into Canada--just not back into the U.S. without a great deal of difficulty (i.e./ more paperwork and $$ for something that is called "Advance Parole"--which I object to, but since the U.S. terms me an "Alien" I guess "parole" is befitting). I tell you, I am so tired of paperwork and paying money to all and sundry merely for the privilege of living in the U.S.; someday I might just do a blog on the fallen trees and broken bank accounts! Anyhow........back to my story. We left on a cloudy day, rain threatening, and tears flowing (mine). The Mave didn't want to leave either; she had become quite attached to her Gramma and loved all the nooks and crannies of the house. In fact, looking back, we wondered why she spent most of the trip in the back of the car instead of in her usual spot, on the dashboard...maybe it was her way of showing her sadness too! Poor kitten.

We left early because we anticipated a lengthy visit with the U.S. Customs. Ever since meeting Scott, each time I have run U.S. Customs, I've had to be frugal with the description of my motives for visiting (<---just kidding Tim R. -- I've always been perfectly truthful). I once, stupidly, made a joke about the reason for my visit--dumb move I understand--no sense of humour when it comes to H.L. Security--and no, I didn't make any stupid claims, if that is what one is thinking (wow, even I have become paranoid about big brother watching over my shoulder and a simple story is taking forever!).

Okay, let's start anew. We approached the U.S. Customs at Sumas with apprehension. We had all my paperwork in hand, as well as proof of citizenship for Scott, Mariah and Mavis. But, we also had a car loaded to the gills with our travelling stuff plus several boxes of books, etc. I had had stored at the farm. We were worried that they would take the car apart and we would be left to pack it once more. More than pleasantly surprised, we left customs after only a half hour (and $7 lighter--customs is a better deal than the rest of the departments I have had to deal with!)! As we pulled out we realized that a) the Mave had once again, not been checked for her papers, and b) the Mave was nowhere to be seen! Whenever there was a chance that she would be noticed by the authorities (e.g./ when the police gave Scott the speeding ticket) Mavis has mysteriously hidden her little self! As we pulled into Lynden, WA----> she came out of hiding to take over the wheel.

We drove that day to the western part of Montana and stayed in a nice campsite at St. Regis. While Scott and Mariah hung out reading, Mavis took me for a walk up the side of a hill. Once atop, we were in a meadow with tall grass and daisies; she was so cute bounding through the daisies--until the grass was at such a height that it became her own private maze. It was our first night with the brand new air mattress! Scott proudly pumped it up and we tried it on for size--a bit short, but very doable. Well, by 5 a.m. I woke to a very sore back. So much for the air mattress. It didn't seem to be bothering Scott's sleep so I gathered my blanket, Mavis and her litter box and headed for the car. There I slept comfortably for 2 more hours. I decided that it would be a good time to pack-up and opened the car door while the keys were in the ignition. Suddenly. the overwhelming quiet of the campsite was rudely shattered by our car alarm! I didn't even realize we had an alarm; didn't know how I had set it off; and, more crucial at the moment--didn't know how to turn it off! I hollered for Scott, pressed a lot of buttons, opened and closed doors, turned keys on and off and finally, the darn alarm shut off! Needless to say, I was the first one up in the whole place and we were the first vehicle to pull out that morning...actually, slunk out would be a more accurate verb.

Montana has casinos all over the place, including in the back rooms of cafes and of course, bars. That morning after breakfast, I put a twenty into a poker machine, lost a bunch of games and then won with a full house--and quickly cashed in my chit so I would be able to leave with the same amount of money in my pocket. Montana, we found, is a v e r y wide state! That evening we had only made it to the eastern side. We stopped to pick up dinner at a cafe/ bar and whilst waiting for the food, I checked out the poker machines in the bar. Put in a ten this time, played a couple games and came up with a flush! Once more, I knew when to quit, cashed out and left with $18! I was happy! We stayed in a campsite that night in Glendive and the only thing of note there was the swarm of mosquitos and the claustrophobic heat. Through the long drive of this state, Mariah spent much of her time reading Princess Bride as she sat scrunched in the back seat!

The route we took home was slightly different. We turned onto the I94 at Billings and then drove through North Dakota. The landscape changed slightly here, from rolling hills to the badlands once more. We actually took the time to stop at a viewpoint to see this painted hill. The plans that we made included a stop for the night in the middle of Minnesota. However, once we made it to M/ SP, we estimated the time it would take to drive home from Minneapolis/ St Paul would be about 8 hours--so decided to drive through the night and get home around 5 a.m. So, drive we did. As we approached and left Minnesota, a huge storm loomed in the south and extended east and west as far as the eye could see. We kept hoping to stay out of its way as it looked like it could be a violent one. This storm cloud that we neared was most impressive, both in size and in configuration. Thankfully, we were well out of the area before it made its way north.

We did drive through the night and made good time, even through Chicago. I had driven most of that day but decided that the traffic was just a bit too fast and scary in Chicago so I pulled off the freeway into the city and let Scott take the wheel for the rest of the trip home. We did arrive home at 5 a.m. to a kettle of kitties eagerly awaiting our return! After some initial hissing at Mavis, they all settled down--mostly because she responded by sniffing each of their behinds in turn! Angst had been shut outside and told Scott all about it as she raced across the lawn to the door. We all went to bed; Mariah fell asleep on the couch and the kitties piled onto the bed with us. Home again at last!

In BC: PartII

2005-07-16T23:56:00.000-05:00

by Cynthia MacKinnon-Morris

We arrived on the farm in the late afternoon, June 28. We arrived to rain and it pretty much hovered over us for the week--was a nice change from the hot temperatures in Indiana. Besides visiting family and friends, the main object of the trip was to go through the visa interview at the U.S. Consulate.

The next day, Scott, Mariah, Mom and Dad, Mavis and I drove up the Coquihalla to Quilchena for lunch. Naturally, when we arrived at our destination, the old hotel restaurant was closed. We had a lunch of sorts on the stoop of the hotel bar. It is a beautiful old hotel built at the turn of the century. The guest rooms are open to view, if one asks the front desk clerk nicely--and all are decorated with original furniture. A point of interest I was not aware of (despite having visited this place for lunch several times in the past few years) was the presence of bullet holes in the bar itself!

The night before the interview while Scott and I were reviewing all the paperwork accumulated over the last couple of years, I made a nasty discovery: I had left the long copy of my birth certificate in Indiana. The letter from the consulate specified that a short form would not suffice. Another Stiltskin move; it's a wonder we even remembered to bring money or credit cards on the trip, so a birth certificate seemed minor. Not to be outdone by the absent birth certificate, I also had left my passport photos in Indiana. We put on a brave face (no use worrying when nothing could be done at that point) and went to bed early. The letter also stated that the interview was for 10 a.m. but I had read [somewhere] that one needed to be early to line up. We got up at 5:00 and took the WestCoast Express into town.

There was already a line-up outside the U.S. Consulate but we soon were approached by a nice guard who took our interview letter and then told us to come back at 9:30--so much for depending on my information about early arrival. At least this gave me time to hustle across the street to a convenience store/ passport photo business--thoroughly soaked by the several-block walk, I left with a couple of very suspicious looking photos. Then came the ground floor guards: Mom had warned me about leaving any valuables in the car whilst parked at the Mission train station, so I grabbed our digital camera and stuffed it in my purse. The guard went through my purse; lo and behold he found a camera! then demanded why I had brought the camera with me. Biting my tongue from emitting a sarcastic reply I mumbled "dunno." Well, we couldn't enter with it. So, our choice was to leave Scott outside babysitting our camera or not go in. Kind of a tough choice since the reason I had waited for a couple months to have the interview was so Scott could lend me some credibility. The guard then, very grudgingly, announced that if we wished, the cafe across the street might look after it for us. Off went Scott with the camera and up I went to the consulate.

Once on the 22nd floor, I had to go through security once again, this time the security guards were more than pleasant. First we needed to go through the preliminaries with a clerk; she checked through our paperwork and gave me a chit to take to the cashier--$100US. She remarked on the lack of long birth certificate but said no more. After another reasonable wait, the ConOff interviewed me--thankfully, I had visions of making several more return visits. We were worried about certain questions that could be asked, mostly because I cannot lie worth a damn! Well, buddy started with a question that I could answer in full--at what points had we met and visited within the last two years. I started my litany of dates, places....... and thought I was doing a fine job until he broke in with an "Okay, Okay" Scott reported later that buddy had tried several times to interrupt me to no avail. I guess I made my point. The upshot of it was that there was very little time for him to ask anything else! He mentioned my missing birth certificate and said that I would have to get it and return.

Easier said than done. I had, in April, ordered a long copy from Vital Statistics in Victoria; it was now in Indiana; we had to leave for Indiana in one week; it was a long-long weekend--Canada Day the next day and July 4th on Monday. Ouch! Well, to celebrate our success so far and to figure out a plan of action, we made our way to the 4 Seasons for lunch. It was there that I had the bright idea of phoning V.S. to see if I could travel to Victoria on Monday and pick up a copy. Well, the man on the phone told me about a V.S. office on Robson Street! We left the 4 Seasons and hiked up to Robson, picked up the long form and hiked back to the consulate--only to find a line-up of gargantuan proportions kept in order by guards and a Mountie. The harassed-looking guard breathlessly told me to come back the next week. Bummer. We went to the Starbucks on the corner to once again regroup. Off to the train we went next. Scott and I split up (something the Stiltskins ought think seriously about before doing); he went into the WestCoast Express area (I thought) and I to get some tea. After I armed myself with sustenance for the trip home, I rushed down to the platform with just minutes to spare--no Scott. I went on to the train in hopes of finding him already seated. No Scott. I went into another car. Not. I walked down the platform to the sound of the final boarding announcement. Nothing. I had to make a decision on the spot: better to have Scott leave on this train without me and wait in Mission than the other way around, if he was not indeed on the train. The train pulled out. I went back upstairs to find him lounging against a paper stand--right at the doors where I had emerged 5 minutes previously! How we missed each other...well, easy if one is a true Stiltskin.

July 1, Mom, Auntie and I drove into Vancouver where we picked up Kailee (my niece) and went to Granville Island Public market. It is a place that I miss, living in the mid-west; I've not yet found anything similar. It is so nice (despite the crowds) to sit alongside the water with the fresh ocean breeze. Meanwhile, Dad took Scott and Mariah 'fishing' at Trout Farm--Mariah was thrilled to come home with 3 fish that Mom cooked for dinner!

July 2,

Scott and I went for dinner at Marj's--a friend from Davie Jones. Naturally, we were concerned about getting to their place in Pitt Meadows on time. 6 p.m. we arrive and no-one answers the door! Did I have the wrong time? the wrong date? was there a change in plans? .....Stiltskins strike again. An hour early, we catch poor Ron trying to take a before-guests-arrive nap! Several of my friends originally/ still from school were there and we had a great visit. Marj presented us with maple leaf pins and made me wear a special Canadian 'hat'. Marj & Ron, Corinne and Art regaled us with some stories of cruising the Caribbean--A&C had spent most of the winter on their sail boat and M&R joined them over Christmas break. One of the funnier stories was about Ron's souvenir--a dark rum named "Big Black Dick!"
We had a

marvellous time catching up with all the news and recalling fun times we had had.

The next day, Scott and I drove to Harrison for brunch at the hotel and later that day, Mom and Dad had a BBQ to celebrate our 1st anniversary! Chris and Rita came and we got to visit with Chris two nights running! Here Chris and Mariah visit Tusche, our old dog.

And, in the middle is Sitka, the pup, a crazy dog who not only chases her tail round and round, but grabs hold of it with her teeth as she circles. Sitka even has her own kiddy-pool to play in and Mom reports that she does the whirlpool, tail in mouth, in the pool as well!

On Tuesday, July 5, Dad and I did a quick drive into Vancouver so I could present the consulate with my long birth certificate and passport. I did just that and the clerk asked me to come back at 2:30 to pick up my visa. Problem was that I had an appointment for 1 p.m. in Maple Ridge--so she had the ConOff sign it right away. Ok, I wasn't completely truthful about the appointment--I did have one, but couldn't explain it to her and still remain credible. The app't was with my hair-stylist! but hey! he is booked weeks in advance and this was the only time he could fit me in! Priorities, I say.

Because I was successful with the visa on this day, it gave us the chance to get going on our return journey to Indiana--we prepared to leave the next morning.

Trip to Canada--part I

2005-07-14T16:24:00.000-05:00

by Cynthia MacKinnon-Morris

We've been home almost a week now and are slowly getting stuff back to normal. It still seems strange to be able to walk about without first making the big decision: can we afford the time to stop and take a stroll out to the viewpoint? Our trip was a hectic one for the most part; we drove 2500 miles in four days on the way to B.C. and then 2300 miles in 3 days on the way back (we took a different route on the way home and the last day, drove through the night to get home at 5 a.m.).

Our focus was to get to B.C. as quickly as possible so sightseeing was a secondary concern. We traveled north through Chicago into Wisconsin, then west through Minnesota into South Dakota.
One of the side trips we took was along the 31-mile drive of Badlands National Park. This part of the Badlands was an amazing sight. The flat and treeless grasslands of South Dakota seem to go on forever but as one nears, the grasslands stop abruptly and plunge into the escarpment. Wind and long-gone rivers carved out the shale that the Badlands are made of. The buttes and pinnacles are striking, but more so are the hues of pinks, sand, gold set in layers of this 2000 foot band of shale. The delicate nature of the shale means that erosion continues to the present day and fossils of extinct animals are still found today. The most prevalent flora we spotted was cacti with bright sunny yellow flowers. Of course, the area is also infamous for the Wounded Knee Massacre where a large group of Lakota were killed by the army in 1890. The Badlands are also the site of the "incident" at Oglala and the wrongful imprisonment of Leonard Peltier--a modern day tragedy of government against Native Americans. You might like to visit the website http://www.spiritisup.com/sundancerinbondsbl.html to learn more, as well as watch the movie "Incident at Oglala."

Okay, on with our story. This section of South Dakota is amazing in its beauty at the same time as being crass to the nth degree. All along the road sides (we travelled the I90) were billboards--as far as the eye could see. Scott remarked that there were so many billboards that if one tried to read all the signs on one side of the road, one completely missed the signs on the other side. Another very gaudy feature was downtown Wall, which, I might add, was responsible for at least a third of the tacky road signs. Wall Drugs is the feature of this town and it is nothing more than one H U G E tourist trap/ glorified souvenir stand. We made the error of visiting it for the express purpose of purchasing film--at 2x the cost of a store in the next town. Even more coarse was a little town at the base of Mt. Rushmore. It put me off (I was driving) to the point where I wasn't at all keen on doing more than a quick drive by of Mt. Rushmore, which I had always dreamed of seeing. It was dusk and I did not feel like stopping to pay a $8 parking fee in order to get 80 feet closer to the monument. It was, however, a sight that I am glad I didn't miss. Amazing the work that went into this large scale carving. I am probably one of only a few who hope that R.R. does not get immortalized here as well.

The next day we drove out of S.D. cut kitty-corner across Wyoming and into Montana. While in Montana, we visited a totally different sort of souvenir shop, one run by the Crow: very tasteful goods found inside a unassuming building. Most of the wares inside related to the Battle of Little Bighorn. I had heard of it of course, but knew no details. It was most refreshing, I must admit, to see/ hear of this story after the previous day's "Wounded Knee." However, taken in chronological order, I found that "Wounded Knee" was viewed as revenge/ retribution for the civil war hero, Custer's, shame and death. Sort of burst my balloon.

The day's drive took us through some incredible territory in Montana--not the flat, bare land I had expected, but beautiful rolling hills, snow fences, big sky and grassland. We even hit the tailend of a great hailstorm. As we drove out of an urban area, we noticed a car flashing her/his headlights: cop ahead, or radar we assumed. Suddenly, around a corner we spotted the cop, on foot in the right lane waving his arms like a madman. We figured an accident ahead. Then we hit the hail. Traffic was backed up and moved at a snail's pace: the hail that lie on the roadway was several inches deep but spanned only a few hundred yards. We never got hail like that in the Fraser Valley! Into Idaho for a short time and then, late Monday night, we hit Spokane, WA where we spent the night.

Wednesday morning we set out early; eager to start out each morning, the Mave had taken to reclining on the dashboard--her version of navigating I suppose. When she wasn't reposing in her Pet Voyage (pronounced the French way!) case, or perched with her nose pressed against a window (if her Mommy had thought to wash one for her), she road on the dashboard. I had the bright idea of avoiding the I90 and the worst part of the I5 as we neared Seattle. We could take the back roads! And so we did...right the way into Sumas as it turned out--and an hour longer than it should have, to boot! Mavis showed her weariness as she soon fell asleep "at the wheel."

Once at the Canadian border, we were primed for all they could give us. We had Scott's documents, Mariah's birth certificate and letter from the mother, Mavis's documents and my passport. All for naught. The customs officer didn't even notice the Mave, let alone question the fact that I was driving a US registered car with a minor in the back. Oh well, better to be prepared than have Scott et al spending their vacation in a holding cell.

We were very excited to be home and my Mom and Dad welcomed us at the farm. We were to spend a nice relaxing time of the next week on Nicomen Island.

Weekend Gardening

2005-06-19T23:33:00.000-05:00

We completed many finishing touches to the landscaping this weekend.
Scott and neighbour Dan finally started, and completed the fence! I say finally, because they had been "going to do it" for several years now. Other than the several holes dug last weekend by Dan, they completed the greater part of the fence this weekend. In order to determine how far apart to place the pickets, Dan had to measure his dog's head!

Yesterday they poured the cement and set the posts. Scott was mixing the cement and
Dan coached Scott to mix it up "like flour in a cake." A lot of good that did Scott, who isn't aware that one uses flour in a cake, let alone be able to relate to the concept of mixing! (Scott, bless his heart, has very limited cooking skills; his repetoire runs to frozen pizza, hotdogs in the microwave AND Ramen noodles in the coffeemaker).

This morning when I went outside, Dan had all 200 pickets leaning against the stringers, all along the side. I came along just in time to see Hailey, the little dog, run into one picket. The domino theory was alive and well in Lafayette: she jumped back and one by one the pickets toppled from the center point out to each side. Should have had a video camera! Just like someone running their thumb along a piano keyboard.......

Dan meticulously planned out the fence between our houses and it is so straight and even that my brother-in-law would be proud of it (Randy's landscaping is always perfect!). Below is the view from Dan's backyard over to our house:
And the next picture is looking out our backyard west. The neighbour behind put up a taller fence last week to keep her Golden Retrievers from jumping out, and give some privacy. So we figure that it is good enough for us! We will eventually need something on the south side of the yard, but perhaps a hedge of pyramid cedars instead of a fence.
.

Also this weekend, Scott put the sand around the patio flagstone, almost completing this aspect of the yard. We do still have to figure out what to do right against the front windows.
And, he straightened out the water feature in the berm (if you look hard you can see it to the right of the middle pine tree). The kitties love the water feature and actually, the whole berm. They hide behind the berm, play in it and when they need the best vantage point on the lot, they sit on top surveying the neighbourhood. And the little 'creek'--their very own drinking fountain.

Just one more: we are leaving for our road trip to B.C. on Saturday and although Mavis broke in her Pet Voyage cage on the trip to Kentucky, she is feeling the need to practise up for this trip: .

signs

2005-06-06T07:50:00.000-05:00

by Cynthia MacKinnon-Morris

This sign photography is a fun hobby! Used to be that we just pointed out unique signs, puzzled over them or alternately, laughed at their possible significances. Then, later when we tried to recall the exact wording, it was lost (neither of us have good memories). Voila! we now have a photo journal for reference! I know, I know, you must be thinking...Oh those Stiltskins, what exciting lives they lead over there in the midwest, land of...corn stalks. Our hobby does keep Scott off the streets during non-NFL season, so a purpose it does serve indeed.

Our first sign of the trip was discovered in western Kentucky. Except for its size (must have been, oh, 40 feet high! easily the tallest structure in the town), the sign is reminiscent of small southern town establishments: "Bubba's Hardware, Bowling and Haircuts" or "Billie-Jo's Towing and Car Wash." I must admit that this can also occur in B.C. -- once upon a time, in the thriving metropolis of Deroche (pop. 68; including my Grampa and Gramma, pop. 70)-- there was Shig's General Store which offered everything from candy and snacks to freshly smoked bacon to paint to nails to dresses to fabrics & notions to appliances PLUS a lunch counter. But, Shig is long gone. The store now is strictly snacks, videos, cigarettes, lottery and booze. Guess the clientele has changed some. I can't help but wondering about this proprietor though, I wonder if he was just offering a nice service or did he want to corner the market on ethnic cuisine?

This sign is located right on the border between Kentucky and Illinois, just after one crosses the Mississippi or Ohio (depending on your starting point). Now, I know that cigarettes are inexpensive in Kentucky (tobacco growing state), but we get them cheaper from Moldavia on the internet!

Arthur, Illinois is in the heart of Amish country. There are darn near as many buggies on the road as cars. And, the town offers a horse and buggy parking lot (now there's a municipal job to aspire to--horse and buggy lot clean-up). One does see warning signs along the road to watch out for buggies and they all have the inverted reflective triangles on the bumpers--except for a very few "modern" ones, which sport a red-flashing light (which I think is entirely sensible, but then I also think the concept of going to school through grade 12 sensible, so what do I know). I guess it stands to reason that there would be a market for used buggies.

This one below is our favourite. The Amish may be peaceful people of the land who eschew all things modern--especially ENTERTAINMENT!--but they are also entrepreneurs. I do find it odd that they are so well-known for their travel trailer/ motor home construction, yet would find the owning/ usage of these as sinful. So, it seems a touch hypocritical to turn a profit catering to the "English."

Memorable Day 2

2005-06-04T11:05:00.000-05:00

Memorial Day Weekend, continued...

Mavie is an early riser at home. This morning was a bit different because of the black-out curtains in our motel room, thankfully! It wasn't until 7 a.m. that she came nuzzling my face and talking to me--seems she liked the walk the previous evening and was in the mood for another. I harnessed her up and clipped on her lead, then stuck her inside my sweatshirt and checked to see that the coast was clear. Once safely away from the building, we had our walk...Mavis calls it her walkie/ drag...she is pretty good at 'leading' but not so good at following (mostly out of sheer stubbornness)...when she does so, we give her lots of praise and her tail goes up immediately; sometimes we are even rewarded with a "you're-welcome!" Anyhow, we had made it without anyone spotting us...that is, until we got back to the sidewalk in front of our room. Suddenly, out of a nearby door marked "Employees Only" scurried a herd of housekeepers! As Mavis was determinedly headed right for our door, I figured I'd better say something tricky: "Wow Mavis, I'd have thought you would want to spend more time outside since YOU STAYED IN THE CAR ALL NIGHT!" Then rolled my eyes in a 'cats-they-are-so-darn-unpredictable' look. With that, I hustled her "back" into the car--but forgot to attach her lead to anything. After spending 15 minutes loading the car, I realized that I had a) not attached her lead, b) left the back of the car open the whole time and, c) I couldn't see the Mave! A few moments of hand wringing ensued...then I looked closer...little Mavis had made her way into a little opening in the scrunched down teepee! Hooray Mavie! Phew. I awoke Scott and with PopTarts and Fruit jellies in hand, we drove away.

Side note: I am constantly amazed at the prices of things in the midwest and south. This motel we stayed at was quite nice and was located in a big tourist area. It cost us $47/ night! The regular price is $33.99 but it being a long weekend and all....... Amazing the difference in prices between here and the west coast!

Before we left KY, we drove the length of the park. Came upon a herd of bison, as they leisurely made their way to the watering hole.
Scott put Mave on top of the car so she could watch the bison. And watch she did, nose in the air sniffing, tail straight out to a point. She was fascinated by the huge bull bison who had stood in the roadway until all the herd had passed, then lay down very close to our car.

Damn, they grow their dogs big down here! I stood at the window perched on Mom's arm so I could get a close-up of big dog. It was a bit bigger than Sydney next door, but I knew I could take him if I wanted. I decided not to though--he smelled like [Sydney's land mines in our lawn]. Let's move on Mom! There's fwies all over the place!

Once into the Tennessee portion of the park, we noticed that the trees (mostly deciduous) were taller and even thicker. We stopped at an old forge where the aroma from all the honeysuckle wafted through the air.

An interesting fact about the forge was that it stayed in operation until a slave uprising left the company high and dry without a majority of its workers.

Here is a picture of Dad holding me after I had a long hike in the woods. It was sure pwetty in there and I know I coulda bagged me a big 'ole wild turkey, but Mom wouldn't let me get away from her. There were some funny pwants in the woods too. They stuck to me like glue! I let Mom pick some off, but she was also pulling out my fuw! Mommy! Easy on the fuw! We also found a nice creek what had crawdads in it! just like the Beverly Hillbillies eat--we didn't. By the way...nice napkin on your head Dad! Looking a bit like Aunt Jemima, aren't we? However, I guess this is wed-neck country.......and while in Rome.......

We continued out of the park and into Tennessee where the roads all have a rosy hue, I guess from the abundance of iron in the area (oxidized). We had a beautiful drive along byways through small towns and horsie country. We continued to be amazed at all the green! The magnolia trees were easily 150 feet tall here! Gorgeous. The undergrowth was a sight to behold as well...Tarzan would have felt right at home with the huge long vines! I would have thought the south to be more brown; instead, it just has a longer growing season--the corn up was almost to one's knees already. We drove back into Kentucky and to a small town at the confluence of the Mississippi and Ohio Rivers.

Mavis had a wonderful time exploring the drifted logs on the Ohio River side. We crossed the Ohio, and then onto another bridge across the Mississippi.

After a short visit riverside, we got on the interstate and drove north through Illinois. Our goal was to get to a little town in central Illinois, (Arthur) where Scott's Gramma lives. She had just arrived home a couple days previously from a few months stay in hospital and nursing home and we wanted to visit her.

Dad was now dwiving. He goes vewy fast and has the tunes up vewy loud. That is my favourite way to dwive ('specially if he plays Kid Rock--"I'm a wong-haiwed, wed-neck, wock and woll son of Detwoit")! I sometimes help him out by lying up on the dashboard and showing him where to go. I was so excited because we wewe going to visit gwampa Lawwy! I particularly like Gwampa Lawwy's (Larry) feet and shoes! They are weally nice.

So, as we were dwiving along, Mom spotted this big [butt] cross! Thinking back, I guess we shoulda stopped there.

We had driven for a few hundred miles without incident. Only passed twice, by two cars racing. Except when he is "playing" Scott drives at an even 82 mph--just under the danger zone of 20 mph over the speed limit! As we came towards an overpass, a State Trooper pulled onto the road...I thought we were done for, but Scott reminded me of the two 'speeding' cars ahead. He was so confident that he didn't slow any and indeed, the cop passed us and a mile or so ahead, had pulled over the slower of the two cars. I remarked at the time that if I was the first speeding car, that I would be leaving the interstate at the next exit and taking a coffee break or something! Oh, to be an armchair coach! An hour later, I spotted a trooper out in the middle of the interstate, he stood just outside his car. I pointed this out to Scott just as we were to pass him. Now, if it were me driving, I would have released the accelerator some, just to show my respect (and hope like hell he noticed). Scott didn't. The steely eyes of that trooper stared at us coming, passing, and going. I am sure he liked Scott's red-neck head attire as well as his speed. Last thing I saw was trooper getting into his car. Scott didn't slow any. But, we were given an opportunity to duck him. An exit was fast approaching and the trooper was a mile back. However, the Stiltskin luck was with us. Instead of a multitude of fast-food places and gas stations to hide in...this exit had a couple of old houses and one out building sporting the sign "Adult Videos." And, business was apparently light that day.

I realized that a speeding ticket would be the least of our worries as I watched the trooper approach. Without giving away our "secret" --big brother and all--I'll leave it at this--we were going camping in the wilds, remember? We were okay driving into Kentucky and Tennessee (as well as through Indiana)--we hadn't planned on Illinois and indeed, the significance never hit us, until the trooper was parked behind. After I reminded Scott of my realization, on pins and needles I sat, nodding at all the cop had to say--even when I couldn't comprehend his drawl. The state troopers in the midwest are notoriously well-mannered and this sandy-headed freckled-face was no different. He was a bit cheeky though. After passing Scott the citation, he informed him: "You-all have a few things against you. You were clocked at 82 mph (our speedometer is accurate at least); you come from Lafayette, home of the Purdue Boilermakers (he is an Illinois State fan); and..." he gestures to the back seat. Scott replied, "and you are a dog owner." "Yup!" They then went on to establish that the trooper was a Chicago Bears fan and Scott a Packers fan--of course, it was Scott that initiated that tidbit of info. He then bid adieu with a twist on the old line: "Drive safe now, slow down. We have kitties to get home safely!" Mavis replied with a "pwaarr"--somewhere between a sarcastic "thank you, now great, we got to drive slowly" and a "feck off" (--imitated from the old priest on BBC's Father Ted).

Anyhow, we did stop and see Grampa Larry as well as ascertain that Gramma was incredibly well looking! (she answered the door, Larry was in his jammies--good sign we thought). We arrived home late that evening to the welcome arms of the other kitties and breathed a sigh of relief at the events of our Memorable Weekend.

Now, time to sign off. It is the first Saturday of the month and 'they' are testing the tornado sirens--making it difficult to think--the kitties are all answering the siren, and are posted up along the window sills!

Watch for another installment of "Great Signs" coming soon!

Memorable Day 1

2005-05-30T07:51:00.000-05:00

commentary by: Mavis McWavis
edited for inappropriate language by: Mavis's Mommie and Daddy

It was Memowial Day weekend and let me tell you, it's not one I will forget in a huwwy. The brouhaha started Friday night after Dad got off work: Dad and Mom lugged all this [stuff] into the house, reorganized it, and took it back out to the garage. Now, this should have been my first clue; why would anyone stay up until 3 a.m. just moving [stuff] awound? Well, they actually put this [stuff] into the car, of all things. I should have hid somewhere wewy safe Saturday morning. I didn't. I too, was most unceremoniously loaded into the car and was to be a victim of the Stiltskin family fate.

Mom drove for what was supposed to be a 45 minute twip to a place called "Clements Canoeing," on Sugar Cweek. (Now, Clements I have heard of, but who the heck is Canoeing?) After a short stop at the Stiltskins' favourite outfitting place (Dollar General) we continued. Dad gave directions and Mom dwove wewwy fast one way and then wewwy fast another way, on back roads and on the highway (--I love dwiving fast cuz the wind whistles down from the moon-roof and fwuffs my hair all up); I could tell some confusion was happening cuz there were a lot of words like [oh darn] -- that and the fact that Mom kept making u-turns. Finally we arrived somewhere and unloaded all the [stuff] we had loaded last night--including me, [darn] near suffocating in a [dumb] Cat Voyage cage Dad stuck me in (I thought that the Cat Voyage cage was a place for my toys! Fooled again!). We were there about 10 minutes when Mom and Dad came back and reloaded all the [stuff] BACK INTO THE CAR! HALLO? HELP! I am surrounded by ijits!

Side bar: We had reservations to go on an overnight canoeing trip. The location was new to Scott, the map he was given was as detailed as one could expect when taken by satellite, and there was road construction and detours. We arrived in the nick of time only to have one of the attendants fail to notify the driver that we were there. The van pulled out leaving the Stiltskins standing high and dry.

I was vewy happy! we would now be going back home! And I fell asleep in my teepee. Well, I twied to sleep, but this big [butt] tent kept edging my teepee off the seat--good thing we had loaded that mother, eh? Anyhow, my naps. Big mistake they were. Next thing I know we are in Kentucky! I with I had stayed awake; I could have told them that our trip was jinxed! From that point on I remained on alert, besides, it was getting close to dark and I would be able to get my wevenge while they twied to sleep.

Since we had all the camping gear loaded and it was the start of a long weekend, we decided to continue driving south. We drove some nice by-ways through Indiana into Kentucky. More beautiful old towns with wonderful architecture. On Boy Scout trips, Scott (when he was a whelp) had visited a place called the "Land Between the Lakes" (LBL) in KY. There is a long history to this place so the quick and dirty one is that this is an area where two rivers run parallel to each other and in between was a huge swamp. The two rivers were dammed side-by-side and the result was the formation of two lakes. During the Depression, thousands of workers came in and drained the swamp and formed a National Park--LBL. Most of the park is in KY and the southern portion is in Tennessee. We decided that we would camp there, but upon a visit to the Tourist Center, we found that by the previous Wednesday, 30000 other campers had laid claim to all the spots. We ended up staying at a motel at the north end.

The park was lush and green--as so much of Kentucky is--and, Tennessee is even more so. We saw wild turkey, quail, deer, elk and bison. A beautiful sunset over Kentucky Lake, we later realized was deceptive; we thought at the time that it was the perfect ending to a tumultuous day.

We stopped at this place to look at the water and Daddy put me on top of the car to see better.
Do you see that!?? That is just wrong! I just don't get the wespect I so deserve!

That night, Mavie went into action. We didn't enquire about the motel's pet rules as we knew that Mave would be a perfect guest (prior experience) plus, we didn't want to hear the 'wrong' answer! Mavie did her best to get her revenge. She didn't meow loudly or anything--she just did her little "talking" (which is a combination of purr and guttural sounds ranging from short to long, high and low pitched, depending on what she is trying to tell us) ALL NIGHT LONG! If one of us was in the bathroom with the door closed. She complained until let in. Once in, she complained to be let out. Once out she ... well, you get the idea. When she wasn't complaining at us, she was jumping up and off the bed. When that didn't work, some furious digging in her litter box ensued, kitty-litter hitting the wall behind (fortunately, we always have a plastic undersheet in place). Then, some loud wrestling with her mice (she calls her little mice "Mildreds"). Finally, as a last resort, she found the window to the parking lot and pressed her little face against the window--that was until I caught her doing it! Finally, at midnight, we took her out for a walk on her lead. We also, vowed that the next day, we wouldn't let her sleep the whole time we drove!

to be continued....

Stiltskins Try to Save a Buck

2005-05-24T20:10:00.000-05:00

by C. MacKinnon-Morris

In the previous post, I spoke of the expenses accrued for the Stiltskins' night out in Chicago. Well, the expenses began to accumulate in the afternoon. Driving into Chicago is an event in itself--it is a pretty big city for a country girl to be driving around--but hey! I am game for anything--besides I enjoy the speeds that most cars are driving at (damn the speed limit signs, damn the oil shortage--yippee turbo-charged Subaru!).

We had to travel many different 'highways' (that are 6-10 lanes wide) and these highways all have tolls. Five bucks lighter, we pulled into the parking lot at United Center only to pay a $20 fee (another thing that blows my mind is the cost of parking in Chicago--the downtown parkades are one big cash cow for someone--last summer we paid $12 for a 20 minute park). Once into the arena, it was another $20 for popcorn and beer. Then of course, the drive home and more tolls.

Now, I must admit that I've driven to Chicago several times--to O'Hare and Midway mostly. And, I have to confess that Saturday was not my first time driving through a toll booth on I80/94 (why do they insist on sharing one roadway between 2 or more interstates? I80/ 94 /294 /B /Ace Street /118th Avenue /Gramma's Lane / <---just kidding). I drove up to the first toll booth and Scott scrambled for change. We thought we had plenty, but the tolls have doubled since October. At 70 mph I make my way up and then the road widens to accommodate all the cars. There is a sign. Phew.

Now, I must admit that this photo is not mine and though it bears some resemblance, i.e./ the signage, there is one major and important difference. This particular toll booth we went through did not have advance signage--just those immediately above the booths themselves.

I am not sure whether the signs are legible, but here is a run-down:

Cars Only Left Lane
Automatic
Manual

Well, at 70 mph and slowing, my mind raced over the possibilities:
Automatic? must be if one has a pass; no good.
Manual? nope, we have the correct change OR does manual mean, throw in your correct change manually (as opposed to having a vehicle outfitted with automatic toll booth mechanism)? decisions, decisions.
That left only one clear option.
I am driving a car. Must mean I go through Cars Only Left Lane.
Why aren't more cars in this lane?
Why is there only one lane for people with correct change?
Don't people usually bring correct change? You'd think there would be more commuters than tourists on this highway (those who are surprised by the toll and haven't correct change).
All these thoughts were running through my mind--in the space of 10 seconds.

AHA! exclaims Scott--here is your 80 cents! Correct change in fist, I follow the line of traffic.

Hmmm, aren't we going a mite fast to stop and throw our coins in the bucket.....OH-NO!

It was at that very second that the sign (which I was now underneath) flashed before my mind's eye. The word "PASS" had another meaning!
And, with an "oh-ohhhhhhhhhh" I blew straight through that toll booth.

Fearing sirens and lights and police cars...I kept driving. Quickly. Checked with Scott (who had been busy with change, I must remind the reader) and ascertained that indeed, that left lane is for passholders. Explained why there was only one of them. Also explained the speed with which we drove through. Oh well, must be strong and persevere. We went through the next 7 toll booths without incident.

It was the 8th that got us into more trouble. On the way home, we got caught in some nasty traffic jams (at 11pm!); Scott was driving this time and he noticed that we were low on gas. Now, gas prices in Chicago are about 26cents/ gallon higher than Indiana so we crossed our fingers and headed for the border. We drove through the final toll booth and then decided we needed gas asap. Pulled off the freeway and gassed up. Then pulled back on. Another toll booth loomed ahead! We had just paid to drive on that freeway, not quite a mile back! Plus there were other dilemmas:
a. We had long run out of change and had to go through the Manual booth for the last 2 tolls (I learned that Manual means hand paper money to man and man hands you back change). This particular booth did not offer options. No man in booth. No change. We were stopped.
b. A car drove up behind us. No fancy wooden arm at the booth, only a red/ green light. We blew the toll booth and this time, the sirens did wail (at least in my head) and the lights did flash!!! Holy Lips! And, off to Indiana we did race.

Apparently, Scott says, that posted somewhere at those unmanned toll-booths, are signs that say that if you don't have the $$ call this number. Hello?
a. if you don't have a phone in your car, you do....what?
b. this sign is posted...where?
c. should one see the sign, one is supposed to stop all traffic behind from passing (there are no shoulders or "Pull Off Here if you encounter problems locating pen and paper"), scramble around in car and purses to locate something to write with, find a scrap of paper and write the number down???

Hindsight is great...I coulda taken out a lipstick and scrawled the number on the windshield, except I never saw a number and I'm not sure I have a lipstick. Anyhowwwww, we fully expect a couple letters from I-DOT this next week, containing our car's mugshot. Bad Car. Bad!

The Stiltskins on the Town

2005-05-23T08:20:00.000-05:00

by C. MacKinnon-Morris

I am almost embarrassed to relate the events of this weekend, but I had such a unique experience that I can't help but tell it. And, if it seems choppy it is because my Mavie has decided that this is also the perfect time for a workout (i.e./ play fetch)--while her "Mommy" is sitting in one place for more than a few minutes.

One of Scott's former co-workers has a 2nd job as one of the trainers for a heavyweight boxing champion. When I met him a few months back, he told us that Lamon Brewster would be fighting in Chicago in a couple months. In abstract I said "Cool! That would be a real experience."

I say "in abstract" because I am definitely not a fan of blood sports of any shape or form. I have a real problem with the idea that (at least historically) boxers tend to be from disadvantaged backgrounds and that the more advantaged get to pay to (and bet) to see grown men pummel themselves into a early grave. Yeah, I know about the ability to make choices and I know that many people do this for a hobby (though why, I am not sure). I also know that these boxers sustain a lot of injury to their heads (in which, presumably, rests their brains) and that over time, it can be gravely debilitating. Now, to be fair, there are many opponents of my opinion--and perhaps they are right. But statements such as the following from "What's Right with Boxing" are telling to me:
In spite of its low fatality rate and rare occurrences of injury, boxing is still at the forefront when it comes to targeted aggression from "special interest groups", like the AMA.

Darn doctors! what do they know anyhow?!

Anyhow I digress. Scott and I decided to go to the fight, however bourgeois an event. The tickets were a cool $75 per and the event was to be held in Chicago at United Center (home of the Black Hawks and Bulls). Well, shortly before the time, we also decided that we should be more frugal in our spending and that boxing tix weren't in the Stiltskin budget. Scott went to work armed with the news. Scott came away from work armed with the tix (we were too late)--and to add insult to injury, buddy in charge of tix thought we wanted better seats, so we had tix that now cost $100 per. Yes, I know. Story of the Stiltskin's life. But we soldiered on (plus, we got some groovy posters courtesy of the boxer's organization):

We arrived at the arena at 7 p.m., 3 hours after the events began. The bout we were interested in was later and we didn't feel we needed to sit through all the rest. There were a couple of interesting bouts prior to Brewster's--and this is what I cut my teeth on. They actually hit each other! It's not like wrestling where the guys are only injured if an accident occurs. I was quite dismayed by the whole thing as I watched the action in the ring, as opposed to the screen. It was when I happened to glance at the screen that I noticed the expressions of the boxers--the losers look so sad, so defeated that I immediately decided to cheer for the underdogs (as if they would hear). When I saw my first blood, I cringed. When I realized that the blood's opponent then was aiming for the cut, tears sprang to my eyes--how could civilized people do this. When the crowd booed the fellow with blood running down his face because the ref had stopped the action for a clean-up--I was ashamed to be part of the whole event. I was, quite frankly, shocked at the negative attitude of the crowd in general. We do so much to teach children to be supportive of each other, especially in sports and other activities where kids put their pride on the line--no wonder we have such a difficult time when their parents act like this. My previous experience at sporting events (e.g./ NHL games--previous I said--today it is quite likely different) in Vancouver, if someone gets hurt, the crowd is silent. When the hurt individual goes off the ice, either walking or on a stretcher, the crowd cheers in support. Apparently not here... at least not for boxing.

Oops! time out. Mavie is ready for the punching bag exercise. She is working on her left jab (it's a bit weaker than her right). I hold the mouse by the tail and she jabs away, fwack, fwack, fwack. Great paw-eye coordination going on here! Oh-oh, she has regressed into wrestling and is body slamming the mouse. No Mavie! Back to your workout!

The extent of the boxers injuries astounded me. At the end of the WBC Light Heavyweight (??) Championship match (which went 12 brutal rounds), we had to wait for the judges' decision. I watched on the screen as I stood in line for quaff. When the winner was announced, this fact did not at all register on his broken, swollen, bruised face. His trainers had to come over and shake him and tell him. This fellow did not, apparently, know where he was or what he was doing there, much less realize that he had won something! How sad. I just found the following comment from the ESPN website that makes me feel a bit better about my reaction to this particular fight:
This is perhaps the single bloodiest fight we've ever attended, and both men should be applauded for their heart and courage. It certainly was not for the squeamish as both men bled throughout the fight and crushed each other for 12 rounds with punches so flush that they were sickeningly audible at ringside.

While we waited the hoopla for the main match to begin, the announcer introduced/ pointed out some celebrities in the audience: e.g./ Judge Mathis, Drew Carey (I would have rather seen Mimi--but can't have everything!), the Right Reverand Jesse Jackson, Dick Butkus (Chicago Bear linebacker of old), numerous Bulls and present-day Bears, Leon Spinks, Corey Spinks, and of course Don King. Oh yeah, and some Fox News radio personality?? All the sports people and t.v. folk were loudly cheered (save for Don King--but I think it was about his hair). The politicos were roundly booed. Kind of sad really that the public is more excited about entertainers than people who make a living trying to make the world a better place, but neither here nor there.

Mavis is back, rubbing her tail against my legs (she is careful not to show too much affection). Seems she wants a sparring partner. "I'm busy Mave. Go do some shadow boxing!" Sorry about this, readers.

The hoopla for the two boxers vying for the WBO World Championship finally arrived. The two got into the ring and dong! Round one on. Then 53 seconds later, Dong! Match over. If you blinked you missed it. If people in front of one stood up to watch and one hadn't quite got that far (or felt it was bad manners to stand up in front of the people behind oneself) one missed it. I missed it. Lamon Brewster, reigning Champ was the underdog and the odds against kept increasing as the match grew closer. In this 53 seconds Brewster landed 15 out of 26 punches to Golota's 3 out of 11. In this 53 seconds Brewster knocked Golota to his butt 3 times, once nearly out of the ropes. The ref called the match. Poor HBO and Don King Productions...had to fill the other 59 minutes with replays and interviews! Well, the only thing I felt was a sense of relief: at least there was no blood.

And that is my one and only experience at a boxing match. I am not sure that I would ever go to see one again--it would depend on Scott. I think that he really enjoyed learning about a new 'sport'--I don't honestly think he was aware that there were other sports besides NFL football! I myself, much prefer pro baseball where the most violent occurrence (save for the odd bench clearing brawl--but these are rare) is the manager contesting an ump's decision by kicking dirt or, if really daring, spitting on the ground near-ish the ump! One doesn't have to dress up for a bb game. One can take a book along (or knitting if that is your bag) and leisurely look up from time to time all the while catching some rays and gorging oneself on ballpark dogs and popcorn...and of course, beer. And, one never has to leave the seat--the concession stand comes to one. Very civilized is the 7th inning stretch--that is when one stands up without displaying poor manners. It is a relatively inexpensive spectator sport ($25 v. $100) and people rarely boo--well except for booing the umpire's decisions, but really, don't spectators have a superior view of the strike zone on a batter?? And, one can actually get tix game day! in fact, get tix period--not like NFL football where, for instance, the Green Bay Packer tix have a ten-year waiting list--and where is Green Bay anyhow. Okay, okay, back on track here....my point is that if one is into professional sports (and this particular "one" ain't) there is a myriad of events available where one doesn't have to watch grown men try to injure each other. We look at the gladiator fights of old and shake heads in disbelief--how barbaric. A slave--an underpriviliged man? Is there much difference?

And, now back to Mavis "The Terror" McWavis. I couldn't help thinking during one or two of the less brutal fights, that the boxers' moves mirrored those of our little Mavis. She is fearless and will take on any cat, no matter the size. Just as Dad's favourite wrestler (Gene Kininski) was fond of stating "I fear no man," Mavis fears no cat; of course it helps that she is the alpha among our other 2 females and 3 males. Mave's favourite sports include fetch with her mouse, laser tag, and paw-ball (catch-the-ball-in-the-air and either hold onto it or pass it back to Mommy/ Daddy OR if it is the yellow ball, she will carry it back in her mouth). But her best sport is boxing. She practises a slight variation of "Fanzi Quan" boxing, on her opponents (usually Leper or Koda, who are her age but twice her size). She is always on the offensive because she is too fast for them. She throws in a few fakes and then goes for the jab; she is light on her feet as well as fast. Her flicking, provoking and jabbing is fast then slow; continuous and intermittent. She jabs right, fakes an upper cut and then nips at the hind legs. The other cats don't stand a chance. I do not wait for a KO, after all we are civilized here. I call a TKO when the big cat cries for my help--not because they are hurt physically--I think it is because their pride is hurting badly (or could it be annoyance????). Anyhow, Mavis doesn't have that taste for blood nor the wish to hurt an opponent; otherwise, she coulda been a contender.

Weekend Report

2005-05-17T10:28:00.000-05:00

by Cynthia MacKinnon-Morris

The previous weekend was spent, in large part, driving a large truck to and from the "ROCK" place. We had a window of 2 hours to get our loads, have them weighed, then unload at home. There was an unanticipated slowdown, however. At a busy intersection (fourway stop) between us and "ROCK," a group of people were collecting for MDA (and not the mescaline and amphetamine sort). They stood in the middle of the road at all four stop points and offered pails in which to toss your donation. Nice idea. Of course one doesn't like to bypass without giving--which I guess is what the Harley Davidson bikers Association was counting on. And, we did give. The issue was that we made six or eight passes within that 2 hour span. Our intentions were not to 'give' each time, plus we were under the time-gun and this slowed down traffic a fair bit. Scott was at the wheel and I just averted my eyes; we did think that perhaps they would recognize us: "Oh yes, those people gave already." But no, bit of the guilt-trip-look each time we passed and then, one burly-women called after us: "It could be you next!" Great. I knew we should have broken our donation down into singles!

Anyhow, our first trip load-wise, was uneventful--except for the 5 or 6 tries Scott made backing this truck over the sidewalk and up to the rock garden area to dump the 2 tons of pea gravel. I am not entirely sure why this was necessary but it may have been due to .... well, okay, I haven't a clue. It did look professional though Scott! And off we went to pick up (and drive the MDA gauntlet) the one ton of sand and mega-tons of flagstone. The flagstone had to be unloaded pieces at a time and some of it was pretty heavy--the rest was small annoying pieces. The clock was ticking and the Stiltskins changed jobs--me on the truck and Scott setting flagstone on the driveway. Phew! done finally. Out of sheer desperation, we dumped that load of sand right on the driveway. The rest of the weekend was spent wheeling and raking sand and pea-gravel--for the flagstone foundation and the rock garden. Not very picturesque--thus, no picture.

The only noteworthy outcome of the weekend was the new-found play area for the kitties. They were in seventh heaven! The sand pile presented many opportunities for fun--and just in case the reader suspects other uses for the sand pile? our cats are whimpy! They scratch furiuosly at the door during the evening as if there were a lion on their tails. Open the door and swoosh--------into the litter box. Sometimes, if a bunch come in at the same time, we have a queue at the box. Go figure. They do, I must note, have two litter boxes in the garage (it's accessible from outside), but I guess there is no place like one's own special litter box. When, I wonder, will they realize that the outdoors is one big litter box just a-waiting for some action? And while I am on this topic, one more thing. I bought some lovely fountain grass and planted it. So, what do you think they use as their grass-resource? I try to point out that there is a sea of lush green grass all around us, but oh no, got to eat the expensive stuff. We have decided to plant some catnip and oatgrass seeds on the south side of the house and let them have a free-for-all.

This weekend was one of excitement (landscaping type excitement). We spent Saturday at nurseries--well, one nursery to receive free advice, otherwise we hit grocery stores and hardware stores--the Stiltskins are not made of gold you know! Pocket books lighter, we returned home victorious.

Sunday was the big day. Scott puzzle-pieced together half of our patio with flagstone while I tried frantically (AGAIN) to eradicate the Chameleon plants.
I carted out more loads of pea gravel (we were generous in the estimation of our needs) and actually exposed some of our lovely rocks in the rock garden. This is a close-up of one of our prized fossil stones.
Then I began the process of digging, adding good soil to the not very good clay, and planting. What I thought would be an hour's job turned into an hours' labour. Very quickly the pea gravel was hurting my bare knees, plus I was tiring, so the neighbours got to see me lying on my side, perched on an elbow, in the gravel bed. Just my moaning alone (about the amount of unexpected effort and time) added an additional hour onto the job.

I had gone to the 'nurseries' armed with a list of plants. We came away from the 'nurseries' with different plants. It got so difficult to read the darn tags and match with the list, that I gave up. As an anchor, we got a dwarf Alberta Spruce (Scott's choice); he also likes the look of dwarf creeping Juniper so in it went. We added some colour with: Salvia (purple Meadow Sage), Lavandula (Silver Edge Lavender), we had already planted the creeping Phlox on the berm but added another couple pinky-purple plants: Delosperma (John Profitt) and Sedum (Autumn Joy). Scott likes yellow (Green Bay Packer colour) so in went another couple sedum (Stonecrop) and Coreopsis (Tickseed). For some interesting foliage Campanula (Bellflower), and Blue Fescue (I love grasses). This is a side view of the rock garden: My personal favourite are the Sempervivum (Hen & chicks). My grandmother, Hattie, had these planted in front of their little house and they always fascinated me. We would take the little chicks and stick them in a bare section of garden and voila! they would grow like magic! The other thing that made them special was that my grandfather thought that flower gardens were frivilous and Hattie wasn't allowed to keep much of a garden. He said that the only decent flower out there was that of the potato plant. So, these little plants were Hattie's pride and joy. My own hen/chicks that I planted last summer are thriving and I wanted to continue their growth in our rock garden as a memory of Hattie.

To end this week's garden journal, here are a couple pictures of our little rain forest garden along the north side of the house.

I took these photos just minutes before the sun went down--which is the only time of the day that this garden receives direct sunlight.

Where there is Flora, there also is Fauna

2005-05-15T08:43:00.000-05:00

by Cynthia MacKinnon-Morris

The Stiltskins have a firm belief in the duty of humans to care for the creatures of this planet. I must, however, admit to playing favourites--while I wouldn't deliberately hurt a snake or frog, I certainly wouldn't take it into custodial care. We are most definitely cat-people. Before we met, each of us were taking in strays--in a fashion. I had an apartment and could never have a cat; my strays went home to the farm. Scott had the Big Bad Wolf so he had to find other means of helping his strays. Now that we have escaped our former prisoners, The Stiltskins are open for business!

Winter of 2003/4 Scott acquired Angst Maybelline, (a garage cat) from a co-worker. Within a couple months, he went back to rescue Angst's kitten Jessica from the same garage. These two girls are quite reserved (Jess on the left; Angst the right)and will only come out of their shells if the other cats are absent.

While Scott was picking up Jessica, his co-worker told him the sad story of Kot. Kot, a small gray male, was also a stray who had recently moved into their garage. He was constantly been beaten up by other tomcats in the neighbourhood, was starving and weak. Scott of course brought him home and with the help of the vet and a lot of TLC, Kot thrived. Kot is a wimp, plain and simple. He would rather the girls check out new things and he takes the rear position. Kot rarely sleeps alone. If there is a person present, that is where Kot takes up residence. In a pinch, however, one of the other cats will do and he wiggles his way into their space--which is why we do not have any pictures of Kot solo.

Kot snuggling with Koda and below, Kot snuggling with Leper.

In the summer of 2004, we were married and I moved to Lafayette. One of the best things about my move was the ability to have cats in residence! Shortly after arriving, I met Scott's 19 year old step-daughter. She was a single mom of 2 toddlers and had these two darling kittens: Koda and Leper. Circumstances had it that she was forced to move back in with her mother--who is not a cat person--and who insisted that the two kittens live in a very small cage on the door step. Well, Scott and I conferred and voila! we took in two foster-kittens. Koda and Leper's mother was a small Siamese; obviously their father (or grandparent) was not. They were mammoth in size right from kittens--and they were a going concern right from the get-go.

Koda and Leper had skills that the older cats hadn't even heard of...but they caught on quickly. The most noteable was the drinking hole trick:

Above are the Twins at four months; below at 8 months.
We had the Twins for several months, until Kim moved into a place of her own. We did visit often and took the Twins for respite weekends.

One cold and wet November evening while I was attempting to get home (was a wee bit lost), I came across a kitten who was starving, wet and cold, and very straggly. She was out in the middle of nowhere (to me, it really was nowhere--I hadn't a clue!). I didn't miss a beat but swooped up the kitten and brought her home. The next morning I took her to the vet for a check-up and vaccinations, etc. We were very surprised to learn that this small cat was actually 6 months old--about the same age as the Twins! Poor nutrition had stunted her growth. She was to be kitten-sized for ever.

At home on the farm, my family has a 'tradition' of giving cats people-names: Edith (Edie), Brian, Mona, Madison, Emma, Mike, etc. you get the idea. Well, this kitten's colouring reminded me of a cousin my sister and I used to see during the summer. So, this poor kitten received the moniker of "Mavis." Right from the start, Mavis seemed to enjoy car rides! So we made the decision that she was going to be a road-trip gal and we had to practise for our trip home to B.C. in the summer. Her first road-trip was to Missouri.
Scott secreted her into our hotel room in his gym bag, then went back to the truck for a 2nd trip to bring in her dishes and travel litter-box. She was a perfect lady the whole time. Of course, we didn't leave her in the room alone--where we went, she did as well.

Since that time, Mavis has taken several trips to Illinois when we visit or stay with Scott's Gramma and Dad--they too have taken a shine to her; Larry refers to Mavie as "my Grand-Kitty." In fact, while Scott's Gramma has been in hospital and then the nursing home Mavie has made each and every trip. She has been a big hit at the nursing home! Mariah refers to Mavis McWavis as her little sister and even though they are not able to spend much time together (Mariah stays with us every 2nd weekend), Mavie adores Mariah, especially as her road-trip mate.
While in the car, she wears a harness attached to a lanyard--although she is very well behaved, we are not about to take chances with her jumping out of the car. She is really an enigma in the Stiltskin family as she manages to look well groomed all the time!

Just one more: the cats all claim what we call the "storm chair" for their own. Like me, they like to sit in it and watch the weather change--and in Indiana it does so often and suddenly. Here is Leper basking in a sun beam.

Warfare on the Green

2005-05-13T20:39:00.000-05:00

by the Stiltskins

We had a couple goals for our landscaping project:
1. to beautify our yard which, to that point was nearly devoid of anything but grass, and
2. to rid ourselves of the green menace, i.e./ dramatically reduce the time spent mowing the lawns.

Our strategies:
-to turn the back yard into a traditional garden with only a token strip of grass;
-to have trees in the backyard to combat the wicked afternoon heat/ sun (the backyard is west-facing);
-to build a potting shed at the back;
-to build a pergola extending out from the small rear patio;
-to build contained raised beds on the southside for a vegetable garden;
-to design a rainforest garden for along the northside of the house;
-to build a small patio in front of the house;
-to extend this patio of flagstone into a pathway along the rainforest garden and
then enter the backyard;
-to build (with the neighbour) a picket fence along the north side;
-to dig and plant a border along the driveway;
-to fill and create a berm to shade the patio; AND,
-to design and plant a rock garden extending down from the berm and into the front yard.

When all planning was said and done, we realized that we neither had the time to do all this in one year nor did we have $30000 to call up HGTV and be featured on the "Design Challenge." So, we decided to start on the front and side yards. Once the weather turned very warm, another must-do occurred to us: those planned shade trees were not going to grow over night, we'd better put them in straightaway. So, off to the garden centre (one that we could afford to make purchases at) and came away with 2 Weeping Willows for the back yard.

Once the time came to transport the trees home, we realized that we were in a bit of a dilemma. We had traded in our truck a couple months earlier and now had our Subaru Outback (TURBO <---I have to put that in for Scott!). These trees were not bushy by any means, but from tip to toe they easily measured 4 metres. Hmmmm.

So, we did have a bit of an issue...but Scott is never one to back down from a challenge. We hoisted the rootballs into the back of the wagon--but that left three metres of delicate branches and leaves hanging out the back. Lightbulb. Scott pulled out a big ole piece of tarp and wrapped the top of the trees to secure them. He knew that the weight of the rootballs would hold the trees in the car. But, then as we pulled out on to the road and picked up a very small amount of speed, the trees dragged along the road. Not good. We stopped and Scott pulled out a large yellow tow rope (we are prepared for any and all eventualities) and looped it under the trees mid-point and he and I held onto each end. Held on for dear life. And, voila! we made it home without incident.

Safely planted in the back yard (I know, I know, one can hardly make out the tree in the picture--but it is there, believe me!), we then turned to cleaning out the car. It was at that point someone realized the tarp was missing. Visions of an accident at the side of the road ran through my mind. The tarp obviously came off mid-trip; I crossed my fingers that it did not end up covering someone's windshield. Sighs of relief, there was the old hunk of woven plastic lying sadly abandoned road-side. No accidents in sight.

*****

The front yard is small. Our projects were small. One good weekend should do it. That is when we rediscovered the Indiana clay. It is also when we discovered a host of interesting items hidden just below the sod. We started on the patio area. False start. We started on the rock garden area. False start. We plunged that rototiller at random into the lawn to see if we could dislodge anything at all!
We regrouped and headed for the flower border-to-be. Aha! and away Scott went. His hands and wrists are much stronger than mine, so he tilled and I scooped and moved the excess dirt to the berm area.

Now there is a novel concept. Berm. I had never heard of the term before. That was, not until I moved to the midwest. A mound or wall of earth: well that is simple enough, but why? I then realized that on the flat land of Indiana, people have to build their own hills--hence the popularity of berm-building.

The berm did get larger over time and we planted it with a few white pines. We were also much more successful with the tiller and scrambled up some dirt for the rock garden-to-be. We had decided on the berm/ patio area because the hot west sun beating down into our backyard did not make for comfortable relaxing. We wanted a small area in which to put a couple Adirondack chairs and a table. Other folks in the subdivision (and in fact, any house in Lafayette that sports a garage out front) sit in their garage and relax. I am sure it is a nice tradition, but we thought we could go one better and have flora surrounding us in lieu of tool benches, gasoline canisters, and litter boxes. The berm was Scott's idea (it would have to be since I didn't realize the concept was in existence). This berm with its trees would give us privacy while we enjoyed the late afternoon, and the ability to check out the neighbours at the same time! (<--- not really a factor, but hey! if it works?) During the fall and winter, time was spent collecting rocks for borders and we managed on a cache of fossil-rocks. I'l bet the south neighbour was glad when we moved the dozens we had stored against our outside wall. The rocks themselves weren't the issue, the problem was that they inhibited my lawn mowing and harboured GIANT dandelions, thistles and the like.
As for the treasures I found while scooping out soil: an old rusted paint bucket, complete with lid, a 30cm iron peg, some pieces of concrete 1-2kg, pieces of rusted wire and drainage tiles. However, I did not win any prizes for my finds. The prize winner went, 2-3 years back, to the lady adjacent to us. While digging a garden of her own, she discovered TEN (10) sheets of 30' vinyl siding! Well, burst my balloon.

We carved out the area in front of the living room for our patio. We also dug out the little rose garden (well, except for the roses).

But then we hit upon a new problem. We transplanted the hostas and violet-things temporarily and tried to eradicate a pesty plant that someone (Scott) had actually purchased some years before. Beware of something called "Chameleon Plant." It takes root anywhere (including through cement and weed barrier), it is hardy in the extreme, everytime you cut a root, it grows a new head, and it smells! It smells when one attempts to pull it out, it smells when it blooms; the roots smell, the leaves smell and one's hands smell too. Ever have your hands stained with the shells of green filbert nuts or walnuts? The stain has to wear off. Same thing here except this lingering putrid odour follows you about for...well too long. Anyhow, I digress. But, one last word about "Chameleon plants" People actually purchase these Hydrae!
Ahem. The last step in our initial set-up (that phase, by the way, lasted a bit longer than the weekend--more like a month?) was to plant our beloved weeping cherry tree in the patio area.

At last we had something to work with and now it was time to...well, more preparation!

Divine Intervention? Part I

2005-05-13T12:03:00.000-05:00

On the Labour Day weekend, when we weren't gardening, Scott and I took a three day trip to the budding metropolis of Arthur, Illinois. I was to meet Scott's gramma and visit the town where she and Scott's father lived. Although I was apprehensive at first (shy I guess I should describe it) I found that she was a wonderful lady who welcomed me with open arms. As a celebration of our wedding, Gramma made us a great lunch, had a wedding cake made complete with the cake top she had at her own wedding,

and a beautiful floral centrepiece.

As a wedding gift, she arranged for us to stay at the most delightful B&B for the weekend. The B&B was run by a Mennonite couple who had the old house restored and furnished with antiques and Amish details. One surprise for me was the fact that before each breakfast (which were to-die-for) we had to bow our heads in prayer--the husband said grace each morning. I don't know if Canada is a land of heathens (apologies to all who are devote Christians) or if it is just my circle--but I am not used to this tradition occurring at a commercial establishment! Anyhow, I chalked it up to experience and ate my breakfast heartily.

Scott and I had not planned to be in Arthur specifically on the weekend of the Cheese Festival. I had no idea what it was all about. To set the scene, Arthur is a small town surrounded by Amish Country (est. in the late 19th century). Plus, Arthur itself is a very conservative town. On its website, among other highlights, it boasts: a population of 2203, 99.4% white non-Hispanic (!!!!), 9 churches (all Protestant but notes there is a Catholic church nearby-ish).

One sees Amish horse-drawn black buggies travelling the streets during the day. At night, the clip-clop of hooves signals that the Amish teenagers are coming into town for their own brand of entertainment. They have until age 18 to make a decision about whether to remain in the community or to venture out into the "English" world. Until then, it seems that the teenagers do their best to get a taste of the "English" world. I was shocked to see one lad driving a buggy wearing jeans and Nikes! I was told that it was not unusual--seemingly, they leave the farm in their traditional clothing and then change into "English" clothes on the way into town. Then they party.

The Amish are very traditional and eschew all things modern--except those items that are used for commerce it seems, e.g./ cell phones and cash registers. Also forbidden are forms of entertainment that we consider in some cases, well, not high on the entertainment scale. I was surprised to see some Amish families enjoying the "Cheese Festival" parade:

I was told that Cheese Festival began when there was a large cheese-making 'factory' in town. The place is long gone, but the tradition remains. Although C.F. is held over a long weekend, festivities were held only on the Saturday and Monday--Sunday was obviously not an option for this conservative town. That was, until this year: 2004. This year, the decision was made to include Sunday. But, would such a big step be later regretted?

to be continued....

Divine Intervention? Part II

2005-05-12T20:12:00.000-05:00

by Cynthia L. MacKinnon-Morris

That Labour Day weekend saw the advent of "Cheese Festival." The entire downtown portion of Arthur is blocked off to vehicles and set-up with displays of local wares, concession stands (all basically offering the same fries and cotton candy), booths, etc. The highlight of the street for me was the Republican candidate's booth--NOT that I am in any way, shape or form anything remotely even resembling a REP--but I scored a decent handful of red, white and blue Mardi Gras beads. These were not to be displayed! Horrors no! My scrapbooking/ crafting cache of goodies needed an injection of glittery items.

Anyhow...other exciting events of CF were:
-the Christian Rock band on the town's bandstand,
-the lawn-tractor-pull,
-the World Cheese Curling Championships (which puzzle me to this day--being from Canada, I am all too familiar with the sport of curling--all I can picture is a group of people sweeping rounds of Gouda down the street),
-the GIANT cheese wheel cut up for everyone to taste, and of course
-the CF parade
Innocuous events to be sure...but this year, CF wasn't just held on the Saturday and Monday of the long weekend--these events took place on a SUNDAY! I imagine that more than a few people wondered at the wisdom of using the Sabbath in this manner.

It was during the parade that the unplanned for began to occur. The parade was befitting for a small rural town. It consisted, in most part, of public service vehicles, dignitaries, and politicians campaigning for the upcoming federal election. Scott and I decided to visit some of the stores giving out free samples of locally made food products instead.

The parade was still in its full three-block force when an elderly lady near us fell to the ground, possibly overcome by heat. 9-1-1 was called but the town's ambulance could not be reached. It was still in the middle of the parade.

Meanwhile, down at the other end of town (a good 2 blocks away)came an incredible explosive noise and poof!

A propane tank at a concession stand had exploded! then smoke and flames! one of the deep fryers had caught fire.

The local firetruck was called, but...it too was in the parade. By this time, the ambulance had been contacted, maneuvered out of the parade and had reached the elderly woman. Thankfully. But the fire truck now became an issue--I heard someone yell that with the siren blaring, the dispatcher couldn't be heard by the truck driver in the parade.

Finally, the firetruck made its way out of the parade and attempted to race up the main drag filled with concession stands and people. Ahead of us, an Amish woman directed foot traffic. Someone yelled for the ambulance! Alas, as we turned our heads in the other direction, it was just in time to see the ambulance pull out of town in the opposite direction (with the fallen woman).

Yes, the concession stand was a write-off but no-one had been seriously hurt.

But...Oh no! The town's insurance agency, which stood on the corner behind the burning concession stand has caught fire!!! Phew! the damage was sustained was only superficial. I wonder, do insurance agencies get free insurance? do the owners trust their own brand of insurance? or do they secretly purchase insurance from another company? OR, do they hedge their bets?

Speaking of bets, t'were I a betting person, I'd have to put a goodly amount of clams on this horse: I'd bet that more people than not shook their heads knowingly this's what happens when you operate this level of entertainment on a Sunday. It could have been a Divine Intervention--at least I think so!

Everywhere A Sign

2005-05-12T13:07:00.000-05:00

Unlike Les Emmerson (of the Canadian "Five Man Electrical Band") I do have a real appreciation for signs--though I do take his point! Emerson saw the lyrics to "Sign" as a metaphor for the difficult times the band was going through. I see signs as an interesting contrast between, and commentary on, various cultures.

Take this sign:

I spotted it in central Illinois at a strip mall. Can you imagine?? Well, I couldn't being from the west coast. I immediately had several thoughts run through my mind:
a. doesn't this verge on the not-in-good-taste side of things?
b. Bible publishing is such a large industry in the south and midwest that they have enough "seconds" to fill stores?
c. I would have assumed that Bibles are important enough to those who are interested in a purchase that they wouldn't want a "second;"
d. What are some examples of Bible "seconds?"

And, then some notions (that border on ridiculous) ran through my brain.... What if:
-Genesis was missing? some folks would just not be equipped to argue Creation v. Evolution
-the printing error was extreme, e.g./ printed backwards, upside down -- would the Moral Majority maintain that these were Satanic?
-how would folks view Mary, Mother of Jesus if the printing error(s) included the first chapter of the Gospel of Luke? or some of the early prophesies?

I would maintain that it is pretty important to have one's Bible intact. But, I did some research and found an amazing 73 of these Bible Factory Outlets in the south and midwest! Whodathunkit? Of course, my husband patiently explained the probable function of these stores--but I like my thoughts waaaaaay better.

Okay, now contrast the midwest sign to one from British Columbia--interestingly, in an area known as the "Bible Belt" of the Fraser Valley:

Signs make nice souvenirs!
Here are two teachers from B.C.who are thrilled with the idea of being in exotic locales (hey! to people like us, Chicago and Indy are exotic), and who also do not mind standing beside a busy highway to have their picture taken.

Winter Cometh

2005-05-11T18:54:00.000-05:00

And so it did, with a vengeance. At least, in the eyes of a person who had lived their entire 46 years in the rain forests of British Columbia. Some years we don't get any measurable snowfall--much to the surprise of most folks around here. I do get the sneaking suspicion that: a. many folks are not sure where B.C. is, and b. think all of Canada lies under a snowcap for the winter! Well, I am here to say that I have never experienced cold like this before. I am used to rain all year long and GREEN all year long--this winter (though I hear it was a mild one) was an experience.

My point in this post (and I do have one), is that no gardening took place this winter but Scott and I bought out the stores with our purchases of gardening equipment and tools on sale! We also used this time to load up on rocks for our landscaping (or stones, whatever one calls those grey hard things that weigh from 1-10kg). We found some wonderful caches of fossilized rocks! Back home in B.C. one does not find fossils on a regular basis--Indian arrowheads? yes, but I had never seen a real life fossil until Scott introduced me to Wild Cat Creek. I was completely entranced and we filled up the Barbie truck over and over with beautiful rocks (btw, the "Barbie Truck" is a term coined by my cousin to describe Scott's bright yellow Subaru Baja--and it stuck).

Come late winter (o.k. January) I started to watch for my mailbox garden. Alas, no sights to see--well, except for the diagonal trench some loser (she shall remain nameless for the sake of diplomacy) had dug with the wheels of their truck as they took a big shortcut into our driveway. At the time I was devastated! My only mark on my new home had been disfigured by the Big Bad Wolf! But, I got over it and once the spring came and all the neighbours' bulbs were blooming and mine were still in the ground and I waited and I waited........ Voila! the daffodils and tulips erupted in a show of colour! I prayed to the bulb-god in thanks--though I wasn't sure if she had anything at all to do with it.

The Beginning

2005-05-11T18:27:00.000-05:00

Scott and I both admire creative landscaping designs. Scott and I both detest mowing the lawn. Scott and I got married and decided that landscaping was to be our baby; we decided to eradicate the yard of grass and I cannot honestly say which was more important at the time--the landscaping dream or the grassless dream!

We bought, borrowed and stole landscaping books and magazines (just kidding about the "stole") and poured over them. We were clear on one point: there must be a comprehensive plan in place before we started. Eager to get moving and unaware of the Indiana clay that lie beneath the sod, I started my first project: to jazz up the area around the mailbox and hide the large, brown, ugly waterworks thingy just below the mailbox. Previously, this ugly thingy had been the mailbox's most prominent feature but it wouldn't be for long.........

Well, first off I found that digging a hole in an old corn field in Indiana was not like digging a hole in the rich soil of British Columbia's Fraser Valley. But, with shovel in hand, I persevered. Two days later (I got tired and the sun went down the first day) I had a hole that was only 2' x 3'. Not knowing the garbage pick-up 'rules' I just dumped the sod into the garbage bin for pickup. I watched out the window to witness the lifting of the bin and the setting back down of the bin. The sod did not get picked up. Plan B was hatched immediately (I didn't realize at the time that there was a Plan C--but I soon picked it up courtesy of the neighbours). I hauled bucket loads of sod to an area that was going to become my composte! We didn't have a wheel barrow at that point so it was pretty time consuming. Finally, I was sod-less.

I filled that hole back up with good soil and planted my bulbs. The neighbours' looked on skeptically--they had all planted theirs 3-4 weeks back. I pretended that I knew what I was doing and soldiered on, all the while praying to the bulb-god that it wasn't all in vain.
.

2005-05-11T17:57:00.000-05:00

Green Monster's little buddy

2005-05-11T17:56:00.000-05:00

Green Monster

Denouncing Greener Pastures

2005-05-09T23:57:00.000-05:00

The Stiltskins are on a mission
We have a blight in the land!
A phalanx of ferocious beasts
thunder in come each nightfall
Leaving a pestilent scourge in their wake.

The Stiltskins are on a lone mission
They alone must eradicate the blight!
The neighbouring princes welcome,
yea, encourage the beasts' presence
And, pay tribute to the graven images.

The poor Stiltskins have spent countless hours
in attack of this supernatural force!
One day they awoke and cried, "No More!
Our time and energy is too precious to a-waste!"
And from that day forward, their battle tactics they changed.

****

Today the Stiltskins are happy folk
The sight outside in the morn is no longer feared!
Tremendous is the scar that has been left in the wake, and
Til resources replete, remnants of the green monster survive
Though not for long, the Stiltskins do cry!