Ice skating without the blades

We have left freezing temperatures in Fort Wayne for balmy temperatures in Fort Myers, Florida. Allegiant Airlines has a direct flight into Tampa-St. Petersburg, and it was a great flight - a little over two hours, nice seats, and best of all: no connections. Our friends flying down today were not so lucky - they decided to fly out of Indianapolis, and in the winter storm they were unable to get out of town. They ended up taking a limousine to Detroit, where they will be flying into Ft. Myers - good for them for finally getting here, but they've dealt with a whole day of having to make phone calls and get really creative.

We've been to the beaches at Ft. Myers and Sanibel Island, while the weather was beautiful and in the 70s. Today some clouds and winds moved in, so we looked for an alternative. We chose going to the greyhound racing track at Bonita Springs. It's a slice of life if you have never had the experience. If you like to gamble you'll fall right into the culture, trust me on this. Whether you read the stats or play the odds or simply like the look of a dog or how s/he acts on the way to the post, you'll get into it. And somehow, over the years, everyone always enjoys the simple entertainment of the trainers running away from the track - a footrace for the underpaid working class - you'll feel like a Roman gladiator basking in the coliseum, whether you realize it or not.

But my memory today was about good old Fort Wayne. There was a day like this a few years ago, before children, when we were downtown in the Fort for some event. Now is the time of year for ice and snow. It was an icy day then, probably between 9 p.m. and midnight, and we were traveling on the city streets in the car. It was a black ice, hard to see, but extremely slick. The kind that would make your feet fly out from under you and give you a concussion in a second. My husband, driving, stopped at a red light, and this urge came over me. I knew there was enough ice to slide as if on skates in street shoes. Without telling him, I watched the traffic light for the perpendicular traffic, and when I saw it go yellow, meaning green for us in seconds, I jumped out of the car. My husband, shocked, craned his neck behind the wheel to watch me slide back to the rear bumper of the car.

The light changed, and there were cars behind us, honking. He was pissed, but he had to drive forward - and I was bumper surfing - ice skating behind the car on downtown city streets. It was great, I was euphoric - until the police cherry lights behind us lit up the downtown
sky.


We were pulled over. What I was doing was illegal. We would have been given a big ticket, but my husband was furious with me, and the policeman saw that. Basically, what he said, was there was nothing he could have done that was any more punishment than what my husband was going to do to me for putting him in that position. He probably had worse criminals, or hooligans, to deal with that night. And somehow, he let us go.

That's the midwest, and Fort Wayne; that icy, that dangerous. Opportunity, fun, and danger. I could have cracked my head open, as they say; but it didn't happen. I was fortunate. For a few seconds, bumper surfing was a lot of fun. It's a distant memory, and I can still see Fort Wayne's beautiful downtown buildings overhead as my feet slid as if on skates behind the car. Even with the cop car behind us, somehow it was worth it. I'm not saying, however, I would do it all over again. And tomorrow, on this far-away vacation, gentle Florida will revive us all again. What a beautiful nation we live in. Goodnight and sweet dreams, all.

When the River Freezes Over

A new dynamic comes into play when a pond or river freezes over in the Midwest. Real estate, navigable previously only for boaters in good weather, has suddenly appeared on the scene. For kids growing up in Indiana, there is a whole new reality to explore, territory to claim, play to be had.





We live right on a riverbank, and what had been inaccessible all summer and fall is now there for the taking. One can stand beside the dock and look under it. You can see what kinds of vines and nests are hanging in the tree branches that extended out over the river. You can actually look in the wood duck nest box and see if a small owl has claimed it, which often it has.





The kids come out with their sleds and saucers, and attack the ice. They pull each other with ropes and twirl sleds in circles. They have snowball fights and sword fights with sticks. They yell, scream, shout, and no one can hear them in the cold. What a great thing to experience as a kid.





I've seen mink or ermine bouncing shyly along the bank, gracefully hunting. Squirrels and songbirds show up cheerfully against the white back drop. Hopefully a smart man I know will chop holes in the ice with an axe in various places, to test its thickness. But invariably, regardless, kids will venture out on their own after many days of bitter cold, braving the wrath of fearful or cautious adults who seem them. The kids just can't resist.





Snow angels, snow nests, snow men, snow forts - I just saw a huge snow leaf-ball. The creative possibilities are endless. And the kids get out there while they can, exploring this newly-existing real estate, exploiting it before it's gone, mushy and faded, into slushy slop and eventually cold fluid again.

Checking for tracks in the snow (deer, rabbit, raccoon, cats) are good clue-solving opportunities for kids. Looking through clear ice to see things on the river bottom, they marvel. The miracle of ice, water, and nature is there for the taking. Sure, the cold grows tiresome, and we begin to yearn for spring and warm weather, but there really is a time and a season to enjoy the magic of the cold, the river ice. There's nothing much more romantic than skating on an icy night with a big full moon overhead, clutching the mittened hand of your companion - takes you back, doesn't it? Indiana, you're not so bad after all.

Being Happy in the Fort

One thing I think it is possible to be in Fort Wayne is happy. This is a very important thing, and the right to pursue this very thing was considered unalienable by our founding fathers. But, happiness is such a subjective thing, I think it is often easier to be happier in some places than in others.

So what is there to be happy about in Fort Wayne? Steady real estate values, for one thing. Prices for homes are not too high, and they hold their values. The cost of living is not bad here. Fort Wayne is not so large as for there to be traffic jams all the time, like there are in Chicago or Indianapolis. There is enough home-townishness to make the little things seem real; important things such as school and church. It's large enough here for us to have a Jewish neighbor family. Nearby Amish and Myanmar refugees are living in the same county - they too have a shot at a better quality of life than what their parents had.

It's not the greatest job market, but lots of folks are working. It doesn't have the best winters, but not the worst, either. There are lots of parks; activities and sports for kids; a zoo, an airport, history.

But happiness is not all about where you live. It's a state of mind. And if a person really wants to be happy, he has to first identify what truly are the basic sources of his happiness and then make priorities in life based on these. And I would also argue it means recognizing destructive mental states and stopping or changing these as much as possible. I do believe we can train our minds to be happier, and we owe it to ourselves and those around us to do just that.

There is a whole process to doing that, an ancient and modern process - maybe many processes. I won't go into all that right now. But it is something definitely worth pursuing daily. And if nothing else, just showing kindness and compassion for others help us be less closed off, or 'into ourselves,' so that we can be more open for happiness. Being into ourselves, we see problems and feel less happy: when we are thinking about and are doing for others, we forget about ourselves and strangely feel happier.

It is not a simple matter to change one's outlook. It takes work. Change can be slow, and we are human. And there certainly is no avoiding pain and suffering - it simply is part of life. The holidays are a time to focus on these things - not just run around worrying about what isn't getting done. Spending time not worrying about the lists and actually taking a few moments to be together - fight for that time (nicely) with your family and friends. And if you can, focus on what it feels like to simply

just appreciate that.

Oyster Roast at Folly Beach

Folly Island, along the Atlantic coast just east of Charleston, South Carolina, is dear to my heart. Several times I got away from chilly Indiana winters and took a sojourn here to meet up with a dear friend - an environmentalist, surfer woman, and champion of endangered sea turtles, among other things. Sara is a Fort Wayne native, a former employee of the Fort Wayne Children's Zoo, and she was employed with the South Carolina parks department in environmental education work at the time.

To fly from Fort Wayne International airport, it usually requires a connection into a city such as Cincinnati, but it's not all that far to the southern East Coast from Indiana. And fall is the time to do one of my favorite things in that area - take part in an oyster roast.

Folly is not a terribly large island - it was convenient for us to ride our bikes through town (beach cruisers of course) all the way to the county park at the beach. The oyster roast is set up at an open-air pavilion. Rough-hewn tables fashioned from large timbers stretched the length of the pavilion, three rows across. Large holes jig-sawed in the middle of these tables gave access to garbage cans positioned underneath.

People lined up standing at the tables as if they were bellying up to a bar. Men came carrying huge kettle drums steaming with roasted oysters. Two men on either side of the kettle dumped the steaming oysters in front of the people, who took knives and towels, and pried the oysters apart. They dipped piecesof oyster meat in fresh cocktail sauce and munched on crackers. Then they threw the empty shells through the holes in the center of the tables - saving spaces at the outside of the tables for people instead of trash cans. Mind you there are lots and lots of oyster shells flying -they add up.

We went through piles and piles of large grey local oysters (years before anyone had heard of a gulf oil spill) and we pried, and talked, and laughed like crazy. The whole community came out, young and old, and it was a great, wonderful smelling party.

To compliment the seafood were pots of chili, as part of a cooking contest. Crock pots, plastic cups and spoons tempted everyone to try. Shredded cheeses, sour cream, hot sauces, and oyster crackers stood by. After sampling chili and speaking to each dish's creator if one so chose, guests had the opportunity to vote for one's favorite. Winners' dishes made their way on to the menus of a couple of local restaurants.

I'm not going to be able to make a beach trip this fall. But for anyone with the time, it's well worth it. A campfire at an out-of-the-way beach makes for special memories. I promise it is something you'll never forget.

Sweet little brick country church

Out in the country, northwest of Fort Wayne, is the tiny village of Ege in Noble County. At one time near this little crossroad was a parish school, a pastor's rectory, a convent, general store, and perhaps a dozen houses. Now are the remains of the convent and school, and there is the lovely Catholic Church, The Immaculate Conception of the Blessed Virgin Mary.

I looked up the origin of the word 'ege,' and I found it to be an old English word meaning 'fear' and 'awe.' Perhaps sort of like 'awesome' is used today - but some of us tend to forget the 'fear' part. I think I was expecting it to be 'egg' in a different language, especially since this is in the middle of farm country. The little settlement was named for Francis Xavier Ege, a parish priest who was dearly loved for his good work in this area. As a surname, Ege is thought to have sprung from Seigbert, a German name. There are many people of German or Polish descent in this area.

The first church was built on this spot in 1863, and when a frame building used for the church burned down in 1921, the brick building used today was constructed. At the time in winter when the old building burned down, it smoldered slowly enough people were able to extract all the statues and other relics, and even the large organ was lowered down with ropes from the choir loft and saved.

There is a large, life-sized statue of the Virgin Mary in the church yard, and even though I am not Catholic, I like to go to this peaceful spot and see her - there never seems to be any one around, unless during the hours of church services, and the Virgin seems to keep watch over this site by herself. I like to walk up to this site silently and take in the presence of the mother of Christ depicted here - it's hard to see from the angle of this photo, but her hands are slightly outstretched and open, and I like to shyly take her hand and perhaps say a little prayer in her presence.

A nun who grew up here and attended the parish school as a child reported in her day, 80 children attended the parochial school. She wrote about marching around the sidewalks two by two after lunch, singing an old civil war song, "Marching through Georgia." She wrote down the words to the song, and it's listed on a website I found. She also wrote about other childhood games.

One of these was called "Pompey is dead and laid in the grave." In this game, one girl would lie in the pretty fall leaves before they were all tread upon and disintegrating. The others would cover here carefully with colorful leaves and join hands in a circle around her. They sang a song, (the verses are printed on this Ege remembrances page) - basically, Pompey is dead until an old woman comes around to gather falling apples, at which point Pompey jumps up from under the leaves and decks her with an apple. That certainly would be enough to give the old woman a heart attack. The 'buried' little girl, at this point in the song, jumps up from her leaf nest and chases the scattering girls, and tags one who then takes her place on the ground.

There are lots of old churches in the country in Indiana, and in all parts of all states around the nation. I'm not sure why this one moves me so, but I feel a magic around here, and statue Mary feels eerily alive. I am struck with quiet reverence when I am here, and find a great sense of peace. I am ready for peace to find our nation, and us all.

A Scorpion in my Bathroom

Autumn is a beautiful time in Indiana, and 2010 was a warm, glorious one. But once the tree colors have peaked, the leaves have been shed and the days turn colder, I often think about getting out of Indiana for a change, for warmth, to see something different.

I like to travel any time between late fall and spring, and if possible, I try to take several trips. Over the Veteran's Day weekend, I gathered up some of the family, and flew out of Fort Wayne International Airport to Phoenix, Arizona.

Fort Wayne has one of the country's nicest small airports. However, since it's not a very large hub, traveling far usually requires a connection through another city - few of its airlines have direct flights to the coasts, for example. The exception would be Allegiant Airlines - on this one, a person can fly directly from Fort Wayne to Orlando, Florida; or Tampa, Florida; or to Myrtle Beach, South Carolina.

Maybe this doesn't seem like a big deal, but the alternative is driving to a bigger airport such as the one in Indianapolis (about a three hour drive for me) or one in Chicago, Cleveland, or Cincinnati (also far). Add that drive time on to one's trip, plus the cost of parking the car, and I'll take paying a little more to fly out of Fort Wayne any day.

FWA is just plain nice anyway. It's one of the cleanest, friendliest airports you've ever been in. Although right now, the big issue here is the full body security scanner. I have to say I didn't think much about it - I just got in it like they told me to, stood with my legs apart on the footprints, and held my hands together, touching fingers in a diamond shape over my head. I'm just getting numb and used to this stuff, and I find myself to be very compliant in general (unless I feel threatened, at which time I kind of fire up like a red-headed Irish girl, watch out.) But I am very passive in airport security. I've taken to not even wearing a belt because I think there's enough of the whole strip-tease as it is.

On the news, people in Fort Wayne have been objecting to this scanner. Some people, such as pilots, feel that they are being radiated too much, since they travel frequently. Other people object to the detailed 3-D images of their bodies. They don't like these graphic images of their selves, perhaps specifically their 'private parts' being displayed on a screen for strangers. Ok-?

One guy was on the news because he refused the body scan, and the alternative was a physical pat-down by the security worker. After being told by the officer what to expect, the traveler told him "if you touch my 'junk,' I'll call the police." All I can think is - he must not have been too concerned about getting to where he was going. I never heard how this situation was resolved. Maybe they're still in limbo at the airport somewhere (in limbo - that's an interesting phrase).

We visited family in Phoenix, went to the Phoenix Zoo, and stayed at Tapatio Cliffs. It was a quick trip. One of the most fascinating things that happened to me, though, was a real surprise. I got up to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night the first night we were there - barefoot, very sleepy, turned on the bathroom light, and there was something silently scooting over the tiles at the joint where the floors met the walls. I didn't have my glasses on, and I squinted close to see it. A big silverfish bug, or a centipede, perhaps? No - my sleepy brain was registering what it had to be. A scorpion - a real scorpion, just like in the zodiac sign. I had never seen one before, except in a photo.

I was fascinated. Was this real? Yes it was. It was orangish, 2-3 inches long. Tiny, I thought (big, I was told later). Looking it up on the Internet later, it was probably an Arizona Bark Scorpion (poisonous, requiring medical treatment if I had been stung) or less likely, a stripe-tailed scorpion (also poisonous). I would have liked to have released it outside. No, it was dark out, and I wouldn't have been able to get very far from the hotel with the steep cliff side. I think people smash them, but I would have had to leave the bathroom for a shoe or something and I wasn't sure where the scorpion would be upon my return. I decided my choice was to scoop it up in some toilet paper and flush it. Not a lot of fussing around about it - one big, loosely gripped scooping motion and into the toilet. Which I did, trying not to squeeze the paper. For some reason, I felt terrible watching it swirl around and disappear down the sewer system - giant, bad me, destroying this small creature that had done nothing to harm me. But I had children sleeping nearby, and that's what momma bear has do to sometimes.

Mother scorpions give birth to live, whitish young, which climb on her back and go for a ride until they mature. This guy was on his own. Had I been bitten, I could have experienced severe pain, numbness and frothing at the mouth, possible respiratory paralysis, twitching and convulsions. (according to a website) Really? From that little thing? It's probably good I didn't know that at the time. Also, supposedly they want to be under things like sleeping bags and climb into shoes. We didn't see another one on the trip, but everybody switched on lights and looked around carefully if they rose at night after that. I kept looking around during the day, also. It was interesting to me how we instinctively see them as alarming - the waving little claw pinchers, the arched, dagger-like tail - what a beautiful danger. There's excitement in the bad boys. Just try to end up with the good boys and girls, so you don't get stung.

Responsible cat adoption

PetSmart is a pet store chain that has a 'perks' card - and the last time I used it, it gave me a few dollars off some pet food I was buying. It's good for coupons and other credits.

I enjoy seeing the different pets in the store - the fish, the guinea pigs and gerbils, the reptiles. What I found most poignant today was behind plexiglass, down along one wall of the store, playing, chilling, and not making much noise - the cats.

I'm not interested in owning a cat - at least not right now. But I respect good cat owners, and know the cats bring value to their humans' lives. Profiles about these cats up for adoption are posted near the cages. One cat's description said its mother was rescued when she was pregnant with it and six litter mates. So - this cat has never had that one, single owner of its own.

PetSmart is featuring adoptions from Perfect Paws Pet Rescue organization - this requires an $80 adoption fee. This covers testing, worming, vaccinations, and spaying or neutering.

Basically, you complete the application to adopt, and they get back to you. There is also a 24-hour minimum wait period, (maybe call it a cooling-off time) before the cat is sent home.

One thing I found useful on the form is that it helps to remind the applicant of some of the things a pet owner has to spend money on: food, grooming, licensing, medical care, etc. There are some other ways the form helps prospective owners become mentally and physically prepared to be pet owners, and that's a good thing. It's a responsibility to not be taken lightly.

Remember to keep your cat indoors, or on a lease, so it doesn't kill those beautiful songbirds. All good creatures, great and small...

Running again, slowly

Walking or running is a wonderful thing to do this time of year with all the clear fall days, and temperatures in the mid-60s. The trees have been beautiful here this year. Although it's been a dry late summer/fall, lots of colors have hit the tree lines and the urban and rural landscaping. These views make outdoor running and walking extra pleasant and dramatic.

The trees in the photo to the right are at Metea Park in northern Allen County. This area, near Leo-Cedarville, is a great area to walk, run, and take a look at autumn's effect on the trees and shrubs.

After the excellent work done by the Northeast Foot & Ankle Clinic to help fit me with custom orthotics for my shoes, I am able to slowly run again. The orthotics are comfortable; I have been able to leave them in my shoes almost all the time. It felt a little awkward at first trying to run in them, placed under the liners of my new running shoes. It felt as though my feet were up in the starter's blocks for track and field. It was weird for me to feel as though the blocks were still connected after take-off. I could tell my whole stance and posture was better aligned, but my muscles would have to be retrained in that position, and it was uncomfortable at first as my muscles worked anew.

It felt strange, but nothing hurt, and I'm happy because after running about a mile twice over the weekend, I don't seem to have any blisters or other issues. I think this is going to work fine. I just have to make myself use shoes that complement the inserts. I need to say 'goodbye' to certain high heels, sandals, and some others - a sacrifice I think I can make.

Northeast Foot and Ankle is conveniently located on Dupont Road, adjacent to the day surgery entrance at Dupont Hospital. This is close to the I-69 exit, and there's plenty of parking. The physician, Dr. Michael Worpell, has a great 'bedside manner' and is an excellent educator. He taught me a lot about foot mechanics; I felt like I was learning about bi-pedal locomotion from a good college professor/lecturer. He also has a nice sense of humor - you've got to appreciate it.

I'll be cautious, but I'm optimistic about my rehabilitation of my Plantar Fascitiis and my ability to run and hike again. It's happening already - I just need to not overdo it, and stay away from uneven ground, at least for now. The shoes from Three Rivers Running Company and the orthotics seem to be working well. The doctor said he would adjust the orthotics if need be - a grind-off here, a shim added there, whatever to help with function and comfort. So far, I haven't noticed that any of that will be needed. I'll be back to blogging about some different activities!

Shoes from Three Rivers Running Company

It was time for running shoe shopping. I also love to hike. California, southern Illinois, parks around Fort Wayne - any where I can. One place that always pulls me back is Colorado - the photo to the right was taken on a mountain road, near a good place to hike.

I finally received my custom-made orthotics for my shoes from my podiatrist. I had to wait nearly a month after my feet were cast in plaster for them, to treat my Plantar Fasciitis that had stopped my running and water skiing by late summer. This is a torn ligament in the band attached to the foot's heel. I am really happy with new new hi-tech shoe inserts, and immediately felt like I was standing up straighter, with more support. I am leaving them in my shoes all the time, and I can feel them up under the arches under my feet.






With a steroid shot in my foot, by the next day I was ready to shop for new running shoes to get off to the right start with these inserts. All along I had planned to go to the Three Rivers Running company on North Clinton in Fort Wayne. I took my new inserts and went inside - parking is very convenient. I think I've bought running shoes in the mall in Ft. Wayne in the past, but there is no other running specialty store like Three Rivers.







After discussing my situation with the salesman, he helped me put the inserts in a pair of New Balance - my preferred brand from in the past. He then videotaped my feet and legs as I ran on a treadmill to do a gait analysis - the doctor had said I was pronating (to me it's like caving inward). Does a person roll inward or outward on one's feet? How can it be centered? People, experts, know about these things.







The orthotics felt good in the shoes, although I was a little nervous about running for the first time in two or three months. The salesman then had me try on another brand that worked well with my running form - another high end, name brand shoe. I ran in them in the Orthotics as well. I felt the heel cage was a little wider, and decided I preferred the fit of the New Balances, which I bought.







The store is comfortable - there were other staff and customers who knew each other and chatted about local races and training. Fort Wayne's running and fitness community has expanded over the last couple of decades - this store has been open since 2004. They had a lot of good looking running clothes, things for women, and triathletes. I'm talking about wet suits and even snorkels. And one customer was buying the snacks - Power Bars, Gu, that kind of stuff.







A table displayed with fliers had the latest news about upcoming walks, races, and community events for people into running and fitness. It looks like you could hang out and talk about running and find groups with whom to train. Good deal.







I got my shoes, and tomorrow I'll go out and try and run in them. It's exciting - I love running, not racing, but to each his own. I like the breathing, hearing the quiet nature sounds, the rhythm - I walk, I run, I don't stress about it. But I gave it up after the severe heel pain of the initial PF - which I especially felt first thing in the morning. I have been wearing a calf/heel brace some, usually while sleeping, to stretch the ligament. So I look forward to running, and then gradually, hiking, when I'm fully recovered. I can't wait.

A Poem for October

October's ancient infinity


beautiful autumn morning


bluebirds dip in formation
alight on a basketball goal.

Red stemmed prairie grass
grains brown and gold on top
stands at attention
silent sentinel.




Fox grass flirts,
curling its pretty tail.



Birds sing, sprinklers spin,
noises of woodpeckers, combines
boys
birds balancing on Blue stem crowns
a lone cosmos
defiantly shrieks it too, belongs.



'Inside,' even with its malt pancakes
is not the 'in' place to be.



Lines of brush-painted trees
rise above the fields
- a camera is needed



As the great one said, the earth is burning, burning
How about some joyful, brilliant burning
Even the old buildings and barns look beautiful
with their fiery frames of trees.

written 10-10-10 SLG

Fall Colors and Belgian Plow Horses

Autumn is in full swing - it's been dry here, but our trees are nearly glowing with color right now. The maples, and the burning bush as it's called, and sumac - and, the redbuds are yellow. My favorite light to view or photograph the trees is in the morning; at noon, the sunlight shoots straight down and the color is washed out. I suppose our afternoons have been somewhat less clear. Otherwise, the fall colors aren't bad in the afternoons - that light is almost as good as early light for highlighting colors.

The Amish go about their regular work - milking the cows and tending to the animals, going off to their jobs in construction and cabinet making. The women cook, pack lunches for the children, send them off to their segregated Amish schools, do the laundry and garden work, and care for big families. All dressed in their 'plain clothes' - their uniforms, which mean for the women no warm pants (they're in skirts) riding to town in horse-drawn buggies in the wintertime. It's quite a contrast to our way of life. Parallel society?

Prejudice and judgement works both ways. As there are 'English' folk who would call them backward, or hypocritical when they use cell phones and power tools, Amish have their judgements about the rest of us. We are in comparison unfocused, fixated on the superficial and discretionary, vain, greedy, badly dressed, unfaithful. We are lazy, undisciplined. Or so may they discuss amongst them

selves when they look at us. Chew on that.

But back to horses, as I said in my last blog. The previous post mentioned the beautiful draft horses that work in the fields - it's something about the Amish people I enjoy. These horses are dun, or palomino-colored. Blonde, like the Swedes they are, no?

There are also sorrels and chestnuts. These are colors of horses, and it's fun to read the descriptions used for the equine - not only colors but markings, for example. Written on horses' documents are words such as star, stripe, strip, and blaze - notations for facial white hair marks. Nowadays, a horse's papers sport a graphic image of the individual with the marks delineated. This used to be rendered on the paper by hand, accompanied by the word description.

I thought of this while reading about Amish horses for sale online, which have plenty of 'socks' and 'stockings' (white hair) on their legs, and descriptions such as flaxen and dappled. Amish horses go for several hundred dollars into the thousands - seems about like any other horses out there. Not that I'm in the market. As for you, why not drive through northern Indiana in early October, and look at the autumn colors and flaxen-maned horses yourself. Thanks for reading.

A Word on the Amish in Indiana

In the United States, there may be 250,000 Amish and Old Order Mennonites, in states such as Ohio, Indiana, and Pennsylvania. When I drive to Grabill, Indiana, where their farms begin and continue over to the Ohio line and beyond, I pass these farms lacking the normal strings of power lines staked to their houses. For work, some may have generators or electricity in their barns. Many of the farms near me have miniature horses and buggy-driving trotters, but this photo is of some of my favorite draft horses used for farming.

Drive through Indiana and you will see teams harnessed and pulling machinery through the fields, driven by an Amish person standing on the equipment behind. Some of the bigger teams may be six or even eight horses wide. It's quite a site, and it's not uncommon to pass one field with a million-dollar, computer-rigged John Deere cultivating or combining, while a Amish man is hand-reining a large team in the next acre plot.

Local church rules apply to the members, who follow a religious commitment and a 'simple life.' These ethnic groups, descended from Anabaptists fleeing persecution in Germany and Switzerland, settled in the U.S. in the 1700s. They follow their church (ordnung) government and fly under the radar sweeping over the rest of us 'regular' - English, to them - folks.

They don't often attend formal schooling past the eighth grade, they take no 'graven images' or photographs of themselves, and no posing for pictures. Yes, they are Christians.

Whether or not their horse-propelled farming is more 'green' is debatable - The New York Times ran an article in June, '10, that Amish country in Lancaster, Pennsylvania produced 61 million pounds of manure in 2007 - causing widespread problems in the Chesapeake Bay. The Amish are also resistant about participating in government programs, such as EPA grants and studies. This may be improving, but it's a concern because we also live on watersheds in Indiana as well.

I enjoy driving past the draft horses, some as much as 17 or even 18 hands tall - several feet taller than your average riding horse. I don't feel bad about talking the horses' pictures, but I respect the Amish and don't photograph them. Although they aren't really surfing on the Internet, anyway, to see. The draft horses may be Percherons, or Belgians, or Haflingers - but more about the horses in my next post. That's all for now.

A Letter in the Mail

I am typing this entry on an iPad for the first time. This is amazing -I am not even using a traditional keyboard; the touch screen turns into a keyboard pad and I am touching the images on the screen as if typing.

There is no turning back - we must embrace change and welcome new technology. I am actually kind of enjoying this, and I really don't know much yet about what else the iPad can do - I'll be working on that later. I like how I don't have to engage these virtual keys quite as mechanically - remember the old manual typewriters and how you had too really push down to get them to leave a nice print mark on the paper? Somehow it doesn't even seem like that long ago. It mattered in those dreaded, timed typing tests in high school. The best typist I knew at the time was the lovely and talented Julie Bolerjack, who was an amazing piano player and could smoke us all and leave us in the dust, typing in Miss Harre-Blair's class.

Yet I digress. What I wanted to write about today was - not to forget to send letters in the old-fashioned mail, as long as we can. I wonder how many years the traditional postal mail will be in existence. It's still really good to get a handwritten letter; some folks, such as people in the service and those shut in or without easy access to computers, really appreciate it.

Someone sent me actual photo prints in the mail last week, and it was wonderful - with all the digital photography these days, I have a lot fewer snapshots to hold and pass around. This has really changed in my lifetime, from having lots of photo albums and scrapbooks, to most of the stuff in the last ten years or so being digital images on computers or viewed on a digital table frame. It's an interesting time - what's next, our photos will be holographic images projected in front of us? It makes you wonder.

I mailed a birthday and an anniversary card this week - somehow, it's just not as fun to receive one of those as an e:mail or digitally. I wonder if someday kids will be taught very little handwriting in school - just keyboarding, or maybe they will just think about what they have to say and it will pop up on the screen or whatever. I am not a scientist but working on this iPad is making me think like one. I think this thing might be a keeper. There won't be getting food bits stuck between the plastic keys. Boy, the old Dell keyboard looks germy (should say, is). I like how it would be possible to write in the dark with the iPad. It would be hard to read it in the sun, however, as shown on the Kindle commercial.

Fall is beginning, and a couple of squirrels were having a fight in the black walnut tree this week. One fell off a limb, fell about 30 feet nearly to the ground, sprang up, and zipped right back up the tree to start fighting again, but that's a story for another day. See you later, and I hope you have a great one. And send that old friend that letter.

King Bluestem

Technology is moving so fast, it's hard to keep up with it all. The computers get viruses when I don't buy the latest security software, I receive notices that I've been infiltrated by pirates and spyware, malicious viruses - it's all meant to alarm and scare me. There's no going back to simpler times, when the landscape was dominated by the beautiful tall grasses.

The largest grass of all is Big Bluestem - the alpha of the prairie grasses. The roots dive down as far as the grass is tall. Buffalo roamed through it, as it worked the earth and made the rich topsoil on which our farm country depends. We have planted Big Bluestem, and it has thrived in the reclaimed farm ground. It loves a cycle of fire. We burn it off every few years - it keeps volunteer trees from popping up through it and compromising it. This poem, which I wrote over the weekend, is a salute to the prairie grass. This poem didn't channel itself easily - I had to struggle with it and rewrite to get it out. Here it is.

King Bluestem

Out of the framed picture I walk, into my yard.

What is the color of this blue sky? Not turquoise, not the hue of a robin's egg - is it azure?

I don't know, and I haven't seen the shades of the Caribbean bays.

The clouds are tinged with pink. Distant trees frame the scene.

Closer, the prairie grass, invisible earlier at the height of summer, has come into its day and mounted its throne.

So alive - green lower stems,

blood red at mid-stalk joint,

green again,

and red again at its highest stem.

There is red and gold along the top stems

A feathery scythe in the wind

A stalk, a hundred, a thousand stalks reach with the wind

longing to fly. Waves of grass

giving life to the wind.

The sea of grass whispers, but uses no words.

It's dry water, taller than I.

Blood rises in the stalks, reaching to the ends,

to the grains - rich yellow grains,

and some nearly purple.

Dancing tall grass

purple stripes on the leaves

I walk down the drive

and to me, the grass bows.

-SLG

Way before the TV show "How I met your Mother"

This is not a Fort Wayne story, but it's a Midwestern story, and a love story. It was handwritten by a life-long friend of my father. Dad flew B-29s in the late 1940s, and a man named Elden was at one time his cockpit navigator and dear friend.

Years later, Elden wrote down a story and sent it to my father. Recently, it made its way into my hands. I enjoyed it so much I wanted to share it. Apparently, at a rehearsal dinner for my brother's wedding, people took turns around the room telling stories about how they had met their spouses. Elden didn't tell this story then; he mumbled something about having met through friends. He explained to my father later he was kind of embarrassed. It bothered him for a long time he hadn't told my dad the truth. He realized later he wanted to go ahead and share it. Hence the letter, which I will paraphrase a little. It's a story set in the Chicago area during wartime.

......Well, it was 1942 and the big war had started and factories were called "defense plants" and I was on the night shift, making lots of money working seven nights a week and couldn't find time to spend it. A friend and I stopped downtown after work for a game of pool and a beer. The pool hall was dark and smoky and loud, not really my cup of tea. A boy brought our beers and took our money for a game of pool, and then I saw he wasn't a boy - she was a girl.

Well, she turned on the light and racked up the balls and we played a game. Charley won and wanted to play again. I had to pay for two more beers and another game, because I lost. I smiled at the girl when she leaned over to rack the balls - girls didn't wear jeans like they do now, and her skirt didn't exactly drag the ground - she smiled back.

That game, Charley lost, and he wanted to go home but I said let's play one more and don't worry about the quarter - I'd pay it because I was working seven nights a week, I needed to relax and Charley was good company. You can guess why else I wanted to stay. I asked her name when she collected the money and racked the balls, and we got to talking- out table was about they only one still going.

I got in the habit of playing pool and we got to going out some. One Sunday morning after the tables were closed and we were on the bus going home, I said, "How about if I go home and clean up and we'll go to church?" She said she didn't have a church and I said that was ok because I didn't either, but we'd find one.

What I really wanted to do was sort of check her out in a different atmosphere because I was starting to get kind of serious.

We met and went to a big Catholic church that was close. I made sure we got there really early so we could get a seat in the back - I remembered that much from going to church as a kid. We got a seat right on the aisle and the church filled up, and it started. They had a good choir and I was watching it, and I singled out this one girl right up front. She looked just like an angel in that big robe and all - I couldn't take my eyes off her. I didn't hear much of the preaching or anything - anyway back then it was all in Latin. When it was over, I just sat there. My girl got up and left.

When this vision finally appeared in her regular clothes, she started to walk past me. I reached out and touched her hand.

That's how I met Mary.

-Elden Madden, about 1985.

Need for Inspiration

I have been feeling uninspired. It's a hard thing for me to admit. I think the best thing for me to do is go back and find a poem I had written, but haven't previously published. This poem isn't dated, but I believe I wrote it about 1995.

Radiant Dawn

What kind of dawn is this

to loom before the day, so bold?

Pink colors lure me from my bed

to greet the earth and sky, transcendent

A growing, living glow burst from blueness

becomes a scarlet ribbon on heaven's throat

A swirling comet motionless in space

A crevasse of fire in the sky.

Living dawn so wondrous and magical

that life returns to earth and heart

A day beginning as a smoky, golden tendril

orange and peach as no fruit ever is.

Most will miss it, but those who view

know all is well, that there is hope

a private dawn under the sun.

Where nothing is ever new

something is - this radiant dawn

that makes this day, mine.

-SLG

Dog Safety

Schools and hospitals hold 'safety days' to teach kids about various aspects of safety - with bicycles, fire, stranger danger, etc. Over the years, most of us have come to expect this. But, I will say I was surprised and sobered when one of my children returned home after the latest school inservice - this one had a big component about animal safety, and a large part of this was about how not to get bitten by dogs.

There is something so troubling and saddening when a child is bitten by some one's pet. It's basically the fault of the animal's owner - and if the dog hasn't been socialized well enough, or trained, it makes me think perhaps pet ownership is a privilege given too lightly. But there it is, and pets have been promoted to equal status of human family members. Maybe not in all cases, but more people, it seems to me, are willing to let their dogs go anywhere and get away with anything.

The problem with pets biting people is so widespread, our school distributed a four-page handout regarding it - how to prevent attacks and what to do if it occurs. Here's some important tips to teach kids:

1. If you see a dog running loose, leave it alone. Or call your local animal control department.

2. Ask permission before petting some one's dog or cat. And those of you with dogs that have to be watched, or they'll snip at or bite someone - why do you still have that dog? Is it worth it?

3. Be 'still like a tree' if a dog you don't know comes up to you.

4. If the dog knocks you over, roll into a ball and stay 'still like a log.'

5. Never run from, or scream around, a dog.

6. I've seen more detailed instructions, such as - if it's biting you, cover your face and ears the best you can with your arms. Ok, I understand the need to give tornado and fire drill information to kids. But have we lost this much control over a sane society that kids have to negotiate the streets with dangerous dogs? Help me out here, people. This is just not right.

There is something in this handout I like very much. It's entitled "What's he saying?" and it's an explanation of dogs' body language with pictures. It goes into detail - the first one is "Teeth are bared, lips are curled back, dog may be snarling or growling, body is fluffed out with hair to look bigger than it is", etc. Obviously, this dog is angry. But I like the idea of going through the detail with kids, who would like to disregard their logical thought and go with, 'forget all that, I'll make him like me and want to play with me.' A lot of us like to think we have some personal magic power in which we can win over many types of animals, but the truth is, we are deluding ourselves. The truth is, animals are unpredictable (as we are) and animals can, and will, bite. It happens. It sends people to emergency rooms all the time.

This picture display also shows frightened dogs (ears tucked low and back, tail tucked under, dog is crouching or shaking). And finally, happy, playful, excited dogs. Sorry, this is still no guarantee that you won't get bitten. Situations change, and chaos happens.

Sometimes kids get bitten when they are playing with a dog's food. Oh, they are just trying to connect with the dog, maybe grab a piece of food to try and hand feed it - but dogs instinctively protect things, including their food, territory and masters, and may suddenly bite if you place your hand too near the food bowl. Kids have to be taught this stuff; they simply don't have the experience to know better.

Dogs and other pets enrich our lives. I don't want that to change. I just have intimate knowledge of a child who was meeting a shelter dog that was up for adoption, and the child was bitten in the face. She had to have stitches in the emergency room. So please, be vigilant. And help me help others work on this problem. I don't have all the answers. I just want people to be responsible, and keep their wits about them.

Casa Ristoranti Italiano

If I had the pleasure of taking out-of-town visitors out to eat, and I didn't know what foods they enjoyed, I would take them to one of the four Casa Italian restaurants. A long-standing Fort Wayne family owns and runs these restaurants, and their businesses are classic traditions in this city.

The food is wonderful, and consistent. You always know what you are getting when you go to a Casa's. The restaurants (at least the two I've been in recently) are warmly good-looking - Italian title and colorful, locally produced artwork. Large watercolor and oil murals and paintings of Italian coastal scenes are well done.

And the food is tremendous. This last time around I ordered the Linguine Tutto Mare - a pasta dish with shrimp, crab meat, mussels and clams, mushrooms and a butter sauce. To me, it's also a pretty dish - mussel shells, the orange of the shrimp - different elements to look at, colors and shapes. Pleasing to the eye.

My friend ordered the breaded fillet of sole, and I tried it - fantastic. Perfectly cooked fish, crunchy on the outside, and light breading. This comes with pasta on the side and a cream or marinara sauce. My friends like their lasagna, and I think you absolutely can't beat the spaghetti and meatball - it's one large meatball. Better that what mom used to make. And most moms' homemade spaghetti is pretty darn good.

Prices are very reasonable here. Most daily lunch specials are around $7 and come with the famous Casa salad. The salad is so good it's a famous local staple in Fort Wayne - They had to start bottling and selling their own Italian salad dressing because it was so much in demand. You can also place orders for whole pans of their dishes - lasagna, ravioli, antipasto, you name it. These large carry-out pans serve 20 guests. Totally forget Olive Garden or chains like that; I'm sorry, it just won't do once you've been to Casa's. They totally have the secret, whatever the secret is. Trust me on that.

Bread at the table, and desserts - another specialty. Today I try their Torta Di Mandola, made with amaretto lady fingers, layers of mascarpone cream, crushed amarettini cookies and toasted almonds. The texture is almost too soft and creamy to be cake. It's melt-in-the-mouth wonderful.

What's also nice is this local family has given so much back to the community in local fund-raising events over the years - they get their hands (and food) in all kinds of local charities. I see they have a site at http://www.casarestaurants.net/ if you want to check out their menu. Ciao, baby!

Sculling on the St. Joe River

For about twenty years, we've owned a rowing shell, or scull. Sculling really means rowing with an oar in each hand - sweeping is what's done when the rower has both hands on one oar, on one side of the boat.

My husband's Danish grandfather brought this tradition with him from Denmark, and as an old man rowed in Michigan. He taught his grandson and I when we were in our twenties. Our rowing shell is a Pro AM 25, made by the Little River Marine Company. It's very lightweight, complete with the sliding seat (on wheels) and outriggers.

I went rowing on the St. Joseph River in Leo last night. It is a joy to row. I have canoed and done a little kayaking, but we don't live near an ocean or a fast river, so sculling is a great choice considering the conditions we have here. A river also can't be too narrow for the long oars extended fully to the sides - it reminds me of a big water-bug.

It can be quite tipsy, like balancing on a bike - but eventually with time on the water, a rower gets in touch with the feeling and has the control to keep from tipping over. When the confidence comes, you relax, you don't think about it any longer and the technique starts to get better. You learn what to do. The oars can't come in alongside the boat - you'll roll like a porpoise. You keep your body still, hands together, and the oars straight out at a right angle to the boat.

I won't lie to you - there is a lot of technique involved, and a good chance you'll roll over learning, so wear a life jacket. Plus, it's rowing yourself backwards, so you'll need a rear-view mirror and the ability to glance behind you when necessary. This is going to mess with your balance in the beginning. But when you get it, the strokes are so economical, you pull on the oars and push with your legs, the sliding seat glides back, you're right over the top of the water, skimming the surface - it's very quiet - there's nothing quite like it. Ok - maybe you've rowed on a machine in the gym.

The body must be very quiet - it's all in the arms and hands. You learn to feel the touch of the water through your hands and through the sensitive, thin wooden oars. Techniques vary, but when I do my recovery or return of my stroke, I like to leave the oars feathered, or parallel to the water, lightly touching the surface of it to get the feel of the ripple on top of the water for balance. Racers completely remove the contact with the water and turn the oar mid-stroke so it's upright or perpendicular, to be ready to cup or catch the water at time of entry.

Water with lots of fast boat traffic is not going to be ideal for rowing. It's not really suited for waves. This river, where one sees the occasional bass, ski, or pontoon boat, is usually quiet. Motorized and non-motored boats can co-exist; boaters just need to remember the non-motorized have the right-of-way.

Rowing makes for great nature watching, being both quick and quiet. If you need to adjust mirror, or sunglasses, or something, you can stop rowing and hold both oars in one hand, keeping them parallel - just never totally let go of the oars or you will flip. This is not a row boat.

Because the oars slightly overlap at the hands, one hand is actually over the top of the other when the oars are pulled into the body. I am left-over-right, even though I am right-handed. I won't go into an explanation of brain-side dominance, but people differ in that way, and I can't really explain why I slalom with the right leg in front but wake board left front, but I do. I could use a better scientist for this discussion.

We do single-man rowing because that's the type of boat we bought, but it's nice to have a partner help you set up the boat with its oars in the outriggers, and steady it while you cast off. And help you get back out of it, and know where you are on the river. Interestingly, the physics of sculling turns out to be quite faster than single-side sweeping, and boat speed increases with crew size. So all those multi-crew guys and gals are going 'way faster than me. That must feel amazing - like they're flying. It is a good workout. Not for everybody, I realize - I just wanted to share with you how much we enjoy it. Thank you, Grandpa Emil.

Grabill Country Sales

I'm back in Grabill again, and it's the cinnamon rolls that got me there. Now, I'm sure I like sweets as much as the next person. But I'm not a kid anymore, so I try to say "no" as much as I can to all the extra sugar and calories. A lot of the cinnamon rolls you buy at the grocery store are pretty 'ho hum'. As in, maybe they're not even worth it.

But there are cinnamon rolls made by the Amish folk at this new store in Grabill for which you will return. They have the regularly iced rolls, and they also have ones with a rich, brown, carmel-y icing that's different, and delectable. You simply must have these sometime. I have to fight the urge to drive to this store in the morning (just kidding), and I've always been more of a chocolate person. Simple ingredients, fresh, perfect.

They sell deli meats and cheeses, other baked items such as cakes and pies, and also prepare several dishes for a hot lunch. What I can recommend today is a chicken salad I picked up - freshly made and mouth-watering. Theirs contains chicken, onions, celery, peas, eggs, relish and the slightest bit of mayo. I toasted some wheat bread and made a sandwich. Tastier and cheaper than fast food - and still cheating a bit in the preparation. I'm not ashamed I didn't make it myself - I'll go with their batch!

This is an eclectic store with greeting cards, party-ware, all the variety of soda pop and chips you could imagine, and candy. The Amish folk, perhaps not having lots of other vices such as televisions, computers, and I-pods, dearly love their candy and sweets. It's totally part of their culture, and very important to them. Everyone seems to have a favorite type of candy, and the Amish will stock up in bulk, be it gummy bears, sugar wafers or sandwich cookies. The Amish aren't apologetic about breaking out the treats after get-togethers, meals and any occasion. In this store glass jars are filled with all these varieties, and any baking supplies as well - no matter how obscure. The Amish seem to believe part of home and love and family, is baking. And they are passionate about it, and share with one another and the store clerks what's cooking at home today.

Now, don't think me a gossip, but the Amish work hard - and aren't always clean in the way you and I (called English) would expect in ourselves. They can tend to be - forgive me - smelly. I get it, the guy looks like he's been out in the field behind the horses all morning, and the woman looks like she's been canning green beans all morning. Well, she has; she's buying more canning salts. A trip to a shower first just hasn't happened. Oh right, they probably don't have a shower - unless it's gravity operated. You also don't see "no shirt, no shoes, no service" signs. In the summertime, small Amish children go barefoot, and you see them this way all the time in stores. In contrast, we English are conditioned to struggle with our little children to get those shoes on.

They also like to send their men off to work with packed lunches, and I've noticed white sandwich bread and soda pop seem to be staples in their grocery carts. Sort of takes me back to grocery shopping as child in the seventies. Kind of pop/comfort food. C'mon, no home baked bread for every day? How disappointing.

And then, for this shopping trip - the bulk coffee. Whole beans - grind them yourself in the store. So many varieties to choose from - I go with a classic bold Colombian, and it smells heavenly while the beans are grinding - it kind of sends off an olfactory/adrenalin rush. Mmm, the smell of those fresh ground beans is almost better than the taste of the coffee itself. I have never been so excited to brew a cup of coffee. I love Starbucks coffee French Roast, but I don't choose the French roast in this store because they warn it's great for espresso or cappachino - and I don't want a hint of bitterness. We'll see - I'll have to sample some of theirs brewed next time.

Time for me to get out of this store before I buy something I regret. I think next time, I'm going to have to write about buying exercise shoes.

Random Things I Like about Indiana

The redbud trees haven't been pink (like they are in the photo) since spring. Now they are fully greened out with their heart-shaped leaves, which will soon be yellow for fall. Seed pods hang on them heavily. The late summer weather is gorgeous, spectacular. Some of the other things I like about Indiana this time of year are:

Petrified Frogs. Have you ever seen a thoroughly dried-up dead frog around a lake house shed or garage? If you have, in say, Indiana or Illinois, then I would consider you a true laker. For those of you who have not, it looks like a little frog skeleton, and the smaller the frog, the thinner the dried skin on it - they're completely dried out and charming. Most are frozen in typical frog-squat posture, but sometimes I've found them one leg outstretched and the other bent to knee, so to say. Or other variations - and I had collected these in childhood. Perhaps they hop in garage doors left open, and become trapped, and dehydrate. Now the frogs we've been finding recently are larger species - not something I want to squirrel away in my closet. But if anybody wants to lose a bet around my house, they may be challenged to chew up and swallow the dried frog.

County Road 68, northern Allen County. It goes without saying, but if the conditions are horrific, such as the congestion and smog that's part of commuting in Los Angeles, then the driving is no fun. But when one is driving on a beautiful country road, through farm fields, stands of tall trees, past horses and cows and lovely clouds, then the drive is just heaven. There is an east-west road in northern Allen County Indiana that you share with the occasional farm vehicle or motorcycle, but usually it's just you and the road, rising and falling, sighting the occasional deer. Or frog, or turtle, or woolly caterpillar, or raccoon family. Definitely watch out for the deer. You'll see me there, driving in my dreams.

You pass people tending their flowers. Fountains aerating country ponds. Walkers so in 'the zone' they don't bother to edge much over down the road. It's all peaceful and serene, a time for confiding and chatting in the car, or simply listening to the radio in silence. Sometimes sunsets or sunrises, then sunglasses and visors needed. Brilliant colors, trees showing the back of their leaves in a breeze. To be an American, and have one's own car to zip down the road - what great expression of freedom, what luxury.

West Central Neighborhood Home Tours. Fort Wayne's arts community is drawn to this downtown area with its historic homes. Many of the hundred-plus year old homes have been renovated over the years, and people have outdoor parties in their gardens. Some 2000 attend and walk through the homes featured on the tour. Tickets are $12 in advance and the hours are 11 - 5 Sat. and Sun. Check out the houses featured this year and the other events scheduled at www.westcentralneighborhood.org.

The Grabill Country Fair. This is a hokey event, but I will say the kids get a chance to decorate a float and ride in a parade, and somehow that right there is really a big deal. You see one crazy slice of life in these small town parades. It kind of leaves me speechless. You'll just have to go see for yourself at 10 a.m., Saturday morning, September 11, 2010 - Patriot Day. Lots of booths with junk for sale and junk food Friday night and Saturday. Watch out for yellow jackets going after sugar. In amish Grabill, Indiana.

That's enough for today. See you on the flip side. And the more that I think about it, breakfast in Grabill might not be that bad.

The Kruse Automotive and Carriage Museum

Some of my nephews were great comic book fans and collectors in their youths. I was not into superheros particularly, but I was always somewhat of fan of the Batman franchise. I remember watching episodes of Batman on television after school growing up - Adam West as Batman, and Burt Ward as Robin.

I saw the movies in theatres over the years; a ho-hum Michael Keaton among others as Batman, and a wonderful Jack Nicholson as the joker - but for me, the all-time greatest performance by an actor in a Batman movie was Heath Ledger's joker in The Dark Night.

I have heard people say, knowing about his unfortunate death after this movie, that his performance is hard to watch. I have still only seen it once. But I love Heath Ledger, and what he has crafted here - his broken character LOVES Batman in a way no Joker before has, and it's oddly and viscerally beautiful. Ledger is so powerful and magical here physically - it's mesmerizing to watch - his is electric, alive. I can't take my eyes off of him. He does horrific deeds, yet I find him oddly attractive in full face make-up and a nurse's uniform, of all things. What's up with that?

So I enjoyed seeing the movie memorabilia at the Kruse Automotive and Carriage Museum - adjacent to the other museums (kind of a compound) in Auburn, Indiana. There are presidential cars and old wooden carriages the 'Prezes' rode in. There are some racing vehicles and hot rods. I didn't have a lot of time to spend here, and I'd like to go back - there's a lot to see. There are celebrity cars (Elvis', for example), and multi -media displays to go along with them.

There's also a Barnum & Bailey Circus Display

with lots of old wooden circus wagons and things, beautifully painted - there is quite a variety of stuff in here. One thing I like about these museums, is they are very convenient to get to, and parking is easy. It certainly wasn't crowded at all when we were here.

Just allow more time than I did to go to Auburn and stroll through this and the military history museum. Allowing a whole day would be fine. There are vending machines and gift shops, but I'm not sure about lunch here - should have checked that out. Too bad I didn't see a Catwoman, either.

Safe Arrival

Dear Synchro,

I'm glad to have received 'word' you are safely stationed in that land far away. You and your comrades work so diligently for the safety of the rest of us - the sacrifices that you make, the rest of us seem to take so lightly. You're confined at the end of your long work day, while we in the United States can play in our own yards, travel around and do as we please.

So I just have to say I admire you - always have - your discipline, your seriousness, your honesty and sincerity. It makes me proud to be an American, and gives me hope. Sometimes it seems like a lot of things in the world are screwed up, but with people like you 'keeping it real,' I think we're in good hands. Keep inspiring me, because it's harder to take the lazy way out knowing someone like you is out there busting her back in unpleasant, crowded, foreign conditions every day.

I think we have spent more time corresponding from a distance over the years, by now, than we were ever able to spend time together. That's an interesting thing in itself - it takes a certain commitment, but it's felt so worthwhile, the time has been no factor. We were so young when we were in the same town - but your photos look to me like you've hardly changed. It must be all that good living that you do!

I know you are living more than a lifetime there, and seeing things so rough and difficult for human beings to see - skip as lightly as you can my friend, and know you are made from the grace of God, and let not misery hurt you, but continue to bring your own goodwill to others. The world needs you, our soldier girl. It must - that's why you are there.

In my kitchen hangs a photographic calendar, and this month's featured layout is of Bryce Canyon National Park in Utah. You have travelled so much - I think you wrote me once that you had been there, and to Zion in Utah - maybe someday, in another life, we'll go there, and look at all the moonscape-like natural monuments, and relax. I'll be talking to you soon.

Yours truly,

Tailwind

That war history museum in Auburn IN

The display was ominous, imposing. The oil portrait of the Fuhrer in black riding boots, Adolph himself - the old painting ornamented with gilded frame, mounted within Plexiglas, dangling overhead.

It was very heavy, hanging from cables to the roof's metal beams, and it was tilted forward - we suppose for one's better viewing. Yet it swayed slightly overhead, suspended from its cables, and creaked. It was so ominous it made even a sensible person wonder if Hitler was about to claim yet more victims when his portrait came crashing down, breaking through its Plexiglas case.

The display was entitled, "Rising Tyrants," and gave histories of four of the world's most infamous leaders at the beginning of WWII. It was sobering, dramatic, and I saw more than one person stop and read the whole thing in its entirety - lessons about absolute power corrupting absolutely, one might say. It sets the tone at the large open 'pole barn/airplane hangar' structure that houses the museums, setting the stage right before one walks up to all the vehicles, tanks, trucks and armament unfolding behind.

The museum has equipment and displays about different phases of the war - warfare in Poland, Italy, the Soviet Union, etc. It features themes such as the Battle of the Bulge, the Meeting on the Elbe (where the Russians and the U.S. met), and an Atomic Bomb exhibit. You could easily allow a whole day or more to see and read about everything here.

I don't know what one calls a diorama when it's large, three-dimensional, and free-standing in the middle of a room - a scale model with buildings, planes, tanks, soldiers, etc. representing a snow-covered European town, now battlefield - but there's an awesome thing such as this in the museum, bringing reality and perspective after one walks through all the big tanks and such. Saddening, to feel the imposing reality of war - but necessary for us to contemplate and remember, and help to educate the younger generations.

The so-called World War II Victory Museum is just one entity in this large structure - they have plenty of land out in the country, across the interstate from the Kruse auction park - the place where thousands of cars have gone for auction over Labor Day weekends. You may have read about it - the business that was sold to e:bay, was later bought back, and then went under, owners unable to collect on the promised funds for some of those auctioned cars. Still lots of legal messes surrounding all that and Dean Kruse, but it's nice all of these artifacts on the other side of the highway have been preserved.

Meanwhile, these airplane hangar-like buildings hold an automotive and carriage museum, a local baseball history museum, and more odds and ends. There are presidential and celebrity cars, and stuff from the movies and memorabilia. But more on all that later. Be sure to check out the large war history side - there are personal mementos from people's war experiences, lots of enlarged photographs - it's worth your time.

World War II Museum in Auburn

There is a museum on the south west side of Auburn, Indiana, at the same Interstate 69 interchange as the famous Kruse auction park. The museum is a composite of several museums, and has a large collection of World War II military vehicles, among many other things.

There's lots of stuff to see here, and I'm going to write more about the museums themselves later, but this blog entry will focus on one small exhibit they have regarding the 509th B-29 bomb group, which flew out of Tinian to bomb Japan.

Among photos and other memorabilia, the museum had printed out a fact sheet about the atomic bombs and the 509th composite military group. As you'll see, there is a Fort Wayne connection to the B-29 Enola Gay, if only through the artist who stenciled the nose art on the plane.

Initial casualties for Hiroshima and Nagasaki totaled about 150,00 Japanese, according to the exhibit's information. Incendiary raids on Japan in Tokyo in Feb.-March of 1945 killed approx. 100,000 Japanese. This exhibit tries to point out more Japanese, overall, were killed by fire bombing or incendiary raids than anything else. Ok?

So, right before the Enola Gay B-29 was fueled up and sent out on her terrible mission with the atomic bomb, a graphic artist from Fort Wayne, Indiana stenciled "Enola Gay" on her nose, just hours beforehand. The artist, Nelson Miller, was stationed on the island. This was the only plane within the bomb group that had any type of art on it before the surrender, to reduce planes being identified by the enemy. The large plane was named in honor of pilot Colonel Paul Tibbet's mother, Enola Gay Haggard Tibbet.

The museum information states there were only two fully assembled atomic bombs on Tinian. The Hiroshima drop went as planned. Initially, for the second bomb drop, the city of Kokura was to be the target. Cloud cover forced the plane to re-route and bomb Nagasaki instead. Never knew that factoid.

Although at this point no plutonium was left on the island of Tinian, all the other bomb components were there waiting to be assembled. B-29s were dispatched to the United States to bring back more plutonium. The war ended before a third mission was dispatched.

One thing that was kind of amazing to me, was the first successful atomic test happened on July 16 in New Mexico, and the Little Boy bomb was dropped on Hiroshima only 3 weeks later, August 6. That was fast. Tough times back in 1945.

Up in rural Auburn, at this surprising museum and elsewhere, there is a lot to see - I definitely recommend it, and I'll talk to you later.

We ran down a rabbit in the tall grass

It's been a busy summer. Lots of hot weather, lots going on- water skiing, relatives visiting, activities - and now the kids are going back to school. It's only mid-August, so summer isn't over yet - it's a bittersweet feeling to think the kids could still be out playing, yet kind of a relief that they are now occupied and out of sight - I was waiting for this day, and yet summer is gone in a flash.

I'd like to write about going to a great World War II museum in Auburn Indiana, or talk about standing under the large bronze horse statue of General "Mad" Anthony Wayne in downtown Fort Wayne, but I won't today. I need a day to reflect about the passage of time, kids growing up, and the river of change. One child's last year to be at an elementary school. Weren't they just getting dropped off at the pre-school door?

There was a summer when the now-teenager was about seven - maybe a little older or younger, but fairly little -and she was fast, like a flying bug. That kind of right-out-of-the-blocks quick as a kid can be, without all the size to slow down the initial inertia. She could take off like a shot, feet flying.

One day little Sammy (nickname) and I were walking in the tall grass on the property, where there was just a travel trailer and a sandy beach in rural Noble County, Indiana. I don't know now where we were going, but we startled up a juvenile rabbit, probably out from under the travel trailer. It wasn't a baby, it was fast, and it took off running. Sammy and I made eye contact and without a word, we took off after it.

We didn't both get right behind it - it would've been too fast for that. We separated slightly - I turned slightly downhill, and Sammy took off faster on the high side, flanking it. And in a second or two, I yelled "turn it," and she did, herding it, if you will, right towards me. And without thinking, without talking, I pounced on it - I grabbed it. There would have been no hesitant-picking-it-up. I came down around it fingers, legs, and all, and grabbed it up firmly in my hands.

It was a cute little wild grey rabbit, trembling, wide-eyed, but it didn't bite. We held it, and looked at it, and took it to show other kids around - and then let it go. When it finally ran away, it took off under the grass, very fast, and disappeared. But it had been very soft, and its heart beat rapidly, and we were thrilled and proud we had caught it. How did we know what to do, and why had we wordlessly decided to chase it? I don't know, but that incident is burned into my memory. As my child gets older and transitions into those teenage years, I think I'll always remember the teamwork we had in the tall grass that day, and a summer memory for us both, to keep for the ages. I hope you have a wonderful day, and a good memory of your own.