tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12196657882451765152024-03-12T18:28:41.530-07:00HomebodyVoyagerthere's more to business travel than business.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02158042051142667445noreply@blogger.comBlogger157125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1219665788245176515.post-83651343419599802942015-11-08T11:48:00.000-08:002015-11-08T11:48:01.080-08:00Zombie Apocalypse Preparedness: Missoula, MTWhen David saw that our local <a href="http://www.rei.com/" target="_blank">REI </a>was having the Zombie Apocalypse Preparedness class (and it is FREE), he immediately sent me a text and signed us up. We wanted to take this class when they offered it last year but I was out of town. I'm glad he waited for me because I had a lot to learn.<br />
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They took us in the back storage room for the class. The sign is a little confusing. They are directing us to go right for the class but then at the bottom are warning us of Zombies and to Keep Out! We decide to risk it.</div>
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They are set up for about 40 people. We are the 2nd to arrive. I wondered if the three of us there would be it but they filled a little more than half of the seats. Most were couples like us, one in the back had a newborn with them. The guy sitting next to me is a little on the odd side. You might be thinking, You went to a Zombie Preparedness class and people living in houses Zombies can break into shouldn't throw stones. But he is weird in the way that makes you think that he thinks the show <i>The Walking Dead</i> is a documentary. Incidentally, I have never watched a single episode of that show. David would sometimes watch when I was in the room doing something else or in the next room and the sounds alone are enough to run me off. Like when the kids were teenagers and were trying to watch Saw in the living room and I could hear it in my office. I made them turn it off.</div>
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I'm not sure if she is supposed to be a Zombie or if she was in an earthquake and had to dig out of her house or what. This poster from the Centers for Disease Control (CDC) was on the door we entered through. I visited the website listed at the bottom (emergency.cdc.gov). No mention of Zombies. </div>
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The class lasted about 45 minutes and the instructor actually has a masters degree in emergency preparedness (no emphasis on Zombies). This class is basic emergency preparedness (they were honest about this at registration) with some funny stuff thrown in about Zombies. </div>
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There are some handouts and slides to explain the stages of Zombieness? Zombieism? </div>
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The one that I struggled with the most was smell. Zombies smell bad. But several times during the presentation hygiene came up - or more specifically - the possibility that hygiene won't be high on the priority list in any emergency. We might start to smell bad. How can I tell if David has turned zombie or not when his BO takes over? And what about teenaged boys? They smell bad all of the time. Do we kill them and not take any chances? As the mother of a son, I found teenage boys to be generally useless so I might have to give this more thought if the you-know-what hits the fan. Even our dog Karma didn't like teenage boys. Every puberty-riddled male that walked through our door made her bark and growl and caused her back hair to get up. No other group of people or individual person makes her do that. </div>
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You know what they say...dogs sense evil.</div>
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If you are inclined to deal with your hygiene, these towels might come in handy. They are only slightly bigger than my thumb. As their tag line points out it is "The Only Towel That is a Survival Tool". Could be true. If David smells good he is less likely to get accidentally hacked up with my Sog Tomahawk. That would be ironically sad too since he was the one who bought it for me. </div>
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During the presentation they show things that you can buy at REI, obviously this is expected. But she didn't cram it down our throats and she also showed clothes that can't be purchased there, food that came from the regular grocery store and other things purchased elsewhere. She also provided websites and information on other companies, some that I had no idea existed. Like<a href="http://www.zombietools.net/" target="_blank"> Zombie Tools</a>. This company is even based here in Missoula and they make tools appropriate for Zombie eradication - swords, knives and bladed instruments of all kinds. After checking them out, I don't understand how Helena made the #1 city for Zombie Apocalypse survival in Montana. </div>
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I am set for blades. David bought me a machete a couple of years ago that I carry when we hike and also the aforementioned Sog tomahawk. He tried to tell me when I mentioned wanting it that the Sog isn't for chopping wood, it is for killing people. I said, "What's your point?" He is a very trusting man.</div>
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There were several things I learned in the class that I didn't know and other things I knew but might not have thought about again had she not mentioned them. I took a lot of notes and it did cross my mind that people (the instructor in particular) probably thought I was the odd one because I was the only one doing that. Here are a couple of notes I made that need to be shared:</div>
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<li>A shovel is probably your best choice for a weapon/tool combo. You can use it "to bash a zombies head and to bury your poop".</li>
<li>Boots are also a good choice as a multi-purpose purchase. They are good for warmth, difficult terrain and "smashing brains".</li>
<li>Guns are not a good choice. Ammo is heavy, you will eventually run out and the noise attracts more zombies.</li>
<li>Slow moving zombies are called Walkers. My maiden name is Walker. Take what you will from that.</li>
<li>You will get bored. Pack something to entertain yourself. I mentioned this to a lady I work with and she immediately produced and gifted to me a tiny deck of cards. </li>
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After class, I thought more about this than I expected. Not about the zombies but about being prepared in an emergency. David and I have a lot of the things they suggested we have but I realized they aren't all in one place. If we had to evacuate our house in a hurry, we would be hard pressed to get it all together. Iin a place like Montana where it is early November as I write this and we already have snow, we need to be prepared to be outdoors in harsh weather. It is easy to think we will never need to leave in an emergency or to "shelter-in-place" but it happens. We have already had a flood at our house (we have hip-waders hanging on a hook in the garage because of this, they could be handy in the future). We could get snowed in. There could be a wildfire (there was one not far from here the second year we lived here). There could be an earthquake. <br />
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I brought up what I was thinking about a few times over the next several days with David. He openly told me he was concerned that I might go too far and become a "prepper". Until I make him dig a pit in the backyard for a secret underground schoolbus shelter (a real thing, look it up), I think he is overreacting that I might be overreacting. I did investigate some things on the Internet including the CDC website and Ready.gov, the website the instructor suggested. Most of these had the same lists of things you should have in your Emergency Kit. It just so happened that I recently emptied a large Rubbermaid tub like the one the instructor showed so I decided it was time for us to make a kit. Here's what I put in it. The items with an * are things we already owned, I just had to locate them.<br />
<ul>
<li>2 pair of inexpensive work gloves</li>
<li>a set of 3 crescent wrenches in various sizes</li>
<li>box of kitchen trash bags* (good for hygiene or trash)</li>
<li>box of contractor bags* (can be used to seal up windows/doors for pandemic or hazmat problems)</li>
<li>roll of duct tape (we had this but I bought a fresh roll)</li>
<li>2 Life Straws (lets you drink from potentially contaminated sources without treating first)</li>
<li>2 particle respirator masks (we also had these but they are well used so I got new ones, they were $1)</li>
<li>a BBQ lighter</li>
<li>2 small flashlight/glow stick combos in red (the recommended color)</li>
<li>Notebook/pen/pencil/sharpie*</li>
<li>Tiny Deck of Cards*</li>
<li>2 sticks of Chapstick</li>
<li>Bug spray & sunscreen</li>
<li>Toilet paper - wet and dry* variety (this will be the new economy by the way)</li>
<li>2 large lantern-style flashlights with extra batteries (one of the flashlights is in the hall by the garage door, one and the batteries in the kit) </li>
</ul>
I put the kit in the hall closet where I keep my winter weather clothes: snow pants, coats, hats, gloves, scarves. I could grab what I need when I get The Kit. David also has a lot of camping stuff in the garage that could be quickly thrown in the truck, stuff like tents and cooking gear).<br />
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I also added the recommended first aid items to The Kit:<br />
<ul>
<li>Various bandages and bandaids*</li>
<li>Scissors*</li>
<li>Non-latex surgical type gloves* (I put in 4 pair and if you are wondering why I already had this, I dye fabric sometimes and it keeps my hands from staining.) </li>
<li>Medical tape*</li>
<li>Tweezers (I couldn't find mine which you would know if you looked at my eyebrows so I bought a replacement and one for the kit)</li>
<li>Instant cold compress</li>
<li>Bendaryl - liquid* and cream</li>
<li> Tylenol* and Advil*</li>
<li>Asprin (for a heart attack)</li>
<li>Imodium* (because, diarrhea, if the Life Straws don't work as advertised)</li>
<li>Petroleum Jelly (could double as "entertainment" in a pinch)</li>
<li>Hydrocortisone cream</li>
<li>Rubbing alcohol</li>
<li>Wet Wipes*</li>
</ul>
And Food/Water:<br />
<ul>
<li>10 Gallons of water (we had none, they recommend 1 gallon per person for a minimum of 3 days for both hydration and sanitation/hygiene/cooking, more if you have special needs or a pet - which we do). This the only thing not physically in the kit, it is on a shelf in the garage. We could chunk in a vehicle of we had to go. If we were at home, the ground water wasn't contaminated and we could get outside, we are on a well and could pump more.</li>
<li>2 cans of Spam (they actually don't recommend this because it is salty and bad for hydration but I had to get something David will eat)</li>
<li> 2 pkgs Tyson white chicken chunks</li>
<li>2 cans of sardines in oil (for me, David will NOT eat these, even in an emergency)</li>
<li>A large jar of Peanut Butter</li>
<li>1 box of 8 Atkins chocolate PB bars (low sugar - David is diabetic)</li>
<li>1 box of 4 Kind bars in chocolate/sea salt flavor</li>
</ul>
If we had to leave the house for more than a week, we wouldn't have enough food so I need to keep working on that. If we stayed here, I always have rice and potatoes and other staples on hand. There is a Costco in Missoula. I don't have a membership because I despise that place but they do have this:<br />
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This is the SMALL one. If you look in the sidebar there is another bigger one for the bargain price of almost $4,000. That will have to wait until David digs our secret pit.</div>
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I needed dry milk to make some bread a few days after the class and found that the store down the street only carries a Zombie Apocalypze size box - like this one of the same size at WalMart. That is a 4 LB box. If I bought this for The Kit I would have to buy 4 pounds of chocolate Nesquik to go with it or David would never touch it.</div>
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Poking around the Internet I also found you can get this Zombie Extermination, Research and Operations kit on the OpticsPlanet website. For a bargain basement price of just under $24k. </div>
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I don't think I have gone that far over the edge. I did think that we needed to also prep our vehicles (again, cold and snowy here) so in the back of my car I now have (I also made David a car kit with minor changes):</div>
<ul>
<li>A bag of kitty litter (for traction, not hygiene); David is to get sand for his truck, it helps add weight to the tail end and can be used for traction (he had this in the past but we used it up sandbagging during our flood)</li>
<li>12 16oz bottles of water</li>
<li>A fleece blanket*</li>
<li>A sleeping bag*</li>
<li>A first aid kit</li>
<li>Wet Wipes* </li>
<li>A flashlight and extra batteries</li>
<li>A change of clothes* (I didn't do this for David)</li>
<li>A 4 pack box of those same Kind bars (also just me)</li>
<li>Ice scraper, snow broom*</li>
<li>I can of Fix-A-Flat</li>
</ul>
I realized during this exercise that I don't even own jumper cables. David is presently researching a stand alone jumper kit for my car so we can order it today. When that arrives, I will make him take me out and show me how to use it. I also want him to show me how to change my tire. I did this exactly once something like 20 years ago and I put it on backwards (Remember that mom?). Who knew you could even do that? I am also ordering 2 NOAA compliant emergency radios (one for The Kit and one for my car) and 2 tools for breaking auto glass and cutting seat belts (one for each vehicle). <br />
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The last thing they covered that I never really considered was evacuating while at work. This is particularly stupid of me since I have had to leave my hotel room more than once due to fire alarms. Once, it wasn't a false alarm and I couldn't find my room keys. I had to stand at the front desk bra-less in my sleepwear to get a replacement key when they let us back in. All while meeting a customer for the first time. Not good. Now I make sure to leave clothes (including a bra) and shoes readily accessible and put my car and room keys in my purse by the door before I go to bed. I also added a small first aid kit and flashlight to the bag I carry on the plane when I travel.<br />
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The Ready.gov website had a list of items you should keep at your desk in case you have to shelter-in-place or evacuate and walk a long distance (again, prepared for extremes like the cold if you live in Montana). Since I work at home, I have the whole kit here. But David could have this happen. I figure the kit in his truck can double for this. Since he works at the airport, they have a pretty relaxed dress code and it can get cold in the hanger so he is usually prepared for that. Being diabetic, he needs to keep some food in his desk and truck. I am leaving it to him to handle that. That is probably naive of me but he is a grown man after all. I am also trying to get better about hanging my keys up when I get home so I know where they are and knowing where my shoes are since I rarely wear them when I am in the house.<br />
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There was one thing that they didn't cover in the class that was already ingrained in me by my dad. Gas. Not the "I hope you put Gas-X in The Kit" kind of gas but the gas in your car kind. David is really bad about letting his truck and/or my car if he drove it last get really low on gas. Less than 1/4 of a tank bothers me but he is okay with waiting for the light to come on. And then waiting some more. I finally told him (after more than 25 years of marriage) that this drives me crazy. What if we had an emergency in the middle of the night? If the Zombies are coming at 1 am you don't want to have to stop and get gas. But in all seriousness, what if one of us was sick or injured? We live 30 miles out of the nearest city with a hospital and we only have a volunteer fire department. Our next door neighbor recently collapsed at home and had to be taken in an ambulance to Missoula and then taken to Salt Lake by CareFlight. If I had to stop and get gas during a time like that I would probably freak out. I am going to train him to start leaving more gas in the vehicles, maybe it will only take another 25 years of <strike>nagging </strike>gentle reminding.<br />
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As a former fireman, dad also preached that you change the batteries in your smoke detectors when the time changes. Ours were changed recently (they were chirping at us) so instead, we bought replacement 9-volts for all 7 of them to have on hand. But the other thing I will do now, based on this class, is update the kit at the same time. I asked the instructor how often she rotates her food and other items that expire (like medicine) and she said she would do it that weekend, when time changed. That weekend, I put The Kit together and went through our cabinets (food and medicine) and got rid of anything that was overly expired (defined by me as more than a year). Like the sunscreen that expired in 2007. For someone that can get a sunburn sitting in my office in a long sleeved shirt with the curtains drawn, it was particularly sad that I let that go so far past. No more, I have a schedule now. <br />
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And because my dad taught me these extra lessons I decided I wanted to pay it forward. I will be at his house next weekend and his birthday was yesterday so I got him a few things (don't tell him if you see him, I want it to be a surprise):<br />
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<li>A solar-powered hand-crank emergency radio with am-fm-weather options.</li>
<li>A monogrammed (Stanley) Swiss-army style tool that has a mini-ax on the top.</li>
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3. For his food supply. He considers Eagle Brand one of the 4 food groups.</div>
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I am feeling fairly confident there will be an emergency requiring pancakes at his house next Saturday. I can teach my grandkids to improvise with their utensils using dad's multi-tool and to crank the radio until NOAA comes in while we ensure these products don't make it past their expiration date. </div>
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My daughter knows how to make a fire by rubbing sticks together. I think I will schedule her to teach a lesson after breakfast. It is never too soon to start teaching the next generation of preppers.</div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02158042051142667445noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1219665788245176515.post-60692468243381700702015-10-30T15:21:00.002-07:002015-10-30T15:21:31.062-07:00Look Up: Glasgow, Edinburg & Oben, ScotlandBefore we arrived at our hotel from the airport the first day, two different people said, "When you are in Scotland, you have to look up." It was immediately easy to see why. Statues, stonework on buildings, carvings, gargoyles, weather vanes, church steeples, window boxes...everywhere. Even the ceilings inside the buildings were worth looking at most of the time. Take a quick tour with me.<br />
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Yeah, David...like that. </div>
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I love this one. </div>
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Hey, David...Statue of Liberty. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBqBwRtKWzLevq3lmk1jfmYZdBv2wTW28_LzQFVwG5Ml9KLPIpxRri7Pfe9mObF-Plgj6n4kpZCBpR456_LeWI0GCSl80tuKrM-A1K9AC3R0ejL2NlrNRAMqwfWGQsGBnYbyhXD4Cv9HE/s1600/IMG_0712.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBqBwRtKWzLevq3lmk1jfmYZdBv2wTW28_LzQFVwG5Ml9KLPIpxRri7Pfe9mObF-Plgj6n4kpZCBpR456_LeWI0GCSl80tuKrM-A1K9AC3R0ejL2NlrNRAMqwfWGQsGBnYbyhXD4Cv9HE/s400/IMG_0712.JPG" width="266" /> </a></div>
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Another of my favorites. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx0Cy0tytw2gsJBFSF3Av-_IIuF4h_P1kl5B3xhCgJrAxcmljYOrqIJ-JEJKYWZAO2o618vefPKNrrQr-uGXRvhSuoo9IRIyWpLHidx0usvafT_rtkh6ej3Js4dD7md2FjA-BvweouUw4/s1600/IMG_0713.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx0Cy0tytw2gsJBFSF3Av-_IIuF4h_P1kl5B3xhCgJrAxcmljYOrqIJ-JEJKYWZAO2o618vefPKNrrQr-uGXRvhSuoo9IRIyWpLHidx0usvafT_rtkh6ej3Js4dD7md2FjA-BvweouUw4/s400/IMG_0713.JPG" width="266" /> </a></div>
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He's got some chiseled abs. </div>
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Admit it David, you laughed. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4iNHSu5NtASlvZsbH5xldqEuO94TENtiYI2Hj09inTPoOcSL35zRXQJuiBJ5AyJGVL01-app9XFrVT3RoakNgYLS5FhkW7Xj6JoVkitt07_sbcyd8-JGw09mOBPUP5ozhGVDzeY-vfu0/s1600/IMG_0714.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4iNHSu5NtASlvZsbH5xldqEuO94TENtiYI2Hj09inTPoOcSL35zRXQJuiBJ5AyJGVL01-app9XFrVT3RoakNgYLS5FhkW7Xj6JoVkitt07_sbcyd8-JGw09mOBPUP5ozhGVDzeY-vfu0/s400/IMG_0714.JPG" width="266" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVntssNgZ_P4irOEPPDAYvG6LNct4wEXg3rq03-ajYQ60KrVkYW39Tb7eN8UOSEQcaJJy9s9G8xdG3i3cyH0TWrb65IcBo2JgddwDgnttixwzBeOXYJvq35CPC37KIBsQSPAxzF7naFFk/s1600/IMG_0715.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVntssNgZ_P4irOEPPDAYvG6LNct4wEXg3rq03-ajYQ60KrVkYW39Tb7eN8UOSEQcaJJy9s9G8xdG3i3cyH0TWrb65IcBo2JgddwDgnttixwzBeOXYJvq35CPC37KIBsQSPAxzF7naFFk/s400/IMG_0715.JPG" width="266" /> </a></div>
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To my brother Aaron, does this remind you of anything? </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWMlh9LmTn78wN3APsLiiEI2BekyrZ2Eq2PLjtLe1djTD3JcL1VoKe8WJBc_WxdtzxSmVYw_NjzhFFLlJE2txcmAAr2x3HgqshsuHBqA9hrkaWaOSXVydwIo3vMG-TBUfH8G5SiP6jmNs/s1600/IMG_0716.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWMlh9LmTn78wN3APsLiiEI2BekyrZ2Eq2PLjtLe1djTD3JcL1VoKe8WJBc_WxdtzxSmVYw_NjzhFFLlJE2txcmAAr2x3HgqshsuHBqA9hrkaWaOSXVydwIo3vMG-TBUfH8G5SiP6jmNs/s400/IMG_0716.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfZWvMgfM0zBF6h-TzW99eDFIFC2JJRv7l4vZ1wOaakUk8D2EbHAOfh0wDD1w18RDwfBjVvzm3LN_2rzcgTzXzQeNbat_aDN_ZuYhFT-EgF7fHmaGIhkJB-OyIECRtES5IwWMhdxeM9-4/s1600/IMG_0718.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfZWvMgfM0zBF6h-TzW99eDFIFC2JJRv7l4vZ1wOaakUk8D2EbHAOfh0wDD1w18RDwfBjVvzm3LN_2rzcgTzXzQeNbat_aDN_ZuYhFT-EgF7fHmaGIhkJB-OyIECRtES5IwWMhdxeM9-4/s400/IMG_0718.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEM9nZ4HMEd-yPLiD3cDkW717aYcQV-wxZstB4JRgYqn6YevdO-kFxRjJJ4NcPVRPkx4sGWqDiqX6Ko7cGUCi3oUQQ1XciPdevOYwA8u-ROfU8DA_fy7kP1gL-ZPxYYZSL7QrwC4rvNWg/s1600/IMG_0720.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEM9nZ4HMEd-yPLiD3cDkW717aYcQV-wxZstB4JRgYqn6YevdO-kFxRjJJ4NcPVRPkx4sGWqDiqX6Ko7cGUCi3oUQQ1XciPdevOYwA8u-ROfU8DA_fy7kP1gL-ZPxYYZSL7QrwC4rvNWg/s400/IMG_0720.JPG" width="266" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo8d4vl2A0GwrALcHqfMF_bXN0BYMxUEFO_t_S-faVIbDjyZOuG1ZvAwNqdPKDK1hQxMkOM-FKUt5ELHKaePhGmJ7YBzGMyBCF-4lH9zwzEU7HakFrnnpW-BbI5Kb_i-zRK7Pgv-G3tMM/s1600/IMG_0724.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo8d4vl2A0GwrALcHqfMF_bXN0BYMxUEFO_t_S-faVIbDjyZOuG1ZvAwNqdPKDK1hQxMkOM-FKUt5ELHKaePhGmJ7YBzGMyBCF-4lH9zwzEU7HakFrnnpW-BbI5Kb_i-zRK7Pgv-G3tMM/s400/IMG_0724.JPG" width="266" /> </a></div>
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Sometimes you are the queen, sometimes you are the pigeon. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirFFE-Ovyv_4YydEpd8pNaNWwSYYqwGHqo05rdLZd6s2nhyoGjd2C1MVX1Ks2w-4i-2uCa2Y6jUuPXELb5qGObRuYUgKLyHdldmFTXUq_D_9qs9I9kDyOPSJEBqlW2GBldK9NVUzLRt6Y/s1600/IMG_0725.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirFFE-Ovyv_4YydEpd8pNaNWwSYYqwGHqo05rdLZd6s2nhyoGjd2C1MVX1Ks2w-4i-2uCa2Y6jUuPXELb5qGObRuYUgKLyHdldmFTXUq_D_9qs9I9kDyOPSJEBqlW2GBldK9NVUzLRt6Y/s400/IMG_0725.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAZeumUIJyUUhHOFiTYdB1IyCD82llPAROT6lKM1czUjUz5guxjru5QzQujcCbsOQqwNCyCMZWJ1jPPUjCfgCWtPaW-v_1KSjt27dZjj9VbH3JtlXl8evlK8LtUUo4nXlXj9j5B5xsp9U/s1600/IMG_0733.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAZeumUIJyUUhHOFiTYdB1IyCD82llPAROT6lKM1czUjUz5guxjru5QzQujcCbsOQqwNCyCMZWJ1jPPUjCfgCWtPaW-v_1KSjt27dZjj9VbH3JtlXl8evlK8LtUUo4nXlXj9j5B5xsp9U/s400/IMG_0733.JPG" width="266" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgztGJ-1pf4e4utqoueN5EMyUXyjNYWkQS4TioGr93ptD1PcTZjjTtAFpCKW4nofMVSN5krJpwVpFWw6azoIHrckXXNG4ExEMdfgxYNT3prDYBspQGm6beQm3So4ZSn0AOyMsXluebpObk/s1600/IMG_0739.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgztGJ-1pf4e4utqoueN5EMyUXyjNYWkQS4TioGr93ptD1PcTZjjTtAFpCKW4nofMVSN5krJpwVpFWw6azoIHrckXXNG4ExEMdfgxYNT3prDYBspQGm6beQm3So4ZSn0AOyMsXluebpObk/s400/IMG_0739.JPG" width="266" /> </a></div>
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This is the kind of picture I take where David is standing there wondering </div>
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what the hell I am taking a picture of. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBICslJFsxagvbNqRB6teajA17W7qGsiuKJIdfSfa8Yr9bGdnC5bYgazDW8Q67zDRVa2Us0z6dxStmGLUY0dOTgbtMOOikzTfrjqHd2VZcmnkmRxVr8JKrJL2faJMFQbY8puFfbhT4NSY/s1600/IMG_0742.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBICslJFsxagvbNqRB6teajA17W7qGsiuKJIdfSfa8Yr9bGdnC5bYgazDW8Q67zDRVa2Us0z6dxStmGLUY0dOTgbtMOOikzTfrjqHd2VZcmnkmRxVr8JKrJL2faJMFQbY8puFfbhT4NSY/s400/IMG_0742.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSvABPfv14RlyWCOs3dZ_2ciwGiCeSuA-kohvBQpG3v1bNjdjqeGNoLLbgcS632v-jGWLO6y9u5GgO7qt8mcai8fISNIizB0ex0mS4dDYGOMjUKcLN9maH_eVPg73L0xxZF9bSB15KYiw/s1600/IMG_0748.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSvABPfv14RlyWCOs3dZ_2ciwGiCeSuA-kohvBQpG3v1bNjdjqeGNoLLbgcS632v-jGWLO6y9u5GgO7qt8mcai8fISNIizB0ex0mS4dDYGOMjUKcLN9maH_eVPg73L0xxZF9bSB15KYiw/s400/IMG_0748.JPG" width="266" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGfVCTFkkG8X1GWTA3qgCq43_iLx_675_vTrCL1dquxq9Hsyup1_lDtWS7oub3lqZv69ecrBmLQzEyGpwfbHnI5DAxqrGtdHVuj8pBUo6imy4x7WTlLr2m-1uC5xfyk_v_G3xw0pj4G4U/s1600/IMG_0757.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGfVCTFkkG8X1GWTA3qgCq43_iLx_675_vTrCL1dquxq9Hsyup1_lDtWS7oub3lqZv69ecrBmLQzEyGpwfbHnI5DAxqrGtdHVuj8pBUo6imy4x7WTlLr2m-1uC5xfyk_v_G3xw0pj4G4U/s400/IMG_0757.JPG" width="266" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYKELzekWdTp66uG0wZj8gXRkvbsl5UBeb2QJMnAs7CoVL6s4e8xBXDoM76vCdevVpiNqa37XyqKPxiS1JpLkiWmlt2JxRpmCSVFYjLjuH9de8Bw9K4zfWxmptZDheXzIi3yEgjcbfs1s/s1600/IMG_0778.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYKELzekWdTp66uG0wZj8gXRkvbsl5UBeb2QJMnAs7CoVL6s4e8xBXDoM76vCdevVpiNqa37XyqKPxiS1JpLkiWmlt2JxRpmCSVFYjLjuH9de8Bw9K4zfWxmptZDheXzIi3yEgjcbfs1s/s400/IMG_0778.JPG" width="266" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmJPoRWZHPdeGaye3rjrfweHuucl6cwGK6joijylN9hScjMHaqYu729kqDVEdFAZi9nhhgARnkIDaJueG1L7_weeERQ1DVNVTcWupQFlCvb4CXqrXrkHwY70P7R00quJ7LkRTRuM0CBwA/s1600/IMG_0792.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmJPoRWZHPdeGaye3rjrfweHuucl6cwGK6joijylN9hScjMHaqYu729kqDVEdFAZi9nhhgARnkIDaJueG1L7_weeERQ1DVNVTcWupQFlCvb4CXqrXrkHwY70P7R00quJ7LkRTRuM0CBwA/s400/IMG_0792.JPG" width="266" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt8GmxH3QSSPoPAUWV3IMQsRvGNOJPl8hyphenhyphenjOfE4muXpeIHFUFeWzMIBv5Ia7ZaZFzvmEKK15JnKViusTbTxn_ykmbKWv0v0iQhEXaI939vP4I98mdwsPbaJAiuAh8l9W7l52xcSIpoMfY/s1600/IMG_0804.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt8GmxH3QSSPoPAUWV3IMQsRvGNOJPl8hyphenhyphenjOfE4muXpeIHFUFeWzMIBv5Ia7ZaZFzvmEKK15JnKViusTbTxn_ykmbKWv0v0iQhEXaI939vP4I98mdwsPbaJAiuAh8l9W7l52xcSIpoMfY/s400/IMG_0804.JPG" width="266" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW_XwImzufSYWAEVjMfozKW87I2eVzG6smNAkvYyCHohJKLK2rhtK6aW2Gd2qPKSjsIXwSE54VgW0AB4oDQkNpHWZagZBhygzlQSn-NIqHPjwf3Dqvor9XsKkHpQCeA1DjPrDA42wbEXY/s1600/IMG_0806.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW_XwImzufSYWAEVjMfozKW87I2eVzG6smNAkvYyCHohJKLK2rhtK6aW2Gd2qPKSjsIXwSE54VgW0AB4oDQkNpHWZagZBhygzlQSn-NIqHPjwf3Dqvor9XsKkHpQCeA1DjPrDA42wbEXY/s400/IMG_0806.JPG" width="266" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSH8-XRCPmnCRl_JiSJvRahbXpFW7cYp9bBIxdJiU3HsRgveQas9o9o4hdZpHK6fDQuUsR257Y8KgUbQ5odH7myUsBiFqwD5cT8uw6E0Q7IIATaZkBDP8gxWpgH7IKy8Ui-bwk5o6y6yU/s1600/IMG_0829.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSH8-XRCPmnCRl_JiSJvRahbXpFW7cYp9bBIxdJiU3HsRgveQas9o9o4hdZpHK6fDQuUsR257Y8KgUbQ5odH7myUsBiFqwD5cT8uw6E0Q7IIATaZkBDP8gxWpgH7IKy8Ui-bwk5o6y6yU/s400/IMG_0829.JPG" width="266" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjErV5t1ozVoJMRGgCabXbrmrAIRElaSC78gSZ4hXa4CEkpwWln2TsukXvaLwdodHDIE9g13e1fdGoTnbwEHs7Q4cRwlbmEhWQ6OmHZRYmJTOJKiC0hMK_Fvm9n0wDTEjGdHdQ0qslBEsY/s1600/IMG_0836.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjErV5t1ozVoJMRGgCabXbrmrAIRElaSC78gSZ4hXa4CEkpwWln2TsukXvaLwdodHDIE9g13e1fdGoTnbwEHs7Q4cRwlbmEhWQ6OmHZRYmJTOJKiC0hMK_Fvm9n0wDTEjGdHdQ0qslBEsY/s400/IMG_0836.JPG" width="400" /> </a></div>
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In case you can't tell, that's a downspout. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-EhkbBdlCai76HDceLcUZzE5Lxl7QxFSZsu7ixeDy5W8Id83nYKsKHJkhM-8BVXY6tiYb7azE_mstwdJxYlMNLBxTaSCTMo_QGA9j-OmYFLkLOWKPsatzvP788dHjjmjnZ2FevRdnVPg/s1600/IMG_0837.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-EhkbBdlCai76HDceLcUZzE5Lxl7QxFSZsu7ixeDy5W8Id83nYKsKHJkhM-8BVXY6tiYb7azE_mstwdJxYlMNLBxTaSCTMo_QGA9j-OmYFLkLOWKPsatzvP788dHjjmjnZ2FevRdnVPg/s400/IMG_0837.JPG" width="266" /></a></div>
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Chimney</div>
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More next time, I have to go rest my neck. </div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02158042051142667445noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1219665788245176515.post-12378197143607412002015-10-18T13:54:00.003-07:002015-10-18T13:59:36.034-07:00Ghost Hunting at the Old Montana State Prison: Deer Lodge, MTA ghost made me throw up. It could have been the tostadas I ate right before we left but I really think it was the ghost sitting on my dashboard.<br />
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David somehow found out about a ghost tour being hosted by the Old Montana State Prison museum. The prison, which is on the National Register of Historic Places, opened when Montana was still just a territory back in 1871. It officially closed in 1979 and all inmates were moved to a new facility. Our tour guide, Mel, tells us that over 200 people died in the prison over the years. Some murdered, some suicide, some natural causes. The tour will take us through the prison grounds and out into several different buildings. After the official tour ends, we will be allowed to go back out anywhere we want (that isn't expressly blocked off or locked) <b><u>on our own</u></b>. Did I mention the tour doesn't even start until 10 pm? We have to check out with the front desk and leave the premises no later than 2 am.<br />
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Deer Lodge is almost 2 hours from our house. We set out around 7:30 because that's how David and I roll. If you aren't early, you are late. I am driving and David is looking up apps to download that have ghost hunting capabilities. The museum has encouraged people to bring any equipment they want. After downloading the GhostObserver app, David discovers there is a ghost right in front of him on the dashboard of my car. I guess I could have been on the hood but I can't see it so I can't be sure. Right after this happens, I get the very strong feeling that I am going to throw up. This is not because I am afraid of ghosts, I'm not. I am pretty sure my grandmother Meriam, who I have written about before, has been hanging out with me since her death on Halloween in 2000.<br />
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The feeling goes down a bit but never leaves me the rest of the night. In fact, about 60 miles into the drive, I have to pull over. Later, at the exit for Deer Lodge, I go to the first gas station I can find, primarily because we are going to be almost a hour early, but also to see how clean the bathroom is. I can personally attest to the reasonable cleanliness of the Conoco station there. I had a pretty intimate look.<br />
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As a rule, I hate most pictures of me and this one is no exception. In fairness, it is almost 10 pm, it is cold out, my bed is a distant 100 miles or so away and my tostadas decided to make an encore performance tonight. It could be worse.</div>
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There is a gift shop where the 22 of us here to take this tour mill around waiting to get started. When the time comes, the guide has us gather around and the stories begin immediately. She is telling us about a riot that happened back in 1959 and how the National Guard had to be called in. The assistant warden has his throat cut. One inmate shoots another (who was also his lover) and then himself. Somehow a national guardsman ends up with a fragment of the first inmates skull and part of his jaw with three teeth still attached.</div>
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He has since gifted them to the prison. They tell us that in the meantime, these have been used in cadaver dog training.</div>
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While she is telling us this really detailed, horrific story, a very large spider descends from the ceiling right in the middle of the group.</div>
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Yeah, not that one but he might as well have been that large. One woman freaks out and backs away from the group. Her friends are helpfully telling her there will be more spiders in the prison. They seem to enjoy her distress. In the meantime, the real spider is knocked to the floor and becomes the most recent murder victim at this prison.</div>
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This tour was worth the drive and the fee. Even if we hadn't been allowed to go back out alone to our possible death or severe psychological trauma (which we of course had to sign a waver for), it still would have been interesting. They spent almost 3 hours taking us around and that time flew by. Even with me not feeling good. </div>
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Deer Lodge isn't a big city so there isn't a lot of ambient light here. We are issued flashlights. David and I are sharing and it is nearly inadequate at times. A few people brought headlamps or higher quality flashlights from home and that helps. When we went back out on our own we got a second one from the museum and we are barely able to see a few feet in front of us.</div>
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We spend time both outside and in the prison buildings. As you walk by these barred cell windows, it does give one the sense of being watched. I shine my flashlight up in the rooms as we go by and I don't see anything I shouldn't.</div>
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Both inside and out we stop periodically to hear a story. Always about a murder or a death or some gruesome act a prisoner committed. Twice we stop to use the equipment. There is a device she has that is supposed to allow spirits to communicate through that device (called an EMF reader). She played a recording back in the gift shop that was taken the week before. A woman put the recorder by "the hole" (isolation cell, where of course, an inmate died) and something was recorded that I didn't catch all of. Something about a "redhead". Our group hears nothing either time.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaRX6y98909SEIKKHhwXJSgSsyNskADMJLaM61aF_vveJrb_Pd3332KbEz-5CZsrDKj2_BHcQfGtAVtbJxb14PzExXudPcnHC1g7wBU2Ss44MZNh9RMuCbG059fSfImi1OIt1y_wEJzrM/s1600/IMG_0980.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaRX6y98909SEIKKHhwXJSgSsyNskADMJLaM61aF_vveJrb_Pd3332KbEz-5CZsrDKj2_BHcQfGtAVtbJxb14PzExXudPcnHC1g7wBU2Ss44MZNh9RMuCbG059fSfImi1OIt1y_wEJzrM/s400/IMG_0980.PNG" width="225" /> </a></div>
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David and I take these opportunities to consult our apps (incidentally, there are others who brought apps or other personal ghost hunting equipment including a woman who took a large number of Polaroid pictures). The GhostObserver app located a 192 year old ghost that looks something like an alien. We also see "specters" and "errant souls" but I don't really understand the difference. Frankly, when you are standing in a dark prison at 1 am, does it matter?</div>
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Some of the rooms still have equipment and furniture in them. This is the dentist office. This one doesn't scare me any more than a present day dentist office. They are all equally terrifying. </div>
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Every once in a while, there is a mannequin. I won't lie, these startle me every time. The people in the group get strung out and separated sometimes and they never scare me but these always do.</div>
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We went around poking around in dark places, talking about scary events, stopping to listen and record what ultimately was nothing, but that doesn't mean nothing happened.</div>
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We were inside the original women's prison. Something like a dozen cells. Outside, the guide tells us that this is the building were the most physical things have happened. People have been scratched, touched (inappropriately at times), pushed. Last weekend a man was pushed so hard his hat flew off. So all 22 of us and the 3 employees are wandering around two small adjacent rooms, look at the displays, looking in the cells. There is a cell that has an 8x10 photo of the woman that stayed in there after she murdered her daughter. They thought she was the one causing the problem and the photo was suggested as a remedy but so far, they say they haven't found it helpful. The girl that was afraid of the spider (she isn't a girl exactly, she is probably 30ish) is there with 2 other ladies. One of them says something and then crouches down by the wall like she got dizzy. Then someone notices her face is isn't right.</div>
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Outside, her face is inspected with a lot of flashlight power and there are several red welts on her right cheek. It looks like she was slapped or scratched. She says it doesn't hurt only that they feel hot. Several people feel her face and claim it does feel hot and that the welts are definitely raised.</div>
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Here's the thing. I don't think she faked it. We were all in the room so it would have been hard for her to hit or scratch herself hard enough to make those marks without someone noticing. She claims she "isn't a believer" but she seems genuinely shaken up. The rest of the tour she is more subdued and she kind of hangs back from her friends and the rest of the group preferring to stay next to one of the museum employees. That employee helpfully offers her an obsidian stone from her pocket that she claims will help ward off evil spirits.</div>
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I am not saying a spirit scratched this lady. I am saying that whatever happened she didn't appear to cause it on purpose and it couldn't easily be explained. One of the employees theorized that the spirits are upset right now after a group came in recently and burned sage and did some "smudging". I did think it might be possible that this girl touched the wall where the sage was rubbed and transferred it to her face and turned out to be sensitive but she claimed it didn't itch or hurt and she wasn't rubbing it or acting like it really bothered her like an allergic reaction would. Later, when we were getting ready to leave, she was in the gift shop and the welts were completely gone. I had something on the skin under my nose making me tingle and burn a little and even though I did scratch and rub it, when I went in the bathroom later and rinsed it off, it wasn't red at all. So again, I don't think she faked it.</div>
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After the official tour, David and I went back to the building where that happened. We were playing around with the app and this time, a word came up on the EMF reader: writer. Even if the app is throwing up random words, the irony of that specific word wasn't lost on me. And something DID ultimately happen to us that is really odd but we didn't discover it until today. </div>
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At the prison, we came across 3 dead birds.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioxn7DOY927Kpodx0kI3eurjOXtYQVDlKMIyYdcfHI5rhqvQS-s00zHezWCLFLYnax5KW6m-hzdeG8N8Hvc0zONTOCmH37JNX137Af-n7V7SCn8INvHRheFFv2OXOjoWXvGK1RfzUicKU/s1600/IMG_1011.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioxn7DOY927Kpodx0kI3eurjOXtYQVDlKMIyYdcfHI5rhqvQS-s00zHezWCLFLYnax5KW6m-hzdeG8N8Hvc0zONTOCmH37JNX137Af-n7V7SCn8INvHRheFFv2OXOjoWXvGK1RfzUicKU/s400/IMG_1011.JPG" width="300" /> </a></div>
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You know I took pictures of all three. This is bird #2. Bird number three was completely skeletonized and I found it creepily fascinating. If I could have brought it home I would have. I recently ordered a microscope to take photos with and it should be here this week. I could have added it to the partial chupacabra jaw/teeth segment I have in my car from a walk with Karma over the summer as a specimen. Unfortunately, the photo of bird 3 I took with my iPhone, because of the angle and darkness, makes it hard to tell what it is. I didn't ask David if I could bring it home. I wanted him to let me ride with him on the way back. The second and third birds were discovered when we were off on our own. </div>
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David and I are in the midst of a photography class that we have an assignment due for on Wednesday. I was setting up to take a picture of him in the backyard today when I saw something over by our well pump.</div>
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It was a dead (and also headless) bird.</div>
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Because this coincidence (it is a coincidence, right?) freaks me out a little, I decided to look up the symbolism of seeing a dead bird. Happily, it doesn't have to be bad. The second most common thing I could find (as there were many) was that seeing a dead bird symbolizes a new beginning, akin to getting the Death card in Tarot. </div>
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The most common thing I found was that I should call my county health department because we might have a rampant case of West Nile or Bird Flu. Or because everything living dies, including birds, and this is Montana, the bird died of natural causes and a fox or a coyote or a mountain lion or a bear or some other carnivore made off with the head. I am going to explain coincidence this using my original explanation in regards to the woman that had the welps. </div>
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I didn't fake it and sometimes things happen that just can't be explained.</div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02158042051142667445noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1219665788245176515.post-1344948215501989982015-10-15T21:21:00.004-07:002015-10-15T21:21:52.479-07:00Murder Mystery: Glasgow, ScotlandDon't get too excited by that title. No one I know bites it during this episode, not the big one anyway. There will be other types of biting though.<br />
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We finally arrive in Glasgow a day late but early enough in the day that there is no way we are just going to sit around the hotel all day. One of our party of four was left behind in Amsterdam to take the next flight so the three of us that have arrived check in at the hotel, dump our luggage and hit the streets.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKzUxFn6lAvnnCw58oO8bApYeA_JElhHVkh40ELousMNbpfzHCp0ud2D2hKanD4hwivAAj2Y8_M7kU8AYt8jcp2LN5dcnyCet4vou4krxGqHD9_CVYvPDlVoEKkTG4N7IXA4HzwBLssns/s1600/IMG_0770.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKzUxFn6lAvnnCw58oO8bApYeA_JElhHVkh40ELousMNbpfzHCp0ud2D2hKanD4hwivAAj2Y8_M7kU8AYt8jcp2LN5dcnyCet4vou4krxGqHD9_CVYvPDlVoEKkTG4N7IXA4HzwBLssns/s400/IMG_0770.JPG" width="400" /> </a></div>
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The chilly, wet streets typical of Scotland. That is the front of our hotel. It is hard to see them because of what they are wearing but my companions are there checking out the fireman statue out front. Our room faces on to this street, it would be just to the left of this picture on that 3rd floor. There is a bus stop next to where I am standing and one on that cross street as well. The hotel is above the Central train station. As with a lot of buildings in Scotland, our room has a heater but no air conditioning. All of this and a 7 hour time difference will create an environment that is not conducive to sleep.</div>
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The other guys on this trip have been to Scotland before and they have told us we need to take a bus tour up to The Highlands. Chris, the one that made it the rest of the way with us this morning, walks us over to the place where we can get brochures and, if we want, book the tour. We get a lot of brochures but I really want to look them over before deciding. As I look around at the rest of the things the offer here, I find a book I decide to buy for 6 pounds (around $10).</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-pL3qg6OeJjAXOM3h3KacGBYU4MAWqxReFyjVARkyonMQkaRHnK6ObOQ1Py6BZgzYlA7DHkxOWLJSHSHnMZY461yWSFKfuYExQGZEvv5PhLpnLMwxBibpaSfCB5OEROw2zpfssBmFWKQ/s1600/IMG_0774.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-pL3qg6OeJjAXOM3h3KacGBYU4MAWqxReFyjVARkyonMQkaRHnK6ObOQ1Py6BZgzYlA7DHkxOWLJSHSHnMZY461yWSFKfuYExQGZEvv5PhLpnLMwxBibpaSfCB5OEROw2zpfssBmFWKQ/s400/IMG_0774.JPG" width="400" /> </a></div>
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The book takes you on a murder-mystery-scavenger-hunt-walking-tour to Glasgow Cathedral, someplace I already know I want to go. We have no other plans and the guys are on board to humor me so we head out to solve the mystery of which one of those people is our murderer and what weapon they used.</div>
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The original book did not survive the journey back to the US. As noted, it is raining out. Each time I get the book out to look at the next set of instructions/clues, it gets wet. By the end of the tour it is coming apart. The book says the tour should take us about 2 hours. There is a little note about who has been killed but I don't remember much about that. Most of the book contains directions to take you from one place to another. Once you get to a destination, you look for some type of clue. It isn't as easy as I thought it was going to be. The cartoon look of the characters on the back is deceiving.</div>
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Also, there were no disclaimers about hazards in the book. There were a few.</div>
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At work we used to have something called a "cookie foul" or a "doughnut foul" which involved someone eating only half of a cookie or doughnut and leaving the rest behind. I hope dog fouling isn't similar.</div>
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We run into our first snag at a cemetery. A really old cemetery. See how weathered and moldy that sign is? They are all like that. Some are so worn you cannot read them at all. We are trying to locate a headstone that has two brothers on it. We need a date from the younger one to mark off one of the weapons.</div>
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The boys study a possible match. The creepy factor goes up in a cemetery when it is rainy and dreary outside. We are also the only ones walking around in here. At least the only ones that are visible. We make multiple laps, in groups, individually (even more creepy) but we don't ever find the clue. I vote to move on, the boys agree but only after suggesting we circle back later.</div>
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The book takes us to a lot of places we might never have seen. The clues are a variety of things, in this case, we are looking for some text on the other side of that statue. To make it more challenging, it is written in Latin.</div>
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Sometimes the directions were difficult to follow. We need a date off of that building at the end of that bridge but we should have found 2 clues before getting to the bridge. It turned out we entered this area in the wrong place and the two missing clues are on the other side on a path to the right.</div>
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Our second cemetery, the Necropolis at the Cathedral. I make plans to come back later in the week. I want to go all the way up to the top and see what/who is up there and to check out the view of the city.</div>
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Mr. Livingstone I presume? We hit our second snag between this statue of David Livingstone and the Cathedral in the background. There is a sign missing off the front of another statue in the courtyard and it appears that is where our clue would be.</div>
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While we are outside the Cathedral we find out that the guy we left in Amsterdam and the person who left Montana a whole day after we did have arrived at the hotel (which serves to highlight how bad our travel experience was). They are given directions on how to find us. In the meantime, we pause the hunt to check out the Cathedral, no clues lie inside.</div>
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The Cathedral is free and open to the public daily. You can leave a donation, which we happily did. There is a small gift shop in a corner and we buy a small stained glass ornament after being inspired by the amazing windows of this Gothic architecture style building. The building was built 12th century and it is, according to Wikipedia, no longer technically a Cathedral because it isn't the seat of a bishop and hasn't been since 1690.</div>
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I don't really care about all of that. The building is beautiful and inspiring and what I really want to know is, is that for sale? I have a thing for angel statuary, especially really big ones and, though it is hard to tell from the photo, she is life size. I wonder what the shipping would cost?</div>
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I know this kind of looks like the other picture but this is a completely separate room. There are a lot of nooks and crannies to check out here. Lots of interesting stone work and stained glass and wood work. There are tapestries and tombs in the floors below.</div>
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Back outside the rain has let up enough to take down the hoods. The rest of our group shows up and we go from a party of 3 to a party of 5. We are about halfway through the book and it becomes apparent to me pretty quickly that the hunt for our killer is going to take a backseat to hunting for pubs. As we continue on to the next clue, the talk amongst the boys is primarily on this topic. We have been walking for a long time and we could use some fuel for the rest of the walk.</div>
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And that's how it comes to pass that David eats haggis. After trying mountain oysters a few years ago, I have sworn off food made from freaky animal parts and actually rarely eat any kind of meat other than fish or eggs anymore. No haggis for me. David doesn't love it but while eating at Taco Bell in the Minneapolis airport on the way home, they inadvertently finds a miniscule sliver of lettuce on his "soft tacos with no lettuce". When I told him to get a grip he said he would rather eat haggis again than lettuce. I think that says a lot about the general differences in food preferences where he and I are concerned.</div>
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All of the boys try the haggis and have some beers. This is the first of 3 pubs we will visit before making it back to the hotel. When we were in Amsterdam, we went down to the restaurant at the hotel and the Jackson Browne song from the movie <i>Fast Times at Ridgemont High</i> was playing. He was the first in a string of 80s pop singers we heard that night. This trend followed us to Glasgow. Every place we went they were playing 70s and 80s "American" pop-music. Madonna, Fleetwood Mac, Seals & Croft. I didn't expect to hear non-stop bagpipes and Celtic Women CDs but I didn't expect this either. While the boys finish their sheep stomach "meatballs" I check out the ladies room.</div>
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I have seen a lot of funny signs in bathrooms, mostly about what to do with your tampons and proper hand washing techniques involving songs from Sesame Street. This is my first encounter with a warning about drugs and "offensive" weapons.</div>
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Does this count as an offensive weapon? Unfortunately I don't get to find out as the TSA frowns on my carrying this with me when I travel. I can't even wear my hair in a ponytail if I don't want to have a quasi-sexual encounter with a female TSA agent these days.</div>
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Between pubs we continue to look for clues but not with as much interest. We never make it back to the cemetery where we had our first missed clue.</div>
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We fail to solve the mystery. We have 3 suspects and 2 weapons left. We leave Scotland a week later and are no closer to the answer. Sherlock Holmes would be disgusted with us.</div>
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Toward the end of our walk, we end up by the Clyde river (or is it the river Clyde?). There is the rest of my entourage, walking ahead of me. I get behind as usual stopping to take pictures of things that most other people would never take pictures of. Like trash. Or homeless people. Or strange signs about drugs and weapons in the ladies room.</div>
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It turns out to be a good thing that I am walking a little behind the crowd. When I hear the phrase "I think I just burped up some sheep intestines" I know that a safe distance behind is right where I belong. I am starting to think that haggis could be considered an offensive weapon by some. It is a good thing that Alka-Seltzer is legal and that I have some back at the hotel. I think one or more of those boys is going to need it.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02158042051142667445noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1219665788245176515.post-90416570152343706112015-10-12T18:08:00.003-07:002015-10-12T18:09:12.607-07:00Amsterdammit: Amsterdam, The NetherlandsWhen David received the message he would be going to Scotland, he asked if I wanted to go. Initially, I said no. We were at our son's wedding. There had been expenses involved with that whole affair. When my aunt passed away and I traveled to Florida, I spent a lot more than I originally planned. I had spent quite a bit of money in a very short period of time. I just couldn't see spending the money for me to go right now. Then I talked to Carla.<br />
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Everyone needs a friend like Carla. Carla will tell me if I look fat, or tired, or my outfit is awful. She will tell me if I am being unreasonable or mean or ignorant. When I told Carla about my not going on this trip she said,"Stop being an idiot." She may have said I was crazy too. "When will you ever get the chance to go again for just the cost of your plane ticket and food?" She was right. All of our hotel and David's airfare and food would be covered by his company as he is going to attend a conference.<br />
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The day after my talk with Carla, David sent me a text as I was getting started on my work day. "Tim died this morning." His friend Tim had died after arriving at work. Sitting at his desk he had a heart attack and just like that he was gone. Tim was in his 50s. I sent David a message back, "I'm going to Scotland with you."<br />
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Because that is what life is about. Living it while you can. Not being an idiot and skipping a chance of a lifetime. I had never been outside of the US before. Not even Mexico or Canada when both had been options at different times. I didn't even have a passport. David had been on my case to get that done with us living only about 3 hours from the border with Canada but I was dragging my feet. Not on purpose, but that was the reality. I printed the paperwork and it sat in my in-tray for a long time. Then I filled it out and it sat some more. Then I found my birth certificate and paper clipped it to the application and it sat again. That is the state it was in when I decided to go. And because of that, I got to spend an extra $80 in all to do an expedited passport.<br />
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Now, at 46, I finally have my passport and a plane ticket to Scotland. Our trip will take us from Montana to Salt Lake City, UT to Amsterdam to Glasgow. The flight from Salt Lake to Amsterdam is 10 hours by itself. I am excited the night before and was worried I would have trouble sleeping. I didn't, that is until 6 am when Delta sends me a text message. Our flight in Salt Lake is going to be delayed an hour and we will miss our connection in Amsterdam. I am not sure how they already knew this since we weren't even due to leave Montana for a few more hours.<br />
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We get to Salt Lake and discover that the plane to take us to Amsterdam is coming from Amsterdam. That's how they knew. Amsterdam is 8 hours ahead of us so when they left there late, it sealed our fate very early. Two of David's colleagues are on all of our same flights. As promised, we leave SLC about an hour late. Fortunately, David and I are seated in a 2 seat section so it is just us. I really wanted to sleep and took Advil PM but it wasn't meant to be. I couldn't get comfortable even with the extra leg room we had and the lack of others in our row with us. I did that sort of twilighty nap thing where you are still vaguely aware of everything but I never really slept. Somewhere over Canada, the man in the row in front of us starts nudging David's coworker who is seated in front of David. They are looking out the window so we look too and we see the Northern Lights.<br />
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It isn't easy to photograph the Aurora Borealis with your iPhone through your airplane window while zooming over Canada in the middle of the night. I have always wanted to see them and now that I have, it just makes me want to see them again and again and again. Norway and Alaska may have just moved up on our "someday" list.</div>
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But as the universe has a tendency to do with me, it gives and it takes away. It gave me the Northern Lights so it was time for me to pay. We arrive in Amsterdam to find that we didn't exactly miss our connection as that flight never left, it was cancelled due to fog. Really bad fog apparently because flights are being cancelled and delayed like crazy and there are people lined up everywhere. The lines are very, very, very long. I can't even stress how long. Longer than anything I have ever seen in a US airport. No one there knows where they are supposed to be and the airline and airport employees were no help and in our case, sometimes made matters worse.</div>
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We get in a line at a "transfer station" that is for Delta priority members - I am gold with Delta. The line isn't nearly as long as those who don't have status but it isn't short. There are 4 employees there to help everyone in both lines. We will be here a while. We didn't even join this line until we tried to use the automated kiosks which said "report to desk" and "no alternative flights are available". While we are in line, the men I am with have various conversations about what we should do. They check the Delta app which has conflicting information ranging from we have a flight in a few hours no flight at all and this changes each time they look. A few times one or more of them get out of line to try the kiosks again "just in case". Because Delta is not the actual carrier now, it will be their partner KLM, that website is consulted and is also giving information that doesn't help.</div>
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At some point, one of the men is given the advice by a woman in an official looking uniform that we should get out of this line and go down the the gate. I really don't want to do this. I think it is a bad idea to give up our place in this line but I keep that to myself. I am trying not to end up being called that 5-letter B word that I really, really hate being called. You know the one. If you know me, you have probably called me it at some point, especially if you are a man. Bossy. So I stay out of it and we leave the line that maybe has 20 people in front of us. Not that the line is moving.</div>
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We go to the gate where they are going to board a flight to Budapest before the next one to Glasgow. One of the guys goes up to the desk to ask the gate agent to help. This was after the kiosks were tried again on the way to the gate "just in case". Incidentally, now the kiosks say we don't exist at all. One of the gate agents tells us to go away, they can't be bothered with us right now they are working the Budapest flight. But they aren't. There is no one at the desk and they are not boarding or getting ready to board right away. One girl does start to look up some information but ultimately she can't help. She tells us to go back to the transfer station and get back in that line.</div>
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As a testament to the weirdness that is this airport and this day, the sign on this door says "Emergency Door, keep clear" in English and Dutch.</div>
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That door is on this wall that is in the middle of the floor <i>with no other walls attached to it</i>. Please do not block this door that is in this wall that you can walk all the way around.</div>
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We pass another transfer station on our way back and the line is incredibly long. Longer possibly than the one at the original station that wasn't for priority customers. Back at the original transfer station, the priority line is at least twice as long as it was when we left. We are standing there when the lady that told us to go to the gate walks by (looking for people who do not have status with Delta to kick them out of this line). She makes a face and says, "Why are you back in my line?" She sends us away again, back to the gate. She promises they will help. She talked to someone on the phone. </div>
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Back at the gate, guess what happens? They won't help us. AND the next flight to Glasgow has been delayed. We have no idea if we are on that flight but it is delayed for a couple of hours more and we are told we cannot get help until about 40 minutes before the flight. Back to the transfer station. More consulting of the Delta App, the kiosks and the KLM website occur. One of the other guys says he shows confirmed on a flight that will leave the next morning. David is currently showing he will leave at 1 am and I show the delayed flight. We arrive back at the transfer station priority line which has grown so long they had to put up temporary barriers as it is probably 5 times as long as it originally was. </div>
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Enough is enough. I decide the B word is worth risking and I call Delta on the phone. David and I are confirmed on the first flight that will leave the next day. I get the boarding passes of David's colleagues and get them squared away as well. Now we have to get a hotel and clear customs. This isn't going to be an easy task either as we are not the only ones with this problem. I think we arrived in Amsterdam around 11 am and it is now around 7 pm. We tag team the hotel acquisition and one of David's colleagues gets us rooms and we head to the customs line.</div>
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I am in the front as we try to find the end of the line. You go down a long hall and turn and there are people as far as you can see. Down that hall, turn, people as far as you can see. I think 4 halls later we find the end. People are cutting like crazy.</div>
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These are some of the rudest people I have ever encountered and I have flown a lot and have seen lots of rude behavior. Besides the blatant cutting in line, people stand right on top of you. The girl behind us keeps trying to edge past us and makes comments if you don't move up immediately and stand directly on top of the person in front of you. When we finally get to where the line split to go to one of two custom's agents we were standing back to see which would move faster and she demands to know which line we are in. BOTH we told her. I wanted to call her a heifer, my go-to term for irritating people, but since we are not in the US I am not sure how that will translate.</div>
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We make it outside and find the shuttle bus to take us to the airport. On the shuttle, almost immediately the bus driver gets into an altercation with a cab driver.</div>
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The cab driver ends up driving right in front of our shuttle bus and slamming on his breaks to antagonize our driver. Our driver in return is tailgating the cab. I try not to look. Even when we turn, the cab cuts us off and our shuttle driver never lets up. Various fingers were displayed before I took this picture.</div>
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We (luckily) make it to the hotel, the cab driver pulls into the parking lot across the street. The police are called and they actually come. I am thinking that I would be shocked for the police to respond to something like this in big-city America when there was no accident and no one was physically injured.</div>
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I am getting an extra stamp in my passport because of our delay, The Netherlands. It is late and we are tired and hungry. What do The Netherlands offer us? You may have noticed it in the last picture.</div>
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That's right...the golden arches of McDonald's. I have managed for the first time in my life to leave the US only to get to a hotel after a less than ideal day, hoping for some kind of Amsterdammy type experience but no. They have a McDonald's. I refused to eat there. Not for dinner. Not for breakfast. It is also the view from our hotel room. It's like they are mocking me.</div>
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In setting up the rooms we learned things can be different over here. When told we need 3 rooms for 4 adults they ask if we want to be in one room. Yeah, that is a big fat NO. They finally understand - 3 hotel rooms, not three beds.</div>
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We end up with 2 beds in our one room. Twin beds pushed together. I was so tired I didn't care if they were pushed together or not. I would have taken a cot at this point. We have been awake for something like 21 hours. I don't even remember David turning off the light. I was already asleep. This set up also works for me because I don't like anyone touching me when I am trying to sleep. Stay on your side of the bed please. David likes to tether. He likes to put his hand on me, or his foot. I hate that. It is like a hot weight on me and it drives me crazy. He had to stay on his side or risk falling in the gap. Or being pushed.</div>
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In another attempt to keep this experience as American as possible, David finds Little House on the Prairie and I watch my first episode ever while we get ready to leave the next morning. Not just my first episode in Amsterdam, the first of my whole life.</div>
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So far, it is feeling like maybe I should have just stayed in the US. I could have had been stranded at an airport, had McDonald's and watched reruns of 70s shows there too. Plus there would be two less American men in the world who learned that I can be bossy (allegedly). I don't know if the men in the rest of the world will find me that way. I have to find some first.</div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02158042051142667445noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1219665788245176515.post-15891219000228860862015-10-01T19:30:00.003-07:002015-10-01T20:12:13.823-07:00Buc-ee's: Terrell, TXI lost my sister-in-law in a<a href="https://www.buc-ees.com//index.php" target="_blank"> Buc-ee's</a> once. The one near Huntsville, Texas. We were on I-45 between Houston and Dallas, coming or going, I don't remember which. You can't miss any Buc-ee's as I was already well aware but at the time I thought this one near Huntsville was the only one.<br />
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It is easy to get lost in - or to lose someone in - one of these stores. Cathy and I had wandered off from each other, as you have a tendency to do in Buc-ee's. You can get separated pretty easily, even in the bathroom. I went outside to wait and sent her a text telling her where I was. She came outside later and was upset with me. She looked all over for me (inside, obviously). She never got my text. Down the road about 30 minutes later, she gets a text. My text. As they say, technology is great...when it works.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8Vp_I8GNIlAti0Kv3rabme398dMe44njbF5vj1lcLW7Ix7X25zC0yZ_xxNoOjkRRLAaERhZzqjRSVcbK17CsRmjJCWudLbj7uW5FOUAaFVTf6hFMTOtxvnWG8eIJIgalXHKKEjkvo2Rw/s1600/IMG_0578.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8Vp_I8GNIlAti0Kv3rabme398dMe44njbF5vj1lcLW7Ix7X25zC0yZ_xxNoOjkRRLAaERhZzqjRSVcbK17CsRmjJCWudLbj7uW5FOUAaFVTf6hFMTOtxvnWG8eIJIgalXHKKEjkvo2Rw/s400/IMG_0578.JPG" width="300" /> </a></div>
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In my defense, the day I lost Cathy, the Buc-ee's we stopped at was much busier than this one in Terrell is. I had no trouble finding a parking spot. But even if they had been packed, I could have found parking, parking is one of the many things they are not lacking. Parking, and gas pumps, and well...you'll see.</div>
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As I said, I thought the one in Huntsville was it but either I didn't realize they had more stores or they have added stores since we left Texas. Now they have several stores in and around Houston and San Antonio, two that are strategically placed on the main arteries up to Dallas from those cities. I know the one in Terrell didn't exist until more recently. I have driven this stretch of I-20 between Dallas and Louisiana a bunch of times. Many, many, many Buc-ee's-less times.</div>
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Coming back from Florida, I pass through Shreveport and that is where the signs begin. "You can hold it!" they claim. It is approximately 156 miles from Shreveport to Terrell or about 2 1/2 hours. This is one time where there is truth in advertising. Buc-ee's claims to have the cleanest restrooms anywhere and they absolutely do. You don't have to be afraid of what might be behind that partially open door as I have been at many an airport. You could eat off the floor in a Buc-ee's bathroom. I wouldn't, but <i>you </i>could. Not only is the bathroom clean but there are a LOT of stalls. I can't stress this enough. A LOT. You are not going to get here and see a bus load of kids in band uniforms and be stuck waiting in a line 40 kids deep. At Buc-ee's, they have you covered. Room for everyone.</div>
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No picture you ask? Sorry, no. I could not take a photo of the bathroom due to my personal issues with people and their cell phones in the bathroom. Why do you need to have this conversation right now? In the next stall? I am trying to have what should be a private moment here people - HANG UP THE F$%^ING PHONE!</div>
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Moving on. Bathrooms aren't the only thing that make Buc-ee's worth stopping for. If you decide to test the eating off the bathroom floor theory, there is plenty to choose from.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglgyki_yI0UC7vXVwQ5MNCWvPNsNrq0DpxJ0MWwSExvCZ2nxvD5pKFaO-9f_tGcjBnmEvDMdU2BcolV90t99mxc3n34cmET4mCVRTinkx8iDyPmcip3VdAtNVOJ0Gq3xDoizRzvsZXBiw/s1600/IMG_0580.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglgyki_yI0UC7vXVwQ5MNCWvPNsNrq0DpxJ0MWwSExvCZ2nxvD5pKFaO-9f_tGcjBnmEvDMdU2BcolV90t99mxc3n34cmET4mCVRTinkx8iDyPmcip3VdAtNVOJ0Gq3xDoizRzvsZXBiw/s400/IMG_0580.JPG" width="300" /> </a></div>
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Besides having anything you could possibly want to eat or drink (copious amounts of Bud anyone?), they are a merchandizing machine. I am barely in the front door and I can buy Buc-ee's socks if my feet are cold, or wet, or perfectly fine but in need of a toothy beaver. All of those rows over to the left are candy. Rows and rows and rows. If you have a car full of small children, consider yourself warned.</div>
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Even those of us who are non-meat eaters or who are trying to make choices that don't involve large quantities of sugar are covered. Salads and fruit and veggies galore. Huge cases of them.</div>
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At the Texas Round Up area in the middle of the store you can get fresh made Barbeque: Brisket and ribs and sausage and chicken and other assorted flesh. Get it on a bun, get it off, get it to go. Hot and ready. They also have another deli section to the left of this out of the picture, a homemade fudge counter and a drink area with every possible bottled and fountain drink (plus coffee and other hot beverages) known to man.</div>
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Not hungry? Waiting on someone lost in the bathroom? Planning ahead for Christmas or birthday or some other event traditionally requiring a gift? In need of personal retail therapy? Again, they have you covered. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6FF2055sZjEg67pkoTrSh4pZvDFbo-tSJBQeT9wkSyCziv_IbcRCPj3tY3kjFhCcoJznKyKAyruCWSzqbBVKWQrh9bB0iV3uwNmUaYjKHuJ7skivSIBTUX6d-qXpunXMyqr07TZup1ZA/s1600/IMG_0583.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6FF2055sZjEg67pkoTrSh4pZvDFbo-tSJBQeT9wkSyCziv_IbcRCPj3tY3kjFhCcoJznKyKAyruCWSzqbBVKWQrh9bB0iV3uwNmUaYjKHuJ7skivSIBTUX6d-qXpunXMyqr07TZup1ZA/s400/IMG_0583.JPG" width="300" /> </a></div>
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Candles and picture frames and rugs and clocks and cookbooks and other kitchen items and</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh28_vMJ50FtCixwuq0qJpz0CxeOu3NSG1hXR1rvcz6fVV4rgCnijzK1BoMg7LBAAZKe0y4_ZiSrU9KpReVUN1pGWW87j0bjJbP9rYnWXKpyGCnaAFPMNjAIqdIz0bRYljmJzYlsHPs6H0/s1600/IMG_0586.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh28_vMJ50FtCixwuq0qJpz0CxeOu3NSG1hXR1rvcz6fVV4rgCnijzK1BoMg7LBAAZKe0y4_ZiSrU9KpReVUN1pGWW87j0bjJbP9rYnWXKpyGCnaAFPMNjAIqdIz0bRYljmJzYlsHPs6H0/s400/IMG_0586.JPG" width="300" /> </a></div>
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Men's, Women's and children's clothing, handbags, jewelry, belts, hats, shoes, scarves and tons of those trendy signs and</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3O0h2YMj1qKEwGPChCEAnUhRxdS98JFUIW_DYa5fHddURl8rxMAC79BijRy67DOvij7EJBIJp6G2UCjW832BkHDZLkWl7MQdaiEihb1qFP55mILRlFY5Ng3aUwvJeeoFImlY8TjiDpBM/s1600/IMG_0587.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3O0h2YMj1qKEwGPChCEAnUhRxdS98JFUIW_DYa5fHddURl8rxMAC79BijRy67DOvij7EJBIJp6G2UCjW832BkHDZLkWl7MQdaiEihb1qFP55mILRlFY5Ng3aUwvJeeoFImlY8TjiDpBM/s400/IMG_0587.JPG" width="300" /> </a></div>
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Looking for Texas themed items? You've come to the right place. More clothes, hats, bumper stickers, aprons, pot holders and</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOVddFu5PK18sveQarZdEih0Xqgb5T-zQggu8Qb1cEuwdvaqJW_P6GU4lG0GrIzRNpjjEbtfui8Y8YSWmv_AnFab1Ed2pBB0ez0OCELQ_8HFNLn47VyceWK9kzlLgj4cXe2otlxMUmnt4/s1600/IMG_0589.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOVddFu5PK18sveQarZdEih0Xqgb5T-zQggu8Qb1cEuwdvaqJW_P6GU4lG0GrIzRNpjjEbtfui8Y8YSWmv_AnFab1Ed2pBB0ez0OCELQ_8HFNLn47VyceWK9kzlLgj4cXe2otlxMUmnt4/s400/IMG_0589.JPG" width="300" /> </a></div>
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Need a birdhouse?</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGchj5XavwQYx3M2dEE3l18lkMM38Mwo0bDjJs1KrAfdpNmIm_QNcL5RyhMAnEH1divj1-m0XYw9h4ZrCBTZ9gc1zhlL39WL4SxTC_xCPmnG-V-91UryjOJmp1Gd3YSql5OVtyO-5vf50/s1600/IMG_0591.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGchj5XavwQYx3M2dEE3l18lkMM38Mwo0bDjJs1KrAfdpNmIm_QNcL5RyhMAnEH1divj1-m0XYw9h4ZrCBTZ9gc1zhlL39WL4SxTC_xCPmnG-V-91UryjOJmp1Gd3YSql5OVtyO-5vf50/s400/IMG_0591.JPG" width="300" /> </a></div>
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Something with a non-edible chicken on it? </div>
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(The edible kind are also available, I covered that already.)</div>
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Metal yard ornaments?</div>
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Ideas for bacon? I almost got this for David until I remembered I would be the one cooking and then not eating the 101 things.</div>
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Anything and everything Buc-ee's. Clothes, bumper stickers, backpacks, koozies, magnets, the list goes on and on and on. Somewhere here at my house, there is a Buc-ee's neck pillow, like the kind you use on an airplane, that my brother bought for me. I haven't seen it since our move but I know it is lurking here somewhere, grinning with it's giant beaver teeth. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoucnaJV6ujtjXfSR3abTD9Fx_V_jDztF_-iiVJAmjXM17R9Xd9NlyGtGh6fHys2ycm1wFOeXYYJKq0McgT-snMsvnf4ZeB99iR3U_uO64xT6VTNKWX1lHqAZ0yOt6ozmVA1C7Twq_iS8/s1600/IMG_0592.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoucnaJV6ujtjXfSR3abTD9Fx_V_jDztF_-iiVJAmjXM17R9Xd9NlyGtGh6fHys2ycm1wFOeXYYJKq0McgT-snMsvnf4ZeB99iR3U_uO64xT6VTNKWX1lHqAZ0yOt6ozmVA1C7Twq_iS8/s400/IMG_0592.JPG" width="300" /> </a></div>
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Even at the register you aren't safe from the Buc-ee's themed merchandise. Wondering what I bought? Would you believe me if I said nothing? </div>
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Nah, me neither.</div>
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I was going to get this and take it to my dad, I have to go by his house on my way to the hotel. Then I noticed the seal was broken. </div>
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And then I saw this. No cooking involved. Dad would have loved it if it had survived the journey. It is about an hour from here to my dad's house and I haven't had dinner. Sorry dad.</div>
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Buc-ee's is worth a stop if you are passing by. Even if you are in the general vicinity - say within 100 miles it might be worth a trip. I might be inclined to make the detour again if I were hungry, or thirsty, or in the mood to shop, or in need of a mecca of consumerism. Or if I need a bathroom. Trust me...you can hold it.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02158042051142667445noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1219665788245176515.post-13740499915889750812015-09-28T19:38:00.000-07:002015-09-28T21:02:03.401-07:00Saying Goodbye: Pensacola, FLMy aunt died. It wasn't unexpected but really, does that matter? Does that make it easier for the people that loved her? Of course not. She was ill for a long time but things had deteriorated and my cousin notified me that she was in hospice. So I told her, when the time comes, I will be on my way. But, as often happens in these situations, it didn't turn out exactly the way I planned.<br />
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Phyllis was my dad's only sibling. They were close growing up.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfKhyphenhyphenc7MNSPYBkaI5CifZwuL7PRJy0MAQNxA9kSBpdNt8P5EhsNsamxHW1PdorhqCRJ9l3_fz_kfCL2I1XpDlXRj1cjRXbx94wPo4fTussFJAMzHk_rE7V491OuR5UbT1e-ABFn1FXak0/s1600/03_17_196.JPEG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="312" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfKhyphenhyphenc7MNSPYBkaI5CifZwuL7PRJy0MAQNxA9kSBpdNt8P5EhsNsamxHW1PdorhqCRJ9l3_fz_kfCL2I1XpDlXRj1cjRXbx94wPo4fTussFJAMzHk_rE7V491OuR5UbT1e-ABFn1FXak0/s400/03_17_196.JPEG" width="400" /> </a></div>
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When your mom regularly dresses you up and poses you for pictures, I assume you form a special bond. There are a large number of pictures of my dad and Phyllis in various outfits, not always matching like the ones above, being posed both with and without their parents. Church, funeral, school events like prom, Easter, Christmas, birthdays, a new haircut. No event was too small for this exercise.</div>
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My dad moved to Texas in the late 60's and he and Phyllis never lived geographically close after that with Phyllis moving just over the line from their hometown of Atmore, Alabama to the Pensacola, FL area. Almost every summer, we loaded up the car and made the 12+ hour drive to spend time with my dad's family and in particular, Phyllis's family.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-gojJeq3hyphenhyphenhyO2fy94zCajgakhGF3e2MCBvZuLQuxHa5WhbzQLn1C0m9zKqN4aH3lfzIXIEacilR0Zn_2ItfMdomZP17FjH7Qd8xOORpny-oZjkeYRrSwFTu_oEfRFl__fDKuak-4qvE/s1600/03_17_37.JPEG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-gojJeq3hyphenhyphenhyO2fy94zCajgakhGF3e2MCBvZuLQuxHa5WhbzQLn1C0m9zKqN4aH3lfzIXIEacilR0Zn_2ItfMdomZP17FjH7Qd8xOORpny-oZjkeYRrSwFTu_oEfRFl__fDKuak-4qvE/s400/03_17_37.JPEG" width="393" /> </a></div>
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This was a common ritual. My parents LOVE the beach. I do not (nor did Phyllis). Possibly because I hate sand, maybe from being buried to my neck every summer. The only plus side to this is being protected from sunburn, something I can do after being exposed to very little sun. </div>
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Front to back: Me, my brother Donnie, my brother Aaron, my cousin David, my cousin Dawn (they are brother and sister).</div>
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I saw my mother's family constantly growing up. They lived nearby and we also had a boy and girl cousin on that side that were close in age to us. I enjoyed spending time with both families but there is something about spending time with Phyllis's family that was different. I peg it to staying in hotels and beach houses. Staying at your aunt's actual home (which happened with Phyllis but not that often), isn't as memorable. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga_5m7Hc56ynGDSws0BTNAobNzOpcraLU6KtZRxWOm7J74eZrOYzHz8FfHnQY6WtvxblS6Axafek0Ks7ONtvG5NhIeXKzUeils4OYvYM5c-GS7bSYNrDrap5RX1nAJ8Z1vDu3-sH1_A5w/s1600/Walker+family0034.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="278" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga_5m7Hc56ynGDSws0BTNAobNzOpcraLU6KtZRxWOm7J74eZrOYzHz8FfHnQY6WtvxblS6Axafek0Ks7ONtvG5NhIeXKzUeils4OYvYM5c-GS7bSYNrDrap5RX1nAJ8Z1vDu3-sH1_A5w/s400/Walker+family0034.jpg" width="400" /> </a></div>
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I am sure our parents could say where this was taken but I cannot. I do remember the outfit I am wearing and that a person in a gas station asked if I was a boy or girl. Really? I am the little blonde girl. Do people really dress their sons in halter tops? That's Phyllis on the left, her husband (one of my 3 uncles named Jim) and then my mom on the right. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvyc38GupIwraJqQWr3ZEfrdsdTFikaFRWUDq23qxHHQ2oNnZl8Kd6F6vE9MH7ioFgPBZTWHLAC7rXPUosa-HZU_z9wWBfo8BZyRzC8hFTMTB_qWyYG6OD-II3QT_EA2gO0x1bFlvfOPs/s1600/03_17_103.JPEG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvyc38GupIwraJqQWr3ZEfrdsdTFikaFRWUDq23qxHHQ2oNnZl8Kd6F6vE9MH7ioFgPBZTWHLAC7rXPUosa-HZU_z9wWBfo8BZyRzC8hFTMTB_qWyYG6OD-II3QT_EA2gO0x1bFlvfOPs/s400/03_17_103.JPEG" width="387" /> </a></div>
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Jim & Phyllis with David & Dawn. This photo brings back so many memories. We stayed in that hotel a bunch of times, the Holiday Inn in Navarre, FL. I don't think it is there anymore, I believe one of the hurricanes damaged it beyond repair.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxnZ73W6_4JWldB9bOJTUhmg_HUBw_QvnTpquTXJj4W4U-16UBfV1rx9sLCyTjlfyi6_t6bf3vm5rrLYzyfqAOdg2rZodnD7neXdpjcbFzixWToEbZJkV5ccobtbmWLX1qUPhpfOpL2zE/s1600/Donovan+Blackman+Aaron+Walker+Phyllis+Patrick+Dawn+Patrick+Kathleen+Walker+in+Gulf+Shores+AL+1973.JPEG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxnZ73W6_4JWldB9bOJTUhmg_HUBw_QvnTpquTXJj4W4U-16UBfV1rx9sLCyTjlfyi6_t6bf3vm5rrLYzyfqAOdg2rZodnD7neXdpjcbFzixWToEbZJkV5ccobtbmWLX1qUPhpfOpL2zE/s400/Donovan+Blackman+Aaron+Walker+Phyllis+Patrick+Dawn+Patrick+Kathleen+Walker+in+Gulf+Shores+AL+1973.JPEG" width="393" /></a></div>
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Back to not sure of the location exactly. My grandpa once took us swimming in a gravel pit so there is no telling. That's Phyllis with my brothers on her left and Dawn in the foreground. I don't know where I was but my guess somewhere in the shade.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtkOQr4JZoLmvNDjc8XgK78RplyuFo9n4W5SCJnxAyTOGrnANenwVk1cjmROPsDDuRhGsnprF9bSFGCllGv8M096q5a04ZNK6qfw-zPxDd6Cx-nR901uwMD_FqYOuCE4HD1Fg243Fbjzo/s1600/03_17_146.JPEG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="350" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtkOQr4JZoLmvNDjc8XgK78RplyuFo9n4W5SCJnxAyTOGrnANenwVk1cjmROPsDDuRhGsnprF9bSFGCllGv8M096q5a04ZNK6qfw-zPxDd6Cx-nR901uwMD_FqYOuCE4HD1Fg243Fbjzo/s400/03_17_146.JPEG" width="400" /></a></div>
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I think Phyllis probably took this photo. I also think this is the one and only year that my parents flew us out to visit in advance of their coming. We stayed at Phyllis's house and at both of our (divorced) grandparent's houses. I cut a huge gash on my upper thigh after I accused Donnie of cheating at cards and went to leave in a huff. My grandpa's solution was to lay me on the floor and pour rubbing alcohol on it. Based on the size of the scar I don't think I would be wrong in saying I actually needed stitches. That's me in the middle in the white dress. The tall one.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkKNtLWzQIDjkGmd6CPN1NteHeEKZGv-5QpYARYjmUlbWP3aF6dICgG0dLfsvCTtayQaC_aSE8_kI5eHmhvWgzjm61VBBynN0EcBB964_GasfAVtogNGGsMhxbid6fn6qbC2Bry5mB8ig/s1600/Scan0013.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="282" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkKNtLWzQIDjkGmd6CPN1NteHeEKZGv-5QpYARYjmUlbWP3aF6dICgG0dLfsvCTtayQaC_aSE8_kI5eHmhvWgzjm61VBBynN0EcBB964_GasfAVtogNGGsMhxbid6fn6qbC2Bry5mB8ig/s400/Scan0013.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Me and Phyllis laying on the beach. No doubt we both sunburned that day. It was always easy to see where I got my freckles from when I was around Phyllis. I think I am about 16 here. That's uncle Jim in the sunglasses behind us. I could have sworn I had a copy of this where Phyllis was looking at the camera but I couldn't find it anywhere which makes me really sad.</div>
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When I was 18, her son, my cousin David died. He was in a car accident the Wednesday before my wedding. His sister Dawn was supposed to be my Maid of Honor. Obviously, she wasn't as understandably none of that family came. I got married on Saturday and on Sunday my parent's called to ask my new husband David and I to postpone our honeymoon so they could go be with Phyllis when David died. We agreed. He died that Monday.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivgi3VOCUtOjIOy2TwbLRBVxVwTHeXNnV5pGZeh3URP7bdMYAXffLgpvFJQTICCBzapriDMVgCt0V5Azmih1Ultje3ygZ3dheOIX4YYQGiRXU3eAWjgZo9lWcAbdsm2rUDBxhyXO5M87U/s1600/Noelle+Walker+Smith+and+Dawn+Patrick+Danforth+Jan+16+1992+at+Dawns+Wedding.JPEG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivgi3VOCUtOjIOy2TwbLRBVxVwTHeXNnV5pGZeh3URP7bdMYAXffLgpvFJQTICCBzapriDMVgCt0V5Azmih1Ultje3ygZ3dheOIX4YYQGiRXU3eAWjgZo9lWcAbdsm2rUDBxhyXO5M87U/s400/Noelle+Walker+Smith+and+Dawn+Patrick+Danforth+Jan+16+1992+at+Dawns+Wedding.JPEG" width="385" /> </a></div>
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Me and Dawn at her wedding in 1992. I'm still the tall one.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_QD2Mtgm4FyJghDKywwJhonpD0TG_xEPf56Funxl5g_WOEY5A97qp6nzhNFhgXk-Q5H-Y9yr9WHYh7J0PUb1NDwjxV60cdAmnWqmuNeHM2cfnqP6C0LKvsBzE3hpXw1FvzJQb8CYFt3c/s1600/03_17_160.JPEG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="305" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_QD2Mtgm4FyJghDKywwJhonpD0TG_xEPf56Funxl5g_WOEY5A97qp6nzhNFhgXk-Q5H-Y9yr9WHYh7J0PUb1NDwjxV60cdAmnWqmuNeHM2cfnqP6C0LKvsBzE3hpXw1FvzJQb8CYFt3c/s400/03_17_160.JPEG" width="400" /> </a></div>
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This picture was taken just a couple of weeks before Dawn's wedding (the baby is my son Blake). We had traveled there when my grandpa died. Someone suggested that maybe the women in our family shouldn't get married because someone always died around that event. For Dawn it was grandpa. For me it was David. Phyllis's grandmother Dora died around the time of her wedding. </div>
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One thing about Phyllis that stands out to me, and really applies to
that whole family, is that she always seemed happy. She was always
smiling. Look at her in the picture above. I know she wasn't always happy, no one is ever always
anything. But my impressions of her now and as long as I can remember,
she was a positive person. My dad has that trait too. You never hear
them complain or use words like "I wish". I never heard her be sad about David's passing. Whenever she talked about him she lit up, she smiled, she talked about happy times. I want to be like that.</div>
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After her husband Jim died, things started to change. After a few years, Dawn was forced to seek care for her mother. Alzheimer's, early onset I would say since she was only in her mid-60's when she passed away. Like her mother, I never heard Dawn complain. She took care of it with a grace I hope to have half of if I am one day called to make the difficult decisions she was forced to make. </div>
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When Phyllis passed away, my dad called me. I asked if he planned to go to Florida and he said he would let me know. He and my mother had been there only a few weeks before and he had said he wouldn't go back when the time came. Knowing my dad I thought he might have changed his mind. When he decided yes they would go, I knew my course of action. </div>
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I would fly to Texas (from Montana) and then help him make the long drive to Pensacola. Dad drives a truck for a living and let's face it, he isn't getting any younger (that was for you dad), so I didn't like the idea of him making that long drive by himself. It isn't that he can't, that didn't matter. I didn't want him to. There are few people in the world that bring out my protective side but he is one of them. Once, when he was playing softball, a man on the other team was heckling him while he pitched and it took a lot of self-control for me to not go punch that man in the face. My plan is to get the keys as soon as I can and to do as much driving as possible.</div>
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All of this would delay my getting to Dawn as fast as promised but it felt like the right thing to do. Besides, thinking Dawn would need me right away (or at all) was a fallacy. It isn't that she didn't want me to come but she doesn't need me. She has a great family, close friends, good colleagues at work. She would have been okay had I never made it at all.<br />
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I flew to Texas and we made plans to start the drive the next morning. When my brother asked what time we were leaving I told him that mom was setting her alarm for 6 am so my guess would be 9. I was close...we got in the car at 8:30. That's when things started to fall apart. My mom calls her mom while we are still on the street my parents live on. Her mom is unwell and at 90 years old, that is a big deal. There is conversation about missing medication. She speaks to one of my aunts who is at my grandmother's home and there is talk of going to a hospital.</div>
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Getting to Dawn quickly wasn't about Phyllis. It was about Dawn. When the discussion began about what needed to happen my dad said it perfectly to my mother, "Phyllis is gone, I can't do anything for her now. Your mother is still here. We have to take care of the living." So dad drove me to DFW airport, I rented a car and drove on alone. I know it was hard for my dad but I also know he would never tell you he was sorry for that decision or that it was wrong. That's not the way he thinks. Again, I want to be like that.</div>
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So I drove and I thought. And thought. And thought. And wrote some of this post in my head along the way. Probably some really good stuff I didn't write here. Driving to Florida to say goodbye to Phyllis and to do whatever it was that Dawn needed me to do gave me lots of time to think about them, about family, about my childhood. </div>
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I remember that trip when we flew to Florida without mom and dad clearly. Maybe because mom and dad weren't there. Maybe because a lot happened and we had that factor of staying in homes we weren't familiar with and with people we barely ever saw. What stands out the most is that when we arrived at the airport in Mobile, Phyllis and Jim were there to get us and I was sick. We drove to their house with Phyllis sitting in the back of the van with me, holding my head in her lap, while I fought the urge to vomit. I can't be sure that I didn't. I just remember her caring and kindness and her promise I would be fine. Those are important things when you are young and away from home and with what almost amounted to strangers.</div>
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Phyllis and I saw each other once, maybe twice on average, per year over the whole of my life. Less after I was an adult. But there are parts of my life that only she and her family bore witness to. The time I was sick after the plane ride, when I cut my leg on the table, when I threw up large amounts of watermelon in my grandma's back yard. Now I think, maybe those things never happened. There is almost no one left to tell me otherwise. </div>
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My family on that side is dwindling. My dad, my brother, me and Dawn. Our families of course. But as it always is as generations begin to pass on, sometimes those below have a hard time keeping in touch, finding time to be together. We have that whole geographic distance problem: Dad and Aaron in Texas, me in Montana, Dawn in Florida. Both Dawn and I have been married more than 20 years and our husbands might have met once or twice. Recently, Dawn and I have made an effort to find a way to see each other at least once a year. Just like when we were kids. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu4TgIaUwYWKYqbVqMQKtIFP5TkRBdSjprmVU56gVNfxDEJ8ASbMko3goE4oBsQcQECFxEw2g7W8EF3-7SU1jG5I3y_JdjaBwwTblOEX4RCOX7yrFc_x8d-EzPo8_NJZFzQv5-LRr-bQM/s1600/IMG_9933.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu4TgIaUwYWKYqbVqMQKtIFP5TkRBdSjprmVU56gVNfxDEJ8ASbMko3goE4oBsQcQECFxEw2g7W8EF3-7SU1jG5I3y_JdjaBwwTblOEX4RCOX7yrFc_x8d-EzPo8_NJZFzQv5-LRr-bQM/s320/IMG_9933.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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Dawn and I in Nashville this past April. I'm the one on the left. Always the tall one.</div>
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Memory works in strange ways. Phyllis lost hers. I feel like some of mine are less real now that she is gone. As Dawn and I go on and make new memories, maybe together, by seeing each other and talking about the old times, the fun times, hopefully those memories I feel are fading by the loss of their witnesses, can stay real. At least for a little while longer.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02158042051142667445noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1219665788245176515.post-38467175978310181892015-09-05T14:42:00.002-07:002015-09-05T14:42:29.340-07:00Crater of the Moon National Monument & Preserve: Arco, IDA person could starve to death in Idaho. Not only that but it is unlikely anyone would ever find you until you are a pile of bones and, just maybe, not even then.<br />
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On the way home from Boise we decide to make another side trip, this time to the Craters of the Moon National Monument & Preserve near Arco, ID. During the 190 mile, 3 hour trip from Boise to Arco, the nearest town to the Monument, there was nothing. No gas stations. No fast food. No mom and pop store. Nothing. I can't stress this enough. Nothing. David and I became vaguely concerned about options for lunch. Once you arrive in Arco there is a gas station that has a little convenience store so we were able to get drinks and snacks. David, as per his usual, picks out hot and spicy pork rinds...a decision he later comes to regret.</div>
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As I mentioned in my last post, this part of Idaho isn't what I expected but what you really don't expect is to be driving along and come to a volcanic wasteland. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwlWeQFplRu6prLGo8BGF6dzylKqPAhBSgMaDd9texwLWKc_aOs1-DSyFaXeeTYjcK7mzlVEE2x-Qmtsl7rCp4bBqc4DXHzD3pzNq-N1YQ9FWh7fy-oARMdo3F325kZce_ZXJcZ5x6iC8/s1600/IMG_0391.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwlWeQFplRu6prLGo8BGF6dzylKqPAhBSgMaDd9texwLWKc_aOs1-DSyFaXeeTYjcK7mzlVEE2x-Qmtsl7rCp4bBqc4DXHzD3pzNq-N1YQ9FWh7fy-oARMdo3F325kZce_ZXJcZ5x6iC8/s400/IMG_0391.JPG" width="400" /> </a></div>
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This wasn't one volcano but a group of them called The Great Fissure. The National Monument and Preserve cover 750,000 acres.</div>
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There is a very nice visitor center where we watch a movie about a man who in 1920 hiked across the entire length with another man and a dog. The poor dog was wishing pretty quickly he had been left at home. The sharpness of the rocks damaged his feet both quickly and badly. Geologists say this is the most recent fissure eruption in the US (excluding Hawaii). In 1924, President Coolidge used the 1906 Antiquities Act to preserve this area as a National Monument.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBDXGXpTYSSTTfx1Qx4aQyhcsfNaKpP7mlck7KndFMUheoh9eqb00ABn2nxhLtFY1stsQ-yZqGbc_gjaoZ_-Q8RCj0X_DK7TqOUZhsKRROe696B53PTojZmzxmc9f3oyT8AJAoAX46SH8/s1600/IMG_0342.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBDXGXpTYSSTTfx1Qx4aQyhcsfNaKpP7mlck7KndFMUheoh9eqb00ABn2nxhLtFY1stsQ-yZqGbc_gjaoZ_-Q8RCj0X_DK7TqOUZhsKRROe696B53PTojZmzxmc9f3oyT8AJAoAX46SH8/s400/IMG_0342.JPG" width="400" /> </a></div>
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There are campsites here for both tent camping and RVs. It is easy to understand why NASA sent astronauts here in 1969 to prepare for moon missions.</div>
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There are several parking areas where you can walk a trail to view the different kinds of volcanic rock along with the other scenery here. I will say these were not really ADA friendly although they are paved. The paths were narrow and not really flat and it was easy to trip if you weren't paying attention to where you were walking. Or even if you were if you are like me and find yourself tripping at places like the mall or the parking lot at Walmart.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhabpcItSuHMqlRaSacFkXl1pgWY6ife3yzVwZYytEiR00iPlmmtdqVA7HNy9988BbvbsLd_DMEqUvx-mvZQRSOeSK8YH8jdkI57Esg4vX2sWPl6DCsNC9HC44FSEmyTQB5rVrifHZeQu4/s1600/IMG_0329.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhabpcItSuHMqlRaSacFkXl1pgWY6ife3yzVwZYytEiR00iPlmmtdqVA7HNy9988BbvbsLd_DMEqUvx-mvZQRSOeSK8YH8jdkI57Esg4vX2sWPl6DCsNC9HC44FSEmyTQB5rVrifHZeQu4/s400/IMG_0329.JPG" width="400" /> </a></div>
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There was a surprising amount of wildlife here including lots of chipmunks, some who posed nicely to have their portrait done.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFaM-JR4mGE2s3nUYL1CN7hUakpfaux1Q585xjExuuGgnY-IzXjUAu1oPKpjasD7qstPHAfiYx2ZJUhpj9WBejdMdrmc0zuhp8h6-rHR3VtF6bE59RJNbkSuBVE65jNQSeEGmKLPHBhyI/s1600/IMG_0345.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFaM-JR4mGE2s3nUYL1CN7hUakpfaux1Q585xjExuuGgnY-IzXjUAu1oPKpjasD7qstPHAfiYx2ZJUhpj9WBejdMdrmc0zuhp8h6-rHR3VtF6bE59RJNbkSuBVE65jNQSeEGmKLPHBhyI/s400/IMG_0345.JPG" width="358" /> </a></div>
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And a large variety of birds.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBpoOr6tXr_kdz_KlDCrQxczr-JsdlsKcissB_abfgHftorLmQA6aY8P8dp1zpvAo1VSliyiJ1Tf3pd_8Wc_jg0SeCDvj2byjD_UEhzY7pTPuLfJurWtXIKeT6Brf-Y0QhDG1-vGeWesU/s1600/IMG_0334.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBpoOr6tXr_kdz_KlDCrQxczr-JsdlsKcissB_abfgHftorLmQA6aY8P8dp1zpvAo1VSliyiJ1Tf3pd_8Wc_jg0SeCDvj2byjD_UEhzY7pTPuLfJurWtXIKeT6Brf-Y0QhDG1-vGeWesU/s400/IMG_0334.JPG" width="400" /> </a></div>
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There is a surprising amount of vegetation, considering all of the rock.
Lots of sage and other desert/scrubby bushes and craggy trees. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx-tMS1FtvGnyIfCBPWAXMP4aj0ryb29-sv1ySt0bnCrq05M5L619WHjxFGeOS48z3v7zhWhHNLbnAAkCNNs6m955CK0MxM4dljA-jAa9k4yHeB2yfzuPGhRVs6E8DdCtm-DDt77N5J5c/s1600/IMG_0337.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx-tMS1FtvGnyIfCBPWAXMP4aj0ryb29-sv1ySt0bnCrq05M5L619WHjxFGeOS48z3v7zhWhHNLbnAAkCNNs6m955CK0MxM4dljA-jAa9k4yHeB2yfzuPGhRVs6E8DdCtm-DDt77N5J5c/s400/IMG_0337.JPG" width="266" /> </a></div>
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A lot
of the trees appear to be dead and those make up some of the most
interesting scenery for me.</div>
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There is one large mound of fine gravel rock that you can hike to the top of.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAYFKQWqllgAx26R1Caf8Ppoj40sK26c0k58KKpmyqBPJy5GuJHbgumcqae9lj_WthLb5WFChWMH6kOe5JlCxpPJQ320kgYqEiaBp9BCHWI1CRHr4aV5f5htQ-76P3VJWCO9lub9Bksf8/s1600/IMG_0383.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAYFKQWqllgAx26R1Caf8Ppoj40sK26c0k58KKpmyqBPJy5GuJHbgumcqae9lj_WthLb5WFChWMH6kOe5JlCxpPJQ320kgYqEiaBp9BCHWI1CRHr4aV5f5htQ-76P3VJWCO9lub9Bksf8/s400/IMG_0383.JPG" width="300" /> </a></div>
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This picture doesn't do it justice. That is not an easy hike. As we were going up a man and woman coming down notified us that when you get to what looks like the top, it isn't.</div>
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You can see a LONG way from up there. Not that the view is what most would consider spectacular since it is scrub brush, dead trees and volcanic rock but I think it has a beauty of it's own. It is very windy at the top and I have to hold my shirt down lest I flash the other visitors. </div>
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I have always really liked black & white photography and this place lends itself to that, in my opinion. Here are a few of my favorites:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb9ruJsm031pJFRxRKNPPQoTrWWFTyXtif6XLvTU7_dQP87cbAsbGO1UHB3f9FQkYqJ5ODuKAtwmgrlSKPFlVDUARlpqLKfwyrugNWeZAveYfLlkabY8KRLt8Y3Ds_4ugAFbOq8igNWss/s1600/IMG_0355.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb9ruJsm031pJFRxRKNPPQoTrWWFTyXtif6XLvTU7_dQP87cbAsbGO1UHB3f9FQkYqJ5ODuKAtwmgrlSKPFlVDUARlpqLKfwyrugNWeZAveYfLlkabY8KRLt8Y3Ds_4ugAFbOq8igNWss/s400/IMG_0355.JPG" width="266" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2WIOZVraqiLgUR2RuA7Y9fys-3tQr1lQfrq1D3nmJeHUMlWfdfAK_-NVYwQxnpuhyphenhyphenCj8p-QfWpYkUTPdWV75q-ILrXUDV9GePGkK5RQBgeZAdGQCo6ibNRYod8A4DyTqlc_m0BxgBFl4/s1600/IMG_0375.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2WIOZVraqiLgUR2RuA7Y9fys-3tQr1lQfrq1D3nmJeHUMlWfdfAK_-NVYwQxnpuhyphenhyphenCj8p-QfWpYkUTPdWV75q-ILrXUDV9GePGkK5RQBgeZAdGQCo6ibNRYod8A4DyTqlc_m0BxgBFl4/s400/IMG_0375.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxTRf6ezYMpgUzGzpL0yUYI40p5jaFRYLV9QHIY4ffytpjb9OVk7YAHPMvtrD5fP3Pw6CMle-GzELQSmCWWNiBNvkcpI9cH_m6TDYFh-W1eS3XLbkEzDwg2hTrMzxpeVMAuZlPgp-sE9Y/s1600/IMG_0379.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxTRf6ezYMpgUzGzpL0yUYI40p5jaFRYLV9QHIY4ffytpjb9OVk7YAHPMvtrD5fP3Pw6CMle-GzELQSmCWWNiBNvkcpI9cH_m6TDYFh-W1eS3XLbkEzDwg2hTrMzxpeVMAuZlPgp-sE9Y/s400/IMG_0379.JPG" width="300" /> </a></div>
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We spent close to 3 hours here and I am glad we made this side trip. It is a very interesting place and it isn't overrun with tourists. We set off for home with the hot and spicy pork rinds and a bag of ruffles because the visitors center didn't have any food at all, no snack bar or anything for purchase. Home is 260 miles away, approximately 4 1/2 hours. We haven't eaten a meal since breakfast in Boise, around 7 hours ago. The snacks don't hold us for long and we are both seriously hungry not far down the road. I keep thinking we will pass something, anything but just like the first half of the drive, that is an incorrect assumption. I start to be vaguely concerned we will have to go all the way to Hamilton, only about 30 miles from our house before we find food. Then I see a sign for Salmon, ID. A town I have heard and it has a sign so it has to be big enough for us to find something to eat, right?</div>
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Driving through Salmon on a Sunday told us very quickly that our choices would be limited. We were actually slightly concerned there wasn't anything open at all until we made it to the very far edge of town, right before our turn for home. Burger King. David is very happy, he likes Burger King. Not only do I not like Burger King it is one of those that is inside a gas station, not my favorite place to eat food. Plus, as a person who tries to not eat meat, Burger King isn't a great option. But, we are both so hungry there is no way we are passing this by. We both assume at this point we won't see anything else between here and Hamilton, close to another 100 miles away. </div>
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They are offering their fish sandwich at this time so that is what I order. It is terrible. I only eat half. David eats all of his burger even though he was still feeling a little queasy from the pork rinds. As you can image, this doesn't help. I make the remainder of the drive home with him in the passenger seat on strict orders to tell me if he plans to puke so I can pull over. </div>
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Next time I think we will take a cooler with food and drinks and possibly other life sustaining items like flares and toilet paper because we might find ourselves in need of them out here on the lonely highways and back roads of Idaho.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD8de1bHPOnhxyeJiDcML8vvgR0Fs1KwllUawVRuJwVWAzyTB03NLcVON25sNXnAd0ERzMlq-bpgimmAglz-i0NFoNfHuQtyxq3dfboXwEkmR-J7QJtaJOC6SWyszlP9r0DrmFFSDVwxw/s1600/IMG_0078.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD8de1bHPOnhxyeJiDcML8vvgR0Fs1KwllUawVRuJwVWAzyTB03NLcVON25sNXnAd0ERzMlq-bpgimmAglz-i0NFoNfHuQtyxq3dfboXwEkmR-J7QJtaJOC6SWyszlP9r0DrmFFSDVwxw/s400/IMG_0078.JPG" width="266" /> </a></div>
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I feel ya buddy. I really do. </div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02158042051142667445noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1219665788245176515.post-91286899101593283362015-08-29T09:10:00.000-07:002015-08-29T09:10:30.652-07:00Side Tripping in Idaho: Twin Falls, IDI've been busy with other things but now I am finally to get back to business which means, back to Idaho for a few more stories.<br />
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When I booked our trip to Idaho, I only set plans for the evening. I made our plans over a month in advance and had no way of knowing what the weather would be. I looked up some indoor and outdoor options but in the end decided just to live in the moment and see where the universe took us. The day after the concert proved to be a beautiful blue sky day and since we don't need to be back in Boise until 7 pm, David suggests we take a side trip over to Twin Falls.<br />
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David is constantly telling me what he has "read about" and in this case he has read about a bridge and a falls. What he hasn't read enough about is how to stay awake in the car. The drive from Boise south to Twin Falls is not exciting and I experience it largely alone. As with many aspects of my life (myself, other people, situations, events and in this case places), Idaho isn't what I expected. Living only 30 minutes from the border with Idaho I expect it to look like where we live. Mountains. Trees. That was wrong. The northern parts of Idaho do look like that but as you go south, not so much. I think there are more trees in Amarillo than there are between Boise and Twin Falls. It is flat and brown. You can see for very long distances. I didn't appreciate when we set out that we would be so close to Nevada until we started seeing signs on businesses about serving "Southern Idaho and Northern Nevada".<br />
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Over 20 years ago David and I talked about the possibility of living in Twin Falls. He was finishing school and we had agreed that it might be best for us to get out of Texas. We had been through a difficult time in our marriage a few years before and we had just spent a little over a year getting him through school while I was the only one working. We had 3 kids in a crappy 2 bedroom apartment. They had little foam chairs that pulled out into mats they slept on all in one room with no other furniture. Our mattress was sitting on the floor and we also had no other furniture. Everything of value had been sold or pawned to get him through the last few months of school. Now he was graduating 1st in his class and we were ready for a change. He applied for a job in Twin Falls.<br />
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The job he ended up getting was within walking distance of that crappy apartment and for the next 20 years we stayed in Texas. Worked and raised a family. But we always talked about going north and west someday and now here we are living in Montana. And I think it worked out the way it should. But for the writer in me it is interesting to look at this town and to think how different things would have been if we had moved all of those years ago. Especially for our kids whose whole lives would be different.<br />
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The bridge isn't hard to find, you have to drive right across it coming from Boise.<br />
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The I. B. Perrine Bridge has been here (under other names) since 1927. When it was built, it was the highest bridge in the world. </div>
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This bridge spans the Snake River and somewhere in that near distance is a site where Evil Knievel crashed in 1974 after his parachute malfunctioned during a jump.</div>
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As soon as you cross the bridge there is a visitors center so we stop in to see what information they have about the area. What we end up seeing are people working on packing parachutes. It turns out this bridge is a very popular BASE jumping site. David and I grab our cameras and go to find a good vantage point to watch from.</div>
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Checking to see if the coast is clear. There are a lot of boats, kayaks and paddleboarders on the river. </div>
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Over the edge.</div>
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The first step is the hardest. This guy did a flip on the way down.</div>
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The girl he was on the bridge with jumps next. No fancy flips for her.</div>
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Chute's out.</div>
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The landing site.</div>
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You can sign up at the visitor center to try this in a tandem jump. We don't for a few reasons. David has a fear of falling. I have a fear of looking like an idiot or them telling me I weigh too much. But a big reason is it seems like a LOT of work for such as short experience. The packing of the chute appeared to be a very time consuming activity and then getting on all of the gear and walking out on the bridge to wait for a good time to jump. It was over in a few seconds. Then they have to hike back up to the top of the bridge carrying all of this equipment. It is a steep, difficult hike. After crying during our hike on St. Mary's, where only David was around to see, I am not prepared for the possibility I could have that same experience here with all of these people watching (and taking photographs).</div>
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Plus, there is a falls to see. Shoshone Falls is listed as "The Niagara of the West". I have been to Niagara Falls so I am really anxious to compare.</div>
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It may be 45 feet higher than Niagara but in scope and grandness...not even close.</div>
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They have much of the flow dammed up when we are there but even if it was flowing over the whole of this area, as it apparently does at times, this would still pale in comparison to the real deal in New York and Canada. Still, I am awed by most waterfalls and the park/visitor area here is very nice and there aren't a lot of people so it was definitely worth the side trip.</div>
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On the way back, I treat David to a burger since there is no Popeye's in Twin Falls. When we walked in I almost walked right back out. I thought we were in the wrong place. I wasn't expecting this "restaurant" to be in a bar/pool hall.</div>
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It is a good thing we stayed. The burger came with tots. I know the way to my man's heart. I just might not be able to get in there someday when his arteries clog up.</div>
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On the way back to Boise, I think about what it would have been like if we had lived in Twin Falls all these years. I told David - during the part he was awake for - that we would have been okay there. It's hard to say I am glad we didn't move here back then because we went through some very rough years when our kids were teenagers and maybe that would have turned out different. Well, I know it would have. But different isn't always better, there is always the possibility of different worse. <br />
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What I really need to learn from this trip is that my expectations are often wrong - about people and about places - and that it doesn't matter what the people we would be in that alternate universe would be like. After all, they don't exist. And look at his face in that picture. Who would want to miss out on this version of David? <br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02158042051142667445noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1219665788245176515.post-13826303209467652912015-07-26T15:03:00.000-07:002015-07-26T15:03:36.273-07:00The Anti-Foodie: Boise, IDOne evening when our friends Steven and Joanne were over for dinner, comments were being made about David's many food issues. In an effort to semi-defend him I said, "He's just not a foodie". Steven said, "Yes he is. He would drive his motorcycle all the way to Boise just to eat at Popeye's Chicken." And I immediately realized Steven was right. David is a foodie. A Crap Foodie! Or as I now think of it, an Anti-Foodie, like the Anti-Christ only with food. He stands for everything that is the opposite of what traditional foodies stand for.<br />
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In my mind foodies are interested in quality ingredients, whole, organic food and they are open to trying a lot of different things - squid and brains and quinoa. For David, it is the opposite. The Dollar Menu? Absolutely. Pesticides? Bring them on. And there is a long list of things he will not eat. Like onions in any form, cooked or not. Lettuce, forget it and if it even so much as touches anything he is going to eat, it is over. Almost all vegetables are out of the question. Strawberries or anything strawberry flavored. He will eat spinach from a can but not raw or when I wilt it from scratch. He is more interested in Pop-Tarts and Spam. Hot and Spicy Pork Rinds. Frozen Pizza and Kraft Mac & Cheese. Ranch Style Beans with cut up Earl Campbell's Hot Links is a staple when I am out of town.<br />
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And he WAS planning a trip to Boise. He had brought it up more than a few times. Boise happens to be the nearest city that has a Popeye's Chicken. One of the main things he misses about living in the Dallas area is proximity to restaurants and in particular, fast food. Popeye's is at the top of his list along with Jack-in-the-Box, Sonic and Whataburger, all places we do not have here. To drive home how much he misses it...Boise is SEVEN HOURS away.<br />
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So with his 50th birthday approaching and my general aversion to purchasing gifts for people who aren't lacking anything, I wanted to do something different. I decided to drive him to Boise for chicken. I started looking at what there is to do in Boise, as it is so far that we will have to stay overnight, and saw that The Zac Brown Band was going to be at the University there so I bought us tickets. They also have an Escape Game. I enjoyed that so much in Nashville and thought it would be right up his alley so I booked that too.<br />
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When I told him that for his birthday we were going to Boise and presented him with our travel itinerary and tickets (including the address for Popeye's), he was very excited we would be there more than one day.<br />
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I don't hear anything but David swears he hears angels singing.</div>
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He tells me before we leave that he plans to eat there 3 times. Once on Friday night, the day we arrive, once on Saturday, before the Escape Game, and lunch on Sunday before we go home. I inform him that I don't plan to eat there even one time but as it turned out, it didn't work out for either one of us. We arrive in Boise and check in to our hotel and have just over an hour to get to the concert. Popeye's is across town. By the time we get there we really don't have time to go to a second place for me so, trying to be the good wife and considering this is his birthday trip, I suck it up and we go in.</div>
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David orders his favorite chicken strips. He is almost giddy. I try not to eat meat other than fish and fortunately they offer both shrimp and catfish. However, I am weird about the possibility of food poisoning, something I have had multiple times, and it takes me a bit to weigh the options. I go with the shrimp. Fingers crossed.</div>
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This photo is blurry because I am laughing. Eating with David is a lot like eating with a small child. He can watch me take food out of the oven or off the stove and put it on a plate and he will immediately try to eat it and burn his mouth. Every. Time.</div>
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See? It has been "SO LONG". He couldn't wait.</div>
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My shrimp is terrible. I ate about half only because my expectations for options at the concert are low. In my mind, the first stages of imminent, unavoidable food poisoning have begun. David ordered a 5 piece but they gave him 7. He ate them all. In the car on the way to the concert, he is regretting that decision. "They were just so good," he says. But he is miserable. He's lucky I have Tums in my purse.</div>
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We never ate at Popeye's again. He said the 7 pieces were the amount he might have expected to eat over the whole 3 days so he got it out of the way all at once. We did make the pilgrimage to Sonic and Jack-in-the-Box, both for breakfast. And we did find one other place he was quite happy with on a side trip, more on that next time. </div>
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We Escaped at the Escape Game (with 30 seconds to spare in a 2 person team, something the worker said is very hard to do) and I thankfully escaped another trip to Popeye's. Two wins in one day. </div>
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If you are ever in the Salt Lake City airport Terminal B, you can swing by Popeye's. Maybe you will see me there trying go soak up the smell for when I get home. It's better than any perfume I could buy as far as David is concerned. But soaking up the smell is all I will be doing. I definitely won't be eating. Even if you are buying.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02158042051142667445noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1219665788245176515.post-79661439718649677202015-07-14T08:54:00.000-07:002015-07-14T09:06:33.228-07:00The National Museum of Crime & Punishment: Washington, DCDavid has always been slightly disconcerted by my interest in crime. Like a lot of people, I like shows that deal with crime like Law & Order (Jerry Orbach, Benjamin Bratt and Angie Harmon episodes are my favorite) and Criminal Minds (Penelope and Dr. Reid). But I really prefer true crime shows like American Justice, Deadly Women, Forensic Files or Snapped. I have tried to explain that I like the part where they show how they solved the crime but he isn't buying it. He thinks I am trying to get away with it someday when I decide to off him. I will say I have learned a thing or two from these shows that might help in that event:<br />
<ol>
<li>Leave your cell phone at home. So many people get busted when they call someone or they say they were home but their phone says otherwise.</li>
<li>Poison is hard to detect and hard to prove if you do it right, also it is the preferred method for women killers.</li>
<li>Get your story straight and stick to it at all costs. Changing your story never works in your favor.</li>
<li>Ask for an attorney. Do not talk to the police. I saw a show once where a young man was convicted of murdering a woman based on the fact that his bedroom window overlooked the dump site (at a great distance) and he had some drawings that "resembled" the crime scene. He spent a LONG time in prison before they caught the real killer. I always thought if you didn't have anything to hide, you didn't need an attorney, that show changed my mind forever.</li>
</ol>
I first became interested in this topic when I was a senior in high school and my government teacher, Mrs. Campbell, assigned a book report on a true crime novel. I picked The Stranger Beside Me by Anne Rule. Anne Rule has written a lot of crime books but this one is unique in that she personally knew the criminal, serial killer Ted Bundy. They had worked on a suicide hotline together, as ironic as that is.<br />
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The first thing we see in the museum? Ted Bundy's Volkswagen. Whoever thought of using the handcuffs on the stanchions is brilliant.</div>
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This museum has an audio tour option. It looks a little like a remote control but it has a speaker at the top you put to your ear like a phone. When you come to a handcuff with a number in it, you punch in the number and it plays. I paid the extra couple of bucks to do this mainly because the narrator is Bill Kurtis (narrator of American Justice and other crime shows). I would listen to Bill Kurtis talk about earwax. I love his voice.</div>
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I thought this museum would be mainly serial killers and big names in crime, which it did have, but there is a lot more than that. It starts in the middle ages and goes from there. There is a lot of information on various punishments and torture devices making me really glad I didn't live in the middle ages.</div>
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Even being a baker was dangerous. There were other displays on things like the Iron Maiden, being drawn & quartered and placed on The Rack. All very unpleasant.</div>
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From there you move into the age of Pirates and then the Old West. On to the Mob and Bonnie & Clyde.</div>
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I don't think this was the real Bonnie & Clyde car, I think it was from the movie but I am not sure. Like at the other places we visited in DC, people were sometimes a problem. </div>
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Hey, I was reading that. </div>
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And that.</div>
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Ugh, more teenagers. I won't get to try my hand at safe cracking as Waldo and his friends are going to be there a while and there is a long line.</div>
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As expected there are sections for famous criminals, even a board of celebrity mug shots. My fellow Montanan, Ted Kaczynski graces one wall. Susan Smith another. There is a display on the assassinated Presidents. You can look at, but not sit in, a real electric chair, a guillotine, a gas chamber, a gurney setup for lethal injection. </div>
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And you learn that my old home state of Texas is far and away the worst place to be on Death Row. They have executed a lot more prisoners than any other state. </div>
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But like the show Law & Order, this museum is only partly about the crime. About half of the museum is dedicated to law enforcement. There are displays on famous lawmen like Eliot Ness and J Edgar Hoover and the creation of the FBI. </div>
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That's me on the bottom monitor, learning about facial recognition.</div>
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You can learn about fingerprinting and get an electronic picture of your prints. I didn't do this because I have done this for real. I was fingerprinted when I went to work at a bank years ago and there was that time I was arrested...</div>
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You can do a lie detector test on yourself. Those bars show I am lying. This is really sad as I am the only person around so I am lying to myself.</div>
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I am going to memorize these and start using them when we play cards with our friend Steven, a former policeman. I think I may need 10-30 fairly often.</div>
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The answer is no. I can do the push-ups and sit-ups but thankfully there is no one around to see that I can't do the one pull-up on the bar they have there. They also have a shoot/don't shoot simulator and a car chase simulator but I can't do either one as no one is around to supervise. </div>
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There is a computer where you can look up officers killed in the line of duty. It wasn't easy to work with even though there were search options. I hung with it and located one of David's great grandfathers, Dallas County (TX) Constable W. Riley Burnett. </div>
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They have a crime lab, that guy getting ready for his autopsy. They also have a full room set up as a crime scene and a video you can watch to see how your eyewitness skills are. I got 4 out of 6 answers correct. I know this is not a realistic simulation since I have been an eyewitness and was terrible. It isn't the same when guns are being fired in your direction as when you are standing in the relative safety of a museum watching a video that you can stand and look at as long as you need.</div>
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They also have a forensic lab where they offer classes in things like autopsy and blood spatter. I think Kawiana (who is my only companion on this trip and who I lost way back in the Middle Ages) is as disappointed as I am that there are no classes available during our entire stay in DC. They also have a walking tour that covers the Presidential assassinations but it was only on the weekend.</div>
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The museum has a temporary exhibit on animal poaching and what the ramifications to the animals and the environment are. They had items made from animals like ivory statues, snakeskin boots and a horrific looking alligator purse complete with the whole head. </div>
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The final section was a room devoted to counterfeiting, the "victimless" crime. If you are buying knockoff handbags and clothes or pirating DVDs, shame on you.</div>
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I liked this museum a lot better than The Spy Museum from the day before. I really wish the forensic lab had been an option, if I am ever back in DC I would definitely check into that. As with all museums, this one had a gift shop and this time I didn't buy anything for David. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA-8vHgjc8iBeuncEtJhv7mV_6PO1BCB9rm878x56Fdy56hSaJv_3XADz6iIRpbbJIigfi9piidn_IKFLycV4luY4UDeL-1gGVr1tDGwo6aAPoxlQCuZErn6gzGELOvATx22TTuj1w6Vs/s1600/IMG_0299.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA-8vHgjc8iBeuncEtJhv7mV_6PO1BCB9rm878x56Fdy56hSaJv_3XADz6iIRpbbJIigfi9piidn_IKFLycV4luY4UDeL-1gGVr1tDGwo6aAPoxlQCuZErn6gzGELOvATx22TTuj1w6Vs/s400/IMG_0299.JPG" width="300" /> </a></div>
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But I almost bought this for me. I might have told David it was "for him" as a joke. </div>
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I don't think he would have laughed.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02158042051142667445noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1219665788245176515.post-70409015549782218742015-07-06T14:16:00.001-07:002015-07-14T13:47:40.293-07:00The Vietnam Veterans Memorial: Washington, DCWhile purchasing gas, a couple of young teenage girls approached me asking if they could clean my already clean windshield for a donation. They were collecting for a school trip in 2016 to Washington DC. I gave her a $20 bill - the only cash I had. Her eyes got really big so I assume that no one else was giving that kind of donation. And I didn't make her clean the windshield. <br />
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If I had known then when I know now, I might not have donated at all.<br />
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School groups were pervasive in DC. Everywhere you go, there they are. Observing them you know they are only there because 1) They can be so why not? 2) They get to stay in a hotel with their friends and without their parents 3) It provides an opportunity to hook up with someone, to goof off, act a fool and do all of the things teenagers do when they are away from constant supervision. I know there are some exceptions but most of them do not care about the history of this country.<br />
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I know there are chaperones but let's be realistic...1 adult per 10 or more kids is not enough. I know from experience. When I was 15 my softball team went to Durant, OK for a tournament. There were about 13-14 of us girls - all between 14-16 years old - and 3 adults. We were traveling in 2 vans. One of the vans had mechanical problems just south of the Texas/Oklahoma border. Two of the adults had to go into a nearby town to get parts leaving all of us girls there with our coach Roy. Someone, I don't remember who but certainly not me, convinced my friend Kim to moon the next person driving by. So me and another girl stood between Kim and the coach and she did it. The man stopped. We went and hid in the van while Roy dealt with the irate man. We also threw ice in the elevator at a hotel in Houston when the doors opened and then we ran away. So again, I am not guessing.<br />
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Back in DC, they are everywhere and there are a lot of them around The Wall when we arrive. The Wall was #1 on my list of things to see in DC. I "know" someone listed on there.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAHjrFbziHVifeSb84Ou_KV968FY-TbKWFa0LhMVhZ8wNyY7MB4BY9sjKnqB_5acL6RwurpVtuM8tF8t17FtMJLSSHQzNPGBys70_5Kp-Zmg3X35C0P_AB-ibHY5V-8vFqMtkE-Rufb3U/s1600/IMG_3551.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAHjrFbziHVifeSb84Ou_KV968FY-TbKWFa0LhMVhZ8wNyY7MB4BY9sjKnqB_5acL6RwurpVtuM8tF8t17FtMJLSSHQzNPGBys70_5Kp-Zmg3X35C0P_AB-ibHY5V-8vFqMtkE-Rufb3U/s400/IMG_3551.JPG" width="400" /> </a></div>
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Panel 12E, Line 18, first name on the line: Thomas L Blackman. </div>
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Tommy was my mother's husband. He was not my father and he died before I was born but he was a presence in the house I grew up in all the same.</div>
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Tommy was 21 when he died on November 4, 1966. He and my mother had been married a short 15 months. His son, my half brother, was 6 months old. He was killed in a non-combat related fire, along with 7 other sailors, aboard the USS Franklin D Roosevelt "in South Asian Waters". </div>
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I have been thinking about this time in my parent's lives more than usual and have been interviewing them about various details. I always knew about Tommy. My brother was never adopted by my father and he always carried the Blackman name. I have seen Tommy's picture. The flag from his coffin is still in my mother's house. I have read the telegram they delivered when she was notified of his death and the one that was delivered to Tommy when his son was born. I spent more than a few weekend days playing in Tommy's parents backyard so my brother could visit his grandparents and his cousins. I attended Tommy's parents funerals when they died. I have been to Tommy's grave more times than I can count.</div>
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I had never been to The Wall in DC. I had been to a replica in Pensacola but the size isn't the same. And maybe because I have been talking to mom about this more lately than I ever have before, it felt different. My colleagues promised not to make fun of me if I cried and they even hung back and gave me a little space once we got there. I told my mom I was going and she said, "touch his name for me" but I couldn't. It is too high.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuDx835iNr3G2Ys0xxJq4hrTLd8k_no6GOhWwgz20c1l5103A80B4-1R2QZ93oxm9NL0czDxefgpy-Y9VdQoGhK7vIdPveBN8knMQgUV-G_xXpJ_CV6cMcjso1mVBpPZRAFIRaUoxbIiY/s1600/IMG_3549.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuDx835iNr3G2Ys0xxJq4hrTLd8k_no6GOhWwgz20c1l5103A80B4-1R2QZ93oxm9NL0czDxefgpy-Y9VdQoGhK7vIdPveBN8knMQgUV-G_xXpJ_CV6cMcjso1mVBpPZRAFIRaUoxbIiY/s400/IMG_3549.JPG" width="266" /> </a></div>
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The Wall is higher in the middle and then tapers down to a few inches off the ground on either end. Just like this boy who is taking a rubbing, someone would have had to sit on my shoulders to get to Tommy's name. The park service said they have ladders they can get out during the day when it isn't crowded but I never had the opportunity to do that.</div>
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After being at the panel with Tommy's name for a little while, I walked down to the east end of the memorial and waited on my colleagues to catch up. I am trying not to cry (at The Wall and also right now) but am failing (at both). Two older teenage boys approach me and say, "What is this called again?" I couldn't believe it. There are signs all over the place that tell you what each thing is. The Wall is right by the Lincoln Memorial, the World War II Memorial, the Washington Monument and the Korean War Memorial. Apparently, reading isn't being taught in high school anymore. Or maybe it is common sense they are missing.</div>
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But more than that it strikes me that this memorial means so little to them, nothing really, that they don't even know what it is. They weren't born during Vietnam. At their age if they had a relative on the wall it would be a grandfather or great uncle. But this Wall means everything to some people, like my mother. But maybe you don't understand why my mother's husband's name on here would have an impact on me at all when he wasn't my father.</div>
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For me, the hard reality is that other people come here and mourn the loss of a loved one, someone they miss every single day. But in my case, if Tommy's name isn't on that wall, I would never have been born. That is very difficult to reconcile. I cannot even imagine how horrible that time was for my mother. Her high school sweetheart was taken from her. The father of her child. She was 18 years old when he died. But if she had never gone through that awful time, I would not exist.</div>
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I know she can't choose between two lives but I can't help but wonder if she could, what would she choose. And mom, if you are reading this, I know there is no right answer. But I still wonder. How could she not want Tommy to live? Knowing that if he did, I wouldn't. My younger brother wouldn't. Our children wouldn't. </div>
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We have all heard someone say that they believe there is only one right person out there for them but I don't believe that. I can't. If I believed that what would that say about my mother's feelings for my dad? Or for Tommy? My mother and father met not quite a year after Tommy's death and were married soon after. They are still married today. I know my mother loves my father but I also know she loved Tommy. Still does. Always will.</div>
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I know there are others out there like me. People who would not exist if war didn't exist. What does that mean? Does it mean anything at all? It is still happening now, today, will likely always be happening. The answer for me is yes, it means something. Something I cannot adequately explain.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPwxyj21hDXe8wFW1K2FQXa3AaMFUqeJuoPSXg1IAb6YAWg9qLqJWjXxbTPhS68l0vYz6Iw-nQU2OASTVzsVzFsS22TR-dryVkTksFy2mFurSvIG72zk1NUFBwpGyldTcuYXzwYijv2kI/s1600/IMG_3553.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPwxyj21hDXe8wFW1K2FQXa3AaMFUqeJuoPSXg1IAb6YAWg9qLqJWjXxbTPhS68l0vYz6Iw-nQU2OASTVzsVzFsS22TR-dryVkTksFy2mFurSvIG72zk1NUFBwpGyldTcuYXzwYijv2kI/s400/IMG_3553.JPG" width="400" /> </a></div>
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On this memorial alone there are 58,272 names.</div>
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My father went to Vietnam when my mother was pregnant with me. Once again, I can't even imagine how my mother felt during that time (or my dad either). For a second time, she is pregnant and the father of her child is called away to Vietnam. The stress must have been nearly unbearable this second time. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdRkXCCYLadItlBPCy9iPH8LBmhDj5myzpmZWwjYmCNFpOOSlkFvoZoW3jM5i6m3U5kApSFjkqjwpmP6HoqaZR2SNz74etQFVzv8za6yua0gXzcZMNzxCrcK87T3FGTDiv_K4RocCdsy4/s1600/IMG_3543.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdRkXCCYLadItlBPCy9iPH8LBmhDj5myzpmZWwjYmCNFpOOSlkFvoZoW3jM5i6m3U5kApSFjkqjwpmP6HoqaZR2SNz74etQFVzv8za6yua0gXzcZMNzxCrcK87T3FGTDiv_K4RocCdsy4/s400/IMG_3543.JPG" width="266" /> </a></div>
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This statue of 3 soldiers (the other is behind these two, this is the best angle I could get for this photo because of the massive herd of teenagers standing around it) was created to honor those that came back. People like my dad who returned when I was 2 months old.</div>
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These 3 soldiers face The Wall, I assume as a tribute to those that didn't return. Like these 3 my dad always has and to this day continues to honor Tommy. He even cleans his headstone whenever they visit the cemetery.</div>
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I am not sure I can ever fully have peace in the knowledge that for me to live, my mother, Tommy's parents and siblings and others that knew and loved him had to live through so much pain. When Tommy's father died some of us walked down to Tommy's grave which is nearby and my older brother, Tommy's son, was standing there looking at the headstone. Even though I had been there lots of times before it never really felt the way it did that day to watch him looking down at that stone knowing his father was down there. Someone he has no memory of. Maybe it is even harder to consider since my dad is one of my favorite people on this earth.</div>
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So I visited the wall to pay tribute to a man I never knew. To think about what his name, and all of the others here, mean to me. To all of us. May his memory live on in those who loved and knew him and maybe even a little in some of us who never had the opportunity.</div>
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Rest in Peace</div>
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Thomas Lee Blackman</div>
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February 10, 1945-November 4, 1966</div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02158042051142667445noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1219665788245176515.post-81844408800166807552015-06-21T19:02:00.000-07:002015-07-14T12:45:25.950-07:00Spy Museum: Washington DCI learned a few things by visiting the Spy Museum in DC last week. Primarily I learned I am not suited to be a spy. And either the people I went with aren't either or they ARE spies and are really good at it.<br />
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The museum has 3 attractions and me and my two friends and colleagues, Marci and Kawiana, did all three. First up, the museum. There are a lot of different areas, many that are interactive displays.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhvK5jofZsS7F50QhzLr0hi1UnDfn_A61-U_0IAJ0_oelKBxjh1Lzphi84pcADu2htIhLJBQ4rVAgPhi294UQy0zavATVSeJtX7aw52obXTbDejklaoPj3xxsn-B6waNA-aJRQFw8Tmec/s1600/IMG_0206.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="307" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhvK5jofZsS7F50QhzLr0hi1UnDfn_A61-U_0IAJ0_oelKBxjh1Lzphi84pcADu2htIhLJBQ4rVAgPhi294UQy0zavATVSeJtX7aw52obXTbDejklaoPj3xxsn-B6waNA-aJRQFw8Tmec/s400/IMG_0206.JPG" width="400" /> </a></div>
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You are taken in an elevator to a room where you can select a new identity. I think there were only 8-9 different ones and I selected Greta only because she was the closest in age to me. You are supposed to memorize the details while you wait for the next door to open. They tell you that you will be quizzed on this information later.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifsbqS5_hl19I2yESqiJDzkVTXyr2aMQMGi0XAp-sHa8nbvAVGv2r8zix1Xk2lbRQk1midX-rdY1u1FXm4phL1UPsQ8p1Ghp09ppoGjxtD-Ds5ozxTFaVvTF2-JTKZHclBSOVdboaEf6M/s1600/IMG_0209.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifsbqS5_hl19I2yESqiJDzkVTXyr2aMQMGi0XAp-sHa8nbvAVGv2r8zix1Xk2lbRQk1midX-rdY1u1FXm4phL1UPsQ8p1Ghp09ppoGjxtD-Ds5ozxTFaVvTF2-JTKZHclBSOVdboaEf6M/s400/IMG_0209.JPG" width="400" /> </a></div>
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Not much later. And I expected this to be a little more interactive. An interrogation maybe. Sweat me under the lights. Instead, it is a computer terminal where you answer multiple choice questions. I hope if I am ever detained for any reason, I am given the option of multiple choice. Makes things a LOT easier. So far, my cover is intact.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjeB3dCwjx09n6k9hQNo7aDJ0LFceN2xH3ZYLRhd2YxMlABH7pH4ed1FI_TCQDJfH0b4R6Wo9lZy5SXJPAFLDEOnbS03efzSKSW1QGsdsq32vPQ1nFEqE6c49fkKGg-B_LHOFiSBKK-y8/s1600/IMG_0210.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="372" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjeB3dCwjx09n6k9hQNo7aDJ0LFceN2xH3ZYLRhd2YxMlABH7pH4ed1FI_TCQDJfH0b4R6Wo9lZy5SXJPAFLDEOnbS03efzSKSW1QGsdsq32vPQ1nFEqE6c49fkKGg-B_LHOFiSBKK-y8/s400/IMG_0210.JPG" width="400" /> </a></div>
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Next I receive my "Mission Details". These are absolutely meaningless for the rest of the day, other than at the computer terminal at the end, where I am once again given a multiple choice quiz. There are a pair of eyes at the top of the screen and as you answer incorrectly, they narrow at you.</div>
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I don't do as well. I can't leave but I am not detained? Seems like pretty shoddy counterintelligence work on the part of the English to me.</div>
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To be fair, there was a lot more to see after learning my mission details and the final quiz than there was between getting my identity and the first quiz. There are exhibits on gadgets, surveillance, ninjas, code breaking, the works. There is a hang bar where you try to hang longer than 007 did and the bar rotates as you hang. The line is filled with people under 14. There is also a large exhibit on the villains from all of the James Bond movies.</div>
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This section on disguises was interesting. I may have to get a wig and try out some new identities on David.</div>
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At the end of the museum part, all three of us had the same thought. Too crowded. All of DC was crowded, everywhere we went, even during the day in the middle of the week. LOTS of teenagers. Probably my least favorite segment of the general population after mean people. There are tons of school groups everywhere in town. This museum is not in short supply. It is frequently difficult to get up to an exhibit to read the information and/or look at the items.</div>
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I was sitting at that computer terminal trying to identify my "suspect" at the airport. I was given his photo (still on the screen) and was watching "real time" footage. I am supposed to click on him when I see him. This little girl walks up and without even knowing what she is looking at she clicks my screen and ends my session. She accidentally picked the right guy. </div>
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As with all museums of this type, there is a large gift shop filled with shirts, gadgets, magnets, personalized key chains, the usual. This one also has a large bookstore.</div>
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Not even close to all of the books, there were more around the corner. Spying is big business in literature apparently.</div>
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I don't always buy souvenirs for David. If I see something that speaks to me, I get it but I don't force it. He has everything so what can I get him at this kind of place that he will need or want? </div>
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Tempting...I am pretty sure he doesn't have one of these. I ended up getting him a t-shirt. Seeing him wear the same one from the Alligator Farm I went to in Alabama 2 years ago is starting to get old.</div>
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Next up was Operation Spy. This is a one-hour "interactive" game that we are grouped with about 12 other people for. Our group contains about half teenagers, half adults.</div>
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As far as I can tell, her whole job is walking people upstairs to hand them off. No photos were allowed during this part.</div>
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A young man comes and is our guide or handler or whatever you want to call him. He is "in character" and it is his job to help us find a "trigger" that has been stolen, allegedly by the Energy Secretary in Kandahar. I thought this would be like the Escape Game in Nashville but it wasn't. There isn't much to do. We watch this woman, code name Topaz, in a hotel but it is prerecorded and nothing exciting. We are supposed to break into 4 groups and watch but only one person can do the controls so the other people just stand around. Our guide tries to get us to tell the other groups what is going on when she is on the sector we are responsible for. </div>
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Next, we go into the Secretary's apartment. Half of us are on the "trigger" team looking in a safe for the trigger and half are on the "documents" team. Again, not a lot to do. One of our team has a fake document scanner. The other team gets the safe open but we need a key we don't have. At this point the Secretary is coming home so we have to go. We load in the back of a fake truck and are bounced around and finally let out near a tunnel. This is where the problems begin.</div>
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If you read the post about the Escape Game you may remember that I mentioned one of the people that I invited was worried it would be dark. That was Marci. It is about to get dark. We end up on a fake elevator and it goes completely dark so I reach out to grab her hand and she is squeezing so hard her fingernails are digging into my palm. Later she almost climbs over Kawiana's back to get into a more lit area. At one point while we are standing in the dark, I stood behind her with my hands on her back so she would know I was right there and no one else could be behind her and I can hear her hyperventilating.</div>
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We finally make it to a room and we are supposed to administer a lie detector test to Topaz who is in another room. Our guide asks us to come up with some questions back in the truck to prepare for this and one of the young teenage girls blurts out "are you in a relationship with the Secretary?". He tries to get her to be more specific and I think we are treading dangerously close to someone adding "sexual" to that statement. During questioning it is clear some people don't know the meaning of a yes or no question. They end up asking her if the Secretary wears boxers or briefs. The guide mentions at this point that none of my group of 3 has contributed to the questions and he says I look like a bodyguard and mimics my stance with my arms folded across my chest.</div>
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We get a 4 out of 5. We have no idea what that is based on and one of the teenage girls even says, "this is the same every time I bet". The guide says no. The score at the end is different. And I finally realized what this reminded me of. Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego. My kids used to watch that when they were young. </div>
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Last up is Spy in the City. Another interactive game but this time we are outside and only me and my 2 girls are participating. We are trying to stop the Russians from doing something that escapes my memory. I have to wonder, at the Spy Museum in Moscow, are they trying to stop evil Americans?</div>
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Marci and I reflected in our tablet. You carry this around and it gets messages. You go from location to location gathering clues. Once again, not that hard and not that technical. You can mess up and it will prompt you. We couldn't find this one place and we clicked the map and it told us exactly what it looks like.</div>
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This is the part where it became increasingly obvious the three of us would be terrible spies. Marci already had her issues in the dark. Kawiana got cold and we had to stop so she could put on her jacket. I was worried about getting a sunburn and had to stop to reapply my sunscreen.</div>
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And we are starving. It is around 4 in the afternoon and we haven't had anything to eat since breakfast. Here I am taking a picture of Marci and Kawiana in a Subway they ducked into to get us chips. If you could blow up the photo you would see a security guard on the far left of the photo is giving me the stink eye.</div>
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I guess that is kind of the point of this museum. You do walk out and look at people differently. People on the phone. People taking pictures. People "reading" a newspaper. They told us during a film that there are more active spies in Washington DC than in any other city in the world. I feel a little justified in hearing that because the night before, Marci thought I was being stupid when I said I would come get her when the security guards she was talking to put her in jail. We were walking around The White House and she went up to these two guys and says "what's in this building" about the building right next door to the President's house. Yeah, no problem there. And I didn't mean DC jail. I mean Department of Homeland Security jail. In fairness, she thought it was the FDIC. It wasn't. He said "it's just offices". You don't have to be spy to know that is code for Move On Ladies.</div>
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I think of all of the things we did in DC, this was probably my least favorite outing (with Spy in the City being the best of these 3 but still ultimately not at the top of the list). Until it was over and we accidentally ended up in a covert mission. Earlier in the week a lady recommended the restaurant Cafe Milano in Georgetown. We get a cab to take us there after the Spy Museum. We are really hungry now, I think it is pushing 6 pm. </div>
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The problem is that we have been out most of the afternoon, walking around DC in 90 degree heat with 90% humidity. We are hot and sweaty. We are going up the sidewalk at the restaurant and I am already concerned. White linen tablecloths. Lots of silverware. Crystal glasses on the table. We walk up to the hostess stand and I say "do you have a dress code" and she says yes that it is business casual. I ask if they can seat us on the front patio and she says, "that might be best for us". </div>
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Our Frenchy waiter is none to happy to see us. He brings us water since we don't look at the wine list (and receive an eye roll) and one crusty roll each (not a basket, individually plated) which I immediately start eating. I don't notice the problem right next to me because I have already decided on what I am going to order and I am busy trying to figure out if they will bring more rolls.</div>
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Kawiana doesn't see anything on the menu she wants to order. So someone (Marci?) makes the suggestion that we leave. I have eaten the bread and drank the water and someone (the Maitre D?) has scowled at us after barely cracking the door to peek at us. Agreed. Let's go. But I can't go without leaving a tip, something for the bread and water (it's like paying for prison food). So we all agree to pay a little something. The other girls get their money out quickly but I am fumbling with my purse and Marci starts to get excited. "Hurry up before he comes back!". I'M TRYING. I wasn't expecting to ditch like this. A good spy would always be ready.</div>
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I throw my money on the table and we nonchalantly (and totally spy-like) walk off the patio. Up to the corner and just around so they can't see us. In hindsight, they were probably glad to see us go and I doubt they would have chased us up the street had they caught us leaving. Now we are about to start the whole "what do you want to eat" thing over. Marci and I tell Kawiana she has to choose since she's the one we left for. There is a place across the street and we decide to head there but on the way end up passing Martin's Tavern. We go in and I am so glad it worked out that way. We had good food and the waiter didn't treat us like smelly trash that wandered into his day. The Police and Journey sing to us while we look at the information about the various presidents who have eaten here and which booth was their favorite.</div>
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Our booth wasn't listed but I bet a spy or two has sat in these seats before because as Marci so aptly pointed out earlier at Subway... </div>
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Spies Gotta Eat. </div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02158042051142667445noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1219665788245176515.post-70364854136926561432015-06-06T14:43:00.000-07:002015-06-06T14:54:28.823-07:00Jimmy Wayne Made Me Cry: Nashville, TNIf you are looking for a funny story, this isn't the one. Unless you are among those that count my personal distress as funny, if that's the case, you're in luck. This post will also have less photos and more words than my normal so be forewarned.<br />
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The country music singer Jimmy Wayne made me cry. He was the final speaker at my company's annual conference. That day is usually a "light" day. All of my responsibilities are over. I am just an attendee at this point. We have breakfast, our customers vote on their choice for next year's venue, and we have one last speaker. Last year it was Bob Eubanks, former host of the Newlywed Game. The year before it was a man (can't remember his name) that was very funny. Based on past history, I wasn't prepared. And actually you have to go back a couple of days to see where the problems began.<br />
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We were in a bar. I don't normally go to bars because as a teetotaler, it really isn't somewhere you want to hang out. Having adults pressure you to drink when you don't gets old. Just because I don't drink alcohol and act stupid doesn't mean I am not having a good time. All of our employees and most of our customers are at the Wild Horse Saloon. Two of my colleagues come hand me a camera and ask me to take photos for a while because they are going across the street. Later they reappear with plastic syringes. Jello shot skeletons. When it is getting near time for the last bus to the hotel to come, they are not back, so I go across the street to find them. They aren't going back and they beg me to stay with them. Maybe they didn't beg, they might have called me a baby. Whatever the case, I agreed to stay and walk back with them later.<br />
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So we leave that bar and go to BB Kings down the street. Some customers are with us and I am the only completely sober person in the group. Some people are so wasted I am pretty sure they don't know where they are. I am very concerned when one woman stands up certain she is going to hit the floor every time. At one point the bartender looked over at me and was giving me a sign that I interpreted as "she is cut off" and I made a sign I hoped he would interpret as "bring me the bill". I pay the tab and we convince everyone to go outside. My colleagues want to continue to one more bar where the owners of our company are rumored to be. We put the drunks that can't make the walk down there in a cab to the hotel and head out.<br />
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This bar - I don't even remember the same - is LOUD and very crowded. You are having close personal contact with anyone in your general vicinity. Except for me because I step inside the door and plant myself right there, conveniently next to my boss. The rest of the group disappears into the crowd. The music is so loud I cannot hear my boss even though he is yelling in my ear. I can feel my spleen vibrating in my body. And suddenly I feel like I might cry. So much so that I step outside for a moment to get ahold of myself. <br />
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I go back in and find the two ladies I started out with to tell them I am leaving. They have just ordered a drink and say they will come with me when they are done. I go back to my position by the door. The feeling that I might burst into tears persists. Fortunately I manage to hold it down and when they come out we, along with our boss, get in a cab to the hotel. When I got to my hotel room I had it under control but all the next day it is right there on the surface. Waiting for a chance.<br />
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Fortunately, the next night I am off the hook for bar hopping as I had been asked to go to the Ryman and agreed.<br />
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We are way up here but it isn't that big to start with. And let me say that Larry Gatlin is funny. He is the host of the show and he is good at his job. And the Gatlins sound exactly the same as they did 20 years ago. They came out and started Houston and I couldn't believe how good they sounded. The seats are church pews and our little group is getting pretty cozy so when no one sat behind us, two of us moved back.</div>
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I really enjoyed that show. One of the people I was with later said, "I only knew 2 songs". I only <i>didn't </i>know 2 songs. And as it turned out he didn't know 2 because when he started talking about the "Johnny Cash song" that no one sang, he had to take his number to 1.</div>
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The next morning, me and about 200 other people present ourselves in the ballroom where Jimmy Wayne is getting ready to do his thing. He starts by singing the Hall & Oates song Sara Smile with just his guitar. Good. Safe. Then he starts to talk. Jimmy Wayne also wrote a book called <i>Walk to Beautiful </i>about his horrific childhood and later walking from Nashville to Phoenix to bring attention to kids aging out of the Foster Care system. While he is talking about his drug addict mom, abusive grandfather and step father, not having any food when school let out on Friday until they went back on Monday, I start to feel a lump in my throat. </div>
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Normally this kind of thing wouldn't get to me. But as I get older I am finding my ability to control my emotions, sadness/tears in particular, is leaving as quickly my natural hair color. And as I told my boss later, this story was a little too close to home. If I had known what he was going to talk about I might have been okay. Most of you that know me personally know why this is. Those of you that don't, suffice it to say there is a child I wanted to spend time with and to do that, I had to go to a Child Protective Services office and be drug tested. The child was under a protective order and without proof that I was drug-free, I couldn't be with that child unsupervised. So I drove to their offices on a Friday and sat in a chair in the waiting room looking at the public service posters on the wall, the rug that was twisted that I wanted to get up and fix, the Lego table that was woefully lacking in Legos. </div>
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When I first arrived I was the only person there. As people came in and sat down, I believed they were thinking what I was thinking...why are YOU here? I was called back and sat across the desk from a woman who handed me what kind of looks like a square white lollipop. You have to scrub it around in your mouth while she watches. Behind your teeth, under your tongue, in front of your teeth, the roof of your mouth. Scrubbing and scrubbing and scrubbing. While I sit and scrub I am angry. I am angry that I have to be here at all. Angry about so many things that haven't been let go of. Some that still haven't. </div>
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And Jimmy Wayne just keeps on talking. I am trying not to look at him. I look everywhere else telling myself to SUCK IT UP. DON'T YOU DARE CRY IN FRONT OF ALL OF THESE PEOPLE. Some of these people have known me as long as I have worked at my company, others for less and some not at all. The man sitting next to me is a new customer that I will be working with and this week was the first time we have ever met or talked. I do NOT want to cry in front of him. But 2 days of holding it in start to be too much and it comes. At first, just a few tears here and there and I try to be all subtle in wiping them. But Jimmy Wayne will not shut up and soon the tears are flowing and I am very concerned that I am going to make a noise. Progress to a sob. Thankfully he finished and I was determined to get the hell out of there as fast as I could.</div>
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I am on the third row. As I am trying to escape up the far aisle a customer stops me to get a hug and I am about to completely lose it. I do the fastest hug I can and race for the back. There is a little alcove where I am going to try and hide because there is no way to get out of the room without being stopped a lot. A woman that I don't know finds me and says, "I am glad I am not the only one he did that too." Great. I am working hard to get it together when one of my friends comes to talk to me and I had to say, "Nope" and walk away. Not ready yet.</div>
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Later, I think I am okay and I am in the lobby with the lady that hugged me. Jimmy Wayne walks into the lobby and they are trying to talk me into taking a picture with him. ARE YOU INSANE? No way. I don't even want to look in his direction. As soon as they start talking I can feel it right there on the surface again. Fortunately it is time for me to go. I have to go to the airport to pick up a rental car as 4 of us are staying the night but we have to change to a different hotel.</div>
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Later that night, me and my 3 girls have plans to do the General Jackson Showboat tour. We head over a little early and they have drinks at TGI Friday across the way at the Opryland Mall. I don't need to drink, I already feel wasted. </div>
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L-R: Marie, Kawiana, Marci, Me</div>
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These ladies know me well and keep telling me it was no big deal. Makes me more human. But they don't know what happens yet when I get really tired. They are about to.</div>
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When I am tired, I laugh and I can't stop. To the point of tears and stomachache I will keep laughing and I very literally cannot stop. Over the dumbest things. So I thought I was done crying but I wasn't. But now, the tears are from laughter. If my family had been there they would have been embarrassed and/or making fun of me. They say I laugh like Mutley the dog. For those of you who don't know who Mutley is he was Dick Dasterdly's dog on the Wacky Racers. Here's a link to YouTube in case you need and audio reference: <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3uSTOHa4Im4">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3uSTOHa4Im4</a></div>
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For example, how did Kawiana manage to eat only the crust from the cheesecake but keep it correctly oriented on the plate? I don't know but I find this hysterical. Like Marie's ponytail. Or the fact that the half-drunk lady next to Kawiana asked her a really stupid question and we had to tell Kawiana to control her face. Or the big blonde girl in the show that was overselling everything.</div>
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So in one day I have run the gamut of emotions from sadness and anger (the most likely reason I will cry) to uncontrollable laughter. I need a vacation. These three ladies leave the next morning but I am staying for 3 more days with this lady:</div>
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Me and my cousin Dawn. Can you tell we share a little genetic material?</div>
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Dawn and I have always been close and we don't see each other enough so this is just what the doctor ordered. We have plans to go to the Grand Ole Opry that night to see Ricky Skaggs and several other acts. I didn't enjoy this show as much as the Ryman to be truthful. There are four 30 minute segments and a different person hosts each part. None are as good as Larry Gatlin was. Some of the acts I have heard of and some I have not. But, as anyone who has ever gone to the Opry knows, they sometimes deviate from the published schedule. So when the 2nd host announced Jimmy Wayne, I wanted to get up and leave. HE IS NOT IN THE PROGRAM! I AM NOT READY!</div>
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First song, we are all good. <i>Do You Believe Me Now</i> is about a girl leaving him for another man and how he had predicted that very thing. Very nice job (I have downloaded his music since retuning home) But then. Oh no. No No NO NONONONO! The second song is about a little boy that just wants his dad to love him. And he stretches his arms out and says, "I love you this much". HOLY COW. I have to avert my eyes. He is getting to me again. I won't tell you how it ends, you can find it on iTunes, that is the title of the song. Now I am crying in front of the entire Grand Ole Opry. Thanks Jimmy Wayne.</div>
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When my girls were teenagers and you didn't know what mood they would be in for 5 minutes at a time, they would watch movies that would make them cry on purpose. Our oldest especially. She wouldn't take a shower for the whole weekend and would be all ripe in her bathrobe and say, "I'm going to go cry". Rent did it every time. Or The Notebook. Or any of 100 others we had on hand. Maybe she was on to something. </div>
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Maybe the answer all along was to let go and have the cry. That's what I should have done that first night. Or maybe you are thinking, seriously lady, maybe you need pharmaceutical intervention. Already done. Sometimes it isn't enough. The problem is that I have spent so many years of my life trying not to cry that it is hard to give that up. I could be home alone and I would still avoid it. Maybe the answer for me isn't the cry. Maybe the answer for me is sleep deprivation so instead of unhappy tears I will cry from laughter at something random and ridiculous. It may not make me more human to others but you know what they say...</div>
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Laughter is the best medicine.</div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02158042051142667445noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1219665788245176515.post-81875970252052938632015-06-01T15:27:00.000-07:002015-06-01T15:27:27.016-07:00The George Jones Museum: Nashville, TN<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYzbRL54iqrY2UcxA_kIUrgZ1taeM8DLiyiXFxrNXIiBNx5eG5ouiFJLYVToLwTqhneh4dR0fEkDsemE-4FuAvU7Ku5G619sSevLTsmNPaU3tccnv8WZp24to3RvbLQay1b0L0ybbbqiw/s1600/DSC00167.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYzbRL54iqrY2UcxA_kIUrgZ1taeM8DLiyiXFxrNXIiBNx5eG5ouiFJLYVToLwTqhneh4dR0fEkDsemE-4FuAvU7Ku5G619sSevLTsmNPaU3tccnv8WZp24to3RvbLQay1b0L0ybbbqiw/s400/DSC00167.JPG" width="400" /> </a></div>
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This is George Jones' fault.</div>
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While driving to my hotel in Nashville, I passed the George Jones Museum. I knew I had to make time to visit there no matter what happened. Because if it wasn't for George Jones, my children wouldn't exist. </div>
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The museum, as it turns out, hasn't opened yet. I was really disappointed that I wouldn't be able to make the pilgrimage. Then I found out they were opening that coming weekend - and I would still be in town. They opened to coincide with the 2nd anniversary of his death.</div>
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I wanted to get my dad something from the gift shop but this was a little out of my price range. I do love the vanity plates.</div>
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The only size bottles of White Lightening they have. A little too much for the suitcase home. And then to get it to Texas next time I go.</div>
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Just right. Dad modeling his shirt. I also got him a coffee cup. An item that will be well used in his house. </div>
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And though I was able to make the pilgrimage, I didn't end up going through the museum. It was $20. A little more homage than I was prepared to pay. My dad would have paid twice that.</div>
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When I mentioned to a customer that I needed to go to the museum because George was responsible for my children's very existence, she gave me a funny
look and I realized that she might think I am saying that
George Jones is the father of my children. He's not, but he is no less
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Here's how it happened. This is my my version of the story. Others have their own versions, that is the nature of a story. So, to those of you who were there, I don't want to hear any comments about the accuracy of my memories, they are mine. If your memories are different, they are wrong. </div>
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My dad was a singer in a band. His specialty was George Jones music. I don't actually remember him ever singing a song by anyone else, at least not on stage. He sang all of the time at home and there he sang songs by other people. My daughter was about 8 when she said, "Grandpa is a joyful person". When I asked why she said that, she said it was because he was always singing.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9McW9BL1wfsoj5_JjCJvp25zKSu2OBkxr8i9VmvqDiSh8QZao6jvdPOI5ggdGQ5dJC218OJ27_Vcv_hyJG4uLEXztYuNEUXzmrE8E4VrKy7ffT4bKUFSi97-gRmSB_5YCdP42l4mJh1s/s1600/Swanner+family0474.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9McW9BL1wfsoj5_JjCJvp25zKSu2OBkxr8i9VmvqDiSh8QZao6jvdPOI5ggdGQ5dJC218OJ27_Vcv_hyJG4uLEXztYuNEUXzmrE8E4VrKy7ffT4bKUFSi97-gRmSB_5YCdP42l4mJh1s/s400/Swanner+family0474.jpg" width="371" /> </a></div>
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There he is, in the green (or blue, depending on your opinion and screen) shirt in the middle. The one with the microphone. </div>
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So one June night in 1983 me and my friend Kim went with my parents to watch him sing. As you can see from the curtain in the background, this was at a VFW Hall. The guy to the right of my dad, as you look at the photo (white cowboy hat, looking away from the camera, bass player) is Alan. He will be part of this story in a minute.</div>
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My friend Kim looked a little like Lynda Carter, the actress who played Wonder Woman. She was built like that too. I was resigned to my role as the ugly friend. Not one time when I was with Kim had a boy ever noticed me. I didn't expect this night to be any different. Plus, in June of 1983 I have just finished the 8th grade. I am 14 years old. Dating wasn't a big concern of mine. I had never been asked on one and had never had a conversation with my parents about when I would be allowed to go in the event that someone ever did ask.</div>
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When I went to the ladies room I saw a group of teenagers at a table on that side of the building. I hadn't really paid attention to them before. Maybe I was sitting with my back to them? Not sure, but this was my first time noticing. And that is all I thought, that it was a large group of older teenagers. I didn't notice anyone in particular. But one of them noticed me.</div>
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When dad wasn't on stage, he would sometimes dance with me. When we were exiting the dance floor that night a young man stepped in front of me and said, "Do you want to dance later?". I said, "Sure" or "Okay". Something sophisticated like that. Later, we danced. His name was David and he was 17, would be 18 in a few weeks. Because of his July birthday, he had just graduated from high school about a week before. He is there with his date (he took her home early), his cousin, bass player Alan, and some other kids from his high school.</div>
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I don't remember what we talked about while we danced but I do remember the change in his face when he asked how old I was and I told him. He recovered and not to be that easily deterred, he asks my parents if he can ask me on a date. Smooth operator, asking the parents. </div>
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AND THEY SAID YES. Years later my mom would say things like "what will you do when a grown man shows up and asks your 14 year old on a date?" and he would say, "the same thing you should have said, NO." I was mature for a 14 year old, even my mom will tell you that but still. 14 is 14. He had a job and an apartment and this is my first date ever. As for me, he noticed me and not Kim so what wasn't to like? I would have said yes on that fact alone.</div>
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So the next day, a Sunday, he picked me up and we went to his friend's house swimming. And I got my first kiss. Something I knew was coming most of the day and was totally dreading. Not so much today.</div>
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That first date/kiss led to this: </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj44I3vzsW21WBYnoPFEN3MQ7TMUKXfWU0OyS-_lK_aoupfG3r9StAGo9yejlAvlyR8w9CVVJvRMU97cIJwkgcWeyxXGOOMOuYt47x-sb0n9YRadsDSieIF3zr7aI_tW9JIhL0C8czTeaQ/s1600/date.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="337" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj44I3vzsW21WBYnoPFEN3MQ7TMUKXfWU0OyS-_lK_aoupfG3r9StAGo9yejlAvlyR8w9CVVJvRMU97cIJwkgcWeyxXGOOMOuYt47x-sb0n9YRadsDSieIF3zr7aI_tW9JIhL0C8czTeaQ/s400/date.jpg" width="400" /> </a></div>
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David's dad took this picture of us in December of 1985 (written on the back of the photo). So I am just turning 17. We have been dating 2 1/2 years already. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNOjYPGxDjBvu-dxI8qAHQFOShmWZYFLEzPwxz99PfIHfoJ74dhFw5Qt0cZHUr6AtdoqhAsex3zliKEkYNnThEwG5Sz1vrgpVBCeVJdrjJ1RnthX_9jaPkNZd7yZYy3dFdCOqF2SIuank/s1600/Wedding1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNOjYPGxDjBvu-dxI8qAHQFOShmWZYFLEzPwxz99PfIHfoJ74dhFw5Qt0cZHUr6AtdoqhAsex3zliKEkYNnThEwG5Sz1vrgpVBCeVJdrjJ1RnthX_9jaPkNZd7yZYy3dFdCOqF2SIuank/s400/Wedding1.jpg" width="370" /> </a></div>
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At our wedding in March of 1987. I am barely 18, he is 21. I am still in high school, graduating in May. It was the beginning of Spring Break. I must have missed that Captain and Tennille song, <i>You Better Shop Around.</i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpCQys7eIndPnULvR3fPRon8zIcSg18HtBfrDtJ4EK-xd6T5z5lNYaSFBtRqAUunriPgxoIDW5VDzkIv9-DKOIDj9_CE17PO-7tgikdfybrjP3NQl3HW1Pjn4ds5TL98P23noBotOaYTw/s1600/family.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="247" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpCQys7eIndPnULvR3fPRon8zIcSg18HtBfrDtJ4EK-xd6T5z5lNYaSFBtRqAUunriPgxoIDW5VDzkIv9-DKOIDj9_CE17PO-7tgikdfybrjP3NQl3HW1Pjn4ds5TL98P23noBotOaYTw/s400/family.jpg" width="400" /> </a></div>
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This is late 1993 or early 1994 depending on who is having a birthday here. We have 3 children. I am 25. I was 22 when our son, the youngest, was born. What were you doing when you were 22?</div>
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It was hard. We had the kids young and really close together (22 months and 19 months). We didn't have a lot of money. In that last photo we are living in a 2 bedroom apartment while David is going to school at night. He keeps the kids during the day while I work and I have them at night. We are only together on weekends. The kids have no furniture in their room. They each have a foam chair that folds out to a bed, a pillow and a blanket. That table was a dumpster dive. And for those of you that are super observant, that isn't an expensive stand mixer in the background. Its an antique juice press I got when my grandpa died. It has no monetary value. If that wasn't the case, it wouldn't be there. I won a TV at work during this time and we drove it directly to a pawn shop.</div>
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It got harder. The details aren't important. This is what's important:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY9uSBB5xy-tvzdShUN2_3JwnKqMyKIQRhUDUE7hyF-Tn5LkUu4e4hDSYrxdo2th7QDTePuKp1EKYiScQYa73WOy4rNuZjRrb49kIaQspgV1JXAbNmiUVoxU-G8IN4l1AUTt_EVSoBFfI/s1600/White+Christmas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY9uSBB5xy-tvzdShUN2_3JwnKqMyKIQRhUDUE7hyF-Tn5LkUu4e4hDSYrxdo2th7QDTePuKp1EKYiScQYa73WOy4rNuZjRrb49kIaQspgV1JXAbNmiUVoxU-G8IN4l1AUTt_EVSoBFfI/s400/White+Christmas.jpg" width="375" /> </a></div>
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We made it this far. </div>
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In 2013 we left Texas for Montana and we love it here. And our easiest kid, Karma, is with us. The others have moved on, all 3 living in different states. We have 3 grandchildren now. And David and I are having a great time. We are on the best part of this adventure. </div>
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And I have two people to thank for that...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyDKS4gbISV-2vH_aTvaa-ivE93dG-BMgBF3opdJTJmHz-ixYQ1hRFzPZX6BjFa-QQT-8gm1b2MSZgKVpJgqcM-c1_NKrsnMd1nIaxjPw_5XPz-i1m6nYIXZ6ps4Vsg4inJ2odItqFrYQ/s1600/IMG_9884.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyDKS4gbISV-2vH_aTvaa-ivE93dG-BMgBF3opdJTJmHz-ixYQ1hRFzPZX6BjFa-QQT-8gm1b2MSZgKVpJgqcM-c1_NKrsnMd1nIaxjPw_5XPz-i1m6nYIXZ6ps4Vsg4inJ2odItqFrYQ/s400/IMG_9884.JPG" width="300" /> </a></div>
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George </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguSdnwB_u7H1INBVrNsUW50eS1EafKuHQb3FqTwQkjt94ELtt08skYN4XAEboVEIFKWyvCzIDm7oXSJWqLbCob7Msx1g8Agu6k6xz9F5o8snsULyTdW9iLLk2AlGmjU4A-hNUUCpJCbhM/s1600/dad.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="372" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguSdnwB_u7H1INBVrNsUW50eS1EafKuHQb3FqTwQkjt94ELtt08skYN4XAEboVEIFKWyvCzIDm7oXSJWqLbCob7Msx1g8Agu6k6xz9F5o8snsULyTdW9iLLk2AlGmjU4A-hNUUCpJCbhM/s400/dad.jpg" width="400" /> </a></div>
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And dad. Thank you for being such a joyful person.</div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02158042051142667445noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1219665788245176515.post-35007190843080335882015-05-06T21:30:00.000-07:002015-05-07T07:27:39.010-07:00Roller Derby: Missoula, MTI am not sure why this always happens to me. I think I am a nice person. But apparently the people I know generally consider me an aggressive amazon bully. Last summer, while attending the Logger Days Lumberjack/jill events in Darby, MT, my friend asked me if I was going to sign up to participate next year. Even though to her knowledge I had never operated a chain saw or swung an ax in my life. She clearly had no problem imagining I could do those things based on nothing other than her general knowledge of me. And now, Roller Derby. I posted a picture on Facebook the day we went and my MOTHER commented, "When will you be on a team" followed by my cousin posting, "I could see you out there". <br />
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I have mixed feelings about all of this and I told David that I am not sure can or should take these comments as a compliment. He says I totally should. I can't judge by him though because every woman in his 5 (from the Friends episode) either beat up or violently killed someone in a movie. He says he wouldn't want me to be a "girly girl". But having people think you are going to beat them down in the parking lot just for looking in your direction only comes in handy when you are traveling to strange places alone at night. Which I do a lot so...<br />
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I had never been to a roller derby match before and didn't watch it on TV as a kid like both David and our friend Steven said they had done. So this means I have basically no expectation for the match but as it turns out, I did have some ideas and had stereotyped the players before we even got there. The ladies were smaller than I expected (there were exceptions but as a group). And I mean both shorter and lighter. I would guess that only one woman on the home team and none of the women on the visiting team were as tall as me, though granted, I am tall for a woman at 5'10". I think every one of them weighed less than me. They appear, from the distance I am at, to be generally younger than I thought they would be. And there were fewer tattoos and wild hair and piercings and outfits than I expected. And before you do it, David already called me out on my judgy behavior. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghdy6eJ3aAVjU5mL3yhYXy6g51j_PkUMPTHIfHz7KQa50iO7OwIGARC1c-mh4co08K9B0xl4paiGFHqWUL2pYKhQbBkVUuqlMLSF2FdsCsXEHobDXdTKAFDE6n46DLjB4ATCszm0O13zE/s1600/IMG_9948.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="276" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghdy6eJ3aAVjU5mL3yhYXy6g51j_PkUMPTHIfHz7KQa50iO7OwIGARC1c-mh4co08K9B0xl4paiGFHqWUL2pYKhQbBkVUuqlMLSF2FdsCsXEHobDXdTKAFDE6n46DLjB4ATCszm0O13zE/s1600/IMG_9948.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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The match hasn't even begun, they are still warming up, when the first injury occurs.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEievYsn8q2a1h81jFxwJLbbVAZJnEpaEO0mCIGGh_rjApVw3fGrgXSOvUjiok3ghgbkbf-MwSd7ji2zhBgIEF-6KcJGHp57o2nl-0A9W0-a02cTEQZB_yL8eh-ygm1-NYUe9UuMzSrznD8/s1600/IMG_9949.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="310" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEievYsn8q2a1h81jFxwJLbbVAZJnEpaEO0mCIGGh_rjApVw3fGrgXSOvUjiok3ghgbkbf-MwSd7ji2zhBgIEF-6KcJGHp57o2nl-0A9W0-a02cTEQZB_yL8eh-ygm1-NYUe9UuMzSrznD8/s1600/IMG_9949.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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It is bad enough to warrant getting out the stretcher. It isn't bad enough for them to transport her to the hospital in the ambulance parked behind us. Someone came and picked her up. I am not sure why the ambulance is from a volunteer fire department of another town rather than one from the City of Missoula or one of the two local hospitals.</div>
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We were given a program with the ladies derby names and we get a kick out of reading them and talking about the ones we like the best. Like Knuckle Slambitch. At one point during the match they called over the intercom for "Fireman Joe" and when he didn't respond after a few minutes they tried again, this time paging "Mr. Slambitch". David makes it clear he will root for the home team (<a href="http://www.hellgaterollergirls.org/" target="_blank">Hellgate Rollergirls</a>) while Steven decides on the time-honored method of rooting for the team with the best looking girls. Seems reasonable.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEici_u4BQWAFGWShbjlayaMHcIWZQkLT4b8DHGw_ZTV5s78G9qxfqne0gBr7zbmK4sPqf51PM6Jy3JIgv4cHo4Olao635-vyhu5RGn4rPjVF8p8mEQIwtJy02bTCz_rEcseoa9ENoYDvg0/s1600/IMG_9951.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEici_u4BQWAFGWShbjlayaMHcIWZQkLT4b8DHGw_ZTV5s78G9qxfqne0gBr7zbmK4sPqf51PM6Jy3JIgv4cHo4Olao635-vyhu5RGn4rPjVF8p8mEQIwtJy02bTCz_rEcseoa9ENoYDvg0/s1600/IMG_9951.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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I am not sure if his "better looking" method will work. One of my preconceived notions is completely not true. This is no T&A show. The girls all wear yoga or spandex type pants and a basic tank top. Nothing revealing at all. The girl with the red arrow (which I added people, it isn't magically following her around) is a "jammer" and she is the only one on the team that can score points (as I understood it). There is one jammer on each team, you can tell who they are by the star on their helmet. The "lead jammer" is the only one who can "call it" and end a "jam".</div>
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After the first several "jams" David and I are still completely confused about the rules. The score is something like 11-4 and we have no idea how that happened. The rules are outlined in the program but we didn't find that to be all that helpful. There are young ladies running around with signs that say "ask a rollergirl" and you can ask them questions about the rules or anything you don't understand. We eavesdrop when other people near us ask and between that and trying to watch one thing at a time, I start to get the idea. </div>
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There is no way to follow all of the action, there is too much going on. There is so much to watch that there are a LOT of referees (who also have derby names, my favorite was Jeferee). There is one referee for each jammer and a bunch of others that watch the other players for penalties and things like going out of bounds. I try, most of the time, to focus on the jammer for Hellgate. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMGYdpRk1ZQzaSPDuVVI5KU5DdldfVueX1iV9zKGg5Bo3yqKL4u4Wkfq8o5YFIfI3km3B4zhIkJaraD5HaeMuEcT5Bc3SNzpseMwiC_Mk45QR6Lzc0SxCzjn5tn7RDpY8GJqRD5iCBU0U/s1600/IMG_9953.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="282" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMGYdpRk1ZQzaSPDuVVI5KU5DdldfVueX1iV9zKGg5Bo3yqKL4u4Wkfq8o5YFIfI3km3B4zhIkJaraD5HaeMuEcT5Bc3SNzpseMwiC_Mk45QR6Lzc0SxCzjn5tn7RDpY8GJqRD5iCBU0U/s1600/IMG_9953.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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The penalty box - sponsored by Planned Parenthood. Every time someone is sent there they bring this up..."Pipsqueak is going to the Planned Parenthood penalty box for a forearm foul". Anyone can go to the penalty box - jammers and blockers alike. Those people in the gray shirts behind the penalty box are other "officials" though I am not sure what most of them do.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg3nePYDv7S07UPC7QBTNAS2mcarkXyywYvOw6aC6Eni7vx2RiagCW4N-h5aOfynV5F1Hvv73VivY4sxt95LmHVHMQrKlNx0EWe6c3LPb74FtqBaAI6kFYryIgZcvqe1T5QT5PX1lXWWA/s1600/IMG_9958.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg3nePYDv7S07UPC7QBTNAS2mcarkXyywYvOw6aC6Eni7vx2RiagCW4N-h5aOfynV5F1Hvv73VivY4sxt95LmHVHMQrKlNx0EWe6c3LPb74FtqBaAI6kFYryIgZcvqe1T5QT5PX1lXWWA/s1600/IMG_9958.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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This official takes her job very seriously. She is very precise with her movements and she appears to be the timekeeper. She starts each jam and notifies everyone when there is a timeout (as she is doing here). If she ever needs another job, I think she would be an outstanding aircraft marshal. Not the ones with the guns on the plane, the one with the batons that directs the pilot when he parks the plane at the gate.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUy2R39_2MiNJEGgwScDF_AMkuXiDcnYKGrftU1c2lNx7H44GOLAAx7-VqTlhFyUIWIhNHXqm3Xxt8RSBZM2_NBIDg5qeduloVHZhh1I5wgTaRv32NTwjjPYd6-3Zmq-zS5SmzC2J9vUU/s1600/IMG_9955.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUy2R39_2MiNJEGgwScDF_AMkuXiDcnYKGrftU1c2lNx7H44GOLAAx7-VqTlhFyUIWIhNHXqm3Xxt8RSBZM2_NBIDg5qeduloVHZhh1I5wgTaRv32NTwjjPYd6-3Zmq-zS5SmzC2J9vUU/s1600/IMG_9955.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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Each match has 2 halves with a 20 minute halftime. At halftime we are entertained by a group doing bicycle polo. The best player out there was a girl wearing shorts and cowboy boots. All-in-all we found this to be boring and simply proof that if you put a bunch of college kids together, they will find something to do. This group practices in a parking garage at the University of Montana a couple of times a week. All are welcome.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg19XA5q7aXkWMTmhZmL7zS8Ogbt4GfJkpSs-xUNITAN_VgHhyphenhyphenN4ujJJMBKgOEl5Srg-l3EQqCh_tYePQyUyE8gYvS_KdSvyntD7u9eQtSJgQxzWXv4EVJscZ6bLxZdQXCO3SCPndVc7SQ/s1600/IMG_9957.MOV" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg19XA5q7aXkWMTmhZmL7zS8Ogbt4GfJkpSs-xUNITAN_VgHhyphenhyphenN4ujJJMBKgOEl5Srg-l3EQqCh_tYePQyUyE8gYvS_KdSvyntD7u9eQtSJgQxzWXv4EVJscZ6bLxZdQXCO3SCPndVc7SQ/s1600/IMG_9957.MOV" width="400" /></a></div>
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A little jam action for you.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM0D5K35rx-Or6dW7ejziKb96kYOsLnyfwb1W45y8ldREurnVS0bO5E14RfQCagJy2QXTmb9fq2s0_OpWzS7Hx1XEgPUfNb4Uhu6odcFbrsShJ9muHpUOEKCZCUBpMHD9xnwt4RTSOzKQ/s1600/IMG_9952.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM0D5K35rx-Or6dW7ejziKb96kYOsLnyfwb1W45y8ldREurnVS0bO5E14RfQCagJy2QXTmb9fq2s0_OpWzS7Hx1XEgPUfNb4Uhu6odcFbrsShJ9muHpUOEKCZCUBpMHD9xnwt4RTSOzKQ/s1600/IMG_9952.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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This event takes place in an open-air covered building on the fairgrounds. The seats, other than the VIP couch to the left there, are wooden bleachers. By the time the match started, the bleachers are filled and it is standing room only. </div>
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The home team won in an exciting down-to-the-last-second move. After the match the spectators line the rink to congratulate both teams as they skate around and high-five everyone.</div>
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Despite the uncomfortable seats, David and I will probably go back. The season is short with only 4 home games, 2 away games and 3 tournaments (none local). Tickets were $10 at the door and we enjoyed a nice dinner before so, a good date night all around.</div>
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Years ago when I worked at a bank one of the gentlemen that worked there was truly afraid of me. He would return to his cubicle if he saw me approaching. I never said so much as boo to this man. When I asked my friend about it he said, "it's probably because your walk is intimidating". When this man broke his nose at softball practice I was there but I was behind the backstop waiting to bat and he was in center field. That didn't stop my boss from asking him if it was me that broke his nose.<br />
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They say you should embrace who you are but is who you are dictated by what other people see you as? I spent a lot of time at the skating rink as a kid and always liked it. Maybe it is time to embrace the inner bruiser everyone else sees in me. I wonder when Rollergirl tryouts are?<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02158042051142667445noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1219665788245176515.post-5734893167780274612015-04-30T19:30:00.001-07:002015-04-30T19:49:39.138-07:00The Escape Game: Nashville, TNEvery year the company I work for hosts a conference. This year, we went to Nashville. Conference ends at lunch on Friday and the last few years some of my coworkers and I have taken to staying over to do something fun and then heading home on Saturday. Maybe because of this blog, or maybe because I am a bossy control freak, the task of finding something fun to do usually falls to me. But the problem is that not everyone in our little group defines "fun" the same way that I do.<br />
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While researching options, I knew I didn't really want to do the Grand Ole Opry because I already had tickets for Saturday night as I am staying even longer than the others to spend time with my cousin. And as usual, some things aren't open at night. Nashville seemed to be a one-trick pony (and having gone there I still feel that way), it is all about the music and bars. <br />
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On TripAdvisor I found something called The Escape Game that sounded interesting to me and was ranked as the #3 thing to do in Nashville. The website says you are locked in a room for 60 minutes and use cyphers, codes and clues to find a way to escape. I am always on the lookout for something different to do and this seemed to fit the bill. I copied their <a href="http://nashvilleescapegame.com/#_=_" target="_blank">website</a> link and sent it to my 3 coworker ladies that would be staying over with me.<br />
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The first reply I get is "Will it be dark?" I am not sure whether this person has looked at the website or not but it doesn't appear from anything on there that this will be the case. You have to solve clues and I am not sure how that will happen in the dark. Nevertheless I go back to the site and look at the FAQ which has nothing about being in the dark. I try to call them and get an answering machine. I reply back that I don't think so and get the response, "I will have a panic attack". Duly noted.<br />
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The next day one of the other ladies responds with "Is it scary?" Holy cow. I should have seen this coming. This isn't the first time that a plan I am trying to hatch up has been met with resistance. The trapeze class. Indoor skydiving. The truth is that only one of the people other than me in our group of 4-6 (depending on everyone's availability) is up for anything.<br />
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So I send the group an email. I want to resign as Cruise Director. I am not upset about the Escape Game or anything else but I am spending time researching and making suggestions only to run into the same problems over and over. These other ladies should be making the suggestions I say. My resignation is not accepted. While this is going on, I sent my cousin the same original email about The Escape Game and she was immediately on board so I am going either way. I tell the group this and send them alternative, and more sedate, options. It isn't easy to get 4 people to make one decision given 5 new choices.<br />
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The Escape Game building is in a residential neighborhood and right next to a salon. Not really what I expected.</div>
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So, having made other arrangements with the other ladies, my cousin Dawn and I head over to The Escape Game on Monday morning. I was halfway expecting it to be just us in the room as it is 9:45 am on a work day. When you register they tell you that unless you pay for the whole room (which varies depending on the room you do), they may put you with other people. We have mixed feelings about this. What if the other people don't work with us? What if they dominate the game and we are left out? I am really hoping it is just us but that isn't what happened. And it is a good thing it didn't. I think 2 people would be hard pressed to escape unless they had done this before, failed, and were trying again.<br />
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For some reason, I thought this place was relatively new. However, based on the large number of pins on the map, that appears to be a false assumption. There was another map that had pins for different countries. Montana was poorly represented so I added my pin. Dawn is from the Pensacola area and there wasn't room for more pins there. The room to the right is the entrance to The Heist room. There are 4 different rooms you can play.</div>
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Dawn and I are signed up for the Nashville Room which, according to the website is recommended for 2-7 people. We are paired up with 3 men - John, John and Bill. They explain they are brothers and a dad which truthfully didn't need explaining. After we introduce ourselves, our "guide", Evan, has us watch a video explaining the rules. You cannot take any photos in the room and you cannot even have your phone out (so no calculator). A basket is provided for our purses, phones, keys. It stays in the room but they have cameras watching us so they can see us all of the time. They say this is to help them when they give us "clues". The TV monitor will show the clue and a tone will tell us one is coming so we know to look. <br />
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I don't want to give too much away in case anyone ever does this or something like it. Basically you are in the room and you and your partners have to find clues and work on cyphers to unlock other clues, locks, etc. For example, in one case one of us had to look at a computer monitor in one room while another person reached their hand in to a tall speaker to unlock a combination lock in the next room. We didn't have a combination at the time but suddenly while I was wearing the special glasses and looking at the computer watching Dawn mess with the lock, I knew what the combination was and she unlocked it. That gave us a key that went to something else. And so on. <br />
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Some others, including one of my coworkers that stayed over, went to do this on the Friday before and she said you need more people and now I understand. There is a LOT to do. Fortunately, the brothers were content to let us work on things alone and we did the same for them and we made for a good team. The only time it was a problem was when we had to do a math equation. I had the marker and was trying to work on it on this big board but the brothers were standing behind me trying to do it in their heads. But they didn't do it silently and I couldn't focus with them saying numbers standing right behind me. I missed the calculation by 1, which made a difference.<br />
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We didn't escape. Time was ticking down and we had less than 1 minute and we still needed 2 numbers to open the keypad. <br />
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Dawn, me, Bill or John, John or Bill, John the dad with our "I Almost Escaped" stickers.</div>
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Dawn and I had so much fun with this we considered going back the next day to try another room. Ultimately we didn't. In my mind the experience we had the first time would have been hard to top. Even if we had successfully escaped I don't think it would have been more fun. We could have bought the "I Escaped" t-shirt but I have plenty of t-shirts. We were lucky to get paired with the people we did and we might not get that lucky again. Or we might not get paired at all and I am not sure we could have made it as far on our own. All in all I would do this again in another city, maybe with a group of people that I know. This wasn't scary and we were never in the dark (one of the rooms used black lighting but it wasn't dark and was open to the fully lit room next door).</div>
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My boss was telling me that they have something like this in Dallas only in that game they put a zombie in the room with you. Maybe I should try to talk my coworker group into it for our next visit to Dallas. I might have to leave out the zombie part.</div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02158042051142667445noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1219665788245176515.post-28636460358502747122015-01-25T15:51:00.003-08:002015-01-25T15:51:44.965-08:00The People Watcher's Public Toilet: Sulphur Springs, TXI have issues. Bathroom issues. I have been married 27 years and I get irritated if David is in the bedroom when I am in the bathroom. And it doesn't matter what I am doing in there. I could be curling my hair or brushing my teeth and I would still be annoyed. I need privacy. I not only close the door but I also lock it even when no one is home. <br />
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But earlier this year I jumped off of a trapeze platform, something I was sure I would be afraid to do so in the continuing spirit of conquering fears, I decide to check out the unique public bathroom in the town square in Sulphur Springs, Texas.<br />
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Sulphur Springs a small town (population about 15k as of the last census) east of Dallas but it is far enough out that I wouldn't call it a suburb. I started out the day in Plano (north of Dallas) and drove to Whitehouse where I spent the day. On the way back to the Dallas area, I decide it isn't terribly out of the way to run by Sulphur Springs.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx0Qa1G5VkpPSzF1d7rb1NYY-ahkqRyOoWIOQn5FSN9TG3Mp9lsXaKwysg0pdBMEEfJw6ZblBg78Ms0lLNKRTKLlW0yRGdvyuxM_wTUGghsFCEjTyeTuahKldRQF81bVG2hXmSNz-2mjo/s1600/map2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx0Qa1G5VkpPSzF1d7rb1NYY-ahkqRyOoWIOQn5FSN9TG3Mp9lsXaKwysg0pdBMEEfJw6ZblBg78Ms0lLNKRTKLlW0yRGdvyuxM_wTUGghsFCEjTyeTuahKldRQF81bVG2hXmSNz-2mjo/s1600/map2.png" height="282" width="400" /></a></div>
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It isn't exactly on the way either. But this side trip will take me down lots of back roads and I will never be required to drive on 635/LBJ which I am very happy about. Even when I lived here I hated driving on LBJ. It is perpetually under construction and people drive like maniacs. I thought I would have a nervous breakdown on the way out of town this morning. So, for me, Sulphur Springs is decidedly on the way.</div>
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There isn't a lot to see driving between Whitehouse and Sulphur Springs. It is a lot like driving the back roads of Montana near where I live only it is flatter with less snow and more rebel flags. I did pass through Lindale, the hometown of Miranda Lambert, a fact you will know they are quite proud of when you get there. I am always on the lookout for a photo op but this route is woefully lacking.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7gekgDtl3QzcggUHhFmteHRTdWjyQVOn_K7xrySEJU9x4EztWgwHUrNDxTPOaYDDjJRyYF8i2b7hZ3mbnpNuhZaXx4dS6h43-V_676E9Lh0i1QEv7NU8MZTTAHaa4rG_EYUs28KRHt7I/s1600/IMG_9363.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7gekgDtl3QzcggUHhFmteHRTdWjyQVOn_K7xrySEJU9x4EztWgwHUrNDxTPOaYDDjJRyYF8i2b7hZ3mbnpNuhZaXx4dS6h43-V_676E9Lh0i1QEv7NU8MZTTAHaa4rG_EYUs28KRHt7I/s1600/IMG_9363.JPG" height="330" width="400" /></a></div>
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I did stop to take a picture of this shining example of country ingenuity. I bet these mailboxes don't succumb to high winds. Or teenagers with baseball bats.</div>
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I am not 100% sure where the bathroom is so I have my GPS take me downtown. Sulphur Springs is the county seat for Hopkins County.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMA3L_OpebTiHb_P3ATTc1EuJ09YHXdKhkG_9w5nU5HMWHyAmiNSBC3ZrmccrDYz0jnc84303vO1wh6wvfcVe41f5cHrd6Vug6odQRdQZ9qoLBRtgxSRnO03lz3p2OwMQDeQVNUvLdUeQ/s1600/IMG_9365.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMA3L_OpebTiHb_P3ATTc1EuJ09YHXdKhkG_9w5nU5HMWHyAmiNSBC3ZrmccrDYz0jnc84303vO1wh6wvfcVe41f5cHrd6Vug6odQRdQZ9qoLBRtgxSRnO03lz3p2OwMQDeQVNUvLdUeQ/s1600/IMG_9365.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
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There is a typical town square for this part of Texas (reminds me of Waxahachie or McKinney) with the courthouse in the center surrounded by antique shops and restaurants. There are veterans monuments placed around the courthouse square and it is very clean and well maintained.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5QtcnMxqPdfWldPdNu3zWWstIRrzKLXibAwE5-afyWlkLeLQ9YDzgv3nOpl5LlnED7mEEMf1eKDPjmZ37eoIpAk4qt9Tn4MWzn9woG-42eIAyYl0fPODDuwRqoGPMY983Av_37mlflYA/s1600/IMG_9364.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5QtcnMxqPdfWldPdNu3zWWstIRrzKLXibAwE5-afyWlkLeLQ9YDzgv3nOpl5LlnED7mEEMf1eKDPjmZ37eoIpAk4qt9Tn4MWzn9woG-42eIAyYl0fPODDuwRqoGPMY983Av_37mlflYA/s1600/IMG_9364.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
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There are several places on the square to stop and have lunch or a game of chess.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYe5xcpf97bt9MSnCpkBUFtl-FfPnfP_sreJF9RDVwuLbwUKdZYR6b9MZS_RDpor_1lxI1GAfu39-Y6TvhafxNCAVz7NGoiVvkejrlWxM2EZPb_hBexxYcOj-6bFFX0ENYzPI2mGVvNGM/s1600/IMG_9366.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYe5xcpf97bt9MSnCpkBUFtl-FfPnfP_sreJF9RDVwuLbwUKdZYR6b9MZS_RDpor_1lxI1GAfu39-Y6TvhafxNCAVz7NGoiVvkejrlWxM2EZPb_hBexxYcOj-6bFFX0ENYzPI2mGVvNGM/s1600/IMG_9366.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
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Including two large chess boards on the ground. I am slightly surprised that no one has run off with any of these large chess pieces. While I am considering the next move, I realize I have found the bathroom.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrj_0X81I8mG8C8SSJjRl_NQo2lQ1q5DGTATu0laQhA9gyURyq4qpgtnqLRC2Y7EuT29fZX0rN4aC7exedlMxP3qQUUid3r3EJ3GrC8szooe6kEIRbfLen4M1K4x2aXEM8CTeuYG_0m0w/s1600/IMG_9367.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrj_0X81I8mG8C8SSJjRl_NQo2lQ1q5DGTATu0laQhA9gyURyq4qpgtnqLRC2Y7EuT29fZX0rN4aC7exedlMxP3qQUUid3r3EJ3GrC8szooe6kEIRbfLen4M1K4x2aXEM8CTeuYG_0m0w/s1600/IMG_9367.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
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That mirrored box is it. There are actually two of them, the other one is identical and just across the square.</div>
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You cannot see inside from out here but I didn't consider whether someone was INSIDE watching me before I started taking pictures. Luckily, no one was. </div>
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This is the same chess set from INSIDE the bathroom. You can see very clearly in all directions. All the way to the courthouse steps even.</div>
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It is clean but industrial inside.</div>
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There is information on the web that says there are police monitored cameras in the square to make sure no one does anything to deface the restrooms or to do something to see inside like shine lasers or other kinds of penetrating lights. I assume to document stolen chess pieces too. </div>
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I stand around inside trying to decide. Do I?</div>
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But then I notice this. That is a seam between the glass door and the panel that holds it. It has some weather stripping but still. Someone could see through that. It makes no difference that from both inside and outside of the bathroom I can see that there is no other person on foot in the entire square.</div>
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Of course that only occurs to me later - when I am well down the road - that if someone had been trying to sneak a peek I would have seen them coming well before their eyeball was trained on me through this tiny crack. </div>
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I go back to my car and text David and send him pictures of the inside and outside. "I don't think I could go in there" he replies. I respond, "I went in there but I didn't GO in there." No fears were conquered in Sulphur Springs.</div>
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Time to move along as I am due at a play in Richardson - about an hour and half away - and I have just enough time to get there. About 30 minutes down the road I am wishing I had been a big girl and gone to the bathroom when I had a chance. </div>
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Driving the Texas back roads isn't always easy for someone with bathroom issues who has had 3 people use her bladder for a waterbed for 9 months apiece. How much further is it to Richardson?</div>
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<span id="goog_2083810094"></span><span id="goog_2083810095"></span><br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02158042051142667445noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1219665788245176515.post-21870869406916992772015-01-04T09:43:00.001-08:002015-01-04T09:43:46.624-08:00Redneck Life: Near Missoula, MTMy husband is a redneck. I'm not the only one who has noticed. At his previous job it came up numerous times. You can't go around saying things like "butter my butt and call me a biscuit" and not expect people think something is off. There was an article on ABC News talking about the top 10 most redneck cities and how they decided the winner. The winner was Atlanta and it had to do with things like riding lawn mower repair shops, taxidermists, gun & ammo stores and number of WalMart locations. I've been to Atlanta and I'm not sure how they won. I really don't know how Dallas-Fort Worth missed the top mark. Or anyplace in Montana. We have a taxidermist right next to the Subway restaurant in our town.<br />
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David has and does a lot of things that qualify him. He has guns & ammo. He likes WalMart. He loves NASCAR (non-athletic sport centered around rednecks). He hung a flag in the first window you see when you drive up to our house of a motorcycle. He formerly dipped snuff. We have a riding mower. I am pretty sure I didn't see him dressed in anything other than boots, jeans, a western shirt and a cowboy hat until we had been dating for more than a year. He had a really old beat up green Ford pickup he drove (and loved) when we first met. He is proud of the story he tells where he broke off the knob on the radio after setting all of the presets to his favorite country station because he didn't want the girls he dated to change it. Once, we were driving away from my parent's home when the alternator fell out of truck and started dragging the ground. Bailing wire and duct tape gave out.<br />
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So when I was in a Pennsylvania toy store shopping for my granddaughter and saw the game Redneck Life there on the shelf, I knew we had to have it.<br />
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I'm not making this up. It is a real game. And yes, I am wearing a flannel shirt.</div>
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We have played this a handful of times over the years and one of our friends here asked if we could get together for round two with them. They are considering giving it as a gift and wanted to remember how it works. We arrange a party of 7 players, one more than the game technically allows. </div>
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Because the max players the game has pieces for is 6, we had to improvise pieces. The ladies played with the normal game pieces, the guys used various bullets.</div>
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The day before the party, I emailed David and asked if there was anything in particular he wanted me to fix for the party. (That's to make or to cook for all you non-rednecks and non-Texans.) He requested "something redneck like those bacon wrapped cocktail weenies". They are baked in brown sugar and were a big hit when I made them once before. This seals the whole party theme as redneck, not just the game, so for additional ideas I consult Pinterest and my daughter Amanda. </div>
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Amanda is a certified party planner and I am assuming they covered themed parties, maybe even this one. She suggests I make moonshine. I had no idea people still did that but recipes were easy to locate on Pinterest. You can also enter "redneck food" on that app and it will come up with lots of pins. I consult my friend and colleague Marci, who has been to a redneck party before. I ask what is the most redneck food she can think of and she answers "roadkill". I am suddenly glad Marci lives in Iowa and isn't coming to my party. As her second suggestion she says "pork rinds" which David loves so that will go on the grocery list. I am not sure why I didn't think of that myself other than that I was trying to block out some a unpleasant memories. First, David really likes the hot & spicy pork rinds and once he ate a whole bag while drinking beer right before bed. About 6 hours later when I was dreaming peaceful dreams, he burped about an inch from my nose. I almost vomited in the bed. Second, after my grandpa died we were clearing out some things in his home when I found his old lunchbox. It was the old fashioned kind and I decided to keep it. I opened it to find a bunch of photos my dad identified as a "hog boiling". </div>
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This is one of the less awful photos but it is pretty awful. I don't know who that guy is. I think he must be one of my dad's step-brothers or someone else related to my grandpa's second wife. I actually witnessed this scene firsthand once in my grandpa's kitchen sink. If my younger brother sees this he may need therapy. I'm not sure he has gotten over the first encounter yet.</div>
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Grocery list in hand, I head off to - where else - WalMart. I am standing in the spice aisle trying to locate cinnamon sticks which I cannot see anywhere. I am standing next to a woman who is having obvious problems finding what she needs too based on the gesture she makes at the spices. Not <em>that</em> gesture, she shrugs her shoulders in exasperation. I say, "I know exactly how you feel." She asks what I am looking for and it turns out she is also trying to find cinnamon sticks. We finally locate them on the very top shelf and I reach down several containers for us. She turns to me and says, "You wouldn't happen to know where the apple cider is would you?" I said, "Are you making moonshine?" Of course, she is. She also wants to know where I got my Everclear.</div>
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I have to confess, the recipe didn't call for Everclear. It said something like "180 proof grain alcohol". I am a teetotaler and have no idea what that means. My friend Tim is an ex-bartender and he tells me it is Everclear. The lady at the liquor store has to help me find it. When she asks what I need it for and I tell her - and that I also need vodka - she says to go cheap on the grain alcohol and spend more on the vodka. Those red areas on the label are all about the high flammability of this product. I am really glad I don't drink because I am pretty sure I don't want to drink something that has the same label warnings as paint thinner.</div>
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Back at home I turn on Pandora to the Outlaw Country station and cook moonshine and Spam and dump cake while listening to Waylon and Willie and David Allan Coe and CDB. If you don't know who CDB is then you probably aren't a redneck (or married to one).</div>
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The game Redneck Life is pretty similar to the regular game Life with a few twists. You still get a job and collect paydays and get married and have kids. But you might have the kids before you get married. And you will get divorced and remarried (at which point you must decide whether you will sleep with your divorce attorney - a decision which may have negative consequences later but saves you $50 at the time). You have to ensure that your "rig" (car) or collective rigs have enough space to hold all of your young 'ens. If at any time your young 'ens exceed the capacity of said rigs, you must buy another immediately. </div>
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These are cards from our game of my favorite house (on the left) and my favorite rig. I like the RV because it holds 15 young 'ens, which is usually (but not always) enough AND, if your house is destroyed in a tornado or explosion as mine was, you can live in it.</div>
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In this version of the game you roll the dice to see how many years of school you finished and that dictates your occupation. Unfortunately, I manage to be fairly consistent every time we play with a roll of 5 which makes me the Ciggy Shack Attendant. The problem with this is that if the Ciggy Shack is destroyed, which has happened to me twice now, you do not collect any more paydays throughout the game. It doesn't matter if it happens at the beginning or the end, you are just screwed. I think I missed about 5 paydays this time around. This is made worse by the fact that you aren't issued any money to begin the game. When you buy that rig or that home, as you are required to do, you are issued Check 'n Scrams which is sort of like a payday loan. These come in $100 increments and we have run out so many times that we had to write in $500 on some.</div>
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The object of the game is to end with the most teeth. You lose teeth in various ways, opening beer bottles, flossing, having bar brawls, coming home at the "wrong 5 o'clock" and so on. At the "Day of Reckonin'n" which is the end of the game for you, you can buy back teeth for $100 if you have money or you lose one tooth for each $100 you are in debt.</div>
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I lost half of my 28 teeth during the game. The rest, with the line through them, were lost at the end due to debt and I actually needed 10 more to cover all of my debt. If you are noticing that my young 'ens have the same name a lot of the time, that isn't my doing. All of your stepkids, which you will absolutely have, are named Daryl. All other kids are either named when they are issued or you roll the dice for their name. You lose $10 of your payday for each kid which, after my Daryl's didn't matter since the Ciggy Shack was "blowed up" and I was unemployed. It is possible to lose your kids in various ways throughout the game (giving them to relatives, other players, leaving them at the Grand Canyon) but this hurts a little at the end when you get $25 per young 'en. When we played this game with our son, he had so many kids he had to write the rest on the back of the score sheet.</div>
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Our winner was Kim, who incidentally had a TON of young 'ens, and we had the perfect prize waiting for her:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwYdhiCogb-yYrPXacBa8zv0YNGOaGI7ruzsq7WTc3Da5YrgXcLLjJKX6kOBSQUZzO4kfzvcgZQYN8Do_cBb6vuDYlqUYRdaBs_iIbLzIa3Qd7R1irpu-EgiSzKHFRzRmXyYUWvLsVAPA/s1600/IMG_9518.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwYdhiCogb-yYrPXacBa8zv0YNGOaGI7ruzsq7WTc3Da5YrgXcLLjJKX6kOBSQUZzO4kfzvcgZQYN8Do_cBb6vuDYlqUYRdaBs_iIbLzIa3Qd7R1irpu-EgiSzKHFRzRmXyYUWvLsVAPA/s1600/IMG_9518.JPG" height="400" width="206" /></a></div>
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A regifted 70's jumpsuit blinged out Elvis nutcracker. We have had this forever and I can't even remember now where it came from or who gave it to David. And don't get me wrong, I love Elvis, even saw him in concert with my parents when I was a little girl. Kim seemed happy with her prize. We invited her to bring it back next year to pass along to the next winner. This may have to be an annual event. Like a NASCAR race.</div>
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Our guests are sent home with a large mason jar full of Apple Pie Moonshine and an tin filled with "redneck turtle candy" (pretzels with melted Rolo candy and a pecan half on top). I think the party was a success. One of our guests even inquired about the possibility of refills on his moonshine.</div>
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I like to think that David is the redneck and I am not. But after the party while cleaning up I had to put away my birthday present he had given me earlier that day, something I had actively lobbied for.</div>
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My new tomahawk will perfectly balance the hunter's belt I wear when we are hiking. I have a machete I wear on the other side.</div>
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And then I went in David's bathroom to get changed for bed. No Victoria's Secret here. David is just as happy to see me slopping around in a men's flannel nightshirt.</div>
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I forgot I hung up the washing earlier. </div>
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So maybe I am a little bit redneck. You can't be married to someone for 25+ years and not have something rub off.</div>
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But I will always be the redneck that served the Slim Jim's in a china gravy boat. </div>
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And that, my friends, makes me a redneck in a class all by myself.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02158042051142667445noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1219665788245176515.post-60782689722382269632014-12-28T16:52:00.000-08:002014-12-28T16:52:35.854-08:00The Outer-Memphis Cheese Club: Frisco, TXI'm not sure how I survived. The inaugural meeting of the Outer-Memphis Cheese Club reminds me that I am lucky to have made it out the other side in one piece.<br />
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On a previous trip to the Dallas area, my friend and colleague Carla invited me to her house for dinner. Sitting at the table with her youngest, Tori, the three of us make small talk while Carla works on dinner. Carla places a bowl of shredded cheese on the table near me and when she isn't looking, I take a pinch and put it in my mouth. Tori was looking. So a few minutes later, she does the same thing and - busted - mom catches her. When Carla tells Tori to stop, I explain it is my fault, I did it first but that I just love cheese so much I couldn't help it.<br />
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"I love cheese too", Tori says, "I am in a cheese club." I ask if I can join. She says no. Then she begins to explain the complex reasons beginning with, "You have to go to Memphis". What? Why Memphis? No satisfactory answer is forthcoming. I continue to plead my case as Carla's oldest, Charlotte, comes in and wants to know what we are talking about. When I tell her, she says she also wants to be in a cheese club so that seals it, Charlotte and I decide to form our own club right then. Tori isn't happy with us and now wants to be in our club. I tell her that I will get with the other members (currently just Charlotte) and we will vote on it and let her know. When the middle of Carla's three girls, Caroline, comes home, we let her in the club. Tori is never given a decision regarding her pending membership on that trip.<br />
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But now, I am coming back and Carla and I have decided to surprise the girls with a cheese club meeting and I have the perfect name: The Outer-Memphis Cheese Club. My customer's office is right next to a specialty grocery store so on the way out of town, I stop and pick up supplies: 7 types of cheese (Smoked Gouda, Edam, Dublinger, Manchego, Kickapoo Blue, Camembert and Lemon Goat); 3 jams (Fig, Pricky Pear and Super Fruit); 2 kinds of crackers; honey; butter cookies; and most important, an assortment of chocolate truffles. Carla has agreed to supply the venue and the beverages.<br />
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When I arrive Carla and I set about making a nice layout. She has nice dishes and platters out and even champagne glasses for the girls for the sparkling grape juice (which 2 of the girls happily don't like, leaving most of the bottle for me). <br />
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Someone is very interested in testing the truffles and I almost caught them in the act. Ironically, Carla also picked up chocolates. Great minds. It is an impressive spread. There are also meatballs, two kinds of smoked sausage and Hawaiian rolls.</div>
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While waiting on Tony, Carla's husband and our only male member, to get home we decide to come up with some club rules. And because Caroline immediately sits down next to me and starts to write them down, she is voted in as our club secretary.</div>
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You can refuse to try 2 items per meeting.</div>
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There must be chocolate at all cheese club meetings.</div>
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All meetings must have a minimum of 4 cheeses.</div>
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There will be at least one new cheese at each meeting.</div>
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If you are late to the meeting, you forfeit your chocolates.</div>
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You are not allowed to cut the cheese during the cheese meeting.</div>
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Carla made us some sheets where we could rate each item. We would also go around the table and read our comments out loud. The plan was to try each cheese at the same time but some of the members were very impatient and/or invoked their "no try" clauses. Here is Caroline's rate sheet.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQZPuOr6bUrVGboFwGs_pciKa5vKtaCy5BChyphenhyphenRAvkQg8ibLFYlcYZZCYdhw4QXKD6p388EcIonAIWgz6EZhcMehT6D8GB5voaiHqOjVC5RkKzUj8uqhtOoVL8-AuixMuDeI1BpQxziTlI/s1600/Caroline.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQZPuOr6bUrVGboFwGs_pciKa5vKtaCy5BChyphenhyphenRAvkQg8ibLFYlcYZZCYdhw4QXKD6p388EcIonAIWgz6EZhcMehT6D8GB5voaiHqOjVC5RkKzUj8uqhtOoVL8-AuixMuDeI1BpQxziTlI/s1600/Caroline.jpg" height="640" width="464" /></a></div>
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As the comments are read by the girls, they read it all. So for example, when Caroline reads her comments for Kickapoo Blue we hear: Makes me want to barf exclamation point frowny face broken heart exclamation point frowny face broken heart. When we get to the next one, Camembert, that practice has to be discontinued.</div>
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Struggles - like this one over the comments being read - begin to break out. The girls generally want us to go faster and not worry about telling our comments. Tony is very detailed in his comments (all of the comment sheets are at the end of this post) and some of the girls grow agitated and impatient...there are chocolates waiting. They complain, they yell at each other. One of the girls reveals herself to be something of a "scorekeeper", taking me back to my own days as the mother of 3 young children. My daughter would count the donuts in the Mrs. Baird's bag of powdered sugar donuts and inform the rest of us how many we were allowed to have. Never mind that I purchased said donuts. There are issues with the seating arrangements at one point because two of the girls can't sit by each other. David and I regularly heard, "Blake's looking at me". You try not to freak out after the 35th time and scream, "IF YOU WEREN'T LOOKING AT HIM YOU WOULDN'T KNOW HE WAS LOOKING AT YOU". </div>
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So when I say I'm not sure how I survived, I don't mean the cheese club meeting. I mean my own days as a full-time parent. Being at Carla's always reminds me of how hard it could be at times to have three so close together. There was an <a href="http://www.today.com/parents/mom-survey-says-three-most-stressful-number-kids-6C9774150" target="_blank">article</a> (click here to see I am not making this up) on Today's website I read that says 3 is the most stressful number of kids to have. The number both Carla and I have.</div>
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Me and my kids at Six Flags. They are roughly the ages in this photo that Carla's kids are today. The big difference is me. Carla is two years younger than me and this photo was taken more than 15 years ago. My kids are 23, 24 & 26 now. I have three grandkids. One of those grandkids is only a year younger than Tori, Carla's youngest child.</div>
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Don't get me wrong, Carla & Tony are great parents and they have great kids. But being a part of the noise and chaos that inevitably go along with family life reminds me of how hard it can be some days. And I don't envy them. I can't help thinking "Thank God my kids are grown". At my house it is clean, no school books and backpacks laying around. It is quiet. When I am at home working during the day, David is at work and the only noise at my house is the dull hum of the electronics or the heating/air conditioning, or if I choose, the radio in my office. Every now and then, the dog barks. </div>
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So I watch Carla and Tony and I know what they are going through and I know where they are headed. They have some fun and wonderful and hard years ahead. The teenage years. Middle School (the worst in our book) and High School. And I hope that someday, like us, they enjoy their empty nest days. Some people think I am mean or cold when I say that I don't miss the days of my kids living at home. I love my kids. I did it all back then while also working full time: coached softball, attended PTA (even ran the clothes closet for a while), took them to church and sports practices and games and dance recitals and choir concerts. Parent-teacher meetings. Chicken Pox. Head Lice. Birthday Parties, and trick-or-treating, Valentine's boxes, playing Santa. They have their own lives to lead now and I so do I. I had my first child when I was barely 19 and all three before I turned 23. I don't think it is wrong to want this part of my life to be for me. I think I earned it.</div>
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After the meeting I had the great idea for us to play Apples to Apples but unfortunately, things continued to deteriorate. People's feelings get hurt when their answer doesn't win. Some of us are hyped up on chocolate and sparkling grape juice. Someone is hungry. Finally, after the second game (which we played with sped up rules), the girls are sent upstairs to bed. We are all participating in a 5k in the morning so they need to get some rest, wink, wink. I go to the guest room and close the door. Once the noise upstairs dies down, I hear Carla come downstairs and she approaches my door and stops. Listening for sound I assume. I don't make any. </div>
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If she had heard me up, she might have felt obligated to entertain me further but I need to be alone in the quiet of this room now. And I consider this a gift to her as well. While the kids are quiet and she has the opportunity, I hope she goes and enjoys a moment with Tony, or a long, hot bath or a chapter of a book. Whatever makes her happy. Because tomorrow, there will be one that doesn't want to go to the run at all, people will have tummy troubles and other assorted ailments, Tori will get her finger smashed in a recycle bin by Caroline - allegedly at least - and there will be crying and accusations. </div>
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But there will also be breakfast with warm syrup and laughing after hugs and high-fives at the finish line.</div>
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I think Carla summed up our first meeting perfectly: "Eating cheese can be a really messy business". But she and I both know she isn't just talking about cheese.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUgYOx2B0Q3owzG_-GFv-S-b6JT547CmeTkfW1zsT0lJPoEz6K0FxH3x0TwzAi7O9B163odKTSkiCM40pMGdXo-D5gjOHtrjKzomEZ6Ez0lwzKgEVsIiKGnro0_BelD3ev95BUVc7Cp9c/s1600/IMG_9480.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUgYOx2B0Q3owzG_-GFv-S-b6JT547CmeTkfW1zsT0lJPoEz6K0FxH3x0TwzAi7O9B163odKTSkiCM40pMGdXo-D5gjOHtrjKzomEZ6Ez0lwzKgEVsIiKGnro0_BelD3ev95BUVc7Cp9c/s1600/IMG_9480.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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Me and the junior members of the club: Caroline (bottom left), Charlotte (top left) and Tori (right).</div>
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Rate sheets for the rest of the club, if you are interested:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4VskJayvNzogE6jIqInEbEdcsZQzO7OUpVkWfYzMHbYzmE9lnVC-m59DKYSjKbtMq0aBRD2W60m4nzrTIMuy68bvIyaJRer0yJ3_TPdNKo_dtdKvVMzDRWOOlarJtsFiOzcSZpA4eKsQ/s1600/Carla.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4VskJayvNzogE6jIqInEbEdcsZQzO7OUpVkWfYzMHbYzmE9lnVC-m59DKYSjKbtMq0aBRD2W60m4nzrTIMuy68bvIyaJRer0yJ3_TPdNKo_dtdKvVMzDRWOOlarJtsFiOzcSZpA4eKsQ/s1600/Carla.jpg" height="640" width="464" /></a></div>
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Carla, the club treasurer</div>
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Tony was so detailed in his responses that when he wasn't in the room, 3 of the 4 remaining members voted for him to be our club president. Tori was NOT happy. She wanted to be president. We pointed to her rate sheet as the reason she couldn't be...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxZevMXE5xKeYzNqkY_BxZxeAquXa0R04QOuw_5FBEB4pHDnGF2fcXCy3jDbSJdCOcnTHhck1V4Mkm3RyApm8KFrr3szSo_amKpXtzpdXMHSK97yRNqolv5WfU8lK6_o0Vc_RFSj0dmCg/s1600/Tori.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxZevMXE5xKeYzNqkY_BxZxeAquXa0R04QOuw_5FBEB4pHDnGF2fcXCy3jDbSJdCOcnTHhck1V4Mkm3RyApm8KFrr3szSo_amKpXtzpdXMHSK97yRNqolv5WfU8lK6_o0Vc_RFSj0dmCg/s1600/Tori.jpg" height="640" width="464" /></a></div>
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We eventually made her sergeant at arms and I try to convince her it lets her boss people around.</div>
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Vice President Charlotte</div>
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Me - Historian, of course</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02158042051142667445noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1219665788245176515.post-84391575240421206852014-12-21T13:03:00.000-08:002014-12-21T13:15:44.757-08:00Harber Wildlife Museum: Sherman, TXOn a recent business trip, I walked into a bank in Sherman, Texas and was not prepared for what I was about to be confronted by.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo7BMePLP3OZ8p0ocCgal7nEZ7ZTE6GLhTu5_oe8v6Q-IW59yK9WGWTurhmQwhKpQ_Fia3sWgyUXo6Ur1kmgCQQJepsEXUstg0dpJ7j8JA0SH4uLTK4NcW-AbQL-zVRPuAUNwwPUrh7Uc/s1600/IMG_9399.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo7BMePLP3OZ8p0ocCgal7nEZ7ZTE6GLhTu5_oe8v6Q-IW59yK9WGWTurhmQwhKpQ_Fia3sWgyUXo6Ur1kmgCQQJepsEXUstg0dpJ7j8JA0SH4uLTK4NcW-AbQL-zVRPuAUNwwPUrh7Uc/s1600/IMG_9399.JPG" height="400" width="382" /></a></div>
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An Elk head. And he isn't hung very high, I am 5'10" and you can see how close he is to me. And he isn't alone.</div>
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There are other Elk and some other animal head and a whole animal too. As I run the gauntlet of dead animals, I make my way to the lobby of the bank, stupidly unprepared for what awaits there.</div>
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A lion guarding the Christmas Tree. There are several other full size taxidermy animals in the lobby.</div>
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That cheetah over on the far wall seems pretty chill about this situation. I on the other hand am a little freaked out.</div>
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The male half of the owners of this collection is the President (or CEO? whatever) of this bank. His and his wife's sizable gun collection are in a case in the lobby. I suppose that nothing says "I will keep your money safe" like my large collection of guns and the creatures I have taken down with them watching you as you transact your business.</div>
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I really want to ask if this branch has ever been robbed but I hear David's disapproving voice in my head. This might be like asking a TSA agent at the airport if they have ever seen a bomb when they are checking out your boarding pass. Once, when I was sitting next to the door on the over-wing exit row, I asked David (a licensed airplane mechanic) what would happen if I tried to open the door. He looked at me with a mixture of horror and annoyance. I think he was regretting his decision to take the aisle seat at that moment. We were cruising along at like 37,000 feet so maybe that was part of his concern. Maybe the fact that I had recently asked what he thought this bored policeman who was directing traffic would do if I tried to grab his gun when we walked by made some difference in his reaction. But really, I am just curious. But maybe I should keep my curiosity to myself so instead I mention to an employee that I have never seen anything quite like this and they proceed to tell me about the museum down the street that contains the animals that wouldn't fit in these peoples homes (plural) or the bank. </div>
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Harber Wildlife Museum is indeed not far down the street. It was voted the "Best Museum in Texoma" in 2012, 2013 & 2014. For those of you that don't know, Texoma refers to a general region where Texas and Oklahoma touch. Sherman is about an hour from the border. None of the Texoma region contains any really big cities so I am not thinking the competition was very stiff. They are only open for 2 hours on Friday, the day I am here and on weekends. Admission is a "$5 donation" for anyone over 12 but I assume you can't just walk around if you decide you don't want to donate.</div>
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They are not overrun with visitors according to the log. Several people from Oklahoma visited on the 22nd of November, AFTER a couple of Texans on the 29th. I can hear David now saying something about Oklahomans not being able to tell time or something like that. One of David's many jokes: Why doesn't Texas fall into the Gulf of Mexico? Because Oklahoma sucks. </div>
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I am there right at 3 pm when they open and there is one other car in the parking lot I am going to assume belongs to the employee. When he opens the door for me a few minutes after 3, he seems a little surprised to see me. "Got anything for me?" he says. I tell him I have $5 I will give him. He backs up so I can enter and says, "Okay, but let me turn on the sounds first."</div>
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As you walk through the museum there are animal sounds coming out of the speakers in the ceiling. The lady at the bank told me this is an old Furr's Cafeteria. There are multiple rooms to the museum.</div>
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The largest, and the one you enter first, is Africa.</div>
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It is hard not to begin by looking at the giraffe with his tongue out.</div>
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There are signs asking you not to touch the animals (or the "snow" - their quotes, not mine) but you can walk right up to them (lots of signs that you are being recorded and watched are all around the museum). This is probably the closest I will ever get to the ass end of a giraffe. At least I hope that is the case.</div>
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The room is square and there is an aisle all the way around with displays in the middle and along the walls. A large variety of animals are in posed in groups.</div>
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This lion is being attacked.</div>
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This one is attacking. All of them are posed in what I assume is supposed to be a realistic looking diorama but I find it a little sad and cheesy personally. Someone at the bank said the local college painted all of the backgrounds.</div>
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The realism loses something from that drop ceiling and poorly done fake foliage.</div>
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The signs along the railing give information about the animal. A lady at the bank said that the couple donate all of the meat from the animals they kill to local tribes.</div>
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This is Guenther's Dik-Dik. He is smaller than my dog. Not a lot of meat there. Some of the animals here make me question that whole statement.</div>
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Now, since I am an American who has never been outside the country, I don't claim to know much about the food habits of other people of the world but do people really eat baboon? And the "Fun Fact" for this rare white lion was that the local tribes consider them sacred. Do they eat sacred animals?</div>
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Okay hunters, get ready because here it comes. I have a problem with this. I am actually a little annoyed with myself for what in my mind is donating $5 for these people to continue doing this. I am sure my $5 is of little significance to these people who obviously have a lot of money to burn but still. I think that when hunters say they donate the meat to the local tribe in some effort to minimize the criticism they receive it is just a justification for them to do what they would do anyway. I am not a hunter and would never be one unless there was a catastrophic event such as nuclear winter that required me to hunt to survive. When I lived in Texas I didn't think much about animals, wild or otherwise. I had two dogs. I saw squirrels in my yard. Once a dead possum. Some hawks had loud sex in the tree outside my office window. I saw dead armadillos on the road and raced one at a company event. I could go to the zoo to see something more exotic. But after moving to Montana, I see wild animals I never dreamed I would see in person right outside my door. Owls. Eagles. Deer frequently pass through our yard. I have seen Elk herds. The time I saw a moose, I yelled so loud and scared David so bad I think he thought he might have a heart attack. Normally I am rendered incapable of coherent speech when I see something. I have gotten better and I don't freak out or lose the capacity for speech as much now but I am still in total awe of the wildlife here. And I never want to see it mounted on my wall, or anyone else's for that matter. I want to see them where they belong...in the wild.</div>
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And before you get all judgy and start sending me ugly comments, I realize I can't change anyone's opinion so you should be prepared to find me unwilling to change or be moved by those comments. Since moving here - to the wild west filled with more cammo and guns and ammo than I have ever been exposed to - I have mostly given up eating meat. Yes, I occasionally still do and I eat fish occasionally and egg here and there and yes, I know that makes me something of a hypocrite. It is a process. You don't realize how meatcentric our society is until you try to stop eating it. I had to order off the kids menu twice in the same day once because nothing on the adult menu was vegetarian or could be made that way by omitting something.</div>
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And lets clear something up. I am not against all hunting. I am against hunting as a sport. I am against killing a living creature to put its dead body on display.</div>
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Enough of that now, back to the museum. I almost called it The Chamber of Horrors here but really, why beat a dead horse? </div>
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Some of the animals are not whole. This elephant head is coming out of a stone chimney. There was also a rhino head in a another room and a full zebra skin tacked to the wall next to the theatre. And I don't know anything about taxidermy but some of the animals seem off to me.</div>
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Does he look bored? Uncomfortable with the position of his neck? Resigned to his position and fate? Unhappy to be dead? I'm not sure.</div>
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And mini-bambi there seems very unconcerned that he is so near to two predators. I do find it interesting that a few of the informational signs list "humans" in the Predators/Threats section but many do not even though these animals were clearly killed by humans. Some list "loss of habitat" as a threat - I think that might be code for "humans".</div>
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I got close up to this lion face and am a little concerned there might be a little "Night at the Museum" action going on because he seems to have eaten something recently and is in need of a napkin. Time to check out another room.</div>
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On the way I see the couple responsible for this museum posing with elephant tusks and their bows, which are also on display. Of course, she is wearing an animal print blouse.</div>
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There is also an entire hall dedicated to their annual Christmas Card photo which the note says was "loved" so much by their friends and family after that first one that they kept the tradition. Each framed and enlarged copy shows them and lists the location, some in the US, several in Africa, a few in other places. Thankfully they are usually just posing in a campsite and not holding up the head of the animal they just killed like the photos on display at our local Cabela's when you enter the building.</div>
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There is a section devoted to animals I am familiar with from my current home. The moose I saw in person was a female (with her calf). I haven't yet seen a bull moose in person but I really want to. This doesn't count.</div>
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This bear seems to want to tell me something. Probably "get out while you can".</div>
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There is a room dedicated to artifacts that I assume they collected in their travels. Some of the pieces were interesting but they were poorly marked, unlike the animals. If they had 15 Dik-Diks, there was a sign every single time.</div>
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There is also a theatre (playing Planet Earth) and a room with desks where you can look at books about hunting and animals. There are also a bunch of books with notes from children who have been here on school trips. I thought this was a good drawing of the giraffe. He seems adequately unhappy to be here. Note that the kid left out the drop ceiling and bad plastic foliage and tried to throw the giraffe a bone by drawing him back outside in the sunshine. Where he belongs.</div>
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I learn while I am here that the museum "is Dorothy's" according to the man at the front desk. This is confirmed by a sign I see later that shows she has "realized a dream" and I also learn there are more animals on display at the local mall (no, I'm not going to verify that). She also notes that "this is just the beginning". At the end there is a very small note on wildlife conservation and what you can do to help. Things like not poaching. This seems a little insincere after walking through the museum and seeing their handiwork (I'm not accusing them of poaching) and in the placement of the sign at the very end along with its small size. They also sell t-shirts and encourage you to "buy one for the whole family". They are $15 and I do not buy one. I have contributed all I plan to on these people and their endeavors. Except this post. I guess this is technically a contribution.</div>
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Now, if you will excuse me, I am going to take my weapon of choice and go see if there are any deer passing through my backyard that need to be dealt with.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKankg7Ts_yEC4velcLY6r8HPhCAl7s3cdaMKwr_ZT4Ye6bP1bjHYkVbh09d-ySlFCxi5ZP16qRIL86WDGpXQEKErgSFHbY8x3WG_EeH7GEhg09D5OoQYGSL1BvZfErhyX2O9fvkDm7r8/s1600/Winterbuck.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKankg7Ts_yEC4velcLY6r8HPhCAl7s3cdaMKwr_ZT4Ye6bP1bjHYkVbh09d-ySlFCxi5ZP16qRIL86WDGpXQEKErgSFHbY8x3WG_EeH7GEhg09D5OoQYGSL1BvZfErhyX2O9fvkDm7r8/s1600/Winterbuck.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>
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My weapon of choice in this case was a Canon Rebel xsi. I "shot" this buck at Lee Metcalf National Wildlife Refuge in Stevensville, MT, near my home. I love going there but these people need a dictionary. Hunting is allowed at certain times and in certain areas. That word, REFUGE.</div>
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As Inigo Montoya said in <em>The Princess Bride</em>: "You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means."</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02158042051142667445noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1219665788245176515.post-24287339233998665862014-11-30T19:58:00.002-08:002014-11-30T19:58:51.476-08:00The National Funeral Museum: Houston, TXWhen I mention that I have been to the National Funeral Museum, most people have the same question. Why? Actually, this museum had been on my radar for quite a while but my schedule never allowed me to visit. They are open every day during the week but only until 4 PM. They are also open weekends but since I despise going to Houston in the first place, being there over the weekend isn't really an option and usually I am still at work too late to make the 4 PM close. However, on this trip one of my customers turned me loose early so I set out to find the museum.<br />
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The museum is in a sketchy part of town but since one of my customers this week had actually been here and recommended I check it out of possible, I go in. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdgQehQiimulnqgaCUnbWTkrm8U8EulbTzmaMRM7YWPdoPkytGIQedWe0IJMwBddwE8evEIBjnhNqnzB9nJbGDJ43gnl5-TFAaWNyrA676umOXLtmDi0TX17AyXiztG631hl-Wvdeth0k/s1600/IMG_9038.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdgQehQiimulnqgaCUnbWTkrm8U8EulbTzmaMRM7YWPdoPkytGIQedWe0IJMwBddwE8evEIBjnhNqnzB9nJbGDJ43gnl5-TFAaWNyrA676umOXLtmDi0TX17AyXiztG631hl-Wvdeth0k/s1600/IMG_9038.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
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I beat the rush. The funeral I am most concerned about right now is the one of the museum itself. Admission is a totally reasonable $5 so with these kinds of crowds, I am not sure how they stay open. </div>
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This museum proved to be more than expected from the outside. It is a well thought out, surprisingly interesting place. Get ready because this is going to be a picture heavy post.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKZ4iWI07t4nsZfcEySFEnS8HKgk3OZ9Bl-Z9idKj3GXxMO1Ck-Sr29FrHk3F5mmutpyLz2A6uHLefYNLCqeVZ6Q-dHURHYeLN5lGCFYHwZQ3lKl-uLlqHy-zfQTj9xS4lH7-D62UMC-Q/s1600/IMG_9132.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKZ4iWI07t4nsZfcEySFEnS8HKgk3OZ9Bl-Z9idKj3GXxMO1Ck-Sr29FrHk3F5mmutpyLz2A6uHLefYNLCqeVZ6Q-dHURHYeLN5lGCFYHwZQ3lKl-uLlqHy-zfQTj9xS4lH7-D62UMC-Q/s1600/IMG_9132.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
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You enter and exit through the gift shop which mainly contained religious items and t-shirts with puns about being dead. There are three employees in here, including a security guard who, since I haven't seen anything else yet, seems unnecessary. I had read earlier in the week that the museum was doing a display on Dracula (I was there the week leading up to Halloween) and that is my primary reason for coming.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigsuP7gH5_TXmlU6ydkH-7nJMoN0iKW0MbutQwE33wE5Dfeaah5urt_nc11q9hKbX9HQh00ljJtbP36sFRHYJ81rIAHetlj5FY6gZe0zlKSdjsaML0GRwEpazEGDcOgvy_JEKzxQYLDCk/s1600/IMG_9040.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigsuP7gH5_TXmlU6ydkH-7nJMoN0iKW0MbutQwE33wE5Dfeaah5urt_nc11q9hKbX9HQh00ljJtbP36sFRHYJ81rIAHetlj5FY6gZe0zlKSdjsaML0GRwEpazEGDcOgvy_JEKzxQYLDCk/s1600/IMG_9040.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
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If the Dracula display is any indication of how the rest of the museum will be, I am prepared to be disappointed. There is a hearse (complete with a plastic vulture on top) and some other Halloweenish items in a small area right inside the turnstile. Behind me was a board with more information about Dracula the person and some QR codes I could have scanned if I had been so inclined. I wasn't. There is also a table with some papers and clipboards that turn out to be a scavenger hunt (fitting right?) so I take one.</div>
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While looking at the Dracula exhibit there is an unmistakable sound of scraping against wood. Like someone trying to claw their way out of a coffin. At least, that is what you think when you are standing around all alone in a funeral museum next to Dracula's hearse.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj367ePR3Jh64iEZ19gnbQt93Lt8yiSRD7Awm6X4ksrVHN_GkzzVMetTPw3h9z7uziuErSNfNrf3_uDxuncRF-DowB0VQonzKR_TK0qLYuX3Fmg1S55NM7lsFh2mPI6JsvT_IlZC8S0300/s1600/IMG_9058.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj367ePR3Jh64iEZ19gnbQt93Lt8yiSRD7Awm6X4ksrVHN_GkzzVMetTPw3h9z7uziuErSNfNrf3_uDxuncRF-DowB0VQonzKR_TK0qLYuX3Fmg1S55NM7lsFh2mPI6JsvT_IlZC8S0300/s1600/IMG_9058.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
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It is actually a replica woodworkers shop showing what a coffin makers shop would have looked like. When I went to investigate the sound, I get a glimpse of what is in the main room of the museum.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY3G-5PHxuGukedTwi00-ykn_A8ACAFwOIURj0w23K3j1BvDf4V9fVyUrsvDXVKpirFfSv1bDv-yRz5VHuihqepuzaieXN01MgrgicLgCUpNmowi3DcMFofO2Up239lzKPbnKG-ZFy9jM/s1600/IMG_9052.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY3G-5PHxuGukedTwi00-ykn_A8ACAFwOIURj0w23K3j1BvDf4V9fVyUrsvDXVKpirFfSv1bDv-yRz5VHuihqepuzaieXN01MgrgicLgCUpNmowi3DcMFofO2Up239lzKPbnKG-ZFy9jM/s1600/IMG_9052.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
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Lots of hearses.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIOmSwXSB_C5DG-pZboAuLowvooxTZEqIA_jqLnGFXjwTcxR825ZcY8gpfxFuwYQINDqm9icRj2wCLMeiQj9ibT_GIM_SGnqs_6cV4eoRnjVQeNfiki_mCJJCRf9rdu_yh-Q7kZyDDLEY/s1600/IMG_9071.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIOmSwXSB_C5DG-pZboAuLowvooxTZEqIA_jqLnGFXjwTcxR825ZcY8gpfxFuwYQINDqm9icRj2wCLMeiQj9ibT_GIM_SGnqs_6cV4eoRnjVQeNfiki_mCJJCRf9rdu_yh-Q7kZyDDLEY/s1600/IMG_9071.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
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LOTS of hearses. Big ones, small ones, old ones, new ones, motorized ones, horse drawn ones, ornate ones, plain ones.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbecIWmzZQXcsmk0_vPA4hRHGHl4RK-D6VXzBhhKz_HXpEiJYpmmju0tAmT31ivn6_9_teUyw7lxQ3eSv_iM4QXvm1-C6q3-3CRxZG2oQKSfiJgGOZERZ3sZmgAdD_IBbt7tKEgE1dvcE/s1600/IMG_9074.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbecIWmzZQXcsmk0_vPA4hRHGHl4RK-D6VXzBhhKz_HXpEiJYpmmju0tAmT31ivn6_9_teUyw7lxQ3eSv_iM4QXvm1-C6q3-3CRxZG2oQKSfiJgGOZERZ3sZmgAdD_IBbt7tKEgE1dvcE/s1600/IMG_9074.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
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Hearses for children (like the white one in the previous photo), hearses that carried famous people (they have the actual hearse that transported Grace Kelly), "bus" hearses (hearsi?) like this one that carried not only the deceased, but the entire family to the gravesite. And...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh1N07wC-a4Qow5yIb1OMwV79piChyphenhyphenmDXNUSbG8RZDXfDkdpFC_QHMsL-HRGc8qdi2p5JDULSAH9eq5LWZTkUkzNYABwYSKlYTMDL9tlVAEhUdz2U-9eeGVMRT8OVx6vjMtjL4KLFDImU/s1600/IMG_9053.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh1N07wC-a4Qow5yIb1OMwV79piChyphenhyphenmDXNUSbG8RZDXfDkdpFC_QHMsL-HRGc8qdi2p5JDULSAH9eq5LWZTkUkzNYABwYSKlYTMDL9tlVAEhUdz2U-9eeGVMRT8OVx6vjMtjL4KLFDImU/s1600/IMG_9053.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
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LOTS of coffins. Again, all shapes and sizes.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXVQswjV6W_axkLjVYu2yDzYpdiKELpyHISybVOGPo1uKAf3s5wVrxiHCUARn0ejWsbof0vpGbJuuy_4GMqR-FtOpho8GpWaxZvaYiQyUaZMLfTx4iNrmAmrxISLGJ2jIO-ihs9HI490Y/s1600/IMG_9057.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXVQswjV6W_axkLjVYu2yDzYpdiKELpyHISybVOGPo1uKAf3s5wVrxiHCUARn0ejWsbof0vpGbJuuy_4GMqR-FtOpho8GpWaxZvaYiQyUaZMLfTx4iNrmAmrxISLGJ2jIO-ihs9HI490Y/s1600/IMG_9057.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
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This one was made to fit 2 adults and a child.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjaeDvwLDXdbAF3x9wGz8nAqujTVBc4BLSGVZdZ531W-6UwlzGvKJZ9p4n01lPBEDBip4_hDYpAT73E6kf8OzaqIICpTUyQdb7xy51tyStLjQ6sRyCggdPAI186OFSgDOiMNEdIOF9nn0/s1600/IMG_9055.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjaeDvwLDXdbAF3x9wGz8nAqujTVBc4BLSGVZdZ531W-6UwlzGvKJZ9p4n01lPBEDBip4_hDYpAT73E6kf8OzaqIICpTUyQdb7xy51tyStLjQ6sRyCggdPAI186OFSgDOiMNEdIOF9nn0/s1600/IMG_9055.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
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The Money Casket once had $1000 in bills but after, no shock here - being broken into - it now only has $643. It was used to market caskets with items encapsulated in acrylic in the 1970's.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjAUwA-N5eBmc3gRNPVE2hfGd72FTlmF4SGx4QHBj-32YarxmDRzOd-_Jv1xcYaEGffZyiQkcytdWN_h7U_EWS_ZVEUwk-Yru6tQLwjritjw-e3E0XxuAE6A0YJ1X8RKYmsS3DFT9QV_4/s1600/IMG_9075.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjAUwA-N5eBmc3gRNPVE2hfGd72FTlmF4SGx4QHBj-32YarxmDRzOd-_Jv1xcYaEGffZyiQkcytdWN_h7U_EWS_ZVEUwk-Yru6tQLwjritjw-e3E0XxuAE6A0YJ1X8RKYmsS3DFT9QV_4/s1600/IMG_9075.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
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Now I know that a "Basket Case" was someone carried around in a wicker basket after their legs had been amputated. Not a term I frequently use but I might try to abstain completely in the future.</div>
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There are several rooms off the main area and each has a particular focus.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7fJV1bDiPhy4Pu-OdSlU_qDZDPGuOM-CZ6-jha52VCofHJlYy58lzD1udGzSL207f22ZpnsVsw_LRe_fq7LLsb9jcQ_KfCfF2XErWtZC-uTdZkRH4AHNay1BVb_zr2BpolLpTDc5C5Oc/s1600/IMG_9060.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7fJV1bDiPhy4Pu-OdSlU_qDZDPGuOM-CZ6-jha52VCofHJlYy58lzD1udGzSL207f22ZpnsVsw_LRe_fq7LLsb9jcQ_KfCfF2XErWtZC-uTdZkRH4AHNay1BVb_zr2BpolLpTDc5C5Oc/s1600/IMG_9060.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
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The presidential area contains newspapers, uniforms worn by pallbearers, and various other memorabilia from the funerals of various presidents. Lincoln, Kennedy and Reagan have the largest displays. Here is Lincoln lying in his coffin.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT9H_slDsNk39MuozLuWhSHPfEbP9wLiDKhWHPlja42k8761IDsoUAq73MyvwNGfuxJJxncX-8J_9gfRehzGGM5KKwlNOH2KNmQviTQXShCSYhFIEADSiDvA2g56Sf6BKDH29ovmk7ZOo/s1600/IMG_9064.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT9H_slDsNk39MuozLuWhSHPfEbP9wLiDKhWHPlja42k8761IDsoUAq73MyvwNGfuxJJxncX-8J_9gfRehzGGM5KKwlNOH2KNmQviTQXShCSYhFIEADSiDvA2g56Sf6BKDH29ovmk7ZOo/s1600/IMG_9064.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
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I believe there was another sign that said this is a replica gun, not the actual gun, that killed Lincoln.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixpZvs35RiQV23808U0KqqHViI1S5IqdufJefYhH1SydAbWzcH39EWr_4d64cufKMXoim-ROg8yiT0g7zQNKE94m4SwZ40lIEtuvBXG4cx-IN4mz0Wedc4UsDk7fIVCmeYvx7tYQ3Ch_4/s1600/IMG_9062.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixpZvs35RiQV23808U0KqqHViI1S5IqdufJefYhH1SydAbWzcH39EWr_4d64cufKMXoim-ROg8yiT0g7zQNKE94m4SwZ40lIEtuvBXG4cx-IN4mz0Wedc4UsDk7fIVCmeYvx7tYQ3Ch_4/s1600/IMG_9062.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
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Next to his coffin they ask you to "Leave your Lincolns". They are collecting pennies from all of the different years (sometimes more than one if there was a change). I checked but the 4 pennies I had were already represented so I left them in the collection box next to this.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4C2djMO0iDnmg53sv75iWCjiygdpqHI52OtLodWb6bnDiwpWCGk4_yw64kooVsewvOCxqhorAoAIW9jxweC7fGRqCjkgIIbTXNlN-4cDFuPeHeyxSfJDWPnrcYbWJuTgaOiuV2L53yp4/s1600/IMG_9046.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4C2djMO0iDnmg53sv75iWCjiygdpqHI52OtLodWb6bnDiwpWCGk4_yw64kooVsewvOCxqhorAoAIW9jxweC7fGRqCjkgIIbTXNlN-4cDFuPeHeyxSfJDWPnrcYbWJuTgaOiuV2L53yp4/s1600/IMG_9046.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
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Another room was set up for military and police/fire. There was information on the making of the Vietnam Memorial and an entire room devoted to the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1I-Ln9tZNQBHrruZmdbLVwGmy61o9k-ljoE8e2ul18gDZ-_W2Ob_R3zA5Em7hXL3RUSkpmWeU3ovQ8m6jf2qrLjW5MqeTm-RNt-hqd_Q1k6C6c0PBw3sFIEBYliLKiBQOqDf3fIWtPFA/s1600/IMG_9067.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1I-Ln9tZNQBHrruZmdbLVwGmy61o9k-ljoE8e2ul18gDZ-_W2Ob_R3zA5Em7hXL3RUSkpmWeU3ovQ8m6jf2qrLjW5MqeTm-RNt-hqd_Q1k6C6c0PBw3sFIEBYliLKiBQOqDf3fIWtPFA/s1600/IMG_9067.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
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In here I sat and watched a video about the tomb and how the guard is selected. They go through rigorous training and it is a voluntary position typically lasting 12-18 months that they can ask to leave at any time. They take exactly 21 steps as they march and then turn to face the Tomb for another 21 seconds to represent the 21 gun salute. The uniform (replica on the mannequin) must be returned when they move on to another assignment.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4YBSB6gVwSCQ01HjzZsLBubPmKPrdOqAPhPgMJnghO0b5qQiZPDCcXRwIbXs_3GoqZRBBZPHgFRw2XA3rhLjhKxduAbMnoHwC5c6T9Kf0du2XCiEs5NzlLK652y2zP_-TJ6Lc5aPIunM/s1600/IMG_9078.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4YBSB6gVwSCQ01HjzZsLBubPmKPrdOqAPhPgMJnghO0b5qQiZPDCcXRwIbXs_3GoqZRBBZPHgFRw2XA3rhLjhKxduAbMnoHwC5c6T9Kf0du2XCiEs5NzlLK652y2zP_-TJ6Lc5aPIunM/s1600/IMG_9078.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
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A section was devoted to funeral traditions including clothing, flowers, quilts and other items.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHFpNkdQ6tjxCPuw1R7rnFSLVon0bzN3Li6nXY_5fKtLHdESpoiqPHqvQyEtz1dMydErVR2WhBjx_yO1l78cYfJeELnu2x5RRHqrwfmurFBemFRAY5_NKAkM50xOIPhquW_DiVYBDY6Oo/s1600/IMG_9079.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHFpNkdQ6tjxCPuw1R7rnFSLVon0bzN3Li6nXY_5fKtLHdESpoiqPHqvQyEtz1dMydErVR2WhBjx_yO1l78cYfJeELnu2x5RRHqrwfmurFBemFRAY5_NKAkM50xOIPhquW_DiVYBDY6Oo/s1600/IMG_9079.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
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A Victorian era home set up for a viewing. The mirror over the fireplace is covered as was the clock. The strangest thing in this section was a series of photos of a woman modeling "funeral shrouds" available for purchase in the 1920s. That would be an interesting addition to your resume: Funeral Shroud Model.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZRJzU3STKLjVF-LnzCZ1sbbcUzWIErwVUzKSU3mV3UivKTqUdFqAqb9oYa_e0tUnWxaIlvjrVg7fFqXkTrjU8L3BBXS9Jdx0EsVMMj81JrCV_mRPwZ935sqdnn-MCNb5ttGq_PUgk82o/s1600/IMG_9119.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZRJzU3STKLjVF-LnzCZ1sbbcUzWIErwVUzKSU3mV3UivKTqUdFqAqb9oYa_e0tUnWxaIlvjrVg7fFqXkTrjU8L3BBXS9Jdx0EsVMMj81JrCV_mRPwZ935sqdnn-MCNb5ttGq_PUgk82o/s1600/IMG_9119.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
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Sections for celebrities and the movies. </div>
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They had 3 large glass cases of funeral programs, like this one for Farrah Fawcett.</div>
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The crews of the Challenger and Columbia were in the celebrity section, not the military section. I was a junior in high school watching on television at school when Challenger exploded.</div>
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You are encouraged to kiss this replica of Marilyn Monroe's crypt, which apparently really happens at her actual crypt in California. I passed on that offer.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFPi5Nd6y55y7RNFwGbdIBsAmE38XgemCLG5zip1bPjG3rnfRqqp9A8HOg8gLghTuCjWnHBfP_L2B6qEFBx5BZGki8A88jHDss1rNmM-McerKSaIMKqX-uYSKaP2Mp0To836tbdXA-_jE/s1600/IMG_9128.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFPi5Nd6y55y7RNFwGbdIBsAmE38XgemCLG5zip1bPjG3rnfRqqp9A8HOg8gLghTuCjWnHBfP_L2B6qEFBx5BZGki8A88jHDss1rNmM-McerKSaIMKqX-uYSKaP2Mp0To836tbdXA-_jE/s1600/IMG_9128.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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I did take this quiz on celebrities and did not get a single answer correct. I should have called David, he would probably get them all right. Right next to this was a list of epitaphs and a tombstone shaped piece of paper for you to write you own to leave behind.</div>
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The section on the History of Embalming was mainly focused on Egypt.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO2jumSGB2iz2xRtRjo5HttdYYTBzOnyaOKxi4ycuAqME5K6dbLzRvMiIH1wFVingWmq0mqGh2PqHeZkyuzwg8q-JTyEV2sOvuZ6I8c4XRH6F7s2iBIoZ0b32ixW0iN_nKIwaN0wCOFHU/s1600/IMG_9088.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO2jumSGB2iz2xRtRjo5HttdYYTBzOnyaOKxi4ycuAqME5K6dbLzRvMiIH1wFVingWmq0mqGh2PqHeZkyuzwg8q-JTyEV2sOvuZ6I8c4XRH6F7s2iBIoZ0b32ixW0iN_nKIwaN0wCOFHU/s1600/IMG_9088.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
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They also have a replica mummy in this area along with other artifacts and lots of information on the walls to read regarding mummification and embalming. I have seen the movie "The Mummy" a couple of times so I bypass most of the reading. (There was different area devoted to embalming from the Civil War over by the Victorian room.)</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPeRfmPCLYOeg53lNLkzH0HUZOr92o3ZzAQPczFQ3smRB1CAdCgUqLjltB5tg7vs7J4nAWP1KdJAHS2YU9lsy-8iDT7u6rdMdmY5ukTHbM8jo1wscxjVgadccCcNnOwbXFAmAsPkNihx0/s1600/IMG_9112.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPeRfmPCLYOeg53lNLkzH0HUZOr92o3ZzAQPczFQ3smRB1CAdCgUqLjltB5tg7vs7J4nAWP1KdJAHS2YU9lsy-8iDT7u6rdMdmY5ukTHbM8jo1wscxjVgadccCcNnOwbXFAmAsPkNihx0/s1600/IMG_9112.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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Finally a section devoted to traditions from around the world like this home decorated for the Day of the Dead celebration in Mexico. There was also a pimped out hearse from 1970s Japan and a whole bunch of unusual coffins.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioqvX2jfm9Y2SAHqwYc7LnDTMW3oya2Z_c5pDtjSYdk2fZ7uhwFVHLKJUGUC4yWNujpFcZBmngNCK-dhm8kqna3nb7Mqn4CYkGdOOM2MQFphB0BUyKk-glg1zb52H4ZpTNWfedy8wPScY/s1600/IMG_9115.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioqvX2jfm9Y2SAHqwYc7LnDTMW3oya2Z_c5pDtjSYdk2fZ7uhwFVHLKJUGUC4yWNujpFcZBmngNCK-dhm8kqna3nb7Mqn4CYkGdOOM2MQFphB0BUyKk-glg1zb52H4ZpTNWfedy8wPScY/s1600/IMG_9115.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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And biographical information on Kane Quaye who was one of the dominant designers/makers of these unique caskets.</div>
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The museum also has rooms dedicated to a traveling exhibit which, at this time, is about The Pope (does the The in The Pope need to be capitalized or is the Pope okay?). This is a very large exhibit taking up multiple rooms and it isn't just on funerals. You learn how The Pope is elected, what their outfits are called, all about the Swiss Guard (you actually have to be Swiss by birth, you can't just be an American living in Switzerland for example) and there is even a replica Pope-mobile.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdbrq9XLnjPkQcwBhH6jlTmnnE3fw0MjnpruXwOaxPzfXHXUDPX74-S5sO5vIirVDat9Ly-sTaD52ccN1ncRk-H4Y6xrtdARTrlNN4pnwYWT5fW53uNfzHj8eMqdifFwYfuMNuDN8MFuc/s1600/IMG_9093.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdbrq9XLnjPkQcwBhH6jlTmnnE3fw0MjnpruXwOaxPzfXHXUDPX74-S5sO5vIirVDat9Ly-sTaD52ccN1ncRk-H4Y6xrtdARTrlNN4pnwYWT5fW53uNfzHj8eMqdifFwYfuMNuDN8MFuc/s1600/IMG_9093.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
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Much of the information is slanted towards Pope John Paul II, which I suppose makes sense due to his recentness and popularity.</div>
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He wouldn't wear the traditional red shoes of The Pope but they did bury him in them. I wonder how he feels about that. Personally, I will haunt the person(s) responsible for making me wear any kind of shoes when I am dead. Or sleeves.</div>
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The scavenger hunt I picked up turned out to be completely about The Pope section. I actually had to go through twice to find most of the answers and still had one I never found. Because this is a funeral museum they do get into that here including how the Fisherman Ring is destroyed immediately with a special hammer (to prevent forged documents) and how the apartment where The Pope lives is sealed off with a wax seal until another Pope is elected.</div>
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I was shocked at the size of this room all to show how The Pope is set up for viewing. And there was another this size just beyond with The Pope now in his coffin with a cardinal standing by and another kneeling in prayer. In one of the hallways there is the actual recording of the news of the death of Pope John Paul II playing on a loop.</div>
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On the wall there is a lot more information including the names of all past Popes and the dates they served (is that the right word?), what the colors mean (cardinal, bishop, etc.) and of course, information about the coffins of The Pope. That's right...coffins, as in more than one. The Pope is buried in 3 separate coffins. The first is made of cypress and tied with three red silk ribbons. That casket is placed in a solid lead casket and then that is placed in another made of Douglas fir. The lead and fir caskets have a bronze plate with identical information on them including the name, length of life and length of service as Pope. All written in Latin, of course.</div>
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I was inside about a hour and a half and outside, not much changed. I didn't see the van owners inside but since this place is much bigger than you think it is going to be with lots of separate rooms, that doesn't really surprise me.</div>
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I am glad I finally went to this museum. I would recommend it to anyone in the area who expressed even a mild interest. It was much more interesting and serious than I ever imagined. I really expected something more kitschy, along the lines of the Dracula display. There was a lot more to see than I covered here especially in the form of documents and smaller items like medical equipment used for embalming. I could have easily spent another hour and still not seen or read it all.</div>
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I don't know how I could come out of there and not think about what I want to have happen when it is my time. David and I have discussed this in the past and there is little we can agree on other than the fact that if he outlives me, he can do what he wants, I won't be here to object anyway. For example, I want to be cremated, which he <em>seems</em> fine with, but I don't want him to take possession of my ashes afterwards. Just leave them there, let them dispose of them however. Those ashes are not me and spreading them somewhere or keeping them won't change that. He just cannot wrap his mind around this part. I get that, I really do. </div>
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But what he (or my children, my grandchildren, my parents - whomever ends up in charge at that point) better remember is the part about the shoes and the sleeves. It doesn't matter that I am being cremated. Once I am deceased, NO ONE better put me in a top that has sleeves (a form of torture as far as I am concerned) or shoes ever again. If that happens, Meriam won't be the only ghost making trouble around here.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02158042051142667445noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1219665788245176515.post-63724664788371939112014-11-23T15:11:00.005-08:002014-11-23T15:20:56.830-08:00Shootout!: Missoula, MTLast year on the day before Thanksgiving, I was in the crossfire during a drug buy gone bad. I don't have an photos from that day so I will borrow my visual aids from satellite maps on MapQuest and Google Earth and fill in the details.<br />
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First let me say it would make a lot more sense to me if I was writing this story about one of the many cities I have been to with a reputation for violence: Pittsburg, where I saw the "Stop Shooting, We Love You" sign; Baltimore; Oakland; Miami; Chicago; Stockton, CA - listed as one of the "Most Dangerous Cities in the US"; Los Angeles or even Dallas, where I came here from. But that isn't the case. This shooting happened right down the road in Missoula. And I gotta say, I never expected in a million years for this to happen there.<br />
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So it is the day before Thanksgiving. I work from home when I am not on the road so I am sitting in my home office, alone, watching a file I am working on chug away on my computer, bored out of my mind. This is going to take a while. It is a BIG file. I make the ill-fated decision to leave and go to Missoula, thinking (incorrectly it turns out), that I can run this one errand and that by the time I get back, the file will be done and I can move on.<br />
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Here is the layout of the crime scene:<br />
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Remember, this isn't a photo of that day, this is a fixed satellite image taken at some point. You can partly tell because in November in Missoula there is likely to be some white stuff where that grass is and the grass would definitely not be green either way.</div>
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I am parked between Gold's Gym and the Credit Union. Even though these are *not the actual vehicles, they are in exactly the right places and are even parked in the right direction. The "Bad Guys" Car was facing towards the top of the photo and I am facing them.</div>
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I come out of the building where Gold's Gym is (they aren't the only business in that building) and walk directly to my car. I sit in the driver's seat and look down to check my work email on my cell phone when...</div>
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BANG, BANG. Two shots, in rapid succession. And let me just say right now there was never a time when I thought the bangs were anything other than gunfire. I didn't think it was fireworks or a car backfiring or a tire popping. Definite gunshots.</div>
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As I look up, a man bails out of the passenger side of the car - which is the side facing me - dropping a pistol on the ground as he goes. </div>
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He follows this red line which is taking him behind the grocery store. As he runs the man in the driver's seat of that car gets out and begins shooting over the top of his car trying to hit the guy running away (he does, we will come back to that).</div>
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Referring to the map you can see that if the guy is shooting at the man running away, he is pointing his weapon in my direction. So I make the decision TO GET OUT OF MY CAR. I know, I know. Everyone I have told this story to says WHAT WERE YOU THINKING! I wasn't but I hope I was thinking subconsciously that I wanted something more between me and him than the windshield. I go behind my car which has as a spare tire mounted to the back. But as I do that, the guy from the driver's side has moved to the back of his car and he is laying on the ground.</div>
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"I'm shot in the leg, I'm shot in the leg", he is yelling.</div>
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I go around my car and am going towards him trying to call 9-1-1 as I go. I am almost to him and am telling him I am calling for help when another car drives up, grabs the guy who is shot off the ground and they speed away. I am sure if anyone had taken my picture right then I would have been standing there with my mouth open. I couldn't believe it. AND I realized I could not have told you a single thing about that car other than it wasn't a truck. Not the color, make, model, etc. (it was a green minivan I learned later). </div>
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While I am still in shock over that development another man runs up carrying a rifle in the crook of his elbow and he says, "Which way did he go?" Some other bystanders point behind the grocery store and that guy takes off. My only thought is "This is about to get a lot worse." Thankfully, it doesn't. </div>
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I still haven't managed to dial 9-1-1 and I realize it is because I keep dialing it on the password screen of my iPhone. But as I look up a policeman is coming with his lights and sirens running. Then a LOT more show up very quickly, some in uniform and some not. And that's when I learn what has really happened. The guy that got shot in the leg was an undercover cop. So were the people that grabbed him and rushed him to the hospital. So was the guy with the rifle. He comes back leading the drug dealer who was the first shooter - the cop hit him in the leg. I am never clear if that happened in the car or when the guy was running away. They handcuff him and load him in an ambulance. By this time, cops are everywhere and they are setting up a crime scene, complete with me and my car on the <em><u>inside</u></em> of the tape.</div>
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A young girl who worked at the grocery store was outside smoking and she saw all of this go down from the side. She comes over to me and says, "I was thinking oh my god they are going to shoot that woman sitting in her car!" I told her I had the same thought. She asked if she could hug me and though I am not a hugger, both she and I are shaking really bad and I let her. She is the only other person who really saw the whole thing go down. She is also the only other one the cops are interested in talking to. But that didn't stop lots of other bystanders from coming over and wanting to tell what they saw (mostly nothing). </div>
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I had to call David and he had to leave work and come get me (after waiting to give my statement, probably over an hour and half later). I cannot take my car. They are setting up a tent and "command center" and they tell me it will be the next day before I can get my car. This will be true for people in the gym and they don't even know it yet. </div>
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I learned a couple of lessons from all of this I want to share with you:</div>
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Don't sneak out of work to run errands. If you do, don't assume it will go as planned.</div>
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I am a terrible eyewitness. When they took my statement they asked me how many people I saw and to describe them. I only saw the shooter and the cop. I never saw the other man in the parking lot who was with the drug dealer but not in the car. I couldn't describe the shooter other than to say he was "white" which, in Montana, is about as helpful as saying he was human. I had no idea what he was wearing, his size, hair color, etc.</div>
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You do not know what you will do in a situation until you are in it. I have already had some lessons in this one but it was a big reminder. Some people panic (my daughter for example), some people don't. I am not panicky. That doesn't mean I think about what I am doing first, I am just reacting but I don't run away or cry or freak out. I got out of the car without really thinking about it or planning to. I went towards the cop before I knew he was a cop and I would have gone all the way to him and tried to help if he hadn't been grabbed up. </div>
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You can't always know who the good guys are or if there are any good guys at all. Several people later said it was too bad I wasn't "carrying". I am so grateful I wasn't. In this scenario, the likeliest thing for me to have done was to point my gun at the cop. I didn't know he was a cop and he never identified himself as such. He was in plain clothes in a regular car. He was the only one pointing a gun in my direction, the other guy dropped his (in fact, I had to point it out when the cavalry arrived because it was still laying on the ground, possibly still loaded). The cop has no idea who I am. I could be involved with the drug dealers for all he knows. He could have shot me or I could have shot him or someone else on accident. All bad outcomes.</div>
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During a crisis, time slows WAY down. This all took maybe 3-4 minutes from the first bang to the cops showing up with lights and sirens blaring. It felt like a lot longer.</div>
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Don't assume you will be in danger when called to testify against the drug dealers. After my initial statement given at the scene, I never heard from anyone again. Not the police, not the district attorney, not the defense lawyers, no one.</div>
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I tried to find out what happened to those involved but that has proved difficult. I had already heard that this was a Meth buy and that there were 4 people, 2 men and 2 women, that conspired to rob the cop (of course they didn't know he was a cop...yet). One of the women plead guilt and received a 10 year sentence, 5 of that suspended. I couldn't find anything on the others but I did hear that one of the 3 was given just probation.</div>
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My next door neighbor is a sheriff's deputy and since this was a joint task force, I asked him one day if he knew what happened to the cop that got shot. He said the guy had some nerve damage and that he has had a very difficult recovery, even to the point of putting his marriage in jeopardy. When I asked for another update this week, my neighbor said that he is suddenly doing a lot better and for that I am definitely thankful.</div>
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This year I am also thankful for many other things - my husband, my family, my friends, that I live in a beautiful place like Montana (no place is immune to drugs), my job that allows me some flexibility in my schedule. But I can make one guarantee right now: on the day before Thanksgiving this year, if you need me, I will be in my home office, right where I belong.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02158042051142667445noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1219665788245176515.post-76396947315653509322014-11-08T16:22:00.002-08:002014-11-13T19:09:45.055-08:00Skyline Trapeze: Addison, TXMarci asked me how I even knew this place existed and the answer was that, truthfully, I don't remember. But it does exist and I found it somehow so I started trying to talk my colleagues into joining me. When you say, "Would you be interested in paying $50 to jump off a platform while holding a trapeze bar?" some of them will think you are crazy. <br />
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At the home office of my company near Dallas, Texas, there are 6 of us in a group that work on a product together: Me, Kawiana, Marci, Marie, Linda and Tim. Marie was an instant "absolutely not", Tim, Linda and Marci were all on the fence but Marci seemed more likely to respond to a little arm twisting. Kawiana was the only one that was all in from the start. She was also the one that ultimately got Marci on board after she went by the place and took a video.<br />
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I called Skyline Trapeze quite a while back to get some information on how they do things. He assured me that first-timers are safety harnessed at all times, even when climbing the ladder. He also mentioned that roughly half of the people that come think they aren't scared of heights only to find out that they are when they reach the top of the platform.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUjJLwiZa72iD9mOBgaI_zsmwy_PYCXNP4wf16rG_j_PjApdGUFRuYDL77gs56iUWH0QjpjDiH2k2z1_RJBmTJiyXJ9ARFDtC46xVbCZwAK8L4k23mY4IIJMbdySHQ8leXfyT2ZFi_y5s/s1600/IMG_9259.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUjJLwiZa72iD9mOBgaI_zsmwy_PYCXNP4wf16rG_j_PjApdGUFRuYDL77gs56iUWH0QjpjDiH2k2z1_RJBmTJiyXJ9ARFDtC46xVbCZwAK8L4k23mY4IIJMbdySHQ8leXfyT2ZFi_y5s/s1600/IMG_9259.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
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Here is the best picture of the "rig" I could take in the fading light. The platform we will leap from is on the far left in the picture and there is someone standing on it. It is a little hard to see the net in this shot but it is below that tree line.</div>
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At some point it becomes pretty clear that it will be just me, Kawiana and Marci so Kawiana (the only one of the 3 of us that works at the home office) asks if she can extend the invitation around. I have something of a reputation of being a "fun sucker" at the office (once in a group I said I knew they thought this and a girl replied, "only one person calls you that out loud"). I am trying really hard to resolve that and to generally take myself less seriously so I tell Kawiana yes. The more people there to witness what could be a very embarrassing moment for me, the better.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFr9rZG8MHF-grGD3_3KhE8WQJ1fzdVTnhRcIYF5av6Y0dqGINee6_i2NTz0ycNhynngelcbAnlztmQkYVW_kITtJLynUd7ClTVeuXi1snXhfyRbKI4asvN22AUxAcUeriFuW9td8yL6M/s1600/IMG_9295.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFr9rZG8MHF-grGD3_3KhE8WQJ1fzdVTnhRcIYF5av6Y0dqGINee6_i2NTz0ycNhynngelcbAnlztmQkYVW_kITtJLynUd7ClTVeuXi1snXhfyRbKI4asvN22AUxAcUeriFuW9td8yL6M/s1600/IMG_9295.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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L-R: Kawiana, Marci, Katie (who I know), Kelli (who I don't), me.</div>
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This picture is out of order, it was taken after we were done. But it is important for you to see this now before I go too much further. Marci doesn't look it in this photo but she is the same height as me (5'10") or maybe slightly taller. But she easily weighs 50 lbs less than me. The other girls are all quite a bit short and much lighter.</div>
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As are the employees. The girl who is going to be responsible for keeping me from falling off the platform while reaching for the bar probably weighs about half as much as I do and is maybe 5' 5". And I am not exaggerating. I am sure they all took one look at me and wondered why no one told them it was Amazon night. There are 3 employees: one for the platform, and two on the ground. One of these will manage your safety lines. After seeing how the safety lines work, I am vaguely concerned that the person holding that line when I let go will be yanked off of the ground to the top of the pulley system before they know what happened.</div>
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The girl that will do most of the safety line management greets us and starts to give instructions. We are so distracted by the "regulars" who have joined our class due to rain earlier in the week that she has to turn us around with our backs to the rig to get us to pay attention. This is of course AFTER we have signed a waiver holding them harmless in the event of an injury or death. At least that's what I assume it said because I just initialed it and signed. I didn't want to freak myself out. </div>
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We are put into our safety belts and shown how things will be done once we get to the platform. But I can't think of anything else but:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ9S2mf0Ij6E48jZVakLWEzUFH4lxOwMG8URmY_p7u-H6fc_qXwgCM9X0glfigBxvjXPQBOSGFvL2CLslq81tM2WCeAxy3rf3hDoRH-fwdu0f8Wiws69s2K7KH8b3YxOmEWdHptpJDmcg/s1600/IMG_9263.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ9S2mf0Ij6E48jZVakLWEzUFH4lxOwMG8URmY_p7u-H6fc_qXwgCM9X0glfigBxvjXPQBOSGFvL2CLslq81tM2WCeAxy3rf3hDoRH-fwdu0f8Wiws69s2K7KH8b3YxOmEWdHptpJDmcg/s1600/IMG_9263.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
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Does this safety belt make me look fat?</div>
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That belt is on so tight I am pretty sure I will have bruises on my ribs the next day. Every ounce of fat in my midsection is being unmercifully squeezed up or down or anywhere it can find a place to be. The belt has D-rings on it that will be attached to the ladder and to the harness system once we are on the platform. The safety girl shows us that we will hold on to a rope with our left hand and lean out to grab the bar with our right. While you are leaning out (over the net far below), the girl on the platform has hold of you via your belt from behind. But she is simply holding you by putting her hand through the belt and leaning back against your weight. Again, in my case, probably double her own personal weight. So you reach out with your right hand and grab the bar (which is wrapped in tape). When she tells you to <em>and not before</em> (so she is ready to hold your weight because you are still leaning out) you reach with your left and get the bar. She will say "ready" (bend your knees) and then "hup" or "hut" or something like that (jump off the platform). They don't use "go" because it sounds too much like "no". </div>
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I had agreed before that I would go first since I was the one who suggested this whole outing. You climb up a ladder that you are sure is either going to collapse or fall back to get to the platform. The ladder is a basic Home Depot construction ladder and there is a line going up next to it that you are attached to. Marci is not fond of the ladder and points out that the line you are attached to isn't going to do anything if you fall. She's right, it wouldn't stop you from falling but I think it is meant to stop you from falling back. If you fall it would probably keep you upright so you have a chance to grab back on to the ladder or to the line or to break out all of your teeth as you hit every rung on the way down.</div>
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Here I go:</div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwMpnfC8IMB-RcPwwMSolo1fquVkV4HHYMnd97kog8z2jZNWRJ80MC3jkpAsk0E9WF7RNcX3bXTQOWp7H0LaQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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It is weird to watch this now. I do not remember that guy (a regular named Andrew) even standing on the platform with me. I am trying to not freak out and to listen to what the girl behind me is saying. The guy on the ground who is giving me instructions wants me to lift my legs up and put them over the bar so I can hang upside down with no hands. I could barely hear him and he kept talking to me on the forward swing (it seemed at the time) making it even harder. </div>
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Truthfully, I didn't believe there was any way I was going to be able to pull my legs up. Back on the ground, Andrew says that if I will listen to them and do it exactly when they say, I will be "weightless" at that time. Somehow this seems unlikely. I have a size 12 foot. I am pretty sure my feet weigh more than some of these people and I definitely didn't ever feel weightless. The next time I go up the girl is working the safety harness and she says to pull my legs up and my brain just flat out says NO. I can't even begin to do it. So for my third time she wants me to try something else, a backflip on the dismount. Let me just say that letting go is one of the hardest parts. Of course that is after being cinched down like a sausage in the belt, climbing the ladder of death and jumping off of a platform. When they say "hup" to dismount, every part of my brain is saying DO <u><em>NOT</em></u> LET GO!</div>
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So on my third time I don't make the backflip and I am pretty sure my fourth time will be the last chance. Before we get to that, let's see what it is supposed to look like because there was one person in the group who managed to do both the knee hang and the backflip on the same turn.</div>
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Kawiana...the Rock Star.</div>
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Kelli also managed to do the knee hang on her last try and Katie tried a couple of times which is more than I can say. I did try the backflip again and this moment will forevermore be known as my Flip Failure. Thank goodness no one was filming.</div>
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In Kawiana's video the instructor is telling her to "kick forward, kick backward, kick forward" and then you "hup"...let go. The momentum of that last kick forward should take you into the back flip if you simply tuck and let it. So, I kick as instructed and when I let go, I am very aware that I am not flipping at all but going head down toward the net in some sort of horrible swan dive, if swans were as graceful as grizzly bears. I land on the net ON MY NECK. At that point I finish the flip and end up on my stomach. I am glad at this point that I played a lot of sports when I was younger so I know how to block out the crowd noise because I am sure that everyone is dying of laughter at this point. Later, Marci said, "I wasn't laughing. I was thinking, Flip Noelle FLIP!" I told her I understood because I WAS THINKING THE SAME THING.</div>
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Everyone asks if I am okay but it didn't hurt my neck at all. It twinged my back a little but mainly I am just embarrassed. And tired. The tape on the bar is very hard on your hands. At the restaurant after I put my hand around my tea glass and it was so wonderful I had to put both hands on and tell Marci of my discovery which she promptly copied. After my sad flip attempt I knew I wouldn't go back up and they were trying to wind us down so the regulars could do a couple of rounds of catches. I asked to have my safety belt removed and it felt so good that the only thing I ever remember feeling as good was having my water break while in labor.</div>
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Here is a note about the "regulars". There are 4 of them, 3 girls and Andrew. Some of them have progressed to the point where they are not required to wear a harness going up the ladder or while working on the trapeze. Some of them are doing flips or straddle swings or splits while swinging and they swing <em>high</em>. One two-hour session is $50 and Andrew tells us he has been coming twice a week for 3 months (and he still must wear the harness). He said, "Its an expensive hobby". Um, yeah. </div>
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I am glad I did this but I probably won't feel compelled to do it again. I can't tell you if I was sore or not because the day before this, Kawiana invited me to her gym to a tabata class and I was already sore in every part of my body from that. Marci did text me today and say she is sore though so it could be a little of both for me. In fact, by Friday when I flew home I was concerned about getting up from my seat after sitting on the plane without moving for 2 hours. I was walking up the jet bridge thinking - ouch, ouch, ouch.</div>
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I took away two lessons from this experience. One is that you shouldn't do tabata unless you are used to it the day before you decide to go swing from a trapeze for the first time. The second is that I can do anything if I can only convince my mind it is possible. I am sure I could have pulled my legs up had I only tried. I might not have been able to hook them but now I will never know. Now, if you will excuse me I have to go to WalMart to buy all of the Aspercreme they have in stock and then look up the information for the indoor skydiving facility near our office for my January trip. </div>
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<em>Update: The owner of Skyline Trapeze came across this post and emailed me some questions about what I wrote here. I will respond to him right after this but there is something I should have said in the beginning: I personally never felt unsafe at any time. Yes, the ladder was a little scary but after the first time and seeing how it was attached, I was fine. And the staff conducted themselves professionally at all times and never made me feel like they had an issue with my size, those issues are all mine. When I was up on the platform with the tiny girl, she conducted herself with total confidence so that is what I had - confidence. None of them were rude or catty or did anything to make me feel self-conscience about my size. At one point one of the "regulars" rolled her eyes at one of the people in my party (who didn't know and I won't be telling her) but that isn't the staffs fault and shame on her. She is comparing herself to what was a first time for all of us. Maybe she has forgotten her first time. Or maybe she's just an asshole.</em></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02158042051142667445noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1219665788245176515.post-27427391030406162002014-10-23T15:49:00.002-07:002014-10-23T16:44:32.369-07:00Haunted Hotel: Alabama & AmarilloMy mom will tell you that all of this is my own fault because I think about dead people too much. At one time I had tons of pictures of them all over the walls of my dining room but I decided to do away with that some time ago. Understand, these weren't random dead people but people in my family. This story starts in Alabama with my grandma.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjg0wuhQf2ralqo8yGeexFTj6eQyJQO4Y9Nc1ekHdvazQmgaiQxP7keiJWkEg1WylENevCW28Tu0VjdmifWU5DNVpr4GVm6nhdnf2OK6rm8xgaTI0KPsOo4M6Eh0o0m3KlRDSjJ4y0N1s/s1600/meriam_babynoelle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjg0wuhQf2ralqo8yGeexFTj6eQyJQO4Y9Nc1ekHdvazQmgaiQxP7keiJWkEg1WylENevCW28Tu0VjdmifWU5DNVpr4GVm6nhdnf2OK6rm8xgaTI0KPsOo4M6Eh0o0m3KlRDSjJ4y0N1s/s1600/meriam_babynoelle.jpg" height="320" width="314" /></a></div>
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Here she is holding me circa 1969.</div>
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My grandmother (my dad's mom), Meriam, died on Halloween in 2000. I don't remember how I was told which is kind of odd because I remember vividly how I found out when both of my grandfathers died but with Meriam - nothing. I do remember that the decision was made for me to travel to Alabama with my parents to attend her funeral. I had three kids and no money so mom and dad kindly let me stay in the same hotel room with them.<br />
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Before I go too far, let me back up a few years. When my grandpa died in 1992, I also returned to Alabama for his funeral. My son was a baby and my parents had business to attend to so they left me at my great-grandmother's house (Meriam's mother) for a while. She told me stories about her mother and about how she met my great-grandfather. Her stories stuck with me and were what ultimately got me interested in researching my family history. By the time Meriam passed, I had been doing research, primarily on my dad's side of the family for quite a few years. I should also mention that Meriam herself was a little odd and had some weird habits regarding the dead. She would routinely call the local funeral home "to see who was down there" so she would know if she needed to go take pictures.<br />
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So back to the trip. We checked in to the hotel and while I unpacked, mom got in the shower and dad left the room. I'm unloading my suitcase when the television comes on all by itself. I had to search for the remote because none of us had picked it up at this point having just arrived. I switched it off and went back to what I was doing. I do remember thinking it was odd but explainable - a remote in another room could have done it through the wall (not an expensive hotel) or a timer was set.<br />
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The next morning, we get up to go to the funeral. My shoes were lined up under the desk, three total pairs. The pair in the middle are my "church shoes" and what I plan to wear but when I put my foot in the first shoe, it was completely filled with water. It turned out that both of them were. My other casual shoes, set on either side, were fine, dry as a bone.<br />
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That night, back at the hotel, we had been laying in the dark for a little while when the television came on again. The timer thing now seems unlikely as we haven't watched TV in the time we have been here and the time of day is totally different than the first time it happened. The next day, we go back to the cemetery and while standing by Meriam's grave we watch a dust devil going across the cotton field next door. When it got to the fence between the field and the cemetery it kind of broke up and we all went back to what we were doing. For me, that was taking pictures of headstones. Some of you are probably thinking I am a total weirdo now but in my defense, I was only trying to document information for my family tree. I am related to almost everyone in this cemetery in one way or another - or in some cases - more than one way (my dad is also my half great uncle but that is a story for another time). As I am taking pictures, my cousin's daughter suddenly says, "Look out Noelle!" right as the dust devil comes back and goes right over/around/through me. I quite literally felt my hair stand on end. My family sees this happen too and they come over and ask if I'm okay. Except for mom. Mom helpfully says, "They were just marking you so they could find you later." <br />
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Back at the hotel I am laying in the dark and I can't think of anything but dead people touching me when - you know what's coming - the TV comes on again. Mom sits up in bed and says, "Stop it Meriam!" But Meriam doesn't stop. When I return back home to Texas, all sorts of weird things keep happening. A knife flies off the middle of the kitchen table onto the floor when no one was in the kitchen (we heard it hit the tile floor); a lamp on a dimmer switch suddenly comes on full blast; David and I are talking about Meriam when a chair across the room swivels around to face us. That kind of normal, every day stuff. And David and I agree, there is a "presence" in the hallway at the top of the stairs. So we get used to living with our ghost.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR1GXuZoez16x5LAg3JNCx3D35uwPfW00ry9L1XgO6Yzt9BnEVbt31XXRYuhyj1KS_CRG2kZhTjRGlrQbw8ugCOgB_Wgx-SwwDA0WWp4KIDH59PCPxA8vs-31FI6R9wrHcH-mVZN3_tm4/s1600/meriam_kids.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR1GXuZoez16x5LAg3JNCx3D35uwPfW00ry9L1XgO6Yzt9BnEVbt31XXRYuhyj1KS_CRG2kZhTjRGlrQbw8ugCOgB_Wgx-SwwDA0WWp4KIDH59PCPxA8vs-31FI6R9wrHcH-mVZN3_tm4/s1600/meriam_kids.JPG" height="400" width="283" /></a></div>
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Meriam with my kids.</div>
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Fast forward to 2014 and I am in my hotel room in Amarillo. It is midnight and suddenly the television comes on, waking me. Of course, I immediately think of Meriam. I turn the TV off and go back to sleep. The next morning when I am putting on my makeup, the clock radio alarm starts going off. Again, some of you are thinking that could totally happen. But the TV came on by itself again the next day after more than 24 hours and I had refused housekeeping so no one had touched it. And I had verified that any alarm or timer was off. As for the clock radio, it wasn't a normal one, it was an iPod docking station so the alarm was actually on my iPhone and I had not set it.<br />
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At this point I decide to do what any normal person with an iPhone would do and I download an app. Yes, there's an app for that. I get the Ghost Observer app for free and fire it up. It has a radar on it that will show you the location of your ghost. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLpeYfWscy60G8GHFgwMUNAgjJ78UAlnyvrEjKg55ZrF1jIKhHODgZTWRp292qeGHeH5WLeq9aTh1oC0zcYjG9Oc208jmzFBzT7_mvv7EMUp3Jc3I2C_r5V1JFkx60bOdDFhfGqp8etiw/s1600/IMG_8723.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLpeYfWscy60G8GHFgwMUNAgjJ78UAlnyvrEjKg55ZrF1jIKhHODgZTWRp292qeGHeH5WLeq9aTh1oC0zcYjG9Oc208jmzFBzT7_mvv7EMUp3Jc3I2C_r5V1JFkx60bOdDFhfGqp8etiw/s1600/IMG_8723.PNG" height="400" width="266" /></a></div>
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And there it is. If I am at the center of the radar then the ghost is RIGHT NEXT TO ME.</div>
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Let me just say that even though I am not afraid of my ghost grandma, having the app say "Ghost Detected" in a creepy electronic voice when you are alone in a darkened hotel room can make it hard to sleep later. I immediately turned off the app because, frankly, I don't need to know more. Then I got the idea to take a picture in that general direction to see what happened.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBDAuORNzmW7VmCzXWTuX3X7jghasKeOI0Jvpd6J_6x15dl-Te7SbhXFHPso0yPAV7dyyNIfQGZinpzUFglcjTqVuM_k3fJLBIc-Z4-numg_2ooNUhRBiXjU01s_kEWmsNFteTWTOeHSg/s1600/IMG_8724.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBDAuORNzmW7VmCzXWTuX3X7jghasKeOI0Jvpd6J_6x15dl-Te7SbhXFHPso0yPAV7dyyNIfQGZinpzUFglcjTqVuM_k3fJLBIc-Z4-numg_2ooNUhRBiXjU01s_kEWmsNFteTWTOeHSg/s1600/IMG_8724.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
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I sent this picture to my son. He did not appreciate this as he was also trying to get ready for bed. </div>
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Later that week I changed to another hotel in Lubbock and had more "occurrences". When my key card stopped working and I had to go to the front desk to have it fixed the guy said, "Huh, that's weird" and I said, "It's probably the ghost in my room." He looked at me for a moment and then blinked once and said, "No, you probably just put it too close to your cell phone", like my statement was totally normal. </div>
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Incidentally, I did fill out the survey sent to me by Holiday Inn Express in Amarillo and told them about the TV and the alarm clock and that I thought they had a ghost in that room but at this point, they have not responded. I was kind of hoping for some free points out of the deal or something. I'm going to have to have a talk with Meriam later. If she is going to follow me around, she could at least make herself useful and get me some free stuff.</div>
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P.S. I'm going back to Amarillo in December. I may ask for the same room.</div>
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P.P.S. A dust-devil for those of you who don't know, is a small tornado, made out of swirling dust. And by dust I obviously mean the dust of my dead ancestors so they can find me later.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02158042051142667445noreply@blogger.com0