The largest god will find you as you seek the largest god.
If the largest god couldn't find you, would the largest god be the largest god?
I think not.
Seek GOD.
Nice Waves of November
North Shore Spray
Sunday, August 20, 2006
More about Flavel
There are some curi-oddities about dad. He always laid his bread on the back of his hand when eating a slice of bread and butter, or a sandwich. I was disciplined once for slapping a piece of bread off Lis or Mona's hand and telling (or yelling) that is dad's way of eating bread. He also said the rhyme regularly, "I eat my peas with honey, I've done it all my life. It may seem rather funny, but it keeps them on my knife." This came up because Pat saw me eating a piece of bread that way a little while ago. It either has to do with Dad being so muscular that he couldn't turn his hand around, or that he ate lunches out in the woods, with dirty hands, and the back of his hands were cleaner. The back's of his hands were pretty hairy things. Maybe not so pretty.
Dad held his Bible that way when he was preaching, also. He would twist his hand around to hold his Bible while he was looking up a passage, but then when he was preaching he would lay it open on the back of his left hand and emphasize with his right hand. He wasn't too charismatic, or the Bible wouldn't have stayed on his hand. I remember him in the chapel, where the Berean Christian Fellowship met. He kept the regular meeting going until I was about 12, although C&MA closed their support of the work when I was four.
After that closure, dad went to work doing anything he could find to earn money. Actually he was doing that before as well. Because the support was meager. I remember as a kid of 6 years old, in the house we lived in on main street, walking into the kitchen and smelling this strange smell. I asked mom what it was, she said beef. She was boiling it for stew in the pot. It was not until I was much older that I realized we didn't have much for meat. I recognized the smell of venison and rabbit and squirrel and grouse or partridge, but not beef or pork. I don't remember fish at that age but a couple of years later Chuck and I were the mighty fisherman, casting using a small coffee can, with a dowel nailed in crosswise as a handle, and a fifty or seventyfive foot piece of 30 lb test braided fishing line tied around the handle and wrapped around the can, with a leader and a daredevil, whipping it around like David's sling throwing at Goliath, and we were able to hit a garbage can at fifty feet. The point is, I think dad made those for us to start with, then we improved them. Chuck always experimented more than I did.
Dad helped me make my first slingshot. He had his eye out for good slingshot saplings and every once in a while would bring one home.
One of the jobs he had was town constable, and that started before I remember. I think it was after 1955. I do remember getting a siren put in our car, and a flashing red light to plug into our accessory plug, although, that is not what the outlet in the car was called then, like detectives have in real life. I was dispatched to blow that siren once when we had an ice storm and the electricity was out, and a fire was called in. Dad was also the fire chief, and he had to go start the fire truck, at the fire hall/jail, which was 25 feet from our yard across LaRocques yard. (That was a narrow house.) I think that was when Langan's burned, that would be Chuck's classmate, Donald.
Mom told of Dad coming back up here occassionally to Danbury on a weekend to cut a couple of loads of cordwood so he would have money back at St. Paul Bible Institute. (Crown College) which used to be in St. Paul. That was before the age of chain saws. So he was a real lumberjack.
I had a terrible habit of hitting my siblings, which they have either forgotten, or forgiven, or are still waiting to get me back, for which they would be justified, but one day when I was seventeen dad had his opportunity, and this is how it went. Mom and Mona and Dad and I were in the kitchen. I whocked Mona hard in the shoulder over some imagined slight, I don't even remember what, but dad whocked me on both shoulders six or seven times, telling me not to do that again. It got my attention. But then was the thing that really got my attention. He started sobbing, telling me how sorry he was, but he had to get my attention.
He was right.
All for now.
Dad held his Bible that way when he was preaching, also. He would twist his hand around to hold his Bible while he was looking up a passage, but then when he was preaching he would lay it open on the back of his left hand and emphasize with his right hand. He wasn't too charismatic, or the Bible wouldn't have stayed on his hand. I remember him in the chapel, where the Berean Christian Fellowship met. He kept the regular meeting going until I was about 12, although C&MA closed their support of the work when I was four.
After that closure, dad went to work doing anything he could find to earn money. Actually he was doing that before as well. Because the support was meager. I remember as a kid of 6 years old, in the house we lived in on main street, walking into the kitchen and smelling this strange smell. I asked mom what it was, she said beef. She was boiling it for stew in the pot. It was not until I was much older that I realized we didn't have much for meat. I recognized the smell of venison and rabbit and squirrel and grouse or partridge, but not beef or pork. I don't remember fish at that age but a couple of years later Chuck and I were the mighty fisherman, casting using a small coffee can, with a dowel nailed in crosswise as a handle, and a fifty or seventyfive foot piece of 30 lb test braided fishing line tied around the handle and wrapped around the can, with a leader and a daredevil, whipping it around like David's sling throwing at Goliath, and we were able to hit a garbage can at fifty feet. The point is, I think dad made those for us to start with, then we improved them. Chuck always experimented more than I did.
Dad helped me make my first slingshot. He had his eye out for good slingshot saplings and every once in a while would bring one home.
One of the jobs he had was town constable, and that started before I remember. I think it was after 1955. I do remember getting a siren put in our car, and a flashing red light to plug into our accessory plug, although, that is not what the outlet in the car was called then, like detectives have in real life. I was dispatched to blow that siren once when we had an ice storm and the electricity was out, and a fire was called in. Dad was also the fire chief, and he had to go start the fire truck, at the fire hall/jail, which was 25 feet from our yard across LaRocques yard. (That was a narrow house.) I think that was when Langan's burned, that would be Chuck's classmate, Donald.
Mom told of Dad coming back up here occassionally to Danbury on a weekend to cut a couple of loads of cordwood so he would have money back at St. Paul Bible Institute. (Crown College) which used to be in St. Paul. That was before the age of chain saws. So he was a real lumberjack.
I had a terrible habit of hitting my siblings, which they have either forgotten, or forgiven, or are still waiting to get me back, for which they would be justified, but one day when I was seventeen dad had his opportunity, and this is how it went. Mom and Mona and Dad and I were in the kitchen. I whocked Mona hard in the shoulder over some imagined slight, I don't even remember what, but dad whocked me on both shoulders six or seven times, telling me not to do that again. It got my attention. But then was the thing that really got my attention. He started sobbing, telling me how sorry he was, but he had to get my attention.
He was right.
All for now.
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
Dad Flavel Memories
It is mostly easy to remember good things about dad here in Danbury where he grew up. It was a tough region when he was growing up, and he had the mouth and temper of a lumberjack. Those were two of the things he struggled with as an adult, although regenerated by the Holy Spirit.
A lot of my memories with dad are about the out of doors. Sometimes with Becky and Mona and Lis and Leda, but usually with Chuck and me and sometimes just with me.
I was ten or so when dad taught me how to drive. We were at the dump, about a mile from our house. We had a 47 dodge truck that we hauled wood, and ice, and furniture and garbage in. It had a four on the floor manual transmission, along with clutch. Dad started home, then stopped in the middle of the road. He asked me if I wanted to drive. I was hardly big enough to push the clutch down, but he must have been thinking about it before. So we switched places. I killed the engine a couple of times, but finally got going about five miles an hour, and then I needed to shift. He told me to push in the clutch and shift into second. I pushed in the clutch, but it didn't shift very easy. I looked at what I was shifting a proceeded to drive into the ditch. He grabbed the wheel and steered us back on the road. All he said was, you have to watch the road and shift by feel.
That was a good memory without judgement even though I messed up.
When I was twelve I was able to deer hunt. The first day the season started at noon. Dad told me where to sit and where the deer would come out. So I went there about 11:30. He was walking in a circle and would come out where I was.
About 12:15 I heard some crashing out in the slough. It got real loud and I whistled and the noise stopped. Then it started again and a deer jumped out. I raised my gun and it wouldn't shoot. The safety was on. I took off the safety and it still would shoot. The bolt lever was raised. I re-cocked it and shot. The deer jumped and ran away. I shot twice more.
Later we found that my first shot hit a tree fifteen feet in the air above the deer. About five minutes later dad got there. He was disappointed I had not been able to get my first deer, but he was happy that I was hooked on hunting!
Another memory was that dad was working away all week when I was about 10.
Ronnie, my friend, and I built a raft on a pond. Dad came home on Friday night. This was probably in the fall. There was a school meeting of some sort, and I had made plans to stay overnight with Ronnie and then go down to the Ike's Dam Lake bright and early. So I saw dad across the gym and waved, and then left to Ronnies on that Friday night. We went down to the lake the next morning and about 10:30 in the morning dad walked down from the road and said it's time to go home. No problem there, I wasn't in trouble, and I went home. Then when we got in the car dad was choked up with emotion, sadness. That was the first time I knew he could be heart broken by something to do with me. Unintentionally on my part.
There are three memories.
A lot of my memories with dad are about the out of doors. Sometimes with Becky and Mona and Lis and Leda, but usually with Chuck and me and sometimes just with me.
I was ten or so when dad taught me how to drive. We were at the dump, about a mile from our house. We had a 47 dodge truck that we hauled wood, and ice, and furniture and garbage in. It had a four on the floor manual transmission, along with clutch. Dad started home, then stopped in the middle of the road. He asked me if I wanted to drive. I was hardly big enough to push the clutch down, but he must have been thinking about it before. So we switched places. I killed the engine a couple of times, but finally got going about five miles an hour, and then I needed to shift. He told me to push in the clutch and shift into second. I pushed in the clutch, but it didn't shift very easy. I looked at what I was shifting a proceeded to drive into the ditch. He grabbed the wheel and steered us back on the road. All he said was, you have to watch the road and shift by feel.
That was a good memory without judgement even though I messed up.
When I was twelve I was able to deer hunt. The first day the season started at noon. Dad told me where to sit and where the deer would come out. So I went there about 11:30. He was walking in a circle and would come out where I was.
About 12:15 I heard some crashing out in the slough. It got real loud and I whistled and the noise stopped. Then it started again and a deer jumped out. I raised my gun and it wouldn't shoot. The safety was on. I took off the safety and it still would shoot. The bolt lever was raised. I re-cocked it and shot. The deer jumped and ran away. I shot twice more.
Later we found that my first shot hit a tree fifteen feet in the air above the deer. About five minutes later dad got there. He was disappointed I had not been able to get my first deer, but he was happy that I was hooked on hunting!
Another memory was that dad was working away all week when I was about 10.
Ronnie, my friend, and I built a raft on a pond. Dad came home on Friday night. This was probably in the fall. There was a school meeting of some sort, and I had made plans to stay overnight with Ronnie and then go down to the Ike's Dam Lake bright and early. So I saw dad across the gym and waved, and then left to Ronnies on that Friday night. We went down to the lake the next morning and about 10:30 in the morning dad walked down from the road and said it's time to go home. No problem there, I wasn't in trouble, and I went home. Then when we got in the car dad was choked up with emotion, sadness. That was the first time I knew he could be heart broken by something to do with me. Unintentionally on my part.
There are three memories.
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
Toronto-Tanzania-Timbuktu
Toronto is the site of a significant conference right now. It is a world conference on AIDS.
Jo is there. She has been serving on the front line in Tanzania. She lives with kids who are infected. Adults who are infected. Kids who are dying. Adults who are dying. Kids whose parents have died and parents whose children have died. People who are malnourished, homeless, and without adequate medical care, medicines or food.
Jo, you are a rock.
Jo is there. She has been serving on the front line in Tanzania. She lives with kids who are infected. Adults who are infected. Kids who are dying. Adults who are dying. Kids whose parents have died and parents whose children have died. People who are malnourished, homeless, and without adequate medical care, medicines or food.
Jo, you are a rock.
Sailing
This weekend I decided to sell my C-Scow. What a decision. Last year at the end of the year I thought that our little lake was too small for a sailboat that can go 25 knots. And the wind swirls and plays havoc with maintaining a regular course of direction.
I searched for a place to sell it and put it on the web, and our friend T. scanned several pictures and sent them to us on email. So they are posted.
As I was leading up to, the boat is too big. It should have a crew of three, it takes an hour to set up, and we don't live on a big lake where we can leave it up.
So now I have a Bomardier Invitation in restorable shape, and that is a project for next year.
Some what a meta physical decision too, what with realizing life does have some limitations.
I realize one lifetime is not enough to do everything that I want to do. I wonder how God works that out.
We had a nice little stroll down the road tonight. I had a little headache which is now gone.
Nothing special tonight.
Take care you all.
I searched for a place to sell it and put it on the web, and our friend T. scanned several pictures and sent them to us on email. So they are posted.
As I was leading up to, the boat is too big. It should have a crew of three, it takes an hour to set up, and we don't live on a big lake where we can leave it up.
So now I have a Bomardier Invitation in restorable shape, and that is a project for next year.
Some what a meta physical decision too, what with realizing life does have some limitations.
I realize one lifetime is not enough to do everything that I want to do. I wonder how God works that out.
We had a nice little stroll down the road tonight. I had a little headache which is now gone.
Nothing special tonight.
Take care you all.
Sunday, August 13, 2006
HaydenLoon
Wednesday, August 09, 2006 Andrew French writes
The end of an era
Yesterday I quit my job.
I feel great.
You should too.
First a little background: I have been working there at the cafe since January of 2005. Almost every day my boss, Nathalie the Phsycologically Disturbed Progressive Democratic Nazi, would find something to complain about, somebody to ream. I felt that I would try to redirect her energies into more positive avenues, such as food. I don't even know why she has a restaurant, because to me it doesn't seem like she likes food. I love food. I love the farmer's market and the farmers, I love cooking for friends and family, I love the colors, textures, and flavors. I just dig edible stuff. So you'd think working at a small cafe right across from where I live would be a good thing, right? Wrong, man. Wrongo.
NPDPDN and her husband would constantly fight, even screaming at each other about ten feet away from paying eating customers. I honestly thought they were going to get a divorce, I don't even understand why they haven't gotten a divorce with all the pressure. Her husband doesn't even want to be there. He hates the customers.
And there was the heat and the filth and the grease and the mess and the mouse shit and the mice. Those were the physical things that bothered me, but that I thought could be fixed at some point. I also wanted to steer the food toward organic and vegetarian fare, and I didn't want to use bagged mashed potatoes and soup. What the hell is the point of convenience when the whole purpose of the business is to create good food? I wanted to cook, not dish up one more goddamn pot roast with fried potatoes for one more white-haired bitchy welfare sucking blue-brained sycophant debutante geezer. So I had my own problems.The main mental strain came about because there were a few good things about the place, sort of. Pretty good wage. I had ample time off (not paid). Free food. That's about it, and I didn''t like the free food.
But NPDPDN would compliment me sometimes, make me feel she cared, then yell at me for some dumb thing that I messed up or wasn't even involved with. There were a number of times I came home ready to just quit. But I hung in there, because maybe things would get better.NPDPDN: I was talking about how all my pets were tragically killed and she said, "You should not have pets. Wouldn't you get a clue after the first few were killed?" And she wasn't joking. That is probably the worst thing anybody has ever said to me. And she didn't apologize. And that same day I came home to find out that one of my best friends had killed herself. There is something about that connection that really stands out in my head.
For compleat unabridged version go to
http://www.thecosmicmonkey.blogspot.com
So this is what I learned in the last 3 years:You need to have a plan of where you want to be in three years.I am a hard worker that can tolerate most anything, psychological or physical.Your co-workers are the most important part of a job.I am an artist, and I should behave like one.Let that be a lesson to you. Don't allow anyone to treat you badly. They can treat themselves as badly as they want, but you are worthy of respect, just by being alive.
The end of an era
Yesterday I quit my job.
I feel great.
You should too.
First a little background: I have been working there at the cafe since January of 2005. Almost every day my boss, Nathalie the Phsycologically Disturbed Progressive Democratic Nazi, would find something to complain about, somebody to ream. I felt that I would try to redirect her energies into more positive avenues, such as food. I don't even know why she has a restaurant, because to me it doesn't seem like she likes food. I love food. I love the farmer's market and the farmers, I love cooking for friends and family, I love the colors, textures, and flavors. I just dig edible stuff. So you'd think working at a small cafe right across from where I live would be a good thing, right? Wrong, man. Wrongo.
NPDPDN and her husband would constantly fight, even screaming at each other about ten feet away from paying eating customers. I honestly thought they were going to get a divorce, I don't even understand why they haven't gotten a divorce with all the pressure. Her husband doesn't even want to be there. He hates the customers.
And there was the heat and the filth and the grease and the mess and the mouse shit and the mice. Those were the physical things that bothered me, but that I thought could be fixed at some point. I also wanted to steer the food toward organic and vegetarian fare, and I didn't want to use bagged mashed potatoes and soup. What the hell is the point of convenience when the whole purpose of the business is to create good food? I wanted to cook, not dish up one more goddamn pot roast with fried potatoes for one more white-haired bitchy welfare sucking blue-brained sycophant debutante geezer. So I had my own problems.The main mental strain came about because there were a few good things about the place, sort of. Pretty good wage. I had ample time off (not paid). Free food. That's about it, and I didn''t like the free food.
But NPDPDN would compliment me sometimes, make me feel she cared, then yell at me for some dumb thing that I messed up or wasn't even involved with. There were a number of times I came home ready to just quit. But I hung in there, because maybe things would get better.NPDPDN: I was talking about how all my pets were tragically killed and she said, "You should not have pets. Wouldn't you get a clue after the first few were killed?" And she wasn't joking. That is probably the worst thing anybody has ever said to me. And she didn't apologize. And that same day I came home to find out that one of my best friends had killed herself. There is something about that connection that really stands out in my head.
For compleat unabridged version go to
http://www.thecosmicmonkey.blogspot.com
So this is what I learned in the last 3 years:You need to have a plan of where you want to be in three years.I am a hard worker that can tolerate most anything, psychological or physical.Your co-workers are the most important part of a job.I am an artist, and I should behave like one.Let that be a lesson to you. Don't allow anyone to treat you badly. They can treat themselves as badly as they want, but you are worthy of respect, just by being alive.
Laments
Laments By Johanna Rose Muthoni French Tanzania the Terra inFirma
Thursday, April 13, 2006
My dearest Princess Elizabeth
Id rather not analyze this poem too much
And find out its literary theory
If I cared what that meant
Had been emancipated by
An emotionally stable yet
Uncontrollably feeling
artist
Named Jo.
posted by Jo 3:30 AM
Thursday, April 13, 2006
My dearest Princess Elizabeth
Id rather not analyze this poem too much
And find out its literary theory
If I cared what that meant
Had been emancipated by
An emotionally stable yet
Uncontrollably feeling
artist
Named Jo.
posted by Jo 3:30 AM
Thursday, August 10, 2006
8-10 or 9-11
What a sad day, but we could have been experiencing a repeat of a disastrous day of infamy.
If we weren't such a decadent society, the "fanatic islamic facists" would not have evidence to support their position. Again, sadly, their conclusions and actions are wrong to us, but their perception of our society as the great Satan, is pretty much right on.
Up here in the lesser north life could go on without even noticing, directly.
I wonder which way is the better way of living.
Maranatha, my mom used to say, which grew into a nickname for Grandma Evelyn, which is Maranatha Mama. Mom is experiencing her reward right now, in a better place. For her, "the Lord comes" is reality.
If we weren't such a decadent society, the "fanatic islamic facists" would not have evidence to support their position. Again, sadly, their conclusions and actions are wrong to us, but their perception of our society as the great Satan, is pretty much right on.
Up here in the lesser north life could go on without even noticing, directly.
I wonder which way is the better way of living.
Maranatha, my mom used to say, which grew into a nickname for Grandma Evelyn, which is Maranatha Mama. Mom is experiencing her reward right now, in a better place. For her, "the Lord comes" is reality.
Clear Head
HaydenLoon
Hi all
It has been a quick week!
I am involved in a group called Kettle Kinship, which makes matches between adults who want to Mentor kids, and Kids who want to participate, with parents approval. That took up Tuesday night. They are a great bunch of people who really care about being and creating a positive influence and alternative in kids' lives.
Last week on Wednesday I went swimming with my brother and his family and had my first instant allergy reaction (bloodshot eyes and clogged sinus and throat) to the water I was swimming in. On Thursday I took all kinds of anti inflammatory medication, and on Friday tested out an air purifier for the weekend. I took my last meds on Friday and when I got home I plugged in my air purifier. Saturday I woke up with clear eyes and clear sinus. I left the house on Saturday and the symptoms returned. Saturday night in front of the purifier and they were gone. Sunday and Monday pretty much at the lake and symptoms came back and were gone when I used the purifier. I could see better too.
Well on Wednesday I bought the gizmo. Tonight I noticed that I could hear crickets and frogs, which were music to my ears. I didn't realize I wasn't hearing them. So if you have been talking to me and I seemed to be ignoring you, I might not have heard you. I really am not too stuck up.
Tonight me spouse and me, we watched two episodes of Monarch of the Glen, a BBC Telly quality DVD, and went for a walk on Hayden Lake Road,with a whisper of breeze keeping us cool. We walked out to Wisconsin Highway 35 and there was a very nice breeze. The sun was setting in a mostly cloudy sky, over a beaver pond, which has trails where the beaver had pulled and eaten the weeds. The water is low because of the drought, and I hope for refreshing rain. We walked along the new road construction up to Glendening Road and back feeling safe since there is so little traffic, nary but one autocar passed us as we walked in the dusk.
I can forget my toil of the day as I walk along like this.
There is not always energy to fish and play, but rejuvenation comes when we soak in the beauty of the earth.
Hi all
It has been a quick week!
I am involved in a group called Kettle Kinship, which makes matches between adults who want to Mentor kids, and Kids who want to participate, with parents approval. That took up Tuesday night. They are a great bunch of people who really care about being and creating a positive influence and alternative in kids' lives.
Last week on Wednesday I went swimming with my brother and his family and had my first instant allergy reaction (bloodshot eyes and clogged sinus and throat) to the water I was swimming in. On Thursday I took all kinds of anti inflammatory medication, and on Friday tested out an air purifier for the weekend. I took my last meds on Friday and when I got home I plugged in my air purifier. Saturday I woke up with clear eyes and clear sinus. I left the house on Saturday and the symptoms returned. Saturday night in front of the purifier and they were gone. Sunday and Monday pretty much at the lake and symptoms came back and were gone when I used the purifier. I could see better too.
Well on Wednesday I bought the gizmo. Tonight I noticed that I could hear crickets and frogs, which were music to my ears. I didn't realize I wasn't hearing them. So if you have been talking to me and I seemed to be ignoring you, I might not have heard you. I really am not too stuck up.
Tonight me spouse and me, we watched two episodes of Monarch of the Glen, a BBC Telly quality DVD, and went for a walk on Hayden Lake Road,with a whisper of breeze keeping us cool. We walked out to Wisconsin Highway 35 and there was a very nice breeze. The sun was setting in a mostly cloudy sky, over a beaver pond, which has trails where the beaver had pulled and eaten the weeds. The water is low because of the drought, and I hope for refreshing rain. We walked along the new road construction up to Glendening Road and back feeling safe since there is so little traffic, nary but one autocar passed us as we walked in the dusk.
I can forget my toil of the day as I walk along like this.
There is not always energy to fish and play, but rejuvenation comes when we soak in the beauty of the earth.
Monday, August 07, 2006
Family Thoughts
It has been a weekend that lends itself to memories. 80 to 90 degrees F, during the day, warm lakes to swim in, Family and cousins visiting from New Brighton, St. Francis, Alberta, Winnipeg, Halifax, Tucson, Omaha, Lincoln, Rapid City, and Tanzania just doesn't sound real when I list it, but sure as ever, it happened. Found out some real important things, like who is Napoleon Dynamite, and what a firol is, (a skunk from South Africa), but whatever, I don't keep up with the real world anymore. I thought I was doing good to see Pirates of the Caribbean!
Singing around the campfire, catching fish in the early morning mists rising off Hayden Lake and being evaporated by the warming sun, having a family breakfast after coming in from fishing, with a full basket, and the warm fried potatoes, and egg bake, orange juice and coffee, toast and chokecherry jam, ummmmm. Good memories. Listening to the laughing and crying of the grandkids, though there was precious little crying, and hearing new stories about how some dads acted before they met their spouses.
It was a good weekend, and that was just Sunday night and Monday morning. There was also the sailboat ride, and the canoeing, and the sitting and visiting.
Perfect weather. Connecting weather. Sitting on the deck weather. No bugs.
So tomorrow is workaday and I am looking forward to that. What will tomorrow bring.
GeoLeoF
Singing around the campfire, catching fish in the early morning mists rising off Hayden Lake and being evaporated by the warming sun, having a family breakfast after coming in from fishing, with a full basket, and the warm fried potatoes, and egg bake, orange juice and coffee, toast and chokecherry jam, ummmmm. Good memories. Listening to the laughing and crying of the grandkids, though there was precious little crying, and hearing new stories about how some dads acted before they met their spouses.
It was a good weekend, and that was just Sunday night and Monday morning. There was also the sailboat ride, and the canoeing, and the sitting and visiting.
Perfect weather. Connecting weather. Sitting on the deck weather. No bugs.
So tomorrow is workaday and I am looking forward to that. What will tomorrow bring.
GeoLeoF
Sunday, August 06, 2006
Saturday, August 05, 2006
Good Morning Vietnam!
This old geezer has started a blogging, as encouraged by Andrew. My blog name was inspired by sounds I heard through the screen door as I sat here, and by the place in which I make my abode, the sugar sand hills of NorthWestern Wisconsin. The loons love Hayden Lake, which is at times the Walden Pond of the upper midwest. Free association with all things that come to my brain will follow, but today, today is the time for my first posting. Right now.
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