Isn't talking fun!? Maybe this is why we have such a hard time getting her to eat.
Wednesday, March 02, 2005
Fashion and Poise
Isn't talking fun!? Maybe this is why we have such a hard time getting her to eat.
Sunday Afternoon
A successful Sabbath feast--Lewis is full and the bottle is empty-- don't jump to conclusions.
Wednesday, February 23, 2005
Gratifying Moments
Well, it sometimes happens. Buried amid those multitudinous "other" moments--the ones where your demure, well-controlled children burst a gasket in public and act like Walmart Kids on a Saturday morning pop-tart high --there are also times when they shine: truly, beautifully, and unexpectedly. Times like these...
...Lewis, having behaved himself like a perfect gentleman all through dinner, very decently selects out the five minutes before our company departs, and expends it by lying on his stomach with an un-illustrated copy of Leave it to Psmith before him, open halfway through, to all appearances simply picking up the story where he had last left off.
...Or then, there's Ingrid, hanging out with me while I clean up the family room. Though I hadn't looked for it for several days, it suddenly struck me that it might be worthwhile checking with Inge about a prized book of poetry I lost two or three weeks ago. I make simplistic overtures. "Inge," I begin, "Mommy lost a black book; have you seen it?" And my daughter replies, with utmost cordiality, "Was it your Ezra Pound?" (It was.)
...Lewis, having behaved himself like a perfect gentleman all through dinner, very decently selects out the five minutes before our company departs, and expends it by lying on his stomach with an un-illustrated copy of Leave it to Psmith before him, open halfway through, to all appearances simply picking up the story where he had last left off.
...Or then, there's Ingrid, hanging out with me while I clean up the family room. Though I hadn't looked for it for several days, it suddenly struck me that it might be worthwhile checking with Inge about a prized book of poetry I lost two or three weeks ago. I make simplistic overtures. "Inge," I begin, "Mommy lost a black book; have you seen it?" And my daughter replies, with utmost cordiality, "Was it your Ezra Pound?" (It was.)
Monday, February 14, 2005
New post further down
Title: Lewis. It got lost under the pile because it's been in drafts for a while.
Tuesday, February 08, 2005
From the inner chamber
Overheard, from the bathroom: a peremptory voice declaring, "Hey! I'm in there!"
Inge had perceived an imaginary assailant outside the door, and in truth her fancy was not too farfetched, for within seconds there was a very real Lewis without. Lewis, like most children, has a radar device whose sole purpose is to detect the shutting of the bathroom door. Someday I'm going to run an experiment to support and quantify this hypothesis, but in the meantime I'm satisfied with the level of proof I've got: My children, at least, can and do know about every single trip I take, within no more than fifteen seconds and often less. Furthermore, they save all their requests until such time as they can convey them through the bathroom door--if, I mean, the door is locked, as it happily sometimes is.
Inge had perceived an imaginary assailant outside the door, and in truth her fancy was not too farfetched, for within seconds there was a very real Lewis without. Lewis, like most children, has a radar device whose sole purpose is to detect the shutting of the bathroom door. Someday I'm going to run an experiment to support and quantify this hypothesis, but in the meantime I'm satisfied with the level of proof I've got: My children, at least, can and do know about every single trip I take, within no more than fifteen seconds and often less. Furthermore, they save all their requests until such time as they can convey them through the bathroom door--if, I mean, the door is locked, as it happily sometimes is.
Lewis
When Lewis considers the heavens, he sings, "Bingle, Bingle, Liddo Dow." This, being translated, is the first line of Twinkle, Twinkle. He does this whenever he runs across something that looks to him like a star, be it a heavenly body or a starfish.
He loves to sing, and can be found at odd hours singing random phrases tunelessly, such as "Hooooly, hooooly," "A-B-C," "Holy Ghost," and "Hallelujah."
At night Lewis prays for his Uncle Andrew and Aunt Blessin's.
That little thing on your tummy? It's called a bally-bettin.
"Weenh! Weenh!" still means "what is this?"--as it has for months. The etymology is uncertain, but the meaning, unmistakeable.
Lewis has two favorite books: one is his "truck" book, and the other's name I have forgotten, because we know it by "Read! Bees!" It's the one about the bear that tries to find the bee hive while being tailed by two geese and three mice, and they all end up in a pile of trouble.
Lewis punctuation is of interest. For one thing, he puts an exclamation after each word, like this:
"Dump! Truck!"
"Want! Read! Bees!"
"Want! Lap! Please!"
"Drink! Want! Please!"
These sequences can occur in almost any order, but once begun they are repeated indefinitely, as in "Drink! Want! Please! Drink! Want!..."
One pair of words that sticks together without punctuation between is "fly-'gin." Lewis loves to "fly again," which means sitting on Daddy's lap and playing with the flight simulator. Peter has had the demo version for a couple of weeks now, such that it shuts down after five minutes of play--thus the origin of "fly-'gin." But I got him the full version for Valentine's Day; and this morning I found Lewis sitting resolutely on his lap, flying-'gin, and here's the funny bit: his eyes were drifting closed every two or three minutes because the engines were putting him to sleep. He wouldn't leave, though. Asleep or not, he still wanted to fly-'gin.
He loves to sing, and can be found at odd hours singing random phrases tunelessly, such as "Hooooly, hooooly," "A-B-C," "Holy Ghost," and "Hallelujah."
At night Lewis prays for his Uncle Andrew and Aunt Blessin's.
That little thing on your tummy? It's called a bally-bettin.
"Weenh! Weenh!" still means "what is this?"--as it has for months. The etymology is uncertain, but the meaning, unmistakeable.
Lewis has two favorite books: one is his "truck" book, and the other's name I have forgotten, because we know it by "Read! Bees!" It's the one about the bear that tries to find the bee hive while being tailed by two geese and three mice, and they all end up in a pile of trouble.
Lewis punctuation is of interest. For one thing, he puts an exclamation after each word, like this:
"Dump! Truck!"
"Want! Read! Bees!"
"Want! Lap! Please!"
"Drink! Want! Please!"
These sequences can occur in almost any order, but once begun they are repeated indefinitely, as in "Drink! Want! Please! Drink! Want!..."
One pair of words that sticks together without punctuation between is "fly-'gin." Lewis loves to "fly again," which means sitting on Daddy's lap and playing with the flight simulator. Peter has had the demo version for a couple of weeks now, such that it shuts down after five minutes of play--thus the origin of "fly-'gin." But I got him the full version for Valentine's Day; and this morning I found Lewis sitting resolutely on his lap, flying-'gin, and here's the funny bit: his eyes were drifting closed every two or three minutes because the engines were putting him to sleep. He wouldn't leave, though. Asleep or not, he still wanted to fly-'gin.
Kids
Kids don't think straight, and they can't see properly. You're lucky if you can teach them to hear. Somehow and from somewhere--my parents will think they know where--Inge inherited the carefree ability to:
...be standing on top of the shoes she's looking for, and still not see them.
...wash the toilet with bits of tissue dipped in the bowl and carefully wrung out, in the mistaken assumption that she's doing a good, though time-consuming, deed.
...to draw with crayons all over her white sheets, and not look guilty when I come in.
...to think that when someone is sleeping, you can whisper to them, and they can answer you, and it won't mess up their nap. Related, to think that when an adult in church, on the phone, or during your brother's nap, makes frantic gestures at you to be quiet, what they mean is to keep talking, but in a whisper.
...to scoot the piano bench on which Lewis is sitting ever closer to the piano until her brother is dangling from it by his heels and fingernails, his shrieks of alarm splitting the air, and never notice anything wrong.
...to climb the stairs during my naptime, with an ingenuous and charming desire to let me know that she had found "Jingle-Pooh" (presently our most coveted toy); and when banished, to stand at the bottom, jingling Jingle-Pooh, as if in proof that she hadn't made the story up.
...be standing on top of the shoes she's looking for, and still not see them.
...wash the toilet with bits of tissue dipped in the bowl and carefully wrung out, in the mistaken assumption that she's doing a good, though time-consuming, deed.
...to draw with crayons all over her white sheets, and not look guilty when I come in.
...to think that when someone is sleeping, you can whisper to them, and they can answer you, and it won't mess up their nap. Related, to think that when an adult in church, on the phone, or during your brother's nap, makes frantic gestures at you to be quiet, what they mean is to keep talking, but in a whisper.
...to scoot the piano bench on which Lewis is sitting ever closer to the piano until her brother is dangling from it by his heels and fingernails, his shrieks of alarm splitting the air, and never notice anything wrong.
...to climb the stairs during my naptime, with an ingenuous and charming desire to let me know that she had found "Jingle-Pooh" (presently our most coveted toy); and when banished, to stand at the bottom, jingling Jingle-Pooh, as if in proof that she hadn't made the story up.
More boogers
This morning I caught Lewis hiding something largish under his pillow. His aspect spoke of practicality, and (possibly, although I hope not) force of habit. Any guesses?
Tuesday, February 01, 2005
Boogers
We didn't have naps today; we had boogers. More specifically, Inge had boogers, so I didn't have a nap. Both times I considered drifting off, an urgent whisper from the other side of the house forestalled me; and I rounded the corner to see my daughter on her back in her bed, triumphantly brandishing her forefinger at me with a fresh offering attached.
This situation led to the highly unusual circumstance of me spanking someone for having boogers. Never done that before. (For all you justice buffs out there, in point of fact I got her on the technicality of picking her nose a second time, not just for being in possession of...um...well, you know.)
This situation led to the highly unusual circumstance of me spanking someone for having boogers. Never done that before. (For all you justice buffs out there, in point of fact I got her on the technicality of picking her nose a second time, not just for being in possession of...um...well, you know.)
A Classic Exchange
Loud Scream heard from the upper rooms. I dash (in a manner of speaking) up the stairs. Lewis is weeping tragically. Inge looks in fine form.
"INGE," I intone majestically. "WHAT DID YOU DO TO BUDDY?"
"Weeeeeellllllllll....," she says, playfully cocking her head at the rug and skewing about like a waterlogged toy boat.
"Inge!"
"Weeeelllll....Buddy hit me."
"Ah. And what did you do him?"
"I patted him on the head."
"INGE," I intone majestically. "WHAT DID YOU DO TO BUDDY?"
"Weeeeeellllllllll....," she says, playfully cocking her head at the rug and skewing about like a waterlogged toy boat.
"Inge!"
"Weeeelllll....Buddy hit me."
"Ah. And what did you do him?"
"I patted him on the head."
Monday, January 24, 2005
Current Events
9:30. The kiddies are tucked safely into bed. This is the peaceful time of day; now, and naptime. Tonight the house is actually clean already, dishes done and whatnot. Mitchie kicketh. Peter's still got a lot of work to do, poor guy, so while I wait for him to surface I'll blog. (I despise that verb.)
Inge has pretty nails because we painted them tonight. Lewis has some pretty nails, too, because after we finished painting Inge's he re-opened the bottle and started painting his own. He got two done before I found and stopped him.
Inge went on a "date" with her Daddy today. She looked like a little lady, very grown up, and conscious of the grandeur of the occasion. I understand they went to the Pantry and split a piece of Tollhouse pie.
Had the reader joined us for family prayers tonight, one line of Lewis's petitions as dictated by his father might have stood out: "And please help me not to bite Inge." For yes, Lewis has taken to biting. Not as terrorism, or as a coercive technique, or (apparently) for personal gain of any kind. His motivations are more philosophical than pragmatic. Seemingly, he enjoys the activity as a sort of comedic and interesting routine that also reinforces the presence of causality, even in his little round of existence. That is to say, he bites, she shreaks, we appear, conduct a basic forensic investigation, and escort the culprit away. "Spanks" are received. Many spanks. The culprit is now very sorry. Amid sobs, he repents and apologizes. Hugs are exchanged. The order of events never changes, but one or two days will elapse before a repeat performance and then...as if the little philosopher needs to reassure himself that the sun still rises in the east, he bites again, she shreaks again, and off we go.
Inge, meanwhile, expands her vocabulary daily and shows a certain impromptu creativity to give one pause. An excerpt from yesterday's visit to the Amos household, where we ate lunch: According to parental injunctions, Inge was (loudly) taking her leave of Mrs. Amos ("AND-THANK-YOU-FOR-THE-FOOD-AND-THANK-YOU-FOR...") but, in the general hubbub, Mrs. Amos was not listening.
"Inge," I said. "You have to get Mrs. Amos's attention before you talk to her."
The small rhetorician pondered less than half a second; and then delivered this thunderbolt:
"ATTENTION!!" quoth Inge. Wherewith she had it, and plenty of it.
And now, goodnight, as they say. It is time to sleep. (So we will sleep with our pet Zeep...today was good, today was fun, tomorrow is another one.)
Inge has pretty nails because we painted them tonight. Lewis has some pretty nails, too, because after we finished painting Inge's he re-opened the bottle and started painting his own. He got two done before I found and stopped him.
Inge went on a "date" with her Daddy today. She looked like a little lady, very grown up, and conscious of the grandeur of the occasion. I understand they went to the Pantry and split a piece of Tollhouse pie.
Had the reader joined us for family prayers tonight, one line of Lewis's petitions as dictated by his father might have stood out: "And please help me not to bite Inge." For yes, Lewis has taken to biting. Not as terrorism, or as a coercive technique, or (apparently) for personal gain of any kind. His motivations are more philosophical than pragmatic. Seemingly, he enjoys the activity as a sort of comedic and interesting routine that also reinforces the presence of causality, even in his little round of existence. That is to say, he bites, she shreaks, we appear, conduct a basic forensic investigation, and escort the culprit away. "Spanks" are received. Many spanks. The culprit is now very sorry. Amid sobs, he repents and apologizes. Hugs are exchanged. The order of events never changes, but one or two days will elapse before a repeat performance and then...as if the little philosopher needs to reassure himself that the sun still rises in the east, he bites again, she shreaks again, and off we go.
Inge, meanwhile, expands her vocabulary daily and shows a certain impromptu creativity to give one pause. An excerpt from yesterday's visit to the Amos household, where we ate lunch: According to parental injunctions, Inge was (loudly) taking her leave of Mrs. Amos ("AND-THANK-YOU-FOR-THE-FOOD-AND-THANK-YOU-FOR...") but, in the general hubbub, Mrs. Amos was not listening.
"Inge," I said. "You have to get Mrs. Amos's attention before you talk to her."
The small rhetorician pondered less than half a second; and then delivered this thunderbolt:
"ATTENTION!!" quoth Inge. Wherewith she had it, and plenty of it.
And now, goodnight, as they say. It is time to sleep. (So we will sleep with our pet Zeep...today was good, today was fun, tomorrow is another one.)
A Sunset
I was taking some pictures at sunset; for the first 15 min or so it was kind of a hum-drum sunset with some colors and interesting light. I turned aside to take some other pictures and when I looked up this was what I saw-- a sunset impressive even to a colorblind person.
Hoar-Frost
This a picture of some of the beautiful hoar-frost we had a couple of weeks ago. It covered everything
Messy Room-- Cute Kids
And another grandma-killer. If this isn't good advertising for the airlines I don't know what is.
Christmas Dress Up
The dapper little fellow himeself, wearing some new additions to his wardrobe from Grammy and Grandpa.
Saturday, January 22, 2005
More Sayings of Buddy
Clark the Bear seems to wear a look of peculiar gratification, an aspect sort of smudgily appreciative, because Buddy can now--finally, after months of camaraderie--say his name. He pronounces it "Ph-lock."
He (Lewis, not Clark) has also learned how to string two words together, often handily pertaining to some desire of his own, such as, "Like grink (drink)," "want Ph-lock," "read book" (or "get book"). Drinks can also be specified by name as in "eh-mulk," or "ownh doosh." Water is rarely preferred, unless it comes out of his "Boff." He likes to quaff it from his tub toys, especially the Duplo blocks.
He (Lewis, not Clark) has also learned how to string two words together, often handily pertaining to some desire of his own, such as, "Like grink (drink)," "want Ph-lock," "read book" (or "get book"). Drinks can also be specified by name as in "eh-mulk," or "ownh doosh." Water is rarely preferred, unless it comes out of his "Boff." He likes to quaff it from his tub toys, especially the Duplo blocks.
Naming the Baby
We hear from Inge that she and Buddy had a conversation today about what Mitch should be named when Mitch emerges. Buddy, Inge avows, wants to name it "Bless You." She herself thinks--as she usually does--we should name it Inge. Inge is her prime choice for names. "Binge" runs a close second, being a moniker of her own invention, original, and yet familiar somehow.
"You want us to name the baby Inge?" we asked.
"Yes," she said. "When he comes out."
It isn't inconceivable that Buddy might want to name the child "Bless You." This ranks among his chief phrases this week. He delivers it with vigor and pride whenever someone sneezes. It is pronounced "Blotchoo."
"You want us to name the baby Inge?" we asked.
"Yes," she said. "When he comes out."
It isn't inconceivable that Buddy might want to name the child "Bless You." This ranks among his chief phrases this week. He delivers it with vigor and pride whenever someone sneezes. It is pronounced "Blotchoo."
Tuesday, January 18, 2005
Syllabification 101
Overheard, Inge teaching Buddy to say "Hallelujah," after one of her solo singing sessions, her small but attentive audience having evinced some interest in learning her technique:
Inge: say Hah
Buddy: Hah
Inge: say Ley
Buddy: Ley
Inge, after thinking deeply: say You
Buddy: You
Inge: say Lah
Buddy: Lah
Inge, beginning phase 2: Now, say Hah-ley
Inge: say Hah
Buddy: Hah
Inge: say Ley
Buddy: Ley
Inge, after thinking deeply: say You
Buddy: You
Inge: say Lah
Buddy: Lah
Inge, beginning phase 2: Now, say Hah-ley
Saturday, January 08, 2005
American Haiku
"Parenthood Is"
things falling
in
the other room
and also,
I
knew
I smelled something
Thursday, December 23, 2004
Lewisisms
Lewis has begun commenting on movies. He turns to whomever he is sitting with and urges his (rather simple) insights until they are acknowledged. "Hat! Hat! Hat! Hat-hat!" Or, watching a movie in which somebody was sleeping: "A-pleep! A-PLEEP!"
Another common funny is his rendering of the word "milk." eh-MULK.
And yes, Winnie-the-Pooh has already left his mark: this morning I found Lewis stalking about his bedroom with a partially open umbrella, observing, "tut-tut! weenh! tut-tut, weenh!"
The inspiration for this blog just happened a moment ago. Sometimes I am too busy to take care of potential disasters right away, and so, I procrastinate--salving my conscience by taking two-minute readings. ("On the Mommy scale, disaster potential is now at a 6; thirty seconds remaining to zero hour") The young man had oiled his way into his father's empty office--on the disaster scale an easy 9 and a half. But he was sitting innocently in a Church-hillian pose on Daddy's chair, looking proud and inert, so I left him there. On the second check it became evident that a previously held plan had been quickly put into action as soon as I left, for there was Lewis in the same chair with a pipe and an open tobacco pouch, preparing to have a smoke.
Another common funny is his rendering of the word "milk." eh-MULK.
And yes, Winnie-the-Pooh has already left his mark: this morning I found Lewis stalking about his bedroom with a partially open umbrella, observing, "tut-tut! weenh! tut-tut, weenh!"
The inspiration for this blog just happened a moment ago. Sometimes I am too busy to take care of potential disasters right away, and so, I procrastinate--salving my conscience by taking two-minute readings. ("On the Mommy scale, disaster potential is now at a 6; thirty seconds remaining to zero hour") The young man had oiled his way into his father's empty office--on the disaster scale an easy 9 and a half. But he was sitting innocently in a Church-hillian pose on Daddy's chair, looking proud and inert, so I left him there. On the second check it became evident that a previously held plan had been quickly put into action as soon as I left, for there was Lewis in the same chair with a pipe and an open tobacco pouch, preparing to have a smoke.
Wednesday, December 15, 2004
Singing lessons
We overslept this morning. The first thing we heard when we did awake was a singing lesson well in progress in the next room. We think it may also have been Inge and Lewis's first verbalized argument:
Inge: Gloooooria, oh, Gloooooooria!
Lewis (ponderously melodious): Goooooooria
Inge: No, it's Gloria.
Lewis, branching out on a derivation of his own: It's happy, it's happy!
Inge: No, Gloria.
Lewis--not a dutiful student--doesn't care any more: Happy, happy!
Inge: Gloooooria, oh, Gloooooooria!
Lewis (ponderously melodious): Goooooooria
Inge: No, it's Gloria.
Lewis, branching out on a derivation of his own: It's happy, it's happy!
Inge: No, Gloria.
Lewis--not a dutiful student--doesn't care any more: Happy, happy!
Moral: Area codes DO matter
I know this, because I just called a potato warehouse in Aberdeen, Idaho, and told them I wanted an ultrasound.
On topics less imponderable: Buddy likes trucks. From the heavily bundled figure in the right-hand half of the stroller, I heard the following commentary during our walk this morning:
"Puck!...Wwwwrruck!....Hrruck!...Frrruck!"
On topics less imponderable: Buddy likes trucks. From the heavily bundled figure in the right-hand half of the stroller, I heard the following commentary during our walk this morning:
"Puck!...Wwwwrruck!....Hrruck!...Frrruck!"
Sunday, November 21, 2004
Discovered too Latte
Biddle-bud hoping to have received a Latte, discovers that the restaurant manager disguised water in a hot drink cup, with a lid.
Watertower
A watertower at sunset. This is a view from our street (well, sort of-- my new super zoom makes it look closer than it really is)
Saturday, November 20, 2004
Vignette
Scene: The Homestead Place after dinner. Some early Christmas music fills the house with fun and cheer. Claire is cleaning up the post-dinner mess. Peter has gone upstairs. Inge and Lewis are entertaining themselves in some mysterious fashion in the family room.
Vignette: Claire walks around the corner, to see Lewis--to the strains of Frosty the Snowman--vigorously emptying the pepper shaker as he walks about the room. The scene is oddly reminiscent of the holidays--Buddy reminds one of those Salvation Army ringers, or perhaps Santa, or an oldtime town crier during the holidays. Pepper drifts down something like snow. ~
"Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire" just came on. There is a strange thumping noise coming around the corner, the sort of noise a hammer would make if it were pounding on the closed piano.
Signing off,
Claire
Vignette: Claire walks around the corner, to see Lewis--to the strains of Frosty the Snowman--vigorously emptying the pepper shaker as he walks about the room. The scene is oddly reminiscent of the holidays--Buddy reminds one of those Salvation Army ringers, or perhaps Santa, or an oldtime town crier during the holidays. Pepper drifts down something like snow. ~
"Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire" just came on. There is a strange thumping noise coming around the corner, the sort of noise a hammer would make if it were pounding on the closed piano.
Signing off,
Claire
Friday, November 05, 2004
More from Mommy
how the world works
Inge has from somewhere contrived a notion that a marriage ceremony consists in the proper wearing of a veil. In her world of make-believe, it follows that she can marry any unsuspecting individual she can drape a veil over. Such as Buddy. A veil can be, and usually is, a piece of string. And so it happens that Buddy will get married two or three times a day, without his consent, participation, or knowledge; and the sign of the recent nuptials is a long red string run over his crown and tucked behind his ears. Poor innocent. But I wonder...Is there a moral to this story?
Inge has from somewhere contrived a notion that a marriage ceremony consists in the proper wearing of a veil. In her world of make-believe, it follows that she can marry any unsuspecting individual she can drape a veil over. Such as Buddy. A veil can be, and usually is, a piece of string. And so it happens that Buddy will get married two or three times a day, without his consent, participation, or knowledge; and the sign of the recent nuptials is a long red string run over his crown and tucked behind his ears. Poor innocent. But I wonder...Is there a moral to this story?
Wednesday, November 03, 2004
Dragon Slayer
In some ways, Inge puts her mommy to shame. (Mommy's posting, this time.) She brought me into the living room to "show me something" today, that was supposed to be a spider. Inge's spiders usually aren't, but this one was--had been, I mean. Inge had killed it, as she reasonably explained to me, because it had been inside, which is where spiders are not supposed to be. Turns out she killed it with a microphone and a wooden bead. Got the job done, certainly. She wanted to be the one to wipe it up, too.
Saturday, October 16, 2004
Halloween Cometh
This is real. Hunny (Claire's grandma) apparently puts out the real halloween decorations.
Columbia River, Mt. Hood, and the Beautiful NW
Mt Hood, on the way to Namma and Tappa Quack's house. They sure picked a nice scenic drive for us!!
Bishop's Orchard
The Roises and their boarders went to Bishop's Orchard for apples and homemade cider. Good stuff, Mayton!
Sunday, September 05, 2004
Home again, home again...
After 17 days and 4500+ miles we are home. It was a good trip. According to Texans it was a mild Texas (and I admit, it was quite bearable), but North Dakota was milder, and Idaho is the mildest of all-- in fact we were cold last night, deliciously cold.
Our sincerest thanks to all those who showed us hospitality on our trip. We enjoyed visiting with all of you. May the saints always practice for the marriage feast as you have with us.
Our sincerest thanks to all those who showed us hospitality on our trip. We enjoyed visiting with all of you. May the saints always practice for the marriage feast as you have with us.
Pilot with a broken wing
Yes that arm is broken-- perhaps we'll post the ex-rays later... she travelled very well, and garnered lots of sympathy.
Flying over Barnesville
This is the house that Mom and Dad are building... "Let's go to Barnesville."
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