"Because of the award that Dave received at the Goodguys show in September he's in the running for Street Rod of the Year. Click on the link, find the picture of his '41 flamed Willys and select it to vote. You can vote every 24 hours through the end of December!! Thanks"
Translation: Hot Rod Car Builder Best Friend Dave won a special car award from the BIG DealCar Show guys this fall. Because of it, he is nominated for the highly coveted Hot Rod of the Year award. It really is a big deal, and he needs some votes. Here is the internet link. He is 4th row, first on the left. :) It is very flame-y.
During the Thanksgiving holiday, with all the company, we took those city dwellers about an hour northeast to a tiny town (and for you living somewhere bigger than tiny, I mean TINY--one stop SIGN--not light) named Jamesport. It is an amish community, which actually it isn't. Let me give you the run down about the Amish quickly: (I took a tour once and this is what I remember)
Amish people have a national publication. If I decided to start my own community (as they are called), I could place an ad in the publication and lay out where we would live, what our standards or community rules would be, etc. Anyone could come join up with us. Jamesport is the largest amish community west of Pennsylvania. It is a desired location for three main reasons: they allow deodorant, indoor toliets, and the land is only $1,500 an acre vs. the Pennsylvania amish at $6,000 an acre. This community has about 1,500 (last count I heard). They allow trampolines (good exercise and they can sleep on them at night in the summer) no bikes (the folks could run away) and no curtains. No carpeting so they make great rugs. No buttons and they are allowed to shave their legs. They have power...battery power. Solar lights. They don't have a church building, but members take turns hosting the whole group at their farm for church. Which last four hours. No soft pews. Hard benches. Meeting in reformed German. These amish aren't allowed to live in town with the Mennonites, but they do business there...including shopping and banking.
It is considered RUDE and BLASPHAMOUS to take their picture, but I snapped some others to give you an idea.
I rode in the back of a car with three dogs on me.
They were thinking "You're so dreamy" until they later met The Girl.
This is the hand of the driver....look carefully. I put my index
finger up to compare the size of our hands for you.
He is huge. I was hobbit sized compared to him.
That is why his dogs get to crawl all over me.
Literature from the Mennonite Cafe where we had lunch.
I got these for the Girl. I want her to be prepared
to be able to get out of spiritual prison.
"Hi, would you like some apple pie to go
with you on your way to Hell?"
Jamesport is known for its baked goods
and baking items. They have a great general
store of sorts and bulk food store.
That is a LOT of Rice Crispies.
Bags and bags of treats
Baby in an orange bag anyone? A little creepy
The view from the store bathroom. Only light source.
Glad no Amish men were roofing that day!
Bonus shots! :)
A little farmland surprise...it is your lucky day
These are huuuuuge farm bales. This about three stories tall.
Who said Missourians aren't festive?
I wrote this 29 days ago. Feel strong enough to post it today.
I remember once my "sister" (from another mother) Snarky Belle once said how much she weighed on her blog. It must have felt liberating. The truth I hear seems to set you free.
Here is the truth. I cried on Monday at the appointment with Seth's specialist, which I never do. She is there to run interface with the school, us, the doctors. Sort of a Cancer Coordinator without the cancer part. She is a pyschologist.
I didn't even want to type that word just now. My boy has a pyschologist ANDto add salt to the wound, now a pyschiatrist.
I am embarrassed. I never asked Mr. Fun. Perhaps he is embarrassed too.
I cried because I am tired. I have been dealing with serious health issues for someone else or myself for over three years. I know I have caregiver fatigue. I miss my old life. Rotary. Lunch with girlfriends. Being alone during the day. Shopping. Serving....oh, I am serving now. But when you choose who and when you serve, it seems funner. More rewarding.
She says my feelings are expected. She says we are amazing. She says she uses our experience as the model family of coping. Hard to believe as I want to lay down in the fetal position, nursing a strong hot chocolate and watching endless reruns of "Whose Line Is It Anyway?"
There is a certain lonliness that comes from nursing a chronically ill child. A lonliness that one doesn't really understand until they do it. Just like anything I guess. Losing a child, adopting a child, have a wayward child. This is our child trial.
I read this in the newspaper the other day and it made me feel connected. It was response to some Dear Abby article and two mothers of chronically ill children wrote in.
And I quote:
Mother One: Very few parents have the emotional energy, not to mention the time to be an advocate for their child's special needs (in a fundraising or community way). Our entire lives center around our children and their doctor's appointments, therapy, special schooling, adaptive schedule, medicines, equipment, etc.
Mother Two: No one fully understands what a parent with a child with a disability goes through. First there is the emotional aspect. We grieve. It's not the same kind of grieving you do after a death. This is grieving that never ends. It cycles over and over. If you are not crying you are angry.
Some days you can accept and breathe; other days, you just can't. Anything can set you back and suddenly you are sobbing again. There is also the problem of not getting services you need. Once children are out of the school system, they sit and languish at home with no services. Living with that, we often can't never get or hold down jobs.
I don't usually feel like Mother Two. I have more hope than that. Found in my religious beliefs. But even the faithful (or mostly faithful depending on the day) get tired.