Happy Halloween...To All the Lovely Bad Ones

Me in the 4th grade - where I first learned about an orphant named Annie.

LITTLE ORPHANT ANNIE

by: James Whitcomb Riley (1849-1916)

INSCRIBED WITH ALL FAITH AND AFFECTION

To all the little children: -- The happy ones; and sad ones;
The sober and the silent ones; the boisterous and glad ones;
The good ones -- Yes, the good ones, too; and all the lovely bad ones.

LITTLE Orphant Annie's come to our house to stay,
An' wash the cups an' saucers up, an' brush the crumbs away,
An' shoo the chickens off the porch, an' dust the hearth, an' sweep,
An' make the fire, an' bake the bread, an' earn her board-an'-keep;
An' all us other childern, when the supper-things is done,
We set around the kitchen fire an' has the mostest fun
A-list'nin' to the witch-tales 'at Annie tells about,
An' the Gobble-uns 'at gits you
Ef you
Don't
Watch
Out!

Wunst they wuz a little boy wouldn't say his prayers,--
An' when he went to bed at night, away up-stairs,
His Mammy heerd him holler, an' his Daddy heerd him bawl,
An' when they turn't the kivvers down, he wuzn't there at all!
An' they seeked him in the rafter-room, an' cubby-hole, an' press,
An' seeked him up the chimbly-flue, an' ever'-wheres, I guess;
But all they ever found wuz thist his pants an' roundabout:--
An' the Gobble-uns 'll git you
Ef you
Don't
Watch
Out!

An' one time a little girl 'ud allus laugh an' grin,
An' make fun of ever' one, an' all her blood-an'-kin;
An' wunst, when they was "company," an' ole folks wuz there,
She mocked 'em an' shocked 'em, an' said she didn't care!
An' thist as she kicked her heels, an' turn't to run an' hide,
They wuz two great big Black Things a-standin' by her side,
An' they snatched her through the ceilin' 'fore she knowed what she's about!
An' the Gobble-uns 'll git you
Ef you
Don't
Watch
Out!

An' little Orphant Annie says, when the blaze is blue,
An' the lamp-wick sputters, an' the wind goes woo-oo!
An' you hear the crickets quit, an' the moon is gray,
An' the lightnin'-bugs in dew is all squenched away,--
You better mind yer parunts, an' yer teachurs fond an' dear,
An' churish them 'at loves you, an' dry the orphant's tear,
An' he'p the pore an' needy ones 'at clusters all about,
Er the Gobble-uns 'll git you
Ef you
Don't
Watch
Out!

Happy Halloween, to each of you!

Hallobooks (The Thursday Three)

These are books I feel compelled to read each and every October/Halloween. If you can get your hands on a copy of any of them I don’t think you’ll be disappointed.

The Thursday Three

Favorite Halloween Books


Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark Series by Alvin Schwartz, 1981, 1984, 1991.

This is a three volume set and includes the titles Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark, More Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark, and Scary Stories 3: More Tales to Chill Your Bones. Each book contains various urban legends, both of the scary and funny sort, just perfect for this time of year. One of my favorites is the story Harold, found in SS3. I use to read this one to some of my classes. Each day in October, for about 15 minutes after lunch, I would read or tell a spooky or spooky, but funny story. Harold was always one of the most well liked. Unfortunately, it also caused at least one boy to nix his mother's ideas for having a decorative scarecrow in her yard. Do you remember Harold, Issac?

Ghosts Along the Cumberland by Williams Lynwood Montell, 1975.

This one I remember from high school. And, as a Tennessean who only lived a hop, skip, and jump from the Cumberland River, I could relate to the lore found within its pages. The fact that John owned a copy of the book made him all the more cool to me when we started dating.

Halloween by Jerry Seinfeld, 2002.

This one somehow found its way into my collection when I was an elementary school librarian. I would read it each year to 4th and 5th graders but much of the humor was lost on them. They just couldn't relate to plastic masks with the two little nose holes and rubberband held in place by a cheap staple or the orange peanut-shaped candies that many elderly people would give away. But, as a child of the 1970s, I could most assuredly relate. I also lucked up and found a bunch for sale a few years ago at a Dollar General store for a buck each. Hardcover editions, at that! I cleaned them out and that's what trick-or-treaters who came to my door received that year, in addition to the black and orange pumpkin straws, of course. If you grew up during the 60s and/or 70s you'll want to be sure to read this one. And, of course, it's Jerry Seinfeld. How can it not be funny?

Happy Halloween Reading, Ya'll!

Another Ghost Story, Perhaps?

This is a much requested story familiar to our family and close friends. Usually, during this time of the year when conversation inevitably turns to the spooky this little happening gets retold.

You’ll recall that I wrote about the old home place in John’s family in which he and I lived throughout the first several years of our marriage. Well, as I said, from time to time something would happen that would unnerve us ever so slightly. This was one of those times.

Our bedroom was located on the first floor at the rear of the house. One night, John and I were both awakened simultaneously from a deep sleep by the sound of a large crash originating from the attic, which was located above our room and ran the entire length of the house. Once fully awake, which happened quite rapidly I might add, we both sat up listening to something very large and very heavy being moved across the wooden attic floor. The only thing of any great weight in the attic at that time was an old black trunk with leather straps that held law books which had once belonged to John’s great uncle. We agreed it would be best to check things out in the bright sunshine of morning. After locking our bedroom door, we eventually went back to sleep. I’m pretty sure the rest of my slumber took place beneath the covers.

The next morning brought with it an investigation. But when the attic door was opened nothing was found out of place. Not the old trunk nor the dust on the floor surrounding it.

Today, the trunk in question resides in our media room. And, thankfully, there have been no other unexplained incidents involving it, though I was just telling John how funny it would be to get someone to hide in it and jump out on our friends the next time we happen to tell its story. I think that would be deliciously sneaky.


P.S. John and I took off today to go with John-Heath and his little kindergarten buddies on their field trip to the pumpkin patch. Once we returned home a nap was in order -for us, not him. It's been a lonnng time since we last attended a field trip with 5-year-olds. I'll post pictures soon.

It's That Time Again

Our front porch pre-makeover, circa Easter 2010

Yes, friends, it is that time of year again. A time when the friends of your teenage daughter volunteer their free makeover services. A time when your once neat, lovely home and yard metamorphosizes, by way of a long held tradition known in this neck of the woods as "rolling", into what you see below. By the way, for those of you who may be reading this from outside the south or Middle Tennessee, I'd like to ask if this is something that is done where you live?

Yes, we have finally been hit. Honestly, I was beginning to wonder whether or not we were still on anyone's radar. You see, most of the kids in our town who do this sort of thing only do it to people they like. You're probably thinking I'd hate to see what they do to someone they dislike.
But to do the job right takes money (have you any idea how much 80 rolls of toilet paper costs?)and who wants to spend their money on someone they don't like. Anyway, October may be the season of the witch for some but around here it takes on a whole other meaning. And it has to be done in October. To do it in any other month would be rude and uncouth.

The crew who came out this year are frequent visitors to our home, both at times when they are invited and, just as often, when they're not. They are classmates of my daughter and were John's students a few years back.

When they dropped by last year Ren missed out on most of it. Her room is upstairs and she was so soundly asleep that the ringing of the front doorbell and the beating on the back doors failed to wake her.

This year, she was ready. She had an idea they would hit on the night of the football homecoming game (one of the guys was having a sleepover for his birthday, though I don't think guys call it a sleepover) so she slept on the couch.

At a little past 3:30 on Saturday morning (Yes! 3:30 A.M.) the ringing of the bells began.

Ren slipped out the front door. John slipped out the back. And, eventually, the perpetrators we caught.

But, as you can see, they did a very thorough job prior to being rounded up.

They covered anything and everything they could get to. They also booby-trapped the place. See the strategically placed rocker in front of the door? This was done, I'm sure, because last year John took chase after the guys running quite fast -for an old guy- out this same door.

Forking yards is also big this year. I told Ren I was going to collect these and use them the next time her friends came over for a party.

Now, newcomers to the art of rolling might think a name brand tissue is required to do a good job. Quite the opposite is true. Those thick, fuzzy papers just don't unroll as good as the cheap stuff.


This group of guys came prepared. As our house sits on a 5 acre lot (which is part of a larger farm), they knew they would need to be able to communicate should they have to scatter.


Nothing was safe. Not the rockers!


Nor the soccer ball!


Not even a 5-year-old's playfort.

The following morning, John-Heath admires the artwork.

This post is a participant in Metamorphosis Mondays.

The Value of a Handprint

You see this little trunk? You can find these pre-decorated at any crafting or unpainted furniture store for about fifteen bucks. However, their value increases exponentially when adorned with a little primary paint.

This past weekend was the fall carnival at John-Heath’s school. This event is a major fundraising affair for the school and has been done so long it is now tradition. There are games, concessions, hayrides, barrel train rides, an auction and, sometimes, a king and queen contest.

We got there a little late (surprise, surprise) One reason for this was that John-Heath was adamant that we take quarters and so we had to scrounge around for these. “No!,” he said. “We have to take quarters. It takes quarters to buy the tickets!” Now you and I know that they’ll take money in any form or fashion. But when a five year old is told to bring quarters then quarters it must be!

Anyway, he had a good time riding the rides and playing the games (he was quite good at corn hole) and eating a cherry snow cone with one of his best buddies Cooper. I walked with him and John for a while before heading on my own to the cafeteria for the auction.

This year, in addition to all the donated goods from local and not-so-local merchants and citizens, each class had made or arranged for an item to donate. The fourth grade classes made quilts. My nephew’s wife, who happens to be one of the 4th grade teachers, had her students bring in swatches of fabric from home from their old clothing, etc. She gave each one a 10” square and, with the help of parent/grandparent volunteers, she allowed the students to sew their square using her sewing machine. It was a large quilt and turned out just beautiful. It also happened to be the top-selling item at the auction.

The kindergarten classes contributed the aforementioned trunks to the sale. Each child in a class pressed their tiny hand in paint and then stamped it somewhere on the trunk. Each handprint contained their name. To be honest, when I first arrived at the sale I held no pre-conceived notion of bidding on it. I had not even looked at it up close. But the more I stood back and examined it from a distance the more I thought that it would make a sweet storage box for all the little mementos from this, his first year of school. I made my way around to the side and summoned a teacher who was helping with the sale. I asked if she would 1.) check and make sure his print was on it and 2.) tell me where it was located. If his print was on top I would just have to buy it. She did. The imprint of his left hand was on the right side of the trunk. Hmmm. What to do?

The first of the trunks (Ms. Amanda’s class) went up for sale. It brought $76. By this time, I had already convinced myself that I should try to get the one from John-Heath’s class. If I didn’t I would surely regret it, especially if I could get it for $76. Yes, $76 is way too much money to spend on such a cheap little piece of wood so I would just consider this as my donation to the school. The trunk would just be icing on the cake.

As the bid crossed the $100 mark I was beginning to rethink this donation thing. I consider myself a generous person but, as the trees in our yard yield only leaves and nuts, my generosity must have limits. My sense of fiscal responsibility should come first.

I have heard that going to auctions can be addictive. There’s no doubt bidding at auctions can be highly stimulating. I know I felt a certain amount of nervous energy flowing through my veins with each nod of my head toward the auctioneer. I did not look around the room so I had no idea with whom I was competing in this bid for that little white trunk. I told myself that I was being really silly. Quite ridiculous, in fact. I should just go buy a trunk, invite all his class over for a party and paint one myself. But those ole heartstrings kept tugging. I would go to $200 and not a cent more.

At $160 I turned to my dad and asked if I should just up the bid to $200 and try to scare off the other bidder. No, just stay slow and steady. At a $190 bid by the other party I felt a little heartsick (for two obvious, but different reasons). I made my final nod at $195.

Ren thought it was neat that people clapped when the bidding was over and I had won. John told her that people did that because they were thinking Wow! What a dummy! Better her than me. I don’t care though. Yes, economically, it was a poor choice of a purchase. But one of these days, when his hand is much larger and wears a class ring, I’ll still have that little white trunk with his small left hand stamped in green.

And should I ever start to feel too much guilt or be reminded of my purchase by my husband I will kindly remind myself or him that it could have been worse. I could have paid $725 for a quilt.

Desperately Seeking Ren

This week is homecoming at the high school. And you know what that means, don’t you? Dress up days are here again. The skies above are clear again. So let’s sing a song of cheer again for dress up days are here again. Sorry. I couldn’t resist.

Anywhoo, Ren loves to dress up. Throughout school she has looked forward to any and all occasions in which to do so, whether it be a part in a school or church play or dressing up to present a report on a famous person (I’m remembering back to her as Helen Keller in the 3rd grade or Cleopatra in the 6th, in which she recycled the Halloween costume she wore as a seven-year-old). So homecoming week is especially fun for her.

This year’s theme is Tower of STARS. Each letter in the word STARS signifies something that could be worn that day. S day on Monday could have been for sleep ware, superheroes, etc.

I think she has looked totally cute each day. She would probably prefer I use the word cool to cute, but as a mom that would be quite the stretch. “Ooh, Ren. You look super cool today,” is not likely to come out of my mouth. But she did look cute.

My favorite has to be from yesterday. R day. Some came as rappers. One guy dressed up as Rambo. Ren chose retro. 80s retro to be specific. So Wednesday afternoon we headed out to locate anything and everything from the decade of my teenage years.

For someone a little too weak in the wallet to throw a whole lot of money at a high school dress up day I thought we’d stop by the Goodwill store and see what we could wrangle together there. Specifically, we were looking for oversized sweaters and leggings in bold colors. We found a large red sweater in the men’s section but nothing else. I debated not getting it but at 6:45 p.m. I knew we were running low on time to shop so I bought it.

Then we headed on over to the mall. Rue 21? Nothing. Buckle (Ren’s suggestion)? No way (not for a costume)! Wet Seal? Score! We found the skirt, tank, leggings, tights and bracelets there. Next, we headed to Claire’s to pick up a pair of lacy, fingerless gloves and a hair bow/headband. And to top it all off, we finished our shopping by heading to Megan’s Closet for a light-washed denim jacket and bright pink belt. Megan’s Closet is Ren’s favorite shopping venue. Why? Because it is literally her cousin Megan's closet and she steals from it quite a lot!

Everything was priced reasonably enough that I didn’t feel a whole lot of guilt. We were able to put together a great getup for homecoming and she can wear it again in about 10 days for Halloween. Plus, most of what was bought can be worn again with other outfits and look okay. Well, maybe not the lace gloves.

We had a lot of fun Thursday morning getting ready for school. Ren got a big kick out of her big hair, a must for any 80s day. The day was a success! Unfortunately, I think we may have stripped off another layer of the ozone with the Aqua Net.

I don’t know about you, but I feel the need to go watch The Breakfast Club and listen to some Duran Duran.

An Award - Plus My Nephew, the Souvenir

I came home this past Friday night to the nicest surprise. My friend Kate over at Southern Belle Simple had bestowed upon me a blogging award. If you have not had the chance to visit with Kate you really should. She is the sweetest gal and, best of all, a Tennessean like myself.

Do you remember what it was like when, as a student in grade school, you were assigned a pen pal from another school, city or state and you would anxiously await letters from them. Well, that's a little what it's like meeting new friends through blogging, except that you aren't graded on the 5 parts of the friendly letter, which is waaayy better.

To thank Kate and honor my award, I am passing it along to a couple other gals. If you get the chance stop by and check them out. I think you'll be glad you did.

Angela @ SlaughterHouse Rules
These are just some of the sweetest posts you'll ever read. They'll bring a smile to your face and, possibly, tears to your eyes. A case in point is her post from today about a special locket.

Vanessa @ Southern in My Heart
I've just recently begun stalking Vanessa but one pretty neat thing about this gal is she married a homeless guy who proposed to her. Just kidding. It was actually her boyfriend dressed as a homeless man holding a sign that read "Wifeless - will work for marriage". How cool is that?

Ladies, according to instructions from Kate, you are free to pass this along or keep it all to yourself.

This past Sunday after a family lunch my husband took the boys (my son and two nephews, ages 5, 6, and 9) on a hike around the farm. This has become almost tradition. Anytime they are all together here they must go on a hike, an adventure always. This time as they walked they were listening to stories about pioneers, settlers, cowboys and Indians and each chose what he would want to be. After one boy proclaimed he was a pioneer the six-year-old proudly stated "Well, I'll be a souvenir then."

A Tight Squeeze

Did you watch any of the rescue of the Chilean miners? I did. I am ashamed to admit this but, until the day it was in the news that an American (Navy man, I think) had finally drilled through, I had really given little thought to their plight after the initial few days of the discovery that they were still alive. And that was well over a month ago!

Anyway, the other night I happened to be surfing the internet in bed and saw where they had rescued the first two or three. Then I started to read about the specifics of the rescue - the tight squeeze of the tube in which they would ride to the surface, the length of the trip through such a narrow passage, the possibility that something so minor as a rock coming loose in the passage could derail the whole operation. Let’s just say, this was the wrong thing for a girl who suffered a near panic attack the first time she ever had an MRI to do. I should have just said a quick prayer of thanks for their safe returns, closed my laptop and started spooning with my hubby. By the way, just in case my mom is beginning to feel as if she should be mortified at reading that, spooning is simply what you call it when you cuddle or sleep with the front of your body against the back of someone else. I promise. Now, back to my story.

It seems I am claustrophobic. I did not know that until the previously mentioned MRI. For about three hours that night I lay in bed wide awake in an almost panicked fear for the miners that still had to be brought up. I kept thinking about what it would be like to be one of them, knowing that you are somewhere along a half-mile route unable to move in a capsule not much bigger than yourself and all you can see is rock. And, again, all it would take would be for a rock to become dislodged and you’d be stuck! This line of thinking made for a very miserable night. I cannot even begin to imagine how much more intense the feeling was for the miner and his family. I was thrilled when all thirty-three made it safely to the surface!

I have known since I was about ten years old that I don’t like high, open spaces, especially like those super high bridges. But I had never felt any fear about being in a close, tight space. Being inside elevators had never bothered me, even those packed with people (unless some of the people smelled bad and we were heading up or down 20 floors or so). Plus, one of the best memories I have of visiting my grandparents as a child is of crawling from Mammy’s bedroom to Pa’s bedroom through a closet (even though they had separate rooms their closets were connected). It was as if you were travelling though some secret passageway.

A little over a year ago my doctor scheduled me for an MRI to check on some things. He asked me if I had ever been claustrophobic and would I like to receive a mild sedative prior to the test. Umm, no and no. What kind of wimp needs to be put to sleep to slide through a little machine? Well, now I know. And, if you’ll look through some of those pamphlets that can always be found in waiting rooms, I’m sure there’s a big picture of me in the section describing patient apprehension and anxiety toward certain medical procedures.

I won’t bore you with all the details of that day except to say that I opened my eyes about one minute into the test and that was all she wrote. I officially became a claustrophobic. According to professionals, there is help out there in the form of “counseling, education, and therapeutic techniques” for potential MRI patients who are scaredy cats like me . No need for that. If I ever again find myself needing one I will ask for the therapeutic technique known as “knocking the patient out.”

Here’s hoping we all have a great, wide open weekend!

A Fall Table for Two (+ a John-Heathism)

Table Counter for two?

Lenox Eternal pattern from

too many years ago to remember.

Cheap stemware - ditto.

Runner from Home Goods.

Charger, leaf plate, napkins and rings from Wallyworld.

Beaded garland around candle holders from Michaels.

A possible spider infestation.

The black pumpkin-head straws (which also make really good whistles) are of the last few I have left from a purchase of about a thousand (no joke) of them ten years ago. It's to the point I'm sure people refer to me as, "Oh yeah. I know her. She's that weird lady that gives us the same whistles every year. I've got 6 black and 4 orange ones now."

This post is a participant in Tablescape Thursday and

Blogging Bloopers @ Between Naps on the Porch

Tootles, ya'll.

Tyla

P.S. Spot any bloopers in the pictures above? Well, obviously the placement of my flatware is not correct. I did it like that more for fun. But, in my rush to post pictures for my first tablescape I didn't notice part of my kitchen sink showing in one picture. Yep. Kinda tacky.

P.S.S. I'm sure in your family, as in most families (including mine), the sweet little creature to the left is called a wooly worm. Well, you are all wrong. We have all been wrong. My little boy has shown me the error of my ways, so to speak. Did you know its name is Willy? Yes, at our little Ponderosa we have "Willy" Worms. Just this morning John-Heath was begging to bring Willy inside. And pray tell what was he going to do with him? Why, "Put him in a jar, of course."

Somewhat Wordless Wednesday / Mini-Moments

Everyone needs a place to just sit and think.

(He thought it was funny getting his picture taken in the dryer and wanted to pose for more pictures. But I liked this first one the best, when he was unaware I had entered the room)

Working on those fine motor skills.

In answer to your question, yes, my son is riding his Big Wheel naked. Well, almost naked.


Forever on the prowl for food.

Renaissance Man

Of Mice and Me

Well, friends, it appears I - like Spongebob's lovable but clueless sidekick Patrick - have been living underneath a rock for some time. That is the only explanation I can come up with for not having known about these cute little mice silhouettes before now. Over the past couple days I have seen 126 many blogs feature this neat way to decorate for Halloween. It seems Martha Stewart has them for sale and for about $10 you can purchase a package of 12 silhouettes in various sizes with adhesive foam dots. I took the cheap way out and made my own, using a little Scotch tape to hold them in place.

You can go here and find a template of Martha’s mice. First, I cut out the mice from the template, traced them onto a black poster board and used the first set of poster board mice to spawn a whole army of them. Then I decided the poster board rodents were too stiff and their tales wouldn't lay flat so I retraced and cut them out of plain construction paper. This worked out better.

Of course, if you are not into tracing and don’t mind wasting ink I guess you could just print the template page over and over. The only down side to the online template is that their feet are just kind of rounded and all their individual toes aren’t shown. On the up side that just means less stress on those fine motor skills.

Anyway, my little boy thinks they're pretty neat and I tend to agree.

This post is now a participant in The Silhouette Party and might I say my little mice look so very plain now. But just you wait 'til next year. ;>)

The Ten Years I Lived In a Haunted House

For the first several years of our marriage John and I lived in the house that had been built by his great-grandfather in 1917. It was/is a traditional two-story farmhouse situated across a creek at the southern entrance to the farm and is quite close to the barnyards. The
house remains in the family to this day and is/has been for a while known as the "Old House".

Over the years this dwelling has been home to John’s great-grandparents and several of their 18 children, a slew of tenant farmers and their families, my family (minus John-Heath), and both of John’s sisters and their families. It was also, during a lengthy period of time in which it was vacant, once used as a haunted house in a fundraising event held by the high school band. This took place the year I was in the fourth grade. How do I remember this? Because my dad took me to it. And if you had told me that night that I would one day call that place home, I would have called you crazy, especially as I entered the kitchen off the back porch to a mad doctor operating on a screaming woman strapped to a table or made my way through the rest of the house as various ghosts and goblins jumped out from behind curtains and doors.

But flash forward a few years and there I was! Eating in that same kitchen. Walking those same halls. Sleeping in that same bedroom.

Of course, in all my years there I really gave no thought to the fact that it had once been used as a pretend haunted house. What did give me reason to pause on a few occasions were all the little bumps in the night and other oddities to which we grew somewhat accustomed.

Now before you go and think me crazy let me explain. I’m not talking Amityville Horror-type occurrences. I never saw slime oozing down the walls (except this one time when something went really, really wrong with my cooking) and we never had thousands of flies invade our house, though it did seem that way anytime too large a portion of the herd was in the barnyard. But little things, and one or two bigger things, did happen. Noises in the night, doors closing, items moved about, taps on the wall. You get the picture.

According to several polls you can find via Google, roughly a third of Americans believe in ghosts. And, if you’ll remember from a past post, I count myself in that percentage to some degree. I’m just not sure to what degree. All I can say is that there have been times when I have felt quite certain of something.

The first time I ever noticed anything in or around the Old House was when John and I were dating and, at the time, I wasn’t the one who noticed it. John did. We had gone to the third barn where John was loading some blocks onto the back of his dad’s truck. I was sitting inside the truck looking through that little window that opens in the back glass and talking to my beloved. Notice I wasn’t out actually helping. Remember...not an outdoor kinda girl. Anyway, I looked up this one time and saw a man standing close to the loading chute at another barn looking in our direction. I watched him for a few seconds and then waved hello to him. When he didn’t wave back I looked down at John and asked him who it might be, and when he and I looked back up the man was gone. John said it might have been someone stopping by to see his dad and asked me to describe him so that he could tell his dad. "He's an older, heavy-set man wearing farming clothes and this kinda brown jacket and floppy-ish hat. He was leaning on the chute and looked out of breath because I could see his chest and shoulders rising quite a lot," I said.

When John had finished his chore we returned to his house. At this time he suggested we might watch some old home movies. I know. Who wants to watch anyone’s home movies? Well, remember. I was in love. Girls in love do strange things. I even think I acted as if I thought that would be really fun.

Anyway, after several reels of Christmases and vacations there was a scene shot outside of the Old House. To my surprise, the same man I had seen only an hour or two earlier was there on the screen waving and smiling for the camera. I raised up (from my nearly comatose state) and said something like, “That’s him. That’s the man.” John asked if I was sure and I told him I was undoubtedly.

At this point he proceeds to tell me that when I described the man earlier he was pretty sure he knew exactly who I was talking about but wanted to put me through a little test to make sure. He remembered there was film footage of a man named Jack who lived for a while in the Old House as a tenant and wanted to see if I recognized him. According to John, this man could be very friendly and helpful but had a terrible temper, as well. Years ago, after a dispute with John’s grandfather, he left and went to live in Kentucky. He kept in touch for a while, recounting at times how much he enjoyed living on the farm. Then the correspondence stopped. Shortly thereafter, John’s family learned that he had killed himself and his poor dog.

I never saw that man again and none ever turned up to say they had stopped by the barn that day.

Has anything mysterious or unexplained ever happened to you? If so, leave me a comment. We’d, well I, would love to read it.

P.S. The house pictured above is the Old House (a mirror image) as it was featured in our local paper advertising the band's haunted house. During the summer of 1988 it was completely renovated and has been touched up a time or two since then.

P.S.S. Happy Birthday to my nephew Shane, who would have been 39 today and always loved a good ghost story.

Drive 3 Hours, Gain 3 Pounds...Sounds Fair to Me

Yesterday we took a day trip to Land Between the Lakes with my mom and dad. It’s fall break and we wanted to be able to say we had done something during our days off. The last time we visited the area was when Ren was is the 5th grade (I think). Anyway, this time we entered via Grand Rivers, Ky. and spent a little time visiting Patti’s 1880s Settlement, a charming little village of shops and eateries. And, ohhhhh myyyyyy goodness!!!

First, a quick backstory. At parent-teacher conferences in 2009 I spent a few minutes sitting in the office talking with some of the office staff. P-T conferences were just prior to the fall break that year too. So, we all began talking of our plans for the break and the topic of LBtL came up. Anyway, one worker told of the time her family had gone and ate at this place called Miss Patti’s and how it was really good and had great pies and such. At this point another worker and I got on their website and began to drool. I always said if we ever went back we would need to stop there to eat for sure!

And we did. And it was wonderful!

If you ever go make sure at least one in your party orders a dinner so you can get the bread. It’s delicious. They’ll bring it to you in the clay flower pot in which it was baked, along with a little homemade butter, strawberry and plain. It was delightful. If I knew much about cooking I would be sure to try this myself. As it is I do well to get frozen biscuits on a baking sheet. One can dream, though.

Apparently, Miss Patti’s is known for its flower pot bread, pork chops, and pies and I intended to have all three.

I think that pork chop was the most tender, tasty one I’ve ever put in my mouth. Everyone else said their food choices were also really good. John-Heath’s chicken strips didn’t look particularly great but he only ever picks at his food anyway and he’s 5 so I wasn’t going to complain. After all, my pork chop was FANTASTIC.

Then came the creme de la creme...Dessert! I think this is the first time this has ever happened but we all ordered dessert. They’re a bit pricey but they don’t shortchange you. My dad’s apple pie was HUGE.

And when food fest 2010 had ended our drive back home was a wee bit more uncomfortable than the drive up had been.

Ren with a slice of Bill's Boatsinker Pie