tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4008283084454682172024-03-26T16:09:00.571-07:00Woodhaven RamblingsToni at Woodhavenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14376655175018122805noreply@blogger.comBlogger747125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-400828308445468217.post-28656511440896878962024-03-26T15:59:00.000-07:002024-03-26T16:08:29.736-07:00Not too close for comfort (phew!)<p>Yes, despite appearances, this blog is still alive! It’s
just been…resting.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I <i>have</i> been writing, just in other places. Most notably, I
am now the monthly restaurant reviewer for a "senior" (50 and older) local newspaper. I was offered
the gig while being interviewed about my book. It’s just hobby writing, but I
am having a blast with the super fun gig that almost literally fell in my napkin-covered
lap. An excuse to try new food AND write about it?!? Sign me up!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I’ve also been utterly distracted helping my church remodel two ‘70s-era
restrooms. And by that I mean I am an administrative maven with a color-coded spreadsheet and a pile of reimbursable
receipts. I am learning about toilet repair kits, powder-coated steel
partitions, the many options for dispensing toilet paper and their seat covers,
and the laws surrounding safely disposing of asbestos. Rumors are swirling that
I might soon learn (from a safe distance) how to hang drywall. I seriously need
to find myself a Tim Taylor tool belt. Grunt grunt grunt.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The biggest change in my world over the past several months,
though, is the local arrival of these two Very Important People.</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSnvquIo8xSS_An4P_fXCNNliS1evMSyVsgdVcT0-Fx_rLTM_GzMwONZvVHpXCf8zS4pfW_7YPqh4pU3veSuvOiksNkGGCvzztBYtsjZEKQj3aknhTeyHYya3d9hA3WmGWaWoKkWFEkmvDVcQOSKcjosrvLZ3wWmE3bHxN2FnPotSDzoSajr9CJW-omcg/s868/434149253_1133757087976232_8507434710177027179_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="868" data-original-width="490" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSnvquIo8xSS_An4P_fXCNNliS1evMSyVsgdVcT0-Fx_rLTM_GzMwONZvVHpXCf8zS4pfW_7YPqh4pU3veSuvOiksNkGGCvzztBYtsjZEKQj3aknhTeyHYya3d9hA3WmGWaWoKkWFEkmvDVcQOSKcjosrvLZ3wWmE3bHxN2FnPotSDzoSajr9CJW-omcg/s320/434149253_1133757087976232_8507434710177027179_n.jpg" width="181" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yes, once I got through adolescence,<br />my mom and I have often been <br />mistaken for sisters</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Thankfully right before winter travel over mountain passes
got really dicey, my parents moved from Idaho to a town about 30 minutes from
Woodhaven. Yes, for the first time since I left for college, my parents and I
live in the same area code!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Truth be told (and yes, I know Mom and Dad are reading
this), I was a little freaked out at first by the prospect of my parents living
so close to me. While the benefits of proximity are obvious, I was a little concerned
about how much life-interweaving would be expected. But all is good!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our two households seem to have found a healthy
balance of being in touch and seeing each other while also living independent
lives with respectful boundaries. YAY ADULTING!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Although our houses are about a half-hour apart, we all do
most of our shopping in a town in between. So I knew it was only a matter of
time before I bumped into at least one of my parents while doing errands. My
money was on the Walmart Pharmacy line.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Last week, while checking my mirrors before pulling out of
my parking space at Albertsons, I caught a glimpse of my mom’s pretty distinctive
car of the orangey variety. Confirming the twinning head of white hair in the driver’s
seat, I put my car in Park and waited for Mom to get situated in a space of her
own. Being careful not to be too stalkery, I slalomed around a couple of
wayward shopping carts towards Mom’s car. Reflecting her character and
approach to life 100%, Mom gave the stranger walking towards her a big smile
that then burst even bigger when she realized the stranger was me. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">We chatted for a few minutes, comparing errands and
wardrobes and plans for the day. We caught up on husbands and doctor
appointments and dinner menus. And we hugged. Several times. It was pretty
dang awesome.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Although I’m quite used to running into people I know while
out-and-abouting in my small town – and I knew it would happen eventually – I was
nonetheless pretty stoked to have an impromptu breezy chat with my mom in a
grocery store parking lot. We have never lived (as adults) in a manner that
that was ever possible. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Unplanned parking lot hugs from my mom? Definitely one of the benefits of proximity.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>Toni at Woodhavenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14376655175018122805noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-400828308445468217.post-77562201247673834072023-10-31T18:36:00.000-07:002023-10-31T18:36:27.139-07:00Swiftly off the bandwagon<p>About 10 years ago, I rather inexplicably bought tickets to
a Katy Perry concert. Inexplicable because I only knew a couple of her songs and
could not legitimately claim to be a KatyCat (this was well before Left Shark definitively wooed me to Katy's fanbase). I bought
Katy's tour-promoted album to pre-game a bit, and quickly found myself tapping my middle-aged
feet to pretty much every piece of bubblegum "PRISM" had to offer. Katy’s in-crowd
dance party disguised as a concert ended up being one of the very most entertaining
concerts I have ever been to (another contender: Pink Martini).</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">So it was with that spirit of pop music adventure that I announced
to Rob that I wanted to see Taylor Swift’s “The Era’s Tour” movie documentary. This
time, though, the desire was more explicable since Taylor is seemingly on the
verge of ruling Planet Earth. Seems prudent to at least have a working knowledge
of someone whose influence I’m not sure is escapable at this point.</p><p class="MsoNormal">With the ability to sing along to exactly two Taylor Swift songs, I sat next to Rob in seat G8 (since when must I choose my seat before entering a movie theater?!) and dedicated 168 minutes of my life to figuring out what all the fuss is about.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">With apologies to the (admittedly younger) Swifties in my life: I’m still waiting.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">I really wanted to walk out of the theater an in-the-know, gushing, glittery fan of Ms. Swift’s, all ready to learn how – and why – to make grade school friendship bracelets, and add the Kansas City Chiefs' remaining games to my DVR timers list.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Instead, I quickly remembered why I don’t see long movies in theaters (my back spasmed for about 3 days from all the squishy, cup-holdered sitting). And I was exhausted from all the active listening to decipher nearly 3 hours of songs that tell a Millennial’s life stories.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-7deBgs-YzUzZhyphenhyphenwP9_V_urMFrNr_ujDKpemX2-ezOpq_d-CDFlDneg212YxfsJ8f8xyESQECtw0KilvxiIGswUtPdnSU94khxPcaZtwxe0CZsaePomH3IBudv8FTCColpT-p5IyEC_NS9A3KdrvD2zveky4DQ5uTHSLuwKZz7ZIDZlYf6h7O1yl-vK0/s3024/398028023_1028705015040938_433853965900692592_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2091" data-original-width="3024" height="276" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-7deBgs-YzUzZhyphenhyphenwP9_V_urMFrNr_ujDKpemX2-ezOpq_d-CDFlDneg212YxfsJ8f8xyESQECtw0KilvxiIGswUtPdnSU94khxPcaZtwxe0CZsaePomH3IBudv8FTCColpT-p5IyEC_NS9A3KdrvD2zveky4DQ5uTHSLuwKZz7ZIDZlYf6h7O1yl-vK0/w400-h276/398028023_1028705015040938_433853965900692592_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I had heard some screenings are like a modern-day Rocky<br />Horror experience, with movie-goers singing and dancing <br />in the aisles. Alas, an afternoon show on a weekday yielded<br />less than a dozen viewers -- none dancing or singing.<br />Also, our tickets were "Child" prices. I didn't want to ask<br />if that was the matinee price or the senior discount.</td></tr></tbody></table></p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Although Taylor’s music sort of bounces around genres, I
determined that her songs have a bit of a formula which – sorry again, Swifties
– got really repetitive and I found myself getting sleepy. I perked up at the
2-hour mark when she FINALLY played one of the two songs in my iTunes Library (“Shake
It Off”). Never did hear the other one (“Mine”). </p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I was also super surprised that her lyrics include cuss
words. Now, I’m not saying Taylor’s a potty mouth; I was just startled to hear
the f-bomb and poop word in songs worshipped by 9-year-old girls. Do their parents
know? Do they care?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">As unenthralled as I was by Taylor’s music, I am very much
impressed by what appears to be her character. I remember hearing over the
summer that she was giving extraordinarily generous bonuses to her road crew,
as a thank you for all their work to pull off one of the most lucrative concert
tours in history. I have also heard she is ingeniously re-recording a number of her albums in order to yank back control of them from a seemingly greedy and slimy record
label. During her concert, she sprinkled words of gratitude and appreciation
over her fans, dancers, and musicians. And although not as deftly as Katy Perry,
Taylor also did an admirable job of making her adoring concert fans feel like they were in a
special, elite club made especially for them.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">But perhaps the thing that made me put the formulaic music
aside and fall just a tiny bit in love with Taylor Swift was this:</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqCsW3G2rdFashNnESyUBfJuKPwIDYKiqGLedA0xIxs7S1kHEemYsC3_FYbrvxxwM-IAxr9uAotoWno0DblNt-8J9aW3HFQaFArB7x9MC0M8Su43tQCNczr3HM4K643_wymrt0y11jXIrHSDHbSeZDf34C-pDYtVhP7pFkMhbBs_kjnBz4TZG_uOfULVg/s4032/398004966_1305900543431380_1492784805943125601_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqCsW3G2rdFashNnESyUBfJuKPwIDYKiqGLedA0xIxs7S1kHEemYsC3_FYbrvxxwM-IAxr9uAotoWno0DblNt-8J9aW3HFQaFArB7x9MC0M8Su43tQCNczr3HM4K643_wymrt0y11jXIrHSDHbSeZDf34C-pDYtVhP7pFkMhbBs_kjnBz4TZG_uOfULVg/s320/398004966_1305900543431380_1492784805943125601_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Although it’s hard to see in the photo, the polish on one of
Taylor’s fingernails is smudged. Big time. Like, I would have seethed a few of
Taylor’s lyrics and grumbly redone that nail if it were mine. </p><p class="MsoNormal">But instead,
Taylor – who knew she would be on camera for the filming of the concert and no
doubt oversaw the editing – didn’t fix her nail polish nor allowed it to be
fixed in post-production. Nope. Taylor let her short, smudged fingernail grip
the microphone and flash about in close ups. That one smudged nail made her so relatable.
A busy young woman who wants to look nice but also has many things competing
for her time, so some things just don’t get done...like her nails. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Although I am not on the Taylor Swift Bandwagon – and am
growing weary of her persistent presence in my newsfeed (serves me right for
clicking on those two stories about her new boyfriend) – there could certainly
be worse pop idols for folks to get all obsessed over. Taylor seems smart,
savvy, gracious, and real. With a smudged nail and a few cuss words to prove
it. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>Toni at Woodhavenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14376655175018122805noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-400828308445468217.post-64669704976018578692023-10-04T19:06:00.011-07:002023-10-05T12:31:37.861-07:00Waltzing through Tennessee<p>Next up on “Trips We Said We’d Take Someday”: Nashville!</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Yes, Nashville.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I have wanted to visit Music City since the mid-90s when I
saw it from a window seat on a very clear cross-country flight one October. My
interest was stoked about a decade later when we had a Southwest Airlines
layover and walked between two distant BNA gates. The live music, the friendly
vibe, and palpable energy of just the airport alone made me want to check out what
awaited outside Security.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Last week, Rob and I finally realized a decades-held dream
and Did Nashville. With a side trip to Memphis. Because Elvis.</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzABfdm8GbMkyShGZ7EUwkD4cDcq6f_bSrY5j0tKdn8liCOK1DBJVVbqdoqIdJkuGed5ddQBcmcOjBPE9nBt8bWJL4o_hj-WqVONH5FUTX0LhPkWXnWOzgNxmPRHgAgvEkqIxbBnVJvVCR5OyWzDFUz_kKosxZu5DGR2jSe1STEDBrKEQUSvTGTyWsdsY/s2441/Opry%20edited.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2441" data-original-width="2320" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzABfdm8GbMkyShGZ7EUwkD4cDcq6f_bSrY5j0tKdn8liCOK1DBJVVbqdoqIdJkuGed5ddQBcmcOjBPE9nBt8bWJL4o_hj-WqVONH5FUTX0LhPkWXnWOzgNxmPRHgAgvEkqIxbBnVJvVCR5OyWzDFUz_kKosxZu5DGR2jSe1STEDBrKEQUSvTGTyWsdsY/s320/Opry%20edited.jpg" width="304" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Grand Ole Opry has been in this location<br />since 1974. The architecture told us that before<br />the brochure did.</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>
<p class="MsoNormal">Overall, I would say it was a very good trip but it wasn’t a
great trip. I had pretty high expectations, especially since every.single.person
I mentioned our travel plans to said, “I LOVE NASHVILLE!” I had no idea I knew
so many people who had visited Nashville nor that I was so dang late to the party.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">But, unfortunately, Rob and I weren’t at our physical best during
the trip. We were both already exhausted by lots of activity and responsibilities
at home (we absolutely suck at retirement), plus Rob was navigating a bout with
vertigo. It was gone by the time we boarded the plane in Portland, but we didn’t
know that for sure until days later. So we were rather tentative most of the
trip and I did a lot more driving than I typically do. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Adding to the disappointment was the realization that tours
of the Grand Ole Opry were cancelled for the week due to preparations for a
People’s Choice Country Music awards show featuring very few people Rob and I
had ever heard of. And that was the last little bit of rain on our Tennessee
parade: we aren’t county music fans. Yes, we knew that. But I didn’t quite grasp
how much not knowing Jelly Roll from a jelly donut would dampen our
appreciation of All Things Nashville. But despite all that, we did have a fun
time. I just didn’t fall in love with the city like I expected to.</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggVkLa40nVO7yz9w445U1i4BsJqf34GnbUvehSbIFSUF5Gvks2nv5Y5oIbmnTZ1eYeVJC2CLfpNm6xSP8ewbDvzC2tLXY78kcTcv-NegSfBBYXpnrHOSGHTachUR335gopbRfsNWVUTE9rlcCAaydzBxzjOtZhZlcPgAzdHi4hunjKVaxEEYP5cgddWuA/s4032/386473043_1519819825417679_8827658200681866946_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggVkLa40nVO7yz9w445U1i4BsJqf34GnbUvehSbIFSUF5Gvks2nv5Y5oIbmnTZ1eYeVJC2CLfpNm6xSP8ewbDvzC2tLXY78kcTcv-NegSfBBYXpnrHOSGHTachUR335gopbRfsNWVUTE9rlcCAaydzBxzjOtZhZlcPgAzdHi4hunjKVaxEEYP5cgddWuA/s320/386473043_1519819825417679_8827658200681866946_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The closest we got to the Grand Ole<br />Opry, as seen through a glass door.<br />Security guard out of frame to the left.</td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal">We were able to hit most of the Required Touristy Highlights
including Opryland, the Ryman Theater, Music Row, the Johnny Cash Museum, the
County Music Hall of Fame, Broadway and its Honky Tonks, and a trolley tour which
took us by the Parthenon replica and Vanderbilt University allowing us to
admire both from a distance.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">An unplanned detour back to our outskirts hotel one night
took us through a swanky neighborhood inhabited by Reese Witherspoon and Faith
Hill and her husband (I only know Ms. Hill by her 1999 crossover hit “Breathe” –
her husband is apparently also famous and wears a cowboy hat a lot? He,
however, is NOT the guy married to Nicole Kidman who has a boy's version of Jennifer Aniston's hairdo. For some reason I always get those two dudes confused. Is one
of them named Kenny??). That Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous interlude was
sort of fun and once again proved the value of unlimited data allowing for
on-the-spot critical research while sitting in the passenger seat.</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhltlaAJIlmllPE5TgboiI8OoSeLf0vIVcq4KnjuDA695920BvUKcqu2gQQnBuOkQh-yqzVM1-MMPypBIc2ndvQ8e3YgNhQrstWtMUa_2Tu2F5VGJifzlTaHtQv2-aqfQt3XCNnDk20ntqupiLiG_dFQ5qLFRo-8xC9ND1dAAH7ZjA3MToU6p2MVY5L1kQ/s4032/385464322_1515693165907790_5300089216055779535_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhltlaAJIlmllPE5TgboiI8OoSeLf0vIVcq4KnjuDA695920BvUKcqu2gQQnBuOkQh-yqzVM1-MMPypBIc2ndvQ8e3YgNhQrstWtMUa_2Tu2F5VGJifzlTaHtQv2-aqfQt3XCNnDk20ntqupiLiG_dFQ5qLFRo-8xC9ND1dAAH7ZjA3MToU6p2MVY5L1kQ/s320/385464322_1515693165907790_5300089216055779535_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Opryland Resort reminded me <br />of the Venetian and Parisian hotels<br />in Las Vegas, minus the casinos. Lots<br />of indoor plants and shops and restaurants<br />and walkways. And...boat rides. It <br />was expansive and clearly best enjoyed<br />on a company expense account. SO<br />many conference lanyards!</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnimyEyA6NUF_YQrx2bkpWALz_AtydGhFKFjurvr-Ac_938eboXxhb-n51E0e3nsHl4URdR0lhSamakWc26P4dt4n_PKntjL0ChggbJqJbUrsfETwYTr-MGIwyvlybX31_IQ02F7DZfPSZNq9S-rMqpwBgYHK4XY9Du8YdB6MW2tz0YMreWOnAGbljgBg/s3088/385443917_882593810143720_7218079204088815655_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2320" data-original-width="3088" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnimyEyA6NUF_YQrx2bkpWALz_AtydGhFKFjurvr-Ac_938eboXxhb-n51E0e3nsHl4URdR0lhSamakWc26P4dt4n_PKntjL0ChggbJqJbUrsfETwYTr-MGIwyvlybX31_IQ02F7DZfPSZNq9S-rMqpwBgYHK4XY9Du8YdB6MW2tz0YMreWOnAGbljgBg/s320/385443917_882593810143720_7218079204088815655_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Inside the Ryman Auditorium - the location of the<br />Grand Ole Opry from 1943 to 1974. It is actually <br />a church with great acoustics - and old wooden<br />pews for seating. It had a very authentic feel.</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzK7-JhJklf4kI3Oip53gwiRlrDCsBmxV9lO9mZq6jw2B-fOaSGGs4lH2FQ43cQ43HG5AVxTyucNYsAofKIvC9DqfmKqhIQkMpCb8Raqfd4GNY2bZGVBZ0aI3qexzu6nHEYHna4VgGq4gFIFwTDJcirDAvFkdulvUO5O3g31SxidPWBfGdZJqN4cwACUA/s4032/381699674_308588791775058_444542713731697687_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzK7-JhJklf4kI3Oip53gwiRlrDCsBmxV9lO9mZq6jw2B-fOaSGGs4lH2FQ43cQ43HG5AVxTyucNYsAofKIvC9DqfmKqhIQkMpCb8Raqfd4GNY2bZGVBZ0aI3qexzu6nHEYHna4VgGq4gFIFwTDJcirDAvFkdulvUO5O3g31SxidPWBfGdZJqN4cwACUA/s320/381699674_308588791775058_444542713731697687_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Microphone in the Ryman <br />-- also called The Pulpit</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8y66aKqSC2wc9NQrNiSiFClOUKY9FIg9jQsWkaWKrdIndKQ1s0rbmmIIPkhMC-OBb7JTOmJUGqr_z44gH7vI3VIzIjj6lhxdQXX0w5TLzaGK7mpgNd9jNNhA-L-aMYZpAflvnEQuB-texK1ugwuKNV3nxOSHRWFQLCDCOvh66pxyhWqC2_H7pI0aJULY/s4032/384846253_6598235393605016_342976737696124431_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8y66aKqSC2wc9NQrNiSiFClOUKY9FIg9jQsWkaWKrdIndKQ1s0rbmmIIPkhMC-OBb7JTOmJUGqr_z44gH7vI3VIzIjj6lhxdQXX0w5TLzaGK7mpgNd9jNNhA-L-aMYZpAflvnEQuB-texK1ugwuKNV3nxOSHRWFQLCDCOvh66pxyhWqC2_H7pI0aJULY/s320/384846253_6598235393605016_342976737696124431_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Minnie Pearl helped make the Grand<br />Ole Opry and the Ryman famous.<br />The actress who played her was very<br />highly educated, trained, and<br />generously philanthropic. </td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguiRKTblWDWQEaf-khp8uFCR7ueKRv3qsK5hk0zNaTxANAOYIX71mRzswDlTeLlzmUxlpsaYRQMSpW8jj3A8IVs327_EINccGwE1062CRW6BP-LeEy6ph-NCokjILQG5y89boSg-50kzACYT32LYw9C11AcUg6Yf-lyfbu8zaxSzFrWPsp_EkaUKfxiVo/s4032/385461198_1475910723187743_8145326056659031009_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguiRKTblWDWQEaf-khp8uFCR7ueKRv3qsK5hk0zNaTxANAOYIX71mRzswDlTeLlzmUxlpsaYRQMSpW8jj3A8IVs327_EINccGwE1062CRW6BP-LeEy6ph-NCokjILQG5y89boSg-50kzACYT32LYw9C11AcUg6Yf-lyfbu8zaxSzFrWPsp_EkaUKfxiVo/s320/385461198_1475910723187743_8145326056659031009_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My only photo from Music Row. This is an <br />uncharacteristically professional building<br />for the street of recording studios. Most of the<br />studios were in small, old houses. It was<br />clearly an old neighborhood turned Street of Dreams.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDp19yx9os5UfuawIhS3mhTsTsI0NHokcVXGzNHXCy6tjrkhbmYj5JhU0E7ThH7NcUt37IpeHlC5v1Al4wlGzdYMQLCph44LXKHo09nNkoTT0Eaqt8lbYlXc-c5L4e_VYZLTbU56SBeWSLDGhP3DHiPDKkyuozmIENXuSW8v2uwEivQJRgdpD8U4u3DJA/s4032/385433860_6918070774923204_8573385123228485160_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDp19yx9os5UfuawIhS3mhTsTsI0NHokcVXGzNHXCy6tjrkhbmYj5JhU0E7ThH7NcUt37IpeHlC5v1Al4wlGzdYMQLCph44LXKHo09nNkoTT0Eaqt8lbYlXc-c5L4e_VYZLTbU56SBeWSLDGhP3DHiPDKkyuozmIENXuSW8v2uwEivQJRgdpD8U4u3DJA/s320/385433860_6918070774923204_8573385123228485160_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I didn't take any photos in the Johnny Cash<br />Museum. However, highlights included<br />conclusively learning Johnny did NOT<br />serve any prison time, and deciding the<br />best format for music is vinyl at 78 rpm.<br />Very cool display with one of Johnny's songs<br />played on the various formats. CD was surprisingly<br />boring, and re-engineered digital was horrific. I<br />liked the depth of sound on the 78 rpm without the<br />staticy hiss of the slower speeds. </td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFi626QgJLzMXEhIIaL1bfQ4Fgp12uEIr41984bQLpTbtV5JaaywRXw9CfI593lKZuqv3K4pWeoR5lpmsx40WW78cKcmTSh7fKmxv4nI6xTMbEYq1rqNp5CXswZvj7u2zE1owxSJWCyJK-ivnY1axdDo0dAffPdveHP1qJlPf829wHwAd-CqsEncz7b5A/s1334/381929042_1682400648903077_5817691482736520617_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1334" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFi626QgJLzMXEhIIaL1bfQ4Fgp12uEIr41984bQLpTbtV5JaaywRXw9CfI593lKZuqv3K4pWeoR5lpmsx40WW78cKcmTSh7fKmxv4nI6xTMbEYq1rqNp5CXswZvj7u2zE1owxSJWCyJK-ivnY1axdDo0dAffPdveHP1qJlPf829wHwAd-CqsEncz7b5A/s320/381929042_1682400648903077_5817691482736520617_n.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There wasn't anything in the <br />Country Music Hall of Fame <br />that prompted me to take a photo.<br />However, one display for the <br />lead singer of Hootie and the Blowfish<br />had a song playing that I liked. I <br />asked Siri to identify it so I could buy<br />the mp3. I had no idea this was a cover of<br />a song originally recorded by Bob Dylan<br />in the early 1970s. Apparently I like old country music?</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfPXF1-Uw3pxtQ8YY-jQbO48zmi5CMExNM5iICf5GuU0ccYl5VSHCpZn3wMy03FlYFVcWLtvTDC26l3fVCBuR0i1RWtfR_2pui8k0L1B3pdl1xoIu5aKIFcyBIdbxRUN35NIqw7QTIZaKMoZhi7E42Ka8UrQPd-1LclG3ZPLYDiTDgqys7wsvFmuXSjY0/s4032/385443947_694705355883238_279076321876265979_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfPXF1-Uw3pxtQ8YY-jQbO48zmi5CMExNM5iICf5GuU0ccYl5VSHCpZn3wMy03FlYFVcWLtvTDC26l3fVCBuR0i1RWtfR_2pui8k0L1B3pdl1xoIu5aKIFcyBIdbxRUN35NIqw7QTIZaKMoZhi7E42Ka8UrQPd-1LclG3ZPLYDiTDgqys7wsvFmuXSjY0/s320/385443947_694705355883238_279076321876265979_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Broadway in broad daylight.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">We enjoyed some decidedly regional cuisine. Our first dinner
was at Hattie B’s Hot Chicken. This Nashville must-eat was apparently inadvertently
invented by a pissed off gal trying to exact culinary revenge on her cheatin’
boyfriend. She made him fried chicken but doused it with every hot spice and pepper she
could find in her pantry. Unfortunately for her, the jerk loved it and turned
it into a livelihood.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVuOjQ-emQcwkxjfUfek3pv7yYJVBv7zBj-3Yloy9iS_JncnF1cm2JqFKOKN4At5cBNZu-l2HDDGl3A719B3L9DKnw3Ukzv02N4cg4Rdxqy6kKOh4gFBHVD5fS1f9JucLNFIa6VD49PA_3d9KXi3qdaLfgdy9XEZJDQmDD_T4c1hh3xp4Ws1_MRvM0WYw/s4032/385443917_1188323568790318_2935962187039158676_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVuOjQ-emQcwkxjfUfek3pv7yYJVBv7zBj-3Yloy9iS_JncnF1cm2JqFKOKN4At5cBNZu-l2HDDGl3A719B3L9DKnw3Ukzv02N4cg4Rdxqy6kKOh4gFBHVD5fS1f9JucLNFIa6VD49PA_3d9KXi3qdaLfgdy9XEZJDQmDD_T4c1hh3xp4Ws1_MRvM0WYw/s320/385443917_1188323568790318_2935962187039158676_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hot chicken, mac n cheese, and slaw.<br />Mmmm! One of the spices seemed to <br />be cinnamon. I liked it but it was <br />sort of odd mixed in with the cayenne and <br />chili pepper.</td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal">My favorite meal of the trip was at Robert’s Western World –
a fixture of a honky tonk on the very noisy and lively Broadway. Think Bourbon
Street with cowboy hats. The street was loud and peopled enough at noon that we
never felt the need to venture back after 10pm. Live county music, laughter,
and restaurant clinking sounds came from every doorway and open window. The
energy was pretty electrifying!</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsBtjqQDtnMZFbSgKLwHgQsAm10Oct_5pWPl6YZYrBQuonLWY69sBCjZ3mVl7wPZp_iV1vvrkd8sqIDOAM2egNq59_vydfa1cyRzJspDyiJxaw-ZEkEOmk9TIvVqSBZfppsi3KUjfrdZmp_auik1GZ4-3mRYuDkLdhA2mMXzwwYVnoPh5ykr1kn2qWcLc/s4032/386465587_689429196399087_1905581759574361677_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsBtjqQDtnMZFbSgKLwHgQsAm10Oct_5pWPl6YZYrBQuonLWY69sBCjZ3mVl7wPZp_iV1vvrkd8sqIDOAM2egNq59_vydfa1cyRzJspDyiJxaw-ZEkEOmk9TIvVqSBZfppsi3KUjfrdZmp_auik1GZ4-3mRYuDkLdhA2mMXzwwYVnoPh5ykr1kn2qWcLc/s320/386465587_689429196399087_1905581759574361677_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ever the introverts, we snagged a table<br />upstairs so we could enjoy the honking<br />and tonking from a distance. We so<br />thoroughly enjoyed the Chis Casello Trio<br />that we bought their CD on the way out.<br />They were incredibly good and we had a<br />hard time imagining who might top them<br />later in the evening. To quote Rob, "They ruined <br />live music for me forever." Truly, it was exactly <br />the experience I wanted -- very local food in a <br />very local bar listening to very local music.</td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal">We decided on Robert’s for dinner because of a famed “Recession
Special” – a fried bologna sandwich, a PBR beer, and a Moon Pie for dessert…all
for only $6! Drawn much more by the redneckiness and less by the $6, I was
thrilled to discover fried bologna on Wonder Bread is pretty dang tasty! Made
even more exotic by the tiniest hint of horseradish. I already knew I didn’t
like Pabst Blue Ribbon (an ironic favorite in Portland), but it did pair rather
nicely with the lunch meat. The Moon Pie, on the other hand, was just gross. I
was hoping for so much more. It was Peep-like marshmallow filling between two sawdusty
cookies covered in a light film of cheap chocolate. The wrapper suggested
heating it up in the microwave for “an out-of-this-world dessert!” I doubt it.
The adorably named competitor “Goo Goo Cluster” impulsively procured at the
airport was MUCH better.</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisLudm1dGVj438Uko_fVuB7cjmltxvtfFeUMHrr9VI2su8YaGCCRsxUCDNJhBkVkLOF4Zin_nzbjX1QXxk3bSKf2XIoB8YmygWUIQ2AHH9SOT2iCqGFjatYf_V-7j-qC4O1hCNjSvhEzo8euST4tUz-B9PjG7vagUzuT-vCxXxSW__fUYyxUPNfQljSec/s1000/385485918_856078752699392_6430174846959937710_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisLudm1dGVj438Uko_fVuB7cjmltxvtfFeUMHrr9VI2su8YaGCCRsxUCDNJhBkVkLOF4Zin_nzbjX1QXxk3bSKf2XIoB8YmygWUIQ2AHH9SOT2iCqGFjatYf_V-7j-qC4O1hCNjSvhEzo8euST4tUz-B9PjG7vagUzuT-vCxXxSW__fUYyxUPNfQljSec/s320/385485918_856078752699392_6430174846959937710_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not the best photo -- the lighting was<br />challenging. But enough to get an idea<br />what a fried bologna sandwich looks like.<br />And is Gen X the only generation that sings<br />while they spell b-o-l-o-g-n-a?</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">As mentioned, we didn’t limit our Tennessee fun to Nashville.
Nope. We also spent one VERY long day driving to and from Memphis (6 hours of
driving) for All Things Elvis. While I wouldn’t call myself a huge Elvis fan, I
do enjoy his music (especially the early stuff) and I respect his place in
history. My most distinct memory of him is the day he died (I was 9) and being
confused why so many grown ups were crying. After having now visited Graceland,
I get it. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I had done very little research about Graceland, other than
to buy tickets online for the self-guided house and airplanes tour. I was expecting
a grand mansion tucked away on sprawling acreage with lots of security, and a
properly appointed gift store housed in a garage or servants’ quarters. The private
aircraft would be in a private hangar somewhere on the property. The décor would
be expensive and flashy, sort of King-like.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Instead, Graceland was a total 1977 time warp situated on a
busy street (named Elvis Presley Blvd) with neighbors just over the fence. Although
the house itself is over 17,000 square feet, it did not feel even half that. Of
course, the public is not allowed upstairs where the bedrooms and bathrooms
are. There were a couple of outdoor buildings serving as an office and a gym
and racquetball court. There was a small reflecting pool “Meditation Garden”
where Elvis, his parents, his daughter, and a grandson are buried. And there
were some horses and stables. So yeah, typing all that it does sound like an
extensive and extravagant lifestyle. But it just didn’t feel like it. It felt
homey and kitschy and very personal. It felt “of the people” – like a small-town
boy hit the jackpot but kept a sense of where he had come from. Graceland was
probably the most iconic home I have ever been in and it was so incredibly
unique that I fell in love with it purely for what it represents. And the
monkey.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjonScYtu9YFpfXM71A__Ts4eGQQSE5uKQvj3LUVPAim0KWVZ4qmHJxEe6zp94qnRWIWxaW_l4ITkI2Znrm5PrZlW2ewTZdSFJRL90FwylpsRstYI20rmauTTj-uY8wdmyk66qOyJ9QWLQhFQpB0djgmA94xAnpQ6KWlLuM3Zrm45gNh4op5y-lJCC2Hk/s4032/386468705_1041122313577218_5698368364624877039_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjonScYtu9YFpfXM71A__Ts4eGQQSE5uKQvj3LUVPAim0KWVZ4qmHJxEe6zp94qnRWIWxaW_l4ITkI2Znrm5PrZlW2ewTZdSFJRL90FwylpsRstYI20rmauTTj-uY8wdmyk66qOyJ9QWLQhFQpB0djgmA94xAnpQ6KWlLuM3Zrm45gNh4op5y-lJCC2Hk/s320/386468705_1041122313577218_5698368364624877039_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pretty much the whole house, minus the basement.<br />Piglet on steps for size reference.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8qXRQG6uNEhDKCyZ9FbNy9oF4TIOQQJo1quY3FxAQmwXtDyT4NFTrlCbgVR_MdtI7H3kTwA-h5CvS1rkLhLEEZLpRoqbQBZdJUEoTprl_3xNnyqvo-wk3tiAVjH9GAr7ZYzUJE_lr6gbnpmexAt49li_oVkv_yjR3cTTwj3S7jh9un3CeSMdoPNXH28U/s4032/385434931_1000857981142664_9114315692362194753_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8qXRQG6uNEhDKCyZ9FbNy9oF4TIOQQJo1quY3FxAQmwXtDyT4NFTrlCbgVR_MdtI7H3kTwA-h5CvS1rkLhLEEZLpRoqbQBZdJUEoTprl_3xNnyqvo-wk3tiAVjH9GAr7ZYzUJE_lr6gbnpmexAt49li_oVkv_yjR3cTTwj3S7jh9un3CeSMdoPNXH28U/s320/385434931_1000857981142664_9114315692362194753_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I was both stunned and delighted to see this kitchen.<br />It took me right back to the '70s. I'm certain there<br />is Tupperware in the cabinets. I was struck by how<br />middle class it looks. Not at all what I expected<br />royalty to make banana and peanut butter sandwiches<br />in (I had one for lunch in one of the themed restaurants. I<br />liked it but I did NOT like the bacon grease it was<br />fried in. Eeeew. A local gal absolutely could not believe <br />I don't have a jar of bacon grease for cooking. I<br />explained that would require me cooking bacon, which<br />I don't. I'm pretty sure her head is still shaking.)</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9xPEEDw2wpB887A0CU4b780OwWydgw_0MBtjsBcO8nSqlF59ww4Vl2h74ekkiPLWNScIOlqDHYfmLZUEEw9wSip8BDLzLhzzYYNV-j59Let6OsTjl9tktn0ClDQx3evcwbDKWXaMdKnOCQNUaouHrwTng6Ft6XiKdTP665TC9CsRNj2yiZcmt3wwQNtM/s4032/384232823_303069919092184_9035421294696146646_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9xPEEDw2wpB887A0CU4b780OwWydgw_0MBtjsBcO8nSqlF59ww4Vl2h74ekkiPLWNScIOlqDHYfmLZUEEw9wSip8BDLzLhzzYYNV-j59Let6OsTjl9tktn0ClDQx3evcwbDKWXaMdKnOCQNUaouHrwTng6Ft6XiKdTP665TC9CsRNj2yiZcmt3wwQNtM/s320/384232823_303069919092184_9035421294696146646_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I think my mouth literally fell open when<br />I entered The Pool Room. The ceiling and walls<br />are covered in very carefully folded fabric in a<br />vortexy pattern. Oooh, vertigo.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiRvnt4pqTo34nKTTsHQCiQhCj1OyXGS1kApMcOBZF7PEfgpJWex0rTcO9Tg3OOjewAZ5oDSS5WuUe38GhMMlE-VyDMjd-rj-9SDD573Z-7-yBwFfghWqO8Lwv1PsaLz_CASTT7Ij7TaXvy8j2vWWr2494jb6vjQ4iu5XNQyvO0tRyKbVKgdqtuGUFOzg/s4032/379665425_726359332662598_3872603557515280047_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiRvnt4pqTo34nKTTsHQCiQhCj1OyXGS1kApMcOBZF7PEfgpJWex0rTcO9Tg3OOjewAZ5oDSS5WuUe38GhMMlE-VyDMjd-rj-9SDD573Z-7-yBwFfghWqO8Lwv1PsaLz_CASTT7Ij7TaXvy8j2vWWr2494jb6vjQ4iu5XNQyvO0tRyKbVKgdqtuGUFOzg/s320/379665425_726359332662598_3872603557515280047_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The TV room, with a bar out of photo range.<br />Elvis loved watching football and had 3 TVs<br />so he could watch multiple games at once.<br />There was no explanation for the monkey.</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNQXFoFr7gUoxfX3xMlPh7KQuMVtnaMyfbj2SYShTzvTkovyX4JCfZmd48ftF_9_xKW0VPnwp0VeIEYhVJfC1RTdZxxVWsRy9PeYzKQNToPOhK-ZiQVu6fpN5vLB9ZX_Cbr_ljRcvRybWtGzf43_TSa-jRulNtck2fHu12Qc-AtwpeouE6AUWoBA54Sz0/s4032/385469030_840256551082685_8276309267505557264_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNQXFoFr7gUoxfX3xMlPh7KQuMVtnaMyfbj2SYShTzvTkovyX4JCfZmd48ftF_9_xKW0VPnwp0VeIEYhVJfC1RTdZxxVWsRy9PeYzKQNToPOhK-ZiQVu6fpN5vLB9ZX_Cbr_ljRcvRybWtGzf43_TSa-jRulNtck2fHu12Qc-AtwpeouE6AUWoBA54Sz0/s320/385469030_840256551082685_8276309267505557264_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="240" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Called "The Den" by Elvis and "The<br />Jungle Room" by the media, this room<br />was a trip. The brick wall is a waterfall.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNQXFoFr7gUoxfX3xMlPh7KQuMVtnaMyfbj2SYShTzvTkovyX4JCfZmd48ftF_9_xKW0VPnwp0VeIEYhVJfC1RTdZxxVWsRy9PeYzKQNToPOhK-ZiQVu6fpN5vLB9ZX_Cbr_ljRcvRybWtGzf43_TSa-jRulNtck2fHu12Qc-AtwpeouE6AUWoBA54Sz0/s4032/385469030_840256551082685_8276309267505557264_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZRbkqXngzrrjiLG7HqeIjTXyExg5y4VV1uqYRAgXp6EwFwqOGovHvpB_hzOm4Eb-NNKwQIuTino0VjhTL3krXjYX6UabidURjefSRkhR8KK8uo2GeTA76ac_pL6hm5T6ZD3iFbmIsv68p2j-LpinlMpTaJr0Ng1VfD9kh-NsJ8wCbrzYFuVhkm-HDB78/s4032/385398089_1320074415536030_4767545349017029314_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZRbkqXngzrrjiLG7HqeIjTXyExg5y4VV1uqYRAgXp6EwFwqOGovHvpB_hzOm4Eb-NNKwQIuTino0VjhTL3krXjYX6UabidURjefSRkhR8KK8uo2GeTA76ac_pL6hm5T6ZD3iFbmIsv68p2j-LpinlMpTaJr0Ng1VfD9kh-NsJ8wCbrzYFuVhkm-HDB78/s320/385398089_1320074415536030_4767545349017029314_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The ceiling was carpeted. It deadened<br />noise so well, Elvis recorded an album<br />in here. Can't imagine where he sat -<br />absolutely none of the seats looked sittable.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">As for the aircraft and gift shop, those were across the
street in a Downtown Disney-like campus of restaurants, stores, and exhibits.
Merchandised within an inch of its life, each aspect of Elvis’s life had its
own gift shop. One focused on movies, another on his airplanes, another on his
car collection, and oh, right, one focused on his music.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Two-story exhibit walls displayed awards – probably not all
of them. There was one room dedicated to showcasing Elvis’s stage jumpsuits.
Another room had lots and lots of boxes in locked display cases, all numbered
and categorized in the archives. Some items were out of their boxes, giving a
highly unique peek into The King’s life. It was a trip and I was fascinated.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKLFieTRn1HIdI1108kYiZK4mqwnmxU7-0QWsZtvP64R8aNUf2e3mOz8FuvQYt6UQnNUqwRgJM_cdp_o_Ykcsu0_dDfhYCOPhQmEtBWUMXhgpZOzdy4X3kT8yCSGOnLq4dp-epE3jTsxoyzveNjEZveMoz4WOxogyZLrFE8CIRGANfhFglkS3VL6pBXZ0/s4032/385404550_1045636249901602_4006187763563900826_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKLFieTRn1HIdI1108kYiZK4mqwnmxU7-0QWsZtvP64R8aNUf2e3mOz8FuvQYt6UQnNUqwRgJM_cdp_o_Ykcsu0_dDfhYCOPhQmEtBWUMXhgpZOzdy4X3kT8yCSGOnLq4dp-epE3jTsxoyzveNjEZveMoz4WOxogyZLrFE8CIRGANfhFglkS3VL6pBXZ0/s320/385404550_1045636249901602_4006187763563900826_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just one wall of several.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC5mamtTr7A0K9DK_X_EcE-RsLHgSR_CinrPFRL6QCSPPi5tpFHDQnL34V_0FPNKstmkHz6yQAjSUqeGTxo4SDXGzLOEKKGZrqM919Dgz6Rqa4GoHzNA36hidcackXdfZPU5zU0sgVd2Wnu8U_wK11Ip7N42pC7BUB5z4SoBSGWs9OAHcWbv6Z7K94Qsc/s4032/384481073_773735947855428_5595864852623640963_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC5mamtTr7A0K9DK_X_EcE-RsLHgSR_CinrPFRL6QCSPPi5tpFHDQnL34V_0FPNKstmkHz6yQAjSUqeGTxo4SDXGzLOEKKGZrqM919Dgz6Rqa4GoHzNA36hidcackXdfZPU5zU0sgVd2Wnu8U_wK11Ip7N42pC7BUB5z4SoBSGWs9OAHcWbv6Z7K94Qsc/s320/384481073_773735947855428_5595864852623640963_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just one wall of several. I LOVED<br />this room and how the iconic costumes<br />were displayed. I also learned that when <br />Elvis played Vegas, he wore only white<br />jumpsuits so the lighting techs could<br />switch colors on him without him <br />needing wardrobe changes. Brilliant!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxc7KLMER8ZYiAVI6ge3GzmrVN9f7D6yUUwu5CLxfIcR6rujmVxtTIUdYKcpWDnOOWAIgf6kPpTkeHGDNW3AmDeP0kSdGfrTy4Xr_Zpn72ZqEDDWkHJz_oyq8uUild8LYXywh6LZr4ff2uPS1BvNXVsny3AJL3Ug4oTbk2Bq-FaWWIxblPHK840AAMRUU/s4032/385522085_816624146822463_5142416786048402609_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxc7KLMER8ZYiAVI6ge3GzmrVN9f7D6yUUwu5CLxfIcR6rujmVxtTIUdYKcpWDnOOWAIgf6kPpTkeHGDNW3AmDeP0kSdGfrTy4Xr_Zpn72ZqEDDWkHJz_oyq8uUild8LYXywh6LZr4ff2uPS1BvNXVsny3AJL3Ug4oTbk2Bq-FaWWIxblPHK840AAMRUU/s320/385522085_816624146822463_5142416786048402609_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Of note: Elvis had his own fountain drink<br />dispenser. Also, Tab.</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiin1mY1ysnBjmdu8pXCNEleuj_T7sS2NNtjJ9EbzuhfW42oNn8PMhmkS47QjbTGkLqeNHU3hy1jeyW8995NyVJcJa6DUNgad4iMhB7qMSyyO8-tfy4eem71_9yFKkutDbvU8HAJHDVcFLZ6r5Wh2vEJNffMWzpX5NAC4KtKwgN-OU0AW8i17iMJX-tXQY/s4032/385459666_6952013671504873_7591689256882224166_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiin1mY1ysnBjmdu8pXCNEleuj_T7sS2NNtjJ9EbzuhfW42oNn8PMhmkS47QjbTGkLqeNHU3hy1jeyW8995NyVJcJa6DUNgad4iMhB7qMSyyO8-tfy4eem71_9yFKkutDbvU8HAJHDVcFLZ6r5Wh2vEJNffMWzpX5NAC4KtKwgN-OU0AW8i17iMJX-tXQY/s320/385459666_6952013671504873_7591689256882224166_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="240" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I guess when you are a legend, even<br />the most mundane items are worth<br />archiving for posterity.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiin1mY1ysnBjmdu8pXCNEleuj_T7sS2NNtjJ9EbzuhfW42oNn8PMhmkS47QjbTGkLqeNHU3hy1jeyW8995NyVJcJa6DUNgad4iMhB7qMSyyO8-tfy4eem71_9yFKkutDbvU8HAJHDVcFLZ6r5Wh2vEJNffMWzpX5NAC4KtKwgN-OU0AW8i17iMJX-tXQY/s4032/385459666_6952013671504873_7591689256882224166_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZv354xa13eF3GhIrLj-lfX9uKKs4Gkbu9BsWWwqPRSPrGZTYSJMPZ0uSTFYASP1mfCJzVvv0g-_GSeMLUL0FpHUrwv1V1zj6I280q356noNQFvdLEOqCW9Xw7dJkuwKp5491fDgtqUThCjy2tHL478ClvkLfBihqdFQTEfHa6qKbtiFNbPqF3gQu1OXg/s4032/386442834_335510585593963_8194950622802284749_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZv354xa13eF3GhIrLj-lfX9uKKs4Gkbu9BsWWwqPRSPrGZTYSJMPZ0uSTFYASP1mfCJzVvv0g-_GSeMLUL0FpHUrwv1V1zj6I280q356noNQFvdLEOqCW9Xw7dJkuwKp5491fDgtqUThCjy2tHL478ClvkLfBihqdFQTEfHa6qKbtiFNbPqF3gQu1OXg/s320/386442834_335510585593963_8194950622802284749_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That time Elvis didn't like what was<br />on TV.</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></div><p class="MsoNormal">As I mazed my way through the exhibits and artifacts, my
appreciation for Elvis’s place in history grew. I found myself marveling at the
impact of a single man – on music, on people, on the world. Indeed, there was
an entire exhibit of clothing and instruments belonging to other musicians with
plaques expressing how Elvis inspired and influenced their lives and music. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">We had started our tour of Memphis at Sun Records – the recording
studio where Elvis recorded his first of many records on the label. Like
Graceland, the studio was a time warp. Unlike Graceland, it is still in use
with recording artists using the studio and its assortment of instruments in
the wee hours after the tourists have left.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-exZXZFNcHZINF6337-cYaxy-SQFGFklxqN5elpGJeftOSLRbUwOiXeGuo0sc7xyXEkguR05Bu4EuaZajiYSe9ICnMrBuBWfOV36WlMi0mA79MsR8dxr7yNKhVR-kPSDFWiizigDncA1Lvrbh-02zNyr7ZX5Ub6otf7nGPMefMW9IhsQm0GW_mYO6rvc/s3024/Sun%20edited.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3006" data-original-width="3024" height="318" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-exZXZFNcHZINF6337-cYaxy-SQFGFklxqN5elpGJeftOSLRbUwOiXeGuo0sc7xyXEkguR05Bu4EuaZajiYSe9ICnMrBuBWfOV36WlMi0mA79MsR8dxr7yNKhVR-kPSDFWiizigDncA1Lvrbh-02zNyr7ZX5Ub6otf7nGPMefMW9IhsQm0GW_mYO6rvc/s320/Sun%20edited.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Unexpectedly small and modest.</td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal">The Sun recording studio was a small, linoleumed, unassuming
space steeped in rock-n-roll history. Our tour guide was a musician who could
barely believe her day job was to hang out in The Place Where Rock Began. I
could barely believe I was allowed to stand there without glass or ropes and
try to soak in the significance of the room. Between Sun Records and
Mission Control in Houston, this has been quite a year of historic rooms!</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzzLxlltE5KaoUNhF6o08B56UZacHRVXXoY3l0sWz5hhYlimTl707ntKFPNKVvfdjX2pgG4uVFaCLZM84xUDigzYPV_EaFeRYT2yodYw9ecflpF6Ti9ZAB5ZnD72ZG7YZ_cKNtXyDk3CxD8pmDsNB8XbpCsbELDvF2xwa82LcwC9_e8xIkrF1WiMSY6Hw/s4032/386436146_801816524961087_3916224980459647545_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzzLxlltE5KaoUNhF6o08B56UZacHRVXXoY3l0sWz5hhYlimTl707ntKFPNKVvfdjX2pgG4uVFaCLZM84xUDigzYPV_EaFeRYT2yodYw9ecflpF6Ti9ZAB5ZnD72ZG7YZ_cKNtXyDk3CxD8pmDsNB8XbpCsbELDvF2xwa82LcwC9_e8xIkrF1WiMSY6Hw/s320/386436146_801816524961087_3916224980459647545_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pretty much the entire room where<br />music history was made.</td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal">When we learned the Grand Ole Opry was closed for the week,
and Rob was only at about 60% capacity, I assumed we would be making a second
trip to Nashville someday. But, honestly, I think we did and saw and ate all
that we really wanted to and could appreciate. I apparently know a lot of
county western music fans.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Actually, I CAN envision a perfect return to Nashville: a
concert by Darius Rucker in the Ryman with a 2-night stay at the Opryland Resort
paid for by someone else. With a fried bologna sandwich for dinner, hold the
Moon Pie.</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLlIwCbb1QWovYCuXZDLAQkC1Sl4NtC77E6mBsdWRYlD3Kxh1COOa6-R4Sbqf7UaoY8Iaxsn7FjxVCQFwsKH9qi_jYtrdiZiyxn3iM_1pOZ4_mfYvYjvc8Kgt-7mjQGYfEwZE-yGJlum_FDUZXwDE828ZS67A_4hEkNbi3Oe8sPlc07GEK95uXq4yxIFU/s998/382251295_342584851542684_2731076917581777573_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="998" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLlIwCbb1QWovYCuXZDLAQkC1Sl4NtC77E6mBsdWRYlD3Kxh1COOa6-R4Sbqf7UaoY8Iaxsn7FjxVCQFwsKH9qi_jYtrdiZiyxn3iM_1pOZ4_mfYvYjvc8Kgt-7mjQGYfEwZE-yGJlum_FDUZXwDE828ZS67A_4hEkNbi3Oe8sPlc07GEK95uXq4yxIFU/s320/382251295_342584851542684_2731076917581777573_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p></p>Toni at Woodhavenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14376655175018122805noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-400828308445468217.post-56098533660638902023-08-14T19:47:00.004-07:002023-08-14T19:51:06.030-07:00THE FINAL FAIR DAY<p>We were about 75% of the way home last night when the first
tear finally eked out. By the time we arrived in Woodhaven’s garage, my mascara
was smeared down my cheeks. I should have remembered to wear the waterproof
stuff on the Final Fair Day.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I surprised myself last year by not crying at the end of My
Beloved Fair. I concluded it was because I wasn’t utterly exhausted and had
finally figured out how to Fair Well. Always dedicated to being a good student,
I took last year’s fairing lessons to heart and therefore did not expect to be a
sobbing mess in the passenger seat last night. And yet.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I ended up staying up until about 1:00am. I didn't want to go to bed because I didn't want the day to end and for My Fair to be over. Even after finally tucking myself in and getting a solid 8 hours of sleep, I’m still mopey and wistful. I tried to cheer myself
up with a pedicure today, and I’ve promised myself a healthy, fibery entrée salad for dinner. But I’m
still truly sad and teary that My Fair is over. I am not ready to return to The
Real World and adulting just yet. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">As we were saying goodbye last night to Adam the Great (a magician
who fills my Instagram feed with energy and fun @adamthegreatmagic), Adam said he was
heading off to northern Idaho for the Coeur d’Alene Fair. A big part of me was
ready to pack up and follow him. I’m exhausted, I feel puffy, quite an array of
body parts ache, I have bruises I don’t remember acquiring, my fingernails are
a disaster, and I forgot what my hair looks like without a baseball hat. But I don’t
want it to end!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">My Fair is a wonderful escape. It is simple. It is sweet. It
is traditions. It is kids and animals and homemade creations. It is laughter
and cheering. It is strolls through animal barns and respites on benches. It is
sunsets and warm evening breezes. It is seeing old friends. It is making new
ones. Every year, I become more a part of My Fair and it nuzzles deeper into my
heart. My adoration grows each year, making saying goodbye that much harder.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">We spent yesterday wandering around trying not to melt, and
were quite happy to have the 2:00pm – 6:00pm shift in the Crafts & Hobbies department.
A chair, air conditioning, artsy craftsy things to look at…pretty cool volunteer
gig on a 100-degree day!</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9GiuLqP8vZy00NN-IlCCgawlKYsuOqLpCTKBL6h1nxbO3AGDTQfMJXrYUvcSWrAd1DPcrqxVKhSnWGuc3YTiJHUbTUG7Z0N5S08OdZheCOZTsn4gllfKX5BM_kiodrrKM34ui4TsYWzlgCIPx5d_atNejJs74Kjnf3CB-I57OynH5Tail9VFfwuhN_0U/s998/367435186_834919527880023_6051779488471944154_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="998" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9GiuLqP8vZy00NN-IlCCgawlKYsuOqLpCTKBL6h1nxbO3AGDTQfMJXrYUvcSWrAd1DPcrqxVKhSnWGuc3YTiJHUbTUG7Z0N5S08OdZheCOZTsn4gllfKX5BM_kiodrrKM34ui4TsYWzlgCIPx5d_atNejJs74Kjnf3CB-I57OynH5Tail9VFfwuhN_0U/s320/367435186_834919527880023_6051779488471944154_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hey, there's my hair! Definitely <br />NOT blonde despite what that<br />Influencer Sunglasses Woman claimed.</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">We made some new friends yesterday! We shared a lunch table in the
Wizard’s area with Janet and Roy (btw, the Wizard’s area was a home run! There
were people in there all fair long, having a blast! Including in that awful vortex
thingy.) Janet and Roy are both probably about 80 years old and have lived in Clark
County pretty much their whole lives. I LOVED hearing where old roads and
buildings and businesses used to be in my not-as-small-as-it-used-to-be town,
and how Janet’s dad helped build some of the barns on the Fairgrounds. I told
the couple that, having now been in Clark County for over 19 years, I often
feel like an old-timer, especially with so many new people moving into all the
new homes that are replacing fields and pastures. But hearing their stories and
descriptions of how things really used to be – and knowing people who now have roads
named after them – I realize I am still a total newbie.</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnXjK4RdmHhLmEDxvhchfBguAlHjHeVdNG4lCR9nenU5ifDiKncmL5bDaw8hM3s6ohBftIeOLynV2qo5G3LxteR0idaOYJmW-wxsRsZVyjVlHUbPZXLZh4pqAnCdNlV2CLRhxfN87U-eRvR94AXyIfQfUy9THSj8IqhiA9f-SwOhJ2tWIJFFIHl2-UPic/s1000/365429283_122430930940414_2788008266483485174_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnXjK4RdmHhLmEDxvhchfBguAlHjHeVdNG4lCR9nenU5ifDiKncmL5bDaw8hM3s6ohBftIeOLynV2qo5G3LxteR0idaOYJmW-wxsRsZVyjVlHUbPZXLZh4pqAnCdNlV2CLRhxfN87U-eRvR94AXyIfQfUy9THSj8IqhiA9f-SwOhJ2tWIJFFIHl2-UPic/s320/365429283_122430930940414_2788008266483485174_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's been a while since the Feature<br />Exhibit was consistently so lively<br />and popular! Only thing that would<br />have made it better was hand-washing<br />stations. Wizards touch a lot of stuff.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I also was completely caught off guard to meet Jason. Jason
politely came over as Rob and I were plotting our next meander and introduced
himself as a big fan and follower of my <a href="https://www.instagram.com/its_the_fair/" target="_blank">“It’s the Fair” Instagram account</a>. I’m
pretty sure I just blinked at him as I tried to process what he was telling me.
He then went on to say he actually works for the Fair and relies on my posts to
see how things are going. MIND BLOWN!! We’re already connected on Instagram and
I desperately hope we get to Talk Fair all year long, especially in the cold,
drippy depths of winter.</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKbbmOsCP49ceQGW13A-oFf9Az1uMmSIbkhBKMxQNbZpWmU8ZQzmH8CXaAT19HLIH3xO9ZnpQBteTck7myDg1hMEVckrZlbAA9zxjaPoHQmgEhz1WjNAX4h49LhocSkXzddcbSwEodkGy3fRC029fI1kBa5_KWt2qCrr8hfwaPSGIQV51rO7kuA_w0oLE/s998/367439031_848229980209800_7516539844744997165_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="998" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKbbmOsCP49ceQGW13A-oFf9Az1uMmSIbkhBKMxQNbZpWmU8ZQzmH8CXaAT19HLIH3xO9ZnpQBteTck7myDg1hMEVckrZlbAA9zxjaPoHQmgEhz1WjNAX4h49LhocSkXzddcbSwEodkGy3fRC029fI1kBa5_KWt2qCrr8hfwaPSGIQV51rO7kuA_w0oLE/s320/367439031_848229980209800_7516539844744997165_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm reaaallly hoping Jason doesn't<br />regret introducing himself.<br /> I'm also super excited to have a new<br />friend named Linda who also follows<br />my Fair posts and might be an even<br />bigger Fair Fan than I am! Next year<br />we'll get a photo and you can see <br />what I mean. Spoiler alert: Tattoo! </td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">We closed out the Fair with both of Jerry Harris’s hypnosis
shows. ALWAYS a great time. I will forever be grateful for Jerry – and for the
Fine Fair Folks for inviting him as entertainment year after year. Watching
Jerry’s shows and learning about the benefits of hypnosis eventually gave me
the courage to find a local hypnotherapist to tackle my chronic back pain some
years ago. Hypnosis didn’t eliminate my pain, but it made a huge dent in it and
gave me portions of my life back that I thought were gone forever. THANK YOU,
JERRY!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>THANK YOU FINE FAIR FOLKS!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Our last task of the night was going on a 4-H Scavenger hunt
for our neighbor Karoline. Out-of-state commitments prevented the 15-year-old
from being able to pick up all her exhibits and ribbons at the end of the Fair,
so we volunteered to collect them for her. She gave us an easy-to-follow list and we had quite
a fun time scurrying from Photography to Baking to Garden to Sewing to gather
Karoline’s hard work and the many colorful ribbons to show for it.</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAvQS-u5qKvEldKM7g9hqrp6fjhBHSGiNXjRKKzhceTUygORWBoTzj8gcf4-Pe7TqbvY5KIHCmJUQJqKLOGb5sui-orMS8vFPgtaD75YKKdkMThZph3RpZdK7JwXFmqghq_pNbc3JJU1dhoNt_HLV-h1Id2N7PJ2KBYX1_I3bxWl2BgjWecBPwolRyicY/s1000/367486785_278085651513311_5371081439327422616_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAvQS-u5qKvEldKM7g9hqrp6fjhBHSGiNXjRKKzhceTUygORWBoTzj8gcf4-Pe7TqbvY5KIHCmJUQJqKLOGb5sui-orMS8vFPgtaD75YKKdkMThZph3RpZdK7JwXFmqghq_pNbc3JJU1dhoNt_HLV-h1Id2N7PJ2KBYX1_I3bxWl2BgjWecBPwolRyicY/s320/367486785_278085651513311_5371081439327422616_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A few folks who clearly do not know<br />me asked me if I had made the dress.<br />The only thing I make with a sewing<br />machine is knots of thread and <br />unladylike comments.</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><br /></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b>GREAT JOB, FINE FAIR FOLKS!</b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">There were a number of things this year that were new that I
REALLY appreciated.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I LOVED the new, sturdy plastic benches that I hope are
slowly replacing the rickety wooden yellow ones. The new benches were wisely placed
in the shade near a mister, which made them very popular. Sadly, I only got to
sit on a new bench once, but it was super comfy. Nevertheless. I desperately
hope to purchase one of those old yellow benches for Woodhaven someday. Having
a little piece of the Fair next to our barn would make me giddy! And yes, I’ve
mentioned this heart’s desire to a few Fine Fair Folks. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">Fingers crossed!</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgultiJ7daQxlCFu2ovn0qRdCKNF1qlupOHJaf_hFydUQyRFEraMYrXs9m-iv-5dL4tvRiKqSl-GypVXgzPVmh9RgilIcbxLFDPT-kmcDgd14B2dkgr0xb2fnx3kKWHGQFNTpL51ZO8tQmAfGxaMvAvNA72FubjiWFaxmQVsJucz8atg5uUqPUjRhR96LQ/s1000/367443757_339914005110334_9010625887435251536_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgultiJ7daQxlCFu2ovn0qRdCKNF1qlupOHJaf_hFydUQyRFEraMYrXs9m-iv-5dL4tvRiKqSl-GypVXgzPVmh9RgilIcbxLFDPT-kmcDgd14B2dkgr0xb2fnx3kKWHGQFNTpL51ZO8tQmAfGxaMvAvNA72FubjiWFaxmQVsJucz8atg5uUqPUjRhR96LQ/s320/367443757_339914005110334_9010625887435251536_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">As much as I love the old yellow benches,<br />these new ones sort of elevated the vibe<br />and also looked less scary to sit on</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I also loved the new signage. Although I didn’t need directions,
I loved the arrow pointers scattered around the Fairgrounds to help newbies get
around. Please never put one next to the Gazebo, though, Fine Fair Folks. I don’t
want to be out of a job!</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEkR-Dpt0-2tOzaIYmTGqCIHIX32NuKTB7FDRiKeqSoiLeeTduBssHA8KrGfEJbhOwo4LsYArFwWJ_sERlulav-Bh-r782Ks-rmdGDYpWCpU0mivVcbkf9Qbl9EvwtL4F-lZRiwJ1DeUJozXf8yQ8eu2XvaM3iSX_W8xRvAEYozBBmlFfu7VBEOdS7HAc/s1000/367500283_805583511222595_2393791762187784039_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEkR-Dpt0-2tOzaIYmTGqCIHIX32NuKTB7FDRiKeqSoiLeeTduBssHA8KrGfEJbhOwo4LsYArFwWJ_sERlulav-Bh-r782Ks-rmdGDYpWCpU0mivVcbkf9Qbl9EvwtL4F-lZRiwJ1DeUJozXf8yQ8eu2XvaM3iSX_W8xRvAEYozBBmlFfu7VBEOdS7HAc/s320/367500283_805583511222595_2393791762187784039_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nice touch! Helpful yet unobtrusive.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Having Curly the Camel on the Fairgrounds was a blast! I
visited him often, just to gaze and say hello. I also loved seeing the wide
eyes of excitement when I asked kids who stopped by the Gazebo if they had seen
the camel yet. I SO hope he’s a repeat resident!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj92Wdk5Xntj4SGvy0LtuOmonrG-lg6Vdm8NRVZvL5W4_SIt1DhcH4L-jtqaMaVvyZF_NzX8E2y-vk3mj8gS-dIkB3JpZ535qId1sj2CwqTpcoa-RW3YL0nltLU97siyw-RWA-GRXvUhf3DsmqsiIZGn3M3vedWxmMeVj8m5yUsSQQo0K9Y7_U_Fx7SXzY/s1000/367504438_1030622968117273_8582481214950232854_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj92Wdk5Xntj4SGvy0LtuOmonrG-lg6Vdm8NRVZvL5W4_SIt1DhcH4L-jtqaMaVvyZF_NzX8E2y-vk3mj8gS-dIkB3JpZ535qId1sj2CwqTpcoa-RW3YL0nltLU97siyw-RWA-GRXvUhf3DsmqsiIZGn3M3vedWxmMeVj8m5yUsSQQo0K9Y7_U_Fx7SXzY/s320/367504438_1030622968117273_8582481214950232854_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">How adorable is that sign?! Almost<br />as adorable as Curly himself.</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzl1zPOSkKUdcbX-mFjjUCl7JcFfNKVzKukklhsijTz_Tx4-ndX3PI1jBk3kJsLkAZ14MB0dstnexpyH4Y9jaFTfFzW-_vKsKn3-5cqTZb8QffAQq7zVghtl2QB8DQBLadIJyKpUxtVQLC-cnunAVpJgyTRl_hoSBBI-y74a3Y9yQTTAbq8w5025ZviLY/s1000/364446483_3112764682362676_1030170792206433550_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzl1zPOSkKUdcbX-mFjjUCl7JcFfNKVzKukklhsijTz_Tx4-ndX3PI1jBk3kJsLkAZ14MB0dstnexpyH4Y9jaFTfFzW-_vKsKn3-5cqTZb8QffAQq7zVghtl2QB8DQBLadIJyKpUxtVQLC-cnunAVpJgyTRl_hoSBBI-y74a3Y9yQTTAbq8w5025ZviLY/s320/364446483_3112764682362676_1030170792206433550_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">He's such a good boy! And quite<br />busy during December as part of a<br />live Nativity. Can't wait to see him again! </td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">And, as always, My Beloved Fair is the cleanest Fair I have
seen. They must hire a summer camp’s worth of teenagers to haul trash, clean
tables, and restock bathrooms. The kids do a great job and we do our best to
thank them throughout the Fair.</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPX-E-o3nOKyvOtnSU8hMNgSKNlvu2fNU50hLmD4Q-GXM1kamBtF8mvdEbQScTot9AGCW7BC-6_7PsZWbhM-W58A9WQ7AjOmMabxLg-hsFcJe83zlXNKSK7kdl9bR2nnCG4w3A7NttZuIvUlPGGsHMkFg6GPcjK2oqUOwn2r_JH-oGqvTIGRoSyhAaHo0/s968/367498518_253728044218885_1277788422667600201_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="968" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPX-E-o3nOKyvOtnSU8hMNgSKNlvu2fNU50hLmD4Q-GXM1kamBtF8mvdEbQScTot9AGCW7BC-6_7PsZWbhM-W58A9WQ7AjOmMabxLg-hsFcJe83zlXNKSK7kdl9bR2nnCG4w3A7NttZuIvUlPGGsHMkFg6GPcjK2oqUOwn2r_JH-oGqvTIGRoSyhAaHo0/s320/367498518_253728044218885_1277788422667600201_n.jpg" width="248" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">They work really hard! Thank you<br />Cleaning Crew!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>BOO!</b><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I was heartbroken not to see the Harbor Patrol Dixieland Band
this year. This band of old guys playing horns and clarinets and some strings
has been one of the things I always listen for at My Beloved Fair. The purely Americana
music wafting around the midway is Perfectly Fair, and I deeply missed stopping
for a spell to listen to songs that make me want to wear a gingham dress and
bake a cherry pie.</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3g61RHbV6uO3qS27fbFXnmubOUEVWa0bHSkIqQ2j3ExkPOH0DBrfyCwN5ZhFQVAd3-VIvW8v8SOXd2h_u6Egu9QxzFw6gUC-3IAD5hpKeMC7DpDdf0jPZBO8or17eFL22b3zoevHpFoZ-smaIsH2FeoKtxx7VwUmrQ9sYt3KTaEI_NsmE5bQEhBnWRTE/s740/367437684_615693463965603_7023012573859218421_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="740" height="311" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3g61RHbV6uO3qS27fbFXnmubOUEVWa0bHSkIqQ2j3ExkPOH0DBrfyCwN5ZhFQVAd3-VIvW8v8SOXd2h_u6Egu9QxzFw6gUC-3IAD5hpKeMC7DpDdf0jPZBO8or17eFL22b3zoevHpFoZ-smaIsH2FeoKtxx7VwUmrQ9sYt3KTaEI_NsmE5bQEhBnWRTE/s320/367437684_615693463965603_7023012573859218421_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I took this photo at last year's Fair. I fear I might<br />not see them again. I've actually been listening to<br />Dixieland music on YouTube while writing today.<br />That may or may not have been a good idea.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Ok, so I totally understand the need to save seats in the
Grandstands. You want to make sure all your favorite people gather ‘round you
to watch cars and trucks break apart in the dirt. And not everybody arrives at
the same time. I get it. I save seats, too. And I have some VERY kind friends
(I’m looking at you, Shelley) who often save seats for me when I get delayed in
a food line.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">But saving seats using a duct-taped blanket and then showing
up later is not very sporting. Moseying into the Grandstands in the middle of
the day when nobody is there, taping down your blanket, and then waltzing in for
the show after the crowd is assembled is kinda sorta really very much rudely
arrogant. Worse? Taping down your blanket and then never showing up. What the
heck, people?!? <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">In my Fair world, if you want to save seats, you must have at least one representative in person holding down the fort. Claiming your
own personally reserved seats for your own use on your whim is not nice. And
not Fair. Personally, I think there needs to be a rule – and SIGNS – that say 7
simple words: “SOMEONE MUST BE PRESENT TO SAVE SEATS.” I’ll even help put them up for
next year!</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFgbFMcsqX8MQavTWLNw4qtprCFPKcKBwfBInE-3xXJ2TPAeHETWIBFOVxndUz7Xf73mGCTBcoRN_e43c5lQOpCnov_mpRbmYlSgk7mlE_U2D3aXacN2cQUzY8sFjAKDNA5J-Xkigdpp-rlMS9j0ZjILUh5k3Y3HVkV692Q55HOeA1ggGryHRY7dy8jME/s1000/367358224_848123259982325_5072892993601472087_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFgbFMcsqX8MQavTWLNw4qtprCFPKcKBwfBInE-3xXJ2TPAeHETWIBFOVxndUz7Xf73mGCTBcoRN_e43c5lQOpCnov_mpRbmYlSgk7mlE_U2D3aXacN2cQUzY8sFjAKDNA5J-Xkigdpp-rlMS9j0ZjILUh5k3Y3HVkV692Q55HOeA1ggGryHRY7dy8jME/s320/367358224_848123259982325_5072892993601472087_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">See all those empty seats around me?<br />That's because we arrived EARLY<br />and STAYED there to get the seats I<br /> need to keep my back happy.<br />Speaking of happy, look at those carbs! Mmmm!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I don’t want to end on a rant, so instead I will
end as I have the previous 9 days: with food and earrings.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Thank you all, dear readers, for coming along with me for
the past 10 days of utter fun, laughs, calories, and the sweet escape of time
with friends and cute animals. And thank you to my most favorite Fair Buddy –
the man who carries my stuff, buys me food, reminds me to sleep, drives while I
edit photos, and smiles at me with pure love when he sees me soaking in every
drop of My Beloved Fair. Thank you for fairing with me, Rob. I’m the luckiest.</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh6T6jCJtNypAwlExeyIWb4aAqGkdkI2_YF5G1KFTBSeQaDB2H3RI-3L0B-_sL4JuRDBzNiP3bWyn3FQHGARUK8Xah0W7HXbbBE2AyigdY9x9YnElAdlyml3-pFkrSomRvyWHNqhAK43wCMvWRMNuo8G2b0fHoLYS8RLY0tb_q7AP-MmqbpfJDq39S9Sc/s998/367435192_656345553113016_7593060777529786945_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="998" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh6T6jCJtNypAwlExeyIWb4aAqGkdkI2_YF5G1KFTBSeQaDB2H3RI-3L0B-_sL4JuRDBzNiP3bWyn3FQHGARUK8Xah0W7HXbbBE2AyigdY9x9YnElAdlyml3-pFkrSomRvyWHNqhAK43wCMvWRMNuo8G2b0fHoLYS8RLY0tb_q7AP-MmqbpfJDq39S9Sc/s320/367435192_656345553113016_7593060777529786945_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Holding back the tears as we left<br />last night. I am so grateful for this life.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUAVgWiT9Q9QLRubErawXDlzwHNh5mJBo9AS7cIpSF5ZAeRCAxdFY0i4TszdpH2zadSq01GSfgIe8aYMBSwnMAMIjvNvpPpbfbzfz_bqhYsMd4E31P-jTnEKvmjks_47Ob4zMRW3BAWwfg8oQ6E5ppuVilv8FIVJ1ntAhwdPhKd5KNtwFGsA80Jszsea4/s750/367489614_1649125055609215_6141930456721432647_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="711" data-original-width="750" height="303" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUAVgWiT9Q9QLRubErawXDlzwHNh5mJBo9AS7cIpSF5ZAeRCAxdFY0i4TszdpH2zadSq01GSfgIe8aYMBSwnMAMIjvNvpPpbfbzfz_bqhYsMd4E31P-jTnEKvmjks_47Ob4zMRW3BAWwfg8oQ6E5ppuVilv8FIVJ1ntAhwdPhKd5KNtwFGsA80Jszsea4/s320/367489614_1649125055609215_6141930456721432647_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Spotted in Tillamook.<br /> Oh, to have his-n-hers t-shirts!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p> <b>FINAL FAIR FOOD FEAST COLLAGE</b></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKELZ0NZH8N8SN0PrUgTKH9x26kLWKKyaq4Fv7Qu97ALDP7JyYWPeHsePJq1smgNaOZ1pkwxkROOevSyborhIAhr_FusQWVJksQ0Fn3TjI_JshJCAOU_rbt3GKtTxJEeeMhkIdITsDp60aBnTaIrT1Fhf78q7s5fmrzGU41SGP9z7d9SmjQDP13cyGKoQ/s750/367439029_967218057820341_4385953883716532048_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKELZ0NZH8N8SN0PrUgTKH9x26kLWKKyaq4Fv7Qu97ALDP7JyYWPeHsePJq1smgNaOZ1pkwxkROOevSyborhIAhr_FusQWVJksQ0Fn3TjI_JshJCAOU_rbt3GKtTxJEeeMhkIdITsDp60aBnTaIrT1Fhf78q7s5fmrzGU41SGP9z7d9SmjQDP13cyGKoQ/s320/367439029_967218057820341_4385953883716532048_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">TOP ROW:<br />Water with a Watermelon rapid hydration<br />packet mixed in. It worked! No insane headache<br />all day!<br /><br />Bahn Mi Salad with extra spice. Yes, a salad. <br />And yes, it verged on healthy. But it was SO<br />GOOD! It was also $19 and totally overpriced.<br />I should have gotten the Kid's portion for half <br />the price. Still, hope they come back next year!<br /><br />MIDDLE ROW:<br />Strawberry Smasher! The last one of the year, <br />unless I want to go to Bingen in September for the<br />Huckleberry Festival... Hmmm.<br /><br />Chocolate Cookies n Cream Milkshake!<br />Very good and very chocolatey...but I <br />surprisingly (for me) prefer the strawberry<br />version instead. Also note the cup from a<br />Fair of Years Past. They ran out of cups for<br />this year. YAY MILKSHAKE BARN!<br /><br />BOTTOM ROW:<br />Old timey pastrami sandwich from the<br />Church Ladies Pie booth. I wanted something<br />downhomey and simple for dinner. Nailed it!<br /><br />Three-Berry Pie -- blackberry, blueberry, and<br />raspberry. SO GOOD! Those church ladies <br />never disappoint.<br /><br />Fairwell elephant ear from the stand next<br />to the milkshake barn. Our only one of the year<br />and it was worth the wait. Doughy, buttery,<br />lots of sugar and cinnamon. The perfect ending.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>LAST DAY’S EARRINGS</b></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNwrqUgIs88ISfDvyuoDqHCyOALrPwbO2LgHK7iJBxegN3EL5hce5N-GDoJ2GfjbBDvtxVt0OEFvKJSyMZANHZcvDtb_wrcUzmBIRE0O__xFoTm-dXhEUwKw0lIM9veoaqetsuDD6eS_MnyPNsMmfOzt0qCHoIgS7Np7d8wyFGulWQe8Y0XaELOXZb66A/s610/367435607_225931706675627_4194346304179398809_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="610" data-original-width="610" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNwrqUgIs88ISfDvyuoDqHCyOALrPwbO2LgHK7iJBxegN3EL5hce5N-GDoJ2GfjbBDvtxVt0OEFvKJSyMZANHZcvDtb_wrcUzmBIRE0O__xFoTm-dXhEUwKw0lIM9veoaqetsuDD6eS_MnyPNsMmfOzt0qCHoIgS7Np7d8wyFGulWQe8Y0XaELOXZb66A/s320/367435607_225931706675627_4194346304179398809_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I consider these earrings the most "adult"<br />of my collection. Easing back into Real Life.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>Toni at Woodhavenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14376655175018122805noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-400828308445468217.post-29037050917978362542023-08-13T08:51:00.001-07:002023-08-13T09:03:59.157-07:00FAIR DAY 9 ~ Crowds but no crabs<p>Wow! Adam the Magician said he’s pretty sure the entire
county came to the Fair today. I’m pretty sure he’s right. Goodness, it was
crowded! But gratefully, it didn’t feel unsafe and vibratey like it did that
one awful day last year.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Nevertheless, the lines for food and drink were the longest
I’ve seen all Fair. And they ran out of parking at some point late afternoon.
And the Grandstands were closed at capacity before the evening Tuff Trucks started.
Rob and I were working in the Gazebo from 3:00-8:00pm, so we were largely
protected from the crowds and instead watched them stream by. It was also hot.
A nearby weather station says it got to 88 degrees. With all the asphalt on the
Fairgrounds, my money says it got to at least low 90s. With more to come tomorrow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yikes!</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu2WdFx9m1iZdCwqGuaUrOsYKyBEgRVWMkIVk5eon8KmgwipQm8sG-jOKN8PhzJg2Fa6wBjs2Sm8O1YRvjNrLjUIT_d8kFN3OvLXJrwzkEtlt9bDwj7bS6p8rvUgg2HcDK4XQZK4Xu1dDKicZ70BXkC9LAWnjGnM1biYtTXohXZQLUF8nl1v4NOXjA7JY/s790/367380625_926929401736841_5785006010700093856_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="790" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu2WdFx9m1iZdCwqGuaUrOsYKyBEgRVWMkIVk5eon8KmgwipQm8sG-jOKN8PhzJg2Fa6wBjs2Sm8O1YRvjNrLjUIT_d8kFN3OvLXJrwzkEtlt9bDwj7bS6p8rvUgg2HcDK4XQZK4Xu1dDKicZ70BXkC9LAWnjGnM1biYtTXohXZQLUF8nl1v4NOXjA7JY/s320/367380625_926929401736841_5785006010700093856_n.jpg" width="304" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Early in the afternoon, so you can still see<br />some pavement.</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Speaking of money, before we moseyed over to the Gazebo, we
stopped in the Auction Ring to watch some very dedicated kids auction off their
animal projects for big bucks. It takes a very mature, focused human to spend
all year caring for and raising an animal only to give it away. And not to “a
good home” – to a good dinner plate. I know I couldn’t do it. Or, at least I
know I don’t want to try. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Listening in on the auction is always fun. The auctioneer is
the same guy every year and he’s GOOD. He knows the tight family of bidders and
local companies supporting the kids. He makes jokes. He has fun. He talks super
fast. The vibe in the Auction Ring is all business, but it is also one of
community support. (<a href="https://www.youtube.com/shorts/8yMo_9vbEcM" target="_blank">Click here to see and listen!</a>)<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The steers we watched being auctioned off were going for
$10,000-$15,000. That is a huge deposit in a college fund! That being said,
when Rob and I were chatting with some Goat Sellers who stopped by the Gazebo
later, they were telling us their goats got $2,000-$3,000. “We came after the
steers, so there wasn’t any money left,” one young teen wise to the world
explained.</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQgxc4I-UtKfeNOKSOCWXcYd5MDZBxNVoySznepAtDPeT6SA08SX68epx8rdZuhCEH5FuiL5-1gV9LrKEiFKZhUQdjWB1cKid9Xmuet381rXLga6dwuZsRyAMbn737y1_Rg8Jldz-kjX8HwNQ5SW2qMyEkFPYmUNJypFhwz_pPxiWrcDZlIKpXvOVdNes/s1000/367377404_320218973718714_1058601538203342497_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQgxc4I-UtKfeNOKSOCWXcYd5MDZBxNVoySznepAtDPeT6SA08SX68epx8rdZuhCEH5FuiL5-1gV9LrKEiFKZhUQdjWB1cKid9Xmuet381rXLga6dwuZsRyAMbn737y1_Rg8Jldz-kjX8HwNQ5SW2qMyEkFPYmUNJypFhwz_pPxiWrcDZlIKpXvOVdNes/s320/367377404_320218973718714_1058601538203342497_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">They bid per pound, plus people<br />can "add on" with donations<br />that go to the kid without buying<br />any part of the animal. By our best<br />calculations (did I mention the <br />auctioneer talks FAST?), that young<br />boy walked away from his cow with<br />over $13,000.</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">We had a busy shift in the Gazebo. We probably only sat down
for a total of about 20 minutes over the 5 hours. It was nice and breezy, so we
didn’t melt, although many of the parents dragging themselves to our window
looked pretty wiped out. We do rain very well here in the Pacific Northwest,
but we are kind of wimpy when it comes to heat (and snow, but that’s another
season). <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">We had the standard questions about where to find the
nearest restroom, water fountain, butterfly exhibit, and the animal barns. We
directed lots of teenagers to the carnival to buy ride wristbands. A Portland
roofing company was holding its employee picnic in the Hospitality Park, so we
got to direct a lot of Oregonians to their celebration while also welcoming
them to our Fair. I got to stretch my legs by taking a found cell phone down to
the Lost and Found. One tween boy asked if I could change a $5 for five $1s (uncharacteristically,
I could). A fellow Gen Xer asked where she could find cotton candy on a stick,
not in a boring bag. One girl asked where the Gazebo was (she was quite
delighted when we told her). <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">By far the most unusual question, however, came from a pair
of Russian men in their late-20s. They beelined over to our array of plastic
animals serving as prizes and asked with an accent, “Got any crabs?” Even after
verifying what we heard, we were still mystified. And apologetic that no, all
we could offer was dinosaurs and the occasional hippo and rhinoceros. And they
weren’t free – they had to earn them by completing our Passport Fan. Disappointed,
the determined men quickly turned and headed down the midway towards the butterflies
and parrots. I can guarantee you, they did not find crabs anywhere on the
Fairgrounds.</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVF4sCrcVKbETRtwkwajqaVlgsxSSBdm8RN5NmakDrzg2rT_tzQ-G6FPD5cvhHaY3f0Gf2aPHXRQNcRhm_OzxqzMdG189xUGtjQgcajRjhaoDF_-G4hguPba7_iOZxVj5GNgH_Sw4GRGJVi5hudI8fEfdSltRr6HlEsXbB_W1r4dLlQCsspww2e_fnNKg/s1000/363525804_966824211197852_7966324769352810374_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVF4sCrcVKbETRtwkwajqaVlgsxSSBdm8RN5NmakDrzg2rT_tzQ-G6FPD5cvhHaY3f0Gf2aPHXRQNcRhm_OzxqzMdG189xUGtjQgcajRjhaoDF_-G4hguPba7_iOZxVj5GNgH_Sw4GRGJVi5hudI8fEfdSltRr6HlEsXbB_W1r4dLlQCsspww2e_fnNKg/s320/363525804_966824211197852_7966324769352810374_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Note the shirt! <br />I absolutely LOVE working in the<br />Gazebo! Today we brought some<br />prizes leftover from a fizzled<br />community project, so a couple<br />dozen lucky kids got bubbles<br />and coloring books! And I got<br />room in a storage closet!<br />Everyone's a winner!</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">After dinner and a chat with Smashers Stan (he’s selling A
LOT of Smashers this year! He was wondering if he would run out of cups before
the end of the night – fortunately he has a stash at home for tomorrow), we
stood in a long line for the Ferris Wheel. It is the only carnival ride my back
allows me to enjoy. It’s a tradition for me and Rob to ride it at sunset at
least once during the Fair. Tonight was the night.</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic_hX3dEEYLMQRMcBtbuH89QZ74gLojTrO_8IEC7NgMQRVXSz50evIqnUP4qPb8WFCj91d8WO-0D1w5rXSTiZMBnLFk_o6h_-TDjvqf-ikQbhSCuLBbGN5g8FIr4vi1UFyOPd6Z5DEVWfkJF-xF-iSylYuiB9qijl9oQ8ruE9Egjnk2dqYSGakCzJyeTs/s750/367398592_967170264542407_842814975786142471_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="563" data-original-width="750" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic_hX3dEEYLMQRMcBtbuH89QZ74gLojTrO_8IEC7NgMQRVXSz50evIqnUP4qPb8WFCj91d8WO-0D1w5rXSTiZMBnLFk_o6h_-TDjvqf-ikQbhSCuLBbGN5g8FIr4vi1UFyOPd6Z5DEVWfkJF-xF-iSylYuiB9qijl9oQ8ruE9Egjnk2dqYSGakCzJyeTs/s320/367398592_967170264542407_842814975786142471_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">LOVE THIS VIEW!</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><br /></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-ctWmEVV2pTO6D-mQM7ScOLqUKBCgQM6dSbXIrhgg5i4MevNUTJUIF5lH_7g14MQ6szIrLfLoU1BmQWiUWYYOtjUbWkBaotx83EZAidLkg0gKOqGFcOHFS2s5cvc5RIWfECyxJp4eJP1NirPgj725L2p2K4fwhVmrs4J2g7hz6kta4dn41HNBLG33S4M/s750/367240589_218149287873285_8192325655163314027_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="563" data-original-width="750" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-ctWmEVV2pTO6D-mQM7ScOLqUKBCgQM6dSbXIrhgg5i4MevNUTJUIF5lH_7g14MQ6szIrLfLoU1BmQWiUWYYOtjUbWkBaotx83EZAidLkg0gKOqGFcOHFS2s5cvc5RIWfECyxJp4eJP1NirPgj725L2p2K4fwhVmrs4J2g7hz6kta4dn41HNBLG33S4M/s320/367240589_218149287873285_8192325655163314027_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">LOVE THIS MAN!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>FAIR FOOD FEAST COLLAGE</b></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgihz-MW4PTfENxtzgGOc2595WVHbP8Y5a_a5h1Hiah_IlV1Ea7Gq3iUSo-zR_31R8fkOfFs61sCT_ElxFqff6w_Ea2p6XGsuGi2fOm_eZQ2Qr4IenyTz5fxuzKXDpMUJE1uAwnXD9g1r8JU2G5i3caZXTidvJwIZyjAe2XtnQhk5F9QAtsL_2b77HCKsQ/s750/367404194_1236267770423393_7617995841412215332_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgihz-MW4PTfENxtzgGOc2595WVHbP8Y5a_a5h1Hiah_IlV1Ea7Gq3iUSo-zR_31R8fkOfFs61sCT_ElxFqff6w_Ea2p6XGsuGi2fOm_eZQ2Qr4IenyTz5fxuzKXDpMUJE1uAwnXD9g1r8JU2G5i3caZXTidvJwIZyjAe2XtnQhk5F9QAtsL_2b77HCKsQ/s320/367404194_1236267770423393_7617995841412215332_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">TOP ROW:<br />Mojito Spindrift! I should<br />have had two of these -- I got a <br />bit dehydrated with the heat.<br /><br />Irish Sundae with the Works! A<br />Fair Favorite for many folks. A baked<br />potato with cheese, sour cream, bacon,<br />sausage, and chives. Very tasty! The<br />bacon was much better than past years -<br />actual bacon and not those crunchy <br />bacon-like bits. The sausage tasted more<br />like a breakfast sausage and less like a<br />pizza sausage. I prefer pizza sausage.<br />The chives looked a little wiped out<br />from the heat, too. But even with those<br />tiny gripes, still a solid lunch.<br /><br />Corn on the cob doused with lots<br />of butter, salt, and Tajin. This<br />high sodium intake might have <br />contributed to my dehydration <br />headache several hours later. <br /><br />MIDDLE ROW:<br />Strawberry Mango Smasher!<br />My favorite!<br /><br />Strawberry Cookies n Cream<br />milkshake! I had to stand in line for about<br />a half hour to get this and it was worth every<br />minute. Thanks for holding down the <br />Gazebo for me, Rob!<br /><br />Corn dog from the stand across<br />from Lions. Really good! it was more <br />dog than batter...and the dog was beef.<br />I quite liked this. But if you like more corn<br />batter on your corn dog, I'd go to the Lions <br />booth across the way instead.<br /><br />BOTTOM:<br />Mediocre French fries from the<br />stand across from the Lions booth.<br />Not very crisp or flavorful. We added<br />lots of salt and ketchup. The Lions <br />booth has better fries.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p><b>TODAY’S EARRINGS</b></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioXNKNvbsyVwx7Uf526B_nfyB-py7YF2QVYiM5e542LjCSIo3d_9eUhnyMXlogVU-G8NuXuv2one8cOiNTiQ5zphy0zTlHYtTKRdZOYFIQpLK86gIue7BUMgV5gxian1oOel6apf4WmlvevZKlb4-lUavUFrMdnG1PmDLdi1vlufyLMU6DcyDo5k0CSpg/s1000/367371991_3587077238286296_4553364239738483798_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioXNKNvbsyVwx7Uf526B_nfyB-py7YF2QVYiM5e542LjCSIo3d_9eUhnyMXlogVU-G8NuXuv2one8cOiNTiQ5zphy0zTlHYtTKRdZOYFIQpLK86gIue7BUMgV5gxian1oOel6apf4WmlvevZKlb4-lUavUFrMdnG1PmDLdi1vlufyLMU6DcyDo5k0CSpg/s320/367371991_3587077238286296_4553364239738483798_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Corn dogs! My earrings are small<br />enough, that I caught people<br />distractedly staring at them all day<br />trying to figure out what they were</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>Toni at Woodhavenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14376655175018122805noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-400828308445468217.post-30448061660075303262023-08-12T10:45:00.004-07:002023-08-12T10:53:48.128-07:00FAIR DAY 8 ~ Just a good ol’ Fair day!<p>Today started a little rough. While we were on our way to
the Fairgrounds, I got a couple of texts that reminded me of The World Outside
the Fair. Nothing terrible and nothing actually urgent, but still enough to
snatch me out of my Fair Bubble for an hour or two and make me a little grumpy.
While I am tempted to go into Airplane Mode for the 10 days of Fair, I would
miss the very definitely urgent texts from friends wanting to know where the
best corn dogs are or if we can meet up for an elephant ear. First World Fair Problems.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Once I got back in the Fair Zone, we had a lovely day. We chatted
with friends, we ate, we enjoyed the civilized mid-80s temperatures before they
get all wackadoodle over the weekend.</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7aSra-mePuirvna2kGUt_rjRudRDJ_ZpUbiMxct7T83fQpiLTpz9u45tzwzLgB0bVL-twG6juXCqqzkd56X3HW8GLWbariuycnjjk9VmWDoa6hKVxZajb2mV5saJq-k-6bOvYehFIZwK93_n1xFhFlp1Imr1QKTELn5IMpTMlIjePCV0arPK1SKbtbho/s998/367278720_304478542037501_730603091264582013_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="998" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7aSra-mePuirvna2kGUt_rjRudRDJ_ZpUbiMxct7T83fQpiLTpz9u45tzwzLgB0bVL-twG6juXCqqzkd56X3HW8GLWbariuycnjjk9VmWDoa6hKVxZajb2mV5saJq-k-6bOvYehFIZwK93_n1xFhFlp1Imr1QKTELn5IMpTMlIjePCV0arPK1SKbtbho/s320/367278720_304478542037501_730603091264582013_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Back home in My Happy Place!<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal">The main event in the Grandstands was Tuff Trucks. This is
an annual favorite for all involved, as the participants are predominantly local
rednecky teenagers and twenty-somethings. They drive their trucks through a
dirt obstacle course to see who can make it through the fastest, while the audience
hopes for rollovers and busted head gaskets from the dirt mounds and mud ponds
the trucks have to navigate. I suspect this sort of entertainment happens
organically throughout the summer in the woods and forests of north Clark
County. So it is not surprising that a few years ago, Tuff Trucks became a
two-day event to accommodate all the eager Amboy-Yacolt-Battle Ground-La Center
yahoos with lifted trucks.</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV0haedmuCkA7Td3kqA3bLUOROaijchfazS5t_0kZz9I2MTvK9yqAAUZizAfgNkob0DbIr5oX7GAFc7V6b3eFO-YeStoSTemlYJXWUbAmoqIPRobE3S0wk1flIo3-es5i1ZSHiY7f4-0hIag5lTo6Q1_Wu08IRNNDV_d9eDHaOkJCOOv8M-mIteb5IZFs/s1000/364387868_773673537780671_6783670009408954028_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV0haedmuCkA7Td3kqA3bLUOROaijchfazS5t_0kZz9I2MTvK9yqAAUZizAfgNkob0DbIr5oX7GAFc7V6b3eFO-YeStoSTemlYJXWUbAmoqIPRobE3S0wk1flIo3-es5i1ZSHiY7f4-0hIag5lTo6Q1_Wu08IRNNDV_d9eDHaOkJCOOv8M-mIteb5IZFs/s320/364387868_773673537780671_6783670009408954028_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lots of popped tires, some broken<br />radiators, some busted head gaskets,<br />one full 360 degree rollover, and one<br />90 degree rollover. Drivers were fine! </td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqM_euodaD72ixOekQ0saFjIekUk8m_2NEKUpQBpq_mLQKsNcHPIm_HdwbabQfM5GuHYjQkObhsWOVMlrIbDrGYaqj1TALqWn7hLAl7VrZKBJuNVt3j8uz1dt5t5-oPysTSyvq6AptEoN4Cv8pgTT8D2F9aOy1twOuxhs605f95Sat3ZPrwh7sCLu5J-g/s4032/367291947_268451045941269_9198151237001502556_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqM_euodaD72ixOekQ0saFjIekUk8m_2NEKUpQBpq_mLQKsNcHPIm_HdwbabQfM5GuHYjQkObhsWOVMlrIbDrGYaqj1TALqWn7hLAl7VrZKBJuNVt3j8uz1dt5t5-oPysTSyvq6AptEoN4Cv8pgTT8D2F9aOy1twOuxhs605f95Sat3ZPrwh7sCLu5J-g/s320/367291947_268451045941269_9198151237001502556_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It was not raining. The mud was from<br />the pool of water in the bottom of the <br />photo. It was wonderfully messy<br />obstacle.</td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal">We finally took a stroll through the commercial side of the
Big Air Conditioned Building. Although still not full to capacity with politicians
and gadget hawkers like pre-Covid days, there were a lot fewer empty booths
this year. We’re getting there!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I took a little breather on a Purple Mattress made of
plastic honeycombs while the salesguy – who unbeknownst to me was holding a
remote control – made my feet and head go up and down and then creeped me out
by making the bed vibrate. We elected not to make a purchase, despite it
possibly being the best ride at the Fair.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">We tasted some locally marketed tea, learned about virtual
reality escape rooms, got some tips how to level out some patio pavers, waved
off a lady who promised her scary massager would eliminate my back pain (been there,
done that, still hurt), and noted where the booth is for my annual End-Of-Fair
Ring Cleaning on Sunday.</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwo6VAxpTOAuRHdNXAUE3sCBLpV3Ulg3Fa3QL8hjlFN4kvIVk-2iEIkyAaTrdHiQSwUKoHTyaLEtqeVd9VF5-6UVOA-ZNM4dXrSCfWOhKLN3EuOQ9ndrwAtwG37V4ZwGHy2-IprK4GtxLJQ5QsrT0-U76zG4bksY6S73ZcfPGYdaCqTvYNUoOQrwfnBTU/s1000/367291943_992867971955882_8740551296115955810_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwo6VAxpTOAuRHdNXAUE3sCBLpV3Ulg3Fa3QL8hjlFN4kvIVk-2iEIkyAaTrdHiQSwUKoHTyaLEtqeVd9VF5-6UVOA-ZNM4dXrSCfWOhKLN3EuOQ9ndrwAtwG37V4ZwGHy2-IprK4GtxLJQ5QsrT0-U76zG4bksY6S73ZcfPGYdaCqTvYNUoOQrwfnBTU/s320/367291943_992867971955882_8740551296115955810_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rob and I are seriously considering<br />trying out a real live escape room<br />sometime in the depths of winter<br />when we want to escape the rain.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNnlld4OnvPf_0ue3mH0zc79t0m0kq5p0pHsL-sdbgpcZmy2OX8gvBhu50ewwlUKM_41lkQNHIjAujBvpc48V-3NyByAoS7EqU0CueseIpc61f_oyqgAvIvRk5GQWWRIZnGrAE3RT6fDDykmh8xFOe4bsfyB1Sk8J8j00mI1Q3_ShtNdFQ1ePTBcFkq_E/s1000/364114693_260505460111004_5637780061988314603_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNnlld4OnvPf_0ue3mH0zc79t0m0kq5p0pHsL-sdbgpcZmy2OX8gvBhu50ewwlUKM_41lkQNHIjAujBvpc48V-3NyByAoS7EqU0CueseIpc61f_oyqgAvIvRk5GQWWRIZnGrAE3RT6fDDykmh8xFOe4bsfyB1Sk8J8j00mI1Q3_ShtNdFQ1ePTBcFkq_E/s320/364114693_260505460111004_5637780061988314603_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Love this new vendor! I've seen all <br />sorts of teenagers carrying around<br />succulents and small plants purchased<br />from this guy. His booth is a peaceful<br />little oasis of calm and green. </td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal">We also finally decided to check out the Butterfly Room.
This free exhibit has been at our Fair for years and for some reason, I never
thought to wander in. Silly me!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was
so fun! It was just a tent filled with flower pots and plants and butterflies
flitting about. But it also had lots of lightly breezy fans and shade and grade
school kids giggling and trying hard to move slowly so as not to frighten the
butterflies. There was energy and excitement, but also whispers and the
summoning of every ounce of self-control a 6-year-old body can manage. I found
myself quietly giggling as butterflies tickled my leg and then my neck as one decided
my popcorn earring might actually be real (it is not). What a great reminder
that there is ALWAYS something new to discover at our Fair!</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxNji5cdFgOm6yU4FHCpabAQCUI4_ykDdTDvuqW207FahN425IhAQ6y3Vm37xUaKmyCNQvSmlpiIrf40nmAxBNskXN-Z8U1x6GzZENUBJTtH6zqhFkBir4VlQwQymz_0OtgdWbg3SmJXBONIS1gDk1nt_KOomH6C3BgGDbJ73KdbLVZ3oKZ5Lz0P6twR4/s1000/364127512_852324676288851_5028718331306588000_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxNji5cdFgOm6yU4FHCpabAQCUI4_ykDdTDvuqW207FahN425IhAQ6y3Vm37xUaKmyCNQvSmlpiIrf40nmAxBNskXN-Z8U1x6GzZENUBJTtH6zqhFkBir4VlQwQymz_0OtgdWbg3SmJXBONIS1gDk1nt_KOomH6C3BgGDbJ73KdbLVZ3oKZ5Lz0P6twR4/s320/364127512_852324676288851_5028718331306588000_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Maybe I should send this photo to<br />my favorite shoe company for a <br />promotional shot. I have a small<br />addiction to this brand. They are<br />Fairing extremely well!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHpJyITTFFu-H_5QJB2ucKyVK7kJ8LObB7MPcQ37LyVRfgI1hRnbE76FyfXnD-KsAb4veCNfFZ2VigiZyJXUQ2sbgyUEvNJVcDqPzvT0PI6o95Bqay8yP6Y74C3JmRfTUPshQo4ydgmLRpx10-DTorf1ROk5_W_REgL0Q5eDA88DXP1a3B140G0hra4hI/s1000/364146009_963114268140215_6537851265460211333_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHpJyITTFFu-H_5QJB2ucKyVK7kJ8LObB7MPcQ37LyVRfgI1hRnbE76FyfXnD-KsAb4veCNfFZ2VigiZyJXUQ2sbgyUEvNJVcDqPzvT0PI6o95Bqay8yP6Y74C3JmRfTUPshQo4ydgmLRpx10-DTorf1ROk5_W_REgL0Q5eDA88DXP1a3B140G0hra4hI/s320/364146009_963114268140215_6537851265460211333_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It tickled so much! I was vibrating<br />trying to contain my giggles and slight<br />terror.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>FAIR FOOD FEAST COLLAGE!</b></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm1AN9iHhH8vCyhwdbYGKyOrUR8MLVoUoAvJOVySSHN5VtIsrmy1zvVDu_bJDUCVVpUjjdYtU8lUSWGopT3eubOU3KODKTx0AQWVxwe0u__IY5ZIVUnmkNJ7ExZPgE2IDyAa6aBqxyw6IW5S0InjssCfyZYnh8CG-LDrts-gGtX-D9IoIAb-b7rxBI5Eg/s750/363813629_652912680098555_6174128873279730925_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm1AN9iHhH8vCyhwdbYGKyOrUR8MLVoUoAvJOVySSHN5VtIsrmy1zvVDu_bJDUCVVpUjjdYtU8lUSWGopT3eubOU3KODKTx0AQWVxwe0u__IY5ZIVUnmkNJ7ExZPgE2IDyAa6aBqxyw6IW5S0InjssCfyZYnh8CG-LDrts-gGtX-D9IoIAb-b7rxBI5Eg/s320/363813629_652912680098555_6174128873279730925_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">TOP ROW:<br />Arnold Palmer Spindrift (half tea, half lemonade)<br /><br />Peach Pear Smasher! Glad I tried the competition<br />yesterday in Tillamook so I could report back <br />my findings. Team Washington Smasher all the way!<br /><br />Chicken strips from the Lions Booth. Much better <br />than the ones from the Boppin' Bo's stand. Bigger,<br />better batter, not as slimy. But I forgot my Sriracha<br />at home and had only Ranch dressing to douse<br />them with. Aaaargh!!<br /><br />Crinkle fries from the Lions Booth that came<br />with Rob's cheeseburger. Very tasty and I ate<br />them with lots of ketchup to pretend I'm getting<br />some fruits and veggies in my Fair diet.<br /><br />MIDDLE ROW:<br />Red Vine licorice from the Candy Truck next to the<br />Slingshot. The woman working the truck said<br />she had just gotten them so they were nice and <br />fresh. She had already had two of them.<br />My vine was gone before dinner.<br /><br />Root beer! I wasn't planning to have this, but<br />the booth I ordered dinner from was having issues<br />with their corn and offered me a drink instead of <br />waiting yet many more minutes for my meal. It<br />was tasty, but I prefer my bubbles to be more watery.<br /><br />OMG. That was a LOT of chicken! The menu said it<br />was a 1/4 lb of chicken, not 1/4 of a chicken. Nevertheless,<br />it was VERY tasty! Moist meat, the skin was flavorful and <br />BBQ'd just right. It was hard to eat, so I just used the<br />leg as a handle. I didn't quite finish it, but I quite <br />enjoyed it. From the BBQ stand next door to the <br />Milkshake Barn. They also have turkey legs for $11<br />instead of $20 at other booths...for those who care.<br /><br />Accompanying coleslaw. MUCH better<br />than the slaw at Daddy D's. Tangier, crunchier,<br />coleslawier. <br /><br />BOTTOM ROW:<br />Hush Puppies from Daddy D's BBQ. Rob ordered<br />them as a snack and I helped inhale them. By far<br />the best thing at Daddy D's. Great texture, good<br />spices, no need for the accompanying honey packet.<br /><br />Deep Fried Cookie Dough from the Sweet Cheeks<br />truck. Honestly, not all that good. I'm guessing it<br />wasn't fresh even though I asked (they were <br />pretty swamped). It tasted sort of chemically<br />instead of sweet. A reminder to always make<br />sure your fried fair food is fresh!<br /><br />Deep Fried Oreos. MUCH better! Deliciously<br />warm and soft Oreos snuggled in donut<br />batter. We shared an order with some<br />friends...which proves how much<br />we love Emma and Zane.<br /><br />Peach Milkshake to cap off the day!<br />Honestly, not my favorite. Yes, I know <br />peach is THE flavor to have since the <br />peaches are fresh and local. But there<br />just wasn't enough of them so my <br />shake tasted more vanilla than peach.<br />Either I need to order double peach or I <br />just need to eat a peach and skip the ice<br />cream. On Monday -- not now! Because<br />who eats fresh, unadulterated fruit<br />during Fair?!?</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p><b>TODAY’S EARRINGS</b></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgytRcmmJF20YoFw3ZknQrx9QMkBC5-klsU3Fcd9RZDzb4TG8FmBssREdZ0Ay7f233IJXwS9GtZ2xCdEmK7K8dN55NRaah1o76ftH95DuUL6gq0ECfQNyTkdyz4cZezVrkQMyDi0wTeytD0OMiYAxift8cy0weFFLg3LH7fewBhSN97YhgtJ8N-836OySo/s1000/364045870_1481788905900289_4605423613452209105_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgytRcmmJF20YoFw3ZknQrx9QMkBC5-klsU3Fcd9RZDzb4TG8FmBssREdZ0Ay7f233IJXwS9GtZ2xCdEmK7K8dN55NRaah1o76ftH95DuUL6gq0ECfQNyTkdyz4cZezVrkQMyDi0wTeytD0OMiYAxift8cy0weFFLg3LH7fewBhSN97YhgtJ8N-836OySo/s320/364045870_1481788905900289_4605423613452209105_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A number of years ago, I used some<br />White Cheddar kettle corn to fashion<br />some homemade earrings. They lasted <br />a frighteningly long time. Ooked out, <br />I decided to find some plastic ones. <br />Despite these clearly being popcorn earrings.<br />one weird guy hawking insurance thought<br />they were teeth.<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><b> TO</b></o:p><b>DAY’S T-SHIRT</b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLdyYslKl2HxtWo4k-2swf9NoB2vcPLF61xS6nOiufRmu5ZocmMI4lXu7yvPmW6ipacuSf9YMawGCJV4i-il4WXwvcKtNywF3fbIwtaLc3VwBXF03MIOljHXI8oeuW9Uvn-lKgJHjeONcZYg7AO7WMBBBso-7Ld1gAKAazJOjQyJCTUCg_KAzJv301qoE/s1000/363874322_253957394130685_5261981622169777606_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLdyYslKl2HxtWo4k-2swf9NoB2vcPLF61xS6nOiufRmu5ZocmMI4lXu7yvPmW6ipacuSf9YMawGCJV4i-il4WXwvcKtNywF3fbIwtaLc3VwBXF03MIOljHXI8oeuW9Uvn-lKgJHjeONcZYg7AO7WMBBBso-7Ld1gAKAazJOjQyJCTUCg_KAzJv301qoE/s320/363874322_253957394130685_5261981622169777606_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Proudly wearing my Tillamook<br />County Fair Pig-n-Ford Commemorative<br />T-Shirt! Because some fairs sell stuff<br />like that. Grrrr.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p>Toni at Woodhavenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14376655175018122805noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-400828308445468217.post-75827015119078899832023-08-11T10:42:00.004-07:002023-08-11T10:51:43.663-07:00FAIR DAY 7 ~ Day Trip to Tillamook!<p>About a year ago, my friend Bev casually mentioned her
favorite fair is the Tillamook County Fair – you know, where the fabulous
cheese and ice cream are made? When she continued with a description of a completely
ridiculous nightly tradition at her favorite fair, I promised myself that I
would see it in person this year.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">And so, feeling all sorts of disloyalty and like I was cheating
on a dear friend, Rob and I whizzed past my beloved Clark County Fair this
morning and motored down to the refreshingly breezy Oregon Coast to check out
Bev’s favorite fair. Bev was right! The Tillamook Fair was delightful!</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWyJQbVNNwIBm9sSS9HfBS_dtdYgJHISksRfPkhz767OVMfBxAtHxI7gFxzBvr10CA3obx0t7eKID4F2nakgTjkfGkBVd__2FA82FX7FlUv9CXwa2oKLbCsBYLNZaTJHpAlrQtcKB-aqbEzQ1ZkmSKE2KFj1P_t6KywdHdnfU0UkH6uQXN4ge9lcqBZr0/s998/363801269_805900677914003_2185861929100646000_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="998" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWyJQbVNNwIBm9sSS9HfBS_dtdYgJHISksRfPkhz767OVMfBxAtHxI7gFxzBvr10CA3obx0t7eKID4F2nakgTjkfGkBVd__2FA82FX7FlUv9CXwa2oKLbCsBYLNZaTJHpAlrQtcKB-aqbEzQ1ZkmSKE2KFj1P_t6KywdHdnfU0UkH6uQXN4ge9lcqBZr0/s320/363801269_805900677914003_2185861929100646000_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">READY TO FAIR in TILLAMOOK!<br />Please don't hate us, Clark County Fair.<br />We'll be back tomorrow!</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">We arrived shortly after lunch, getting slightly delayed as we
headed over the coastal range. A logging truck had spilled its load on the
2-lane mountain highway. Seemed perfectly Pacific Northwest as we inched by.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Starving but not wanting to make a critical fair food error,
Rob and I took a quick tour of the food vendors and settled on the most unique
offering we could find. The Wiener Wraps were quite tasty (see review below)
and gave us just the energy we needed to check out what the Tillamook County
Fair had to offer.</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcZdE3BhWfcPoM2Q6u1Fj5jI8P1adzOugbDZXGKzNSL2x50Bd-MWmNb3CPoEGLhxKlg0qGhvMoE9sYKuTgsp_d1VGqH1zZpam2pW0fNFp5U-xupzecWzPIE3MOhO-pSfdKnkvdZ_Ba6JQLN6AInESH-GB2j2cQb9_O6jhuAUrUleTzA47V-gtx1QxcobA/s799/363891887_823501219453038_1940198390287330063_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="799" data-original-width="749" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcZdE3BhWfcPoM2Q6u1Fj5jI8P1adzOugbDZXGKzNSL2x50Bd-MWmNb3CPoEGLhxKlg0qGhvMoE9sYKuTgsp_d1VGqH1zZpam2pW0fNFp5U-xupzecWzPIE3MOhO-pSfdKnkvdZ_Ba6JQLN6AInESH-GB2j2cQb9_O6jhuAUrUleTzA47V-gtx1QxcobA/s320/363891887_823501219453038_1940198390287330063_n.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Far as I could tell, this was the most local<br />and unique food offering. I liked it!</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">The fairgrounds are not extensive. In fact, the only map we
could find was an adorable one painted on a wall of the main building. Everyone
seemed to know where everything was. And after about 30 minutes of wandering,
we did, too. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Tillamook had all the classic elements of a county fair:
animals, rides, food, quilts, canning, flowers, vegetables, mattress salesmen.
Although it seemed small, it also had little nooks and crannies of surprises.
Like a horse track with races. And a mobile Library Truck. And the refreshingly
peaceful Master Gardener Learning Garden. Although the garden was right up
against the main road and parking lot, it was a lovely little oasis of quiet and
breeze. If they had had a few chairs or hay bales set up, I definitely would
have sat a spell.</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCr5SvMOua-rnkJbi2oZpVCpFJIXfMC2iKDgkezuw8DTZrwaaA346HPPJgY8ADml4SFx1KJO-cTK5r8R8UxBzGa1YlJ5qLlJqC_R0XulQhdgtxBIgD4h821d8cQ6Ka8RdmnDU5Wxjt0I8CwMSBxlQQH1fzbOnSQQEW_TNRI_aMRyItJ4LyGFjw4RgR4zw/s1000/364407214_1033525581350978_2677046951091710395_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCr5SvMOua-rnkJbi2oZpVCpFJIXfMC2iKDgkezuw8DTZrwaaA346HPPJgY8ADml4SFx1KJO-cTK5r8R8UxBzGa1YlJ5qLlJqC_R0XulQhdgtxBIgD4h821d8cQ6Ka8RdmnDU5Wxjt0I8CwMSBxlQQH1fzbOnSQQEW_TNRI_aMRyItJ4LyGFjw4RgR4zw/s320/364407214_1033525581350978_2677046951091710395_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If I lived in Tillamook, I'd come to<br />the Fair just to hang out here. It was<br />so lovely and peaceful!</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">I was chatting with a local at a t-shirt stand (yes, even
small county fairs can apparently sell logo t-shirts. I remain mystified why
the Clark County Fair does not sell Fair swag. Fellow Fairgoers ask about my swag
all the time. There is a market, Fine Fair Folks! Trust me! End of rant. For now.).
The local Tillamookian proudly informed me that the Tillamook County Fair has a
“very robust” baked goods competition – lots of cakes and cookies and breads
entered in contests to be judged and bragged about. I was indeed stunned when I
finally found their extensive display of homemade entries.</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5hY2N3Rgn_lHK2zcVRdE997twSmyl_YSeedh1PTghRP_5gfFgsgFybUmwxxANOKyw6gIAfAxs-8ATKZqzkCG3TtKtEu-F4Q84RrJv0TRJjouBF4HUdbEdz87Ov2YCrj8ImOpqptk7pHd8sRuNZe9YxvtHW_KP83kF6cB-sLJpFbD4dVQlXYDxXmm_2kw/s1000/363886385_4796395140484394_3999428750150777794_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5hY2N3Rgn_lHK2zcVRdE997twSmyl_YSeedh1PTghRP_5gfFgsgFybUmwxxANOKyw6gIAfAxs-8ATKZqzkCG3TtKtEu-F4Q84RrJv0TRJjouBF4HUdbEdz87Ov2YCrj8ImOpqptk7pHd8sRuNZe9YxvtHW_KP83kF6cB-sLJpFbD4dVQlXYDxXmm_2kw/s320/363886385_4796395140484394_3999428750150777794_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yup.</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">The old-timey, wooden main Fair building housed pretty much
all the non-animal stuff. Flowers, quilts, canning, photography, politicians,
Scentsy/Tupperware/Cutco. It was busy and buzzing and full of energy. As we
walked around looking at the exhibits, I noticed LOTS of impromptu
conversations of friends and neighbors. Tillamook is clearly a small town and The
Fair is clearly an important annual gathering. It felt friendly and welcoming
and like a town square. I LOVED the neighborly vibe!</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLgA-6ifeIp3CDKAHttVRld0BdMPmBQkl4jT5FQ1YtXod2EM2k41TWyB2CtntfCVCq1tsYe3-RHLY1MyHpN_iI52HYJnjNK625aXMDzjTpa37bQgY33FvAlX-rZH3Xhc11caI4Y5DnpTgCmSqOT3MkwKcaKLVLvaoeY1PESd4rgpQmXD0LIjWqZs5p3MM/s1000/363484700_985401452677645_3270233737630994223_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLgA-6ifeIp3CDKAHttVRld0BdMPmBQkl4jT5FQ1YtXod2EM2k41TWyB2CtntfCVCq1tsYe3-RHLY1MyHpN_iI52HYJnjNK625aXMDzjTpa37bQgY33FvAlX-rZH3Xhc11caI4Y5DnpTgCmSqOT3MkwKcaKLVLvaoeY1PESd4rgpQmXD0LIjWqZs5p3MM/s320/363484700_985401452677645_3270233737630994223_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sitting, eating, chatting...Fairing.</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKforILxCXIAO2EbKg2DvoVJvqx-1dSST005TgfvTlEZIeqyzpFTYwyzBs6OGPMjLgGQCeUJfDtmXymnq0RtqXs4TX3suVZwTPL1Rlxr_bVPG3bd-V7HZGTlUgYpfMa09QMwgPVYRmiZhNOBywK1y6BWVvCFU3WdEwE9JEOBetE7dOc2oFNuKPvqjvL5E/s1000/363504830_632069439015606_7963264990078296445_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKforILxCXIAO2EbKg2DvoVJvqx-1dSST005TgfvTlEZIeqyzpFTYwyzBs6OGPMjLgGQCeUJfDtmXymnq0RtqXs4TX3suVZwTPL1Rlxr_bVPG3bd-V7HZGTlUgYpfMa09QMwgPVYRmiZhNOBywK1y6BWVvCFU3WdEwE9JEOBetE7dOc2oFNuKPvqjvL5E/s320/363504830_632069439015606_7963264990078296445_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I loved how the green carpet set off<br />the colors of the flowers. It would be <br />so cool to see something similar at<br />our Fair. I also appreciated the benches<br />scattered about. Tillamook likes to sit.<br />I like that about them!</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1FTQeNd3e829bwx-vVSu1VsdGkRQuPbdQgBmH2ScuGYqNG3vx73guu3B92_RKbrOtq1CebIiq41dWT8AOycjvaMKIHcdXTeH39fLhr7Hnj7BsJ19tI1SpFzkKLcIo6gXY3N6FNK1W44_Schu407XaGNSXngTB0BLV96Y-M5tWmPoKr3rkxnn25Yr_JPw/s1000/363888395_126503820486410_6825914073608889768_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1FTQeNd3e829bwx-vVSu1VsdGkRQuPbdQgBmH2ScuGYqNG3vx73guu3B92_RKbrOtq1CebIiq41dWT8AOycjvaMKIHcdXTeH39fLhr7Hnj7BsJ19tI1SpFzkKLcIo6gXY3N6FNK1W44_Schu407XaGNSXngTB0BLV96Y-M5tWmPoKr3rkxnn25Yr_JPw/s320/363888395_126503820486410_6825914073608889768_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A real quilting bee! It felt like these<br />folks always gather upstairs on Thursday<br />afternoons to work on their quilting projects<br />and today just happened to be the Fair.<br />They were chatting and stitching, seemingly <br />oblivious to the Fair World around them. <br />I loved it! </td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">I also absolutely adored the main stage outside. It was in a
big courtyard surrounded by food vendors and grass and lots of picnic tables.
It felt like a cozy living room, where you could have a snack and watch a show.
Today’s entertainment included square dancers, a washboard band, a magician,
and an ice cream tasting contest. No, not an eating contest…a TASTING contest. Contestants
were blindfolded and given samples of various Tillamook Creamery ice cream
flavors and had to guess what flavors they were tasting. Not surprisingly, this
is a VERY popular daily contest with many volunteers vying to compete.</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-pNgZfwghbtVTuUmrMhP77zFiUnqPao-asTi81vkNB5VSLxVD0CWtI1v-2iM3KBSneOZiD9T7t0ki-kAGfM-CwVxsrxykIs25w4SFWi1E62W3rG7gdYLh_3yQxQV9hP7bQTDPjQe8AA2X3ee_aef7U0wP7uxKYzdSlLzzCbjseWYgYb9iWcrChYze3AA/s1000/363895841_233830342460388_2719907848219011351_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-pNgZfwghbtVTuUmrMhP77zFiUnqPao-asTi81vkNB5VSLxVD0CWtI1v-2iM3KBSneOZiD9T7t0ki-kAGfM-CwVxsrxykIs25w4SFWi1E62W3rG7gdYLh_3yQxQV9hP7bQTDPjQe8AA2X3ee_aef7U0wP7uxKYzdSlLzzCbjseWYgYb9iWcrChYze3AA/s320/363895841_233830342460388_2719907848219011351_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm so bummed I didn't get a good photo<br />of the courtyard living room! I guess I<br />was too busy soaking up its ambiance. <br />So instead, here's a photo of me knowing<br />exactly what delicious, locally-made<br />Tillamook ice cream I am eating at the<br />booth inside the main building.<br />Marionberry Pie for the win!<br />(Also please note my t-shirt from the<br />Los Angeles County Fair last year!)</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">We wandered into the animal buildings. There was one main
building that had cows, turkeys, sheep, and goats…plus two showrings. Another
building was dedicated to pigs, with a few more areas for cows and goats and
rabbits. I didn’t see any llamas or horses. And honestly, llamas would have
seemed out of place. Tillamook stuck more to the Livestock Basics…and did them
very well. Given the area’s thriving and internationally known dairy industry,
I was not surprised to see lots of beautiful dairy cows lounging about, waiting
to be judged.</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCpLrp8fBpYVvLDVk0DQSsroGvw6qQ9es78M4gfCgld5Lsu2iBcRnpF--Plcv6vq2C9YTR-ZTJoneEGmDq-hzYKH8ff_oCqZl5sBoo5WC7AnD5ZdXZSW-4uQagipLK4lab5cs_Zy5WDaRSE0tgAKbbx5OMf8TtOZ92hYH80XMdtjOpM69AY4AVdMMzDRc/s1000/363859558_1012386733437648_4244348539491800156_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCpLrp8fBpYVvLDVk0DQSsroGvw6qQ9es78M4gfCgld5Lsu2iBcRnpF--Plcv6vq2C9YTR-ZTJoneEGmDq-hzYKH8ff_oCqZl5sBoo5WC7AnD5ZdXZSW-4uQagipLK4lab5cs_Zy5WDaRSE0tgAKbbx5OMf8TtOZ92hYH80XMdtjOpM69AY4AVdMMzDRc/s320/363859558_1012386733437648_4244348539491800156_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I loved that one show ring was a <br />grassy patch outside. It felt so homey!<br />Plus it was a gorgeous day on the <br />Oregon Coast! Best to be outside as<br />much as possible.</td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal">We watched a few rounds of Meat Goat judging. It was clear
the Tillamook folks take their farm animals very seriously – this is definitely
an agriculture-based community. We didn’t
really like the judge, though. He was super critical and judgey. Which I guess
is his job. But he seemed a little more harsh and insulting than was necessary.
We’re probably just soft suburbanites…</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnXNyFFviY10pNGM15UFacfYe4iVdFBo-zcvcu8Ty8KCIL96nG5DIhAUT7AidWDr2SrTK8j6zkFG0TToj7z3fo2q3zubDWnwDxR4xFqVDbmcbWM1frBIYlpGEUDkAtdyqMjx9CkqtPJdbRWEymEnByM7vTiAYiAPOkNUai3KnnNwkFFhZNSBC3OH7mwMA/s1000/363855048_809741200774991_5736482916728892534_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnXNyFFviY10pNGM15UFacfYe4iVdFBo-zcvcu8Ty8KCIL96nG5DIhAUT7AidWDr2SrTK8j6zkFG0TToj7z3fo2q3zubDWnwDxR4xFqVDbmcbWM1frBIYlpGEUDkAtdyqMjx9CkqtPJdbRWEymEnByM7vTiAYiAPOkNUai3KnnNwkFFhZNSBC3OH7mwMA/s320/363855048_809741200774991_5736482916728892534_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The larger of the two indoor show rings.<br />Meany Judge outside of photo.</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6CXzUEOYy-IHYEVQU3sO4PRDZFInsA9U2idBozG_w7aNOGVfst8K7r13glJGIXwMPGNfwmRt4oaAgdxJ6lE7ve1ry4RPZYHZ5IfrJxFcRYugz3Rpgo7LNzbiWGSZbNnOQ_KNRMtRosESewkp6jcwZ3J-AzeEa19YFGOG4Ld0iilabgi1m4BW5YdviY7I/s1000/363839772_6899928520046968_3571085330998593435_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6CXzUEOYy-IHYEVQU3sO4PRDZFInsA9U2idBozG_w7aNOGVfst8K7r13glJGIXwMPGNfwmRt4oaAgdxJ6lE7ve1ry4RPZYHZ5IfrJxFcRYugz3Rpgo7LNzbiWGSZbNnOQ_KNRMtRosESewkp6jcwZ3J-AzeEa19YFGOG4Ld0iilabgi1m4BW5YdviY7I/s320/363839772_6899928520046968_3571085330998593435_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="240" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I have seen this type of crayon art many<br />times at other fairs, but this is the first<br />time I've seen one in these colors. It struck<br />me how well this represents the Tillamook<br />County Fair. Tillamook is a county of farming<br />and timber. Lots of trees, cows, farms, nature.<br />And in the rain, the scenery looks a lot like<br />these melted crayons. It should have won 1st Place.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6CXzUEOYy-IHYEVQU3sO4PRDZFInsA9U2idBozG_w7aNOGVfst8K7r13glJGIXwMPGNfwmRt4oaAgdxJ6lE7ve1ry4RPZYHZ5IfrJxFcRYugz3Rpgo7LNzbiWGSZbNnOQ_KNRMtRosESewkp6jcwZ3J-AzeEa19YFGOG4Ld0iilabgi1m4BW5YdviY7I/s1000/363839772_6899928520046968_3571085330998593435_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><p class="MsoNormal">So all of that was quite fun! And then, finally, it was time
for The Main Event! And by that I mean, the Tillamook County Fair’s Pig-n-Ford
Race!!!!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Yes, the Pig-n-Ford Race! Surely you’ve heard of it??<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">No? Yeah, me neither until Bev told me about it last year.
But once you hear about it, you will never forget! Ready??<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">About 100 years ago, a local guy was driving through
Tillamook in his Model T Ford when he noticed a nearby farmer’s pig was running
around on the road. The guy decided he should pick up the pig and deliver it
home. So he got out of his car, chased the pig around, retrieved it, and then
realized he needed to crank up his car again. So with a pig under one arm, he
used the other to crank the Model T back to life, quickly hopped back in his
car, and rumbled to the pig’s house. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Later, when regaling his buddies with the harrowing story of
starting and driving his Model T with a pig under his arm, the good ol’ country
boys decided they needed to make a competition out of the story. Which they
did. And then somehow, a couple years later, they managed to convince the Tillamook
County Fair Folks to feature their ridiculous competition at the Fair. It was a
rednecky rousing success and has been a proud feature of Tillamook’s county
fair for the past 98 years. Today, the Model T’s are original, the drivers are
descendants, the pigs are trained and respectfully cared for, and the race is
an absolute hoot and a half! I LOVED IT!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The general rules are: There are 5 drivers at a time. They
take three laps around the horse track in their Model T Ford. They begin the
race outside of their cars. On the starting gun, they run to a pen of pigs.
They grab one pig, place it under an arm, run to their Ford, crank it up to get
it running, and then hop into the car – with their pig – and race around the
dirt track. When they come back to the starting line, they stop their car, rush
their passenger pig to the pig pen, exchange pigs, run back to their Ford,
crank it up again, hop back in, and take their new pig for a joy ride. They
repeat this one more time to complete the race. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Even with the introduction, description, and a few photos, I
really had no idea what to expect from a Pig-n-Ford Race. It was very hard to
imagine how all those words would come together in reality.</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOT3PAbPR3RHSlEqn5ALCr0DT2CaeB5W92zoC1t2C-FfuDM3wQB_PLrwI2b7v31p-Ycq6K-jAoLWQA6CnPyBixV1vx6dDyMTwYAYUtcbcLnhLcMNUodlyb7HiUrDvvp4dPfqktoUTGnrKYwdFstbnPpDlEunqxBSbNA7rmqSla4K5Sro1EounP938Jr9E/s750/363860136_670733948448125_8252136510261049667_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="614" data-original-width="750" height="262" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOT3PAbPR3RHSlEqn5ALCr0DT2CaeB5W92zoC1t2C-FfuDM3wQB_PLrwI2b7v31p-Ycq6K-jAoLWQA6CnPyBixV1vx6dDyMTwYAYUtcbcLnhLcMNUodlyb7HiUrDvvp4dPfqktoUTGnrKYwdFstbnPpDlEunqxBSbNA7rmqSla4K5Sro1EounP938Jr9E/s320/363860136_670733948448125_8252136510261049667_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rob is an excellent photo director.</td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal">We saw two races. The winners will come back on the last
night of the Fair for the “World Championships.” It’s very safe to assume this
competition is not being held anywhere else on the planet, so proclaiming a
World Champion is totally legitimate. It’s not clear what the prize is – or that
there even is one. But it IS clear that winning is very important. Something about
legacy, history, tradition, bragging rights, resumes…<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The whole thing lasted less than 20 minutes – only about 5
of which was spent watching grown men dart around in the dirt, snuggling
squealing pigs, and nonchalantly speeding off with them in old-timey cars. None
of it made any sense, and yet it was the most perfect rednecky dance I have ever
seen. I truly could have spent all day watching the run-grab-squeal-crank-squeal-hop-squeal-bolt-squeal
sequence. It was a HOOT!!!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I could try to describe this in more detail but, really, you
just need to see it for yourself. I recorded the start of the second lap of the
first race, because I needed documented proof of this insanity, but I also
wanted to watch the rest of it live without my phone in my hand. So, because I
love you dear reader, I give you <a href="https://www.youtube.com/shorts/y7BPeBb_cbw" target="_blank">the gift of The Pig-n-Ford Race</a>. You’re
welcome!</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiADmw4OcIqERHyQRZd5xX8CzHHHWXMb-DH8-iGvKeiucCZuv0YA9rZK_r0p92YCfgu269XIuuGYay1gJyOwiplkBKE9Z6m8RaPdikEeAsud9GJKpofLe6mSICfleZ1cEjXM2O8sHPhJQd0E0EKAUh8yo4uDDoSdJO7nKwAz2cjanUQog8OA4Z2Xbvqc9c/s817/363902405_1045059683070386_2093528821917773485_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="817" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiADmw4OcIqERHyQRZd5xX8CzHHHWXMb-DH8-iGvKeiucCZuv0YA9rZK_r0p92YCfgu269XIuuGYay1gJyOwiplkBKE9Z6m8RaPdikEeAsud9GJKpofLe6mSICfleZ1cEjXM2O8sHPhJQd0E0EKAUh8yo4uDDoSdJO7nKwAz2cjanUQog8OA4Z2Xbvqc9c/s320/363902405_1045059683070386_2093528821917773485_n.jpg" width="294" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I look at this photo. <br />I took this photo. <br />It still doesn't make any sense.<br />WHAT A HOOT!!!!</td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal">All in all, we adored the Tillamook County Fair. It was
small, sweet, and so very quaint. The people were friendly, unassuming, totally
real, and it felt like a true community of friends and long-timers casually
meeting on a beautiful summer day. I loved how the main building and courtyard infused
a sense of gathering and conversation into the Fair, making it feel homey and
welcoming. And although the food wasn’t amazingly diverse, the offerings were
solid and we enjoyed everything we ate. <o:p></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVwDUHRA9zaROKVCyXkCLWeurBLV68rRetmOLDpZbc3RyymqC-8uxh6kTn6mpdwZ1tTdO6DIZEL1acPQZY2V0JDyg7c8R3zEaxZhLAzxVr0OsdJZRXO6koFH08iyMEcR6psaIndI59LIiz3btJ66s24svYhdbioVu5_AuiAzz1QsYfbpMzxt2Z_s1DxQc/s1000/363525268_838650134513361_1252789992742823673_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVwDUHRA9zaROKVCyXkCLWeurBLV68rRetmOLDpZbc3RyymqC-8uxh6kTn6mpdwZ1tTdO6DIZEL1acPQZY2V0JDyg7c8R3zEaxZhLAzxVr0OsdJZRXO6koFH08iyMEcR6psaIndI59LIiz3btJ66s24svYhdbioVu5_AuiAzz1QsYfbpMzxt2Z_s1DxQc/s320/363525268_838650134513361_1252789992742823673_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tables in the food court had the most<br />beautiful floral centerpieces.<br />Gotta say, I've never seen that <br />in all my fairing! What a homey touch!</td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal">And, of course, the incredibly ridiculous Pig-n-Ford Race. That alone is a reason
to go the Tillamook County Fair! And indeed,
it was what prompted us to make the 2-hour detour and sneak away from our beloved Clark County Fair for the day. But even without that hoot-and-a-half wackiness, I would have thoroughly
enjoyed the day in Tillamook and would have deemed the temporary defection
entirely justified. Thank you so much for the tip, Bev! You ROCK!</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>FAIR FOOD FEAST COLLAGE</b></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPRl6e9XH0lCuq9Mdt3xZkpN5-QZHH8M5PCfLPFMguGaz2OYC3Gsakcq50SE9U3vBtMFhi7w-BgAe8ZxyqLniB89jXbi6OPsc6ZVvydSocE7qDiXyzMamTWoS8TMJRU1Zn2LVeQbkM_eQkq8VrOsj6mrS3lMyA-HSewQddY7-HSUhAPrMqulgKcfs7hlw/s750/363900894_249055817967333_404197329363865754_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPRl6e9XH0lCuq9Mdt3xZkpN5-QZHH8M5PCfLPFMguGaz2OYC3Gsakcq50SE9U3vBtMFhi7w-BgAe8ZxyqLniB89jXbi6OPsc6ZVvydSocE7qDiXyzMamTWoS8TMJRU1Zn2LVeQbkM_eQkq8VrOsj6mrS3lMyA-HSewQddY7-HSUhAPrMqulgKcfs7hlw/s320/363900894_249055817967333_404197329363865754_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Clockwise from top left:<br /><br />Lemon Spindrift as we raced by the Clark<br />County Fairgrounds, hoping nobody<br />recognized us<br /><br />Marionberry Pie ice cream! A Pacific <br />Northwest favorite! I was SO excited<br />that the Tillamook Creamery had a booth<br />at the fair. I mean, they HAD to, right??<br /><br />Caramel apple! Sliced! I have wanted one<br /> for days at our fair, but the guy inside the <br />Big Air Conditioned Building hasn't<br />thought to bring a knife and claims his<br />fudge-cutter makes a big mess when trying<br />to slice a caramel apple. I'm a middle-aged<br />woman, so I require my caramel apples to be<br />sliced. Even so, this was still a delicious, sticky mess.<br /><br />California Taco from a Mexican Food booth. <br />Apparently "California" means tomato and sour<br />cream. I thought it meant avocado? In any case,<br />this was very good and much bigger than I <br />thought it would be. <br /><br />Chicken Street Taco from the Mexican booth.<br />The chicken had a great flavor - spiced with maybe<br />cumin? It was so good, I didn't bother eating the tortillas.<br />If they had a brick-and-mortar restaurant, we would <br />go when we're on the coast! But sadly, they don't. <br />We asked.<br /><br />A Lime Strawberry "Lemon Thriller" - a seemingly<br />head-to-head competitor to my beloved <br />Washington Smasher. Similar equipment, similar<br />process, somewhat similar product. I was a bit<br />overwhelmed by the flavor options and<br />combinations (lemon, lime, orange plus<br />strawberry, peach, blue raspberry, sour patch...).<br />I watched the drink being made for the person<br />in front of me. The guy dumped about half a cup <br />of sugar into the drink, so I asked for light sugar.<br />Overall, the drink was fine -- tangy without being<br />too sweet since I caught the guy in time. And it<br />was much better than typical Carnival Lemonade.<br />But it wasn't as nearly as good as a Smasher.<br />Very happy to be heading home to my favorites tomorrow!<br /><br />A Wiener Wrap. Very tasty! It was a beef hot dog<br />inside a delicious, chewy roll that was not<br />quite as sweet as a dinner roll but sort of in <br />that neighborhood. It was billed as a "Pig in <br />a Blanket" and was very good. I would probably<br />have one daily if I were a local.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p><b>TODAY’S EARRINGS</b></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXnJMrTM0x0Un6RT0e3iZboxqenKLFpU6GFq66cCeTTsxuHJDe0pSOQaRU5fJgzqG6kB9CgInDZi3jzct2DOCgY9eA0tOP09DI3HT4PdlZqZE1IZdrYsb_rCFse6NvKedVZZXLIPtuuqqRZvFtlQPAp7-mnF9G7CaqhE94_1xWM0vOng4UeqnFf068GiM/s1000/363936958_2375046746012999_6736522849532277950_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXnJMrTM0x0Un6RT0e3iZboxqenKLFpU6GFq66cCeTTsxuHJDe0pSOQaRU5fJgzqG6kB9CgInDZi3jzct2DOCgY9eA0tOP09DI3HT4PdlZqZE1IZdrYsb_rCFse6NvKedVZZXLIPtuuqqRZvFtlQPAp7-mnF9G7CaqhE94_1xWM0vOng4UeqnFf068GiM/s320/363936958_2375046746012999_6736522849532277950_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I was All Things Pig today!<br />Several people stopped me to ask<br />me where I got my earrings.<br />If I lived in Tillamook, I would<br />have a Pig Themed booth and <br />squeal all the way to the bank.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>Toni at Woodhavenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14376655175018122805noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-400828308445468217.post-72637485223141727382023-08-10T09:27:00.006-07:002023-08-10T09:33:38.391-07:00FAIR DAY 6 ~ Food Find and a Tiny Baby!<p>Rob and I have a big day ahead for Fair Day 7, so I am going
to jump right into Day 6’s recap.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It was Demolition Derby Day! Historically, this is my
favorite Fair Day. I love watching cars smash into each other! And the
anticipation of a radiator busting or a tire popping or maybe even the thrill
of an engine fire (expertly doused by the nearby ring attendants). I may have
grown up in the suburbs of San Francisco, but apparently a faint redneck streak
runs through my veins.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">This year’s Derby was quite good! In years past, the
entrants in the afternoon show held back a bit so that they still had a car
left to enter in the evening show. But no holding back this year! The second
round this afternoon was smashy enough to have qualified as an evening bout.
And the evening show had 15 cars in a small ring, with tons of carnage in the
dirt by the end. It came down to three balls of metal clunking around the arena
– two driven by women. An impressively aggressive driver emerged victorious, to
thunderous applause from her new fans.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I noted two new things about the Demo Derby this year. </p><p class="MsoNormal">First, I guess I never noticed before that we are now in the era that Demo Derby cars have sunroofs. It looks weird…and dangerous...and way too modern. That being said, a seemingly
fully-equipped Hyundai Elantra was quite sturdy and reliable, hopefully validating our Santa
Fe purchase a few years ago.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Also new this year was the addition of wooden sticks
attached to the driver’s side windshield frame. The intent was to signal if the
driver was still in the competition or not. So they all drove around the arena with
yardsticks on their cars until they decided they were out. Then the driver pulled
out the stick, flung it to the dirt in frustration, and watched the rest of the
race from the sidelines. </p><p class="MsoNormal">I like the idea – it helps the audience keep track of things, too. But the
sticks were sort of hard to see. A few were painted neon orange at the top, which
slightly improved visibility. But personally, I think they should use bright orange
bike flags instead. You know, the ones that spring and sprong back and forth
super easily? Not only would they be more visible, I think it would be
hysterical watching cars smash around a dirt arena with dancing flags.</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDDyyP38HFzNQus_7QdlnBb6I7sQVOP3RLkynQiQoNTNaioOJhirHib2JWvZYdwmkmpVXAXG3Z_lO3fGaXkXul61Qe7loNzjGVWvkyZPRVI3H_C4QFtYX4Z8Io-4sDg0eU0G-Fgea0O4GBckgqDlFA-kgDRrqCvao1yUDcjPQgefkiz6NWyHUP3kgvqP0/s1000/363325918_242218932103454_387432858632083382_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDDyyP38HFzNQus_7QdlnBb6I7sQVOP3RLkynQiQoNTNaioOJhirHib2JWvZYdwmkmpVXAXG3Z_lO3fGaXkXul61Qe7loNzjGVWvkyZPRVI3H_C4QFtYX4Z8Io-4sDg0eU0G-Fgea0O4GBckgqDlFA-kgDRrqCvao1yUDcjPQgefkiz6NWyHUP3kgvqP0/s320/363325918_242218932103454_387432858632083382_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Note the sticks -- sort of. Now <br />imagine bright orange bike flags<br />instead. See? Better.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">We thoroughly enjoyed a performance by Taylor Swift without having
to take out a mortgage for the concert ticket. Abbie was hypnotized and was
certain she was Taylor. She “Shook It Off” like a pro and was quite adamant that
she does NOT lip sync her concerts. She also took great offense when her backup
dancers were informed there was a talent scout in the audience so they might
want to be extra dancey for the opportunity to tour with an even bigger star
than Taylor. Given all the recent social media posts I’ve seen recently about
something called “ERAS,” I’m not sure who that would be.</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnZaygEdqTUamkyayZJGjuEqygy0MQXo1cArgEs7EannxETziVilECdMExLDtT6UDCPf_gf2U_v8hX2Dp2LoRpeGWtUQPE6sUY6osUkQRWWAieBdGk5CwyNm9Io0D0VJ8i9z8riNeNsaRfhvCFyUjn4Cd7OZte0avpI3_do30TDyA8Y3oNsLlz9p-U_xM/s1000/363779647_860537962164750_886399881302054492_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnZaygEdqTUamkyayZJGjuEqygy0MQXo1cArgEs7EannxETziVilECdMExLDtT6UDCPf_gf2U_v8hX2Dp2LoRpeGWtUQPE6sUY6osUkQRWWAieBdGk5CwyNm9Io0D0VJ8i9z8riNeNsaRfhvCFyUjn4Cd7OZte0avpI3_do30TDyA8Y3oNsLlz9p-U_xM/s320/363779647_860537962164750_886399881302054492_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Taylor was VERY expressive!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I was utterly impressed by Cole, a 1<sup>st</sup> Year 4-H’er
in the Fowl Courtyard. He looked about 8 years old and was holding a squawky
duck. Cole confidently approached me and asked if I wanted to pet his duck, which of course I did.
Because Fair. Cole and I then chatted about ducks and turkeys and herdsmanship
and showmanship and chores at home and 4-H. He was so at ease talking with a strange adult (me, in so many ways), answering all sorts of questions with more info than just a yes or no. I
was absolutely stunned it is his first year in 4-H and told him so. I will now try to watch Cole over the coming
years without being creepy about it (I didn't tell him that part). He’s got an impressive 4-H career ahead of
him!</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaWcZ8H6ZKOJMsdzq_Eb1xDryvKeJLEWYlyT8DRBZqqIU7BfER3k9TbEI4j6vg7Rb8_HZcubPAAgYtKsIJSmxMwZtoOjdkru_vE-jHJrR1SXbxwBovUrwbHMqjl8Iu9hRwAZBDDKY1t4UhH4T-gXZGJ9aFozhKsK-I5xa-Q2g1nT-FYtE8gT-M9F7PvqI/s1000/363835298_256583423889602_98161259152113558_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaWcZ8H6ZKOJMsdzq_Eb1xDryvKeJLEWYlyT8DRBZqqIU7BfER3k9TbEI4j6vg7Rb8_HZcubPAAgYtKsIJSmxMwZtoOjdkru_vE-jHJrR1SXbxwBovUrwbHMqjl8Iu9hRwAZBDDKY1t4UhH4T-gXZGJ9aFozhKsK-I5xa-Q2g1nT-FYtE8gT-M9F7PvqI/s320/363835298_256583423889602_98161259152113558_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I thoroughly enjoyed chatting with<br />Cole. I wonder if he wants a <br />55-year-old friend?</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Two other highlights of the day were discovering a new food
option AND the wonder of holding a 6-day-old baby. Both were courtesy of our
friends Dakota and Alyssa.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The young couple made a huge lifestyle change several years
ago and adopted a Keto diet. You know, the one emphasizes protein and discourages carbs? Seeing their success inspired me to significantly reduce my carb intake
a few years ago, just to see if that would finally nudge my menopausal pounds
to skedaddle. Much to my delight and disappointment, it worked! I LOVE pasta,
so it’s been hard. But I’m not super strict, allowing myself “Carb Days” every week
or two. And then for 10 days straight in August. Oh, how I ADORE Fairing! It's so carby!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Dakota has scoured our Fair for Keto-friendly food options.
He found ribs (good but WAY overpriced), turkey legs (best by-ounce value), and
a thing called an “Italian Raclette Sandwich” without the bun. The bunless raclette
was by far Dakota’s favorite – he had 6, yes SIX – of them yesterday alone. Did
I mention Dakota is also a bodybuilder?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Still…SIX.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">So naturally, I had to try this raclette thing. I tried it
last year – with the bun – and was underwhelmed. The mild Swiss cheese that
defines “raclette” was sort of boring and the sandwich was very bready. But
Dakota and Alyssa’s Keto-Hack version looked and smelled so good, I beelined
over to the Raclette Booth when it was time for dinner and placed my order.</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi98rrwXUJVCO1rdXtC4pIsA0HW38Kx_p2PlcnJef-KCuD8QECXefa7zS7yQR20LNClM5Y5zQylRC4bU845yJrE6THOXW7DzbVtaoKI5qwQewIUndsysJSG-lshBS9vkdaCWxLlH4EJSjyzqoXrCqj_h3OmmTctuyjiBQXTarNcBZAD5ziU4shDYJKPq3w/s1000/363707275_1330146544604645_44560554725870308_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi98rrwXUJVCO1rdXtC4pIsA0HW38Kx_p2PlcnJef-KCuD8QECXefa7zS7yQR20LNClM5Y5zQylRC4bU845yJrE6THOXW7DzbVtaoKI5qwQewIUndsysJSG-lshBS9vkdaCWxLlH4EJSjyzqoXrCqj_h3OmmTctuyjiBQXTarNcBZAD5ziU4shDYJKPq3w/s320/363707275_1330146544604645_44560554725870308_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Doesn't that look good?? My stomach<br />just growled looking at the photo.</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Verdict: Very tasty! And filling! Honestly, I had a hard
time finishing it – so it was actually a pretty good value ($15) for Fair Food.
It basically tasted like a plate of pizza toppings. There was ham and salami
and a bunch of veggies all mixed together with a melty white cheese. Lots of protein!
I did keep wanting a little more flavor, though. Because I like strong flavors.
Probably because it reminded me so much of pizza, I kept wanting a sprinkle of
fennel or oregano. I might get this Keto Plate of Goodness again – and I definitely plan to check out
the booth’s brick-and-mortar pizza joint in a nearby town post-Fair. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Dakota and Alyssa also gave me an enormous gift without even
knowing it. They are totally chill parents who want their kids to experience
the world and not be afraid of it. So they arrived at the Fair yesterday with
their 2-year-old son and 6-day-old daughter. Yes, six days after giving birth,
Alyssa was fairing! And fairing quite well! The gift, though?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I got to hold little Blaikly. All 6 pounds
and 6 days old of her. She was the tiniest, newest human I have ever held. She
was cuddly and sleepy and soooo little. I totally understand why people want
these things in their lives!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thank you
for letting me hold your precious daughter, Dakota and Alyssa! Consider me
willing and available for more holding for 14 more pounds!</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsZUPGtSRrEypJ0-wltPXzv8GcOIfcMB_V8tvNdTvYFiRkUI4kQRqkWp5mZf4961fjRVcKpP7gwWlzR4a0gUeBfOi5W_ih7bXfSJfry_hXDzWoIbEXJMKMsupm0QFGk67D-QOqsXbD2_6HHa9gnrXiYb_2qTnYHdvEaGE8JtStHXnNR3B_d8D3qo4jHyU/s1000/363467716_214906747876348_6407185326459239168_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsZUPGtSRrEypJ0-wltPXzv8GcOIfcMB_V8tvNdTvYFiRkUI4kQRqkWp5mZf4961fjRVcKpP7gwWlzR4a0gUeBfOi5W_ih7bXfSJfry_hXDzWoIbEXJMKMsupm0QFGk67D-QOqsXbD2_6HHa9gnrXiYb_2qTnYHdvEaGE8JtStHXnNR3B_d8D3qo4jHyU/s320/363467716_214906747876348_6407185326459239168_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">OH MY GOODNESS!</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Rob and I will be Fairing on Day 7, but we will
be fairing elsewhere. We’re taking a little detour to the Oregon Coast to check
out a different county fair with a decidedly different type of entertainment.
Stay tuned!</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>FAIR F</b><b>OOD FEAST COLLAGE</b></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilGGnswPO-IPn7LXlQ_u1ZrhTx690OPlAGSGICDIdGWU_fZik6XcP9_nhyXeI4D6JIJnf54HYyigduk-v5hJVxt5cCiu1sTk_IoOyNg-Y1cyEFOpNAbaSyrO81HVmOrSb1-tWFbO_VdYHQHiWKOu2aBXFw7vXWuq7Et7pPzLqcnPjOUOV39-VC6ezUgRY/s750/363504699_1522026451949399_6799758377579057521_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilGGnswPO-IPn7LXlQ_u1ZrhTx690OPlAGSGICDIdGWU_fZik6XcP9_nhyXeI4D6JIJnf54HYyigduk-v5hJVxt5cCiu1sTk_IoOyNg-Y1cyEFOpNAbaSyrO81HVmOrSb1-tWFbO_VdYHQHiWKOu2aBXFw7vXWuq7Et7pPzLqcnPjOUOV39-VC6ezUgRY/s320/363504699_1522026451949399_6799758377579057521_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">TOP ROW:<br />Pink Lemonade Spindrift<br /><br />Street Tacos from the Islander Hawaiian<br />booth near the Pirate Ship. I got two pork and<br />two chicken. Meh. Neither meat had much <br />flavor. I relied heavily on the little dish of<br />salsa, which I'm pretty sure was Pace Mild.<br />The pineapple was good - fresh and sweet.<br />The best part of the meal was the tortillas.<br />Because carbs. I won't be getting this again.<br /><br />MIDDLE ROW:<br />Strawberry Peach Pear Smasher! Happy to<br />see the Peach Pear back on the menu!<br /><br />Chocolate Chip Cookie from the clam<br />chowder booth next to Smashers. I wanted<br />a small, quick dessert. This hit the spot -- but<br />I desperately miss the chocolate covered<br />strawberries and bananas that used to be offered<br />at the Fair in various places. <br /><br />BOTTOM ROW:<br />Banana and Cherry Hawaiian Shave Ice. This<br />vendor was new last year. They are OK but I liked<br />the old Tropical Sno syrups better. These ones<br />just aren't as intense. The cherry was more sweet<br />than tart and the banana oddly tasted like <br />root beer (Rob verified). All in all, sort of <br />disappointed and now not regretting all the <br />milkshakes the past few days.<br /><br />Bunless Italian Raclette Sandwich! Or, <br />Pizza on a Plate! I'm wondering if I can<br />order that at their pizza joint in La Center??<br /><br />Chocolate Cherry Milkshake to end the day.<br />Typically a favorite, but last night it was sort<br />of boring. Maybe not enough cherry? Or maybe<br />nothing will ever compare to the chocolate<br />peppermint deliciousness a few days ago?</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>TODAY’S EARRINGS</b></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia0Y76-qdJLH9kQE7DvzY4Jb5ttEUKGdpgQWJeaaub8b-2HmDz7XUJJHRVKJYhtBhK-gr8LE0gWsQCcOIDb2la5qALlGCSv1vktv9rGL6ateLft0Qyqn4NZgITE4Zp_gkvA3EnA573m3N6iAtPKtzV1_cc1Jgcn5GVYUoDqWvKssERl_wsF-SHiRvyjVU/s1000/363925390_1004495864059105_6807994157688456501_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia0Y76-qdJLH9kQE7DvzY4Jb5ttEUKGdpgQWJeaaub8b-2HmDz7XUJJHRVKJYhtBhK-gr8LE0gWsQCcOIDb2la5qALlGCSv1vktv9rGL6ateLft0Qyqn4NZgITE4Zp_gkvA3EnA573m3N6iAtPKtzV1_cc1Jgcn5GVYUoDqWvKssERl_wsF-SHiRvyjVU/s320/363925390_1004495864059105_6807994157688456501_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bready, carby pretzels!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>Toni at Woodhavenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14376655175018122805noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-400828308445468217.post-867084348436137142023-08-09T10:28:00.001-07:002023-08-09T10:39:09.346-07:00FAIR DAY 5 ~ Fairing along with big smiles!<p>What a FUN day! We didn’t have any real plans, other than to
see the Mutton Bustin’ and the rodeo. I LOVE when the dirt arrives! As much as
I enjoy the randomness of the musical entertainers that pass through, it always
feels like the Fair really kicks into gear when the stage is replaced by lots
of dirt. Bring on the rednecky fun!!</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I accidentally left my sunglasses on our kitchen table, so
our first stop – even before food! – was an accessories vendor in the breezeway
across from the hot tubs. I had two vendor choices. Deciding I have enough
throw-away Wayfarer-style sunglasses, I redirected to the vendor selling
Influencer Bohemian Dreams. All sorts of round and aviator sunglasses with
various pastel lenses, plus floppy felt-ish hats, and stone pendants reportedly
blessed by a shaman for good energy and karma (I’m truly not making this up –
it was quite a sales pitch). Despite the fact the saleswoman insisted on
calling my Gen X bright white hair “blonde” as she “styled” me, I nonetheless decided
to go totally off-script and be a trendy Millennial for the day.</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC6_a2WNf_OYqHMI7lMhMRRsn8M2K_ROHvGJGNeeEmrGx9ABVtC43xW_LjpdtqZmKr5Vz_8XooJPsrrEmRsG5jvACccND0rJxx_hu-Fymb4ZX2B5GkQuFjhpGOP9zwgZ5j31GrBGNxW9GsaexZIjx10IlkfHAzzEtFwOB4w0bfKL73ZdT1pkDZ4Tl4kSQ/s2048/363474439_2022113308139962_379083460065624569_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1539" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC6_a2WNf_OYqHMI7lMhMRRsn8M2K_ROHvGJGNeeEmrGx9ABVtC43xW_LjpdtqZmKr5Vz_8XooJPsrrEmRsG5jvACccND0rJxx_hu-Fymb4ZX2B5GkQuFjhpGOP9zwgZ5j31GrBGNxW9GsaexZIjx10IlkfHAzzEtFwOB4w0bfKL73ZdT1pkDZ4Tl4kSQ/s320/363474439_2022113308139962_379083460065624569_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">She insisted she was selling these<br />at a huge discount before she headed<br />back to Seattle. I just checked online.<br />I paid her wholesale price...but I can<br />also find a pair on ebay for 1/3 of <br />what I paid. Oh, and they seem to be<br />discontinued? Sounds like she might<br />need to wear her Karma Rocks.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">After lunch, we spent some time in the Features Exhibit, which
this year is a Wizard-themed collection of interactive games and inflatables. I
was hoping for a Magical Mystical stage show of some sort, but no such luck.
BUT, I’m thinking the Fine Fair Folks hit a homerun with this exhibit this
year! Every time we’ve wandered through so far, the place is busy with lots of
happy noises and fairgoers of all ages engaged in the games. There are puzzles
and things to smell and touch. There’s some archery and axe-throwing (involving
Velcro, not blades). And there’s a horrible vortex tunnel you can stumble
through and feel nauseous for several hours, if that’s how you like to fair. I
do not and yet…</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4qn3Hk87tutIo20dKgMPH_-klpMGwhAA6eu-yRgr8c_a_pUGVM784_eM2qMp5yTtqFoRAIgEHPND0D0nE5ud_wYSdX0uKgqSOjvZ2CX8KfNMxJ1li5xuUZcj1OlihuKbAhXBsMBz9afuoIQEPjeN1T9pBHutLuiZuLXTMvii0eMWKzwKZPBt7DbT4GHY/s1038/363901512_944430296648533_8397599872698318218_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1038" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4qn3Hk87tutIo20dKgMPH_-klpMGwhAA6eu-yRgr8c_a_pUGVM784_eM2qMp5yTtqFoRAIgEHPND0D0nE5ud_wYSdX0uKgqSOjvZ2CX8KfNMxJ1li5xuUZcj1OlihuKbAhXBsMBz9afuoIQEPjeN1T9pBHutLuiZuLXTMvii0eMWKzwKZPBt7DbT4GHY/s320/363901512_944430296648533_8397599872698318218_n.jpg" width="231" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I did better by knocking Rob's axes<br />off the board. He later got a bullseye.</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1HI2Mg7Nxs5s1IpkTkSgB-C030NTOxPA5bnxd3gBK8QyEXoFLQbTt_2Zs1wzu4l9VvOoF25o2rjnHQ0a_cafI8wm6fb2OJUlePtGx2o7oaA2N6lqDOoaeG-lfGEs-QTF3zKD-akzXH0jh5GkFh1pPHbBq0dYADtFMKf5949b-8u3upDDHj248IZ9ys04/s2048/363422721_1038983800430574_8681542270952005964_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1HI2Mg7Nxs5s1IpkTkSgB-C030NTOxPA5bnxd3gBK8QyEXoFLQbTt_2Zs1wzu4l9VvOoF25o2rjnHQ0a_cafI8wm6fb2OJUlePtGx2o7oaA2N6lqDOoaeG-lfGEs-QTF3zKD-akzXH0jh5GkFh1pPHbBq0dYADtFMKf5949b-8u3upDDHj248IZ9ys04/s320/363422721_1038983800430574_8681542270952005964_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rob eventually hit was he was aiming<br />for. I eventually got a bruise on my<br />thumb. I am SO not sportsy.</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikmPQh8EmuH4QnKlKkHfJoAGeB3xV659lXxLs5j2vokjNqzW4VtS56rH3RCHjCZKYxU0-kZlywcqwPcO3ojPk3NBGGlATuIQPLorL90HadAjDzp1IfMlKsvTsXXTONqyqd888M_hysdkmeEKL4A2lf7t2XuW_lfXoXut1WL0BqFWSAyv3gC2LtuTvuTM8/s1018/359684348_547344367487417_1815721183598364289_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1018" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikmPQh8EmuH4QnKlKkHfJoAGeB3xV659lXxLs5j2vokjNqzW4VtS56rH3RCHjCZKYxU0-kZlywcqwPcO3ojPk3NBGGlATuIQPLorL90HadAjDzp1IfMlKsvTsXXTONqyqd888M_hysdkmeEKL4A2lf7t2XuW_lfXoXut1WL0BqFWSAyv3gC2LtuTvuTM8/s320/359684348_547344367487417_1815721183598364289_n.jpg" width="236" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I can get vertigo all on my own. <br />I don't need a silly vortex machine.<br />Good Lord, NOT recommended for <br />people over 40. But if you must know,<br /><a href="https://www.youtube.com/shorts/t_mxIZ5AeD8" target="_blank">here's a video</a>. Sound on for my pain.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">My one gripe about the Wizard Fun exhibit is that most of
the stuff is very touchy – LOTS of things to touch and pick up and put down. Even
pre-COVID, I would be a little twitchy about so much communal handling. They
really need to add a handwashing station at each end of the exhibit hall. The
dinky hand sanitizer dispensers near the doors that are permanent fixtures are
too unobtrusive and have been empty when I’ve tried to use them. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Chatting up a 10-year-old next to us in the Grandstands
flopping his carnival prize around, we soon skedaddled to the games so I could win
one, too. Sidling up to the game-runner, I asked with 55-year-old life experience,
“What does it take for me to get a stuffed corn dog?” Fully understanding my
mission, the reply was, “Three games for $5 each and it’s yours.” <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Five minutes later, we returned with a Games Bracelet (so
much technology these days - nobody wants cash…). Quickly recognizing me (I
blame my on-point, blue reflective sunglasses covering 90% of my face), he
scanned the bracelet three times, instructed me to scoop up three floating
rubber ducks, and 30 seconds later I was walking away with my Bowtied Corn Dog.
While I can’t say I employed any carnival game skills in acquiring my souvenir,
I do feel a little victorious in the game of How the World Really Works. I
quite enjoyed carrying him around the rest of the day, although I am stumped
for a good name. Any suggestions for my adorable plushie-on-a-stick?</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibjY1c1AmHM6BJrTYQ0o1SJvNzv9xKCMZpPMZa50BkfSGBH0INAtM8xPTm2qZkD6klc2uF4iaTtsx5-9OO2O7JPKIXj29NRD4U5z6_sqj3kQEEp-aamO3cJoZjuJ1S0sMH3cV6Yh1cWIIYIrd2cYhThvq7x-eUkR4lSQ9cCh_uU8WIRrG7a1ynk6Sq5qs/s2048/363811349_604340725184294_587903385334867850_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibjY1c1AmHM6BJrTYQ0o1SJvNzv9xKCMZpPMZa50BkfSGBH0INAtM8xPTm2qZkD6klc2uF4iaTtsx5-9OO2O7JPKIXj29NRD4U5z6_sqj3kQEEp-aamO3cJoZjuJ1S0sMH3cV6Yh1cWIIYIrd2cYhThvq7x-eUkR4lSQ9cCh_uU8WIRrG7a1ynk6Sq5qs/s320/363811349_604340725184294_587903385334867850_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I've decided I love this photo. I look<br />completely and utter Faired! Also,<br />please note today's Fair-themed <br />t-shirt -- 4-H Llama!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Speaking of adorable, a few days ago we noticed a new
addition to the canning displays. This interactive faceboard is SO cute! And
the idea of having painted pickle faces for unused slots is genius! I had
planned to get a photo of me and Rob all pickled at some point, but it became
CRITICAL when I learned that not only did we know the artist of the totally
adorable pickle board – she was in the building! So yep, that’s our very
talented friend Ali posing with the pickle jar she painted. I am certain it
will be a feature in the exhibit for years to come.</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4p_hSdBYemkZjtjy72h6Ut6LMOyuUSycLSeKUB3mi8MeSLjFcGX4MgAZTP34cyH7D2KynkovhGQJqCcQk4UdUEjFnVgzYWQxBOlR5kPJjekSQh5cn8rbTPBgDzSQmHaXpRXY1oZH1IUQ4amWGT9XAfGsl5aq8hmdu1d_l2uDGQMiHQUcdxL777YEbU8g/s2048/363310658_1649941228862699_6573013578514001020_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4p_hSdBYemkZjtjy72h6Ut6LMOyuUSycLSeKUB3mi8MeSLjFcGX4MgAZTP34cyH7D2KynkovhGQJqCcQk4UdUEjFnVgzYWQxBOlR5kPJjekSQh5cn8rbTPBgDzSQmHaXpRXY1oZH1IUQ4amWGT9XAfGsl5aq8hmdu1d_l2uDGQMiHQUcdxL777YEbU8g/s320/363310658_1649941228862699_6573013578514001020_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ali also free-hand painted the sign!<br />She is studying art in college -- we<br />can't wait to see where her talent<br />takes her!</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFSO2TUYf4T1UqSXEBUXzzpRRRY4PAifu-N4XnrPGG7F01hYj9WqYeTK1YH7JKJMs0VYU3nryRDCXqFKVCdW1BcygzNtGidZL6nHutJqdouwArgS9U6GtHl606cHbl56zIaKS0sq80zBCKwvV4qNBZrWxA9M2xaYjrqHP4unXQ5DlQIHolnMu__avifZ4/s778/358779478_1085412976176103_1496976793097351187_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="778" data-original-width="605" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFSO2TUYf4T1UqSXEBUXzzpRRRY4PAifu-N4XnrPGG7F01hYj9WqYeTK1YH7JKJMs0VYU3nryRDCXqFKVCdW1BcygzNtGidZL6nHutJqdouwArgS9U6GtHl606cHbl56zIaKS0sq80zBCKwvV4qNBZrWxA9M2xaYjrqHP4unXQ5DlQIHolnMu__avifZ4/s320/358779478_1085412976176103_1496976793097351187_n.jpg" width="249" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A few minutes after we took this photo,<br />I overheard a couple of guys saying how<br />cool it was. I pointed at Ali and said, "You <br />should tell her! She's the artist!" They<br />were suitably impressed and complimentary.<br />I LOVE bragging on people I love! </td></tr></tbody></table><br /><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">We were sad to see the 4-H Llamas leave in the late
afternoon. They are only at our Fair for the first 5 days. They are replaced by
Open Class Llamas for the rest of the Fair, which in past years has often been
the same set of animals. So it was barely noticeable other than some decoration
changes. But things are different this year, so my heart sunk to see all the
llama and alpaca pens in the Llama Greenway empty as if the Fair were over and
done with. But, we still got to help a bit, as all the animals were gathered on
one side of the Fair’s main walkway but needed to cross to their waiting trailers
on the other side. Always looking for opportunities to lend a Fair Hand, Rob
expertly stopped traffic for the unscheduled Llama and Alpaca Parade. There was
something so sweetly Fair about the moment – the animals, the community, the
smiles of the kids as fluffy butts trotted by, the spontaneity of helping out.
I’ve <a href="https://www.youtube.com/shorts/qLbNWmoZm-w" target="_blank">watched this video</a> a number of times already and it makes me smile every
time.</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4MuTNhwg6YqjFaYeFWQKttshnHCoAPfECvcU4OrOkWwu5d965NXJeU2hDdsHKT8x4mLu4paJi1Y23uDxZTcPyUJcJMIdE4WxB_l-cS46yIsx4Tnz50endcvHCHtEyEdl8W3KA43OPl4NKZLZSJMDJQ5vYH_Y1itLT4SqC58TrGVmVvgTSjSOWufPSO0M/s902/364230536_1449909235833356_3084313068338244091_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="902" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4MuTNhwg6YqjFaYeFWQKttshnHCoAPfECvcU4OrOkWwu5d965NXJeU2hDdsHKT8x4mLu4paJi1Y23uDxZTcPyUJcJMIdE4WxB_l-cS46yIsx4Tnz50endcvHCHtEyEdl8W3KA43OPl4NKZLZSJMDJQ5vYH_Y1itLT4SqC58TrGVmVvgTSjSOWufPSO0M/s320/364230536_1449909235833356_3084313068338244091_n.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I was stunned to discover one of the waiting<br />trailers was being hauled by a Tesla.<br />Teslas have tow hitches?!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /> <o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Another favorite moment was as we were sitting in the
Grandstands, eating dinner, waiting for the rodeo to start. Our neighbor Matt
came over, greeted us warmly, and told us that his teenagers had reportedly
seen us fairing “all over the place” the past several days, but they were
reluctant to say hi since every time they saw us, we were “either eating or
talking to people.” Yep, that sounds exactly right!! I loved that we had been
spotted in the wild, doing exactly what we say we do. And also bummed that we
didn’t look interruptible. Because we TOTALLY are! That’s what the Fair is all about! Also,
Matt, thank you again for your extraordinarily kind words about my blogging. Knowing
people are reading and enjoying and smiling along means the world to me.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>FAIR FOOD FEAST COLLAGE</b></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2O29IIv7Ng9Zfiwc7zRoG2JtZ-PERX9BJvTyKaT6-_uEP6r7gPdMGlEsMk13MEdgJRkn23ylqrGoevMKyVcGJH66VmADrk9NxvQCU_S0LFszrJ-8rWnuw-7rXtdg424o7JWfhJ5tspdC3_6V-FvsTPLTeqAZTQj7DQ4fNjliyhU2xcvn_lyUdyB75enQ/s2048/363878202_133747543115742_5438545409695113099_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2O29IIv7Ng9Zfiwc7zRoG2JtZ-PERX9BJvTyKaT6-_uEP6r7gPdMGlEsMk13MEdgJRkn23ylqrGoevMKyVcGJH66VmADrk9NxvQCU_S0LFszrJ-8rWnuw-7rXtdg424o7JWfhJ5tspdC3_6V-FvsTPLTeqAZTQj7DQ4fNjliyhU2xcvn_lyUdyB75enQ/s320/363878202_133747543115742_5438545409695113099_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">TOP ROW:<br />More bubbly water! Another Spindrift favorite -<br />Pineapple!<br /><br />Strawberry Rhubarb pie, made by the Church<br />Ladies. OMG. SO GOOD! I was describing<br />rhubarb to a young friend as "red celery." <br />Oddly, she didn't want to try some pie. <br />More for me!<br /><br />MIDDLE ROW:<br />Ham and cheese sandwich made by the Church<br />Ladies. Simple, solid, delicious. But I didn't <br />like the pickle spear - it was that weird brine<br />that cheap pickle slices come in. Boo!<br /><br />My daily Strawberry Mango Smasher!<br />They have mastered the production this<br />year so they have super short lines despite <br />super strong sales. GO SMASHER MAKERS!<br /><br />BOTTOM ROW:<br />Basic potato chips that came with my sandwich.<br />I only eat potato chips during the Fair and the SuperBowl.<br />There were so few chips in the bag of air, it hardly <br />counted as eating junk food.<br /><br />Coffee Milkshake! Another new flavor! I don't<br />do caffeine (except in chocolate), so I was a little<br />concerned about how they were adding flavor. And I <br />still don't know. But I was NOT a jittery, wired mess<br />the rest of the day, so I'm guessing it was a syrup and <br />not actual coffee grounds, even though there was a slight<br />gritty texture. In any case, good but not great. Glad I<br />had it, but I will be sticking to other flavors.<br /><br />Yakisoba from the RED stand. I've been low carbs<br />for a couple of years, so these chewy noodles are a<br />HUGE treat! I sort of inhaled them, so I popped 2 <br />Tums afterwards cuz I could tell I would be "enjoying"<br />the noodles for quite a while otherwise.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><br /></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH1qVcrJ_gaiX4VbW-7O2wUrgVhgzU-WJndil8YQvg8_k6a4kgYk_-xgR99g3AodwsJkZUhCkFlQmTsblotm4wokhGHYh4hs0hn9f7SaQakvJavQdzdbiB-o2j9XZb4HlF6dniPtCtyisN5Vm2hWRo44Kbnx_Ne5nZ6QrfNBm5bG4EnjZnwnn269C8pvo/s2048/363905031_1647252359089899_187045578401159836_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH1qVcrJ_gaiX4VbW-7O2wUrgVhgzU-WJndil8YQvg8_k6a4kgYk_-xgR99g3AodwsJkZUhCkFlQmTsblotm4wokhGHYh4hs0hn9f7SaQakvJavQdzdbiB-o2j9XZb4HlF6dniPtCtyisN5Vm2hWRo44Kbnx_Ne5nZ6QrfNBm5bG4EnjZnwnn269C8pvo/s320/363905031_1647252359089899_187045578401159836_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yes, that is a travel Sriracha bottle.<br />Yes, I am bringing my own Sriracha<br />to the Fair. To the unaware, there is <br />currently a Sriracha shortage so none<br />of the vendors have bottles next to their<br />napkins. Yakisoba MUST be enjoyed with<br />Sriracha. It's a rule. Same with chicken tenders.<br />And no, I'm not sharing. Unless you buy me<br />a Smasher or a milkshake. Then we can talk.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>TODAY’S EARRINGS</b></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrlaj45_J7jzBJQDtIMDIu9q7F-tnUst7yKPi9V_xmhBlP5rSwuXOhC8Qd4y422HUJShUabtolG0Gc2OmRAaw7tPh-tKP-pMjQsG4uC1MX-1sx1aWAAKdqWGtKGgWYII3CWVXkc-UeIE3uoZCuw1z8gt7T_EWMevHbHs9lM8fjMpWjqYOUKsztKWleg7I/s2048/359383365_305662501874804_3820039242558979382_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrlaj45_J7jzBJQDtIMDIu9q7F-tnUst7yKPi9V_xmhBlP5rSwuXOhC8Qd4y422HUJShUabtolG0Gc2OmRAaw7tPh-tKP-pMjQsG4uC1MX-1sx1aWAAKdqWGtKGgWYII3CWVXkc-UeIE3uoZCuw1z8gt7T_EWMevHbHs9lM8fjMpWjqYOUKsztKWleg7I/s320/359383365_305662501874804_3820039242558979382_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Snow Cones! Which I haven't had <br />yet because I've been utterly<br />distracted by all the new milkshake<br />flavors.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>Toni at Woodhavenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14376655175018122805noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-400828308445468217.post-61058135948018981772023-08-08T10:52:00.013-07:002023-08-08T11:34:26.275-07:00FAIR DAY 4 ~ Peppermint milkshake?!?<p>Just a quick post since I am trying to go at a sane pace. I’m
getting sleep!!</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">We had another 5-hour shift in the Passport to Fun Gazebo
yesterday. In all honesty, I was a little bummed at first to discover we had a
partner. The Gazebo definitely needs 2 people but 3 seemed a little crowded.
Plus, even after 32 years of marriage, I really like hanging out with Rob all
by myself. So when we learned that 25-year-old Ashley was going to be joining
us, I had to quickly adjust my expectations for the day.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Turns out Ashley was a pleasure to chat with! She picked up
on the Passport Spiel very quickly and – being the mom of two young adorables
(I saw photos!) – she was able to connect with the parents who stopped by in a
much more knowingly authentic way. There are only so many parallels between human
kids and furry ones.</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ-_skHLUAE6bw_s9IOwwUfkEMKscx2fr2oDuD9OGLGqhUzd-CTwkeaUzSQ2kVKrTXTyJu8XveWxzqEKbPh7dNt3I0dgbHqMmh94Fh8PUAgxaR9yXEUbQrsGvOMGax_rNe87VUA0doW18eqxtKpoDhEMZn0ccbOL0N12VfQ10fno012IGj45-Qycms0B0/s3088/364693883_969891830963397_8574875264252846643_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3088" data-original-width="2320" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ-_skHLUAE6bw_s9IOwwUfkEMKscx2fr2oDuD9OGLGqhUzd-CTwkeaUzSQ2kVKrTXTyJu8XveWxzqEKbPh7dNt3I0dgbHqMmh94Fh8PUAgxaR9yXEUbQrsGvOMGax_rNe87VUA0doW18eqxtKpoDhEMZn0ccbOL0N12VfQ10fno012IGj45-Qycms0B0/s320/364693883_969891830963397_8574875264252846643_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We're now following each other on<br />Instagram! In her spare time (which <br />doesn't really exist), Ashley also just<br />started a small business making the most<br />adorable sugar cookies! I'm seriously <br />tempted to order some Fair-themed ones<br />for next year. Check her out <a href="https://www.instagram.com/littlenibbles__/" target="_blank">here</a>!<br />I LOVE supporting young entrepreneurs!<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Pre-shift, we wandered around, chatted with friends in the
Food Court (always look for me there first!), met some really tall sheep, and
visited Curly the Camel. He’s a local celebrity. He visited the Fair a number
of years ago, hanging out with his camelid partners in the Llama Greenway. But the
set-up wasn’t to Curly’s liking and he made it known. He packed it in and went
home after only one day. But this year, he’s got a shady spot in a nice breezy
barn where people are at an appropriate gazing distance. Curly was super chill
when we visited him yesterday and seemed to be enjoying The Fair. YAY!<o:p></o:p></p>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlvxZ0yPuzUXVw09GLCSpNNDI2YnzqPvmEM91s-_jJ8jD16csz2ZGyO9trcAhfqvxSqabj6izGJL1TASa71dNHDCR5M0vo5MRgQw4zoazvDmjuVukuq_rJFRqd7npptkJZTke2BhnVdrd4wLxUEso6VyR54jCEm_AhZSm8yBykbapeJm9N9XE2iuyH00k/s1000/364446483_3112764682362676_1030170792206433550_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlvxZ0yPuzUXVw09GLCSpNNDI2YnzqPvmEM91s-_jJ8jD16csz2ZGyO9trcAhfqvxSqabj6izGJL1TASa71dNHDCR5M0vo5MRgQw4zoazvDmjuVukuq_rJFRqd7npptkJZTke2BhnVdrd4wLxUEso6VyR54jCEm_AhZSm8yBykbapeJm9N9XE2iuyH00k/s320/364446483_3112764682362676_1030170792206433550_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Llamas, alpacas, and camels are all<br />part of the camelid family. A fun fact<br />I wow'ed (or bored) the occasional<br />kid with at the Gazebo</td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal">A super duper highlight of the day was the introduction of a
totally-new-to-the-Fair milkshake flavor. Yes, really! In my Fair World, that
is as BIG DEAL! I was SOOOO excited to see this when we walked by on our way to
get lunch:</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG-wTG18i9efwSg21OpogVuGCbw2yB-jrjnFPbR9fTcFOyg-vrUwhVzRiZAtbIFd6O73bSh6VUeVm9LLHPa_YSlgg3sR3X161T442v3a_GmdVmO7YlDoYt6X84qtE4oZ1eRGPyO5IBrVpZCYPwGjhZ_SjaE5AsEs8mwZDho_-EwtgJkq-h_qNDPeaDo98/s1000/359769227_213039618405827_6348089400709049615_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG-wTG18i9efwSg21OpogVuGCbw2yB-jrjnFPbR9fTcFOyg-vrUwhVzRiZAtbIFd6O73bSh6VUeVm9LLHPa_YSlgg3sR3X161T442v3a_GmdVmO7YlDoYt6X84qtE4oZ1eRGPyO5IBrVpZCYPwGjhZ_SjaE5AsEs8mwZDho_-EwtgJkq-h_qNDPeaDo98/s320/359769227_213039618405827_6348089400709049615_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">O.M.G!!!!!</td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal">In all the almost 15 years of Fairing at the Clark County
Fair, never have I seen PEPPERMINT as a milkshake option!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Dairy Women are known for their fresh
fruit flavors, so it makes sense that they wouldn’t offer a syruped flavor. But
OH MY GOODNESS! Rob procured me and Ashley Chocolate Peppermint Milkshakes
while we were Gazeboing and it was SOOOOO DELICIOUS! We clearly were not the
only ones coming out of our lactose-laced skins with excitement, though, because when
we walked past the sign several hours later on our way to dinner, “Peppermint”
had been erased. GOLD STAR, Dairy Women!</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF5eE62yQUBTM1Lywf3CmkUGWJZf6r0eFuucT1SKAkDQ1TsEcRiYXUh1SN5hIHnPE0XV9Jbhf2iCsHgJISbFkQoTFUeYs0i7WfMi8Hzi8kj4_vPSQse0xbbw0kQtDRDmzN_q0-wi0BCiwgoJGS0-VwLIaS2-J2dqeEY8Dtx3gn8lXsMvmKmas4PNrwIts/s4032/363879973_592419263103366_7428960188492167805_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF5eE62yQUBTM1Lywf3CmkUGWJZf6r0eFuucT1SKAkDQ1TsEcRiYXUh1SN5hIHnPE0XV9Jbhf2iCsHgJISbFkQoTFUeYs0i7WfMi8Hzi8kj4_vPSQse0xbbw0kQtDRDmzN_q0-wi0BCiwgoJGS0-VwLIaS2-J2dqeEY8Dtx3gn8lXsMvmKmas4PNrwIts/s320/363879973_592419263103366_7428960188492167805_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oh, how I love this man! <br />And yes, his hat says "STAFF"<br />It is his Fair Hat, as he considers<br />himself my staff during Fair.<br />I am one lucky girl!</td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal">We closed the Fair down for the first time this year,
exiting the Green Gate as vendors were clipping tarps closed around their
booths and the re-entry stamper was folding up her chair. As we headed home by
moonlight, I realized I finally feel like I am Fairing Well. I have settled in,
I have my Fair Feet under me, I have found an easy pace, I am breathing more
deeply, vendors and entertainers are smiling at me with recognition as “A
Regular,” and the outside world blissfully barely exists. That is quite possibly the very best part.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>FAIR FOOD FEAST COLLAGE</b></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXBfuOBp54kRt2sqfYZHCaJhNM6gL5-ekck7zApq5aLJI_DNk17v8Txwbcdpu_Ye6Qjjvilxr5siyj32UXLoooeSrzOQQAAyGSjR-s5QTHh_uZOxR5aEtAV9RP27DB0FcoFm9gOFOaTYmmd6TDpgwS4eBl54-mq-Sidp93TbFq9PFUN6iLJ03aROPnRDI/s2048/364252483_1327365304571502_5246057947602124800_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXBfuOBp54kRt2sqfYZHCaJhNM6gL5-ekck7zApq5aLJI_DNk17v8Txwbcdpu_Ye6Qjjvilxr5siyj32UXLoooeSrzOQQAAyGSjR-s5QTHh_uZOxR5aEtAV9RP27DB0FcoFm9gOFOaTYmmd6TDpgwS4eBl54-mq-Sidp93TbFq9PFUN6iLJ03aROPnRDI/s320/364252483_1327365304571502_5246057947602124800_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Clockwise from top left:<br /><br />Mojito Spindrift! I have been missing my bubbly<br />water, so I grabbed this recently discovered <br />lime-mint favorite from the fridge as we <br />left Woodhaven's garage. Spindrift is my<br />current go-to sparkling water -- I like the<br />tart flavors. Their Arnold Palmer is good, too.<br /><br />Hush Puppy from Daddy D's. Nice battery crunch,<br />good spices, right texture. Overall, the best offering<br />at Daddy D's BBQ. You can get a side order of 12. <br />We might end up doing just that.<br /><br />Pulled Pork Sandwich from Daddy D's. I got it<br />without the bun, both because I've been low-carb for<br />a couple of years now (I know, hard to believe from the<br />photos so far!) AND because I end up with more real<br />food that way. The pork was pretty good -- it was super<br />moist and the sauce had a nice flavor. But pretty much<br />all the flavor came from the sauce instead of the pork.<br />If I hadn't been chatting with friends, I would have <br />returned to the booth to ask for more sauce. Overall,<br />it was fine but I probably won't get it again.<br /><br />Orange Creamsicle Smasher! This is usually<br />only available towards the end of the Fair!<br />Tangy, orangey, and not too sweet. In fact,<br />Rob decided it wasn't sweet enough and will<br />be returning to his favorite Peach Pear.<br />I, however, love tang and tart so I was <br />pretty stoked.<br /><br />Roasted corn drenched in butter and then<br />sprinkled with quite a lot of Tajin. SO GOOD!<br />There is only one corn vendor this year, so I<br />am grateful they do their corn well. Just wish<br />they had a few more condiment options...like<br />maybe Parmesan cheese?<br /><br />Supposed Chicago Dog from Boppin' Bo's<br />inside the Food Court. It was very tasty but<br />it wasn't traditional at all. No relish, no sport <br />peppers, the tomatoes were diced instead of sliced,<br />and if there was celery salt, it was barely a grain.<br />BUT...it had a pickle spear! And I really liked<br />the banana peppers as an addition. I think they<br />need to rename it, but I think it's a keeper!<br />My only gripe is the dog is pretty small -<br />I got the ear of corn as a second course.<br /><br />The Heavenly Chocolate Peppermint<br />Milkshake! Perfect amount of mint,<br />too. Enough to flavor it but not so much<br />it tasted like a breath mint. PLEASE have<br />this on your menu all the time, Dairy Women!<br /><br />Coleslaw from Daddy D's. First, eating <br />something approximating a salad at a Fair<br />is problematic. I mean, why?! But it came<br />with the pulled pork... Sadly, though, it <br />just didn't cut it. It wasn't nearly vinegary<br />enough. No zip, no tang. Not even really<br />very sweet. Just sort of blah. As my face suggests.<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p><b>TODAY’S EARRINGS</b></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGLThHBCOHU4hT6I0wyyiVyG_DiGOdOV21J0c5mx-sCcReyRqcx0_QF4T6C0Skv4UNDq5rl8HQbSS2exqdZAdeRpSPyzuSJms2JbsB4cvxD28amFk8IxEjp2Da81t3ZlaKVli7DwLL6xkKyHMncWpZ9S7AzKEbdoBwM6dcRuCRHVvDHmS_OkknjGmXLSY/s1329/364482028_813530186982802_2183173131173004962_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1329" data-original-width="1059" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGLThHBCOHU4hT6I0wyyiVyG_DiGOdOV21J0c5mx-sCcReyRqcx0_QF4T6C0Skv4UNDq5rl8HQbSS2exqdZAdeRpSPyzuSJms2JbsB4cvxD28amFk8IxEjp2Da81t3ZlaKVli7DwLL6xkKyHMncWpZ9S7AzKEbdoBwM6dcRuCRHVvDHmS_OkknjGmXLSY/s320/364482028_813530186982802_2183173131173004962_n.jpg" width="255" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cherry Pie! Although a number of kids<br />told me they were raspberry. They<br />could be right...</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><o:p></o:p><p></p>Toni at Woodhavenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14376655175018122805noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-400828308445468217.post-84048800565952440632023-08-07T10:25:00.000-07:002023-08-07T10:25:50.011-07:00FAIR DAY 3 ~ We are out of practice!<p>It’s not yet 8:15pm and I am already showered, flossed, and
moisturized. Yes, we called it a Fair Day after dinner, as Rob and I were both
dragging our tired bodies around the Fairgrounds and didn’t have a lot of interest
in a cult of the Blue Oyster variety. Despite our early departure, we still had
a fun- and friend-filled day!</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The biggest highlight was finally meeting Tyler and Liam!
They are the 5-month-old daughter and son of my dear friends Hannah and Justin.
Hannah and I go way back, like to when she was in junior high and I had brown
hair. We were in a mentorship program together at our church. It was a 6-month
commitment on my part to walk alongside her as she explored her faith. That was
12 years ago. As I am decidedly unclear on the program’s definition of “commitment,”
Hannah is sort of stuck with me for life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">With the new parents finally coming up for some air from the
whirlwind of twin newborns, I jumped at the chance to meet the kiddos in the
Llama Greenway today and catch up with two of my favorite Gen Zers. I was struck
by the wonder of the moment -- to stand there in one of my favorite places, talking
to one of my favorite people as I snuggled her precious daughter. Hannah and I
rode some rough waters together; it filled my heart with gratitude to see her so
much at peace with her new little family. I know Hannah’s daddy is watching and
is SO DANG PROUD. Chatting with Hannah and Justin was exactly why I love our
Fair so much – the chance to take a breath, relax, and catch up with friends
without rush or schedules. Just smiles and connection and love.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQNYFit1CYgIY1Y2WTfmIiMfGo_36r1lNBgoxZwo6wRmVj-lTNgejYSGJ4AjwRygBY7jrSqpIEE5Et9NqHb_HsCt3TY2KB-imuVNNjakTjNX957hQeN5CTepp4cls-YoYRpYuJhkfcOXaFgpDKXqPIRXg-7KyHErlSkjlXmPK5w-f493_f6My_TKmBoTs/s750/364232864_662004575593171_687673609115157959_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="711" data-original-width="750" height="303" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQNYFit1CYgIY1Y2WTfmIiMfGo_36r1lNBgoxZwo6wRmVj-lTNgejYSGJ4AjwRygBY7jrSqpIEE5Et9NqHb_HsCt3TY2KB-imuVNNjakTjNX957hQeN5CTepp4cls-YoYRpYuJhkfcOXaFgpDKXqPIRXg-7KyHErlSkjlXmPK5w-f493_f6My_TKmBoTs/s320/364232864_662004575593171_687673609115157959_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">80% of us are looking at the camera! Victory!</td></tr></tbody></table></p><p class="MsoNormal"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnsHSY3XRcTMFU_L47r_DcGXJ0R0GUGRelzTnCEpdw2OpRSM-nFy7Z0oBn1tsGTkZzwx8RKbjDOR2uXgCXHZNZMR_AwFkKBIJ23J1Fwqo8Pmc36cQ2KoswKs_1Wnmsic2CRR_DLbrsPt7Cqo4RPrXIXNO4F_d4QYNWaKrWDMsLtvpzIqhU2EVosIKEF_4/s1000/363857249_313470177761231_1286101090853758301_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnsHSY3XRcTMFU_L47r_DcGXJ0R0GUGRelzTnCEpdw2OpRSM-nFy7Z0oBn1tsGTkZzwx8RKbjDOR2uXgCXHZNZMR_AwFkKBIJ23J1Fwqo8Pmc36cQ2KoswKs_1Wnmsic2CRR_DLbrsPt7Cqo4RPrXIXNO4F_d4QYNWaKrWDMsLtvpzIqhU2EVosIKEF_4/s320/363857249_313470177761231_1286101090853758301_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I was SO HAPPY to be able to hold little<br />Tyler before she gets too big and past<br />my back's weight limit! I gotta get my<br />baby snuggles in before they hit 20lbs.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It was humid again, and I stupidly wore pants, so I got
overheated and a little grumpy as the sun emerged. I was excited to see the
Washington State Fiddle Championships were happening on the stage known for
gusty winds and goosebumps at night. We parked ourselves on a couple of adequately
comfortable and naturally air-conditioned chairs and listened to a 10-year-old
boy take down most of the adult fiddlers in his wake. The best part was, the
kid was simply having a blast – the competition didn’t seem to be nearly as
important to him as the chance to just play his fiddle. His joy made me smile.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB7MpWL-SexwgRb0aZK6bXzep_ajpq7J55N9c_Bv3NERnsZLhE9VBn9iDh2nDHbs8XrCWH5BH0myBKvKqUxo0uDWsUFDMi8npnPalL2b-iPlNChlc09RJEPybkTZmtGZLZmKRa-dssF2RnOMOksjcO6W1Zb-eDc5CIGSvY1is2gRzAREmHGNLnbvU_vvU/s1000/364392432_1460176431466204_4071620972741395633_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB7MpWL-SexwgRb0aZK6bXzep_ajpq7J55N9c_Bv3NERnsZLhE9VBn9iDh2nDHbs8XrCWH5BH0myBKvKqUxo0uDWsUFDMi8npnPalL2b-iPlNChlc09RJEPybkTZmtGZLZmKRa-dssF2RnOMOksjcO6W1Zb-eDc5CIGSvY1is2gRzAREmHGNLnbvU_vvU/s320/364392432_1460176431466204_4071620972741395633_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Even though an adult won, this kid <br />was in the final 3. He was amazing!<br /><a href="https://www.youtube.com/shorts/ObzDZyImkfE" target="_blank">Click here</a> to listen to another impressive<br />junior fiddler.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The other major highlight of the day was the Cat Agility
Competition. We had never seen this event offered before, so when we spied the
show ring on Day <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>1 in the Cat Barn, we put
the 5:00PM start time in our calendar and showed up at 4:30 today so we could
get good seats. Which turned out to be useless since the “let’s pull one over
on the cats” somewhat opaque green plastic barrier surrounding the ring was too
tall to peer over from the seats and therefore required standing ringside.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe8jLCNVoLTX1xGVUhpNM6iFsAbQQ69RVN6wf2vRmZehYKRBUmuzEg_bH8A4gVzVCFepICsGM_tgIkleoy70B5xb8XrtHnB1M8rtO-5AMWZJtOTOySLfCoaLVkYVCTcZJSvA9BzXv50kh18ky4IzswO9lke0BPKNhon6JQJvTBN5U0USBBCRcme8mgtSo/s1000/363922598_274849671921429_937736866774079410_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe8jLCNVoLTX1xGVUhpNM6iFsAbQQ69RVN6wf2vRmZehYKRBUmuzEg_bH8A4gVzVCFepICsGM_tgIkleoy70B5xb8XrtHnB1M8rtO-5AMWZJtOTOySLfCoaLVkYVCTcZJSvA9BzXv50kh18ky4IzswO9lke0BPKNhon6JQJvTBN5U0USBBCRcme8mgtSo/s320/363922598_274849671921429_937736866774079410_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The promise of excitement and agility!</td></tr></tbody></table></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoP7vo8tA8L5Z1Ov8HEmiSvSfTYC-M4wDPMRZCE8qGgs3EO-dYlDKcwE4shbxphurYB49VQjLXDCpWcQgdSAyxFod4kV5dkqg-T01ZuVlXlpJ-oNht1vWqP7MHld1l_0v7IrZf70Jp9mN6doPe-NGYGDobwmwLZD0_pGdV7Lt-m1XYmPoLYpy8xp3VpSk/s750/363941798_3195093867457441_2823044137856224953_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="563" data-original-width="750" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoP7vo8tA8L5Z1Ov8HEmiSvSfTYC-M4wDPMRZCE8qGgs3EO-dYlDKcwE4shbxphurYB49VQjLXDCpWcQgdSAyxFod4kV5dkqg-T01ZuVlXlpJ-oNht1vWqP7MHld1l_0v7IrZf70Jp9mN6doPe-NGYGDobwmwLZD0_pGdV7Lt-m1XYmPoLYpy8xp3VpSk/s320/363941798_3195093867457441_2823044137856224953_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is what dreams are made of</td></tr></tbody></table><br />With the tantalizing promo photo and the accompanying Field
of Dreams obstacle course, I had very high hopes for what the specially trained
4-H felines would offer for entertainment and competition. Yes, I know they are
CATS, and I know how compliant cats typically are (a 14-year-old one currently
allows us to be her staff). But the catty 4-H adults clearly went to a lot of
trouble to set up and advertise a course with 6 obstacles, so I quickly absorbed
their optimism.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I envisioned cats darting about, going through obstacles in
the wrong order, excitedly chasing feather toys and laser beams through the
hoop and around the slalom. I anticipated it would be a timed event and the
winner would take maybe 3-5 minutes to complete the course, with some leeway
given to the rules because, well, cats.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Instead, the only cats to finish the course…or even two obstacles...were
stuffies – the stuffed animals that very junior 4-H’ers start with to learn
proper cat care before being put in charge of a real live breathing one. Although
I didn’t have my stopwatch going, my 3-5 minute course-completion estimate was
an excellent guess despite one stuffie getting stuck in the tunnel and refusing
to come out for a bit.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZExgm1hxtNZj4UCOiQ7VynkHGdV_CnFmqS5wrVbIRUwi6_D0XrRhtLBQ9NOIcAIJ7EkVH6r6torx4Fb-pn0kfKQ3Sbi6vhJpf4I-CXysHWRpL-JsjPtxLBBMDJW8Br0da-12fex-eUcb9wrvJeROaOPcLEI-xz_dDLV0s0W50SdGTBBJoqAIUP1gPosE/s1028/364218695_246313471688319_3559826219930569296_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1028" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZExgm1hxtNZj4UCOiQ7VynkHGdV_CnFmqS5wrVbIRUwi6_D0XrRhtLBQ9NOIcAIJ7EkVH6r6torx4Fb-pn0kfKQ3Sbi6vhJpf4I-CXysHWRpL-JsjPtxLBBMDJW8Br0da-12fex-eUcb9wrvJeROaOPcLEI-xz_dDLV0s0W50SdGTBBJoqAIUP1gPosE/s320/364218695_246313471688319_3559826219930569296_n.jpg" width="233" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The calico was the only cat to even<br />notice the table obstacle</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The rest of the 35 minutes of captivating cat competition were spent like
this:</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_N9Y7nXbF4IVrTChReBQ79dIIn9bEzBFh3TjSOXvf5L0EPLQWgqGPGA9G8OAMAIvrksafifbYxKNXkA2yqDGhC3GsJJjEao9VyVtwkJiYLxkVg3puLaEhrSUo-CWLP1Jrds-yICz3vwvfYhVMGZ6lrbkBozDATFi_Neex-aOiPCG-LKjTnAnRDzDZZuo/s1000/366091444_242519332067196_344864853058334881_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_N9Y7nXbF4IVrTChReBQ79dIIn9bEzBFh3TjSOXvf5L0EPLQWgqGPGA9G8OAMAIvrksafifbYxKNXkA2yqDGhC3GsJJjEao9VyVtwkJiYLxkVg3puLaEhrSUo-CWLP1Jrds-yICz3vwvfYhVMGZ6lrbkBozDATFi_Neex-aOiPCG-LKjTnAnRDzDZZuo/s320/366091444_242519332067196_344864853058334881_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsAmvo_xpKcy94K4zt6gVKX_7O-3ZU2s8wZEpO2q6I4x7rDUJ0sOvfLnal-jFJT74WeMmmDqDbkVy-xBFcu9ffgAln-7QORlGywV41ujx0Qe-oxVv58xWNp9F376vqswiuUm4PJNehi2SpAb2IbV4B2IUW5unhDjBmnEp6sp6X8GNsKJ-UZfEI2LimNXw/s1000/364207917_305561601834892_1404118252213462618_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsAmvo_xpKcy94K4zt6gVKX_7O-3ZU2s8wZEpO2q6I4x7rDUJ0sOvfLnal-jFJT74WeMmmDqDbkVy-xBFcu9ffgAln-7QORlGywV41ujx0Qe-oxVv58xWNp9F376vqswiuUm4PJNehi2SpAb2IbV4B2IUW5unhDjBmnEp6sp6X8GNsKJ-UZfEI2LimNXw/s320/364207917_305561601834892_1404118252213462618_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwGOd3Ek1_-HokfgHlvdafMUnz9YDS_45I_cOI-UKQqNejoJGw6x-TwxzqanF9g6oacKJfH2q5X5eBQGLXdw-EQDa3TBxJGL3KJwmF_Hsk8KvfwGOQjDtAyalyx_QovApvpV2vOFiiJumkF73GwMLhe8CKhZyM_eElUHUh1uj_ia1j1iD1GvgUu7Sslm4/s1000/359588328_1284990929051747_5964444692168529224_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwGOd3Ek1_-HokfgHlvdafMUnz9YDS_45I_cOI-UKQqNejoJGw6x-TwxzqanF9g6oacKJfH2q5X5eBQGLXdw-EQDa3TBxJGL3KJwmF_Hsk8KvfwGOQjDtAyalyx_QovApvpV2vOFiiJumkF73GwMLhe8CKhZyM_eElUHUh1uj_ia1j1iD1GvgUu7Sslm4/s320/359588328_1284990929051747_5964444692168529224_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">One cat mostly made it through the tunnel at one point (others
decided instead to set up camp inside the mostly inaccessible tube), while
another kitty accidently jumped through the hoop on the way to trying to hide
near the door. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I was most impressed by one 4-H’er who never showed any
exasperation or frustration despite all the unsuccessful advice being dispensed
from her ringside mom. The girl seemed to understand better than her parent that
she was dealing with a CAT and therefore any desirable behaviors that occurred
were purely coincidental.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">All in all, despite the false advertising, the Cat Agility
Competition was pretty much EXACTLY as one might expect.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We will look for it next year! <a href="https://www.youtube.com/shorts/MqtbbWwbJ6c" target="_blank">Check out this video for more!</a><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The Fairgrounds were filling up as we left – most of the day
felt a bit muted. Maybe it was the lack of sun? Or the awful humidity (like
65%!)? Whatever the reason, it made my heart happy to see people streaming in
as we left. The Fair was in excellent hands as Rob and I headed home to get
some much needed sleep so we can FAIR again tomorrow!<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>FAIR FOOD FEAST COLLAGE!</b><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjJK5tFwEgRaSKmw7T168JUz6LBbwiSm_NIAleV5DdSrWkJOKLs0SxW37fCdUAaVgSguPCQstwvSauhh62cpbLPfTD0_SL_iRIN8KpyRfd_JYnEuWNjUTGdLpSYSUEfohKEyln4S7tU09KjFFt6VkT1HGLOBM5E9MEzRzOmezUOZmIjfwOv8KQW7-RLMU/s750/359666926_1183502699181582_5926933592107730694_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjJK5tFwEgRaSKmw7T168JUz6LBbwiSm_NIAleV5DdSrWkJOKLs0SxW37fCdUAaVgSguPCQstwvSauhh62cpbLPfTD0_SL_iRIN8KpyRfd_JYnEuWNjUTGdLpSYSUEfohKEyln4S7tU09KjFFt6VkT1HGLOBM5E9MEzRzOmezUOZmIjfwOv8KQW7-RLMU/s320/359666926_1183502699181582_5926933592107730694_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">TOP ROW:<br />Strawberry Peach Pear Smasher! A delightful,<br />refreshing blend almost as good as the <br />Strawberry Mango.<br /><br />Ms. Burger from the Burger Buggy! Best<br />hamburger at the Fair! Tasty meat patty<br />with a slice of ham, with juice and grease<br />collected in the little cup afterwards. SO GOOD!<br /><br />MIDDLE ROW:<br />Accompanying fries with the Ms. Burger. <br />Surprisingly salty enough that I didn't put<br />ketchup on them. MUCH better than the awful<br />curly fries from yesterday.<br /><br />FANTASTIC homemade apple pie made<br />by a 4-H'er in the Baking Competition.<br />Pro tip: sidle up to the 4-H Kitchen after <br />Judging is complete for free samples! Well,<br />it also helps to know the baker...<br /><br />BOTTOM ROW:<br />Still working on my bag of kettle corn! Perfect snack<br />to enjoy while watching fiddling<br /><br />Bahn mi (without the bun) from the new<br />vendor in the Food Court. REALLY GOOD!<br />I asked for the kids size, in a bowl, with extra spice ($2 extra).<br />I haven't had a lot of Vietnamese sandwiches, but I<br />really liked this one! The rice had a nice vinegary tang, the chicken<br />was moist, the cilantro was fresh. The extra spice was a <br />Sriacha-based cream and fresh jalapenos. Honestly, one of the<br />tastier, verging-on-healthy meals I've had at our Fair over the <br />years! Highly recommended! I will be back!<br /><br />Chocolate raspberry milkshake. Yes, you have to pay<br />extra to add flavors but it is so worth it!<br />MMMMM!</td></tr></tbody></table></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><b>BONUS FOOD PIX:</b></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><b><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwVrJvuGR_nfuMNfZrucTf8YyemLm0DDTqru1Gxd7_n5uBEcPWzKDjLkaJaLROtTwGieawQnqsTe0DUQLob3l3tt_0asrTyoM41_oPRijNmyW6utSQbse8DtNLIasZyDa_rfcIGQig4uA5WlmE3ITDSPoHSH89hZMQRCuGsMUbT7MoMjHoPf3hIEWmjww/s739/363874332_2592734270873661_3099295484122078915_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="705" data-original-width="739" height="305" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwVrJvuGR_nfuMNfZrucTf8YyemLm0DDTqru1Gxd7_n5uBEcPWzKDjLkaJaLROtTwGieawQnqsTe0DUQLob3l3tt_0asrTyoM41_oPRijNmyW6utSQbse8DtNLIasZyDa_rfcIGQig4uA5WlmE3ITDSPoHSH89hZMQRCuGsMUbT7MoMjHoPf3hIEWmjww/s320/363874332_2592734270873661_3099295484122078915_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is Karoline, the apple pie baker, delivering<br />samples to me and Rob. She's also the piano<br />player from yesterday. Did I mention I have<br />amazingly talented neighbors?!?</td></tr></tbody></table></b></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge8TXz4qC1CUJi9UBx_Ai8qwi6_EOmG00IpPfkIqCdtoLkFyqVXMRXR4aCQxMYsDihjHSIp_Je_kYIZazkpPLGx_4pa3X7t-iZEWjymp1VSJF6hDnGmm3b3nfk0qswu7N4CjqJMm8Su9N78Pew9tHbPAXEpWMvDLi21_7_DqCbqVMk5QSPMxrH72MfP8U/s1000/359910496_1698484380618184_6061441150091596273_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge8TXz4qC1CUJi9UBx_Ai8qwi6_EOmG00IpPfkIqCdtoLkFyqVXMRXR4aCQxMYsDihjHSIp_Je_kYIZazkpPLGx_4pa3X7t-iZEWjymp1VSJF6hDnGmm3b3nfk0qswu7N4CjqJMm8Su9N78Pew9tHbPAXEpWMvDLi21_7_DqCbqVMk5QSPMxrH72MfP8U/s320/359910496_1698484380618184_6061441150091596273_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In addition to being absolutely delicious <br />(I was told the apples were a mix of <br />Granny Smith and Cosmic Crisp --<br />how brilliant is that?!?), I was blown<br />away by the lattice work. Look at how <br />uniform those crusts are!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpaSzYLRvaqpjrTpMVpNEh2fUInyHRKBoaC-0ZIuY_SItezedaHKBZ7awLe_190vZxOQ3wozPX2rjxVn-8bc4wp3q3YFvb5-ceULRV96rZhN4wHM3mnyYQTRsVjs-7RmCZte_rG0tF89NPxasODeug6uOZdG-vAnO5RSPAkY6kgsaZjrDIPaLAJHUIbbE/s1000/359910496_803270474790086_5096265494460680700_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpaSzYLRvaqpjrTpMVpNEh2fUInyHRKBoaC-0ZIuY_SItezedaHKBZ7awLe_190vZxOQ3wozPX2rjxVn-8bc4wp3q3YFvb5-ceULRV96rZhN4wHM3mnyYQTRsVjs-7RmCZte_rG0tF89NPxasODeug6uOZdG-vAnO5RSPAkY6kgsaZjrDIPaLAJHUIbbE/s320/359910496_803270474790086_5096265494460680700_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rob decided to try the other Yakisoba <br />place -- the "Green" one on the north<br />end. I sampled it and quickly deemed<br />it "industrial." The noodles were thin <br />and largely flavorless. We also have not<br />been impressed by the vibe in that booth<br />over the years. The woman in charge isn't<br />very pleasant. Rob didn't give me details, <br />but he said he didn't like how he saw the<br />employees being treated when he <br />ordered this, so we won't be<br />going back for any number of reasons.<br />Official Yakisoba Verdict in the absence<br />of Patrick's: Go to the Red Booth in the middle<br />of the Food Court. Better noodles and better<br />service without a snarl.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><b>EARRING FASHION SHOW!</b></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p>I had a request for photos of my daily earrings. Yes, I have a full-Fair collection of properly themed earrings, thanks mostly to etsy. Just to catch you up, here are the first 3 days of Fun Fair Earrings!</o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1EzS0yy0qCVfRPNnr3wjRguKJ0oSB4iAAd5ihL1MsBmyAFPOcdSOOc2BYP4bSNSnV3WqMkMUx0OD5uwnJ-eXh7IeaunF3NhAU_HEE41uaB29knW5J8LPgbfl400JkbIkXVFtpsJKwf8dFbKz_GKJdz7CH6keL8weOg-7JvuuJ7OhDzfEOu_DK_r2h4Xw/s353/364225351_788218383084230_3937105322506119109_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="353" data-original-width="345" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1EzS0yy0qCVfRPNnr3wjRguKJ0oSB4iAAd5ihL1MsBmyAFPOcdSOOc2BYP4bSNSnV3WqMkMUx0OD5uwnJ-eXh7IeaunF3NhAU_HEE41uaB29knW5J8LPgbfl400JkbIkXVFtpsJKwf8dFbKz_GKJdz7CH6keL8weOg-7JvuuJ7OhDzfEOu_DK_r2h4Xw/s320/364225351_788218383084230_3937105322506119109_n.jpg" width="313" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Day 1! To match my t-shirt<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO_1UplSFtdU_jtpZwhzatNHsCEEV7HULUSvrrWuToRHcxkwRKyhdB1tLoxza4-50nGlwpIbv7TOvQzbYSD2AGK3pdPhzZabXD0ljrbQoiUSXdv-nRoNX957s2aT17VVLNJZQsXRklR5WnYp9mx6euXC5tGx3lgnALKJW2Ckl5gtYocsYBkobBWjequjw/s587/358735214_558674299647207_5874217285313701873_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="587" data-original-width="516" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO_1UplSFtdU_jtpZwhzatNHsCEEV7HULUSvrrWuToRHcxkwRKyhdB1tLoxza4-50nGlwpIbv7TOvQzbYSD2AGK3pdPhzZabXD0ljrbQoiUSXdv-nRoNX957s2aT17VVLNJZQsXRklR5WnYp9mx6euXC5tGx3lgnALKJW2Ckl5gtYocsYBkobBWjequjw/s320/358735214_558674299647207_5874217285313701873_n.jpg" width="281" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghXEg8q4kdx39MHIPZwnUD7n-399wMkytuN2wRYOke-ovPRaqlHFcULjfmXy3yrW6VJixQVMRPrVLNZDKz-et0DO_jMJ0KxFyl0HtF6sWYjX47YhQfNwPsr-8CVoKmOMpYed8XGKsghs_jnwpsVvVKOP-oCJC-wCetJUUlag60vwsQr7wrn5nqYyw_wCI/s794/364358198_1368614697391381_8284829146196157068_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="794" data-original-width="749" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghXEg8q4kdx39MHIPZwnUD7n-399wMkytuN2wRYOke-ovPRaqlHFcULjfmXy3yrW6VJixQVMRPrVLNZDKz-et0DO_jMJ0KxFyl0HtF6sWYjX47YhQfNwPsr-8CVoKmOMpYed8XGKsghs_jnwpsVvVKOP-oCJC-wCetJUUlag60vwsQr7wrn5nqYyw_wCI/s320/364358198_1368614697391381_8284829146196157068_n.jpg" width="302" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Day 2 - Strawberry Milkshake!</td></tr></tbody></table></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR6DEZHIqOPNXu-0sB9S-VpLqR7CappgMYkhbdlL2jkITV7-rdrnYwyHxQin_nMB8rLsCgfS9yQcSc0pXuKDeEq64p3ucPLUiMV3gkdRp-PEtmAPlh3AFESNBxYByObxzguiKQGO-pTsq4i9kyV062OlJMGIHQX5p9ceHTUpyfVG-orTwJr31ChcQqdL4/s1000/359377899_3554805164787679_1324171743081739618_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR6DEZHIqOPNXu-0sB9S-VpLqR7CappgMYkhbdlL2jkITV7-rdrnYwyHxQin_nMB8rLsCgfS9yQcSc0pXuKDeEq64p3ucPLUiMV3gkdRp-PEtmAPlh3AFESNBxYByObxzguiKQGO-pTsq4i9kyV062OlJMGIHQX5p9ceHTUpyfVG-orTwJr31ChcQqdL4/s320/359377899_3554805164787679_1324171743081739618_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Day 3 - Buttered Corn on the Cob!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p></p>Toni at Woodhavenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14376655175018122805noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-400828308445468217.post-88482893272499562652023-08-06T10:07:00.007-07:002023-08-07T10:26:20.777-07:00FAIR DAY 2 ~ Fielding Questions!<p>I lazily woke up this morning to gurgling sounds. Naturally,
I assumed it was my stomach. Turns out it was lightly raining! We only got 0.03
inch but it was enough to remind us that we have gutters. I’m actually contemplating
wearing pants to the Fair today, which is rather rare.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Rob and I spent 5 break-free hours in the Passport to Fun
Gazebo yesterday. It was a BLAST! I wasn’t sure how I would do with such a long
shift, but the time passed by rather quickly. And we were sad when the next shift
arrived. We might have over-trained them a bit (they were from the Gazebo’s sponsor,
so they knew a LOT about the American Red Cross but not as much about where the
nearest restroom was). We maturely resisted the urge to pop by an hour later just
to see how things were going. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">We had a great time asking kids questions, explaining how
the Passport game works, giving hints where to find stamps, and watching the
AGONIZING decision-making process of which trinket prize was the very best. We
also served as the Unofficial Information Booth, directing people to the Pretty
Baby Contest, the Washington State Fiddling Competition, the nearest restroom,
the area to purchase carnival ride tickets, and the Pirate Parrot Show. Oddly,
we were asked three times where the Smoking Areas are. Last year, not a single
smoker bothered to ask. Thank you, smoking rule followers!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">We helped one 4-H family locate a booth where they could
purchase a long-sleeved shirt to fit under the required 4-H uniform to spare
the icicle pre-teen from freezing in the Show Ring. They returned several
minutes later all smiles and thank yous, sporting adorable cow shirts from a
discount bin. That made my day!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiitQxWLNpDQu8BJRNSBc66A0nwPf0w30jhniIIhdgFhIyfh2Al0izYhUSeIUiNKF7g1iyxo0LVnogFrijNOAkEp_lbs2bHnpbWfan9w68Ct3mcCPAp90DX51uJMxyF1iIw7E-jVmnW6Nm36gGqGl2lWhIJbyVvtDQd8-4aRzGylyUU6YDTxR5X-EFbmKo/s998/364547808_237051845410444_1697875549333757457_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="998" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiitQxWLNpDQu8BJRNSBc66A0nwPf0w30jhniIIhdgFhIyfh2Al0izYhUSeIUiNKF7g1iyxo0LVnogFrijNOAkEp_lbs2bHnpbWfan9w68Ct3mcCPAp90DX51uJMxyF1iIw7E-jVmnW6Nm36gGqGl2lWhIJbyVvtDQd8-4aRzGylyUU6YDTxR5X-EFbmKo/s320/364547808_237051845410444_1697875549333757457_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fair Fanatics at your service!</td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal">After we tore ourselves away from the Gazebo at 3:00, we
rushed over to Smashers to grab provisions so we could trot back to the Family
Fun Stage to see our Very Talented Neighbors compete in the 4-H Performing Arts
event. Woodhaven Rambling Fair Fans will remember that last year there was a HUGE
brain fart on the part of the event organizers and a full piano – with all the
octaves and stuff – was not available. This totally messed up two performances,
which unfortunately gave the affected kids a real-life lesson in how to handle
major disappointment that is totally out of your control (spoiler alert: they handled
it beautifully). This year, maaaany phone calls were made by numerous people to
ensure the proper equipment was provided. The performances – a year delayed –
were nonetheless award-winning.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTVzmRhkRexctjMyO-ctQSU-0RUBX7yUEjHchy0g-Hc280yJT5PR3eRD3dXjlj-y2PnLsmYj7faxGeoA3JpIuH7tw4aqOkVuvy_pA8lkLLDnDvbYvMXbZRohHCIdX9KyxqnL2OiHS-Gs4rNyJH5TmDaHAatyhVYNd3IjTanUWhS_FXSEGIohoITPISiyY/s750/364548303_3636041586719197_6607012334091238794_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="675" data-original-width="750" height="288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTVzmRhkRexctjMyO-ctQSU-0RUBX7yUEjHchy0g-Hc280yJT5PR3eRD3dXjlj-y2PnLsmYj7faxGeoA3JpIuH7tw4aqOkVuvy_pA8lkLLDnDvbYvMXbZRohHCIdX9KyxqnL2OiHS-Gs4rNyJH5TmDaHAatyhVYNd3IjTanUWhS_FXSEGIohoITPISiyY/s320/364548303_3636041586719197_6607012334091238794_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The flute player aged out of 4H last year but<br />was invited to come back to perform with<br />her full-sized piano accompaniment</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVVmCHSYO1MOP8dPa6RMQGCuppx4jUvSztmWE5gUVKveghU2556hOjTHhYkxi6TA6__4I95WagJ_FWZWkEJQwqS7N_iR2dBNMNZsYVE1Hgh-M94sAPiLlNsa_HSR1Ve7HmTeqSL0Xoj7uVL7HWTq9I0ImuQ0cZOsHNxPtsriD83ddFRnZKc3JOxc6jMEU/s1000/364349451_612306917699106_8799384678386801113_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVVmCHSYO1MOP8dPa6RMQGCuppx4jUvSztmWE5gUVKveghU2556hOjTHhYkxi6TA6__4I95WagJ_FWZWkEJQwqS7N_iR2dBNMNZsYVE1Hgh-M94sAPiLlNsa_HSR1Ve7HmTeqSL0Xoj7uVL7HWTq9I0ImuQ0cZOsHNxPtsriD83ddFRnZKc3JOxc6jMEU/s320/364349451_612306917699106_8799384678386801113_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Karoline ROCKS! And got a lot of<br />pretty ribbons! You can watch one<br />of her performances <a href="https://youtu.be/bgV9Vsk4sOs" target="_blank">here</a>! </td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal">The rest of the evening was spent enjoying more music. I got
whiplash going from the Big Band sounds Benny Goodman and Glen Miller by a
local jazz band comprised of retired musicians...</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_nWsLAyEM1k9BYDhyuyRUhIZsdJ5pBBMaG36_05E4s_k0gt7bijdZg-k1SDQilTgO_-hhFUtTApRVXYB4nDp1uh2TmhcMImHrCZp4jcpULBEg5iZ1IIJ_HzSnu5qmhYhUs-smZwRl9wUhLh0UXBtmSRhlLlurOLRbvBIEDSJPimXPQGMo2PAhduCp-Is/s1000/364255622_2564084797075027_9109394497739930509_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_nWsLAyEM1k9BYDhyuyRUhIZsdJ5pBBMaG36_05E4s_k0gt7bijdZg-k1SDQilTgO_-hhFUtTApRVXYB4nDp1uh2TmhcMImHrCZp4jcpULBEg5iZ1IIJ_HzSnu5qmhYhUs-smZwRl9wUhLh0UXBtmSRhlLlurOLRbvBIEDSJPimXPQGMo2PAhduCp-Is/s320/364255622_2564084797075027_9109394497739930509_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">All AARP members and having <br />a BLAST! Lots of toe tapping and<br />head bobbing in the audience!</td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal">...to whatever it was that George
Thorogood was playing. I guess it was blusey rock? Rob tried to prep me with YouTube
sound clips of George’s greatest hits. Turns out I only knew <a href="https://youtube.com/shorts/bN5FdTcReUY?feature=share" target="_blank">The Hit</a>, which
George was kind enough to play before the encore. I spent most of the concert cringing
at George’s “bad boy who might get arrested” stage persona while debating with
Rob whether the bright white shoes George was wearing were patent leather
loafers (Rob’s choice) or sensible Sketchers (my choice).</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5wmr5QJxH9agoXVuIi36vPj9CH45fQ30GKQpAwSx6YfpODTozMcfr2E0u83cH127XCF8edx0rwsRQrPmjdEtj9uUsGz_HZn_w1H9C-ZDkhp893vDXx8U_6in_laR6TZNHfoiRNTCNORSTy6aFno6Z7KW4Yf79WpY_DByFxtdrb2HfOWJv500LJiVq3hw/s1000/363862032_1456716081826440_1771669920478688192_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5wmr5QJxH9agoXVuIi36vPj9CH45fQ30GKQpAwSx6YfpODTozMcfr2E0u83cH127XCF8edx0rwsRQrPmjdEtj9uUsGz_HZn_w1H9C-ZDkhp893vDXx8U_6in_laR6TZNHfoiRNTCNORSTy6aFno6Z7KW4Yf79WpY_DByFxtdrb2HfOWJv500LJiVq3hw/s320/363862032_1456716081826440_1771669920478688192_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">George and his sensible shoes<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqfzbKEyQMxUcK-O0J3IPpQ9hYOoLbzyId3Mova7jGQiceozoLicKCB1LkjSf3b5jxFq8yKQJbUCa-p12z_x4dxorDQW9AutyHoFPxqID1j5HALbhNmS10bdtzyjqRsW7OQKocmPqbGc19UeqbAktLBWgSg-r_4gywE0eSmHrlTmVdIy3PA2V8Uy-E4J0/s1000/364617489_229356680087259_683756325409625427_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqfzbKEyQMxUcK-O0J3IPpQ9hYOoLbzyId3Mova7jGQiceozoLicKCB1LkjSf3b5jxFq8yKQJbUCa-p12z_x4dxorDQW9AutyHoFPxqID1j5HALbhNmS10bdtzyjqRsW7OQKocmPqbGc19UeqbAktLBWgSg-r_4gywE0eSmHrlTmVdIy3PA2V8Uy-E4J0/s320/364617489_229356680087259_683756325409625427_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Spotted in the BBQ line. The wearer<br />looked to be about the same age as<br />George (70s). VERY snazzy!<br />Do Sketchers come in red??</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">We are heading back to the Fairgrounds today right after church,
with hopes to meet up with some friends and see a cat competition. FAIR!!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>DAY 2 FAIR FOOD FEAST COLLAGE!</b></p><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvmC_S1SJtvtxGd_XMdxNF96iIGKF7HDMtcSvwc5qp6ld0V2xPhLQvmxTGstScRsvz2SyB_Z6_0aMdDXMJ5p5sFlZZR2DqDtXJhOR99mZfJSgfD5sbXMKR2o9poOSlDfNzCyOcGbHkJBP-6MwaZm4d8cYfuewAaL56galjkwi5QUdxGjH1YAyVjV5UKNU/s750/363859673_789602826244190_96325675251419849_n.jpg"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvmC_S1SJtvtxGd_XMdxNF96iIGKF7HDMtcSvwc5qp6ld0V2xPhLQvmxTGstScRsvz2SyB_Z6_0aMdDXMJ5p5sFlZZR2DqDtXJhOR99mZfJSgfD5sbXMKR2o9poOSlDfNzCyOcGbHkJBP-6MwaZm4d8cYfuewAaL56galjkwi5QUdxGjH1YAyVjV5UKNU/s320/363859673_789602826244190_96325675251419849_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><p class="MsoNormal">Clockwise from top left<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>Breakfast from the Lions Booth before our 10am shift in the
Gazebo. Scrambled eggs were tasty but I was super bummed I couldn't find any
Tabasco. I also ate both slices of bacon but we forgot to get a photo.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>Milkshake snack! Strawberry Cookies n Cream -- my favorite
combo. This one was particularly good -- it had more Cookies than usual. Rob
ordered for me and ordered it as "Cookies n Cream with Strawberries"
instead of how I usually order it as "Strawberry with Cookies n
Cream." I will be testing this order theory later in the Fair. Research is
important!</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Pulled Pork Nachos from the new Daddy D's BBQ booth.
Verdict: Meh. The pulled pork was a little too mushy and there wasn't much
special about the sauce or cheese. Jalapenos would have helped. For $16, I
expected a lot more. I'll still try the Pulled Pork Sandwich, which I've heard
is good. But so far, I miss Patrick's.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Chicken Strips from the Boppin' Bo's Booth next to the
Grandstands. Came with curly fries. We stopped there because there was no line
and we were in a hurry to get to the Performing Arts competition. There's a
reason there wasn't a line. The curly fries were limp and tasteless and the
chicken strips had a weird texture that made me kept checking to make sure they
had been thoroughly cooked. I eventually decided they were cooked fine but I
didn't like the weird slippery feel between the meat and the batter. Lesson
learned: stick with the Lions booth for chicken strips.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Not photographed: A Mango Smasher -- because I was thirsty
and preoccupied, and two Tums after the nachos just as a precaution.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><o:p></o:p><p></p>Toni at Woodhavenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14376655175018122805noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-400828308445468217.post-69250498336836394232023-08-05T09:00:00.007-07:002023-08-07T10:26:39.044-07:00FAIR DAY 1 ~ We are Fairing!!<p>I’ve only got about 30 minutes so read fast!</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The Fair is underway!! Rob and I spent about 10 hours at the
Fairgrounds yesterday and got about 8 hours of sleep. I am still amazed. At
both! <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Our Fairing pace was slow and measured, mostly because we
are out of practice and because it was sort of humid (non-West Coast friends, I’ll
pause here so you can stop smirking at what we call “humidity” out here). I tried
to ease into All Things Gluttony and held off on trying the new BBQ joint just
yet. I capped off the night with only 2 Tums – and thankfully realized before
it was too late that my travel Tums container needed restocking from last year.
My back only spasmed a couple of times and my knee feels like it is on a low
simmer, so all in all I’m claiming my body victorious for Day 1!<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWFSKDtY3JBn_dmjo7R7JtHT850KsRtAILyrZnIDaAp6I3W7Pzjkr8R9ONCV-GdFUCl_ZF2-Hv5bOxMYw5yx3rQTunWUwP3iuxOLrMZLIN7MaEv8xs4OZ6waoSIgVsKM-iuINvqBJRU2Ux0QCeiFxGW3skct8jJwJUPRkI2CXqc5pnroKWDHSHiIH5p5E/s998/364534926_646904224051426_330950795327198879_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="998" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWFSKDtY3JBn_dmjo7R7JtHT850KsRtAILyrZnIDaAp6I3W7Pzjkr8R9ONCV-GdFUCl_ZF2-Hv5bOxMYw5yx3rQTunWUwP3iuxOLrMZLIN7MaEv8xs4OZ6waoSIgVsKM-iuINvqBJRU2Ux0QCeiFxGW3skct8jJwJUPRkI2CXqc5pnroKWDHSHiIH5p5E/s320/364534926_646904224051426_330950795327198879_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Arrived in time for lunch!<br />Sporting my favorite Cow Earrings!</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">We had a great time bumping into friends, chatting and
catching up. I was super duper excited and honored when one of the performers
(Adam the Great) recognized me from Instagram (we follow each other) and he said,
“You’re ‘It’s the Fair’ right??”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I felt
like a celebrity! With a stage name! Thank you, thank you, Mr. The Great!<br />
<br />
Yesterday was the first Opening Day in over 30 that did not feature a free pancake
breakfast sponsored by a local grocery store chain. Instead of feeding thousands
of people at the Fair, Fred Meyer decided to feed thousands of people in the community
by donating $10,000 to a local food bank. Honestly, it makes me like them even
more. But we weren’t sure what impact the lack of free flapjacks would have on
First Day Fair attendance. From what I could tell – especially since you could
still get into the Fair for free until 1:00pm courtesy of Freddy – attendance was
about the same but arrived a couple hours later. So I hope Fred keeps this new
tradition going. It probably helped out the food vendors, too. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I’ve only just begun to eat, but I did take note of the food
prices this year. Predictably, everything is more expensive. My sense is
everything went up $2 - $5. I also spotted some “shrinkflation” – when you pay
the same price for less – or lower quality – product. For instance, several
people noted that a Philly cheesesteak was a lot more bread, less meat, and the
meat wasn’t as good compared to prior years. Not that the inflated prices are
going to hold me back from breaking all my food rules. But it might mean Rob
and I share a few more indulgences than typical.</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJWTZGXZYUT2uVd4lXHMPHdWe27EoCkRjPF8IDJvumHHPNPngphdwJCwYSbO0Q2uRkjryLD2hIIanyFPfZIfYkWJz9W_bRO4TVTHHfhZ8SejEKxEgXLeG6FEQ6Zhteq4GVXAx6RwCUs9X0IjfDK5CkuKnXEX824sRwCin_W-5_EZTRVKt9JOpjqImdBNc/s1000/364536160_3431007040497542_6527399220375402835_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJWTZGXZYUT2uVd4lXHMPHdWe27EoCkRjPF8IDJvumHHPNPngphdwJCwYSbO0Q2uRkjryLD2hIIanyFPfZIfYkWJz9W_bRO4TVTHHfhZ8SejEKxEgXLeG6FEQ6Zhteq4GVXAx6RwCUs9X0IjfDK5CkuKnXEX824sRwCin_W-5_EZTRVKt9JOpjqImdBNc/s320/364536160_3431007040497542_6527399220375402835_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This year's prices for Dairy Women<br />Milkshakes. They can just take my money.<br />Mmmmm!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">We spent the last 4 hours of the Fair tucked in a corner of
the Big Air Conditioned Building volunteering in the “Crafts & Hobbies”
exhibit. Our friend Linda is the Superintendent for the area featuring Legos,
ceramics, belt buckles, upcycled artistic creations, and pretty much anything
that couldn’t find a home in any other exhibit categories. We were thrilled to
finally get a couple of shifts on Linda’s Volunteers schedule this year!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">We weren’t sure what all we would be doing. Turns out we
spent about 45 minutes talking to kids, 45 minutes talking to Dave and another
Linda, and the rest of the time staring at quilts, watching people, riffling
through the “Crafts & Hobbies” supplies for treasures (I found a stack of award
ribbons and talked myself out of awarding Rob and me iridescent “Participation”
ribbons for our 4 solid hours behind the counter), and directing people to the
nearby restroom and water fountain. Honestly, after a full first day of getting
my Fair Legs going, it was a much-welcomed break. Even if the chair was plastic.</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq4vx8BBlkIgpnfkss426EXz6Nw55gQ6vVw9ebugglKld3YUzbYP_wAWuXrznGtTQxULIh1MTyjkbEjKGMSHKxYwiyegi5vp9fvzVg7hxrrjM_P9yRlEMeIcwBrZh7zOh7_kAcjNQNNbuNJBmpxvwdthxc9K5y8DfBDiGvJoT4ujsno-vHaThUzTs_Wak/s1000/364455088_1297927127560509_780260481674495539_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq4vx8BBlkIgpnfkss426EXz6Nw55gQ6vVw9ebugglKld3YUzbYP_wAWuXrznGtTQxULIh1MTyjkbEjKGMSHKxYwiyegi5vp9fvzVg7hxrrjM_P9yRlEMeIcwBrZh7zOh7_kAcjNQNNbuNJBmpxvwdthxc9K5y8DfBDiGvJoT4ujsno-vHaThUzTs_Wak/s320/364455088_1297927127560509_780260481674495539_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I stared at this guy for a long time,<br />with mounting appreciation. His wife <br />was in the restroom so he was "holding" her<br />pink feathery cowgirl hat and coordinating<br />purse. I bet he goes to the drugstore for <br />monthly items and patiently browses<br />in craftstores, too. I should have <br />given him a Blue Ribbon from the stash.<br />Dang it!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">We are heading back to the Fairgrounds shortly, for the
first shift of volunteering in the Passport to Fun Gazebo! It’s officially the
last stop for a kids treasure hunt of sort, but it also doubles as an unofficial
Information Booth. We have unofficially been helping out fairgoers for years,
since we are well attuned to the “lost and confused at the Fair” look. So we
had a BLAST AND A HALF last year volunteering in the Gazebo and can’t wait to
do it again today!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Off we go!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">FAIR FOOD FEAST PARADE:</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkI5-qNFDwzP5sLVEmuo8og4GxyCNdvHfSvNhbKe4sPWkajPY-Wj3cWB_Lppw4D4eoVyOxikmTfDdb1sRFame7FrASgFWs9qr_q1XVeGqxJ7NWbNgpsluy-vOwYCzbUnIuooTwy2f1l_02ZXRubU3hVXtm27QaIovyMYjmAQcVSiZraBKp_OieXwyIP6Y/s750/364444692_669749715064787_8734056471618409771_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkI5-qNFDwzP5sLVEmuo8og4GxyCNdvHfSvNhbKe4sPWkajPY-Wj3cWB_Lppw4D4eoVyOxikmTfDdb1sRFame7FrASgFWs9qr_q1XVeGqxJ7NWbNgpsluy-vOwYCzbUnIuooTwy2f1l_02ZXRubU3hVXtm27QaIovyMYjmAQcVSiZraBKp_OieXwyIP6Y/s320/364444692_669749715064787_8734056471618409771_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">TOP ROW:<br />Yakisoba Noodles from the red sign place in<br />the middle of the Food Court. I hadn’t gone<br />there in years since I had my beloved<br />Patrick’s Hawaiian Cafe. But with Patrick’s <br />well earned retirement, I gave this booth a<br />try. Not bad! Not great, but the noodles weren’t<br />thin and crunchy, which was a relief. I needed two Tums afterwards, though.<br /><br />Strawberry Mango Smasher! My favorite blend!<br />Stan also kept his prices reasonable ($7 compared <br />to $9 for boring lemonade nearby). He will<br />see me daily.<br /><br />MIDDLE ROW:<br />Roasted corn on the cob. I learned last year<br />not to pay extra for the Mexican version<br />and instead just take advantage of their free<br />condiments. From the corn vendor<br />south of the Food Court<br /><br />Corn dog from the Lions booth. Tasty! Good batter,<br />good dog, not enormous, well-cooked<br />(especially for Day 1)<br /><br />BOTTOM ROW:<br />Ice cream swirl from the Church Ladies <br />Pie Booth, with a cone! Because it’s FAIR (in real<br />life, I always get a cup)! Historically, the Church Ladies <br />have the best value for ice cream - cheaper and they <br />give you more than the Dairy Women. Day 1, though, <br />not so much. Prices were the same and the middle-schooler <br />running the dispenser was still learning<br />how to overfill the cone.<br /><br />Kettle Corn from the Old Fashioned stand!<br />I used to get White Cheddar until they<br />ran out one year and I had to get traditional. OMG! <br />Sweet AND salty! I will be munching on<br />this for the next 10 days. I also just discovered it makes<br />a delightful air freshener for our car!</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>Toni at Woodhavenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14376655175018122805noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-400828308445468217.post-54401829419821728732023-08-02T16:15:00.002-07:002023-08-02T16:16:27.860-07:00Summer’s Best Party is almost here!<p>Greetings, Fair Fans!!!
The 2023 Clark County Fair is just TWO DAYS away!! WHOO HOO!!!!!!</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Rob and I went to the Fairgrounds yesterday, just to look around
and feel the air of anticipation and preparation. As we ran into folks we knew,
each one looked at me and said knowingly, “Just here for a pre-check?” They get
me! <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">We chatted with Smashers Stan and got to see the inside of
his groovy beverage truck. We noted some new food offerings (a tantalizing BBQ
joint has replaced my beloved Patrick’s Hawaiian Café – I’m already conflicted).
Rob helped our friend Kirk move a really heavy display cabinet for the Robotics
4-H’ers while I helpfully noted one of the legs was broken. We chatted with our
friend Linda as she fielded questions about Open Class Arts & Crafts
entries. We said hello to our friend Steve and met his 7-year-old granddaughter,
congratulating her on some fine Kid Art entries. And we stopped in the Rabbit
Barn, noting it smelled boringly clean and un-animaled with only empty cages
filling its walls. Can’t wait ‘til Friday to breathe in that intoxicating aroma
of fresh hay and bunny poops!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">In other words, we Pre-Faired well and the excitement is
mounting!</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcv2i769I0JgmVv0kS081Hze0IL7SVt2O-00rZqSfqIW7TCuGXqLfLl5TNM7-EwbnXP8-YWdXgnyYO6SbWzhFdofxDwnqP3SGTNYbmrb8eZov7Ez_RRsJheYd8_yzjow-Kj0pYJt8Hw7_X-2MD8YW04b2eHZmGpmQAlTrfjKHfb8OmYL4GSykuZDejc8E/s3088/359678787_810216060661378_4580515968010571051_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3088" data-original-width="2320" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcv2i769I0JgmVv0kS081Hze0IL7SVt2O-00rZqSfqIW7TCuGXqLfLl5TNM7-EwbnXP8-YWdXgnyYO6SbWzhFdofxDwnqP3SGTNYbmrb8eZov7Ez_RRsJheYd8_yzjow-Kj0pYJt8Hw7_X-2MD8YW04b2eHZmGpmQAlTrfjKHfb8OmYL4GSykuZDejc8E/s320/359678787_810216060661378_4580515968010571051_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">SOOO close to Smashers, I can almost<br />taste them! Strawberry Mango, I'm<br />comin' for you!</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfPH6ZRjZyx2cP_JPjCzzZ7Jjg7fZJC8UT4wPSjjfcdzABT-8c9A0YeAJGcL5ZqkhuiJcdUypNMc8T_bG2z4qE2gP1I6dH-rVbrGNWGYLi8Qt953JMGH8RjVy_CQJgcIKQWTE6f0bmMDO9Tm2x9UVyhkHcXZINRM5SSEUMOb8dZNkkhMHJJUuRfixiOso/s4032/359675478_1632621917260074_1761177599206976769_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfPH6ZRjZyx2cP_JPjCzzZ7Jjg7fZJC8UT4wPSjjfcdzABT-8c9A0YeAJGcL5ZqkhuiJcdUypNMc8T_bG2z4qE2gP1I6dH-rVbrGNWGYLi8Qt953JMGH8RjVy_CQJgcIKQWTE6f0bmMDO9Tm2x9UVyhkHcXZINRM5SSEUMOb8dZNkkhMHJJUuRfixiOso/s320/359675478_1632621917260074_1761177599206976769_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm devastated I won't have Patrick's Yakisoba<br />Noodles as an option, but Daddy D's Rib Tips are <br />looking rather delectable.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZjXNWOJcCUrZYNc2DGd10JFOxaiJWhw5QFihOi2_M0a0KaHeCK5OQjufvsmHvQZpFf-kIO7EoHdG4HM2SSsF2V8Yy2say5RmhVKKq_hiNt7rotCufI4Wa4Ho4NkeF4RIjRGBc9JD2IhGxgfxsX9QgjFuiSjMXj9xjw_icGZKjfP8IS5WQH337YX3bLog/s3088/359694480_212116675116646_8759566394913238606_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3088" data-original-width="2320" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZjXNWOJcCUrZYNc2DGd10JFOxaiJWhw5QFihOi2_M0a0KaHeCK5OQjufvsmHvQZpFf-kIO7EoHdG4HM2SSsF2V8Yy2say5RmhVKKq_hiNt7rotCufI4Wa4Ho4NkeF4RIjRGBc9JD2IhGxgfxsX9QgjFuiSjMXj9xjw_icGZKjfP8IS5WQH337YX3bLog/s320/359694480_212116675116646_8759566394913238606_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I wonder if they used a chocolate Easter<br />bunny as a model?</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p>I have spent some time today reviewing my approach to last
year’s Fairing. Although I didn’t remember exactly what I had done, I did remember
I had done it with much more wisdom and sleep than in past years. And as a
result, I wasn’t completely spent (literally and figuratively) by Day 10. So
let’s do that again!<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">My plan this year is to FAIR with my trademark delight and
abandon while also pacing myself such that I am not a deep-fried heap of
exhaustion at the end. I will be eating and watching and playing and talking
and cheering and smiling and blogging. But I will also be sleeping and breathing
and resting and listening. Mostly to my body parts, because they like to talk.
A lot.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">So, I won’t be blogging here every night (or morning) of the
Fair. Instead, my recaps will appear as inspired and with plenty of rest. However,
photos will appear frequently throughout the day on my <a href="https://www.instagram.com/its_the_fair/" target="_blank">@its_the_fair Instagram account,</a> so please follow along! Rob and I have two different volunteer gigs
this year, which we are super excited about! And we will be taking one day off
to go check out a completely ridiculous competition we heard about on the Oregon
Coast. Stay tuned for that head-scratching hilarity!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Less than 50 hours to go!!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>FAIR! FAIR!! FAIR!!!<o:p></o:p></p><br />Toni at Woodhavenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14376655175018122805noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-400828308445468217.post-49795232667101680842023-06-21T23:04:00.007-07:002023-06-22T07:13:32.108-07:00Merry in London<p>In 2013, Rob and I took a cruise that landed us in places
like Athens and Cairo and Ephesus (Turkey). As we toured around, we kept
hearing the same comment from guides. Something along the lines of “What you
see here is a replica. The real version is in the British Museum in London.”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">And so for 10 years, Rob and I have been longing to visit
the British Museum to see all the good stuff.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The real stuff. The stuff that was – depending on your viewpoint –
either imperially acquired in a “Finders Keepers” approach, or is being lovingly
and expertly housed and protected for all to enjoy.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">So the third Bucket List item of our Epic Trip of 2023 was a
4-day stay in London after we bid farewell to the Island Princess in Southampton,
England. We had planned to spend most of the four days in the British Museum. Instead,
lured by feeling unexpectedly comfortable and curious, we spent two days in the
museum and two days playing American Tourists in London. We had a blast!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Determined to have a more local experience, we decided to
forego a points-earning hotel chain and instead found a homebase practically
touching the British Museum. The old, stately building featured white-gloved doormen,
housekeepers in traditional maids’ outfits, Afternoon Tea, a garden, a comfy
lounge decked out in All Things Leopard, and blessedly after-market air
conditioning in all the rooms. We absolutely loved our stay and decided it
shall be Our London Hotel if we are ever lucky enough to return. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjr2yhBJosSg9Sbs9K7itkrdJs2ydMLFAL6IcFU5czDWqnnd5cq8zJJwLlFDQxhe2twzpZlpU7rwDCQ42novOT1dFySrPf_cKcg5FTu_Bf6YyqzG-yk-8dMIFXvM3ufvRZEFqp-AUqyvC7C8owwS-fqcRayc1g0cI5OFWEOkuFircF0CpgJoCw82tR1lY/s750/353756477_1630315917470768_7974265099429423872_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="563" data-original-width="750" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjr2yhBJosSg9Sbs9K7itkrdJs2ydMLFAL6IcFU5czDWqnnd5cq8zJJwLlFDQxhe2twzpZlpU7rwDCQ42novOT1dFySrPf_cKcg5FTu_Bf6YyqzG-yk-8dMIFXvM3ufvRZEFqp-AUqyvC7C8owwS-fqcRayc1g0cI5OFWEOkuFircF0CpgJoCw82tR1lY/s320/353756477_1630315917470768_7974265099429423872_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hotel behind us, red phone booth in front of us,<br />British Museum next to us. PERFECT location!</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOmMeQvHywlDHV113Rfikf24ZM_nU6Sp4oOJL-8UmIMCYNU96hHAWXV5TWUlYV4mKzY7wuR_LhDm3dJTvDQ-XBYOt55bxgBFyFixgRFcJtlmNYN4aR1rseARWkchsu-25IVyX0R8mQhPUg6pSVVkCXZslK6HQ6oozBIVeVeX3AlVlNP3KnarJNHik3LVk/s1000/353100630_531758485687856_9187566073957527162_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOmMeQvHywlDHV113Rfikf24ZM_nU6Sp4oOJL-8UmIMCYNU96hHAWXV5TWUlYV4mKzY7wuR_LhDm3dJTvDQ-XBYOt55bxgBFyFixgRFcJtlmNYN4aR1rseARWkchsu-25IVyX0R8mQhPUg6pSVVkCXZslK6HQ6oozBIVeVeX3AlVlNP3KnarJNHik3LVk/s320/353100630_531758485687856_9187566073957527162_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We LOVED hanging out at the Leopard Bar!<br />So much so, we're trying to figure out how<br />to tastefully incorporate some leopard<br />prints at Woodhaven. Pro tip: Traveling<br />can be aesthetically dangerous</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">We happened to be in London during quite a heat wave. To us,
it was rather pleasant – in the mid-80s and actually warmer than our very brief
stay in Ft. Lauderdale at the beginning of our trip. But the local Londoners – and
their buildings – were NOT used to such extreme temperatures. I didn’t hear
much complaining, but there was quite a bit of glistening on the stiff upper
lips.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">We spent our first Tour Day riding a double-decker bus all
around the city past the iconic spots. It took a few stops before we were able
to snag seats upstairs in the open, fresh air. And then after a few stops more,
we had the whole upper deck practically to ourselves as a thunderstorm dumped
some of the biggest raindrops I’ve ever seen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Determined to keep our prime seats – and keeping hope alive that the
rain would eventually stop – Rob and I actually had quite a laugh-filled, very
wet trek across the Tower Bridge and past the Tower of London with just a
couple other diehards who were not going to let a whole lotta rain ruin their
touristy fun.</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8JUqjo-zpQUeoa4QDVo21c8hER-mGd5hIaLu6J-J6eMr8rwas_FdKGl3s64KEnex3Mi6d78X2H1rkpozMNr1LMOuIpFZ2vsNweC-ZUty1gG_XnpqknJliW_hQvtr1XrJu14-_1yO_l4qqYvsFGBzYnRIA5dPffAmVZhgI1tpr8bOeUvxH8MJ1Z7ZdRzA/s998/353624518_245503988118770_340986705354024589_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="998" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8JUqjo-zpQUeoa4QDVo21c8hER-mGd5hIaLu6J-J6eMr8rwas_FdKGl3s64KEnex3Mi6d78X2H1rkpozMNr1LMOuIpFZ2vsNweC-ZUty1gG_XnpqknJliW_hQvtr1XrJu14-_1yO_l4qqYvsFGBzYnRIA5dPffAmVZhgI1tpr8bOeUvxH8MJ1Z7ZdRzA/s320/353624518_245503988118770_340986705354024589_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It was a very dramatic 10 minutes!<br />By the time we got back to our hotel,<br />the only thing still wet was the waistband<br />of my shorts.</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Between the bus ride, about 15 miles of walking, a boat tour
on the Thames, an inadequately air-conditioned rotation on The Eye, and heavy
reliance on Trip Advisor restaurant reviews, we did all the London Must Do’s we could
while still making the British Museum our priority.</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvYQukwA2K_zf9VJb1GaDT1mU-AWsPQ3gJzHkuSbT3S_zeBrwOjO4lsvfP1W7qZQ9WtNDq6kZys_alGplnFqOjxq2tcWM-oZ1UGrqyAedUZwFdth4WBfSo4L8Nfe9nWCvkJSy5m_Icp801Xiq-ISGPvlki_R5qbhLJcv_nSE_9TqX0CQyLa_0sNKPbPbY/s1000/353316578_190532937310791_841771218895946180_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvYQukwA2K_zf9VJb1GaDT1mU-AWsPQ3gJzHkuSbT3S_zeBrwOjO4lsvfP1W7qZQ9WtNDq6kZys_alGplnFqOjxq2tcWM-oZ1UGrqyAedUZwFdth4WBfSo4L8Nfe9nWCvkJSy5m_Icp801Xiq-ISGPvlki_R5qbhLJcv_nSE_9TqX0CQyLa_0sNKPbPbY/s320/353316578_190532937310791_841771218895946180_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> I had no idea the Tower Bridge has<br />turquoise highlights!<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2JqHWAXGN7kTw-DDhWFFurVohq8f-3uIgHhHNW9Jfvqx5CuJI4_D9BPVEXC8aCasLw2Fy5BLT6yfelzVgT2eGx6Rxu3MGbHgU2byiPGF8CG1wrvXLoNzvIiAae29T9hvqHKPTzqnjtsoiH2Lt1E3YZXDGofd86udvMK7FLG_Sp1c2YauIBKFVHsKmTj0/s750/353828635_792875002479297_7769637705062853499_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="563" data-original-width="750" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2JqHWAXGN7kTw-DDhWFFurVohq8f-3uIgHhHNW9Jfvqx5CuJI4_D9BPVEXC8aCasLw2Fy5BLT6yfelzVgT2eGx6Rxu3MGbHgU2byiPGF8CG1wrvXLoNzvIiAae29T9hvqHKPTzqnjtsoiH2Lt1E3YZXDGofd86udvMK7FLG_Sp1c2YauIBKFVHsKmTj0/s320/353828635_792875002479297_7769637705062853499_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stopped by Buckingham Palace but His Majesty<br />wasn't accepting visitors</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJYsWHUy143C9kyb_oROMHvOxYhmIt1Q2sF4qmstZcP08CcUNDVJvOl44HMSP6b5NRgVjj_EiupmznSRQtjkzD_-caGhoiUV3lEZsaqL0MKfJ14ocM0PM19o_74X0tDEwbJSsuQnz2y_ufyrEDTMEhdQdqWBAxUGNXQmwJzgPU0mwCAnGThU2QlvNl2Gw/s1000/353789281_178403248314134_6174138180226661763_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJYsWHUy143C9kyb_oROMHvOxYhmIt1Q2sF4qmstZcP08CcUNDVJvOl44HMSP6b5NRgVjj_EiupmznSRQtjkzD_-caGhoiUV3lEZsaqL0MKfJ14ocM0PM19o_74X0tDEwbJSsuQnz2y_ufyrEDTMEhdQdqWBAxUGNXQmwJzgPU0mwCAnGThU2QlvNl2Gw/s320/353789281_178403248314134_6174138180226661763_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Very clearly new signage</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvdgAd9GKGOp2M-q8ee8epyWoSrBWfbqshD2FrpSCLB3Rn07agHd-8lhVLeGNxTLf6GEtSkkbBfxz0UZtKQEBg6Z8gXUlgv8KJcjy2MV5WMbOTZxwGXBE1doL1fbs1EezelvDDVQA6v-DdB47bm-2RmIF035gFx5_0-U1v_EG1AbIsf1iLiNb42B51NYQ/s1000/353555177_540711911436224_1356970753036768441_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvdgAd9GKGOp2M-q8ee8epyWoSrBWfbqshD2FrpSCLB3Rn07agHd-8lhVLeGNxTLf6GEtSkkbBfxz0UZtKQEBg6Z8gXUlgv8KJcjy2MV5WMbOTZxwGXBE1doL1fbs1EezelvDDVQA6v-DdB47bm-2RmIF035gFx5_0-U1v_EG1AbIsf1iLiNb42B51NYQ/s320/353555177_540711911436224_1356970753036768441_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Parliament and Big Ben by river boat.<br />We got to hear it chime 10:00! SO cool.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglGUL9uD-4aHQbi_gQR8qg1I-GDk-fPrLG3jtvGgps1O1L34VcUJqq0vrgDXEj_7PpWl3rFwhJl3gumRX50P2owSGOw8vdelABpCQP7sTDaKkDPXo3NpAIIapBHqQORD_5b1DvQQvalcWUcTagaClZuLdQNMsT1Ecdy-cK-VDAiNtF6Au3kXE-uK9R17E/s750/353831510_572447038366669_2455014875206023624_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="563" data-original-width="750" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglGUL9uD-4aHQbi_gQR8qg1I-GDk-fPrLG3jtvGgps1O1L34VcUJqq0vrgDXEj_7PpWl3rFwhJl3gumRX50P2owSGOw8vdelABpCQP7sTDaKkDPXo3NpAIIapBHqQORD_5b1DvQQvalcWUcTagaClZuLdQNMsT1Ecdy-cK-VDAiNtF6Au3kXE-uK9R17E/s320/353831510_572447038366669_2455014875206023624_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Tower of London. We didn't do a tour but we<br />did stop by the gift shop. I expected all sorts of <br />weird prisony torture stuff. Instead, it was the<br />classiest souvenir shop I saw the entire trip.<br />Very elegant jewelry, tea sets, scarves, etc.</td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl3etbuwKzY-8CSvpFRxVi7ap39QfCRNb0u8PJ9t2XUh7x7es33EgBczB2HJYWs6cJ8_TsfGYi_7KaMDXiXh_z4zEg9mQReFRLHHsLQmAzRaSmnl7c5kk0HUxu94coOv8OOOluQNH6c1Rx7nA67RTCsX0ysURd6OilatNLzANC1aSVWeZOigYJuv-cI6s/s1000/353934187_202375106098805_1754113541320763432_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl3etbuwKzY-8CSvpFRxVi7ap39QfCRNb0u8PJ9t2XUh7x7es33EgBczB2HJYWs6cJ8_TsfGYi_7KaMDXiXh_z4zEg9mQReFRLHHsLQmAzRaSmnl7c5kk0HUxu94coOv8OOOluQNH6c1Rx7nA67RTCsX0ysURd6OilatNLzANC1aSVWeZOigYJuv-cI6s/s320/353934187_202375106098805_1754113541320763432_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This was more the standard souvenir<br />store. SO much merchandising!<br />And yes, I came home with one treasure.</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY6-cq8GLo773ae7Q_q4YMgCaghxWkbsyDa6NwEQNnMY36jlv2S1PwQdDJmW4VsvrFcfVJQw6MRf3W9Etg8bCd7DF7u3bS8Tut1urk4lwMVOT4q4SyVXDSHVGiVTRB9q6M3SdbyycUOedSvUPUN_o4vrXSR12pYAjyl04604ItWxFCznmR2BJA-g6USnc/s1000/355072845_1329920414228428_4716603146201517015_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY6-cq8GLo773ae7Q_q4YMgCaghxWkbsyDa6NwEQNnMY36jlv2S1PwQdDJmW4VsvrFcfVJQw6MRf3W9Etg8bCd7DF7u3bS8Tut1urk4lwMVOT4q4SyVXDSHVGiVTRB9q6M3SdbyycUOedSvUPUN_o4vrXSR12pYAjyl04604ItWxFCznmR2BJA-g6USnc/s320/355072845_1329920414228428_4716603146201517015_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yes, she bobbles! I really wanted a <br />King Charles bobblehead, but a <br />store owner told me they sold<br />out completely all over town during<br />the coronation. The English sure love<br />their bobbleheads! I decided not to get<br />a half-price Prince Charles bobblehead...</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxd8nA7sVm9IG2DtT7mnnqzmYgyipHbblNM7fCIiHR_wbQIeKqtqtPh2n8saqM6ekktMX_asneDVzFuPcpax2U3c-Px0gtnaPSobTh072F4TwCbYSH4gwoyQ-rGbomE0F6pV6UHhzVQx3BrY-6I1_ICQu9W9tBQgspr0l7PoXtCPxlXxJjKII6t-tMPhM/s1000/354053562_952350509302415_4442519309794344502_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxd8nA7sVm9IG2DtT7mnnqzmYgyipHbblNM7fCIiHR_wbQIeKqtqtPh2n8saqM6ekktMX_asneDVzFuPcpax2U3c-Px0gtnaPSobTh072F4TwCbYSH4gwoyQ-rGbomE0F6pV6UHhzVQx3BrY-6I1_ICQu9W9tBQgspr0l7PoXtCPxlXxJjKII6t-tMPhM/s320/354053562_952350509302415_4442519309794344502_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The London Eye. It is pretty much <br />always in motion (slowly) and takes <br />about 30 minutes to make one rotation.<br />Glad we did it - the views were great!<br />Would have been even better if it <br />hadn't felt like we were in a greenhouse.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJzklJzkOIVg_HuLypHCwJkDFWh12m-GGmab-u1o60VCaZtsNCne-cY9mjMURyRo0yYj6wZzPAALHWFL48Mz68-hWFCSjS25SiKCN9qA50sQZbpMUMGSKSymiBLK-JrtHSEyIHYkUeJorY-wnprh1jDanJ0mAZfoRb3_NZTtA0glKhepkTiqwHhRqBOG8/s1038/353643580_1079608453426009_2245967859601230564_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1038" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJzklJzkOIVg_HuLypHCwJkDFWh12m-GGmab-u1o60VCaZtsNCne-cY9mjMURyRo0yYj6wZzPAALHWFL48Mz68-hWFCSjS25SiKCN9qA50sQZbpMUMGSKSymiBLK-JrtHSEyIHYkUeJorY-wnprh1jDanJ0mAZfoRb3_NZTtA0glKhepkTiqwHhRqBOG8/s320/353643580_1079608453426009_2245967859601230564_n.jpg" width="231" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There were 27 of us in the pod.<br />Benches were in the middle, <br />air conditioning vents sparsely<br />dotted around the perimeter</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKlKsl6qAB0ij3k6qoQKvitgS4k5c7aMbpzekYj3sV1A6VtRB4jgoPOWBbQmk8tFgpUe4-HaQWRgjV8ruccMm6ikqWFn4LecnDftnA3VUyLPh9rrimWSnG1s_pvtIefE9rv_ZhDeUd5Xv5RAfRrqDOvfsndw-DYsnQuiBCE6WaGtP7K71p663Ll93lyLE/s1000/353634831_1002145817803431_4782858700452600341_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKlKsl6qAB0ij3k6qoQKvitgS4k5c7aMbpzekYj3sV1A6VtRB4jgoPOWBbQmk8tFgpUe4-HaQWRgjV8ruccMm6ikqWFn4LecnDftnA3VUyLPh9rrimWSnG1s_pvtIefE9rv_ZhDeUd5Xv5RAfRrqDOvfsndw-DYsnQuiBCE6WaGtP7K71p663Ll93lyLE/s320/353634831_1002145817803431_4782858700452600341_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="240" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Apparently it is London culture to stop<br />at a pub after work on the way home.<br />Pubs were super crowded from about<br />5:00 to 6:30 each night.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdlpxUpnnONA1nNtcRMPvyXQp_eE7kpfknKpweOPVFjof5Y0328BZpMsMoPdBVXMw-dnpaZslA5--Vmi_bR5-EIl-6L_XY4xY-E44cHOZPIyAD0UMxwcudfz-1Xz2-aL7uaWJKEMkwgALLfcurKestIcNZZRHabE9b6_VGcdmWnt-z3GOMmhD0dtTfPgg/s998/353420980_1396894467836072_4261107398632468895_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="998" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdlpxUpnnONA1nNtcRMPvyXQp_eE7kpfknKpweOPVFjof5Y0328BZpMsMoPdBVXMw-dnpaZslA5--Vmi_bR5-EIl-6L_XY4xY-E44cHOZPIyAD0UMxwcudfz-1Xz2-aL7uaWJKEMkwgALLfcurKestIcNZZRHabE9b6_VGcdmWnt-z3GOMmhD0dtTfPgg/s320/353420980_1396894467836072_4261107398632468895_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Blending in with the late crowd</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdZJXXMvkRCJC7rRm7u3sNWINAoqrbtcgvNLFDlF5abdtlAkWWAUoUhANPJFK1w_C8MLAfwQcrr907qVjq2GKAeatOL1Vf2yImnGBAQj3fIsll6U-9nX3Y2TQrhnuys81kjsJSvLRgB8ADgvr8dqz-tYPqSTMY1j07VVZAMRmt4kZKx1AUGLvpJjIZFYo/s1000/353686288_1600464720365201_9046122231765072502_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdZJXXMvkRCJC7rRm7u3sNWINAoqrbtcgvNLFDlF5abdtlAkWWAUoUhANPJFK1w_C8MLAfwQcrr907qVjq2GKAeatOL1Vf2yImnGBAQj3fIsll6U-9nX3Y2TQrhnuys81kjsJSvLRgB8ADgvr8dqz-tYPqSTMY1j07VVZAMRmt4kZKx1AUGLvpJjIZFYo/s320/353686288_1600464720365201_9046122231765072502_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">These painted reminders were<br />SUPER helpful! Also very helpful:<br />Londoners are very serious about <br />their pedestrian crosswalks. If you <br />cross properly, yellow lamps flash and<br />traffic literally screeches to a halt to<br />let you cross. We had a bicycle group<br />nearly skid to a stop when we stepped <br />off a crosswalk's curb. </td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqZEkO4zlJazcHn-N59hDytZvOV3pC_PCwHG5oB83CbenMCkfNt4PV7LXo_XZ3sK4z4MWd2cNe97sN313cK58FVQ-ephPdCN2dPep2tBGTSpMKk8yNzCGsQ_JtqgzsrOM4Hhmkwih7RfpYtdSwuWVEw-CWdG8Jw6nZVtNXV5QZ-GJNM3ovv4z6h0YL4Qo/s1000/353735022_243658475079828_2304094596078159014_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqZEkO4zlJazcHn-N59hDytZvOV3pC_PCwHG5oB83CbenMCkfNt4PV7LXo_XZ3sK4z4MWd2cNe97sN313cK58FVQ-ephPdCN2dPep2tBGTSpMKk8yNzCGsQ_JtqgzsrOM4Hhmkwih7RfpYtdSwuWVEw-CWdG8Jw6nZVtNXV5QZ-GJNM3ovv4z6h0YL4Qo/s320/353735022_243658475079828_2304094596078159014_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Picadilly Circus -- which is basically<br />London's version of Times Square.<br />Lots of theaters, signage, traffic, people.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibgmIMozuXgorGwRdaN4L-pc6CvP1RqNCShQ4FqJXtaopK7mSxCOHKQpkGV-zeNVdgVLsnelaF2xYvuJwI9VkKgOGk1NTE5GwFmoyRSZO-jpP7qMQCyZ4AbE4FaZDMTNP6J3spa8i6HY6Gjfmj62vWnLykOX6kD3BezdLCInF-gn1Vz5vaBVpABCTiJhI/s1000/353869302_651175353570613_5191285662777008464_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibgmIMozuXgorGwRdaN4L-pc6CvP1RqNCShQ4FqJXtaopK7mSxCOHKQpkGV-zeNVdgVLsnelaF2xYvuJwI9VkKgOGk1NTE5GwFmoyRSZO-jpP7qMQCyZ4AbE4FaZDMTNP6J3spa8i6HY6Gjfmj62vWnLykOX6kD3BezdLCInF-gn1Vz5vaBVpABCTiJhI/s320/353869302_651175353570613_5191285662777008464_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thanks to Rob's TripAdvisor Skills,<br />I had the BEST fish and chips of my<br />life in this little restaurant tucked under<br />some train tracks. Plus, the name.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7LPWd-b-JZyZ6v7MZOpnJow2wjys_kNgo3Z-aa-51lvi602iOQd5qpVhOg9B_5Q8F22UB3Bwq_YQe14CW6_ofw0lk1s5vk4udvvuzz2PLSDlBzeMJ0Dp6twMwwjlEhMgf5Ec2dJD0Ys6GJJ2soFVANtrldFJtxtkLvG4lcVMMxMibApJhL3PjMPfmYss/s750/354107754_606929551240730_5802254796233064157_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="563" data-original-width="750" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7LPWd-b-JZyZ6v7MZOpnJow2wjys_kNgo3Z-aa-51lvi602iOQd5qpVhOg9B_5Q8F22UB3Bwq_YQe14CW6_ofw0lk1s5vk4udvvuzz2PLSDlBzeMJ0Dp6twMwwjlEhMgf5Ec2dJD0Ys6GJJ2soFVANtrldFJtxtkLvG4lcVMMxMibApJhL3PjMPfmYss/s320/354107754_606929551240730_5802254796233064157_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We took a fascinating tour of the Winston Churchill<br />War Rooms which is an underground complex of <br />living quarters and offices the Prime Minister<br />secretly used during WWII. Pictured here is <br />Winston's underground bedroom behind glass.<br />However, some VIPs were getting a special <br />tour and got to be inside the room. Recognize <br />the woman? That's Jenna Fischer from <br />"The Office." Social media confirmed it!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">The British Museum was, in a word, overwhelming. We spent a
total of 14 hours touring its exhibits and we still did not see everything on
display. And I can assure you, I did not come close to absorbing even half of
the detailed historical information I read. So much reading.</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTRufDQR6E2Y5oEtDS4An10rDZuZ5f0klunSExLqj0FCtEYP0n4H4DuC1VEmsO0W0WlqXUb0uhiUjSvn4qiNtOLGOLR1g9R69364sH_ju927Hei_3dXG6S81vvBqXEwiW71YbAcj_xw7f9ABgUEnpftHBbTt_9Hn-ASOvigtkKcXaR7vr9T4qEZ7WoPTE/s1000/354219722_224002737192434_7112908010548098059_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTRufDQR6E2Y5oEtDS4An10rDZuZ5f0klunSExLqj0FCtEYP0n4H4DuC1VEmsO0W0WlqXUb0uhiUjSvn4qiNtOLGOLR1g9R69364sH_ju927Hei_3dXG6S81vvBqXEwiW71YbAcj_xw7f9ABgUEnpftHBbTt_9Hn-ASOvigtkKcXaR7vr9T4qEZ7WoPTE/s320/354219722_224002737192434_7112908010548098059_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One explanation for how stuff ended<br />up in the museum</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The exhibits were organized geographically. The most popular
were Greece and Egypt. Africa, which was downstairs, seemed a bit lonely. The
newest stuff (in a themed exhibit on clocks and money) was from just a couple
of years ago. The oldest stuff was 6000ish BC. Yes, 6000 B. C. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I was super excited to see all the REAL friezes from the Parthenon
in Athens. None of that replica stuff the folks in the Acropolis Museum are relegated
to displaying.</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdgpT5OPIAOQYZoJ7QACbvKCJI5AWwnO01M3U6Riuru03KAL8B9R_UbsHpesiTAKG_2Ad788wKy_P_tmcNrWdVnJCO3T4epP0Bj_aGDooiExN71vcOGydqtKdDjLrYKh33beB4YiHF6OqGq03nCM8FKFFUZnWVoxyYtqpPToT_jL4LmSc213FCePxBDqc/s750/354752440_807925770763490_2195067258306040885_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="563" data-original-width="750" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdgpT5OPIAOQYZoJ7QACbvKCJI5AWwnO01M3U6Riuru03KAL8B9R_UbsHpesiTAKG_2Ad788wKy_P_tmcNrWdVnJCO3T4epP0Bj_aGDooiExN71vcOGydqtKdDjLrYKh33beB4YiHF6OqGq03nCM8FKFFUZnWVoxyYtqpPToT_jL4LmSc213FCePxBDqc/s320/354752440_807925770763490_2195067258306040885_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I was shocked the friezes weren't behind glass. <br />SO MUCH TEMPTATION!</td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal">I was also stunned to be able to walk around and BEHIND one
of the original Caryatids from the Erechtheum. When we were in Athens, we saw
some of the marble women at a guarded and secured distance as they were being
restored. The British Museum, on the other hand, had a Maiden just standing
there on a pedestal, open to the air, totally within touching distance. Which I
resisted since I’m a rule follower AND the security cameras were conspicuous.
Nevertheless, I was enthralled to be able to see one of the original “Daughters
of Athens” not only up close and personal, but also see her braided hair resting
between her shoulder blades. I spent quite a few minutes staring at that lady’s
hair.</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_wbDYUhQOvsMvSBkWHSgDY4KOoF8YF7s6bGwxA5Uoq_kSZsggUa9P5dNsTAEAuCTC9Z0irh9UcSLyJbVQP-E1be7mqaKBj4h9EV1y7rHiW2Op6Y5Pgx-eqsW8T1fwW6mUYxU6wUz7uR7LiTRN0cc18qj3gjmW4rfdtyiquu7qo405baqfv89ogq7GXzU/s1000/354384707_929510808282144_5810783491235900486_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_wbDYUhQOvsMvSBkWHSgDY4KOoF8YF7s6bGwxA5Uoq_kSZsggUa9P5dNsTAEAuCTC9Z0irh9UcSLyJbVQP-E1be7mqaKBj4h9EV1y7rHiW2Op6Y5Pgx-eqsW8T1fwW6mUYxU6wUz7uR7LiTRN0cc18qj3gjmW4rfdtyiquu7qo405baqfv89ogq7GXzU/s320/354384707_929510808282144_5810783491235900486_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Piglet for size reference. Also, I made<br />sure he didn't touch the Caryatid...<br />he's a good pig.</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqc5Er-94jq1HtAsqI2J7r6XbTOYX8RZaDkan28rhd2DiKRwYQRx9rAq9-_gZ2cZ11vOxV3kaiLHXTNXaxmNFAZzkoA0BHXSqXpeTmu4tqc3L_MyOfUgpfUSPpi9VXYyULYG0J6xPTLd0O-YMvjsmD5ZhtlEPW5XCxtjpBPCJ1SxsVHOPnJy3Fn4WE-Q4/s1000/355061491_976718510036638_6477544071477358747_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqc5Er-94jq1HtAsqI2J7r6XbTOYX8RZaDkan28rhd2DiKRwYQRx9rAq9-_gZ2cZ11vOxV3kaiLHXTNXaxmNFAZzkoA0BHXSqXpeTmu4tqc3L_MyOfUgpfUSPpi9VXYyULYG0J6xPTLd0O-YMvjsmD5ZhtlEPW5XCxtjpBPCJ1SxsVHOPnJy3Fn4WE-Q4/s320/355061491_976718510036638_6477544071477358747_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The detail in the back -- that nobody<br />was likely to see -- was amazing.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Other unexpected treasures that blew my mind were: a head
from Easter Island; a navigation instrument used by George Vancouver (namesake
of a town near Woodhaven); and the Rosetta Stone. Yes, THE Rosetta Stone. Behind
glass but close enough to see the three distinct, ancient languages etched in
the stone that cracked the code on Egyptian hieroglyphics. I remain mystified how ancient civilizations were able to so precisely etch letters and images in stone.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1GbLYaAsUwP5ri6xk6fvsF7sLI4voGEph7V-ZxfprtHhRJcC2_xM1JIOghKhYDBueJBClMOaEB-zohSIa6Wd_hqkEAMm5WOJAWe4DmMZbjYgOp9wx7geoMXm7IbcOy5t9tXC_Cm4fWl1m2LTGxDy4z6WUmy2XCV8uGwaOT2jq4NnPYP3Rk1RMJyrgUjA/s998/353871482_1304700347117894_1215435341915310999_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="998" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1GbLYaAsUwP5ri6xk6fvsF7sLI4voGEph7V-ZxfprtHhRJcC2_xM1JIOghKhYDBueJBClMOaEB-zohSIa6Wd_hqkEAMm5WOJAWe4DmMZbjYgOp9wx7geoMXm7IbcOy5t9tXC_Cm4fWl1m2LTGxDy4z6WUmy2XCV8uGwaOT2jq4NnPYP3Rk1RMJyrgUjA/s320/353871482_1304700347117894_1215435341915310999_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">His name is Hoa Hakananai'a <br />which means -- appropriately -- <br /> "lost, hidden, or stolen friend"</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1jFznnDeLuTcuKRAxHW0nycbs43sIjLLgcnH9CkArShPj3ZGz9T8nrWV91YtxFFBzc-tzGRqi-_FvqMuv589mRsfsDrpWdupRQiaH_SGlb-1XS6ODIq5LqKJBsp_FZACwbqeGBOIp8Udit3GQh7W4kjr9aQO_D_xJE0ql_JrXS9z6YfoS6jICb59fm7Y/s1000/353133145_217848111163230_7143129737043783125_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1jFznnDeLuTcuKRAxHW0nycbs43sIjLLgcnH9CkArShPj3ZGz9T8nrWV91YtxFFBzc-tzGRqi-_FvqMuv589mRsfsDrpWdupRQiaH_SGlb-1XS6ODIq5LqKJBsp_FZACwbqeGBOIp8Udit3GQh7W4kjr9aQO_D_xJE0ql_JrXS9z6YfoS6jICb59fm7Y/s320/353133145_217848111163230_7143129737043783125_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The bottom piece was used by George<br />Vancouver in 1791 to survey the <br />Pacific coastline of North America.<br />Ummm... WOW!</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3xKXKESszTvaKuO50DoD41xCX930BG8HoLssdCwwH6XJQJn4-P2oSgu2NoW_-YLkk1wiXq3OxINkyDDD9UlHju365OdVgomA19PGCAScXFV-j9EKiXu6ffADi0ruEpvRPpCSDG-ShaQpnywmBH2vH2TAR4m_rV6Qf5USn76s8WYwahOvC9Gd1-ESOl-w/s1000/353121074_231378996362481_8197563671818555650_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3xKXKESszTvaKuO50DoD41xCX930BG8HoLssdCwwH6XJQJn4-P2oSgu2NoW_-YLkk1wiXq3OxINkyDDD9UlHju365OdVgomA19PGCAScXFV-j9EKiXu6ffADi0ruEpvRPpCSDG-ShaQpnywmBH2vH2TAR4m_rV6Qf5USn76s8WYwahOvC9Gd1-ESOl-w/s320/353121074_231378996362481_8197563671818555650_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Rosetta Stone with a fellow<br />tourist for size reference. There were<br />fingerprints all over the glass by the <br />end of the day.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Despite all that History of Civilization, the single
item I spent the most time staring at was a coin smaller than my thumbnail.
Just hanging out with a bunch of other coins in Room 70 of 94 was this:</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi61UXtAsHeTq4H_QjrK8z7IaeMcgeQKqTaX8z1S1ZxzovTfn94Nh0tNWShZOdAgTvmvmc6UPwVdeszBO9dULZfgMNpBET1650g_uOqaeKfpP8sP9B6jFPpIi7Ls1UtqeCgfgLyo5KPSSzbMJylmjoraMoJzWTampZJGBItLEeWkNv5eOFbrQYUpOiE6NY/s1000/353842105_1342167949702808_335966126785910752_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi61UXtAsHeTq4H_QjrK8z7IaeMcgeQKqTaX8z1S1ZxzovTfn94Nh0tNWShZOdAgTvmvmc6UPwVdeszBO9dULZfgMNpBET1650g_uOqaeKfpP8sP9B6jFPpIi7Ls1UtqeCgfgLyo5KPSSzbMJylmjoraMoJzWTampZJGBItLEeWkNv5eOFbrQYUpOiE6NY/s320/353842105_1342167949702808_335966126785910752_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Coin #3 is the one I kept staring at</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuHaB40H7iHA7NpThR-YPiNFCFYAHFBypcCwPhGM-SEGfInt-aFJYJVhtI1Askm_OGrdJfVbOYMxBw9m4YRfvR-9xNNCIzMZjFrfAA65x0tvtVZk_8aCnIPf9jMVtepXpAJP9Kjko9953d4iiGN35L4qpPeTtuL8wvsOeiKfOIHsmyZY39zho-lDPBUbE/s873/354065162_1771011639983858_8487712973065601132_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="873" data-original-width="749" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuHaB40H7iHA7NpThR-YPiNFCFYAHFBypcCwPhGM-SEGfInt-aFJYJVhtI1Askm_OGrdJfVbOYMxBw9m4YRfvR-9xNNCIzMZjFrfAA65x0tvtVZk_8aCnIPf9jMVtepXpAJP9Kjko9953d4iiGN35L4qpPeTtuL8wvsOeiKfOIHsmyZY39zho-lDPBUbE/s320/354065162_1771011639983858_8487712973065601132_n.jpg" width="275" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Handy official information</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Coin #3 was minted by Pontius Pilate during the time Jesus
was walking the Earth. Next to it was a coin from King Herod’s reign – you know,
the nasty king who was (appropriately) threatened by the birth of a baby in
Bethlehem so he sent some wise old guys to gather intel? <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Nonchalantly sprinkled about this enormous, secular museum of
human history were tidbits like this. Tidbits that suggest the stuff – and the
people – in the Bible are actually real. As a Christian, I believe this to be
true, but to see real things that I could hold in my hand (stupid glass and
cameras) somehow made it realer and truer. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">But it wasn’t just New Testament Jesus stuff.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In other rooms, there were artifacts from
times, places, and people mentioned in the Old Testament. Things like
references to King Hezekiah and items from Assyria and Judah and Nineveh and Nimrud. Just
mixed in with other things not mentioned in the Bible.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Slowly yet suddenly, the Old Testament became real.
Suddenly, the stories in the Bible weren’t just Bible stories, they were historical
stories of human life on this planet. Part of me already knew and accepted this, but another part of me wasn’t convinced. That part, I realized, was going mostly on faith and hope but still had some doubts. But as I told Rob, going
to Israel in 2013 made the New Testament real. Going to the British Museum surprised
the heck out of me by making the Old Testament real (at least most of it; I
mean, there’s still some wacky, symbolic stuff in there…). I went in as a tourist and came out more grounded in my faith. So totally not the impact I
thought the British Museum would have on me. Hallelujah for travel!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">As Rob and I were leaving our lovely garden-side hotel last week to begin
a long planes-trains-and-automobiles trek back to Woodhaven, we were not really
ready to return home. Much to our surprise, we loved London. We felt at home
there. We felt safe there. We felt at peace there even though it was full of
people and noise and cars surprising us from the wrong direction.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I guess a measure of a fantastic trip is the desire to do it
all again. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I was surprised how much I enjoyed so many At Sea days on
the cruise across the Atlantic. In fact, I could have used at least two more. We are now contemplating longer cruises and cruises where we might not get off the ship in port at all (hola, Mexico!). <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I expected to be intrigued by Iceland, but I did not expect
to fall in love with its landscape and its people. And I did not expect four stops to not be enough.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">And London was supposed to just be a place to stay while we
focused on exploring the British Museum. Instead, we found a city (and a hotel)
that we want to return to, maybe even repeatedly.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">In the dark days of Covid Quarantine, when we weren’t jazzed
about traveling to the grocery store let alone another country, Rob and I
promised ourselves that when the world opened back up again, we would travel.
Really travel. Take those trips we have talked wistfully about for years but
never made the commitment and reservations. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">As traumatic as The Covid Years were, I am grateful that
they inspired us to finally chase some dreams. This trip was three dreams come
true…and more.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRrjWB2jHWczAStdU-AM91rr4DJpRRgk1uyUWMN8SbWevukpZMLXfxn6SJZTN_62u3uMwzvgAHweGYCCO0Qq46TfWZYHi2d_KYPOQTLDNBIOhYpeuqQtPfei1HwvyXOxQ0LSPo-Ifd1WQoD2ZNJQTEUDmgidMB3CVdTKheisl7sUQAL1cECZ8VKeHgU-I/s750/353102717_1232973907222803_9156437355823475632_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="563" data-original-width="750" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRrjWB2jHWczAStdU-AM91rr4DJpRRgk1uyUWMN8SbWevukpZMLXfxn6SJZTN_62u3uMwzvgAHweGYCCO0Qq46TfWZYHi2d_KYPOQTLDNBIOhYpeuqQtPfei1HwvyXOxQ0LSPo-Ifd1WQoD2ZNJQTEUDmgidMB3CVdTKheisl7sUQAL1cECZ8VKeHgU-I/s320/353102717_1232973907222803_9156437355823475632_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This lion is in the main courtyard of the museum.<br />He quickly became a landmark. His chin broke <br />off somewhere along the way (he's from 350-200 BC), <br />giving him a "durrrr" expression. He was henceforth<br />known as The Durr Lion. I miss him.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p>Toni at Woodhavenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14376655175018122805noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-400828308445468217.post-9518134992053556822023-06-11T06:47:00.002-07:002023-06-11T06:47:14.499-07:00Falmouth is DELICIOUS!<p>Our day in Falmouth, Cornwall in southwest England was supposed
to involve a long bus ride to the western most point of England (“Land’s End) and
the town of St. Ives – which I knew nothing about other than it’s a brand of relatively
inexpensive lotions and soaps. And I
still don’t know anything about St. Ives because we never made it there. Because this:</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8-obQM-GSaSLrROB-5bdIz96qVezZmTMuIlS_pHynkaDmnVeHTUoYgAxX94kJ6Wp0ttqkI072pXIH0Pl6ADgaq_KSFkmm2QJKi33z9vZrbzxAfMWyDHDXAH3cOHLwu0CZF0xzKkzltHUny4Agcbhlcx8l-z5UD0rM7QTPHDYiQdgprlFu6IA7ePeA/s2048/352885015_225063536998503_8296998782379608808_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8-obQM-GSaSLrROB-5bdIz96qVezZmTMuIlS_pHynkaDmnVeHTUoYgAxX94kJ6Wp0ttqkI072pXIH0Pl6ADgaq_KSFkmm2QJKi33z9vZrbzxAfMWyDHDXAH3cOHLwu0CZF0xzKkzltHUny4Agcbhlcx8l-z5UD0rM7QTPHDYiQdgprlFu6IA7ePeA/s320/352885015_225063536998503_8296998782379608808_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Visibility was reportedly less than 50 meters<br />(about 160 feet)</td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal">Due to immigration requirements, we were up, dressed, and
standing in a long line heading towards the Bayou Café & Steakhouse on Deck 7 by 7:00
this morning. We are still yawning. Three hours later, we had cleared customs, our
tour had been canceled, the fog was only sort of starting to lift, and I was
hungry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Suddenly free for the day, we decided to plod through the
fog into the seaport of Falmouth to see if we could satisfy my dad’s one
request when we told him our cruise itinerary.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Which is to say, we went in search of an authentic Cornish Pasty.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">To those unaware, a Cornish Pasty is a delightful edible. It
is sort of an empanada, which means it is meat and veggies stuffed inside a
pastry crust which is folded and crimped like a pie. Legend says that the
hearty snack was invented and loved by the tin miners in Cornwall since it was
filling and tasty while also being easy to eat without utensils or even the
need to necessarily scrub tinny hands clean.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">When I was in grade school, my family spent a couple of
years living in Butte, Montana – known mostly as Evel Knievel’s hometown but
also for its rather sizable copper mine. Since Butte was a mining town, it
attracted miners who brought their traditions with them. Although my dad was
not a miner (instead, he designed computer programs for the mine’s operations),
he quickly discovered and fell in love with the pasties available in the older
part of town. Hence his request we search for the original version of a lunchtime favorite.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Thanks to some quick Googling and an impressively walkable
port area, Rob and I descended upon The Cornish Bakery at 7 Arwenack Street and
had BY FAR the very best food of our trip. OH MY GOSH!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Imagine the best beef stew you have ever had, stuffed inside
a thick croissant. That is what I had for lunch today. It was insanely delicious. The meat was flavored with all sorts of spices and especially black
pepper.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was accompanied by onions, potatoes, and
carrots. And that was it. It was super simple and incredible and probably easy
to make and definitely impossible to replicate. I may never have another pasty again since
I can’t imagine I will ever find one to match the perfection of the one I had just hours ago.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg35cylKK0PPa9gWnvZUuKk_WEfvvydiP6zO2pZZVtfY2KxYI7IqMVtLDbvK7tpehaqj87Gdf-pLytw0ZYbWPlA3aX0DEUwNvrlxwlXm9NJDXvBpdWhzjCXWs8TZumOeAOumhrF9gaQNEDjnTAsjX2bxh-nO0Prji0qehhxuQ33CNt7xnkCqqMBu0V6/s2048/350098156_954611045819424_8222158130122406835_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg35cylKK0PPa9gWnvZUuKk_WEfvvydiP6zO2pZZVtfY2KxYI7IqMVtLDbvK7tpehaqj87Gdf-pLytw0ZYbWPlA3aX0DEUwNvrlxwlXm9NJDXvBpdWhzjCXWs8TZumOeAOumhrF9gaQNEDjnTAsjX2bxh-nO0Prji0qehhxuQ33CNt7xnkCqqMBu0V6/s320/350098156_954611045819424_8222158130122406835_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grateful for a good knee day<br />that allowed us to climb some <br />steep stairs to allow this lovely<br />lunchtime view</td></tr></tbody></table></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix9QeGMGwrcG1PxrxQZOWHJLkOYqDgOgXovrwYK_L137XBmwThxKe4pXRugrjigoUrNvFsPMfBFPCvVCY_ZEBCCprW4tw7IkwfgzJCTcwTEuwporwhD3VSitmecrr6bh5z0GAYe-9yx6FM3diqXYTJhFA8_v4YdznBPAaDye5_IMAwdBEXiGRB4LXL/s2048/353132658_6375265832561321_5741637596770620965_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix9QeGMGwrcG1PxrxQZOWHJLkOYqDgOgXovrwYK_L137XBmwThxKe4pXRugrjigoUrNvFsPMfBFPCvVCY_ZEBCCprW4tw7IkwfgzJCTcwTEuwporwhD3VSitmecrr6bh5z0GAYe-9yx6FM3diqXYTJhFA8_v4YdznBPAaDye5_IMAwdBEXiGRB4LXL/s320/353132658_6375265832561321_5741637596770620965_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I quickly determined this is NOT how<br />you should eat a pasty. I should have<br />been holding it vertically, in a wrapper.<br />Since I had been given a plate and utensils,<br />I quickly began using them.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9rvloDBUr90Mm_0se3CladWRL0US4PJIlnSBVHj-ZJhGJRyXtuCPMKi8orB9uYnHaVy16kFJBIiFYq62wN17LL9gY7twLKB_zXezIYdb3XxtqsIPZPJrUCEMefoaZxfItnt0jAcp0UKntt1b7oVr_Q15cxVU7Ai-4lT4qqc2itQcJkz_798-Jg2HI/s2048/348387393_242311305166569_5093807847530020312_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9rvloDBUr90Mm_0se3CladWRL0US4PJIlnSBVHj-ZJhGJRyXtuCPMKi8orB9uYnHaVy16kFJBIiFYq62wN17LL9gY7twLKB_zXezIYdb3XxtqsIPZPJrUCEMefoaZxfItnt0jAcp0UKntt1b7oVr_Q15cxVU7Ai-4lT4qqc2itQcJkz_798-Jg2HI/s320/348387393_242311305166569_5093807847530020312_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The inside</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSVLv1a0YZZuOPP2oZ0WkQCjIJBNAaAewfiZ64_Q-LhtlH9FfmboXIF9MFLLKw80i6frjbAGDQhTeIttEVocNs8LR8-nfNkhLMGUoQGVr2OhjhLqB0_zc8ak7uWeby2gcvPlMj50nPgMRUMHJM7bGRhvXAFeYTPKR6r10Ehb6Hh14N_EPm4EqMsToV/s2048/353172310_1596761714179995_7035882450840522370_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSVLv1a0YZZuOPP2oZ0WkQCjIJBNAaAewfiZ64_Q-LhtlH9FfmboXIF9MFLLKw80i6frjbAGDQhTeIttEVocNs8LR8-nfNkhLMGUoQGVr2OhjhLqB0_zc8ak7uWeby2gcvPlMj50nPgMRUMHJM7bGRhvXAFeYTPKR6r10Ehb6Hh14N_EPm4EqMsToV/s320/353172310_1596761714179995_7035882450840522370_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This was not posed. I shall forever<br />remember Falmouth, Cornwall, England<br />as home of the Gold Standard for all pasties</td></tr></tbody></table></div><p class="MsoNormal">Still in a happy food coma, we wandered down the street a
bit and into a Cornish Cream ice cream store. We finished up The Best Meal All
Year with a scoop of Cornish Cream Fudge ice cream made with clotted
cream. It was rich, caramelly, just sweet enough without making my teeth hurt,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>and the inside of my mouth felt like velvet
when we were done. It was so delectable, I didn’t slow down to take any photos.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgm8aLLiNuKWfTHBvsYQo5w1cO-2xhiGQl34vYsr_A4Qtk4-ANDWhvyLC-41OEQ0RfooL_AUI3WvA-jIYf_Ombh9og9nChJYASRougK_RFombvaRI5_n30POOCXNSVcZNXqvxB6DMUBufztJ_zOxz_ek5nfUeTnIIvpjYpeY8aEvcJ8QIicQWCW6Pi/s2048/349060589_251104557537453_9121895921626971957_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgm8aLLiNuKWfTHBvsYQo5w1cO-2xhiGQl34vYsr_A4Qtk4-ANDWhvyLC-41OEQ0RfooL_AUI3WvA-jIYf_Ombh9og9nChJYASRougK_RFombvaRI5_n30POOCXNSVcZNXqvxB6DMUBufztJ_zOxz_ek5nfUeTnIIvpjYpeY8aEvcJ8QIicQWCW6Pi/s320/349060589_251104557537453_9121895921626971957_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I managed to take one photo while our scoop was<br />being placed in a tub (really a cup but I like their<br />word better -- it sounds more indulgent)</td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal">If I lived in Falmouth, I would double in size in a matter
of weeks. Instead, I will take my memories and calories with me as we sail to
our final port before offboarding and embarking on Bucket List Item #3 of our
trip. In the meantime, THANK YOU FOG!! </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPwT_ZJmk8Hn7FS8io1NEoxFe-BVW8lTlv-_x3GGuii3GapGB9oyzRTakkB5X5P1pH_lHdAvgQEYY2rDchLUwGtIGpRwFa03iDrCx_oDR_Rj2cDrffKHST67v0k_XhLa23auBijaojq5xCuAZsdpr_Mgcv9LN_46nYo9f3xQXw_uO2uuhlr2CI7gSo/s2048/348940788_6503133339706738_6366584768611126286_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPwT_ZJmk8Hn7FS8io1NEoxFe-BVW8lTlv-_x3GGuii3GapGB9oyzRTakkB5X5P1pH_lHdAvgQEYY2rDchLUwGtIGpRwFa03iDrCx_oDR_Rj2cDrffKHST67v0k_XhLa23auBijaojq5xCuAZsdpr_Mgcv9LN_46nYo9f3xQXw_uO2uuhlr2CI7gSo/s320/348940788_6503133339706738_6366584768611126286_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Cornish Bakery lurks near the <br />corner</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><br /><br /><p></p>Toni at Woodhavenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14376655175018122805noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-400828308445468217.post-1467590425786967572023-06-09T04:51:00.326-07:002023-06-22T07:57:08.821-07:00Awed by Iceland<p>We are back At Sea and I’m still trying to wrap my brain
around all that I saw, smelled, heard, felt, and experienced over the past four
days. They were nothing less than utterly spectacular. I’m still in awe of –
and especially mopey to have left – the incredible island of Iceland.</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUzIePsDUOOSAXNFv9B3PcexxhmY6WtuPH5FJ-_wWjNxzIYV3gbzyh48zc9cpr08sTM_mvWmOI6Dl8Hg2c_0vvOqJlNIiD-C8iQiDNV8OqtAghPFTRendKpaor5t8yh0HrR8_G9zQIxd9WATa010l7P8ovV9VuZnw-ctNkP6jC9-BeL79Fxjp-4nMH/s2765/IMG_3074~photo.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2765" data-original-width="2320" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUzIePsDUOOSAXNFv9B3PcexxhmY6WtuPH5FJ-_wWjNxzIYV3gbzyh48zc9cpr08sTM_mvWmOI6Dl8Hg2c_0vvOqJlNIiD-C8iQiDNV8OqtAghPFTRendKpaor5t8yh0HrR8_G9zQIxd9WATa010l7P8ovV9VuZnw-ctNkP6jC9-BeL79Fxjp-4nMH/s320/IMG_3074~photo.JPG" width="268" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">OMG! ICELAND!</td></tr></tbody></table><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSPfrWr3okCxhh9SxScCsr3GZlbFnmu1cWFTKpUrYVtmdNIAnABu-jR_wKKrub9mFEwBGHWZmiIlub8tBOlEHwzPaqkKv1XBCEpcC2MxmqnAGf8OClVIHW4wZT5kjBYJ6kf0V40fXBZgARXlmJO-FIfAEzV0LdDBZpv3pwv_iPJXej_po-Z0KrkE3V/s4032/IMG_3236~photo%20tint%20gone.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSPfrWr3okCxhh9SxScCsr3GZlbFnmu1cWFTKpUrYVtmdNIAnABu-jR_wKKrub9mFEwBGHWZmiIlub8tBOlEHwzPaqkKv1XBCEpcC2MxmqnAGf8OClVIHW4wZT5kjBYJ6kf0V40fXBZgARXlmJO-FIfAEzV0LdDBZpv3pwv_iPJXej_po-Z0KrkE3V/s320/IMG_3236~photo%20tint%20gone.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">See what I mean?!?</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">I can’t remember when Iceland first blipped on my Travel
Radar. It was at least 20 years ago. Definitely before it was trendy and the
island nation built in lots of tourism infrastructure. I remember McDonald’s
was still in Reykjavik (now replaced by the oddly popular Kentucky Fried
Chicken), which was a huge comfort since all the other food offerings suggested
by turn-of-the-century guide books were various stages of raw-cooked-or-fermented
fish. Blech.</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVCrYSW1VxxRJMwvJ7tjd53YmSRvUNc0jmkU_v8op-5LPuagOrzxQxelvL7nR64ISYxTuXKna8qgarxZ4Qi3fElKE0UypGp0w-608C-wTtM9osrit4cFhirogtbDQi02ssE2EqXwqAG31gWo_uzW6tYFWBjNrlfC1aAweNLMT80HqL6RMpUlHLTM9N/s4032/IMG_2946~photo.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVCrYSW1VxxRJMwvJ7tjd53YmSRvUNc0jmkU_v8op-5LPuagOrzxQxelvL7nR64ISYxTuXKna8qgarxZ4Qi3fElKE0UypGp0w-608C-wTtM9osrit4cFhirogtbDQi02ssE2EqXwqAG31gWo_uzW6tYFWBjNrlfC1aAweNLMT80HqL6RMpUlHLTM9N/s320/IMG_2946~photo.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I have had this now woefully outdated<br />magazine on my nightstand for<br />11 YEARS. I think I can finally<br />part with it.</td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal">Rob and I considered various ways to explore Iceland, encouraged
by its proliferation of English-speakers and cars that drive on the right side
of the road. But when we discovered our favorite cruise line offers a transatlantic
crossing (Rob Bucket List Item) that travels through Iceland (Toni Bucket List
Item) and ends in a port super accessible to a Shared Bucket List Item (stay
tuned!), we excitedly booked the ocean cruise and waited 9 long months. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Nine months and 20 years. Iceland, you were worth the wait.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Oh. My. God.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">We made four stops, circling the island clockwise starting
at Reykjavik [ray-key-yah-vick] in the southwest (at about 8 o'clock on an old
timey clock face). We then cruised to a tiny fishing village called Isafjordur [ee-sah-fee-your-durr]
at the end of a fjord in the northwestern appendage that looks like a piece of
ginger root (at about 11 o’clock on the clock face). Next was a comparatively bustling,
sunny burb at the far northern tip of the clock (high noon) called Akureyri
[sounds like “actuary” without the “t”].<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Yesterday, our cruise ship tripled the population of Seydisfjordur [say-dees-fee-your-durr]
at about 2:30 on the clock face, where we trekked into the highlands and saw
countless waterfalls and almost as many sheep (truly, there are far too many of
either to count).</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVqaESRzn6sUlhWXTYhxrFCCRxUkaTXa099WI0oZTARi6FjwQuuIARlVAjTJTQpL2zA8i8K7mfHJVLHLmhSrW9Li21wNh1Ztr6V0P_nAhE9q39K0YafkSMCrl4gZelOv8SzQHdDS2rryUC7dnXqbJF_NLcKlslQNQ2k6RvZw67HpsO8BjqE7eXeTpN/s1929/Iceland%20map.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1235" data-original-width="1929" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVqaESRzn6sUlhWXTYhxrFCCRxUkaTXa099WI0oZTARi6FjwQuuIARlVAjTJTQpL2zA8i8K7mfHJVLHLmhSrW9Li21wNh1Ztr6V0P_nAhE9q39K0YafkSMCrl4gZelOv8SzQHdDS2rryUC7dnXqbJF_NLcKlslQNQ2k6RvZw67HpsO8BjqE7eXeTpN/w400-h256/Iceland%20map.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A bit fuzzy but you get the gist.</td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal">Each stop was unique and provided a distinct experience, feel,
and memory. At each stop, Rob and I frequently reminded each other “We’re in
ICELAND!” because it was surreal and the excitement-fueled adrenaline rush had the potential
of preventing us from being present in the amazing moments that just kept
unfolding.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Each day, I fell in love with Iceland a little bit more. Earth
is alive in Iceland. It is breathing and sighing and weeping and exploding and
moving. The terrain is unique yet oddly familiar. At times I was reminded of the
volcanic lava flows of Hawaii, the immense mountains of the Canadian Rockies,
the glacier-carved fjords of Alaska, the flat plains of eastern Oregon, the
geysers of Yellowstone, and images I have seen of the moon’s landscape. But to
have all of these familiarities in one place was mind-blowing.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8rmfRh9u4TS_cCHEyqbcSKIuWLGRq5dr_qnM4YfxCgi2-uDvU0MUqtx2xVxP0xEJmklw2tpnMF9B82lCYYHxFh7UEDr_-K6riJmVv5Y-BioNJyqbtU9JuIPiWF60rwnsU6x039l4NgEiyAX_wGCVqzOnKSCSI1nN8xXW9eaWyWRAfbxHV2r0vrC6O/s2560/P1170612.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1712" data-original-width="2560" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8rmfRh9u4TS_cCHEyqbcSKIuWLGRq5dr_qnM4YfxCgi2-uDvU0MUqtx2xVxP0xEJmklw2tpnMF9B82lCYYHxFh7UEDr_-K6riJmVv5Y-BioNJyqbtU9JuIPiWF60rwnsU6x039l4NgEiyAX_wGCVqzOnKSCSI1nN8xXW9eaWyWRAfbxHV2r0vrC6O/s320/P1170612.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This landscape in the northern part of the island<br />reminded me a lot of the Big Island of Hawaii</td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEictmyiNAKMG1lyX6cZLSxtlvoB78gECxz8eVZARoD_vYuIqsYB8IhiVJVQ0jadjheLeZsuwXpCeuPPRbfY7FPbkCuTSV2AxX_47pkj5vlAI6j3OB_DYPHg2Ri-t_E6EgnX9xPK9aAc0AkMMSzeV3S9yiXMfqdzyBsR2sWkGUDgU5Vz9fOmRqLgDeOW/s2560/IMG_3431~photo.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2560" data-original-width="1920" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEictmyiNAKMG1lyX6cZLSxtlvoB78gECxz8eVZARoD_vYuIqsYB8IhiVJVQ0jadjheLeZsuwXpCeuPPRbfY7FPbkCuTSV2AxX_47pkj5vlAI6j3OB_DYPHg2Ri-t_E6EgnX9xPK9aAc0AkMMSzeV3S9yiXMfqdzyBsR2sWkGUDgU5Vz9fOmRqLgDeOW/s320/IMG_3431~photo.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Canadian Rockies might have<br />the biggest mountains I've ever seen --<br />but Iceland is super close.</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMT-DEFQ4S8leQyXyms3bRkeCVmp1p9TfpSZbzh24xt5-1N4ZB49ZNK15-4gsEsbeV8lXHTOwncliXezbRmZAnTxYQiKM38NdnBiSRGsmqjurMRWuFu-_bLnswzGYRNbuL7s1uOip41o_zFa1_MZP94sBdxF1QPRpHB47wOFSHQuhLmdVzsEhdBJZ9/s4032/IMG_3228~photo.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMT-DEFQ4S8leQyXyms3bRkeCVmp1p9TfpSZbzh24xt5-1N4ZB49ZNK15-4gsEsbeV8lXHTOwncliXezbRmZAnTxYQiKM38NdnBiSRGsmqjurMRWuFu-_bLnswzGYRNbuL7s1uOip41o_zFa1_MZP94sBdxF1QPRpHB47wOFSHQuhLmdVzsEhdBJZ9/s320/IMG_3228~photo.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The fjords reminded me a lot of Alaska<br />(This is Seydisfjordur)</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpA3VS_6SnqFg3PzGdaJXZ6jgec1B-50wJMh65b8S8q-MEZm6aUFrQnxO-F7JzUYsgk5SqsYIr3cc9DWyl1Gv680ZP5ueLP05OpBcgK5LJFD_NMWGb5oWqZRjrUN6WPouYpUpF0-ClICXTE865P69JeerDVTX-MZWlOPL86X56c-X_zjV2eMPYrYq-/s4032/IMG_3048~photo.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpA3VS_6SnqFg3PzGdaJXZ6jgec1B-50wJMh65b8S8q-MEZm6aUFrQnxO-F7JzUYsgk5SqsYIr3cc9DWyl1Gv680ZP5ueLP05OpBcgK5LJFD_NMWGb5oWqZRjrUN6WPouYpUpF0-ClICXTE865P69JeerDVTX-MZWlOPL86X56c-X_zjV2eMPYrYq-/s320/IMG_3048~photo.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just outside of Isafjordur in a town called Sudavik</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHMYIKeHElKa9NKD9swRHJfnL_pP10l7Yg6tjFhQitytfNoJfVcLuXTM_wq_kUw2Kt34D1IpGwavdx-O3CSBx_l5jXa8T-xyJ9Z61zoKV-k5pbFTRlGjyMD3zVdbx-dGie3OSCvuMM1qLbHQK0DjH7WtzTJ9J51uNVDZmW-mX0b_9thdw0FbQ3KqB1/s3649/IMG_3017~photo.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2452" data-original-width="3649" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHMYIKeHElKa9NKD9swRHJfnL_pP10l7Yg6tjFhQitytfNoJfVcLuXTM_wq_kUw2Kt34D1IpGwavdx-O3CSBx_l5jXa8T-xyJ9Z61zoKV-k5pbFTRlGjyMD3zVdbx-dGie3OSCvuMM1qLbHQK0DjH7WtzTJ9J51uNVDZmW-mX0b_9thdw0FbQ3KqB1/s320/IMG_3017~photo.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This area outside of Reykjavik reminded me a lot<br />of eastern Oregon and southwestern Idaho </td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzkkVsFLI7WoOVzrrrJ_4jRUpL3fR2DHNSDX2TuzIUWKROMlWNm9xB7A1xWt0lQEpZ4iM5SKQV-GgyiIzTA1HXN6RNhlF-O6UiTYJmN7rGXc9yA9NYs1wZuvZ4Cf4GbkKxYifVl4padQWtJGYh_GybnOCWz6VFTwv1Zzy3cArvnqNyYg8SSGoMyZE3/s4032/IMG_3016~photo.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzkkVsFLI7WoOVzrrrJ_4jRUpL3fR2DHNSDX2TuzIUWKROMlWNm9xB7A1xWt0lQEpZ4iM5SKQV-GgyiIzTA1HXN6RNhlF-O6UiTYJmN7rGXc9yA9NYs1wZuvZ4Cf4GbkKxYifVl4padQWtJGYh_GybnOCWz6VFTwv1Zzy3cArvnqNyYg8SSGoMyZE3/s320/IMG_3016~photo.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This area outside Reykjavik looked a lot like<br />Yellowstone. It was the site of Geysir -- a now<br />dormant geyser that is the origin of the word<br />we call water exploding out of the earth.<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1CUs1z73xDcKXRehW6ulN9YsJChrCJNHljlY4wFEZykVZrvuGoEdP72VHA6WRINAk66OjBcI_TbdCCQCr7k2JMD24liazKusekz5g5DeoptIBoav_58Nt0CNoWUrt9t4NPMEhmGhs5ao45yAxoEF8c9sjnCkchEglXS7LcyGaxRgoIeYSs41-4IRn/s1038/IMG_3432~photo-full.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1038" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1CUs1z73xDcKXRehW6ulN9YsJChrCJNHljlY4wFEZykVZrvuGoEdP72VHA6WRINAk66OjBcI_TbdCCQCr7k2JMD24liazKusekz5g5DeoptIBoav_58Nt0CNoWUrt9t4NPMEhmGhs5ao45yAxoEF8c9sjnCkchEglXS7LcyGaxRgoIeYSs41-4IRn/s320/IMG_3432~photo-full.jpg" width="231" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This geyser -- called Strokkur -- is<br />decidedly NOT dormant. It erupts every<br />3-8 minutes. </td></tr></tbody></table><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_55OzULR-SegsgX48VNrHU1JhM0NK87pWpIrLPrbWMrMUW1uBKdEs-v_cg1TlIffzIqJ4TqwUM4_QeeVqPKepM-jQ3N8axGwbeXw2JEBc8kuPW132_bwsgkUsWECmp4Ck2Nb2Y5HS6RtsnvB-91Idn37oUmMG9JhCfzOnqXv5Uh7vZpKtA6eba5hQ/s4032/IMG_3180~photo.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_55OzULR-SegsgX48VNrHU1JhM0NK87pWpIrLPrbWMrMUW1uBKdEs-v_cg1TlIffzIqJ4TqwUM4_QeeVqPKepM-jQ3N8axGwbeXw2JEBc8kuPW132_bwsgkUsWECmp4Ck2Nb2Y5HS6RtsnvB-91Idn37oUmMG9JhCfzOnqXv5Uh7vZpKtA6eba5hQ/s320/IMG_3180~photo.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is near Myvatn in the northern region of the <br />island where the island is splitting apart. It looked <br />like the moon or Mars.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Two tectonic plates meet and are pulling away from each
other along a somewhat middle longitude in Iceland – and doing so in a fashion
that is visible from our Earth’s surface. To be able to walk – and then later bathe
– in the gap between the North American and Eurasian plates was (and remains)
utterly incomprehensible. (Incredibly Fun Fact: this is the only place on Earth where you can stand between two tectonic plates.)<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAJ-ygrLTkqhYxPlAF8cl56XQd1nntc0VGDXvXuj7OKYG36iYcfDZ-iqrpSEbvkJrWZUGljJ47-VJBbKXiaF_L3nyuE2XshM1G44_k_FBydvRrfc-QTmTCk6lndkqhu2M2wyjELusiRrXYkUs8IsktkJlu9KinqvMiSY-4Fq5qcK8U3ZoDwGM13DlM/s2560/P1170505.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1920" data-original-width="2560" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAJ-ygrLTkqhYxPlAF8cl56XQd1nntc0VGDXvXuj7OKYG36iYcfDZ-iqrpSEbvkJrWZUGljJ47-VJBbKXiaF_L3nyuE2XshM1G44_k_FBydvRrfc-QTmTCk6lndkqhu2M2wyjELusiRrXYkUs8IsktkJlu9KinqvMiSY-4Fq5qcK8U3ZoDwGM13DlM/s320/P1170505.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The photo was taken on the North American plate,<br />looking east to the Eurasian plate.</td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPlsW6fE5aZoNLjyov8MrylcRPnmXdSGKeUoqXS_b1ncPZOEBsanD_-r5GtakPAwmKNTVQ5_QPORa7Glq1YjE2nfO390Ox3uE-fnn_doxT6aGduFunTl39slR6MVZW57BThC3K9YEHpsS4NUjzok_oY4VPCBgc-dXbewybRYC5dCl_ODh_saz21pkF/s2560/P1170508.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1920" data-original-width="2560" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPlsW6fE5aZoNLjyov8MrylcRPnmXdSGKeUoqXS_b1ncPZOEBsanD_-r5GtakPAwmKNTVQ5_QPORa7Glq1YjE2nfO390Ox3uE-fnn_doxT6aGduFunTl39slR6MVZW57BThC3K9YEHpsS4NUjzok_oY4VPCBgc-dXbewybRYC5dCl_ODh_saz21pkF/s320/P1170508.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">WALKING IN A FISSURE!!</td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0xbPuVm7LAYS4jOjU67kXAQVM1JvdHH_ojHAM3DLLlbz_GpLU3B2398RTgvNO3OemSoJ13k700XJVCO_Di3818WtSA9Ohn4AWf_18mM8gZ-YxWyrvATe1KNJdP0ug2LEjOcGbnEzMGOskO_VK69Sxz-EdUshJ68eIfe1ZPFEZbwmnR4mJnKQUko1-/s2560/P1170509.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1920" data-original-width="2560" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0xbPuVm7LAYS4jOjU67kXAQVM1JvdHH_ojHAM3DLLlbz_GpLU3B2398RTgvNO3OemSoJ13k700XJVCO_Di3818WtSA9Ohn4AWf_18mM8gZ-YxWyrvATe1KNJdP0ug2LEjOcGbnEzMGOskO_VK69Sxz-EdUshJ68eIfe1ZPFEZbwmnR4mJnKQUko1-/s320/P1170509.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Taken from the area between the plates in Thingvellir<br />National Park. Having both grown up in California, we were<br />much more fascinated than freaked out by<br />the possibility of having the earth move under us.<br />Somewhat sadly, it did not.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><o:p></o:p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">The population of the entire country is less than 400,000, about
60% of which live in the capital city of Reykjavik. Most of the remaining 40%
lives in coastal towns around the island’s perimeter. The middle portion of
Iceland is rugged, desolate, volcanic, and largely inaccessible – especially in
the winter.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Most Icelanders speak English because, as Tour Guide Marta
explained, hardly anyone speaks Icelandic so to survive, the nation needs to be
bilingual. Icelandic sounds like a fast and fluid combination of Germany, Russian,
and something from Scandinavia – lots of hard consonants. I noticed that
English-speakers with an Icelandic accent tended to soften our consonants and
particularly liked to turn most “s”es into “sh.” English sounds softer and
slurrier when spoken by an Icelander.</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibCHBNuywwAm7TZRfZSJW4YHHxCv_fEzWxUNuCPV3437fHaARmFHbUlBc8BPy3Thb68hOfI89XPT7io5Albmq1I_cIAS6nRZMTlK0UOqVLZ4wb8Wbp5XAwfMF3Mn51zr8N9bN38tjibwI6xmWpSg0wuZyFspABgqNGidvGwuifw_g51kOBXwHdYsWd/s4032/IMG_3270~photo.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibCHBNuywwAm7TZRfZSJW4YHHxCv_fEzWxUNuCPV3437fHaARmFHbUlBc8BPy3Thb68hOfI89XPT7io5Albmq1I_cIAS6nRZMTlK0UOqVLZ4wb8Wbp5XAwfMF3Mn51zr8N9bN38tjibwI6xmWpSg0wuZyFspABgqNGidvGwuifw_g51kOBXwHdYsWd/s320/IMG_3270~photo.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Young Highland Icelander.<br />He apologized for the weather - it had<br />been sunny for 10 days straight.</td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal">There was not a huge variety of wildlife to gaze at through
tour bus windows, but what was visible was absolutely adorable. Icelandic Horses
are a unique purebred that Iceland works very hard to preserve. They are
occasionally exported, but once the horses leave the island, they are never
allowed to return for fear of bringing back some undesirable foreign bug or
otherwise Worldly Horse Trait. Originally brought to the island by Norwegians, Icelandic
horses are short, stocky, stout, can walk in 5 different ways (apparently that’s
a big deal?), and they have adorable tufts of hair on their heads that reminded
me of Ernie’s coif from Sesame Street. When their manes blow in the wind, Icelandic
horses look like shampoo models. They are larger than ponies but not by much.
Apparently, locals are rather irked when foreigners from Big Horse Countries
besmirch the stately Icelandic horses by using the P Word.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLkJVZIg7FxkN_BJ1vZT-a8v04QAuT2_DhV6aqWIoM8ur9HPeeBJO68DoD8q6KNoeA7Fm7He-3Rc4wXDndvTQd5FALYmYqjV7VKnq0OjdtIFoeKnNDuwYsSUkl9IP2skcwLFts74qCR6zzPzMuhOC1eQcHoU0fenjc8ZHEpBq8z88s4Xh1FpfC-Cvy/s4032/IMG_2969~photo.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLkJVZIg7FxkN_BJ1vZT-a8v04QAuT2_DhV6aqWIoM8ur9HPeeBJO68DoD8q6KNoeA7Fm7He-3Rc4wXDndvTQd5FALYmYqjV7VKnq0OjdtIFoeKnNDuwYsSUkl9IP2skcwLFts74qCR6zzPzMuhOC1eQcHoU0fenjc8ZHEpBq8z88s4Xh1FpfC-Cvy/s320/IMG_2969~photo.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sadly no wind, but trust me, their manes<br />are majestic!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">One on excursion, I visited an Arctic Fox Rescue and
Education center. I got to meet two foxes – Misty and Storm. They were small,
thin, fast, and terribly cute. Not much bigger than a sizeable housecat, the
Arctic foxes are the only mammals indigenous to Iceland. They looked super
duper soft (Misty and Storm were too quick to pet, and display pelts were pelted
with “DO NOT TOUCH” signs – BOO!).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Their
hides were probably the source of the copious fur coats/hats/mufflers I saw in
the shmancier souvenir shops. Given that we were visiting a local non-profit
dedicated to supporting the Arctic fox population, I was quite surprised to
learn the fluffy foxes are actually considered quite a nuisance. In fact, locals
are encouraged to hunt them, and they are officially considered a species “of
Least Concern” which sounds like an insult to me. Although small, the foxes can
pretty easily take down sheep by attacking their ankles and faces. Since sheep
are a HUGE part of Iceland’s farming and culture, the Arctic foxes are
considered annoying and dangerous. Not surprisingly, the Rescue and Education non-profit
is primarily funded by bleeding-heart foreigners.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpK6Mi5Tjo_8Feiv78gVYOdabgoLtw6wzLltue4bQ54uxb7-Ems2XJfybHTBGLQvyz8W0VYJ3h33XH_pcNQfNKjm1pGAdAOLPl5I9iyiSVXVogQ-BR_p6PxSwTKd9CgfJ8J3a1T5Ed84OWvov8_puw0C3l3CTzSPPBeDZ9ugnUtAvvLNHK0_L4-sIi/s2560/P1170561.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1920" data-original-width="2560" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpK6Mi5Tjo_8Feiv78gVYOdabgoLtw6wzLltue4bQ54uxb7-Ems2XJfybHTBGLQvyz8W0VYJ3h33XH_pcNQfNKjm1pGAdAOLPl5I9iyiSVXVogQ-BR_p6PxSwTKd9CgfJ8J3a1T5Ed84OWvov8_puw0C3l3CTzSPPBeDZ9ugnUtAvvLNHK0_L4-sIi/s320/P1170561.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Misty is the white one. She is pure white during the<br />winter. Her coat is in the process of changing to <br />brown for the summer. Storm's coat is always<br />brown. These two foxes were both about 2 years old.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">By far the most prolific wildlife we saw (other than Millennial
hikers in small, rented campers) was sheep. SO MANY SHEEP! They were ADORABLE!
Extra fluffy to survive the elements, the sheep lounged in fields and roamed pretty
much anywhere they wanted to. We happened to hit Lambing Season, so there were hundreds
of little baby lambs trotting along with mom, springing in the air with
surprise as vehicles passed, and otherwise learning how to navigate Iceland.
They were so new to the world, the little sheepies didn’t know what to make of
loud tour busses rumbling by. I spent many gleeful minutes expectantly waiting
for little lambies to lift their heads and curiously follow our bus as we
passed by. They were so stinking cute! At one point Rob asked, “Did you really
just wave at that sheep??” I couldn’t help myself!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were ADORABLE! And nearly impossible to
get decent photos of.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzBDGIsa6WZEYvfkk2e_EwuetUDKOGDJlmPSCBmZE-DbkAH-UlKCdUlvIT7oxNqvRttqIvW8I-Wt2E1vdxmf7yyZRP4RetukNE24SmeoFXd6VmVhftl-wd-kYZIR_XNM-u5x5ax1ILuhIQbDxal_ypby4Ct-xmHK5bLb89Vv4GpcFeEOznXyCFvPEf/s4032/IMG_3291~photo.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzBDGIsa6WZEYvfkk2e_EwuetUDKOGDJlmPSCBmZE-DbkAH-UlKCdUlvIT7oxNqvRttqIvW8I-Wt2E1vdxmf7yyZRP4RetukNE24SmeoFXd6VmVhftl-wd-kYZIR_XNM-u5x5ax1ILuhIQbDxal_ypby4Ct-xmHK5bLb89Vv4GpcFeEOznXyCFvPEf/s320/IMG_3291~photo.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not a great photo, but the two little<br />lambs in the center near the river<br />are looking at me!<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table>Icelandic sheep are used both for wool and for meat. Adapting
to the harsh weather, the wool is about twice as thick as the wool we are used
to the US, and it is water resistant. This produces wonderfully warm and cozy
sweaters (more on that later). After the lambs are born and have grown a bit,
the sheep are released to roam the mountains for the summer. Meaning, if we had
arrived just a few weeks later, we would not have seen any sheep at all, except
for maybe at a great distance. Then, early Fall, before the intense weather
really sets in, the sheep are gathered up. This takes quite a bit of time and
effort and mountain climbing. Charlotte, our guide in Isafjordur, said that the
Gathering of Sheep is an annual community event. Every able-bodied sheep-seeker
in the small town goes out and hikes the fjords in search of sheep. All the
sheep are gathered in town and then The Great Sorting takes place. They ensure
the right sheep go to the right farms to stay inside large barns for the winter.
This is sorting exercise is combined with a large community meal and much
celebration. It sounded absolutely lovely.<div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXy3WrOS7rYQc_gdbKE7bS89fXNlsmyFq0gjSNLWyAoMIKaS7nOKTyPM2-L8YwXnEXbzT48_bRRiT9wNk7FKPCOrJlc8BpltQl1WC9SWOz5KFm53swWDPH1P0AqH8VOr7dOIbaQyO8h-Er91MxhJ_VDfmTvxkkbpgpJf4aWVPCzeaToiS61poZMdvO/s2560/P1170638.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1920" data-original-width="2560" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXy3WrOS7rYQc_gdbKE7bS89fXNlsmyFq0gjSNLWyAoMIKaS7nOKTyPM2-L8YwXnEXbzT48_bRRiT9wNk7FKPCOrJlc8BpltQl1WC9SWOz5KFm53swWDPH1P0AqH8VOr7dOIbaQyO8h-Er91MxhJ_VDfmTvxkkbpgpJf4aWVPCzeaToiS61poZMdvO/s320/P1170638.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There really is always a black sheep!</td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal">As much as I was enthralled with the geography, terrain, and
wildlife, I think what made me fall in love with Iceland were the people and
pace of life. Iceland is a small place (about the size of Kentucky) with a
small population. It also has harsh elements – avalanches and mudslides are as
much a way of life as hurricanes are in Florida. And Iceland is not terribly
accessible – neither to get to the island nor to the bazillion little fjords
and accompanying towns that dot the coast line. You have to be hearty to live
in Iceland…and you have to rely on your neighbors. The community spirit – even in
the city of Reykjavik – was obvious and enticing. Tour guides spoke of local
sports teams and music programs and winter festivals and meeting friends for a
soak in a hot spring like we might meet at Starbucks. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Also because Iceland doesn’t have a ton of
outside influences, the pace of life felt slower, less busy, more present. Even
though they do have internet in Iceland (I suspect Elon Musk might be an
international hero), life felt quietly, peacefully pre-smartphone. It was heavenly.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuQkT5GvsTxXxwUF19uGdj6IswIgqtLK_LZFyBY3I2XUsW8WBIDZpBqyina5B1YCgW1U9ZQ0ehmd0xETb7KXWz0TNugTLfarYt8gIUQmHifJDWCBJ_d23HFBEKAScFP2KLQFnF_U73gWOIDj520zF72Fp6bvyyhYCT01qHxZwBtKsBpvJHl_argUij/s4032/IMG_3078~photo.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuQkT5GvsTxXxwUF19uGdj6IswIgqtLK_LZFyBY3I2XUsW8WBIDZpBqyina5B1YCgW1U9ZQ0ehmd0xETb7KXWz0TNugTLfarYt8gIUQmHifJDWCBJ_d23HFBEKAScFP2KLQFnF_U73gWOIDj520zF72Fp6bvyyhYCT01qHxZwBtKsBpvJHl_argUij/s320/IMG_3078~photo.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Local who sang some traditional<br />Icelandic songs for us in a tiny,<br />historic church in a tiny town.</td></tr></tbody></table> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBgZua5elTAzEWzVERcmHmbLvlsfwMCsCk6UQc3yO6AE_mTr65aFOX0LD9LEg_odx5Up7iSA-6xDw1TYw2HyA6W--bU0mmhSiRtASyX5xeJp0k7ibhioQcr461DwN8SPPKKG26GM9IJ3zSU1nG2vlAe09xr9vsMruS0BJ-Ti8b7Vvem3qfn6aLXH1a/s4032/IMG_3089~photo.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBgZua5elTAzEWzVERcmHmbLvlsfwMCsCk6UQc3yO6AE_mTr65aFOX0LD9LEg_odx5Up7iSA-6xDw1TYw2HyA6W--bU0mmhSiRtASyX5xeJp0k7ibhioQcr461DwN8SPPKKG26GM9IJ3zSU1nG2vlAe09xr9vsMruS0BJ-Ti8b7Vvem3qfn6aLXH1a/s320/IMG_3089~photo.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Downtown Isafjordur</td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmJvwUVvY3G8q_kuDp9-mxyqkS83q1ZCkRxlLMTNQ_HWe-RTGgvuSesiivg8VLTt-2tCE6YJLH3bQkD9965DtOxMjJp1zhOKy6neRS8NRqlta60m6RpwMh7DaL3wZLYgmQ0KOArUL6U10WQnpyuI8JUUoD3QCu3mi5NA7YY1q8TrZh8Ni8fEKdlvZz/s4032/IMG_3092~photo.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmJvwUVvY3G8q_kuDp9-mxyqkS83q1ZCkRxlLMTNQ_HWe-RTGgvuSesiivg8VLTt-2tCE6YJLH3bQkD9965DtOxMjJp1zhOKy6neRS8NRqlta60m6RpwMh7DaL3wZLYgmQ0KOArUL6U10WQnpyuI8JUUoD3QCu3mi5NA7YY1q8TrZh8Ni8fEKdlvZz/s320/IMG_3092~photo.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Typical neighborhood</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Although I didn’t get to know any locals personally, I did
get to interact with Helga in Isafjordur in what turned out to be one of the
highlights of the trip AND unquestionably the best souvenir I could have lugged
back to Woodhaven.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Eavesdropping on a conversation amongst fellow passengers after
our stop in Isafjordur, I was struck by how attitude and perceptions so
thoroughly color our experiences. Two passengers were rather unimpressed by
Isafjordur, calling it a “throw-away port” and finding absolutely nothing redeeming
about the tiny fishing village in the West Fjords. The light rain, low cloud-cover,
near-freezing temperatures, and brisk wind that cooled your bones didn’t help. Yet
for me, it was one of my favorite stops and the weather made it even more so.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">We were quite lucky to have great weather throughout our
Iceland trek. Yes, we had some waves and some light rain and some brisk cold,
but apparently a similar cruise just a few weeks ago had all its Iceland ports
cancelled due to much worse weather (eavesdropping is SO handy!). While I loved
and was grateful for clear skies several mornings so that we could see the
enormity of the mountains, I was so happy to have one day where the weather could
have been described as miserable. It felt more authentic and more representative
of what life in Iceland might be like. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Rob and I took separate tours that day, so after I was done supporting
the underappreciated Arctic foxes, I took some time to wander around Isafjordur
before heading back to the warmth of our ship. Although I had a town map, I
quickly decided the town was small enough and the ship large enough that I
could easily find my way – or find help – to get back to the ship. So I stuffed
my damp map in my backpack and meandered.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Lured by a cement pillar wearing a knitted blanket as a koozie,
I entered a small craft shop. It had sweaters, hats, scarves, mittens, and socks
– all handmade by local ladies using local wool from local sheep. It looked
like a church bazaar without the card tables.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Having spent a couple of hours eyeing Tour Guide Charlotte’s
Icelandic knitted sweater, I decided to try one on just to see if it was as comfy
as it looked. It was.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I tried on a few more, with some stilted help from the woman
running the shop. I finally decided a maroon sweater complimented my silver
hair better than a traditional grey one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Despite it not being the cheapest souvenir to remind me of Iceland, I
concluded it would definitely be the most authentic and useable one.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimSvX-yTIAFiw9ape-zO3JNB_3sqEA6zDODT7qc2d1dHZM-FmzwSQ9FAb0hqCDDCJx_r3JCQTw6eOfznRGuJCv39b7A0tAI9NR6LxtPQ6mKRY6GmnPZjUPC64DJRemjawRvDnrHcAAiBH1TqBfMTKZvjCFYbUdxKUSUl2dAtGtrw6Oy9AII__JcJ4v/s2877/IMG_3223~photo-full.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2877" data-original-width="2436" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimSvX-yTIAFiw9ape-zO3JNB_3sqEA6zDODT7qc2d1dHZM-FmzwSQ9FAb0hqCDDCJx_r3JCQTw6eOfznRGuJCv39b7A0tAI9NR6LxtPQ6mKRY6GmnPZjUPC64DJRemjawRvDnrHcAAiBH1TqBfMTKZvjCFYbUdxKUSUl2dAtGtrw6Oy9AII__JcJ4v/s320/IMG_3223~photo-full.jpg" width="271" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">THIS is the cheapest souvenir I bought.<br />He lives on my purse's zipper.<br />He makes me smile.</td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal">Written on the price tag was the first name of the woman who
knitted my souvenir. As the shop’s owner wrote down some info in a spiral
notebook so the proper knitter could get the proper commission, I spontaneously
said, “Please tell the woman who knitted my sweater than I absolutely love it.”
<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The woman smiled with some surprise and said, “It was me. I
knit the sweater.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">A few more comments of appreciation and a demurred agreement
for a photo later, I walked out of that tiny shop in that tiny fishing village
on a tiny part of a pretty small island in the North Atlantic Ocean with an
amazingly personal souvenir and indelible travel memory. THIS is why I love to
travel.</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX6O8_PaUExqGYXpCg8B_tfD6Ekq8K8sw-F-tKmiaswJfyR4Rg4V_mqsjrxWh5VSgBDU_8v09Nymmmnw1suMGw3qEoEPo6NSYXvby01FJ80P7vH2RX7yiByBpahQMQGmklFUcYV_995jT3o4HaBKo9vFuIpOU-Xbx8Z88U0RxmwQBXs45ad0rNrZiM/s3088/IMG_3091~photo.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3088" data-original-width="2320" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX6O8_PaUExqGYXpCg8B_tfD6Ekq8K8sw-F-tKmiaswJfyR4Rg4V_mqsjrxWh5VSgBDU_8v09Nymmmnw1suMGw3qEoEPo6NSYXvby01FJ80P7vH2RX7yiByBpahQMQGmklFUcYV_995jT3o4HaBKo9vFuIpOU-Xbx8Z88U0RxmwQBXs45ad0rNrZiM/s320/IMG_3091~photo.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Helga was the definition of lovely.<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj361VWSkn-TsdZfnogAwxsZJdt66Kc45FlhYfi75sUh6y8qgNYG-A24wJ9ezmg5_DBpFV0fpczJvSOarRUBNoZZGj3-qIc2vQlulujxXXnI-FnjhAfVlMfQp5Hq6w2wL7rVv0YBrjnafr86lcl6S20qAojbY86k-alqR7Ct6fnzNauL4puR1Lla1-e/s2048/IMG_3098~photo.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj361VWSkn-TsdZfnogAwxsZJdt66Kc45FlhYfi75sUh6y8qgNYG-A24wJ9ezmg5_DBpFV0fpczJvSOarRUBNoZZGj3-qIc2vQlulujxXXnI-FnjhAfVlMfQp5Hq6w2wL7rVv0YBrjnafr86lcl6S20qAojbY86k-alqR7Ct6fnzNauL4puR1Lla1-e/s320/IMG_3098~photo.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cozy and warm back on the ship.<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQNmg4tfBiJUiBHlBGCCzu9pj79NMs4qP771ByyItVrOisws6ECbzUqqR-7P7N0S4XoHXPHYd6pRrg_0Vpq-zlsnZX1Qz1eHKCPPxhQQOT852gRuL_I7i9CW91Hj29SDUOERFxb34zqna0Is5CGYBLqQc3Ys8iap_PimGrDjf-5cERpbhxmdi-0IDU/s496/IMG_3418~photo-full.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="372" data-original-width="496" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQNmg4tfBiJUiBHlBGCCzu9pj79NMs4qP771ByyItVrOisws6ECbzUqqR-7P7N0S4XoHXPHYd6pRrg_0Vpq-zlsnZX1Qz1eHKCPPxhQQOT852gRuL_I7i9CW91Hj29SDUOERFxb34zqna0Is5CGYBLqQc3Ys8iap_PimGrDjf-5cERpbhxmdi-0IDU/s320/IMG_3418~photo-full.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not cute enough to buy to remove the watermark<br />but it does show my sweater in fuller glory.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>Other highlights of Four Incredible Days in Iceland<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Until not too many decades ago, young women in Iceland were
sent to Housekeeping Schools. These were schools dedicated to teaching young
women how to properly keep house. They learned sewing, cooking, cleaning, home
management, basic repairs, etc. Nowadays, the school still exist but boys are
encouraged to attend also. To be honest, I wish I could sign up. Rob probably
agrees.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The longer I saw the landscape of Iceland, the more beautiful
it came. Because summer just started – with some areas only recently thawing
out from the nearly never-setting sun – many areas are still a few weeks away
from turning a more verdant green. For now, in early June, the colors were
primarily light green grasses and moss with straw-yellow tufty clumps covering
lava flows. The mountains were dark brown and spotted with white snow and
glaciers. However, adding to the palette were thousands of purple lupine
plants. Purple lupines are among my favorite wildflowers, so I was especially gleeful
to see my new favorite country swathed in a favorite flower. I was all set to
try to find a packet of seeds in a souvenir store and read up on customs rules
about bringing wildflower seeds into the US so I could scatter them about
Woodhaven. Then Olga the Tour Guide mentioned that the lupines were brought to
Iceland years ago from a distant land since the climate was somewhat similar.
Yep, I was gazing at the foreign-born Alaskan Lupine. I’m pretty sure that’s
what we already have dotting a hill at Woodhaven. No need to smuggle in flower
seeds after all.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggzs1qKVvDV15UCala58XbrfzAO-r3evHWvuBK1DsuDafwhmVi4mfhNaX_appEJHrrClwJU_PkEeEUwRz2fyYcng9Ppv9ZZIEjcsNLhIZG4iLmZ2aLoqBt8aDne_XCevPQ5MuVtLQhkWBkV7su3CDlt_vxh4STx01iBASAc4UdLbJlQA99Ko_HE-XO/s2560/P1170644.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1712" data-original-width="2560" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggzs1qKVvDV15UCala58XbrfzAO-r3evHWvuBK1DsuDafwhmVi4mfhNaX_appEJHrrClwJU_PkEeEUwRz2fyYcng9Ppv9ZZIEjcsNLhIZG4iLmZ2aLoqBt8aDne_XCevPQ5MuVtLQhkWBkV7su3CDlt_vxh4STx01iBASAc4UdLbJlQA99Ko_HE-XO/s320/P1170644.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">All of that bluish tinge on the green banks is lupine</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt_ga_ho6aNWP3JwLgfL62vFWrVEIibU19tKM6aHVCnuCcCrluQnWPAiekqyOfsHTUlPw_gOWmfs31fDzfBsLwpXB1PzrcHbKceu1nE9nnWQigpAm95dwQrMeTR9ujZdLfZFMoUwh-8QN018MHHAhzAub-vh51sIOqdwx8SAAasRHZ0qA6iyPCJoty/s4032/IMG_3248~photo%20with%20tint%20gone.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt_ga_ho6aNWP3JwLgfL62vFWrVEIibU19tKM6aHVCnuCcCrluQnWPAiekqyOfsHTUlPw_gOWmfs31fDzfBsLwpXB1PzrcHbKceu1nE9nnWQigpAm95dwQrMeTR9ujZdLfZFMoUwh-8QN018MHHAhzAub-vh51sIOqdwx8SAAasRHZ0qA6iyPCJoty/s320/IMG_3248~photo%20with%20tint%20gone.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It was everywhere and SO pretty. However, <br />apparently not all locals agree since it spreads<br />quite rapidly.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">The trees in Iceland are pretty short. There is the
occasional tall pine-like tree, but for the most part what they call “trees” we
would call “bushes.” Many houses that are “in the forest” are just one story
tall with roofs that are easily seen amongst the trees. Apparently a common
saying in Iceland is “If you get lost in an Iceland forest, just stand up.”</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiDgp5LwHjjFG762l8PabUBQm1rijiEntZBUheDLik0VR6dNwRluXGhCtTSLWBJerpldt4ol3O5IRAzrcCW_JHACT0JxdKcsKW38T7cvJwTHEBPkn1qcTPtGXglHAGPWlRYsRm77W0wPjflgrfj8xOBJOLvWQW-_y0M1JcV2OcRvxrCnSzvumvR2Fm/s4032/IMG_2965~photo.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiDgp5LwHjjFG762l8PabUBQm1rijiEntZBUheDLik0VR6dNwRluXGhCtTSLWBJerpldt4ol3O5IRAzrcCW_JHACT0JxdKcsKW38T7cvJwTHEBPkn1qcTPtGXglHAGPWlRYsRm77W0wPjflgrfj8xOBJOLvWQW-_y0M1JcV2OcRvxrCnSzvumvR2Fm/s320/IMG_2965~photo.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yep, they call those trees.</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>We took a tour that routed us into the Highlands. It was the only place we actually saw snow on the ground. It was breathtaking, desolate, and extremely windy. And well worth the effort to trek up there (in a heated tour bus).</div><div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjof7DqfYGbePEGxsIasJNDvzJG2kSZ2Dn_x5HCT-Rhq0Zsjmi1escKvUIvr5p-6MYFSH7_fl9FIhJI4r95gXxYSbu-16e3wxnqcdi_TCRTw_pm25k3nIlqSS7SLqr_YhkjBQ5YHQEylYlx95l7UTwlZAnM-bqLW0CPzp4fxPy5wVmTdVJmpTrCn9yE/s3998/IMG_3338~photo-full.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3011" data-original-width="3998" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjof7DqfYGbePEGxsIasJNDvzJG2kSZ2Dn_x5HCT-Rhq0Zsjmi1escKvUIvr5p-6MYFSH7_fl9FIhJI4r95gXxYSbu-16e3wxnqcdi_TCRTw_pm25k3nIlqSS7SLqr_YhkjBQ5YHQEylYlx95l7UTwlZAnM-bqLW0CPzp4fxPy5wVmTdVJmpTrCn9yE/s320/IMG_3338~photo-full.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It was serene. And looked a lot colder than it really<br />was. Having said that, I didn't linger outside<br />the bus for long during our photo stop.</td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOewRNAz3ktbGfPov-GpIN6jXT1SMPax0m5AFjcSyW31LbrYMNwemC7jCxZkZLmzy4FpVCudHFZvdFwRo9UfclQEasfm4oHT1ayNld3IFYVqiEy-_EcTb0o7TmJTlP59TVJ9ONobpGg2fR58TZzgMvDfzzrlR0_LMd1Ingg0bpe1N8YluYUpxBoaxV/s4032/IMG_3245~photo%20tint%20gone.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOewRNAz3ktbGfPov-GpIN6jXT1SMPax0m5AFjcSyW31LbrYMNwemC7jCxZkZLmzy4FpVCudHFZvdFwRo9UfclQEasfm4oHT1ayNld3IFYVqiEy-_EcTb0o7TmJTlP59TVJ9ONobpGg2fR58TZzgMvDfzzrlR0_LMd1Ingg0bpe1N8YluYUpxBoaxV/s320/IMG_3245~photo%20tint%20gone.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking into the town of Egilsstadur which is <br />quite large for the area - about 2000 people</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The waterfalls in Iceland are amazing – both in quantity and
in the way they just appear out of nowhere. We visited two prominent waterfalls
and saw thousands more randomly falling down mountain sides. It truly looked like
the country was a dam busting at the seams. As prolific as they were, I never
got tired of seeing them.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid054aAiJjACkQE0cIPRBRA83nyPtHm-6fe8dzJUHnK8ahd8EjYbrfqjAF9K1gKo0srDGu1ZWX0QmpRdvUxYcBYQxYWiVFpE38UpEjjhwstdqaUvxO9frHm1LUK7rEISDcSn_tHt7YaWZ-bAT3vwSMGVaYXvksfbrhgF1WM7Lc8wFiUWqQ7pbRqxVt/s2560/P1170536.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1920" data-original-width="2560" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid054aAiJjACkQE0cIPRBRA83nyPtHm-6fe8dzJUHnK8ahd8EjYbrfqjAF9K1gKo0srDGu1ZWX0QmpRdvUxYcBYQxYWiVFpE38UpEjjhwstdqaUvxO9frHm1LUK7rEISDcSn_tHt7YaWZ-bAT3vwSMGVaYXvksfbrhgF1WM7Lc8wFiUWqQ7pbRqxVt/s320/P1170536.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gullfoss Falls nearish Reykjavik</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMWUOAroxc0kyVRMFTiwDl_xbD5Lg5lU8HRc8YsIV5zAKtEZJhICB53vt5PMYONzN1YbhMc10YIqwVzrgeDHFYK5Wc-py4Z-kVkR6EHK4i5KlqGu0ZT6k4OP9ups5gaMZke8sDUfYJBTiGw-arVMCkI_RXDcKGo-iG_l1NMpSlI1cb2YRK8HHqDNhI/s3088/IMG_3189~photo.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2320" data-original-width="3088" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMWUOAroxc0kyVRMFTiwDl_xbD5Lg5lU8HRc8YsIV5zAKtEZJhICB53vt5PMYONzN1YbhMc10YIqwVzrgeDHFYK5Wc-py4Z-kVkR6EHK4i5KlqGu0ZT6k4OP9ups5gaMZke8sDUfYJBTiGw-arVMCkI_RXDcKGo-iG_l1NMpSlI1cb2YRK8HHqDNhI/s320/IMG_3189~photo.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Godafoss Waterfall nearish Akureyri in the north</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The town of Akureyri reminded me a bit of Whistler, British
Columbia. It felt like the launchpad for all sorts of outdoorsy adventures for young
people with good knees and strong backs. It also expressed its welcoming
personality and approach to life through its heartwarming stoplights.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikJLHcG7GiRFUI4bNI_DKtmVHiyFIPcg3HsVnrA1MClgz13t4xN8ijiOG_OAnQnkujV5EKJmJyXQKMjMesWbDB1vTF7kFX02YVhAzI8dK1wQwm3pVpy_PovBrgnBtOWhFPVSPXO4VVAZzNkydTplNx14xp06w5ID9Pab4hW8WaJaquduWdyfmbEaxk/s4032/IMG_3108~photo.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikJLHcG7GiRFUI4bNI_DKtmVHiyFIPcg3HsVnrA1MClgz13t4xN8ijiOG_OAnQnkujV5EKJmJyXQKMjMesWbDB1vTF7kFX02YVhAzI8dK1wQwm3pVpy_PovBrgnBtOWhFPVSPXO4VVAZzNkydTplNx14xp06w5ID9Pab4hW8WaJaquduWdyfmbEaxk/s320/IMG_3108~photo.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Such a gorgeous morning! It was<br />grey by the end of the day.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAdXKEZQqZDPAe8Dfqomn7qB9lFW_FJNXAvg3KjOiqeWr59YZdrpZ8ArLXeO4kdNUf95_3NzfLMtHnrhhDvWA0W7qI0dqBCzE6AtoirqLrdTnvS3L_xR5i5rOg9CIcpzYiu2PUbAPUnh1_XxZ6q4uR4DyxodFNvzPxkqY_dCZItwGJ40ZPVOp56oaz/s4032/IMG_3129~photo.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAdXKEZQqZDPAe8Dfqomn7qB9lFW_FJNXAvg3KjOiqeWr59YZdrpZ8ArLXeO4kdNUf95_3NzfLMtHnrhhDvWA0W7qI0dqBCzE6AtoirqLrdTnvS3L_xR5i5rOg9CIcpzYiu2PUbAPUnh1_XxZ6q4uR4DyxodFNvzPxkqY_dCZItwGJ40ZPVOp56oaz/s320/IMG_3129~photo.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Their stoplights are HEARTS!<br />I've never heard tourists so unhappy<br />to have stoplights turn green.</td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal">When we planned our excursions, I was a bit concerned that I
was foregoing a leisurely dip in the iconic Blue Lagoon hot spring outside of
Reyjavik for a tour of the Golden Circle for all things geologic and tectonic. But
our cruise offered a similar hot spring excursion about 2 hours outside of Akureyri,
to a place called Myvatn (mee-vat). I’m not sure, but I think we chose really
well. <o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGmMP5kOVziRTt3qw8eiICcyoVe0Ngq6Oa-MO3-aAClKVBDOp6b9dRXnMe8XBjYVYAT6AEq6jYNvyBnCGhKm7UydwU9TiJxMlO0iRvCgFM0DubPeJ8mdZRucOJfJo8YNkEBQ6Ekt5R3Q7_jCLuaAYh62hWgncIYByZazBv5tizMwtDvgX0I1io44TY/s9752/IMG_3208~photo.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3866" data-original-width="9752" height="254" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGmMP5kOVziRTt3qw8eiICcyoVe0Ngq6Oa-MO3-aAClKVBDOp6b9dRXnMe8XBjYVYAT6AEq6jYNvyBnCGhKm7UydwU9TiJxMlO0iRvCgFM0DubPeJ8mdZRucOJfJo8YNkEBQ6Ekt5R3Q7_jCLuaAYh62hWgncIYByZazBv5tizMwtDvgX0I1io44TY/w640-h254/IMG_3208~photo.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal">The geothermal hot springs at Myvatn are out in the middle
of nowhere, which is to say they are heated by the earth because they are where
the North America and Eurasian tectonic plates are pulling apart from each
other (about 2 inches per year). The area around them looks like moonscape. In fact,
Neil Armstrong and the other Lunar Landing astronauts trained in a location not
far from Myvatn to try to get used to navigating around jaggedy rocks.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It was a beautiful day, which allowed us to soak in both the
scenery and the warm, minerally water. The water was the perfect temperature –
like bath water – although some areas of the pools were closer to hot water
vents than others. The water was full of minerals, so we were warned not to
wear metal jewelry, especially silver since it would turn black. The water was also
silky, without being slimy, although there were lots of mineral deposits on the
metal steps and handrails leading into the pools. The water was only about
waist-high and the floor was tiny lava rocks. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A few were a little jaggedy but the occasional
foot pain reminded me that I was in a natural pool, not a man-made one. I
overheard women warning each other not to get their hair wet since the minerals
stripped away all the oils and left the texture straw-like and uncombable (have
I mentioned eavesdropping is handy?). This information didn’t impact me,
though, since I had already decided I did not need to find out what color the
minerals would turn my bright white hair.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">We stayed in the hot springs for about 90 minutes. It was
relaxing and otherworldly. I could have easily stayed all day there, popping in
and out of the luxurious, blue-tinted water. And as an added bonus, my back
pain eased up quite a bit and I didn’t mind the bus ride back to the ship. Luxurious
indeed!</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimqBBIkXAu9f6XzDbTbN-_Xwl2pACxiFvQlSXa0fiwxJZZ8JxeO5e0X0zioiiKhZ7JDbo5GFxzF4kHhqlo-DstRfWD3Hh0xLoiiGWgM_pv0wKWWqN5viJ4DRc9JNrWLcimC_Sa5ZtUvGgA0keNslFBsA2PMQxj2Kz8Qjx_R-dKXQTXyWAnIAqfLnCx/s4032/IMG_3154~photo.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimqBBIkXAu9f6XzDbTbN-_Xwl2pACxiFvQlSXa0fiwxJZZ8JxeO5e0X0zioiiKhZ7JDbo5GFxzF4kHhqlo-DstRfWD3Hh0xLoiiGWgM_pv0wKWWqN5viJ4DRc9JNrWLcimC_Sa5ZtUvGgA0keNslFBsA2PMQxj2Kz8Qjx_R-dKXQTXyWAnIAqfLnCx/s320/IMG_3154~photo.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The water is naturally heated and <br />naturally blue from the minerals.<br />It was GORGEOUS!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHFM5lBAVra4EkWVcCYM7efN_Dl8w-o9lCc8C1fk3c7UepDDCWOlso0nELxxCKpRAtPKSMLBygZBcnsUEC4hIM-LXRqphdENsKSkjdaIhidlUk3nb4VOm9yXrLZxlbBvSYDPP6_iVWUt-iVE2Q8EGYdR0KsHGwKlFWDwBKYsmFeByIXoyHYfwDL2zP/s3088/IMG_3172~photo.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2320" data-original-width="3088" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHFM5lBAVra4EkWVcCYM7efN_Dl8w-o9lCc8C1fk3c7UepDDCWOlso0nELxxCKpRAtPKSMLBygZBcnsUEC4hIM-LXRqphdENsKSkjdaIhidlUk3nb4VOm9yXrLZxlbBvSYDPP6_iVWUt-iVE2Q8EGYdR0KsHGwKlFWDwBKYsmFeByIXoyHYfwDL2zP/s320/IMG_3172~photo.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rob is behind me to the right, against the wall,<br />waving. It's the bravest I was willing to get<br />with my phone near the water.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Apparently at least half of the Icelandic population
believes in the existence of trolls and elves. Given the culture’s Nordic roots,
that shouldn’t be that surprising. And yet it is. Also, their Santa Claus isn’t
our one jolly guy bearing gifts but instead a collection of guys that used to
be sort of mischievous but have slowly taken on more fatherly and benevolent personalities.
Winter in Iceland must be hard enough; why scare kids in the middle of it? We
also saw the occasional gnome in souvenir stores, but creepy trolls definitely
seem to be the folklore creature of choice.</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixd1ZrJvt9MpX19DASyVn3CemQZ7qW6rSthkBxMQjdSoYsKhMHLshYG4hEvFClAnxafx29s0HVto3XbCJYJ-tfC--bdttqumnABN-eP7OGBOmgFKnAtng5xUhT45a0Rx_KwYj8BY-wM9dshcOV9wkM35LLKxY2hklqJA5yCO-PJ0f85ObuywtWIRM0/s4032/IMG_3130~photo.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixd1ZrJvt9MpX19DASyVn3CemQZ7qW6rSthkBxMQjdSoYsKhMHLshYG4hEvFClAnxafx29s0HVto3XbCJYJ-tfC--bdttqumnABN-eP7OGBOmgFKnAtng5xUhT45a0Rx_KwYj8BY-wM9dshcOV9wkM35LLKxY2hklqJA5yCO-PJ0f85ObuywtWIRM0/s320/IMG_3130~photo.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We approached slowly for fear this<br />was some sort of performance art.<br />Gratefully, it was static creepiness.</td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal">Being so far north in early June was challenging. As much as
I enjoy the sun, having it never really set for days on end was weird and
exhausting. Although our cabin has blackout curtains and we brought binder
clips to keep them closed, bright sunlight still crept into our room through crevices
around the curtains’ perimeter. I woke up often in the middle of the night and
it was never dark. Never. And since there was no darkness to signal to my body
that that day was ending, I was both exhausted and unable to sleep. I ended up
taking some sleep aids, but it was rather disheartening to undo all the
glorious sleep I caught up during our first half of the cruise.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">At the other end of the sunlight spectrum is apparently
winter. We were told a number of times that during the winter, Icelanders
living in the deep fjords do not see the sun for months. Even on the occasional
clear day before the depths of the winter solstice, the mountains are too tall
and the sun too low for the glowing orb to ever make an appearance. One tour
guide explained how most Icelanders take Vitamin D supplements and have artificial
sunlight lamps to trick their bodies into getting some body-and-mind-craving
rays. I laughed in commiseration – we do the same at Woodhaven!</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2Vu_zKQj-PNeCCJF4cueIeeyJGEF41LrGH9RxDTibiqOqUkJfaEUwRCbQRQPFuPorAYLTBO7TErtgflaa2OP4Hp5mnDtBh3W1u0d4LQHjLwjA80n2S3ctReRsGHB9_7Z6O_E299iNFok_pxzi-WJtY3H3cl1pTxr91hTvK230iW17lYerUJ5ZWa05/s4032/Arctic%20certificate.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2Vu_zKQj-PNeCCJF4cueIeeyJGEF41LrGH9RxDTibiqOqUkJfaEUwRCbQRQPFuPorAYLTBO7TErtgflaa2OP4Hp5mnDtBh3W1u0d4LQHjLwjA80n2S3ctReRsGHB9_7Z6O_E299iNFok_pxzi-WJtY3H3cl1pTxr91hTvK230iW17lYerUJ5ZWa05/s320/Arctic%20certificate.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Although we were in the Arctic Circle<br />on our first-ever cruise (to Alaska), we flew<br />there on an excursion. This was the first time<br />we sailed so far north!</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">Leaving Iceland was incredibly hard. I was very emotional as
we got closer to the time to return to our ship. We actually waited until the very
last “You are (barely) on time!” tender was leaving to finally step off Iceland
soil for the last time. The only reason I wasn’t crying was because I was in
public.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I remember some years ago, a friend of mine commented that
when she cruised across the Atlantic, she literally bent down and kissed the
Azores when she finally got back on land again. I felt an urge to do the same
as we were leaving Iceland, but for a different reason. I wanted to put my lips
to the earth in Seydisfjordur as a grateful goodbye. Instead, in quiet
thoughts, I gave thanks to all the circumstances in my life that allowed me the
honor of visiting such an extraordinary place and creation. In my thoughts, I
embraced Iceland – its people, its mountains, its waterfalls, its sheepies, its
horsies, its culture, its history, its welcoming, and its hospitality. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I have no idea what originally drew me to want to visit
Iceland, but it now has a place in my heart all its own. Less than 24 hours
later, I already ache to return.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkHABsRH59DlvxWVXim8AMbj_KArI50eMHoSa7A0gfu-xp12oVjviU0GmhCYqePdr1Ltpz3mfRVW3BgBTY9vsDegFSlJ3rjyENrS3ur3s9H6nXmnvAZu57refRvW_NkX6khrAdohd_Qed7ZjNpLBMehq2GuK7mcIBxVjyOGRfpmRK12eus014-KWdK/s3088/IMG_3373~photo.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2320" data-original-width="3088" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkHABsRH59DlvxWVXim8AMbj_KArI50eMHoSa7A0gfu-xp12oVjviU0GmhCYqePdr1Ltpz3mfRVW3BgBTY9vsDegFSlJ3rjyENrS3ur3s9H6nXmnvAZu57refRvW_NkX6khrAdohd_Qed7ZjNpLBMehq2GuK7mcIBxVjyOGRfpmRK12eus014-KWdK/w400-h300/IMG_3373~photo.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Iceland, you have my heart.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><br /><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p></div>Toni at Woodhavenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14376655175018122805noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-400828308445468217.post-21211028427868552402023-06-01T10:53:00.006-07:002023-06-01T10:56:28.751-07:00Daaaays At Sea<p>I’m lounging outside the Wheelhouse Bar on Deck 7, trying
hard not to make it obvious that I’m eavesdropping on the conversation across
from me (eavesdropping is one of my most favorite pastimes). Two elder
Englishwomen are commenting on the world as their hands and fingers twist and
dance across yarn and metal needles.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Their accents are delightful and make their spoken
observations sound so much more sophisticated and stately. For the curious,
they LOVE seeing couples walk hand-in-hand and gambling on a cruise ship really
isn’t all that different than gambling at home.</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWVeBXeMYAGLOY7ck6I0fH9AwuRgjBgrMua_NsaGJxeF-MnwBVfzhI9-nCmUgfwQ85zvQkGWng_lP66iUlC0BK5VciWMMOECshirjVsOy3KPArLyUU_zWFg_0oeV97d8b6_fxPmKEIuQnwNwik1x_iOSz7yg5v1spGFizhBJIxwE4eFEdzb5K3KdH_/s3024/348365381_629234058856941_5937907187910525035_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2777" data-original-width="3024" height="294" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWVeBXeMYAGLOY7ck6I0fH9AwuRgjBgrMua_NsaGJxeF-MnwBVfzhI9-nCmUgfwQ85zvQkGWng_lP66iUlC0BK5VciWMMOECshirjVsOy3KPArLyUU_zWFg_0oeV97d8b6_fxPmKEIuQnwNwik1x_iOSz7yg5v1spGFizhBJIxwE4eFEdzb5K3KdH_/s320/348365381_629234058856941_5937907187910525035_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The woman on the right is making a sweater for<br />herself. She aims to have it done by the end of the<br />cruise. Her friend noted to a passerby that the woman<br />is a very fast knitter. Goodness!</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">So yes, Rob and I are on a cruise, this one particularly noteworthy
for its extended time At Sea. Indeed, we will have a total of 10 At Sea days by
the time we conclude our foray across the Atlantic, fortunately not
consecutively. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As we are about halfway through our journey across The Pond, I thought it timely to jot down some
thoughts.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">This transatlantic crossing is something Rob has wanted to
do for a number of years, to help earn “we’ve cruised around the world [in several chunks over many
several years]” bragging rights. Our next port stop (after some more time At Sea) has been
on my Bucket List for at least 15 years. So stay tuned for glee!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Unsure how I might react to bobbing around the ocean for
days on end, I packed all sorts of things to keep myself entertained. Books,
including one comparing Jesus to superheroes, another digging the mind-blowing
depths of Tom Cruise’s favorite “religion,” and another exploring the enneagram
personality construct. A gallon-sized bag of Sharpies and its companion “Schoolhouse
Rock” coloring book (my husband knows me SO WELL!) also came along. I ensured access
to over a month’s worth of unread digital newspapers (news these days is much
more palatable when it’s old). And a 34" latch hook Christmas tree skirt kit that required both negotiation
and compromise to lug also victoriously made the trek.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">So far, I have read two books, am concerningly current on my
newspapers, have hooked about an inch of the skirt, and all reminiscent scenes
of Schoolhouse Rock remain in black and white. Gotta leave something for tomorrow!
And the next day. And the next…</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFpAvVdtZaX81oBG9oOOP0GKxMUFK9FOWrrsp6z8RzzQo4ly8ssuX0zSaGnWG4cmxRandIF84BYpxoHb3bukDVMBLeZTRTae2jdopzxcCCT2SrT4FHGPvttHnQnm3V0x88kInMJKTPMDkuK2i_JcorAoojDtNtXmPC_1T06yqZSZHN2oqprMLlb-yQ/s4032/348362284_157003067353630_8907224793408988287_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFpAvVdtZaX81oBG9oOOP0GKxMUFK9FOWrrsp6z8RzzQo4ly8ssuX0zSaGnWG4cmxRandIF84BYpxoHb3bukDVMBLeZTRTae2jdopzxcCCT2SrT4FHGPvttHnQnm3V0x88kInMJKTPMDkuK2i_JcorAoojDtNtXmPC_1T06yqZSZHN2oqprMLlb-yQ/s320/348362284_157003067353630_8907224793408988287_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I am loving the warmth of The<br />Conservatory! It can get a little noisy<br />with kids but is otherwise quite relaxing.</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Rob and I also played a 20-minute game of “Find the
Medallion” in our stateroom. A Medallion is a quarter-sized piece of electronica
developed by Princess that each passenger wears as a tracker. In return for
being Big Brothered, my Medallion serves as my room key, allows me to pay for
stuff on ship, helps Rob find me when I wander off, and allows me to use a corresponding
app on my phone to order snacks and cocktails from the convenience of my squishy
deck chair or comfy lounge couch and have it delivered to me. It’s quite
lovely! And rather essential. So when Rob couldn’t find his Medallion a couple Sea
Days ago, we got a little panicked.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Using the app’s Shipmate Finder, I went down the portside hallway
of the Dolphin Deck and checked to see where my phone said Rob was. Yep, he (or
at least his Medallion) was in our cabin. In fact, it pinpointed to the second half
our cabin, so we knew not to waste time searching the bathroom, closet, or
laundry bag. Which we naturally did. Because we could not find the darned thing
anywhere! We checked pockets, moved furniture, unmade the bed, opened drawers,
crawled around on the floor. It was both maddening and reassuring to know that
the Medallion was most assuredly in our cabin, nowhere to be found. Until,
after I decided to lay on the floor to get the Medallion’s perspective, it magically
came into view next to a suitcase under the bed. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Rob has since acquired a lanyard clip that will prevent his
Medallion from rolling to freedom ever again.</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVH58Ww8pWaVOYABNNOU5LCnYJmD_i797RsqEEQPVfdQvXlwo-2tI4f3rZjwDQqleeJP7BSPEuf0fNUKkgdJd4oSzd_8QnmbRCZJEdnM5R7IkckDUKmkPUEapRTphiVFCeZ-mR0iGB25hZMPBXbWtfqsXGc0h9LT7w6JkKjn0LP9aZ0ANWdQB7Ycyl/s4032/348362279_903810357381854_7950405510515992131_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVH58Ww8pWaVOYABNNOU5LCnYJmD_i797RsqEEQPVfdQvXlwo-2tI4f3rZjwDQqleeJP7BSPEuf0fNUKkgdJd4oSzd_8QnmbRCZJEdnM5R7IkckDUKmkPUEapRTphiVFCeZ-mR0iGB25hZMPBXbWtfqsXGc0h9LT7w6JkKjn0LP9aZ0ANWdQB7Ycyl/s320/348362279_903810357381854_7950405510515992131_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not a staged photo. In fact, Rob has<br />no idea I paused in the frantic search<br />long enough to capture a photo for<br />blogging purposes. </td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">I’ve enjoyed finding quiet places to read or write. As much
as I enjoy introverting, I also enjoy doing it amongst people. From a distance,
inconspicuously, within earshot of fun conversations and passing snippets of
commentary. Favorite spots so far have been corners near the inside pool, couches
in alcoves near bars, and the Buffet during non-feeding hours (few and far between on a cruise ship).<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I’ve been working my way through the drinks menu that came
with our promotional beverages package. I’ve discovered I LOVE Lemon Drops and
don’t so much care for Cosmopolitans. The Mango Margarita was quite lovely, as
were the Zero Mojito and Strawberries on Fire (the kick of alcohol was replaced
by jalapeno juice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mmmm!). I have my eye
on a few more martinis as well as a chocolate banana mocktail. This is the
first time we’ve had a drink package. I’m quite enjoying it!</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglxnnJHdFQFB1_sJIdJO2GUfbiWCJ8dC-kvFaxAjCrhBIpVnF6WnKRaS4j7GllxhIliB1EgnAOl1EAWPGcMoPQY33J3fEaq4kMFl9GRuBp1aW_P3ib1wgnOfuib-G3cjmb3UMaupWN3wekyHzv8_EwVSfybKuQqJeWMFBSgI5nLNaZLr84Zspp-mDB/s3088/348369757_293850902987260_1114736026564715625_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3088" data-original-width="2320" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglxnnJHdFQFB1_sJIdJO2GUfbiWCJ8dC-kvFaxAjCrhBIpVnF6WnKRaS4j7GllxhIliB1EgnAOl1EAWPGcMoPQY33J3fEaq4kMFl9GRuBp1aW_P3ib1wgnOfuib-G3cjmb3UMaupWN3wekyHzv8_EwVSfybKuQqJeWMFBSgI5nLNaZLr84Zspp-mDB/s320/348369757_293850902987260_1114736026564715625_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My cousin loves Lemon Drops. I now<br />love Lemon Drops and will defer to my<br />cousin on all future beverage decisions.</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">This particular cruise ship is an older, smaller ship – one of
the two owned by Princess that can do a full transit of the old Panama Canal. It is at
about 90% capacity, 30% of which are fancypants Elite cruisers who have summited
Princess Cruises’ loyalty ranks. The envied Elites get to gaze upon the lowly Platinums,
Rubys, and Golds while enjoying their free canapes, complimentary minibar set-up,
discounted Internet package, and casualwear freshly laundered gratis. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">This is the first time Rob and I have cruised as Elites. It’s
been a little weird. Although I think I like the free laundry service (I handed
over 3 inadequately sized, very stuffed, and imminently ripping paper bags of
dirty duds this morning with assurances I will see their clean versions in just
3 short days. Stay tuned…), I’m not sure I like the entitled vibe of traveling with
so many statused cruisers. It’s hard to feel special when practically everyone around
you is just as special. Not for lack of trying, though. The savviest and more
established Elites have found a way to stake their elevated status by not very
casually asking, “How many cruises have you been on?” <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Rob and I have cruised a fair amount (it is a great way to
travel with a cranky back – LOVE the ever-present bed!). We have accordingly had
to share a cruising dinner table with quite a few strangers over the years. Those
conversations typically end up being a comparison of excursions, cruise lines,
and past and future vacation destinations. However, I don’t think I have ever
been asked point blank how many times I have cruised. Definitely not repeatedly. And certainly not in a
fashion that is clearly the opening bid for a competition. It has felt
aggressive and braggy and not entirely friendly. It’s been an instant reminder
why Rob and I typically ask for a table for two for cruise dinners.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">(By the way, the answer is I really don’t know. I could
check – as I have a spreadsheet (duh) – but I really was just paying attention
long enough to get free laundry. So my answer to the cruise competitors has
been, “I don’t really know but enough to get Elite status. Which we worked the
system to get by taking one-day repositioning cruises between Seattle and
Vancouver and getting double cruise credits by booking single rooms and suites.”
It’s an honest answer that I have hoped takes the focus off numbers and puts it
on tips so I might learn some new cruise tricks. Disappointingly, this tactic has yet to work.)<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Hard to say what the next batch of At Sea Days hold. It’s pretty
cold, windy, and fog-horny here in the North Atlantic so all activities are
thus far indoor activities. I packed one swimsuit for giggles (and one
excursion) but otherwise, I am bundled up and not bothering with communal hot
tubs or saunas. So far I am not desperate for land and instead am enjoying having
limited demands for my time and attention. I’m sleeping pretty well, getting
exercise by adhering to my cruisy No Elevators Rule, and am starting to finally
relax despite the ability to check email at whim.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Half-way through, I’m really liking this At Sea thing!</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0XxQU10K2A-GCQRXM-9sM1TZ-i4P-WNueFpyjhBTbQtBm2N6HxqYO2U_yhH8c7ieofSPga-J8aSk2lWVrHIQwyXuzUtL2H8PpnMw4gxts6uW5dforENACjvSvuPtY4BCwN2azhyAbCHLJ3lfuY79Hrq46HkhQSFnmV0gCWnJtEIuSWvyzznAdizqS/s3088/Us%20at%20Sea.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3088" data-original-width="2320" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0XxQU10K2A-GCQRXM-9sM1TZ-i4P-WNueFpyjhBTbQtBm2N6HxqYO2U_yhH8c7ieofSPga-J8aSk2lWVrHIQwyXuzUtL2H8PpnMw4gxts6uW5dforENACjvSvuPtY4BCwN2azhyAbCHLJ3lfuY79Hrq46HkhQSFnmV0gCWnJtEIuSWvyzznAdizqS/s320/Us%20at%20Sea.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On a couch outside an Italian restaurant.<br />Bars and restaurants can be great places<br />for quiet activities during the day.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><o:p></o:p><p></p>Toni at Woodhavenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14376655175018122805noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-400828308445468217.post-10783748940517267082023-05-10T08:15:00.007-07:002023-05-16T07:56:50.175-07:00We’re (sadly) not in Kansas anymore<p>If you look on a map to find Haviland, Kansas, you are going
to need to zoom in. A lot. </p><p>This tiny midwestern town – whose population is less
than that of Woodhaven’s most proximate high school – is a couple hours due
west of Wichita in the southern portion of the windblown state.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">According to Wikipedia, Haviland has two claims to fame: a
meteorite crashed near the town about 1000 years ago; and it is the proud home
of Barclay College, a small Quaker college that is now Rob’s second alma mater.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Yes, while I tried to make good use
of the Two Years the World Stopped by writing a book, Rob went to graduate school. He
had felt nudged for a few years to dig deeper academically. What better time than a global, quarantiney pandemic? <br /><br />Rob considered a few
fields and programs. He was very decidedly drawn to an online master's program
in Practical Theology at a tiny Quaker college in the Middle of Nowhere Kansas that
we had heard so much about. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Rob and I have attended a Quaker (aka Friends) church for
the past 17 years. It is the first and only church home we have ever had. Our
path to Friendliness is a cool story that I will tell another time. Suffice it
to say, I first arrived at our church a questioning blend of atheism, agnosticism,
and paganism and now seek to put my full weight on the Holy Spirit every day. Go God!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">And so it was through many dear F/friends that Rob and I started hearing about Barclay College. As we got to know some of its
graduates, it became clear that the private college offers a very solid education. And a bewildering adoration of the exceptionally flat hamlet in which it resides.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Indeed, as we prepared to travel to Haviland for Rob to receive his leather-bound diploma and fancy
silk-and-velvet hood thingy, several alumni expressed uncharacteristic jealousy. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“I’m green with envy…wish we were there!” <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Man, I wish I were there with you!”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“The people are the best part!”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Honestly, we were very amused and skeptical about all this
fangirling about a podunk wide spot in the road. We couldn't fathom it would come anywhere close to living up to all this hype. But we love a travel adventure,
so we were excited to check out Haviland. And ecstatic to be celebrating Rob’s hard-earned graduation.</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdhsMZ3cBRepaNSlw2mtv6BBbqh23fTPNPO1A_qRN46Vv1IqEJXKHoGadX9DMO4dXcgfK9ls1gL9yrnYjlITn6qcMyHQZ64s3sBQp9ykML8SLdAwxx4S-wa4lrh4-Oi5NLXZ5IbS0TknKyD58FJKzZ5aD6YcPKE5TSrSvEdu3JTPAgptFYCFCi6J8E/s3916/IMG_2632~photo%20edited.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2932" data-original-width="3916" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdhsMZ3cBRepaNSlw2mtv6BBbqh23fTPNPO1A_qRN46Vv1IqEJXKHoGadX9DMO4dXcgfK9ls1gL9yrnYjlITn6qcMyHQZ64s3sBQp9ykML8SLdAwxx4S-wa4lrh4-Oi5NLXZ5IbS0TknKyD58FJKzZ5aD6YcPKE5TSrSvEdu3JTPAgptFYCFCi6J8E/s320/IMG_2632~photo%20edited.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">When we first arrived on campus, I told Rob I<br />wanted to get this photo ASAP after the <br />ceremony ended because I figured there<br />would be a long line of graduates wanting to do<br />the same. Hahaha! This was before I realized<br /> there are no long lines in Haviland, Kansas.</td></tr></tbody></table> <br /><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Haviland is indeed in the middle of nowhere. It is
surrounded by flat fields, making it pretty easy to spot from a distance due to
the grain elevator just as you enter town and the clumps of trees that meander
in and around the handful of buildings. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The town sports the barest of necessities: a bank, a fire
department, a post office, a health center, an internet company, a coffee shop.
No grocery store, no restaurant, no hotel, no retail of any note. There are
stop signs but no stop lights, save for the active railroad crossing. <o:p></o:p></p>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkpTacdsdvn1EkeVQi4zZyDUrUG4tq5pXVtjkgoo-ViE3fQkm6zxqKSoHW4q2fwpWmb7orNGg1yMSgIzRI0EjxB5w5it5bVDw4jWHqATyIfdt2WjgHR0er_8w5copx7sP23AcIY83A0QWeKw8Rm_TUJCkGtNGGGAKq5ykMB2kXOWprL_ZpKvjT_Owv/s4032/IMG_2368~photo.HEIC" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkpTacdsdvn1EkeVQi4zZyDUrUG4tq5pXVtjkgoo-ViE3fQkm6zxqKSoHW4q2fwpWmb7orNGg1yMSgIzRI0EjxB5w5it5bVDw4jWHqATyIfdt2WjgHR0er_8w5copx7sP23AcIY83A0QWeKw8Rm_TUJCkGtNGGGAKq5ykMB2kXOWprL_ZpKvjT_Owv/s320/IMG_2368~photo.HEIC" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rob eyeing the very empty, very quiet Main Street.<br />It felt very ghost-towny.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVt3MIN3qs1jTR8n82Iz5pYarh87oI1cT2rntLn0lupv7hTIpYSCE8s-sv6SMW3Aem3AMkfarVRpwATRFd-Eu1uiL-UCF_2vwADSkbkcQYJKk_9YIQtMTSRlGTbayEdHDwsnWOKlqH5qAKS0RXqGLMlluCO3oZ9BxdiMJ0ruygh16fgkQmepKFiVPn/s2837/IMG_2409~photo.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2438" data-original-width="2837" height="275" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVt3MIN3qs1jTR8n82Iz5pYarh87oI1cT2rntLn0lupv7hTIpYSCE8s-sv6SMW3Aem3AMkfarVRpwATRFd-Eu1uiL-UCF_2vwADSkbkcQYJKk_9YIQtMTSRlGTbayEdHDwsnWOKlqH5qAKS0RXqGLMlluCO3oZ9BxdiMJ0ruygh16fgkQmepKFiVPn/s320/IMG_2409~photo.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That moment when large farm equipment <br />casually motors through your college's campus.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Before leaving Woodhaven, I adorably printed out two copies
of the Barclay campus map – one for each of us in case Rob and I got separated. Turns
out, if you do a pirouette at the Student Center, you can see the entire campus.
Although I never lost Rob, I am confident if I had, I could have found him simply by
standing next to the Bear’s Den snack shop and trilling out “MARCO!”</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglFIyWYg8Nd3-rP9SHTZZY6-AbNJU9XSBeA3l-ibjHDd4XiIzelpFpOIHSXJBddlggbhunXeLk_4UbNYhMOk2_-njorNR-dF47R65Pe6I9h4PfUNEUY5kGS4VARUz5oODeQMSWjOsAQWD35YTANZZsqNge1-sh4D-cqbxbkx8AoG-QmO599O_zHFA_/s1758/Screenshot%202023-05-09%20222751.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1382" data-original-width="1758" height="252" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglFIyWYg8Nd3-rP9SHTZZY6-AbNJU9XSBeA3l-ibjHDd4XiIzelpFpOIHSXJBddlggbhunXeLk_4UbNYhMOk2_-njorNR-dF47R65Pe6I9h4PfUNEUY5kGS4VARUz5oODeQMSWjOsAQWD35YTANZZsqNge1-sh4D-cqbxbkx8AoG-QmO599O_zHFA_/s320/Screenshot%202023-05-09%20222751.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Map almost to scale. Those light green circles<br />dotted about are trees.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /> <o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Graduation was on Sunday afternoon. Rehearsal was on Friday
afternoon. We spent the time in between eating in the cafeteria, chatting in
the coffee shop, banqueting in the gymnasium, shopping in the campus bookstore,
chatting with students, administrators, professors, and families, and
surprising the heck out of ourselves by falling in love with the entire
experience. Well, except for the food. This was NOT a Good Eatin' Trip.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1CSilbJi6a13bU87SkM6OURPUwIlS11NZP4VFfvW9Xl2nOjsdp9QbRTQO-4NB1O5YQ-C79HUrhvFChIIidIwoQHG64rgGgMx5xTFhIJCPphRI37tG-7-Bj38AyCHX55xO0xJLljS8iWz5A0n_iM_7owZ3CtlIItRxhOgAiksnpqqdyd04Ly6ja0ke/s4032/IMG_2402~photo.HEIC" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1CSilbJi6a13bU87SkM6OURPUwIlS11NZP4VFfvW9Xl2nOjsdp9QbRTQO-4NB1O5YQ-C79HUrhvFChIIidIwoQHG64rgGgMx5xTFhIJCPphRI37tG-7-Bj38AyCHX55xO0xJLljS8iWz5A0n_iM_7owZ3CtlIItRxhOgAiksnpqqdyd04Ly6ja0ke/s320/IMG_2402~photo.HEIC" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With no restaurants in town, Rob and I<br />ate several meals at the school cafeteria.<br />It wasn't bad food, but it wasn't great food.<br />And it was often unidentifiable food.<br />Our best guess for this meal was a McRib knockoff.<br />God bless condiments.<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal">Although we took some touristy detours outside of Haviland
(more on that later), we found ourselves completely enthralled by the quiet,
the peacefulness, the slow pace, the lack of traffic, and the true sense of
community. It reminded me of how I felt when we left the San Francisco Bay Area and arrived at Woodhaven nearly 20 years ago.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Every person we met in Haviland was genuine, authentic, friendly, and
entirely present. Despite it being Graduation and Alumni Weekend, there was not
a sense of busyness or distraction or hurry. Space was made for conversation,
for contemplation, for God, for community, for connection. It felt like a
haven, an escape, a respite from the World Outside. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The folks at Barclay know this. They’ve named it. They call
it The Haviland Bubble. Inside The Bubble, people do not lock doors, they do
not drive cars, they do not worry about what their children are up to because
they know many eyes are on them. Inside The Bubble, they focus on what is in
front of them – people, education, faith, and growth. It was all rather
intoxicating. Which was rather impressive given that in good Quaker tradition, I am pretty sure Barclay is a dry campus.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I crashed the Graduation Rehearsal on Friday afternoon because really, where else was I going? There was a total of 26 graduates, which included those earning associate's, bachelor's, and master's degrees. </p><p class="MsoNormal">As I gazed at Rob from the comfy auditorium
seat, I realized he was old enough to be the father of any of his fellow
graduates except one. In fact, we were both likely older than many of the
administrators and professors. That was a bit of a gut punch!<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy1HZ6BFBnQsSzUKZbLdQ2-qQ3Y0OapkJpFuIakOHDez1dR8E3c-Zj5jYXhofS6DQvNILli5wMm7aK1tZR9P5DX_5P13jenmuTerWbCjdLDlBAGS_IznJLDZurWLa_f5XpbJ01IQ4V5r1YkJv_VujJ1b4hwvmY42GDgkrK1zvDeLIHZNkjqnXX_86d/s4032/IMG_2384~photo.HEIC" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy1HZ6BFBnQsSzUKZbLdQ2-qQ3Y0OapkJpFuIakOHDez1dR8E3c-Zj5jYXhofS6DQvNILli5wMm7aK1tZR9P5DX_5P13jenmuTerWbCjdLDlBAGS_IznJLDZurWLa_f5XpbJ01IQ4V5r1YkJv_VujJ1b4hwvmY42GDgkrK1zvDeLIHZNkjqnXX_86d/s320/IMG_2384~photo.HEIC" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Attending the rehearsal also gave me great<br />intel about where to sit during the ceremony<br />to get the best photos</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The generation gap shone most brightly during rehearsal when
one of the undergrads had some crucial questions about the dress code for Graduation
Day.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Do we have to wear the hat?"</p><p class="MsoNormal">“Do we have to zip up the gown?”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I’m not sure what fashion statement the young woman was
envisioning, but it was clearly being usurped by tradition. (Spoiler alert: she looked quite lovely on Graduation Day all hatted and zipped.)<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Rob’s additional years (decades?) on the planet were also evident in his Baccalaureate speech.
He was both honored and terrified to be asked to speak at the morning service.
He watched past Baccalaureate speeches (yay YouTube!), did some Googling, and
spent a week putting together his thoughts before printing out the final copy
to bring with us to Kansas. He then uncharacteristically continued to finesse
and edit his thoughts up to the final minutes before I kissed him
goodbye and told him I’d be beaming from the audience.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy4xOYy7VmLictsJyjcgk0FFACT2zMJtT7XtKG4sb8wGUJSW5CHpZ32rJgaXeEYzXYOlGYBCYg0MDUB0J3UnTMiwuSzUw61jonroDhcX68MkSJOyNnGzoc-ELSaIicBVH8V053PaBbpzYfUNdGEDHwfvF2Rla2Gmi-k2bSDYXLfR26qv0zULtsZKsR/s4032/IMG_2497~photo.HEIC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy4xOYy7VmLictsJyjcgk0FFACT2zMJtT7XtKG4sb8wGUJSW5CHpZ32rJgaXeEYzXYOlGYBCYg0MDUB0J3UnTMiwuSzUw61jonroDhcX68MkSJOyNnGzoc-ELSaIicBVH8V053PaBbpzYfUNdGEDHwfvF2Rla2Gmi-k2bSDYXLfR26qv0zULtsZKsR/s320/IMG_2497~photo.HEIC" width="240" /></a></div><br /><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I had read an early draft, so I knew the general content of
Rob’s remarks. I also knew that he was scared to death and would nonetheless do an
amazing job. I know this man. I have seen him work. I knew I would beam. And
beam I did. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Rob’s Baccalaureate speech was deep, thought-provoking,
personal, reflective, vulnerable, and applicable. He delivered it confidently,
with a strong voice and measured pacing despite the physiology of terror I knew
was consuming his body. Many people sought him out afterward to thank him for
his words and commented how it gave them a new perspective. I already exist
with an ever-present pride in being Rob’s wife. That day, my pride was
downright sinful.</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXQQGdssWlBby0irtGHlZx2hu7TklivBwoRD5xqPYrz0mwjM_W3jiDj2KxWHl_Jimh7rHEvvgNeUJtkPG3lgZ3FBqi-kLiGPecEucOxa_86eFX_KxhhBIU0WxAkY5bpwf8PT_fY2hc2EBVaaA3T0hLlPYUVJzVuFCn4CpRC5-RMNnHpqqkvzIrqPqc/s1078/Screenshot%202023-05-09%20171713.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1078" data-original-width="956" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXQQGdssWlBby0irtGHlZx2hu7TklivBwoRD5xqPYrz0mwjM_W3jiDj2KxWHl_Jimh7rHEvvgNeUJtkPG3lgZ3FBqi-kLiGPecEucOxa_86eFX_KxhhBIU0WxAkY5bpwf8PT_fY2hc2EBVaaA3T0hLlPYUVJzVuFCn4CpRC5-RMNnHpqqkvzIrqPqc/s320/Screenshot%202023-05-09%20171713.jpg" width="284" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Is it just me, or does Rob look sort of<br />professorial?</td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0bosXQMEZmbZ1CYonqGpVQ-rYih2FggL6ZHJsiyQlsgDOrQS72izXI_iQ9rtl1o2y_gZ-b49yBv4ZsYu-SxxSKyHbQNoMlLyeWCCk1dfX4Uo-h-dNErCYkyu18DtSebHGNdGmRBGU8YhZ0LBKt28h-GB2bDKVH8ePOcnWwU1qCdiAKFaQY6q_xWwL/s4032/IMG_2551~photo.HEIC" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0bosXQMEZmbZ1CYonqGpVQ-rYih2FggL6ZHJsiyQlsgDOrQS72izXI_iQ9rtl1o2y_gZ-b49yBv4ZsYu-SxxSKyHbQNoMlLyeWCCk1dfX4Uo-h-dNErCYkyu18DtSebHGNdGmRBGU8YhZ0LBKt28h-GB2bDKVH8ePOcnWwU1qCdiAKFaQY6q_xWwL/w300-h400/IMG_2551~photo.HEIC" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gotta admit, Rob looks quite smashing in<br />this gown, scarf, and chapeau ensemble.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The graduation ceremony itself perfectly reflected what we
were learning are both the college and its people. </p><p class="MsoNormal">The ceremony was not rushed.
Time was given to recognize and praise both God and the graduates. As names
were called, families and friends were encouraged to make noise in celebration –
instead of being told to hold it all in until the end.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I WHOO HOOed unashamedly as I watched my best
friend walk across the stage, receive a diploma with his name already on it
(none of this big university waiting-by-the-mailbox-for 6-8-weeks nonsense), and kneel down
to get hooded. I had witnessed firsthand all the hours and dedication and sacrifices
culminating in that moment. I beamed yet again.</p><p class="MsoNormal">Perhaps one of the most poignant moments in the entire day,
though, was Sarah’s speech at the Baccalaureate. Sarah was graduating with a bachelor's but is also very close to finishing her master's. Her husband was a fellow graduate.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">As Sarah began her speech, she humorously questioned the
wisdom of agreeing to speak at the service, especially while pregnant and with
all the emotions that condition brings. And then, the emotions of the
moment overcame her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her voice quivered,
her body shook, tears gently escaped from her eyes. She tried to breathe and
tried to regain her composure as an auditorium watched, aching to know how to
help. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Sarah looked behind her to the collection of professors and
administrators who had been her champions from the first moment she became a
Barclay student. She caught the eye of one in particular.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Will you read this for me?” Sarah whispered just close
enough to the microphone to be heard.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">In a flash, Brockie – the college’s Chaplain – appeared next
to Sarah, hugging her and holding her up as she seamlessly continued Sarah’s
speech. After a few minutes, Sarah quietly signaled to Brockie that she was good
now; she could finish the rest. Brockie gave Sarah a reassuring squeeze and sat
down as Sarah – who is clearly a writer – finished her speech beautifully. Within her speech, Sarah thanked Barclay for helping her learn and trust how to ask for
help when she needs it. Having witnessed exactly that, I was filled with
respect for a college and its people who truly walk their talk.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt_YXWg081JSrcHPvLob94f7W9cVtOahfOWn5b6FWghVkWYlUpVd19txLplA6fEcwy9jn_2sAdgWPWueJU3TiAb_SM-4Aulo8whNsCfxC-qNHKDpzfBdXTjuccrF8lTmdWEVPzm6zwjxn3DAQZbUJfdAoqojEJywAwwgmM5seX6PiLPC0KmylzStGE/s1339/Screenshot%202023-05-09%20170907.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1078" data-original-width="1339" height="258" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt_YXWg081JSrcHPvLob94f7W9cVtOahfOWn5b6FWghVkWYlUpVd19txLplA6fEcwy9jn_2sAdgWPWueJU3TiAb_SM-4Aulo8whNsCfxC-qNHKDpzfBdXTjuccrF8lTmdWEVPzm6zwjxn3DAQZbUJfdAoqojEJywAwwgmM5seX6PiLPC0KmylzStGE/s320/Screenshot%202023-05-09%20170907.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Brockie and her family were among the <br />incredibly kind, real, and friendly<br />people we met. All the rumors were true. <br />The people of Haviland ARE the very best part!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"> </span></div>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>Being Tourists<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">If you know us, you know Rob and I try to wring out every last bit
of goofy fun and adventure when we travel. Of course, our brand of fun may
leave others shaking their heads.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Nevertheless, h</span>ere’s
how we entertained ourselves in amongst the graduation festivities.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><u>Dodge City</u> – Ever hear the phrase "Get the hell out of Dodge?" It originated in Dodge City, Kansas. DC was once a pretty rough and wild cow town. Like literally thousands of Texan cows came to the town to be loaded up on train cars and shipped to hungry northerners. Dodge City was also the setting for the TV series "Gunsmoke" which I have never watched but often see playing on TVs in retirement homes.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEP2ozwlJqljaaXbo8917tIZgmKswyLP57N1QwfZ04QPJoNV8vKo3tWQItp8GSAo7mFbtOdF9KH4P0lEFxxYsHemI-A0wxRA_z3FKR5VkLRlA7XfQ_be6-JYj_WQLQc-5UWYLdjsibF41-Wsf0WlIBYUV1NJN6j9ZD2Fe7PFjnWGj0jitBS-sw2MnI/s3088/IMG_2308~photo.HEIC" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3088" data-original-width="2320" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEP2ozwlJqljaaXbo8917tIZgmKswyLP57N1QwfZ04QPJoNV8vKo3tWQItp8GSAo7mFbtOdF9KH4P0lEFxxYsHemI-A0wxRA_z3FKR5VkLRlA7XfQ_be6-JYj_WQLQc-5UWYLdjsibF41-Wsf0WlIBYUV1NJN6j9ZD2Fe7PFjnWGj0jitBS-sw2MnI/s320/IMG_2308~photo.HEIC" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dodge City's mascot of sorts –<br />El Capitan the Longhorn. He was very<br />large and bronzey.</td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsXRWe0vo_XabjJj0hu8DnTFRB3wxDKE1hOmTpArvvRoXeOb24O87AVCPgO4DKrRDftYEQsjIVMZuOGvdBn_BojSYMSMWjDlgEmvgjAUba7zX3gRvVCb48XDY0_34g7OUp8bJ8bDxvbrXAgX2H_44UKZiz8eLRVO7a_7ax3NQYXDFQb3Lq0uVbyNug/s4032/IMG_2330~photo.HEIC" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsXRWe0vo_XabjJj0hu8DnTFRB3wxDKE1hOmTpArvvRoXeOb24O87AVCPgO4DKrRDftYEQsjIVMZuOGvdBn_BojSYMSMWjDlgEmvgjAUba7zX3gRvVCb48XDY0_34g7OUp8bJ8bDxvbrXAgX2H_44UKZiz8eLRVO7a_7ax3NQYXDFQb3Lq0uVbyNug/s320/IMG_2330~photo.HEIC" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Had a hankerin' for some sarsaparilla.<br />Mighty fine indeed.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><u>The Big Well</u> – The nearest town of any note was Greensburg, about 10 minutes west of Haviland. We saw some signs beckoning us to The Big Well Museum. We submitted. It was a hoot!</p><p class="MsoNormal">The circular museum – encasing a well about 109 feet deep – told three stories with intriguing detail. The first story was about the well itself – hand-dug in the late 1800s by local folks in an effort to lure new businesses and residents with promises of cheap and ever-present water. The second story was the utter destruction of the town in 2007 by a devasting Category EF-5 Tornado. The third story was how the town decided to rebuild itself as an environmentally green and sustainable community. While we entered the museum with smirks, we left with respect and appreciation. And wow, tornadoes are no joke.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZNbI5kqie6Mu0lI2HX0HAID6cBv0SpO1aSgZJuaBKew-PFa21KXL6IQTs1UujVRuqDDh0Wfh9nzqONqsxWahlk7fZDJ_5zc0TM3u61umTG9YgFj5tV5QkHCuE_2OH_PPSlIZlLhZEtrNvMgYUjZRWUX6gkfSgTbY5hIcHRJwhgh9s7KdFeXqktyKm/s4032/IMG_2346~photo.HEIC" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZNbI5kqie6Mu0lI2HX0HAID6cBv0SpO1aSgZJuaBKew-PFa21KXL6IQTs1UujVRuqDDh0Wfh9nzqONqsxWahlk7fZDJ_5zc0TM3u61umTG9YgFj5tV5QkHCuE_2OH_PPSlIZlLhZEtrNvMgYUjZRWUX6gkfSgTbY5hIcHRJwhgh9s7KdFeXqktyKm/s320/IMG_2346~photo.HEIC" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I mean seriously, how could we NOT<br />check this place out??</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqFeqX8BheepuT6GQTr8iuc6ip_uBjAUZ64na1Ex_5mUfC2yjnNVkGDb1hzapyEPMfYuZ7GwQeIrCXdbabaDW4dbSuJPyjyoWkZIf-Yz8mR2kdhcxNEqcDveAYxeuYyyq78XrbrZK2hjh3em9D8js6FrTaHbNZAaFCtwhwW6uTyMzrNky8ZeXpv-kQ/s4032/IMG_2475~photo.HEIC" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqFeqX8BheepuT6GQTr8iuc6ip_uBjAUZ64na1Ex_5mUfC2yjnNVkGDb1hzapyEPMfYuZ7GwQeIrCXdbabaDW4dbSuJPyjyoWkZIf-Yz8mR2kdhcxNEqcDveAYxeuYyyq78XrbrZK2hjh3em9D8js6FrTaHbNZAaFCtwhwW6uTyMzrNky8ZeXpv-kQ/s320/IMG_2475~photo.HEIC" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No false advertising here!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p class="MsoNormal"><u>Cotton Picking</u> – I'm sort of embarrassed to admit how long it took me to realize that the white dots in some fields we kept passing were cotton. I kept thinking they were mineral deposits from crop fertilizer or something. Good gracious, 19 years in the boonies and I'm still a girl from the suburbs!</p><p class="MsoNormal">When I finally figured out what we were whizzing by, I implored Rob to find some field access suitable for sandals. A master of making my wishes come true, Rob parked our rental car on a side road and snapped some photos as I gleefully picked some cotton fresh out of a dusty field. It was soft and squishy and looked just like that little logo inside my t-shirts! There's a possibility I was trespassing – and that maybe importing wild cotton into Washington was some sort of Department of Agriculture no-no. Whatever. I'm quite excited by my delightfully organic Kansas souvenir.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNb039ZqXnifVQ-sgoYL-dRvpJWPOjiVcF53A2UlpodCrJ9P8JaEN12T7V1ItnBw1wRAkzRSFBaakQ_X8D7bfWp17E9vOIB-Cmx8dCzTogIPkVdAvbduCsF-BIC6TRrZLRWkdfu7biFyzXnXYUswzWCe3JURdiu-l758i2NVeapBYa71o9lCUm8Nyw/s4032/IMG_2424~photo.HEIC" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNb039ZqXnifVQ-sgoYL-dRvpJWPOjiVcF53A2UlpodCrJ9P8JaEN12T7V1ItnBw1wRAkzRSFBaakQ_X8D7bfWp17E9vOIB-Cmx8dCzTogIPkVdAvbduCsF-BIC6TRrZLRWkdfu7biFyzXnXYUswzWCe3JURdiu-l758i2NVeapBYa71o9lCUm8Nyw/s320/IMG_2424~photo.HEIC" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I was especially excited because I<br />have vivid memories of my mom<br />doing the same thing when I was<br />about 5 years old and we were<br />on a road trip from Ohio to Florida.<br />Although she grew up on a farm (in<br />Idaho), she had never seen cotton in the wild.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><u>Meteorite</u> – It is estimated that about 1000 years ago, a meteorite hit Earth not far from Haviland. Remnants and a crater were discovered in the late 1800s. Or so says the interwebs. We really wish the Kansas Meteorite Museum could have provided verification, but it was on private property. And closed. Seemingly for years. We did get a small glimpse of this cosmological event at The Big Well Museum, though. And Rob reminded me that we also saw a remnant from the Haviland Find at the Houston Space Center a few months ago. Super cool!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizkjas4PrOsmjqh81LisZPDUpQIu38ds1j4jCQjtYLEx5nLCXFt2k24GNlI7Uot4j-_CsIHqq6pfvgCgSL3CCOkCEuk5uoDcnJ_ZEgM1jkSM_wHHlN9aRh0RdYWo9I1TIYAUMUQ-251rrx8S0oSIAv_t4YMaJy_YU80YgexG3zmH7XL5OoocKTTm6F/s4032/IMG_2438~photo.HEIC" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizkjas4PrOsmjqh81LisZPDUpQIu38ds1j4jCQjtYLEx5nLCXFt2k24GNlI7Uot4j-_CsIHqq6pfvgCgSL3CCOkCEuk5uoDcnJ_ZEgM1jkSM_wHHlN9aRh0RdYWo9I1TIYAUMUQ-251rrx8S0oSIAv_t4YMaJy_YU80YgexG3zmH7XL5OoocKTTm6F/s320/IMG_2438~photo.HEIC" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hard to say – or read – when the museum<br />was last available for visitors.</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguuA-9T83vHZr3mkyTPHu9AtcIDeB1CIFeS4R5MszyN0a6pOVHnAtH-U1qoMKRoopNp7qHVV68J1U4X4m9Vpg7Y4PY1Y-iVN3vDwdvSDlff-GSVzHwB2gGivELP2oSzl4di0z7Y2L47lrSWlguZew1txKYyoWmlUiLyhDT7iNkQmWGauTmzfuO4oxH/s4032/IMG_2456~photo.HEIC" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguuA-9T83vHZr3mkyTPHu9AtcIDeB1CIFeS4R5MszyN0a6pOVHnAtH-U1qoMKRoopNp7qHVV68J1U4X4m9Vpg7Y4PY1Y-iVN3vDwdvSDlff-GSVzHwB2gGivELP2oSzl4di0z7Y2L47lrSWlguZew1txKYyoWmlUiLyhDT7iNkQmWGauTmzfuO4oxH/s320/IMG_2456~photo.HEIC" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The afterthought addition of "One of the"<br />begs SO many questions!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div></div><p class="MsoNormal"><u>Oklahoma</u><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>– Rob has been to all 50 states. I am missing Alabama, South Dakota, Vermont, New Hampshire, and – until recently – Oklahoma. We had a couple of hours before the next forage in Barclay's cafeteria, so we naturally decided to go to Oklahoma. </p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">It was a pretty fun drive. The scenery was exactly what one sees in old timey Western movies. It was impossible not to imagine cowboys and Indians (yes, I know...) and stagecoaches and wild horses running amok. For some reason, I always thought of the Old West as being in, well, the West. Like Nevada or Colorado. But to most of the U.S. at the time, Kansas and Oklahoma WERE west. Go figure!</span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJzr-Kqo7p0wzg-y2w5wfV1SiYwJucHkDpCsBct2D4My2dQa6VMKDp-52E7NTETzm1dVyTYlnChdJ_kLngDViiLZYu6HP17BU3TGVXplHZEjwn4QmWTdX_m_wGNhEyOFa6O8eh17zJ3guqZLDzOTCyhHj6b-Vs_4MbE3aS-TBEfFbjs1oQkE_CbnJ9/s3088/IMG_2479~photo.HEIC" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3088" data-original-width="2320" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJzr-Kqo7p0wzg-y2w5wfV1SiYwJucHkDpCsBct2D4My2dQa6VMKDp-52E7NTETzm1dVyTYlnChdJ_kLngDViiLZYu6HP17BU3TGVXplHZEjwn4QmWTdX_m_wGNhEyOFa6O8eh17zJ3guqZLDzOTCyhHj6b-Vs_4MbE3aS-TBEfFbjs1oQkE_CbnJ9/s320/IMG_2479~photo.HEIC" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I can't be the only one who sings<br />the spelling of this state.</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></div><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /> </span><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b>No clue what's next </b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Rob doesn’t have any idea what he is going to do with a
master's degree in Practical Theology. God made it clear he was supposed to get
it, so we trust that eventually God will also make it clear why. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">But as we got ready to drive away from Barclay College and leave
Haviland via the dirt road north of town, Rob and I both knew we would be back.
We met people we sincerely hope will become life friends despite the distance.
We started talking about how we can be more involved with the college and its
people. We agreed that next time we will fly in and out of Wichita instead of
Denver (the cost savings was far less impressive after the 12 hour round trip
trek). And next time we will pack snacks.</p><p class="MsoNormal">Because we agreed there <i>will</i> be a next time.</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh18yv7A82R54UdP9Fg-9ub_R-6r895fqpobOUFsfHPYzEDBGl9k3DXQ0YmeRuKneF136wnIQTmaRFUyIah_B8cgesHRO-zITb6l9s-rKoxoWfCxKvUh3Notz4YN0c4ObFaca5nCb6upuegYnLMtSdE3By-sYWDLmTDBwsZaEd1UX9tyG9IvEoAwYr6/s3088/IMG_2648~photo.HEIC" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2320" data-original-width="3088" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh18yv7A82R54UdP9Fg-9ub_R-6r895fqpobOUFsfHPYzEDBGl9k3DXQ0YmeRuKneF136wnIQTmaRFUyIah_B8cgesHRO-zITb6l9s-rKoxoWfCxKvUh3Notz4YN0c4ObFaca5nCb6upuegYnLMtSdE3By-sYWDLmTDBwsZaEd1UX9tyG9IvEoAwYr6/s320/IMG_2648~photo.HEIC" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I AM SO PROUD OF THIS MAN!!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><o:p></o:p><p></p>Toni at Woodhavenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14376655175018122805noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-400828308445468217.post-12984142779591039702023-03-23T16:00:00.011-07:002023-03-24T08:40:22.316-07:00Pepper Dreams and Other Things<p>A couple of weeks ago, Rob and I finally took a trip that
has been on our Travel Wish List for years. Well, part of it has been on my
TWL for <i>decades</i>.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">One of the many things we learned from those quiet, boring,
quarantined days of the last few years is that talking about doing stuff is a
lot less interesting and fulfilling than actually doing them. So with Covid
blessedly feeling a lot less pandemicky and a lot more endemicky these days,
Rob and I are prioritizing finally taking those “someday” trips. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">First up: Texas and Louisiana.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Yes, I know. Not typically Dream Trip destinations. Unless
you are addicted to Tabasco sauce. Which I kinda am.</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZdgf1c7TJNr1v7cOhHGvdo_wwnQQ3Y1z0gjW5VuUAKReWb5Pj-QvKrfosAOfcLX7T8pnWTWZ34f5ZYzz8LqrY2rctS7SZ_3aSiFNtMbiRNms_dF8G-U5sD_PZ4_4pNw8WnhF6OWEEGRhJ5OJ6c2dk_zFJjCHoPKG8_4HXD-vROH1tSeKjRVla7VjD/s4032/Tabasco%20Hug.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="1934" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZdgf1c7TJNr1v7cOhHGvdo_wwnQQ3Y1z0gjW5VuUAKReWb5Pj-QvKrfosAOfcLX7T8pnWTWZ34f5ZYzz8LqrY2rctS7SZ_3aSiFNtMbiRNms_dF8G-U5sD_PZ4_4pNw8WnhF6OWEEGRhJ5OJ6c2dk_zFJjCHoPKG8_4HXD-vROH1tSeKjRVla7VjD/s320/Tabasco%20Hug.jpg" width="153" /></a></div><br /><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I can’t remember when I first tried Tabasco sauce. I know it was
well before college, because my college roommate apparently still thinks of me
every time he catches a whiff of the glorious pepper elixir (not his description). I ate a LOT of spaghetti in college – and Tabasco is absolutely
required on all tomato-based pasta. So, Tabasco = Toni. I’m quite pleased with
that.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">My saucy addiction revealed itself in a myriad of ways over the
years. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Like having no idea the bright red sauce can turn brown if
you don’t enjoy it in a timely fashion. Or not needing to follow the “Shake Well”
instructions because the bottle gets a good workout on a weekly if not daily
basis. Or traveling with a bottle stashed in my purse back when we were allowed
the frivolity of carry-on liquids AND when airlines used to serve flavorless
albeit free meals (a boss used to make fun of me for this little business trip habit and then
sheepishly asked once from the aisle seat to borrow my bottle of flavor. Yes, I
very smugly handed it to him.)<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Perhaps the most telling demonstration of my dedication to
Tabasco came when Rob gave me a gallon of it for Christmas one year. I quickly
bought a glass soap dispenser to disperse my addiction on pizza, lasagna, pasta,
eggs, French fries… I also, just for kicks and giggles, wrote the date on the
gallon’s label, curious how long it would take me to go through one gallon of
Tabasco at my normal at-home-consumption rate. Any guesses?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Nine months. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">So yeah, my love for Tabasco sauce is strong, deep, and not
entirely healthy. Naturally, making a pilgrimage to its factory in southern
Louisiana was at the top of my Bucket List. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyp5NhLwxciqWtCDopIOtsp8jRSWqORpXLASnKW3Buikc0pZm2GovXvM05XpazrSWpbNNRuSczA49xPIH5G1vDgmMEy4F1X_Cg5rfKgKI8yJLZ6009jhWUu-t1vwUqb-SpisFH1N3LnxIuULVJV9fdyRCNcfIy2IIrYNn61LwASMOj4Kz8w3VWg2J7/s3024/Tabasco%20Fan.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2968" data-original-width="3024" height="314" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyp5NhLwxciqWtCDopIOtsp8jRSWqORpXLASnKW3Buikc0pZm2GovXvM05XpazrSWpbNNRuSczA49xPIH5G1vDgmMEy4F1X_Cg5rfKgKI8yJLZ6009jhWUu-t1vwUqb-SpisFH1N3LnxIuULVJV9fdyRCNcfIy2IIrYNn61LwASMOj4Kz8w3VWg2J7/s320/Tabasco%20Fan.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's like they knew I was coming</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">We spent two days exploring Avery Island, which is actually
a salt dome near the Gulf of Mexico but by no means surrounded by it. Rob mused
with appreciation about my ability to turn what is typically a couple hours of
fun for most people into days of enthusiastic glee (see: so many posts about my
beloved county fair). I guess when I am passionate about something, I go all in.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I was both surprised and thrilled to discover how relatively
small the factory and production of Tabasco is. Like, we were able to see the
entire process (once the peppers arrive on the “island”) in one series of buildings. Making Tabasco sauce is
actually pretty simple. It just takes a long time. Much like wine, most of the
time spent making it is just waiting for natural chemistry to do its thing. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgus0yVMmSLFjUeeOg1GInVdpHTCvuvyxSYvFPWO95L_DQPL_U39oaUAmqsEdb5Tr9RMKWFIZWXLxwetCT7XBJWO6tF_moABh4aW8acFggNMDWBiHHuJltg6NOXDrom8d2OcC3X1oqz_sAnkkCYz-YAo0jrq6OHQh_j0wM9SDMVMDaLwTvRHGTl7Wgg/s4032/IMG_1381~photo.HEIC" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgus0yVMmSLFjUeeOg1GInVdpHTCvuvyxSYvFPWO95L_DQPL_U39oaUAmqsEdb5Tr9RMKWFIZWXLxwetCT7XBJWO6tF_moABh4aW8acFggNMDWBiHHuJltg6NOXDrom8d2OcC3X1oqz_sAnkkCYz-YAo0jrq6OHQh_j0wM9SDMVMDaLwTvRHGTl7Wgg/s320/IMG_1381~photo.HEIC" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Believe it or not, this is most of the factory</td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal">The Tabasco peppers themselves used to be grown on the salt
dome, but demand outgrew the local fields long ago, so the peppers are brought
in from proprietary growers in Central and South America. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once the peppers arrive on site, they are smushed
into repurposed bourbon barrels, topped with salt, and allowed to age for three
years. The smell of that storage area was pungent and sort of gross. It was a stinky mixture of wet wood, old bourbon, and fermenting peppers. I wanted to like it, but I really didn't.</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj50o0K4P0awQs3q99whPtgagUnUKamZ4YnroYpomk1njM-GHMMgqhFtrKoXZi5ypUeL-l3PO7-pqiplsyJp2AiPr-DMy7hW2gSxJpj-zUXkxZr8MKu2LqNs2eLcJ4fUDQMeE0dIHSZLyf6l5CT9r5aBimk_u1BFqACN0OifzbArwB1y8ruXxtM26G5/s4032/IMG_1406~photo.HEIC" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj50o0K4P0awQs3q99whPtgagUnUKamZ4YnroYpomk1njM-GHMMgqhFtrKoXZi5ypUeL-l3PO7-pqiplsyJp2AiPr-DMy7hW2gSxJpj-zUXkxZr8MKu2LqNs2eLcJ4fUDQMeE0dIHSZLyf6l5CT9r5aBimk_u1BFqACN0OifzbArwB1y8ruXxtM26G5/s320/IMG_1406~photo.HEIC" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Barrels full of wine smell MUCH better</td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal">After 3 years of fermenting, the pepper mash is then
mixed with distilled vinegar and sits for another month or so before the sauce is strained
and then bottled. The room where the vinegary mixture chillaxes for a month
smelled heavenly. The idea to allow visitors to push a button to open up a vent to get a good whiff from behind the glass wall was truly inspired.</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihm32fISN4fGuWcwoYIW0I3Ynt2bV5aoI-hFbrR4nOwP1QX8I3sy-JiSleFsP-m9HwdqEUQ59tReNuQaB85V8hvWpKsdiRYFpyO8wnuy71vsYE0ktlFsIv2RXLqr9H82ZduFGOTrsppXNm3dR0TKU1LDSVwIscZcQHPerps2rM_XEyuidv3YAeqs9R/s4032/IMG_1422~photo-full.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihm32fISN4fGuWcwoYIW0I3Ynt2bV5aoI-hFbrR4nOwP1QX8I3sy-JiSleFsP-m9HwdqEUQ59tReNuQaB85V8hvWpKsdiRYFpyO8wnuy71vsYE0ktlFsIv2RXLqr9H82ZduFGOTrsppXNm3dR0TKU1LDSVwIscZcQHPerps2rM_XEyuidv3YAeqs9R/s320/IMG_1422~photo-full.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We could smell the Tabasco as soon <br />as we entered this part of the building<br />but the button to fan in more pepper air<br />was a much appreciated touch</td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal">The bottling line was super fun to watch. I was amazed by
how small the actual factory was while yielding about 700,000 bottles of
peppery deliciousness per day. Rob and I spent quite a long time peering at the
process, eventually realizing that the small 2oz. bottles (the size I guess
most people have in their pantry?) don’t require the clear plastic topper to
help slow down the bottle’s flow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You
know, the doohickey that I often pry off with a knife?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3LrvTVeOEfyIn5bndfMMeLQXgwAKR8GL0q2RLSv8m3ZWVq0OhBhsxuBAvwHKxhAwVenZ42-jo66mqGDNc8OcVWUmFk-VeoG7cqzNh9G5H-CfpRcLSEN3hH6ep9qaB7MsD1DeoOMpEBRyWac0l_Lc8QE5STR4qKMx_Dxr9Uuu7mPBcW3-O1Ond4HJ7/s4032/IMG_1558~photo.HEIC" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3LrvTVeOEfyIn5bndfMMeLQXgwAKR8GL0q2RLSv8m3ZWVq0OhBhsxuBAvwHKxhAwVenZ42-jo66mqGDNc8OcVWUmFk-VeoG7cqzNh9G5H-CfpRcLSEN3hH6ep9qaB7MsD1DeoOMpEBRyWac0l_Lc8QE5STR4qKMx_Dxr9Uuu7mPBcW3-O1Ond4HJ7/s320/IMG_1558~photo.HEIC" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If I had had the great fortune to meet<br />one of the line workers, I would have<br />totally fangirled. Do they realize what<br />amazing jobs they have?!?<br /><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H4hhYQgE2wY" target="_blank">Here's a video of the bottling line for<br />the super curious.</a></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">After I was done immersing myself in the production process, we headed to The Tabasco Country
Store next to the factory for some shopping. I was quite excited.</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJbPeQyG0f4Qns199bPNZ7tmSJkcuAxr1YRKDq2es_2nUoSnhBqbDyscpOAWep8bv-p4lIBvS0VRN5WzpBNb-wh66NIltdBCFumq8h3R4CKgAuZyHr8Bgx_q77AO3u6HHUvk3qWdFL9-Q3D8DTMXUIR3225A4f9da8qZZHtGvCbIjgijYT33BnhdDR/s3088/IMG_1482~photo.HEIC" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3088" data-original-width="2320" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJbPeQyG0f4Qns199bPNZ7tmSJkcuAxr1YRKDq2es_2nUoSnhBqbDyscpOAWep8bv-p4lIBvS0VRN5WzpBNb-wh66NIltdBCFumq8h3R4CKgAuZyHr8Bgx_q77AO3u6HHUvk3qWdFL9-Q3D8DTMXUIR3225A4f9da8qZZHtGvCbIjgijYT33BnhdDR/s320/IMG_1482~photo.HEIC" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">!!!!</td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal">For some reason, I was expecting the Tabasco Store to be something
like the souvenir shops at Disneyland.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You know, all modern and shiny with bright lights and neatly organized and
well-stocked shelves. Instead, the Tabasco Country Store was actually aptly
named. It felt very homey and well-loved and had the organization and flow of a
house that has been lived in and not particularly updated for 30 years. It was
a bit of a treasure hunt and required several laps before I felt like I had
really seen all the store had – and didn’t have (thank you, overpriced kiosk at
the New Orleans airport! I love my adult-sized classic Tabasco t-shirt!) – to offer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVyl1GkEE6TyeQNH9RrQQ_uK5_QM4bSZhk019ihIcVUm_KRbTQvnNZC6ERR9X8RItUfamP3u8tlfWw0tKclz032a4QIUSAKGDqrZW-uVPi19PSunsK1VPzy0bldAdtAkM04gxf1h67l6ffoctkGsbln5faIDNXb5LKnBdB3URlDbVUAOAUqgvUnpV0/s4032/IMG_1483~photo.HEIC" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVyl1GkEE6TyeQNH9RrQQ_uK5_QM4bSZhk019ihIcVUm_KRbTQvnNZC6ERR9X8RItUfamP3u8tlfWw0tKclz032a4QIUSAKGDqrZW-uVPi19PSunsK1VPzy0bldAdtAkM04gxf1h67l6ffoctkGsbln5faIDNXb5LKnBdB3URlDbVUAOAUqgvUnpV0/s320/IMG_1483~photo.HEIC" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It was a bit of sensory overload</td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal">Of course, the very best part of the store was in the back.
The Tabasco Tasting Bar was what dreams are made of. </p><p class="MsoNormal">More than a dozen
different flavors and Tabasco-infused inventions I had never seen (chili
starter, BBQ sauce, salad dressing) were available for sampling. OMG! The only
thing lacking was a box of tissues, because that Scorpion Pepper Tabasco packed
some heat! I also loved blending some of the products and discovered that the thick
Sweet & Spicy sauce mixed with the more vinegary and longer-aged Family
Reserve variety demanded Asian food, particularly pot stickers. Into my
shopping basket they went!</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9pQFN-KTtgORK43GVYeTqOs20Vddwi9LESxT5a-rDfNsLfDelCHqT4eFZAXgxHLuDwxKyEknrDfKXQNEU19OfLwx4MUy26uzm-eoba6m-UgcuOqlPLheXsLHjfcPXmHDhubtpTzpQLMe93q7aEruQTH4StvUO0Soq8knjemV8H167qM_aYLljpeQJ/s4032/IMG_1485~photo.HEIC" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9pQFN-KTtgORK43GVYeTqOs20Vddwi9LESxT5a-rDfNsLfDelCHqT4eFZAXgxHLuDwxKyEknrDfKXQNEU19OfLwx4MUy26uzm-eoba6m-UgcuOqlPLheXsLHjfcPXmHDhubtpTzpQLMe93q7aEruQTH4StvUO0Soq8knjemV8H167qM_aYLljpeQJ/s320/IMG_1485~photo.HEIC" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Those bottles with pumps might make a lot<br />more sense at Woodhaven than the 12oz bottles <br />I get at Costco</td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal">In retrospect, it probably would have been wise to have my
souvenirs shipped home to Woodhaven. Because with two days to poke around the
store, my stash kept growing. To the point that we almost had to buy a small
check-thru suitcase to lug home all my pepper treasures.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oops. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Believe it or not, though, the Tabasco Tasting Bar was not
the ultimate highlight of my visit to Avery Island. Nope, something was even
BETTER!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">A couple of weeks before we left Woodhaven, I got an email
from Keyna at the Tabasco HQ regretfully informing me that a special culinary class we had signed up for was cancelled because George the Tour Guide was
having a medical procedure done that day. I was of course devastated…and confused.
Did they not have more than one George to tour us through a tasting menu of Tabasco-laden
delights?? This was my first hint that despite Tabasco being a world-wide phenomenon,
it is actually a pretty small operation.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I quickly sent back a reply to Keyna, expressing my disappointment,
understanding, and well-wishes for George. I then decided to take a chance and
ask for a favor. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">After explaining that we were traveling from Washington
state, I wrote, “One of the things I was most
looking forward to about the class was the opportunity to sample the
mash. Would that still be a possibility somehow? This is a dream trip for
me as I am sort of addicted to Tabasco sauce...”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Keyna replied, ”Thank you for understanding. When you
get here on the Monday please ask for Keyna, I will make sure you get your mash
tasting!” </p><p class="MsoNormal">And there was MUCH rejoicing!!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">After going
through the Store’s check-out line one last time, I asked the cashier if she
could direct me to Keyna. “I’m Toni from Washington state.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Just a few
minutes later, Rob and I were standing in Keyna’s office at the back of the
store, feeling pretty VIP to be hanging out with real-live Tabasco Management!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">We chatted
for a bit, me slightly distracted by Keyna's soft Louisiana accent. I was a bit awestruck to learn Keyna had grown
up on Avery Island and was several generations Tabasco. In fact, a number of
her relatives were in photos in the small-but-comprehensive museum next door.
Although she was not a McIlhenny, I’m sure they wave to each other at the
Island post office, exchange Christmas cards, and sip mint juleps together on
hot days. I just know it!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“OK, I
need to get you your mash!” Keyna sang to my heart as she escorted us to our Tasting
Room. Which turned out to be the Country Store’s stock room AND employee
breakroom. OMG! </p><p class="MsoNormal">Yes, instead of some fancy touristy experience in the adjoining
restaurant, Rob and I were hanging out in the inner sanctum with Keyna and
Donna, a ticket booth cashier who was eating her homemade lunch out of
Tupperware, all the while surrounded by shelves of various Tabasco products aka
My Dream Pantry. OMG! I was so overwhelmed,
it didn’t occur to me to take any photos of my surroundings or my new best friends.
DANG IT!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The
headiness continued as Keyna presented me and Rob each with two small cups of
mash, bottles of water, and TASTING SPOONS!! On chains! To wear like a
necklace! OMG!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I
immediately put my spoon necklace around my neck, feeling very
official and swanky like those fancy wine snobs who wear silver wine cups
around their necks when they are sampling wine.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgYbCTyfYIkuoJDWq311N_j647GNER75E8wq5D304aNRPDAVBbtG24vg-pqcDdaCG_FJ2R4SjmT9EJ0jJouCgo4wSUunGV4w3iV2lY0Wz7tkvHnwl8lGazgpodrg0BPi0VC28G03hQGX6x1dVtpP9G1ygdzeeAbq3kTewgP9cFKBtSgPeJjwa1rQ9b/s4032/IMG_1632~photo.HEIC" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgYbCTyfYIkuoJDWq311N_j647GNER75E8wq5D304aNRPDAVBbtG24vg-pqcDdaCG_FJ2R4SjmT9EJ0jJouCgo4wSUunGV4w3iV2lY0Wz7tkvHnwl8lGazgpodrg0BPi0VC28G03hQGX6x1dVtpP9G1ygdzeeAbq3kTewgP9cFKBtSgPeJjwa1rQ9b/s320/IMG_1632~photo.HEIC" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Apparently Official Tabasco Mash Tasters<br />use little spoons like this! </td></tr></tbody></table>
<p class="MsoNormal">Trying to focus on the task at hand, I immediately noticed the mash
in the two cups looked and smelled different. It was very easy to tell them apart. One was bright red and smelled
fresh and peppery; the other had a brown tinge to it and smelled sort of dank
and musty while at the same time smelling a lot more like Tabasco sauce than the redder mash.</p><p class="MsoNormal">Keyna explained that the bright red one was brand new mash. It was just
about to go into the bourbon barrels for aging. Meanwhile, the brown mash was three years older. It was done hanging out in the barrels and was now going to be mixed with vinegar to start its final
journey to becoming Tabasco sauce. Keyna invited us to try each one, suggesting we use a little spit cup instead of swallowing each sample. And follow with
water because they were going to be a bit hot.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOUPPQbSZnExu8rA7s49atObpO-AELgvrOA-AqeMEbZPCMTJ3miJr-EbF79qmeN_fMolxThdysMdWrUggo89x1LsVvBkyLE154UK8Fy0y7Advl8rUzAgC5x5_IUFPZcgaPG-5h-m44YOAo0XWdvwUjjoeFrD8ZO6_LJ-3ETij1LPHLnvO3MW382EI6/s4032/Mashes.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOUPPQbSZnExu8rA7s49atObpO-AELgvrOA-AqeMEbZPCMTJ3miJr-EbF79qmeN_fMolxThdysMdWrUggo89x1LsVvBkyLE154UK8Fy0y7Advl8rUzAgC5x5_IUFPZcgaPG-5h-m44YOAo0XWdvwUjjoeFrD8ZO6_LJ-3ETij1LPHLnvO3MW382EI6/s320/Mashes.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The mash on the left is the new stuff.<br />The mash on the left is 3 years old.</td></tr></tbody></table>
<p class="MsoNormal">Truth be
told, the inside of my lips were numb for a few hours. It was AWESOME!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The brand
new mash tasted like…mashed peppers. Nothing much else to the flavor. It was
really the consistency that was notable. It was sort of a spread, like a tapenade.
The old mash, though, THAT’S when the flavor started to hint at being Tabasco.
The freshness was gone and was replaced by a deeper, darker, more earthy
flavor. The vinegar was definitely missing, making me realize that the vinegar
brings a brightness in addition to the acidity. Yep, my years of tasting and
describing wine definitely helped me understand the differences between the two
mashes! Or maybe it was the authoratative spoon necklace. In any case, I absolutely LOVED being able to
taste and experience The Evolution of Tabasco. Even better that it was in the storage room!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I was a little
worried that I would be disappointed finally visiting Avery Island – that after
so many years of dreaming about it, it would somehow not meet my expectations. And I was right. Because of Keyna and the VIP
Mash Tasting while Donna ate her lunch, my pilgrimage to Tabasco Land was even
better than I had hoped. It was delicious, informative, homey, friendly,
personal, and my fandom of Tabasco felt truly appreciated and honored. My
pepper dreams came true and more.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX9LnzA4Uf3xZm1sbQHeYpoK6wVHKZWDWc4e3cApaXW31V5tOnNUrGF4C12QfIHBkHsP-f4lwA_zLQTDjsyfCillaCc0Ddfv00enxoz3zDroJVxpWHUbNCRC9eGwZcVBJJ43gEBoqOs8vWcDAQt0tWCRQzAeyzRcAty4KCFOhCBI_N1iTTBlhsdjmT/s4032/IMG_1489~photo.HEIC" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX9LnzA4Uf3xZm1sbQHeYpoK6wVHKZWDWc4e3cApaXW31V5tOnNUrGF4C12QfIHBkHsP-f4lwA_zLQTDjsyfCillaCc0Ddfv00enxoz3zDroJVxpWHUbNCRC9eGwZcVBJJ43gEBoqOs8vWcDAQt0tWCRQzAeyzRcAty4KCFOhCBI_N1iTTBlhsdjmT/s320/IMG_1489~photo.HEIC" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I clearly have no qualms about looking<br />like a total tourist</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>Yeah, but
what about Texas??<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">In the
years I have been dreaming about visiting Avery Island in Louisiana, two of Rob’s
brothers have planted some roots in nearby Texas. So what was once envisioned
as a one-stop destination vacation evolved into a road trip across the flatlands
to visit family along the way. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">We were
THRILLED to be able to spend one-on-one time with some brothers, sisters, nieces,
and nephews. Rob is the oldest of 7, so when we see the Texas Contingent, it is typically
in a big crowd of family members gathered for an occasion. Not the ideal
environment for introverts who thrive on quality time spent with loved ones. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Having
heart-felt conversations, sharing the real stuff of life over glasses of wine,
feeling the trusting grip of a toddler’s hand around my finger as we conquered a step about 8000 times, admiring the
moon over and over, playing board games, dancing in the living room, cheering
for our favorite 7-year-old soccer player. All breathed life into Rob and me as
we made deeper connections with people we would choose as friends even if they
weren’t already family. Even without Avery Island, the trip would have been
spectacular just for that alone.</p>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1r855mWqeawrYOBxavyZATCoNTdEaOrjoLcSWz2hVmdcgQ6miHVcul77KlZaZfDd1-KT22D5LDYAHsVEtlT0vI3b39Du0XsFNkdC6r9hwNEhisPOYGOYu4CxxvJsIbqr5wadL8qUbnh6nJvD7koNud473on19hvlD4RqOEMiHvmCQ8xS7WYDaesZB/s4032/Rob%20and%20William%20March%202023.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1r855mWqeawrYOBxavyZATCoNTdEaOrjoLcSWz2hVmdcgQ6miHVcul77KlZaZfDd1-KT22D5LDYAHsVEtlT0vI3b39Du0XsFNkdC6r9hwNEhisPOYGOYu4CxxvJsIbqr5wadL8qUbnh6nJvD7koNud473on19hvlD4RqOEMiHvmCQ8xS7WYDaesZB/s320/Rob%20and%20William%20March%202023.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rob and one of our most favorite toddlers</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD2GjPcw2OtbcgU6zS7aBAyOgeuBWKKhNRqbJXh20w85uvWAgrNowHoCqh97HcZX9j7e8zCzW2JYqGa3GA60CzfL70D8X8-Ha44Yqrn8fGOJMqxgsvSB-VXYA-2tShFfBhCRINWYcw2JCXJ-VpnKa5TZEDGnLy0GcgdNLFUlY49KuTisH-BehntXJl/s4032/IMG_1315~photo.HEIC" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD2GjPcw2OtbcgU6zS7aBAyOgeuBWKKhNRqbJXh20w85uvWAgrNowHoCqh97HcZX9j7e8zCzW2JYqGa3GA60CzfL70D8X8-Ha44Yqrn8fGOJMqxgsvSB-VXYA-2tShFfBhCRINWYcw2JCXJ-VpnKa5TZEDGnLy0GcgdNLFUlY49KuTisH-BehntXJl/s320/IMG_1315~photo.HEIC" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I love watching Uncle Rob</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg63-rgLq7X7IGiTDm5_EyU7_iIbV7txt6qrqik8Cgudh46mB8ie-8MqZuWFasjFMOwFA7TRXzxPtcFAEd1ZqFGF7sESN4b4tr_3xUQVYB5pOVeLNaFxV-4FLwvchzl4awxRrODXrnEoH7gLnxgXz769hsiofQAHsrMoGSVaz90slQIWzRXmjZP9-Cm/s3012/IMG_1323~photo.heic" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3012" data-original-width="2463" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg63-rgLq7X7IGiTDm5_EyU7_iIbV7txt6qrqik8Cgudh46mB8ie-8MqZuWFasjFMOwFA7TRXzxPtcFAEd1ZqFGF7sESN4b4tr_3xUQVYB5pOVeLNaFxV-4FLwvchzl4awxRrODXrnEoH7gLnxgXz769hsiofQAHsrMoGSVaz90slQIWzRXmjZP9-Cm/s320/IMG_1323~photo.heic" width="262" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">LOVE this Texan crew! And loved<br />wearing shorts for the first time in months!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><div><br /><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>A couple
of side trips<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">There were
two especially fun excursions in amongst the family and peppers. One was a
brief foray into a Texas-style livestock show, the other was a visit to NASA.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Although
we didn’t stay for any actual rodeoing, we were able to spend a few delicious
Texan hours at the Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo. Highlights included: the most beautiful
longhorn steer I have ever seen; sampling a deep fried brisket ball (OMG) and
deep fried red velvet cupcake (ummm…YES!); learning about how a cotton gin
works; and falling in love with the most adorable little logo.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4hExqNRVrXRaHgm7DMB7sc-xGydzOQMQciSSh1ffSR76pXaNlX7rfOzIn5n1LWmw5Xn95T3fNO1JHDYAXWqhKbKYs9iZHZUMyG02cAskH5fhK2hgf6gamn7tM90Byn7RWukj7RJaKXYABRqtYPAKdTm0JYQiTS_wkqRixC_DSfvb_WUvAvQA1Ff-A/s4032/IMG_1243~photo.HEIC" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4hExqNRVrXRaHgm7DMB7sc-xGydzOQMQciSSh1ffSR76pXaNlX7rfOzIn5n1LWmw5Xn95T3fNO1JHDYAXWqhKbKYs9iZHZUMyG02cAskH5fhK2hgf6gamn7tM90Byn7RWukj7RJaKXYABRqtYPAKdTm0JYQiTS_wkqRixC_DSfvb_WUvAvQA1Ff-A/s320/IMG_1243~photo.HEIC" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We were told that the coloring on this Longhorn<br />Steer makes it extremely unique. I had never<br />seen anything other than a cat come close<br />to this beautiful calico coloring!</td></tr></tbody></table>
<p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmp40eFreGYkmtlS72ZWmzP6XfjMhr5PkveMmT83C4adRG5UE6K0jKGT00dGtmOfAcOkek09AW2YCQnEY9oSW23diuDpDg9OinQO6IN6OaOYc51uS7LP2HZah4dS7b_6BycWiCL2YFlXD7XMroYznKQvDfGikSUvR-KaNjwTNgBFrHQVCUc4ObeIDl/s4032/IMG_1272~photo.heic" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmp40eFreGYkmtlS72ZWmzP6XfjMhr5PkveMmT83C4adRG5UE6K0jKGT00dGtmOfAcOkek09AW2YCQnEY9oSW23diuDpDg9OinQO6IN6OaOYc51uS7LP2HZah4dS7b_6BycWiCL2YFlXD7XMroYznKQvDfGikSUvR-KaNjwTNgBFrHQVCUc4ObeIDl/s320/IMG_1272~photo.heic" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Deep fried brisket ball. The brisket<br />just by itself was pretty amazing. <br />Rolling it into a ball and then frying<br />it was true inspiration! It was so <br />good, I didn't use any BBQ sauce after<br />the first bite. If you know me, you <br />know that is a HIGH compliment!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYRbsQItrE6-omxgvLrA4Dc15MJ72hRn2lfzUQbMCjrN4F7R-lkhcNzb8f1k_E_ysyDELTCFcrH1v6rtfgiQifz6h4c6tD9wN-Y5171Z_IqqzM4uqdVAmFTcP7iaDpIIBSp-i_bBFVB1EfkDblWYNUS7R50wi59VEWtXFo_JTCMCWDfyhfXY3rpDzO/s5568/H%20Logo.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2475" data-original-width="5568" height="178" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYRbsQItrE6-omxgvLrA4Dc15MJ72hRn2lfzUQbMCjrN4F7R-lkhcNzb8f1k_E_ysyDELTCFcrH1v6rtfgiQifz6h4c6tD9wN-Y5171Z_IqqzM4uqdVAmFTcP7iaDpIIBSp-i_bBFVB1EfkDblWYNUS7R50wi59VEWtXFo_JTCMCWDfyhfXY3rpDzO/w400-h178/H%20Logo.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This old timey Westerny H guy was SO adorable! His name <br />is officially "Howdy." How cute is that?!? The second<br />photo shows my new silver Howdy earrings. The Howdy <br />Bobblehead is on my Fair Souvenir Shelf next to the <br />Squatchy from the Washington State Fair and the <br />Butter Cow Bobblehead from Iowa State Fair. <br />And of course I have a Fair Souvenir Shelf. Duh.<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6yIq9QJEJMzV9RQ-UGSo6Kht0tgehr0KUq675i_2zWMZ-oK_zoQP5E7vkNfYCFwhL0t_rNtHBgXeZeN-d6x6a3AlNPpDw39I8vJzNhfOQG4SxbLcYM1KLZTtNb-DN-JgaZxwYuVBkUOwW_E_hbfHnpM3E32fJ2JwUsmKGXpwSPAn20dd3YDSD53R5/s4030/IMG_1284~photo.heic" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1672" data-original-width="4030" height="166" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6yIq9QJEJMzV9RQ-UGSo6Kht0tgehr0KUq675i_2zWMZ-oK_zoQP5E7vkNfYCFwhL0t_rNtHBgXeZeN-d6x6a3AlNPpDw39I8vJzNhfOQG4SxbLcYM1KLZTtNb-DN-JgaZxwYuVBkUOwW_E_hbfHnpM3E32fJ2JwUsmKGXpwSPAn20dd3YDSD53R5/w400-h166/IMG_1284~photo.heic" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ryan and Mary were spectacular hosts!! What a fantastic visit.</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Another
day we got to tour NASA’s Johnson Space Center outside of Houston. I'm just going to say it: it was even better than the Air and Space Museum in Washington DC. There were
pieces and replicas of history that I remember vividly, that we walked through
and got to touch. Like Skylab and an emptied 747 transport for the space shuttle
(named “NASA 905”) and a very cool replica of the Space Shuttle Independence.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVhTi7nh0LOR8cFvDABXm5WKSrZJqdLTPfm6LsrP1DCpbamY_PlYlxBlyHHG-N6a8FFA7ok2HoWVfDNKVPPndT4yUNFvzGla-5tvAolTRAwMG2rSj4iYSSLq2FE1ll2GQc9GgpKod4s2384vVk8GJwDnZqSM69DQmWPX6CRz4bL4NBuRrdcijZ1c9X/s3089/Shuttle%20and%20Carrier.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3089" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVhTi7nh0LOR8cFvDABXm5WKSrZJqdLTPfm6LsrP1DCpbamY_PlYlxBlyHHG-N6a8FFA7ok2HoWVfDNKVPPndT4yUNFvzGla-5tvAolTRAwMG2rSj4iYSSLq2FE1ll2GQc9GgpKod4s2384vVk8GJwDnZqSM69DQmWPX6CRz4bL4NBuRrdcijZ1c9X/s320/Shuttle%20and%20Carrier.jpg" width="313" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's pretty clear as soon as you arrive<br />on campus that you are about to<br />experience All Things Spacey</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgVjnLCmCf-62TICMxjripHdr6HTpXbpK46SiOM__FjbrE7s64ECzxKZPq6mzC-4N3WGlr14C6ZYrBvrEMt-mZ-Tf14iqT0Icwuz1yTW7oTdCs1X3EquECXqRWqJs3xAF9YztKMag_A8ByLdZI-_6xPN6NFw2icCmw7A38-FMp7WI-FNow1Hmzz2NF/s4032/IMG_1176~photo.HEIC" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgVjnLCmCf-62TICMxjripHdr6HTpXbpK46SiOM__FjbrE7s64ECzxKZPq6mzC-4N3WGlr14C6ZYrBvrEMt-mZ-Tf14iqT0Icwuz1yTW7oTdCs1X3EquECXqRWqJs3xAF9YztKMag_A8ByLdZI-_6xPN6NFw2icCmw7A38-FMp7WI-FNow1Hmzz2NF/s320/IMG_1176~photo.HEIC" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Inside the original 747 that was repurposed<br />as a SCA (Shuttle Carrier Aircraft).<br />It was fascinating to walk around inside<br />a stripped-down airplane!</td></tr></tbody></table>
<p class="MsoNormal">The absolute
highlight, though, was going inside a 1960s-era cement block of a building,
climbing some old metal stairs, and emerging into the observation gallery for the historic
Mission Control Center. You know, where the first moon landing (among others)
was managed and to which the iconic understatement, “Houston, we have a problem”
was broadcast.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The moment
we entered the building housing Mission Control, I was smacked by a flood of
childhood memories prompted by a smell I had never realized was a smell at all.
The entire room – indeed, the entire building – smelled like the 1970s. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It was a
plastic smell mixed with metal. It was slightly mechanical and electrical, and
entirely synthetic. It was the smell of enormous computers and old typewriters
and vinyl office chairs and linoleum that probably contains asbestos. The smell
was so defined and distinct and glorious. I stood in the room and breathed in the
reminiscent aroma so many times, I got a little light-headed from not exhaling enough.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">With that nostalgia
as a backdrop, I shouldn’t be surprised that I actually cried as I sat in the
original nubby orange upholstered chairs in the Gallery and stared at the largely
original and painstakingly refurbished Apollo-era Mission Control Center just a
pane of glass away.</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh63NMMIxnzUZH6rwpoGLqFAEsVeQPl_tVlHQKRs563laoCDtcocjhwLj6TZh57GITcz7D7m07BbUijZKvzIZZeALbqIgN6mFTW5C51-ahlzaYU6t1oW_Kjd0cs0f25wIdpLoPDsLFAigjbxAys-QLamagLageWDWAngoNQloIdau8aT4GcZysFbNeT/s4032/IMG_1115~photo.HEIC" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh63NMMIxnzUZH6rwpoGLqFAEsVeQPl_tVlHQKRs563laoCDtcocjhwLj6TZh57GITcz7D7m07BbUijZKvzIZZeALbqIgN6mFTW5C51-ahlzaYU6t1oW_Kjd0cs0f25wIdpLoPDsLFAigjbxAys-QLamagLageWDWAngoNQloIdau8aT4GcZysFbNeT/s320/IMG_1115~photo.HEIC" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">For a fascinating description of the process to<br />bring Mission Control back to 1960s glory, <br /><a href="https://forum.savingplaces.org/blogs/forum-online/2020/04/28/to-the-moon-and-back-preserving-mission-control" target="_blank">read this interview</a> with two of the folks involved.<br />Apparently this restoration is pretty recent,<br />being completed just in time for the <br />50th Anniversary of the Lunar Landing</td></tr></tbody></table>
<p class="MsoNormal">I was overwhelmed
by the history of the room I was sitting in. The accomplishments, the national
pride, the devastation, the unfathomable stress, the unbridled relief and
celebration. And then, THEN I sort of lost it when the screens lit up and the
speakers whirred and the final several minutes of the moon landing on July 20,
1969 were replayed as they were experienced when one giant leap for mankind
occurred.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigi8TgI-ctUvdqBoE6eJCY-viT5lZJ_cje1mVmd4G48bIGh7GNBvTHoAEKPExhBXcfROswTfL8cuWOl4FTZsyd2yUWZo0wyAcEoSF3awtsrZX5QEjyUkLbgjDVrGVjIAdPKI05MJa0Jex4B1t-_MGAhS_FNWwF6kWFY8gMHGFGAti7x54TOhSvACj7/s4032/IMG_1105~photo.HEIC" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigi8TgI-ctUvdqBoE6eJCY-viT5lZJ_cje1mVmd4G48bIGh7GNBvTHoAEKPExhBXcfROswTfL8cuWOl4FTZsyd2yUWZo0wyAcEoSF3awtsrZX5QEjyUkLbgjDVrGVjIAdPKI05MJa0Jex4B1t-_MGAhS_FNWwF6kWFY8gMHGFGAti7x54TOhSvACj7/s320/IMG_1105~photo.HEIC" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Because it was 1969, this was the technology<br />to keep track of where the astronauts were <br />on the moon in relation to the TV field of view<br />(which is noted on the white label under the<br />hand). As the astronauts moved around, the<br />man's hand moved the little cutouts.</td></tr></tbody></table>
<p class="MsoNormal">I have had
the honor of visiting a lot of historical places and yet very few have elicited
this deep of an emotional reaction from me. I blame the smell. I think it
transported me. Absolutely on my Top 10 Travel Experiences ever.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMJtLmx1vN84zbEysY1ELyoN1DqHMsUy38Z5DXS4FKHjpaagObGIAmXz6mcnfgm2mMES54lsle_Lrhf9J1-Mr1cVl9HeWUo50GuILzyJbjkfUhmeDuzFGAWOInol1AhtfK6k9bs3iF-iQdpzJSfTVi_IF1H1YMmz3bpZe2g-l5ZM7NwYfrPBBRpW8n/s3088/IMG_1124~photo.HEIC" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2320" data-original-width="3088" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMJtLmx1vN84zbEysY1ELyoN1DqHMsUy38Z5DXS4FKHjpaagObGIAmXz6mcnfgm2mMES54lsle_Lrhf9J1-Mr1cVl9HeWUo50GuILzyJbjkfUhmeDuzFGAWOInol1AhtfK6k9bs3iF-iQdpzJSfTVi_IF1H1YMmz3bpZe2g-l5ZM7NwYfrPBBRpW8n/s320/IMG_1124~photo.HEIC" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">LOVE the font, too!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">So yeah,
our Bucket List Trip to Texas and Louisiana sort of exceeded all our expectations
and was truly one of the best vacations we have taken in a long time. A
long-held dream was realized, relationships were deepened, and history and
childhoods came back to life for brief moments of overwhelming clarity,
emotion, and appreciation. </p><p class="MsoNormal">SO grateful to be doing the things instead of just
talking about them. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<p></p><p></p>Toni at Woodhavenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14376655175018122805noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-400828308445468217.post-833713646618148602023-03-15T08:12:00.002-07:002023-03-15T08:53:51.115-07:00Hear’s a story<p>I can barely believe that exactly one year ago, I met a
freelance editor over mochas and handed her a red binder containing what I
thought was my pretty-much-done book for its first review. Between that editor
and even more so Rob, I was rather surprised to discover a few weeks later that I had a lot of writing
yet to craft. Nevertheless, I thought
the hard part of self-publishing a book was mostly behind me.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Bwahahahahahaha!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It turns out producing a book almost entirely by yourself is
quite a process. Especially when you have never done it before. But thanks to
stubbornness and YouTube, I eventually cracked the code on Amazon’s extensive formatting
requirements for both a print and e-reader version of my book. I was ecstatic to
finally claim victory over Kindle Direct Publishing just a few brain-stretching
months after the mochas and announce to the world that my book was available to read.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>WHOO HOO!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">But the celebration was short-lived because I knew there was
still one critical hurdle left to leap over: producing an audiobook version.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOIEZcqhnbXbi9kapWmnGArQyBN7TRNNO889JPNG00vyx6BcLeMBLGBArlEHZr1FqJq459K0OqV4Gg37UOpC-0ExHBvKNSJ5Ci-5QFlWK4iuijQAhUtqOU0iLlAJWNae6WvDxMh3060STLRPC8pa8XvQGAf1VbRhfnJl_ik3Ec9WSq7WsdH0QOEtjg/s1008/Brady%20bunch.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="692" data-original-width="1008" height="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOIEZcqhnbXbi9kapWmnGArQyBN7TRNNO889JPNG00vyx6BcLeMBLGBArlEHZr1FqJq459K0OqV4Gg37UOpC-0ExHBvKNSJ5Ci-5QFlWK4iuijQAhUtqOU0iLlAJWNae6WvDxMh3060STLRPC8pa8XvQGAf1VbRhfnJl_ik3Ec9WSq7WsdH0QOEtjg/s320/Brady%20bunch.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I kept envisioning my recording studio would look<br />something like this, minus the groovy hot pants.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><b>Why bother making an audiobook?</b><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">When you are in pain, sometimes reading or even holding a
book can take way too much energy and be way beyond your capabilities. I
distinctly remember having to abandon reading the newly popular Harry Potter series while
recovering from my first back surgery. The mystical tomes were too big and
heavy and slid around on my plastic back brace when I tried to prop them up
while reading in bed. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> I had to settle instead for the movies</span>.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">So my gut told me that an audio version of my book about
living with chronic pain would meet a distinct need of my target audience. But my
head told me it was full and tired from being stuffed with so much new
information from learning how to birth the print and e-reader versions. So I
took a little breather. Which stretched into about six months. Apparently I
needed a lot of air.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I eventually made some progress by editing my book for
listening instead of reading. Changes like describing charts, removing photos,
deciding how to speak years (“two thousand twenty” or “twenty twenty”?),
introducing and ending quotes, adding in a greeting, deleting the index and
bibliography, and setting up a page on my book’s website that includes links to
resources I reference.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Then I stalled out due to fear of the unknown. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">In an effort to convince myself I wasn’t totally
procrastinating, I poked around a little here and there, trying to figure out
how one goes about making an audiobook. Most of what I found terrified me. It
was either going to cost me thousands of dollars to rent a sound studio and its
accompanying engineer, or it was going to require learning a whole new world of
sound production and software involving concepts like “room tone” and “noise
floor” and “headroom.” So I mostly avoided the Audiobook Project, busying
myself instead with discovering that Amazon Ads is quite a money maker…for
Amazon.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Eventually, though, I couldn’t stand it anymore. That
lingering, persistent sense that there were people out there who might be
helped by my book who nonetheless could not easily read it. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Indeed, I had two very real examples. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Donna is a dear friend’s mom who has a host of health issues
which make reading both challenging and exhausting. Serena is the blind daughter
of a woman Rob went to college with. Both friends gently asked early on if
an audio version of “I’m FINE.” was available.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I knew there was a demand of at least two listeners. Frankly, that
was enough to confirm my hunch and keep me motivated. Seriously. I kept
photos of Donna and Serena next to my microphone to remind me – often – that
the insanely steep learning curve of a DIY audiobook was undeniably worth climbing.</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheT7ebp70QR1N12ADqyjTuSgFW3jxchJNGYWBedvW9pm-VAw1z6nT2I6asv1QP8I_5vyBUHW-fswLMesp85w12q8hPWwxmxjm_GeoKD1XMJwTjJP8k-TPRCQhIiXFJUB6TOf2x5vKmfOjB_-wGELvV02VV1yZNvexZ5NblITKAbT3HfqEKzOj_0WeT/s750/333524695_1195074011210351_7297970846975675886_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="685" data-original-width="750" height="292" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheT7ebp70QR1N12ADqyjTuSgFW3jxchJNGYWBedvW9pm-VAw1z6nT2I6asv1QP8I_5vyBUHW-fswLMesp85w12q8hPWwxmxjm_GeoKD1XMJwTjJP8k-TPRCQhIiXFJUB6TOf2x5vKmfOjB_-wGELvV02VV1yZNvexZ5NblITKAbT3HfqEKzOj_0WeT/s320/333524695_1195074011210351_7297970846975675886_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I just figured out a new app to blur their beautiful-<br />but-respecting-their-privacy faces! Go barely-<br />keeping-up-with-the-times me!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>Trudging up the learning curve</b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The process of making an audiobook all by my lonesome was
pretty intense. Yes, that means I recorded the book myself using my own voice. My
research said that non-fiction audiobooks are very often read by the authors and
that listeners actually prefer it that way (fiction books with lots of
characters and dialog are another story). I loved that confirming little nugget
since I was not about to hire a narrator. I am both too cheap and too much of a
control freak to let my words and heart be spoken by someone else. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The next step was figuring out what software to use. My
research (soooo much research) pointed to some audio recording and editing
software called Audacity. Its biggest advantages were: 1) I had the barest of
familiarity with it from editing podcasted sermons at my church years ago; and
2) it is free.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Audacity’s biggest disadvantage was that it is used for all sorts
of audio recording applications so it has a ton of features I would never need.
And trying to decipher the useful from the extraneous was going to take a lot
of work. Not to mention trying to figure out how to match up Amazon’s mind-boggling audio requirements with Audacity’s menus upon menus of choices. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">A ”what have I got to lose?” question thrown out to a
Facebook group of self-help DIYers yielded a much better alternative. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Hindenburg Narrator’s biggest advantage was that the software was
designed specifically for people to record, edit, and produce audiobooks.
SCORE! It also has an amazing sanity-saving feature that automatically fixes your files to
make Amazon happy. That made me SUPER DUPER happy. Decibels, smeshibels. Narrator
would take care of it!!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Narrator’s biggest disadvantage was, despite appearances, the paltry
instruction provided online or elsewhere to give solid direction to the newbie
audiobook producer. So I had to trudge through the Hindenburg forest largely on
my own with only the most general of maps to guide me. There was a lot of trial and error and lots more disparaging
words as I eventually figured out how to use the darned software. I am now lightly considering learning how to produce a “How To Use Hindenburg Narrator” YouTube video to help
spare other DIY authors the pain of self discovery.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Next up: my “sound studio.” Yet more research suggested I
needed to find the quietest room in my house, which for most people is a
closet. Yep, a closet because it is filled with clothes that absorb sound. It
also does not likely have a vent that blasts in noisy air. That all made sense
but it sounded rather cumbersome. I really didn’t relish the idea of having to
sidestep a table, chair, and microphone every time I needed to change clothes.
Not to mention asking Rob to do the same. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It took about a week of orders, returns, borrowing,
reconfiguring, redecorating, and revisiting the photos of Donna and Serena to
finally determine a recording setup that would yield good quality sound
without totally disrupting our lives or killing my back (or so I adorably thought).
I tried 2 locations, 3 chairs, 4 microphones, and 3 desks before finally
landing on this:</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaiRUwJpzk3i-gtK86b3OOym0NRyPhKR-HIQezc3ruVDr_LZoHsXI4UJNUHMsQvF_Y5DI_Q9SzuA2Q-whIfuEPUhkWoflb4MjUD9GyrBAsIbblpV4kaVcke-aozlVY1HjeMXrtIk0elAN6SVB8kF9U6ZyLxMzBJTxhYVkvjRleVhWEwazbMcbSE5Mk/s4032/IMG_0852~photo.HEIC" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaiRUwJpzk3i-gtK86b3OOym0NRyPhKR-HIQezc3ruVDr_LZoHsXI4UJNUHMsQvF_Y5DI_Q9SzuA2Q-whIfuEPUhkWoflb4MjUD9GyrBAsIbblpV4kaVcke-aozlVY1HjeMXrtIk0elAN6SVB8kF9U6ZyLxMzBJTxhYVkvjRleVhWEwazbMcbSE5Mk/s320/IMG_0852~photo.HEIC" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I get a little twitchy just looking <br />at this photo. Dismantling my<br />"studio" was a happy day!</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZkbLx7ahNOYszYUXte7_-GTuuDz3RR7xBblXttgKLUehdF-GMcL9V1spKWJzMgYXQiKKh0l1F9xyngO5Sbkh5d7NbKQDatWopiornm99yuEfaL5k2SY2YbUtI2iIaPlLr95eKwV7ot5J-XXUt_xRBmTw6rBnkBHH1CFqz8NBtuVBoU0uKGpi9rGHc/s3949/Picture1.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2475" data-original-width="3949" height="201" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZkbLx7ahNOYszYUXte7_-GTuuDz3RR7xBblXttgKLUehdF-GMcL9V1spKWJzMgYXQiKKh0l1F9xyngO5Sbkh5d7NbKQDatWopiornm99yuEfaL5k2SY2YbUtI2iIaPlLr95eKwV7ot5J-XXUt_xRBmTw6rBnkBHH1CFqz8NBtuVBoU0uKGpi9rGHc/s320/Picture1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A couple of abandoned set-ups. Among items not shown: <br />gaming microphone headset, music stand, bar stool, <br />wireless keyboard, and noise-canceling headphones. <br />SUPER grateful for Rob helping me brainstorm solutions!</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">My sound studio was a guest bedroom with a closed air vent
on the opposite side of the room. I sat on a desk chair with 3 pillows, had a
stepstool covered with a pillowcase as a footrest, and placed a box lined with
acoustic foam on a craft table covered with a thick blanket. I placed my small laptop
deep into the foam box and wore a lapel microphone clipped to the center of a
crewneck t-shirt. My laptop's increasingly too-small screen showed both my manuscript and the soundwaves
as I spoke into the microphone connected to the software. By shimmying up close to the box, the foam surprisingly
absorbed lots of extraneous sound. I remain mystified why my research talked a
lot more about stuffy closets and a lot less about foam boxes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For what it was (cheap and functional), the "portable vocal booth box" worked quite well.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>The process<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I quickly identified a Recording Uniform. Each day I was
recording, I wore quiet clothes – cotton pants, socks without shoes, and a
crewneck t-shirt so the clip-on microphone was always in the same place. And always
short sleeves since the air vent and door were closed leaving the room pretty
stuffy. I didn’t wear earrings or my watch (yeah, I’m old that way). And, after
several days of searing headaches and weird dizziness, I added computer glasses
over my bifocals which ended up helping a ton.</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh63q4jJgzGpvwKpItJF3LmUEl03GBUgSOsq0nF9G-FsNv1s49wCkYhXgiZo7hDuOZ4SkldEGaJ7xDaeR-GVBDK0I3TXqLT4GxncKDjsL9SBNkZXqsX_2d8BekSf2EYacckPppXjnJ-lN_vdWyFWAjT8CKGsqFJ5J1c8MGIw7K7GXVeKsQGxLU-aJhY/s3024/IMG_0862~photo-full.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh63q4jJgzGpvwKpItJF3LmUEl03GBUgSOsq0nF9G-FsNv1s49wCkYhXgiZo7hDuOZ4SkldEGaJ7xDaeR-GVBDK0I3TXqLT4GxncKDjsL9SBNkZXqsX_2d8BekSf2EYacckPppXjnJ-lN_vdWyFWAjT8CKGsqFJ5J1c8MGIw7K7GXVeKsQGxLU-aJhY/s320/IMG_0862~photo-full.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Unfortunately, I cannot read very well with my<br />monovision contacts, so this was the best solution.<br />I also discovered wearing two sets of glasses<br />made my nose hurt. Fun times!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">My days eventually fell into a pattern of recording from
late morning to early evening and then editing at night. I discovered my voice
was sort of scratchy and phlegmy at the beginning of the day and super tired
and low energy at the end of the day. Plus my back hurt and my eyes and head
ached from sitting and staring at a bright screen while recording, so lounging in bed while editing files provided
a good body balance. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I determined drinking cold water was best; anything hot
produced phlegm and a lot of throat-clearing. And bubbles were a big, burpy
no-no. Based on research (did I mention I did some?), I snacked on green apples
to keep my stomach from making noises while also keeping saliva at bay. I also
avoided dairy.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Editing was by far the most time-consuming part of producing
my audiobook. It took at least 5 times as long to edit my 200-page book as it
did to record it. What was I editing out? Some computer noise and mouse clicks
but mostly breathing. So much breathing. Turns out I breathe a lot.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I also had to stop and rerecord frequently. Flubbed a word,
wrong pronunciation, too fast, too slow, no energy, phlegm, trying to say
“anonymity.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">And I discovered – despite living in a rather remote, rural
setting – Woodhaven is LOUD. Things I never noticed before were SO NOISY when I
was trying to record. Things like soft rain falling, snow melting, Rob laughing
on a phone call downstairs, hunters entertaining themselves with target
practice, the &*$# birds in the morning. I was astonished by how noisy nature is.</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0X2iLcv9npMpQZnT56iT0Gjfkdu8-CepiKyjXdGc33PQgXaczVXqiuGCjw5NN56r8uI-y483JbGZQqHkbXro_BFJI4L-DNuDT23YUgGKOVcrSXPUvkexGR0Mi9Cq-kwEoSSM6qmNLdf3QoRIPfF4iHCYz7850JjBB3Fi4FHVClL77BwPj-ub6w6jz/s3024/IMG_0865~photo-full.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0X2iLcv9npMpQZnT56iT0Gjfkdu8-CepiKyjXdGc33PQgXaczVXqiuGCjw5NN56r8uI-y483JbGZQqHkbXro_BFJI4L-DNuDT23YUgGKOVcrSXPUvkexGR0Mi9Cq-kwEoSSM6qmNLdf3QoRIPfF4iHCYz7850JjBB3Fi4FHVClL77BwPj-ub6w6jz/s320/IMG_0865~photo-full.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">For the most part, the short lines needed to<br />be deleted. This is about two-sentences worth<br />of sound. Imagine 200 pages of sentences...</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><br /></b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b>The stats</b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">By the time I was done, I had clocked about 69 hours of
recording and editing to produce an audiobook that is 6 hours and 6 minutes
long. Yes, I kept a log and no, oddly, it is not in a spreadsheet…yet. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">And how long did it take me to slog through those 69 hours? <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">11 days. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Yes, I worked on my audiobook for 11 days straight. The
longest day was 10 hours, the shortest was 2.5 hours. I spent an average of
6.25 hours per day working on the audiobook.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I do not recommend this speed of attack. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">But you see, once I got going, I wanted to be done. It was
such a tedious process (the editing), I just wanted to get it over with. And we were going on a trip and I didn’t want
the project hanging over me while we were gone. Plus, you know, Donna and
Serena.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">But the real driving force behind the marathon sprint to
complete the audiobook in near record time?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Hindenburg software had a 30-day free trial. Did I mention I’m
cheap? <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Oh, it gets worse. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The price per month to lease the software after the 30-day
free trial? $12. Yep. Did I also mention I am very driven and
goal-oriented, especially when I have a deadline – even a self-imposed one?
You can’t put a price on that. Not even $12 per month.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Rob took amazing care of me during my hiatus from life. He knows
his wife well and that there was no point in trying to stop me once I had my goal in sight. Turning the tables on some of his most intense grad school
classes, <i>Rob</i> kept <i>me</i> fed and watered as I went to work upstairs
each morning, utterly absorbed in finishing in a few weeks what should have
taken at least a few months. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As
expensive as a sound engineer might have been – and believe you me, there were
times I fantasized about having hired one – you cannot buy that level of
support, encouragement, understanding, love, and acceptance of reality.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b>The finished product<o:p></o:p></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">By the time I was finally done talking into a foam box, I
had 25 audio files ready to upload for Amazon’s final scrutiny and (hopefully)
approval. Research (again!) revealed Amazon has actual humans listen to
submitted audiobooks before being accepted for sale on their platform. What
these humans were evaluating is a mystery. And how I might have fixed any
problems they identified was an even greater mystery, as I was pretty tapped
out on learning what Narrator has to offer.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">So it was with ENORMOUS relief that I opened the
“Congratulations!” email from Amazon nine eternal days after submission. And with six days to spare on my 30-day free trial! Gold
star for driving hard towards a goal! And for the concession that perhaps the drive
was a little too much and a whole lot unnecessary. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Making the audiobook version of “I’m FINE.” was by far the
most daunting, frustrating, tedious, and literally painful part of this whole
authorship adventure so far. And also one that I am particularly proud to have
conquered. Although having an agent or a professional publisher to guide and
hold my hand through all these steps would have been much less terrifying and
overwhelming, I am pretty stoked that this middle-aged dog can still learn some
new tricks, especially when $12 per month is at stake. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Is my audiobook professionally produced with consistent
pacing, uniform voice tone, and the complete absence of unidentified background
noises? No. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Is it done and available for listeners who need it?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>YES! </p><p class="MsoNormal">Hallelujah and amen!</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpxrdKALyf8gq_ilmatEO6_zTci3VxRhO_DfWlyownIi77uDspKXNw6-PctwKHJTv3ke6qUXwsS8k1RacD7M_0BPhwr7A-bztPXUFjqwVDEonYgj3MjNMwZlGrGO7NUUjqVO1-DHCDbuP8u-DMaPkuwzPJXG4uYWj72-6AR7vNiDfZKPI6g1wah_hW/s10000/AudioCover_ImFine%20(1).png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="10000" data-original-width="10000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpxrdKALyf8gq_ilmatEO6_zTci3VxRhO_DfWlyownIi77uDspKXNw6-PctwKHJTv3ke6qUXwsS8k1RacD7M_0BPhwr7A-bztPXUFjqwVDEonYgj3MjNMwZlGrGO7NUUjqVO1-DHCDbuP8u-DMaPkuwzPJXG4uYWj72-6AR7vNiDfZKPI6g1wah_hW/s320/AudioCover_ImFine%20(1).png" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Among the many delightful surprises along the<br />way was learning I needed a square cover for the<br />audiobook instead of a rectangular one. <br />Rockin' graphic designer to the rescue!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">You can find it on <a href="https://tinyurl.com/imfineaudioamazon" target="_blank">Amazon</a>, <a href="https://tinyurl.com/imfineaudible" target="_blank">Audible</a>, and <a href="https://tinyurl.com/imfineitunes" target="_blank">iTunes</a>! </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>Toni at Woodhavenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14376655175018122805noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-400828308445468217.post-78963997576222935142023-02-06T11:54:00.007-08:002023-02-06T14:18:36.623-08:00Not a unicorn after all<p>For nearly three years, I have been so very careful. I have
worn a mask, I have washed my hands, I have avoided large gatherings, I have
canceled plans, I have turned my car into a dining room, I have skipped
weddings and funerals and graduations and vacations. </p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">For nearly three years, every cough, sniffle, headache, and
barely-there sore throat has put me on High Alert that I might have finally
Caught It. And yet, despite so many “you might have been exposed” texts and phone
calls, I miraculously stayed Covid-free. I frankly started to wonder. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Wonder if maybe that cold I had in February 2020 was
actually Covid? Wonder if maybe I was one of those blissfully clueless asymptomatic carriers?
Wonder if maybe I was a “Superdodger” or a “Never-Covider” – a magically immune
unicorn in the midst of a potentially deadly virus?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Well, back in December I got to wonder no more. Turns out I
am very decidedly not a unicorn.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It started innocently enough. All I noticed was slight soreness
in the upper part of my throat. And it wasn’t sore when I swallowed. This was
not typical at all for any “I’m sick” sore throat I’ve ever had, so I chalked
it up to dry, wintery air and cold winds and maybe the side effects of some
exhausted snoring the night before that Rob assured me was absolutely adorable.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Then a couple of days later, while sitting in the passenger
seat while Rob and I were running errands, I felt a weird shortness of breath.
I could breathe just fine – no wheezing or feeling pressure on my chest or panic
that I couldn’t catch my breath. Instead it felt more like I just couldn’t get
a good, deep breath without thinking about it – my breaths were sort of shallow
on their own. But, that weirdness passed after a few minutes, so I decided it
was just another peculiar health moment that seems to define being in your 50s.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The next day, though, yowza.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I woke up with the worst sinus pressure of my life. I had a
massive headache and my whole face hurt. The sore throat was gone, but I
had a light, dry cough and was sneezing and had a runny nose. I was tired and
didn’t feel great, but aside from the headache I didn’t feel terribly
compromised either. But the sinus pressure – it was pretty distractingly awful.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Ever the optimist, Rob saw the look of panic on my achy face
but was certain I did not have Covid. He hadn’t been feeling 100% for a few days
either, but he had decided he had a sinus infection due to his head and teeth
hurting. Urgent Care had even provided him antibiotics that seemed to be helping
despite uncharacteristically leaving a bitter taste in his mouth for several
days.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">With enough snot and phlegm plaguing my head, I decided it
was time – for the first time ever – to dip into our Jenga tower of at-home
Covid tests. I had enough symptoms and organic material in my nose, I was
confident a false negative was impossible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8lrwYD2BQUeWCHPSnN1hk3Dh3BVewvyNMAruLR9MkmDvtX7hOG5ZvFr1zknbvHV5dyIgeVgNzYVplhwXtyyHBqHf2-Rd0SP9XdOeBnomYAwR0sHDaxA2RidXd3SEJUSSSGeYdJrkamcQvr3o-HuIjFn2haOOpD9ggD01GndvlYVMGRPQ_jtOtMPpL/s4032/325654705_540858177839572_6113841502130780575_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8lrwYD2BQUeWCHPSnN1hk3Dh3BVewvyNMAruLR9MkmDvtX7hOG5ZvFr1zknbvHV5dyIgeVgNzYVplhwXtyyHBqHf2-Rd0SP9XdOeBnomYAwR0sHDaxA2RidXd3SEJUSSSGeYdJrkamcQvr3o-HuIjFn2haOOpD9ggD01GndvlYVMGRPQ_jtOtMPpL/s320/325654705_540858177839572_6113841502130780575_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Perhaps now is a good time to get a <br />handle on the expiration date recommendations</td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal">Feeling like I should be wearing a lab coat and goggles, I
swabbed and clicked and carefully applied the vialed reagent drop by drop. As I
stared at the test on the bathroom counter, I had a moment of déjà vu and was
filled with relief that a possible pregnancy was not at stake. </p><p class="MsoNormal">I spent the next 20 minutes trying to figure out how long
the wait at Urgent Care might be so I, too, could get some spiffy antibiotics
for the insane sinus infection I seemed to have brewing. I also lightly
pondered if I would need to use the other test in the box just in case. Because
the instructions said the positive test line might be a very light pink color and
therefore a little iffy to read.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Returning to the bathroom, I adjusted my glasses and got
ready to intensely discern whether or not I saw a faint pink line. And the
universe laughed.</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhii57yWE1cm-osi6g-StN2-b6HHK7EofEnDqUPgkJm5MpGB7AL9i77i6ofQMg_F_jPirlQBi-_f2a3rZkdbuGySIDlBJOmOYFqdg-W_6jCU7Kn4aKvYZl7T7u2UnGE-iNeIJf4pUDe6UixrLN-70y_9QLzFHJVyj2YM1s-AMPBrs8HvPO85glgKE0l/s4032/322093422_469563218671039_1041931941073627704_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhii57yWE1cm-osi6g-StN2-b6HHK7EofEnDqUPgkJm5MpGB7AL9i77i6ofQMg_F_jPirlQBi-_f2a3rZkdbuGySIDlBJOmOYFqdg-W_6jCU7Kn4aKvYZl7T7u2UnGE-iNeIJf4pUDe6UixrLN-70y_9QLzFHJVyj2YM1s-AMPBrs8HvPO85glgKE0l/s320/322093422_469563218671039_1041931941073627704_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">For the untested, the bottom line is<br />the test result. You know, the deep <br />purple line that is more prominent <br />than the control line.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal">I spent the rest of the day on the couch staring into space.
I didn’t feel like reading or listening to a podcast or playing mindless
solitaire games. I didn’t have much motivation to do anything other than fantasize
about what life would be like with a new head because the one I had was full of
snot and was dreadfully annoying.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">That first day of confirmed positivity ended up being the
worst day of my Covidom. Each day after that was remarkably better in weird and
wonderful ways. By the third day – and by my retrospective count, the sixth day
of symptoms – I was feeling pretty much back to normal other than being tired.
But I’m always sort of tired (hey there, painsomnia!) so that really didn’t
count.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Over the course of the three most intense days of Covidity,
I – at various times – had a light cough, a massive headache, and my ears were
plugged. For one day, it felt like my tongue was coated in butter. The next
day, the tip of it felt fuzzy like I had burned it on some hot soup. Both of
those days, I couldn’t taste anything sweet and was overwhelmed by how salty
everything was, especially Kraft mac and cheese (I love salt but that orange
bowl of intended comfort was so disgustingly salty, I fear I may not ever eat
that childhood favorite again.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I wasn’t able to smell anything for a few days, but that
could have been all the congestion. In months past, I had wondered – and even
Googled – what “brain fog” was. I can now describe it as feeling slightly drunk
– like, you know what you are doing and saying but you have to double-check
everything and go a lot slower and work a lot harder to make sure you aren’t
forgetting something. Far as I can tell, the brain fogginess only lingered for
a few days. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The common theme here is “a few days.” Thank God that’s all
Covid really amounted to for me. But that was the terror in the thick of it: I
did not know if anything I was experiencing was incredibly temporary or would
linger for weeks or would become a new chronic issue that I would have to learn
to live with. Not knowing how long the symptoms would last, not knowing if I
would end up with long-Covid, not knowing if new symptoms would appear, not
knowing if I was going to end up in the hospital. The uncertainty was by far
the worse symptom. It was indeed like having a really bad cold, but more like
having one for the first time in my life and having no idea what to expect from
it.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I tried not to panic over thoughts of never being able to
enjoy wine again or having to swim through the rest of my life feeling like my
ears had water in them or having to build in extra time to do every little
thing to allow my brain to keep up. I am so profoundly grateful that all of
that was truly just a few days. And that I was able to treat my symptoms at
home with the only-recently-expired stash of OTC meds Rob and I stocked up in
April 2020. Tylenol, Mucinex, and Afrin for the win!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Speaking of gratitude, there is an enormous and unexpected
relief to having finally Gotten It. For the first time in three years, I am not
terrified of getting sick. I no longer wonder how my body will react to this
unpredictable virus. I no longer fear adding to my list of chronic adventures.
It was fascinating to watch my body learn how to fight the virus from the hints
I shot into it four times. It learned quickly. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">And for the first time in nearly three years, I can not tell
you what the current Covid case number is in my county. That number is
published in our local newspaper every Thursday, but hyper data freaks know
where to find it on Wednesday night. But I incredibly do not know what that
number is – and if it is trending up or down or largely holding steady. And I
haven’t known – or cared – for a while now. </p><p class="MsoNormal">That honestly is even better than being
a unicorn.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>Toni at Woodhavenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14376655175018122805noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-400828308445468217.post-15329870962679062692023-01-20T17:28:00.001-08:002023-01-20T17:39:40.224-08:00How my book is doing<p>It seems odd that just about 7 months ago, I announced the
publication and availability of <a href="https://tinyurl.com/getimfinebook" target="_blank">my first-ever book</a>. As with many things, it seems
like that lay-it-all-out-there announcement was both just a few days ago and sometime
in the 20-teens.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">My biggest cheerleaders have been incredibly kind to periodically
ask, “How’s your book doing??” For the longest time – and still to some
degree – my best, most honest answer has been, “I have no idea.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The truth is, I haven’t been sure how to measure success in
putting my heart and life in book form and releasing it to the world. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Sure, there are metrics. So many metrics. Like over 300
copies are currently circulating about, over 95% of which have been in paper
form (I guess e-books aren’t as big a thing as I thought?).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can legitimately claim to be an
international author due to one smashing sale in the UK in November. At one
point in early December, my book was the 5<span style="font-size: 13.3333px;">th</span> “Best Selling Book in
Chronic Pain” on Amazon (today it is #67 - easy come, easy go). I ordered a
second batch of business cards in October. An adorable local bookstore is
carrying my book on its shelves. And 14 very kind folks have taken the time to
leave supportive reviews of “I’m FINE.” on Amazon.</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTQVZw8Hv1vOwV2E3uqeHbU8dYoDZGzCUTIVoje21WNhzuIIzD7GNVD-b_KCMTYj6LNyhwAIMM91SqLsP81jrpd47kHqNHf_3TsUkjif2AvnlX6DOP_fylOQvAMk_Tg11WfT86lMSzSAidl4Qbaglmq5kB725bV7QMx8FUFyQ0X98gSk9nJUfHLkvK/s4032/Bookstore%201.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTQVZw8Hv1vOwV2E3uqeHbU8dYoDZGzCUTIVoje21WNhzuIIzD7GNVD-b_KCMTYj6LNyhwAIMM91SqLsP81jrpd47kHqNHf_3TsUkjif2AvnlX6DOP_fylOQvAMk_Tg11WfT86lMSzSAidl4Qbaglmq5kB725bV7QMx8FUFyQ0X98gSk9nJUfHLkvK/s320/Bookstore%201.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yes, a cruel irony that a book about<br />chronic pain is on the bottom shelf.<br />The owner said she would be <br />reorganizing the display.</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">But, having never published a book before, I have no idea what
these numbers really mean. In the scheme of a New York Times Bestseller (not my
goal), I know I have a loooooonnnngggg way to go, baby. But in the scheme of my actual goal of trying to get my book in the hands of people it might help, those numbers
feel encouraging for just 7 months. Especially since I’m pretty much a lone
ranger in trying to market it.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Ah, yes. Marketing. I have some experience with marketing concepts from eons ago, and I have access to a retired marketing guru (albeit
for ketchup and pudding). I contacted two local newspapers when my book first
came out. Both were incredibly kind to
write feature stories about me and my mission to help others navigating chronic
pain.</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnr4LDrDaosQOz0N279nquBRPAmHTfIG1E7cbe8AnCHpv51x88ZHjtTldiN79FOTe5wlbSbBiv7RTQgMAPQ_TaRFOjMoKfVvWfB6nYGT7uFHbOH54pa4hnd6ZCgX21Yc2-dE89A6hunkbPKcQlT2dmckJYnKzvSwokfDlsU-yE-F0H-72B2I9ez9uX/s722/Toni%20Willard%20in%20Reflector%20edited.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="551" data-original-width="722" height="244" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnr4LDrDaosQOz0N279nquBRPAmHTfIG1E7cbe8AnCHpv51x88ZHjtTldiN79FOTe5wlbSbBiv7RTQgMAPQ_TaRFOjMoKfVvWfB6nYGT7uFHbOH54pa4hnd6ZCgX21Yc2-dE89A6hunkbPKcQlT2dmckJYnKzvSwokfDlsU-yE-F0H-72B2I9ez9uX/s320/Toni%20Willard%20in%20Reflector%20edited.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Super excited to be in the local paper!<br />And super amused (eventually) to have my<br />last name totally mangled. Toni Willard?!?</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Several months later, I aborted a foray into the surprisingly
murky waters of Amazon Ads when it became clear three weeks later – after digging
into the cleverly buried sales data – that I was losing money on every ad-generated
sale. But that’s about it in terms of my Traditional Marketing Efforts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every time I think about trying to promote my
book – and myself – it feels fake. Cheesy. Spot-lighty. And totally not me. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Instead, Rob helped me immensely several months ago when he
suggested I consider my marketing plan to be Opportunistic. Instead of cold-calling
offices and sending out press releases and cultivating vaguely relevant daily
content for my book’s Facebook and Instagram accounts, Rob wisely suggested I
instead just keep my eyes open for opportunities to share my book with people.
Organic, natural, authentic, heart-led opportunities, not ones constructed and
forced. That feels much more like me.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I will admit, being a data-loving numbers person, I got a
bit sidelined by all the metrics that are supposed to measure my book’s success
and impact. I found my mood rising and falling on book sales and rankings and
reviews. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">But then…THEN…I would get an email or a phone call or a second-hand
comment that would reel me back in. Back to the real point of writing my book,
the real purpose of determinedly surviving the aching vulnerability, the real point of, well, everything: helping people. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">My heart sings and my spirit bursts with joy every single time
someone tells me my book helped them. Whether it’s a new perspective, a new
habit, a new way of describing their life with chronic pain, more confidently navigating
a surgery, or truly realizing they aren’t alone – each “thank you” from people
who have read my book has meant the world to me. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">And the people I have met!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I have had coffee and phone chats and email conversations with new
friends who were so brave to use the email address I offer at the end of my
book. Sure, including that email has produced some interesting offers of
business partnerships, but I am so thankful I gulped and included that email
despite my fears of making myself so very available.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But that, after all, was the whole point.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">So, when I focus on what really, truly matters, I am thrilled
to report that my book is doing AMAZING!<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>Toni at Woodhavenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14376655175018122805noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-400828308445468217.post-29243696368390357292022-12-20T09:01:00.006-08:002022-12-20T09:56:53.551-08:00Big Box Surprise<p>Last week – in the midst of a really bad pain flare-up that
had me mostly adhered to my heating pad and attending important meetings with
my pillow so I could lay down – I got an email announcing that a Christmas gift
I ordered for Rob had arrived at a Big Box Store and was ready for my requested
Curbside Pick-Up.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Knowing time was of the essence to retrieve the Super Heavy
Gift, wrap it in the trunk of my car, and enlist the help of the best neighbors
EVER to carry it into Woodhaven for me, I poured my super sore self into my SUV
and skedaddled to the store while Rob was out running errands.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">For a variety of reasons, my back-saving Curbside
arrangement did not flow smoothly. I ended up trudging inside to the Customer Service desk
with a confirmation code and determination not to cry from the pain and
frustration. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The Guy In Charge tapped away at his computer, confirming my
item was “in the back.” He dispatched young, lanky, subordinate Liam to
retrieve it.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Liam returned several minutes later with an empty cart,
assuring both me and TGIC that Rob’s gift was nowhere to be found. Proving why
he’s In Charge, TGIC ever-so-slightly rolled his eyes and told me and Liam he
would be back shortly with the heavy box.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Fully prepared to continue my scrolling through Social Media in search of more cat videos, I was surprised when Liam stared at me and said,
“Well, we have a few minutes. Shall we play a game?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Paralyzed by introverted horror, I hadn’t yet mustered an
appropriate guffaw when Liam posed a second panic-inducing query.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“What’s the name of the game where you act out words?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Charades?” I offered quietly, desperately longing for the
safety and solitude of Curbside Assistance. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Yes! Let’s play. I’ll go first.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I stood and stared at Liam, wondering if “Entertain the
Customer” was part of his Big Box Store employee training, or if he was going
rogue. I suspected rebellion.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Putting his hand on his chin, the other on his hip, Liam
narrowed his eyes and was deep in thought.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Wondering,” I offered as my first guess.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Oh, we’re not playing yet. I’m trying to remember how this
works.” I offered no help.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">In a burst of recollection, Liam held up two fingers, then
one finger, and then started motioning his hands and arms like one of those
guys on a tarmac using orange sticks to direct airplanes around. A few guesses
later, he excitedly confirmed “GO!” was the correct answer.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Liam then tugged on his ear like Carol Burnett, with a 99%
probability he has never heard of her. He was off and running on the second
word, using his long, thin arms to scoop up the air around the Customer Service
kiosk. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Catch??”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Liam was very excited. He stared at me eagerly, like a dog
wanting to play ball, waiting for me to put “GO” and “Sounds like CATCH”
together for the win.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Tired of trying to telepathically conjure the return of The
Guy In Charge, I finally stated, “GO FETCH.” Liam was elated.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“OK, now it’s your turn!” Liam exclaimed, returning to his “wondering”
pose with expectation.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">My defiant eyes bore into him. “Nope, this was YOUR idea.
This is all you. My back is spasming right now. I’m not acting out anything.” <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">When I’m in pain, my social graces get a little tenuous.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Undeterred and exhaustingly extroverted, Liam rebounded like
a champ and was suddenly rotating his fist next to his ear while the other clenched
hand lingered under his chin. Although I understood he was acting out the “MOVIE”
clue, I silently wondered if his early-20s self had any idea why that motion indicates “MOVIE.” Similarly,
does Gen Z know why lifting an extended thumb and pinky to your ear means “CALL
ME”? I really wanted to spend my wait time pondering these generational questions,
but Liam was tugging on his ear again.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Sounds like,” I said, almost hiding my resignation.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">With great flourish, Liam pointed to a nearby shelving unit
stocked with online orders that weren’t so very far away in the back of the
store.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Shelf?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">So much excited, expectant nodding.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Elf?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Much celebration. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“You know, it would have been more fun if you had acted out
being an elf,” I coached Liam, hoping this would end the game and change the
topic of conversation. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Instead, inspired by the challenge, Liam was soon on his knees,
scooting around the cement floor.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“No, you look more like a dwarf,” I explained with pain-induced
social grace.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Liam started pantomiming a pointy hat and ears and hammering
on an imaginary toy.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Much better!” I said to both Liam and The Guy In Charge who
had blessedly returned with Rob’s Heavy Gift on a cart.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Several minutes later, as I gratefully watched the surprisingly
strong Liam lift Rob’s present into the back of my car, I asked Liam if he had taken
Drama classes in school. He demurred and explained they never fit into
his schedule.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“You know, you actually have a talent for this. I was able
to figure out your clues pretty quickly. You should really look into acting.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">For a brief second, Liam looked like he might cry. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I asked him if he had heard of a local community playhouse,
one that does about four plays per year and hires people of all ages. When Liam
said he hadn’t heard of it but would think about it, I uncharacteristically
demanded, “Get out your phone.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">With a surprised, “YES, MA’AM!” speed, Liam had his phone in
his hand and was typing the search words as I dictated them. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As he scrolled through the theater’s website,
I closed the trunk and approached the driver’s side door.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Good luck with your acting career!” I called out as I drove
away. </p><p class="MsoNormal">Although I smiled with relief to have survived Liam's impromptu game of Charades, I smiled bigger at the hope that he will soon find a bigger stage than the Customer Service Desk at a Big Box Store.<o:p></o:p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglMCxDsgC9e2-WlZ9NX5Emc0n-fj3JMrHL9bYc9JJMeUfOm1MRBz7ciTQRuAE2CCdCPk0liHhzNKWyNUie7VYhLGBNkI2grT2k-UfmT7ws46Ywq9z7_kBfjRLdxNxDKpxhi4njBwQ2J8NpQ6Uwe8qq-OdhcsdjOSX3QEUC8ZAoKTNaXNDIuVcTnY8N/s1000/320687611_913140459679509_6674906405948690467_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="750" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglMCxDsgC9e2-WlZ9NX5Emc0n-fj3JMrHL9bYc9JJMeUfOm1MRBz7ciTQRuAE2CCdCPk0liHhzNKWyNUie7VYhLGBNkI2grT2k-UfmT7ws46Ywq9z7_kBfjRLdxNxDKpxhi4njBwQ2J8NpQ6Uwe8qq-OdhcsdjOSX3QEUC8ZAoKTNaXNDIuVcTnY8N/w300-h400/320687611_913140459679509_6674906405948690467_n.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I wrapped this in a parking lot without attracting <br />too much attention. The bottom is not wrapped;<br />rotating it was enough work. It only took Rob<br />about 36 hours to notice it near the Christmas tree.<br />Thank you again for the neighborly heavy lifting, <br />Karin and Makayla!<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>Toni at Woodhavenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14376655175018122805noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-400828308445468217.post-65531799681601151152022-11-02T18:34:00.005-07:002022-11-03T05:47:47.004-07:00Of all things to go semi-viral...<p>Technology is so weird.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Being an elder Gen Xer, I distinctly remember Life Before.
Life that included typewriters and White Out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Phones that attached to the wall. Damp copies of school handouts that were
printed in purple ink and smelled funky. Friendships that were pretty much only
made in person.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">These days I am doing my best to embrace Life Now. A contraption
that is smaller and lighter than the raddest Sony Walkman allows me to talk to
people, send immediate notes to people, take photos, listen to music, and
answer just about any oddball question that meanders through my brain (recent
Google searches include “llama in car“ and “words of love that start with j”).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal">This Handheld Magical Wonder allows me to see
my front door and talk to delivery people from the comfort of, well, anywhere.
It connects me to my entryway lamp and my cooling mattress pad and a fancy
cooking implement and my car. Thanks to its mystical powers, I have friends I
have never met and strangers who follow my musings from across oceans. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I’ve done a pretty good job learning and accepting and trying to keep up, albeit through the bottom portion of my progressive lenses.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">But this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This I just
don’t get.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFMzVqK2BAPW35UAZQmaob-4yBDnkL9Taoc-QS6j7a9GSoRiX8-NIeNWkDZMhma0W7ra7vvVJ1t-o5u2sy25uJea5-PVT_EEdRrPcBkYLhtTR3MeRPgj8Nzv4jVYfjMI3uoZKlw0EcgX9g1JY5U6pY89OPW3PEIR4vv4bZQu9YqMNsDupFFbkHKNNB/s1293/312926592_891824175534333_8462242167910936276_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1293" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFMzVqK2BAPW35UAZQmaob-4yBDnkL9Taoc-QS6j7a9GSoRiX8-NIeNWkDZMhma0W7ra7vvVJ1t-o5u2sy25uJea5-PVT_EEdRrPcBkYLhtTR3MeRPgj8Nzv4jVYfjMI3uoZKlw0EcgX9g1JY5U6pY89OPW3PEIR4vv4bZQu9YqMNsDupFFbkHKNNB/s320/312926592_891824175534333_8462242167910936276_n.jpg" width="186" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />Follow @its_the_fair for all<br />your Fairing needs!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I have an Instagram account that is public, viewable by anyone
who wants to see photos 4-H animals, stage hypnotists, grade school art
masterpieces, and me eating ridiculous quantities of calorie-laden Fair Food. A
little less than 150 people follow my Fair-dedicated account, which is pretty
small (baked, loaded) potatoes for anyone seriously trying to have a social
media presence (spoiler alert: I am not). <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Back in September, I posted an innocent little video of a
team of draft horses expertly parking their wooden carriage in a dirt arena at
the Washington State Fair in Puyallup. It’s all of 23 seconds long and ends with
somewhat thunderous applause if you have your volume at its highest level. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Click this link to view <a href="https://www.youtube.com/shorts/9qinf4O_meo" target="_blank">The Almost-Viral Draft Horse Video</a><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">For reasons I can only amuse myself to conjure, this short video
is apparently all the rage in India. Every day, more draft horse fanatics “Like” my “Reel”
– mostly men and mostly in India based on their names and the randomly selected
profiles I occasionally stalk. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As of
this writing, this innocuous video of 6 horsies parking a cart has been “Liked”
by 734 people. And in the 3 hours since posting the video on my "It’s The Fair" YouTube channel in preparation for this ramble, another 3,600+ people have
viewed it.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">What the heck?!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I wish I understood why some videos pick up momentum while
others fall flat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I mean, my channel
also has the most adorable 6 seconds of a fluffy bunny twitching its nose,
enjoyed by a rock solid 5 fuzzy-bunny-lovers. The world demands drafting horses
over twitching bunnies? </p><p class="MsoNormal">Maybe a Millennial can explain it to me.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>Toni at Woodhavenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14376655175018122805noreply@blogger.com0