This is just a short note to let everyone know how I did down at the Indianapolis state fair with my 8 dolls and my 3 photos.
Well if any of you know me a bit you then know I have been a nervous wreck with all of this.  This is the first time I have ever had anything shown in Indy.
All 8 of my dolls got ribbons...from 2nd prize to honorable mentions.
Of the 3 photos 2 of them were hung for viewing.  There where hundreds that didnt get hung up so to be able to get 2 of them hung I felt honored.  Neither won a ribbon but I dont really care since this is my first year and I was lucky to get them hung and viewed.
I am working on 3 new dolls for next year and of course my photos too.

    As many people know, I am not a religious person...as much as people have attempted to get me to see the Light those people have failed.  I would explain to so many that if I want religion I will find it myself without the pushing of others.  Well people....I still have not found the religion so many have desired for me BUT!
    I have always been openminded about each and every religion and belief...even when some of those religions and beliefs are nothing which I have seen before.  This weekend was one of those times to view another religious belief when my husband Frank and I were invited to the local Ukranian Autocephalous Orthodox Church.  I had photographed their monastary last winter and sent copies out to the Bishop in Michigan and he wished to see me.
    Frank and I walked into the middle their church service and I instantly fell in love with all I saw.  No it was not a religious rapture, it was the newness of it all.  The vestments showed me an ancient time.  Candles, chanting, incense and the icons....wow.  During the service my photos were mentioned and I was thanked.  None of this was expected and neither was the remainder of the day....food.
    What was to be just a short time became two hours and an invite to the next day....which I jumped at.  Another day of friendship.  Golden vestments and this time more chanters and again (yes I have gotten a big head) I was again mentioned in the service.  And again more food.
    His eminence the most reverend Vladyka Makarios ruling bishop was from Texas and a full blooded indian and the only one that spoke fluent English...thank goodness and with the most wonderful bass singing voice you can imagine.
   The very Reverend Alexander Bikowetz, Patriarch of Keiv is a wonder and always ready with a hug and ready to feed us or anyone.
    When we first arrived they were singing America the Beautiful for the 4th of July. Over the past two days I found that we as Americans take what we have for granted. Most people attending the services were those that immigrated to this country and you can see in each face as you speak with them about where they came from and where they came to.  They describe the freedoms they wanted in the country they were born in and the desire for what we in America have.  I personally could never figure out why they wanted to come here until we spoke to them.  I love this country but the adore it for everything it is...good and bad. So much was spoken about over the food that I could go on for so long about each story.
    I have been invited to return as often as I wish and have requested to photograpgh the Patriarch.  This weekend found new friends and different beliefs and great different foods and I will be happy to attend again just for those.  This was a learning, religious experience.

    Grandmas hands show age and work.  The veins are raised on the back and there are spots and small scars.  Grandmas nails are never painted because the hard work she does would only chip the colors.
    Grandmas hands know work.  Her fingers have pulled weeds and dug for worms for a fishing excursion.  Those fingers could work a splinter from a knee or flick a loose tooth out of a small mouth.  Fingers would deftly braid long hair and add a ribbon after chasing the childs tangled head of hair about the room with a brush and threats of shaving said head.
    The same fingers could spin wool on a spinning wheel,  tat lace or replace a button eye on a ragged patched doll.  Grandma can wag a threatening finger in the face of a child or swat the behind of that same child after the finger wag was never enough.  Grandma's hand could make her point quickly.
    Beds were made, clothes were washed, furnature was dusted.  The hands were seldom gloved for hard work.
    These sames hands would loveingly tuck in a child and stroke a head as it drifted off to sleep.  Pat a pink cheek and tweak the tip of a nose.  The grandmas hands were once smooth and slender and pink and strong.  They are now tired and lined.  My grandmas hands were all of these things and my grandmas hands have become my hands.
    Each thing my grandma did I did.  I watched my smooth hands change into my grandmas hard working hands and years ago I looked at hers and now I can see her hands again in mine.  These hands that spin, sew, spank, hug, clean, dig.  My hands are my grandma's hands. Each mark is a memory. Each wrinkle is my army stripes which I deserve.
   

It's that time of year to dust off the hard hat and face mask....the humming birds have returned and this time they are building homes in the nearby trees.
As much as I enjoy watching the miniscule maniac monsters of the feathered variety I have decided that they are the hyperactive child of the bird family.
These critters will buzz around my face in such as way as if they are repeating over and over agin "mom, mom, mom, mom......." and yanking on my pants to get my attention.  They live on sugar....and we all know what a child on a jolt of sugar is like, dont we?  These feathered "friends" act like a bunch of addicts looking for a quick fix when we stand in the way of the feeders or a nice juicy flower.  "Mmmmove, mmmmove, mmmmove".
And now with  their new nest they are buzzing around this tiny teaspoon sized hummingbird playpin with the appearance and sound of a huge beehive.  Of course they would never think of placing the little nest in an out of the way place.  Their nest (which they defend like a castle and we are the dragon at the gate) is directly over our car.  They come zooming down and hover directly in our face (no fear) screaming at us like we just awoke the baby.
To top all of this off the house wren couple have just moved into a wonderful new home right by the front door.  The wren is just a bit larger than the hummers and have the same attitude that we have intruded into their porch and we must (of course) remove ourselves.
This place is quickly going to the birds.  I am starting to understand Alfred Hitchcock and his movie The Birds.

Granny's Back Door

 

 

            SWACK! went the door as it was flung open.  That door didn't even have time to close before one child after another raced out of that door, shoving the closing obstacle back with another SWACK, SWACK, SWACK slamming it back on the offending wall behind it. 

            Each child never touches the three concrete steps that led out into the yard.  Flying through the air and landing with a thud, and racing on with a squeal and laugh and screaming "race you to the apple tree"!

            The door, left to finally thunk shut with two added taps.  Granny's door never had one of those modern day handle latches that needed pushed with a click before opening...this one only needed a soft shove to send it back.  It's lock was a small hook which was usually used only used to prevent a small child from pushing open the door and falling out...or used to prevent the wild kids from entering with muddy feet and crazy antics into her spotless house.

            Screech went the doors long rusty looking spring, as the door was again opened, this time by a much slower person.....Granny.  This time the weathered door opened with a slower pace and each step was utilized, along with the equally weathered iron pipe hand rail secured to those steps.  The wooden door quietly tapped back into place as it came back to rest at the door frame.   "You kid's stay out of that apple tree...you'll break it" came Granny's call, which was barley heard through the squeals of the kids.

            Granny was as every Granny was thought to look like.  Small, with her white hair pulled back in a tight bun.  Granny always had her apron ready to wipe something with it or gather up fresh vegetables from her huge garden.  A real Granny...wrinkles and all.  She may have been small but hard living and 6 kids taught her how to use a wooden spoon...not only for cooking.

            At my age of 52 I can hear or smell things that remind me of Granny's house.   The smell of the banana nut bread or pies being  pulled out of the oven and set to cool on the back porch.  It was called a porch but in fact it was a long added room for eatin' and laughin' in.  All enclosed like any other room with a long table for that job and a small table for the cooling of all kinds of tasty items Granny created.  At the other end of this eatin' porch was the door to the outside. 

            I can still hear that door SWACK open with a screech of the long rusty looking spring, which drew it back to the door frame with a thunk, tap, tap.  The door was once a bright white when new and after decades of children's, grandchildren's and then great grandchildren's hands it became chipped and worn. 

            At the end of the day I recall that those same steps which we never utilized when flying out of the house we now slowly trudged up, dragging our weary bodies up each step with the help of that iron pipe hand rail.  The door only screeched open this time, no loud SWACK this time, only a soft tap, tap as it closed in the night.

            Aint memories great?

             

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L0A13d1UxfA

In 1891 James William Lambert, of Ohio, had the worlds first automobile accident after hitting a tree root....no deaths occured.
Yes that was a very memorable moment in histroy but why has one of the most painful moment been lost from the pages of history?  I speak of the terrible and often dibilitating injury caused by a seemingly innocent piece of paper (and at times the dreaded cardboard)....the paper cut.
The inventor of paper was Ts’ai Lun in about 105 AD. On the day paper was created terror was born. I have to wonder what he did when he got the first papercut....I assume he was the first.  Were there any F bombs tossed around at that time?  Did the court executioner (notice the word cut in that job title) suddenly come up why a new way of death?  Death by paper cut.  I beat this form of death CUT down on crime...yuck yuck yuck.
Today the police and even our own government (waterboarding) question suspects for long periods of time and the only thing needed is a few sheets of papers....for the extra difficult questions a piece of cardboard.  One quick papercut will open a mouth so fast memories will come flooding back faster than the broken dikes of New Orleans.
I for one would implicate my own family in any and all terrorist plans (even if it never happened) if faced with a sharp piece of paper.  I would give names of my friends all the way back to my best friend in grade school...her name is Becky and we went to school 65 together, she lived on the other block around the corner. Are you armed with a sheet of paper and you want to take all  my money (not that I have any)?  You got it...take it all.
I have’t even started on another torture divice...getting your finger stuck for that little drop of blood needed to run 5000 tests.  I would rather they slit my wrist and let the the blood pool on the ground rather than that little stick.  Whoever came up with that idea of bloodletting should be hung up on a hook and let everyone come by with one of those little needles for "just a stick".
Oh and lets add a bit of lemon juice to the paper cuts and the needle sticks for some extra added fun and games.
p.s.
wow it just dawned on me.....a hemophiliac with a paper cut...shivver.  Damn I do have a warped mind.

We have a plethora of potholes.  Everyone thinks that they come from bad weather, but little did we know the potholes come from....POTHOLE FARMER TROLLS.
Each night the troll goes out and scatters the pothole seeds across the roads and very quickly these seeds burrow down into these roads where the roots start breaking them up.
They grow down, down, down.  And spread out widely.  Their mouths open up, first small and then as they grow they open wider and wider.  Each time an unsuspecting vehicle races over them they are urged wider. 
Many times parts of the vehicle will drop off and the drop into the pothole plant, giving the plant something to nibble...nummy.  At times whole cars will fall into the plant and disappear from sight.
It is said those people that have gone missing can be found in the bottom of these plants.  In fact there are now so many people down there that a new world has developed.
In many places towns are proud of the size of the pothole plants.  There have been measured and photographed and proudly displayed in photos hanging on walls.
There is a bumper crop of pothole plants this year...lots of bumpers in the bottom of the pothole plants....yuck yuck yuck.
Beware of the pothole plants...they are hungry.

Gum.  What more can you say to that?  When you say the word it sounds nasty...Gum.  Gummy, Gum up the works, All gummed up....and even though there is not nice way to say the word, people will chew it.  They smack it.  They crack it, blow bubbles to sizes as large as their, often empty, heads.  If they do it just right the gum chewers can make millions of little teeny tiny bubbles that they can pop like you would bubble wrap.
Gum chewers come in all ages which I find even more discusting when they reach an age of maturity. You can go into a quiet library and hear the cracking and snapping of the nasty stuff ricocheting off the walls and into each nerve into my body.  I have come close to confronting the cud/gum chewing person....usually a female for some reason.
You can find the offensive gum stuck under tables and chairs. Dropped upon the street where in the heat of summer will will cause it to glom onto the bottom of your shoe, creating a long pink string string sticking all types of residue with each step. 
Children will stretch it from mouth to hand in one long strand and popping it back in to the mouth for a bit more chewing. At times the glop will be totally removed from the mouth and stretched from one hand to another in a long strand and whipped like a mini jumping rope to the words of "Look at this"....wowzers.  All of this string-gum-pull motion will eventually cause a gloppy mess in the long hair of the chewer-cracker-popper-child which good old mom of said child will have to whip out the mayo or peanut butter and begin the removal of the cud in the hair.  Of couse the child will never know how it ever got in there.
Gum never goes away as seen from a recent archaeologial find of a wad of gum thousands of years old...complete with tooth marks of the chewer.  This day and age we are concerned with plastics in the ecological system, maybe we should be equally nervous of the gum in the system....it will never go away!

    Trinity and Grandma were spending the day together, as they so often do, when Trinity suddenly giggled and said her ear "tickled" and reached up to rub it.
    "Careful you dont hurt the dinosaur".  Grandma told Trinity.  "Your ear is tickling because the dinosaur is sticking his head out to look around". 
    Again, Trinity giggled, but this time it was at grandma.  What a thing to think.  How could a dinosaur be in her ear?
    "Well, young lady, we all have a dinosaur....or a dragon...in our ear and I shall tell you why"
    "When we are all very very little there is a teeny tiny little man that comes to live in our head.  The only thing he carries is a large bag out of carpet, which is as light as a feather.  This little man carefully climbs up to your ear and climbs in and walks around this large area inside that will become his new home.
    He sits down the bag, opens it up, and starts pulling out one thing after the other, all which will help to make you, Trinity, who you are.   Out comes large rug for the floor of your cranium, a tall desk,  tall stool to put by the desk, a quill and ink.  Next he pulls out a rather large egg...this one has purple and green spots...and places it in a warm corner in your head.
    He reaches further down into the bag and pulls out....a snail.  This snail is gently placed into your nose.  Gently because he doesnt want you to sneeze while he is doing this.  The snail will make all of the great slime you kids love so much. When the little old man dusts it bothers the nose snail and you sneeze and make some great slime.  Oh and remember how your fingers are all different lengths?  The nose snail nibbles your finger tips when you shove them up there in your nose. So keep your fingers out of your nose or the nose snail will nibble, nibble, nibble.
    Back to the bag he goes and out comes...a little lamb, which he puts under his arm and climbs down to your belly button, where he shoves the lamb clear into the back.  Now you know where the lint comes from.   He also uses the lint to make warm blankets and a fluffy bed.
    Soon the egg hatches and out comes a dinosaur....his pet.  Dino will give you your headaches when he plays with a ball made of ear wax, but really he is just there as a pet.
    The little old man then scoops up some ear wax and snips off a bit of your hair so he can make candles...the hair is used for the wicks.  Sometimes  the fire from the candle is too high and that is why you are in a bad mood....it makes you hot headed.
    He then taps the water around the brain to use for washing the floor...it drains out of your eyes, that is why your eyes water or you cry, when this happens you know the little old man is washing the floor.
    Finally, and most importantly, he reaches in the bag once again and pulls out a huge book, which he carefully places on the high desk.  He climbs up on the high stool and opens the book, covered in gold and carved with faries and castles with the words  'Hopes and Dreams'.  He starts writing on the front page of the big  book, your name and the date you were born.  In this book he shall write all of your hopes, dreams and memories and keep them safe.
    So remember that when you are rubbing your ear to not hurt the dinosaur.  Keep your fingers out of your nose or they will get nibbled.  When digging the lint out of your bellybutton dont dig too deep. And dont shake your head too much or it will shake the little old man off of his stool."
    "Your crazy, grandma" stated Trinity.  But Trinity still got up and wandered over to the mirror to look for the dinosaur and snatched her fingers away from her nose...just in case grandma wasn't so crazy.