I went back through the blog to see what, if anything, I have missed during my non-posting times.  Goodness gracious.   There have been massive quantities of travel going on, but the most important thing is that I have been presented with another grandchild.

Meet Amelia Lynn Floyd, with her proud papa, Jesse.


I travelled to Georgia where her mommy and daddy lived at the time and arrived just in time for her birth.  That was a fun little story in and of itself.   My son and his wife have two cars and a truck, so we deemed it unnecessary for me to rent a vehicle for the duration of my stay.

When I got off the plane in Savannah and called my son to let him know I had my luggage and he could leave the cell phone lot, he answered the call by saying “I’m sorry, Mom.  Lynette is in labor and I am on my way back home to take her to the hospital.”

“No problem,” I replied blithely.   “I’ll just rent a car and we can take it back tomorrow.”

Let me tell you, Savannah, Georgia, the gateway to Hilton Head and all the resorts pertaining thereto, is no place to be trying to rent a vehicle without a reservation on a Saturday evening.   After making the rounds of virtually every rental car dealer at the airport, I was finally able to fine what appeared to be the only car left available.   It was a high end minivan with an exorbitant price tag, but when I explained to the rental agent just why I was so unprepared regarding my rental requirement, he cut me a deal and let me have it for the economy car price.   Whew.

I arrived at the hospital before the birth and took custody of James, taking care of him all that night and most of the next day until his mama and his new sister got home.  Poor James, his world was all turned upside down.  He’s over it now, but at the time he was not very pleased to have competition.

Anyway, suffice it to say that we have a granddaughter in addition to our

grandson.  We couldn’t be more pleased by the situation.


With my mother


With me last week


Both kids with Jim at Christmas


Life will never be the same.



So, since I’ve been off for a while, I think I need to do some catch up.  So what have I been doing when I wasn’t posting on the blog?   That will be answered in due course.  I intend to do some of the posts I was “meaning” to do…

Meanwhile,  I’ll just let you all know that one of the things that has happened to me is that I became a fashionista for a while.   I spent a lot of money on colorful clothes and discovered that shoes can be fabulous, but only if they are comfortable.  That was merely a portal opening in my soul which led to an outpouring of actual artwork.

I have had a long and frustrating relationship with art.  I am reluctant to submit my work to any contest or judging any more, having been so absolutely wounded by some of the ways I have been judged in the past.   Now I am doing it simply for my own pleasure, and hope that other people find some joy in what I produce.

I am unashamedly in love with glitter and shimmer, so much of the work I am going to post here will not give you any idea of what is really going on because you can’t really get the shimmer and glitter unless you are with the piece in the light and moving it around.

First piece up is a complete example of that.   This is a depiction of fireflies rising from a meadow at sunset.   It is actually very cool, with several hundred tiny glitter dots in the grass foreground being the fireflies.


I use the work as a way of working through some very tough emotions.  This one was a piece I did after we got the diagnosis of Jim’s prostate cancer.   Since I made this piece, he has had surgery to remove the prostate and his prognosis is good, at least as far as we know.  We won’t know for sure for about three years…


Again, the shimmer of the pearlescent acrylics is not obvious..

In short order, a few pieces I have produced in frenzies of creativity.  This one was inspired by the fact that we are going to do a trip in September, rafting from the top to the bottom of the Grand Canyon on the Colorado River.


These next few are just fun.




Someone gave me a gift of tissue paper, which I have begun playing with.  This next one started out as some watercolors on a background.  Then I started messing around with the tissue paper and really got off on the texture.


This last piece is the one I finished today.   It started out with water color background.  The particular water colors I am most fond of are called “magicals” by Lindy’s Stamp Gang.  They have mica included in them, and make an amazing glimmer in the color.   After the water color background was down, I did a lot of work with acrylics and pearlescent acrylic inks on top of it.


So, that’s one of the things that has been going on at The Havens.




It has been way too long since I posted here.  For several months I have been meaning to resurrect this blog, but it seems very easy to post a picture and short comment on FaceBook and then go surf it for a while, adding random comments and “likes”.

Well, today’s subject, Japanese beetles, is too lengthy and complex for a Facebook post.  This is a shot of a large group of them clustered on a tall evening primrose.


Like much of the Midwest, we are “enjoying” a population explosion that was probably not predictable back in 1906 when the first Japanese beetle was noticed in New Jersey.  It has taken a while, but they have grown into a monstrous problem.  Aside from the fact that the pest was imported without also importing its natural predators, the climate back in 1906 was a big help in controlling the population.

The life cycle of this little insect is pretty simple.   It eats, voraciously.   It breeds, orgiastically.  In the late summer it drops to the ground and lays its eggs.   The larvae live through the winter underground, subsisting off of the roots of the grasses the eggs were laid in.  In the late spring, they emerge to start the cycle over again.

What has made them so devastating in these latter years is that our winters have gotten milder, so the larvae do not get killed off by cold the way they used to be.   If the ground doesn’t freeze, the brood survives intact and the population gets larger and larger.

This is what our vineyard looks like right now.


All those golden brown leaves are skeletonized grape leaves.


If you don’t have enough leaf surface area, your grapes won’t ripen.   Now if you look at the above picture, you will notice that there IS hope, as the grape vines are heroically putting on new growth at the leaf axils of all those devastated leaves.   In some places there are lots of new vines sprouting as well.  The grapes are so confused by it all that they are even making new blossoms.

This is what they have to contend with, though.  There are thousands and thousands of beetles.   We go out and hold jars with water and lamp oil in them under the groups of beetles, tap the leaves and they fall into the jars (mostly, a lot of them fall outside the jar) and die.   We do this several times a day.   We have killed gallons and gallons of these beasts.

In the fall we will invest in milky spore, a soil bacteria that infects and kills the larvae during the winter.  If only all our neighbors would do the same.

It is so frustrating.   This is the face of globalization: pests like the Japanese beetle or the Emerald Ash Borer get imported along with the products we desire.  (There are numerous other examples, too.)  It is exacerbated by global climate change, when a pest that is imported can expand exponentially because the usual climatic conditions that help control it are absent.

If we don’t get a great grape crop, it means we won’t have as much wine to drink next year, a situation that is not life threatening.  But that does not mean that widespread introduction of new species and global warming is not something to be concerned about.




“Buy Art”

I like to read bumper stickers.  Sometimes they are just silly and annoying.   Sometimes they are downright offensive, but I try to avoid ramming the cars that are sporting blatantly racist and anti-environmental messages.

The other day we were on the freeway when an old Impala sailed by us.   I liked the message tacked in the back window:  “Buy Art.”

“Yes,” I exclaimed.   “I do that.”   It was particularly appropriate since I had just purchased art from an artist friend of mine, who painted a wonderful mural on the front of our barn.

DSCF0693 DSCF0694 DSCF0704 DSCF0712 DSCF0713 DSCF0719

We also purchased the sun sculpture above the mural.


Our house is well supplied with art.   I’ve been in the habit of buying ceramic art for long before I met Jim.   This still life sports a couple of pieces displayed in the living room.


I have a lot of bowls I have collected over the years.   We actually use them on a regular basis.

We also have a lot of dragons in the house, most of them are original works of art.  This is just a small sampling.  A tiger eye bas relief, a leather mask, and a ceramic dragon who guards many eggs, and one very small amber dragonet.

08Aug 2007 005 Dragon 007 dragons 009

I could make this into a very long post, and put up a lot of photos.  But I won’t.   We have a guache  in the bedroom, a watercolor from Seville in the living room as well as a beautiful print from the Seattle area.

Every once in a while I hear from someone who is “decluttering” their life, or read an article telling you just how to achieve that feat.   I toy with the idea of decluttering, but then I wonder which of the pieces of art I am going to get rid of.

Which amazing rock is going to be relegated to the garden?   Which one of the hundreds of sea shells I have picked up over the years?

I guess I’ll just stay cluttered.

And I’ll keep on buying art.

On cookies

Our kitchen was very busy yesterday.   In addition to Jim’s beer bottling and racking, I was deeply involved in my usual holiday activity of baking cookies.  Lots and lots of cookies.  We split the kitchen down the middle and went about our merry ways.   A great deal was accomplished!


A long time ago, an in-law gave me a wonderful Christmas gift.


Now, this is quite the cook book.   It is ALL about cookies of all sorts European, with a smattering of breads thrown in.   I have not actually made any of the breads, although they sound delightful.   I have made many of the cookies.  That this is a well loved and very much used book is quite evident the second you open it.


Upon my first perusal, I was intrigued by the many recipes that included notations like “These store well for 3-4 weeks”  and “Improves with age”.   At the time, Jim was on active duty in the Navy, and this included many sojourns that were long and far away.   From bitter experience I had learned how poorly some favorite baked goods fared on their extended travels to foreign ports, where they sometimes languished for weeks before the ship arrived to collect the mail that had accumulated during its sea passage.   The idea that there were cookies that could travel and arrive even better than they were when they left home intrigued me.

Of course, I didn’t quite trust the long keeping storage claims until I had tried them out for myself.   As difficult as it was, I managed to put aside a tin of the Honey lebkuchen squares for a month or so and discovered that the author was not putting me on.   Jim was delighted to receive the baked goods that I started making.   I received reviews from shipmates that were positive as well.

One of the things I discovered right away was that there were ingredients that were challenging to acquire.   One of those ingredients was candied orange and lemon peels.  At the time I lived in San Francisco, and the only place I was able to discover these items was an obscure shop in Oakland.  In addition to the inconvenience of going all the way over there to acquire this item, they were VERY dear indeed.   I searched my library of cookbooks (this was before the internet and Recipesource.com, if you can believe I am so old!) and was able to find a recipe for candying citrus peels. I tried it out and it worked like a charm.

I have never tried to buy candied peels again.   It was too easy to do.  I was delighted to receive organic lemons from the home place in California so that I could make truly chemical free candied lemon peels.   Well, I could do this when I was able to beg some from the limoncello maker…  quite a lot of competition for lemon peels exists in this house!  They are also necessary for freshly grated lemon peel, which is also an ingredient often called for in the Festive Baking cookbook.

Over the years, I have ruminated about the thrifty character of the Germanic housewife.   I put myself back into the 18th and 19th centuries when many of these recipes were developed.   Imagine…..   It is the holiday season and you want to make delectable delights for the seasonal celebrations.  Normally you would be looking for large quantities of eggs and butter for this sort of thing, but it is icy cold and dark outside.   Your hens are sulking and the cow’s production of milk has dropped, plus the butterfat content of said milk is barely detectable.   What to do?

Many of these recipes call for honey and sugar and flour as major ingredients, all things that store well.  The only fats used are those found in the ground nuts.  Perhaps one egg is used in the recipe, perhaps another one for the glaze.   Or there is a shortbread type of cookie, requiring lots of butter, but not a single egg.  Then there are the whisked egg/sugar method cookies, which ask for no butter.   Additionally, if you are the sort of gal who thinks ahead, you can make your wonderful confections and cookies months in advance, store them on the top shelf of your pantry and bring them out when the parties begin.

No waste is produced.   If there is a recipe that calls for an egg yolk, down the way there is a recipe that calls only for egg white.   Or you save all those whites and make meringue cookies, which have an amazingly long shelf life.   Do you need freshly grated lemon peel?   No doubt the same recipe that calls for that ingredient requires the juice of one lemon for the icing recipe.   I have an image of the household management requiring all oranges and lemons used on the place to be carefully peeled, and the peels set aside until enough have accumulated for a batch of candied peel to be produced.  This is stored away for future reference; it is called for in large quantities all over this book.   Some cookie recipes require over a cup of candied mixed orange and lemon peel.

I have also wondered if there are a lot of almond trees in central Europe.   Almonds and hazelnuts are used in impressively large quantities, as compared to the very conservative amounts of eggs and butter asked for.

Whatever, all musings aside, I have now made seven different kinds of cookies, all of which keep for weeks.   The varieties that do not have such a sterling shelf life are due to be made in a couple of weeks.


From the top, clockwise:  Vanilla crescents, Basle leckerli, honey lebkuchen squares, molasses spice cookies, ginger cookies, almond sticks, and in the center, pfefferneuse.

Jim got all excited when I made up that plate for the photo op.   He thought maybe I was putting some cookies out that didn’t fit in the tins and needed to be eaten.   I believe I need to make that good man up his own plate based on how his face fell when he learned that the plate had been emptied back into the tins!

We decided to make our quarterly trip to Costco today.   We switched from Sam’s Club membership to Costco largely because the Costco corporate entity treats its staff much better than the Waltons treat their slaves  work force.  I mean, they pay a living wage and provide benefits!   What a novel concept.   I prefer to reward that sort of policy with my shopping dollar.

The other thing that drew us to Costco was the huge amount of organic food they have available.   And it is being sold at VERY competitive prices.   For instance, we have done quite a lot comparison shopping around the area and we have found that the prices at the Commissary really are quite a lot better than at any of the other grocery stores in the area.   So we were delighted to find that organic diced tomatoes were actually cheaper at Costco than the conventional diced tomatoes sold at the Commissary.   Not only that, but they are far superior in flavor.

So anyway, the weather was great and we were low on parmesan.   Also, there is a big annual soirèe in the offing, and Chef Jim has decided he wishes to produce Shrimp Piripiri for that  event, so we needed to procure some shrimp too.  Additionally, the new solar system (we made 30kWh today!!!) has made us super energy conscious and we wanted to invest in LED lights for the bathroom and kitchen.  All this being the case, we went through the larder and put together a list.

After my water aerobics class, we loaded up and headed off to St. Louis.  It was an uneventful trip until we got near the Galleria shopping mall in Clayton, where the drivers were acting particularly insane.   One lady was so incensed by the poky person in front of her who was waiting for the traffic to clear before making her left hand turn that she zipped her giant gas guzzling behemoth out of the left turn lane into my lane — right in front of me — causing my heart to stop, and my foot to hit the brake in a most hasty manner.   Fortunately, the guy behind me did NOT slam into my rear and I managed to miss her passenger side corner.  With great amazement, I observed her swerve back in front of the hapless little car she was shitting all over, and, running the red light in front of her, pulled at a high rate of speed into the parking lot of the mall.

I guess she was having a bad day.   Thank goodness no one had a wreck.

Shaken, I continued on down to the lovely Oceano Bistro where we partook of a most splendid luncheon, which began with a dozen fresh oysters and wound up with sumptuous desserts.  It included a glass of lovely white wine.

Safe from shopping on an empty stomach, which we ALL know is a Very Bad Idea, we moseyed on over to Whole Foods Market, where we procured the hazelnuts we will need for making biscotti at Christmas time.   From there we continued on to Costco, where we successfully found everything on our list except the organic lime juice.   No worries there, we’ll just order it from Amazon.

Laden with our purchases and cheered by our lovely day in the big city, we proceeded on our way home.   We were passed by some people in a great big hurry to get where they were going and noted that the State Troopers were busy on both sides of the freeway.   Secure in our habit of setting the cruise control at 66-67mph (due to the better gas mileage we get by going a little under the speed limit), I was surprised when red, white, and blue flashing appeared behind us.  “Hey, honey,”  I notified my spouse.   “You have lights behind you.”  He dutifully slowed down, but when they did not pass us, he turned on his signal and pulled over.

“I wonder why we got stopped?”  I said, as we waited for the officer to approach.   “It sure wasn’t for speeding.”

We sat quietly, hands clearly in view.   I was surprised to find the officer appear by the passenger window, shining his flashlight in at me.  In retrospect, that makes perfect sense.  I would not want to be standing on the traffic side of a vehicle with my rear end sticking out into the lane while doing a traffic stop on the busy Interstate.   Anyway, I hit the switch and lowered my window, and pleasantly said “Hello, officer.  What can I do for you?”

“I am Officer Kelly Somelastname of the Rolla Police.   How are you doing tonight?”

“We’re just fine,”  Jim replied pleasantly.

“I stopped you tonight because you have a tail light out.   Were you aware that it was out?”

“We have a tail light out?   Oh no!” I said, with probably more animation than was really necessary.

“I’m going to need to see your license and insurance information,” he said.   I popped open the glove compartment, where my large collection of state road maps resides, which caused it to flop open with a solid “flump.”   While I reached behind the sheaf of maps to retrieve the white envelope that contains all the relevant vehicular information, Jim slid his license out of his wallet.   Of course, my insurance information was right there in the front of the envelope, and I pulled out about five insurance registration cards and paged through them until I found the one that was current, which I handed over to the officer.

He took the license and the insurance card, and asked us where we were headed.  In unison, we chorused, “Home.   To Lebanon.”

“Where are you coming from?”

“Oh, we’re coming from St. Louis.   We were making our quarterly Costco run,”  I informed him.

“Really?”  the officer responded.   “I used to shop at Costco, but I let my membership lapse.  Then I started going to Sam’s in Springfield.”

We spent a few moments discussing the relative virtues of Costco, but eventually he recalled that he had an actual duty to perform, at which point he rather apologetically told us he was going to have to “run this information.”   He bore our documents off to his cop car, where he checked our plates (nothing), insurance (Paid and current), and Jim’s license (boring boring boring).  After a while he returned to my window and gave our documents back.

As he returned them, he commented “I can see you have been doing some heavy shopping!”

We chatted for a while longer, with Jim informing him about how great it was that Costco had all that organic food, and eventually the young man said he thought he had held us up long enough.   Jim told him that we were getting ready to stop anyway as it was about time to change drivers.   Then the very nice policeman bid us farewell and safe travels.   While he returned to his car, we got back on the road and proceeded on our way.

For a while we discussed how very low key our whole traffic stop experience had been, and mentioned how fortuitous it is that we habitually wear our seat belts, etc. etc. etc.

We stopped at the rest area by Doolittle, and changed drivers.

“We’ll be home in about 45 minutes,” Jim said, as we pulled out of the rest area.

“Ruby will be glad to see us,” I replied.

“So will the cats.”

“Maybe I should drive the truck when I take Ruby for her walk,” I observed.

It was a lovely day for driving, no wind, and the traffic was light.  We wended our way towards home, unstressed.  After a while, I commented that it was only a couple of miles from our house to the park where I walk Ruby.  Maybe I’d just take the car anyway.   After all, the truck is high and it is harder for our aging dog to jump up into it.  Jim did not disagree.

Since, as I have mentioned previously,  I habitually set my cruise control several MPH below the speed limit, I am used to seeing head lights approach from behind and then pull out to go around my boring ass.   When I had gotten past the Sleeper exit, which means I am within about 6 miles of home, I was surprised to notice a set of head lights that came up behind me and did not pass, but rather, paced me.   “What the heck,” I thought to myself, right about the time the red, white, and blue lights switched on.

“Oh Good Grief” I said, rather heatedly, as I immediately turned on my turn signal and sharply pulled onto the shoulder and braked to an expeditious halt.  It was so expeditious that the “Your stupid oil is low” light came on.

By the time the Laclede County Sherriff’s deputy reached my window (he was not as cautious about sticking his butt out into traffic as the Rolla City policeman was) I had my license extracted from my purse and the window down.

“Good evening, ma’am,” he began politely.  I stuck my driver’s license out towards him.  Jim was waving our insurance documents in his direction too.

“I know.  My driver’s side tail light is out.   The guy in Rolla just stopped us and told us,” I informed the hapless lawman, rather abruptly. (I really do have a bad habit of interrupting.)

“Oh.”  He was rather non-plussed.   “Well, I guess I won’t bother running this stuff through, then,” the deputy said, abashed.   “I’ll just let you get on your way.”

He handed my license back to me, and then added, “I’m real sorry for bothering you.   Please excuse us.   It’s a slow night.”

I put my license back in my wallet, and as he began to walk away he said,  “Keep on driving safe, now.”

As I pulled out onto the freeway again, I was laughing a little hysterically, I admit.  I said to Jim, “I think I’ll use the truck to take Ruby for her walk.”

“That’s probably a good idea,” Jim responded.   “With our luck, a city cop will come up behind you and he might not be willing to cut you any slack.”

“Especially if Ruby came up with her big ‘Woof’ from the back seat,”  I laughed.

(This was in reference to the drug and alcohol check point that she and I had come upon about five years previously.   I had just taken her for her walk.   It was about 9:30 p.m. and we had done 3 miles, so she was napping in the back seat happily worn out.  When I stopped at the check point and rolled down my window, the policeman doing the check stuck his head in my window.  They do that so they can smell the air in your car.  If you’ve been drinking, trust me, your car will reek of whatever it was you were imbibing.    He had just stuck his head in the window when Ruby arose from the back seat and stuck her nose between the head rest of my seat and the window where his head was with a very emphatic “Whothefuckareyouandwhyareyoumenacingmymom?” dog inquiry noise.    The startled cop nearly smacked his head on the top of the door as he precipitously exited my window.)

I did take the truck when we went for our walk.   And you can bet your bottom dollar that I checked to make sure the tail lights were working before I backed out of the driveway!

(Side note:  As a testament to the reliability of the Toyota brand, I want to point out that in the 7 1/2 years we have owned this vehicle, a Prius, other than routine replacement of consumables, such as filters, tires etc., the driver’s side tail light is the first, and only, thing that has failed.)

Trick or treat?

There have been several posts on Facebook today about Halloween, including a link to a Huffington Post article comparing the “Mom of Today” with the “Mom of the 70s” vis-a-vis Halloween.   I found that post vaguely amusing, but also observed to myself that when I was doling out treats to last night’s crop of Trick-or-Treaters I was confronted by the progeny of the same kind of parent described in the “70s” part of that humor piece.  Apparently, the Ozarks is stuck in a time warp.

It seems like nowadays the kids assume that you know what they are there for and wordlessly hold out their open candy collection devices, which range from pillowcases to plastic pumpkins.   When visiting this household you are not allowed to get away without at least minimally engaging with the dispensers of largesse, namely and to wit, my husband and myself.   I like to compliment the costumes and try to guess what they are, often unsuccessfully.

One young lady informed me that she was not the 18th century seafarer I had erroneously concluded she was impersonating, but rather a lamp lighter. Her collection apparatus was a very nice basket, and after I apologized for my mis-identification, I made it heavier.

After I heard my husband demand from one group “Say the magic words” to make them chorus the traditional “Trick or Treat!,” I decided to use that technique on the next troupe.   So imagine my delight when the approximately 6 year old buccaneer of whom I demanded this looked puzzled for a moment, and then said “Thank you!”    Of course, I informed him that this was not the correct answer, so he tried again:  “Please!”   “How about ‘Trick or Treat'” I suggested gently.   His face lit up and he obediently repeated the requisite request.

After I presented him and his fairy princess sister with extra large handfuls of Mars products, for which I received another  “Thank you,” I returned to the living room.  “That is a child who is being raised right!” I told my spouse.  He agreed.

Of course, watching the kids out on Halloween night reminded me of the days when I was doing the same thing.   They were much more innocent times.  No one was concerned about poison or any of the other urban legends that destroy the holiday for kids now.  In our town, there were no roving bands of marauders to terrorize little kids or steal their candy.   If the older kids had dared to engage in such an activity, the victim would have immediately ratted them out and their parents  would have given them some very palpable instructions behind the woodshed regarding the way such anti-social behavior was viewed.

We lived in the mountains of Colorado, and went trick or treating in the town where our school was located.   At that time of year, many of the houses were vacant, their summer residents long gone for warmer and lower places.  If you walked every street and visited every house, which many of us did, you only put in about two miles.   Everywhere you went, there were adults who knew you and your folks.   It was a challenge to costume yourself in such a way that those people could not recognize you.

Home made cookies and pop-corn balls were very popular items to receive, as were the wonderfully crisp home-made caramel apples that one family traditionally gave out. We always stopped at Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner’s home on the way to town, and lots of the town kids’ parents made the mile and a half trek out there with them because Mrs. Gardiner made the absolutely BEST sugar cookies, and they were always wonderfully decorated. Mr. Gardiner was our school bus driver, and you had to have a really great costume to fool him.

I bitterly remember the year I was NOT allowed to go out, since I had chicken pox the week before Halloween.  Despite my pleas, my heartless mother forbid me to go out, and would not even send a proxy bag for me out with my sisters and brother.   “There will be quite enough candy” I was informed.   There was, and my sympathetic siblings came across with the goods later that night.

One of my most successful costumes was the year I was about 12, when my father allowed me to don his World War II vintage Crackerjack Navy uniform, complete with the dixie cup hat.  My hair had recently been cut short, and when I was all turned out I truly was unrecognizable.  It was great fun to flummox the town parson and the science teacher, as well as some of my parents’ very good friends.

That was a great Halloween, because NO ONE recognized me. It was also a memorable evening because it was really cold that night and of all the kids out there, I was the only one who was not freezing to death. My siblings retired from the streets pretty early but I continued on my rounds for quite a while.

At one house, when I sang out “Trick or Treat” the adults in control of the candy looked at me and said “If you want a treat, you have to do a trick.” This shocked me, because I was under the impression that if they didn’t give me a treat I was licensed to prank them. But, agreeable and obedient as always, first I did a fine cartwheel and then I stood on my head.  They were suitably impressed, and rewarded me with a nice big handful of sweets.

I guess I’ve always had a penchant for cross-dressing.   When I was in a one-act play in college and sent this picture to my mother, she did not recognize me.   She wrote me back wanting to know who that man was I had sent her a picture of.


Hope all of you had a wonderful Halloween!


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