A Trip to Animal Farm, Part 2

I saw no one and wondered if I had missed a sign. Coming to a fork in the road, I paused, perplexed. Which way?

"Mom?" I heard Emma call. I now knew which way to go--toward my daughter's voice. I took the road more traveled, and that made all the difference. Reunited with her, the wind felt less cold. We studied a flower and waited for Nathaniel.

Soon he appeared, grinning and rubbing his arms. "I'm freezing!" he complained, still rubbing his arms in a futile attempt to free them from the wind's chilling embrace.

"Have y'all seen anyone?" I asked.

"No," they answered together.

We walked three abreast, following our "yellow brick road" and hoping to soon stumble upon "Oz," the Animal Farm Learning Center, where, according to our flyer, we would meet a guide who would take us on an "open house" tour which would reveal to us the secrets of sustainable living.

A faded sign directed us to turn left for the Learning Center. We trudged along, wondering aloud if we would find lots of people there. Just when we had decided that we had missed a turn, we spotted two structures ahead on our left. One elderly couple investigated the site. A Hindu statue protected the entry to the second building, lending it an air of being an ancient ruin. The thatched roof and plastered walls contributed to this feeling. We determined that the second building had to be the Learning Center, since the first was more of a pavilion. We entered the second building.

Woven mats covered the floor of what appeared to be a yoga center. Great expanses of jalousie windows soared to the rafters on one side. Small windows, low to the floor on the opposite side of the jalousied ones, lent a cozy feel. There were no exhibits, no slideshows, just a few bamboo chairs and a built-in window seat. "Maybe this is a Hindu chapel, instead of the Learning Center," I said to Nathaniel and Emma.

Exiting the "chapel", I approached the elderly couple and asked if they knew if we were at the Learning Center and if they knew when anyone would meet us there for the tour. They didn't know any more than we did but seemed content to explore the pavilion and listen to bird calls.

While I visited with the birdwatching couple, Emma discovered a cottage-style flower garden behind the pavilion. Delighted by the number and variety of blooms, she called for me to "come see."












Nathaniel, intrigued, studied the rustic, freeform pavilion walls, which were shaped to fit the tree branch that functioned as the walls' capstone.


It was now after 3:30. We had left home at 7:45 that morning. Feeling suddenly weary, I stepped inside the pavilion and gratefully sat down at a table. "How lovely it would be if someone appeared with a loaded tea cart," I thought. Looking up, the sun shone on us through a peephole in the intricately-designed ceiling. There was no rubber stamping, no "spec" building here.

The sound of a car engine disturbed my reverie, and I looked toward the road to see someone in a white compact car talking to the elderly couple. "How odd that someone would get lost out here," I thought, assuming that they were asking for directions.

PART 3

A Trip to Animal Farm

About a mile after the pavement ended and we had crossed a cattle guard, walls of forest enclosed our car. We negotiated a curve only to be met by a turkey, standing sentinel in the middle of the road. We had arrived.

The turkey stepped aside. We proceeded to a small, designated parking area and noted the sign that read: "Go to the Learning Center, 10-minute walk".

An October-like wind, cold and sweet-smelling, whipped into the car when Emma opened the door. It swirled around her, lifting her hair with its energy, waking her from a year-long dream. Urgently, she cast off her shoes, sprang deer-like from the car, and begged to journey now, right now, alone, into the beckoning forest.

"Go," I said, and watched as she rushed away, quickly disappearing around a bend. I stifled the feeling that I might not ever see my daughter again, that this eerie wind, though refreshing, portended no good.

I gathered Emma's shoes and my wallet into a canvas bag and stepped a short distance from the car to wait for Nathaniel to change out of his church clothes. Suddenly, I could wait no longer and called to Nathaniel that I would meet him at the learning center.

"This is like stepping through the Stargate," I mused as I hurried along, pausing every so often to feast my eyes on the endless expanse of green and the myriad flowers that bejeweled the forest edges. And always the wind, the cold, invigorating wind, embraced, then pushed, then pulled me down the dirt road toward the place of rendezvous.

PART 2

Texas, Give the FLDS Children Back

Judge me, O God, and distinguish my cause from the nation that is not holy.

Read the local newspaper or watch the 6:00 TV news, and it will be abundantly clear that our nation is not holy. The state of Texas is no exception. The whole idea of Texas CPS taking anyone's children for the reasons given in the FLDS case is absurd. It presupposes that the government of Texas functions under a moral code, that this moral code is superior, and that the state of Texas can provide a better, safer environment for the children. Read this story in the Salt Lake Tribune: http://www.sltrib.com/ci_9075298

Watch this video: http://youtube.com/watch?v=ISFPJL66p4c#

"Well, there were pregnant 14-year-olds in that polygamist cult," you say. Well, there are pregnant 14-year-old girls in the public schools, lots of them, and I would hazard a guess based on TV news reports that many of them got that way at school, during school hours. Here's a link to a Washington Post story on the extent of nationwide sex abuse by teachers in public schools: http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2007/10/21/AR2007102100144.html

The sexual escapades are not limited to teachers with students. Students with other students is also widely reported, but the Washington Post article I read was too disturbing to link here.

"But they're polygamists!" you insist. Yes, and what do you call all the men who father children by several welfare mothers? Deadbeats, I guess. The polygamist fathers are supporting their wives and children. The FLDS mothers have more children because they love them, not because they are going to get a bigger government subsidy. Leave the FLDS families alone. Let's go after the real criminals, our politicians and giant corporations (especially the pharmaceutical ones), and work on restoring the social reign of Christ the King.

I Am Lizard

Nathaniel took this picture of me. It really captures the deep lethargy I feel as I cling to the brick waiting for the sun to recharge my power pack. When Dr. Seuss wrote Oh, the Places You'll Go he didn't explain how you recovered after you got back. Perhaps I'll write that book. . .when I have more energy.

Gee, I could think of so many great titles for this post. Here's the second runner up: I Am Lizard, Hear Me Snore. (Update: Nathaniel suggested "snore" Good choice.)

Traditional Catholicism Honors Masculinity

Nothing effeminate here! I had just finished editing my Austin-Healey post when I saw this New Oxford Review ad and had to share it with you. NOR runs the most exciting, innovative, flex-your-biceps, pump-the-testosterone ads I know of in Catholic journalism. Naturally they appeal to men, which is a really good thing. Great job, NOR!

Good, Good, Good Vibrations!

I wrote the little ditty below a long time ago to commemorate one of the rare occasions when we got Mom to the beach. Though we lived in Ft. Walton Beach, FL, Mom didn't like the beach because the sand would hitchhike in your swimsuit and make a mess in the house when you got home. Sand in the house was strictly verboten! This is an early '70s memory when muscle cars like the GTO prowled the streets sucking down the cheap, cheap gas. My sisters and I loved the Healey, though. I think it was a '61 3000. It was black with a red interior and a gorgeous wooden dash. It had four seats and the engine featured the infamous SU carburetors that required Dad to "tweak" them regularly.

Summer Saturday in the Austin-Healey

Dad's got on his sunshades,
Mom has dawned a scarf.
The top is down on the little car
And we will soon be off.

We girls will sit on the trunk,
With just our feet in the seat,
Waving just like beauty queens
We're going to the beach!

Today I am sure that we would be arrested long before we got to the beach. We not only weren't wearing seatbelts (I don't think the Healey even had any), we weren't wearing a seat!

Background information from Wikipedia: The Austin-Healey 3000 was a sports car built from 1959 to 1967, by the Austin-Healey marque, and is the best known of the 'big' Healey models. The 3000 was a successful car which won its class in many European rallies in its heyday - and is still used in competition by enthusiasts today. The car was originally to be called the "Mille Miglia" after the famous sports car race, but the displacement-based "3000" name stuck instead. Both the 3000 and the 100 before it were known simply as "the Austin-Healey" in the 1950s, since the company was essentially a single-vehicle marque.

The original Austin Healey 3000 was 2912 cc (nearly 3 litres), with twin SU carburetors and front disc brakes. It was only called the Mark I after the Mark II was released. The original 3000 was built from 1959 - 1961 and has model designation BT7 (4 seat version) and BN7 (2 seater).

The 3000 Mk II came with triple SU Carburetors was built 1961 - 1963 and had model variants BT7 (4 seater version), BN7 (2 seat roadster) and BJ7 (wind up windows rather than side curtains).

The 3000 Mk III was launched in 1963, and remained in production until 1967.

The Series BJ8 was the most powerful and luxurious of the big Healeys - with a Walnut veneer dash, wind up windows, and 150 hp (112 kW).

Austin Healey 3000's have a long competition history - having raced at most major racing circuits around the world, including Sebring (USA), Le Mans (France), and Mount Panorama Circuit, Bathurst (Australia).

I Hate to See Him Grow Up

I'm reading aloud again from Ralph Moody's "Little Britches" series, this time A Horse of a Different Color. I'm feeling sad because it is the last book in the series and because I know that at the end of this book our hero up and marries a city girl, leaving ranching behind forever to go work for a big corporation. How could he do that to us?

Men do that, though: drop everything they love, to do what will support a family. I pray that Nathaniel will be able to find something he loves to do that will support his family well. I see him moving so close to where we are with Ralph Moody in the book. I don't know about the city girl part, but I see him becoming so independent, so capable. He's good at fixing things like his daddy is.

.

Bush Supports Vouchers for Catholic Schools

I guess Bush has done all he can for Africa and now he must turn his attention to the Catholic schools.

Instead of vouchers to "save" the Catholic schools, let's figure out what destroyed the traditional teaching sister orders and fix it. The whole country will benefit.

Update to "Pepper Dancing to Achy Breaky Heart"

It hit me the other day that Pepper the dancing dog could not have done the same dance routine with a lady who was wearing a dress. His routine required him to weave in and out of his partner's legs.

That revelation made me remember how pleasant it is for me to watch couples dance when only the man is wearing pants. The silhouette is so much more beautiful. One senior couple stood out at the Czech Spring Fest because the woman wore a softly pleated full skirt that billowed when she twirled. She was in her late 60s I would guess, and I sat entranced as she and her husband glided around the dance floor. Does it have something to do with the balance of positive and negative spaces? Is there just too much negative space to make it visually appealing when both partners wear pants? Or does a woman wearing a dress enforce the whole notion of the man's God-ordained leadership role and cause a wellspring of affirmation to rise up in me?

Tea at Somerset

Emma carefully penned "Beloved and Esteemed Grandparents," on the salutation line of the invitation to afternoon tea.

Under cover of darkness, she propped the completed invitation, wrapped in Saran Wrap to protect it from the morning dew, against a vase of pansies on the table on her Somerset grandparents back porch.

So began Emma's experience with her latest tea party book acquisition Tea and Cake with the Saints by Alice Cantrell. The book arrived Monday afternoon; Emma delivered the invitation Monday night. Is this what is meant when a book is described as "capturing the imagination"?

"Some little fairies have been here," Grandma cheerfully informed me the next morning when she called to accept the invitation.

Emma had set the tea party date for Wednesday, the Feast of St. George. While she peeled the eggs for deviled eggs, she told me a legend about St. George that she had read in E. Nesbitt's book, The Book of Dragons and lamented the fact that we do not have a dragon cookie cutter. Life can indeed be trying! We decided that since St. George is the patron saint of England, having a tea party on his feast day would be enough. Emma chose Easter egg, baby chick, and tulip cookie cutters for the sugar cookies that she made.



The menu featured ham, turkey, and tuna sandwiches, sugar cookies, deviled eggs, strawberries, freshly picked blackberries, a gingerbread cake, and raspberry punch. Nathaniel picked the most blackberries but roared away on the 4-trax when I tried to take his picture.



Emma served everyone from a separate table before joining them at the tea table. The raspberry punch looked fabulous once Emma transferred it to Grandma's depression glass "Iris" pitcher and glasses.



"Is this going to spoil our supper?" Grandpa asked when he had seated himself at the tea table and surveyed the abundance of food.

"No," I lied.

Permaculture Shares Tenets of Fr. McNabb's Back-to-the-Land Movement

Last night Nathaniel and I drove to west Houston to attend a class called "Introduction to Permaculture", which was offered by the Permaculture Guild of Houston.

We weren't really sure what to expect. A couple of months ago I ordered a light-hearted video called "Eat Your Garden: Create a Permaculture Oasis" and two books: How to Make a Forest Garden by Patrick Whitefield and The Complete Book of Edible Landscaping: Home Landscaping with Food-Bearing Plants and Resource-Saving Techniques by Rosalind Creasy. We started looking at gardening in a totally new light. Then, this week, Nathaniel began a landscape design for Grandma and Grandpa's house and was looking for inspiration. I remembered seeing information on this permaculture class. So we signed up, hoping to build on what we had learned in the video and books. Also, Nathaniel planned to gain more insight into a career in horticulture/landscape design.

The class did all that and more. The handout we received defined permaculture as "an advanced design concept for creating gardens, landscapes, and ecosystems. It helps design sustainable societies that can prosper for centuries while minimizing energy and materials use." While that sounds like it was written by Ralph Nader, the conclusion I drew by the end of the class was that philosophically, the permaculture movement is the secular version of the Catholic back-to-the-land movement. Each movement is indebted to a visionary who saw that the methods of production brought about by the Industrial Revolution and the resulting lifestyle changes are not only not sustainable but destroy community life. They look for alternatives to the factory model, whether it be healthcare or food production. The permaculture movement was founded by Bill Mollison, who wrote PERMACULTURE: A Designers' Manual; the Catholic back-to-the-land movement was founded by Fr. Vincent McNabb, who wrote The Church and The Land. Permaculture would also tie in with what John Senior, the Catholic educator and author, taught in his book, The Restoration of Christian Culture.

Cass Van Woerden, a Permaculture Guild of Houston member and electrical engineer, taught the class. He explained that on a hot day in December about 16 years ago, he was in Houston and was suddenly struck by the sound of all of the air conditioners running. He decided then to live off the grid. He and his wife Gita built a house that enabled them to do that on acreage one hour west of Houston in Cat Spring. It's called Animal Farm. They grow their own food and sell to Houston restaurants and the Farmer's Market. They grow so much food that they have four full-time employees who live in straw-bale houses on the property. The Van Woerdens host open houses regularly to demonstrate sustainable living. The next one is this Sunday, April 27, from 10 a.m. -4 p.m. We plan to attend.

Nathaniel will be signing up for at least three more classes: Mrs. Van Woerden will be teaching "Principles of Sustainable Building" next Tuesday. Mr. Van Woerden will teach "Renewable Energy" on the following Tuesday, May 6. "Designing the Eco-House" will be taught by Shawn McFarland on Tuesday, May 13.

Disclaimer: My understanding of permaculture as presented last night is that it is a concept that can generally be adapted to Catholic principles. Whether the Permaculture Guild of Houston promotes things that are against Catholic principles, such as population control, I do not yet know. We will take from these classes what we can use in order to better promote the Social Reign of Christ the King and discard the rest.

Beware of Guns and Germs

"I think those Red Cross ladies are from the city," commented Emma when I picked her up from a babysitter certification class last Saturday.

"What?" I asked, still trying to read between the lines of what she had said.

"They told us that we should wash our hands before we touch the child and after we touch the child. We should wash them before we go to the bathroom and after we go to the bathroom. If we find the child unconscious on the floor, we should stop and put on gloves before we help them."

"Oh," I said. "Before you go to the bathroom?" I repeated, somewhat confused.

"Yes. And if you hear gunshots, you should grab the child, lie on the floor, and call 9-1-1," Emma explained.

"Maybe they usually teach this class in public housing projects," I suggested.

Emma continued her story by telling how she had raised her hand and asked,"Shouldn't you look out the window and see who is shooting? People shoot all the time around our house. I think the 9-1-1 people might get mad at me if I called every time I heard gunshots."

The teacher responded that Emma could look out the window if she wanted to, but the Red Cross recommends grabbing the child, getting on the floor, and calling 9-1-1.

Miraculously, they gave Emma her certificate anyway.

Pepper Dancing to Achy Breaky Heart

Here is the answer to the dearth of dance partners for women--you know those husbands who would rather watch CSI and boyfriends who would rather play video games than dance with you. Who says diamonds are a girl's best friend? Times have changed. Now it's Dancing Dogs.

If you're allergic to dogs, your best bet is to go to festivals like the Czech Heritage Spring Fest in Houston. Brush up on your waltzes and polkas first. There was actually an eligible young bachelor at this year's celebration who asked the lead singer of the band to announce that he (the bachelor) was seeking dance partners.

Collectivist Child Abuse (FLDS Children)

Pro Libertate: Collectivist Child Abuse (Fourth Update, 4/18)

A 45" Leclerc Nilus Floor Loom: Who Could Ask for Anything More?

Emma could and has. "Now I just need sheep," she said.

I agreed to buy this loom sight unseen for $300 a couple of weeks ago. We picked it up today after church. It is fifteen years old and has been stored in a garage for the last five years. Emma will be putting in a lot of sweat equity to get it functional--mostly a thorough cleaning, a new reed, and new canvas. New looms like this one cost about $2800.

Emma and Herb Assemble Her Loom

Emma Knits in Her Loft While Herb Finishes Loom Assembly

Starlite Sound Chorus

This is the Starlite Sound Chorus singing Tuxedo Junction at the May Community Center in Huffman, TX. Sorry the video is so poor, but the important thing is the sound, which is great. We really enjoyed the performance and cheerfully recommend them for your next event. Contact information is available from their website: http://www.harmonize.com/StarliteSound/default.htm

Chicken Trouble From Way Back

I mentioned in my first post that I have a chicken with a missing bottom beak. It reminded me of a journal entry I have from March 2, 1998, when we, brand new to the country life, had gotten our first chickens ever. Nathaniel was almost 7. Emma was 5:

We are having chicken trouble. I have caught Chicken Little eating her eggs about three times now, and this morning she and the rest of the girls were having a bonzer game of egg soccer out in the chicken yard. They passed and kicked the shell in fierce beak-to-beak competition before I blew the whistle on them and sent Chicken Little packing. I locked her out of the chickenyard. I explained to Emma that I was either going to throw Chicken Little into the stew pot or let her meet her fate in the woods tonight. Emma very patiently explained to me that, "killed is more important than cracking eggs." Translation: It is worse to kill a chicken than it is for a chicken to eat eggs. Obviously Emma is against the death penalty.

March 3, 1998

Last night I locked Ermingarde, Big Red, and Mable in the chicken house and Chicken Little in the chicken yard. I figured I would give Chicken Little one more chance for Emma's sake. When I went out this morning, there was egg on the ground, and Chicken Little was huddled by the fence opposite the main gate. I thought, "Uh-oh. She is depressed from being separated from her girlfriends." Then I noticed this thing hanging out of her backside. I diagnosed a prolapsed vent based on my poultry research in The Encyclopedia of Country Living.

Well, there was nothing to be done except to get her on the table and in the stirrups and get that thing stuffed back in there. My dream has finally come true: I'm a chicken gynecologist.

Nathaniel and Emma assisted. Nurse Emma, who struggles to pronounce "r"s, chanted, "This is an emuhgency; this is an emuhgency." Nathaniel held Chicken Little's wings and head. I took the broken end. Emma handed me the antiseptic, olive oil, and towels, STAT.

Thankfully, the patient was frozen stiff with embarrassment.

After the procedure was complete, we sent her to recovery in the dogs' vacant crate with a few Cheerios--we didn't have any Jell-O--and a cup of water. Chicken Little was afraid to move, and when she did, she stepped very gingerly. (I've been there.) She nibbled a few Cheerios. Everything seemed fine. Then the darned thing came trailing out again like one finger of a plastic glove.

We whisked her back to the O.R., and performed the procedure again. Frankly, my technique was quite a bit better the second time. However, later we found her once more in dire straits. I haven't decided what to do. I might give it one more go and apply a liberal amount of duct tape to the afflicted area.

March 4, 1998

I discharged Chicken Little from Hospital, and she is back to her normal routine. While I had her under observation yesterday, I determined that I had misdiagnosed her problem. Let me just say that I have been demoted to a chicken proctocologist.

Ralph, E.B., and Joe

I'm still on the High Divide several days after finishing Ralph Moody's autobiographical book of the same name. This is the second time that I have read it aloud to my family. The first time was on a road trip from Louisiana to Yellowstone National Park in 2001. We left Yellowstone as news of the Twin Towers attack burst onto the airwaves, but that's another post.

Ralph Moody could tell a story! Not only that, he had a bodaciously well-developed sense of empathy. He adjusted his actions accordingly, with a positive result for all concerned. Moody's Little Britches series is the most pleasant way I know to absorb small business, self-help information. It beats the heck out of reading Dale Carnegie.

Re-reading Moody reminded me of my hero E. B. White. I have read his letters and essays over and over and over. I even made a trip to White's saltwater farm in East Blue Hill, Maine, to see where he lived and wrote. When I was raising chickens for the first time in 1998, and frantically making pound cakes to use up all their excess production, White's essay about the same topic brought me enormous comic relief. His chickens were "laying like a house afire!" He'd been there, done that, and lived to tell the tale! He wrote Charlotte's Web there, too, but it was his letters and essays that worked their way into my heart.

Moody and White were both born pre-1900 and died in the early 1980s. If they have an heir, it would have to be Joe Sobran. He is that rare writer who can write elegantly and humorously at the same time. And he is thoroughly Catholic. What a package! I first started reading his columns on lewrockwell.com. From there I disovered Sobran's website and newsletter. Although he no longer has a print newsletter, a subscription e-letter is available for $35/year.

You've Come a Long Way, Baby?

Yesterday I saw the Fox News coverage of a teenaged girl getting whacked over the head with a folding chair by another teenaged girl. This took place at Achieve Academy Charter School in Arizona. The day before that, I was treated to the video of a 16-year-old Mulberry, Florida girl, Victoria Lindsay, being beaten up by other teen girls while two knights guarded the door. I've heard rumors that chivalry is dead. It's worse than that.

This morning I read that Lindsay, who now has hearing and vision problems, is not going to return to her public high school; she is going to homeschool. BUT WHAT ABOUT SOCIALIZATION? The article stated that "she won't be able to attend her prom." OH, NO!

These two stories made me think about the comments of the guide at the Titanic exhibit that we visited in Galveston recently. As I was studying one of the photographs of a famous rich couple, Col. John Jacob Astor and Madeleine (Force) Astor, the guide informed me that "sexism" was rampant in those days. He explained that Col. Astor did not survive the sinking, and his widow remarried without reading the will, which provided that the widow would be disinherited if she remarried within a certain time period. The guide opined that this wouldn't have happened if the tables were turned and the woman had died instead of the man. (I have since read that the will stipulated that Madeleine would have the use of the money and estate home indefinitely unless she remarried, which she did not do until World War I.) Since the guide was in error about the Astor story, I'm not sure if he was correct about his second proof of "sexism": Women were not allowed to smoke in public on the Titanic. How oppressive!

I told the guide that it seemed to me that women of that period had it better than we do now--that they were more likely to be put on pedestals. He was a little perturbed and walked away. Curiously, he didn't mention the "Women and children first" rule for getting into the lifeboats. I shudder to think what the rule would be now that women are "equal". I can just picture Titanic teen girls punching the other passengers and slamming them with the deck furniture in order to secure their places in a lifeboat.

A Dog Chasing its Tail

That would describe my endeavors perfectly. I started this blog two months ago, and this is my first post. What happened in between?

We got 25 Barred Rock chicks. We're already down to 20. One of them died when the chicks were still in the brooder. Another passed away last week from internal injuries she sustained after paying a social call on our three Labrador Retrievers. I don't know what happened to the other three. No bodies were ever recovered. The chickens roam the yard freely; maybe a hawk got them. Of the 20 survivors, one lost part of her bottom beak. A few days later, the whole thing was gone. A freak beak accident? Weak Beak Syndrome? Inquiring minds want to know. She looks really odd if you hold her up and look at her mouth. I've been calling her Mona Lisa since she has such a mysterious smile. To add insult to injury, I had to clip off part of her top beak because it made it harder for her to get food to her mouth.



What else has happened? Emma competed in the District 4-H Fashion Show as a senior in the speciality construction division. She had to be interviewed by a panel of judges and model her costume in a fashion show. Filling out all of the paperwork was the least fun of the whole experience. Now we're dreading having to fill out new paperwork so that she can go on to state competition at Texas A&M in June. That trip will be fun, as we've never visited the campus before. Emma is already looking ahead to next year and considering what she will make. She has visions of ball gowns. Whatever she decides, I hope it doesn't require hoops. We have learned that modern auditorium seating does not accommodate them well. For that matter, they don't even accommodate hips well. I do wish I could opt to leave mine at home.

A few weeks ago we bought a used Bernina 1530 sewing machine and bid on a 45" LeClerc loom for Emma on the same day. She is thrilled with the way the Bernina sews, but boy! is it HEAVY! We pick up the loom on Sunday afternoon. It's 15-years-old, all apart, encrusted with dust, and affordable.




Nathaniel got a Toyota truck. Now he is working hard to earn enough money to keep gas in it. This is no easy feat with gas hovering at $3.20 a gallon and his desire to get to the golf course several times a week--a 40-mile roundtrip. He has started a lawn mowing business and is learning about advertising, customer service, and maintaining equipment.


Last Thursday Nathaniel drove Emma down to Galveston for their organ lessons. What a lovely, restful afternoon I had! It's the first time that I didn't have to go. After their lessons, they went on a guided tour of the Italianate-style mansion, Ashton Villa. The house was built in 1859. The guide told a story about one of the daughters, Rebecca, I think, who used to live in the house. She was fond of drama and adored dresses with trains. Sometimes the trains had kittens riding on them. Anyway, Rebecca kept her mirror adjusted at such an angle that she could see herself from the hall as she prepared to descend the stairs.

The last three days or so I have spent a lot of time pondering what America will be like after the collapse. I don't know exactly what is going to happen. I just can't see how we can continue with a sick culture and a government bent on self-destruction. I have read a little bit about what it was like in the USSR when it collapsed. I think it will be much harder for us. We're used to soft living. I read a piece of fiction by William S Lind about what it will be like after the worst is over. His view is that the country will break into several sections. Maybe this will be when the South Rises Again. It will be a good time to have a loom and a flock of laying hens.

Tomorrow we're going to the Salad and Spud Luncheon at the May Community Center so that we can hear The Starlight Sound Chorus. It's a Sweet Adeline singing group. Grandma is going with us.

Tomorrow night, Emma goes to her last Introduction to Smocking class at Sew Contempo in Clear Lake. She is smocking a nightgown for herself. Emma may join the Smocking Arts Guild of America if we can find a chapter close enough. One of their projects is to make little outfits for preemie babies who pass away. We saw one of the outfits in a display at the library. It's a tiny gown with a drawstring bottom and smocking across the top.