Talk is cheap because supply exceeds demand. ~Author Unknown

I have over 14 years worth of emails to my sister, Jane.  Two weeks ago I decided to sift through 2,869 of them that made mention of my son Cache, who is serving a mission in Thailand.  It will soon be his twentieth birthday, but because of customs, the cost of shipping, and the frequent moving and space restraints of a missionary, there really aren't many gifts to send. I thought that maybe one gift I could give from the heart, would be to help him catch a glimpse of himself through a mother's eyes - my eyes.  My adoring, you are incredible, love you more than life eyes.  So I began skimming the emails to find and print the fun entries I'd recorded of his past 14 years.  Then I slapped them in envelopes; with directions to open one each week, until the end of his mission and his twenty first birthday next spring.
That's a lot of letters.

No, really.

And it came with consequences.
It's so many, that I got sick, sick, sick, sick, sick to death of myself!
How can one person (minus politicians) be that wordy?!
Well regardless, it happened.  And you can't go back and read that much of yourself without becoming, at the very least, nauseated.
But again, I am not  simply nauseated, I'm absolutely, 100% flat-lined.

No more.
Or much.
Because, try as I might, I've never once been able to post a 'Wordless Wednesday'.
...It's a delicate process cutting out one's tongue.
But, we could at least try slimming it down, right?
On words that is.
Not so much the pictures.
As this post will prove.
Are you flat-lined yet?
Because I seem to just keep going!
I think I'm secretly hoping you are, so you can join me... and we can visit.

But really.
Done!
Just small captions of the photos from here on out.
Promise.

Bacon Rose Breakfast valentines, from me - to those that put up with my constant yapping:

Pinterest said 40 minutes tops.
Pinterest lies.
Again.
Big, hefty lies.
This one was a 2:30a.m. - 6:30 a.m. lie.
One almost doesn't forgive lies like that.


But Bert was so impressed he saved me this weekend.
Or, maybe it's the kids he saved... just look at those happy, relieved faces when their Mom quits talking and their Dad takes over.

We're testing our steam engine (above).
Why?
Because, while these boats from a few weeks ago (below), are pretty impressive eye candy-

they failed their maiden voyage on the pond quite miserably.
Bottle rockets disabled them in the first round.

We needed something sturdier.
...Like a steam engine.

And it worked!

And made one 12 year old very, very happy.

 

Next Bert took the kids outside for a game of Larping.
As near as I can tell, Larping = making homemade medieval type weapons, and then trying to kill each other with them.

They seem to enjoy it immensely.

Probably because it keeps them out of my voice range.
Next week, the plan to keep me from talking so much is to tour Sam Rayburn's house, in Bonham, Texas.
We get in free!  Bet you didn't know that Maddie and I are bonafide docents of another historical home, of a Civil War general, in Paris, TX.  We even have name tags, and white gloves.  We plan on purchasing purple boa's and red hats next.  It's a hoot.  Well, sometimes (Remind me to tell you -when we're not so sick of me- about the time Maddie and I gave tours of the supposedly haunted upper rooms).  Other times, it's about as dull as eating parchment paper.
Alright.
Done.
The tongue may not be slimmed as much as we hoped.
But I think we can safely say that there was definite progress.
It's at least forked.

He liked it!

So he put a ring on it.
(It's in the shop.)

Exactly 23 years later, on one knee, he says he still likes it!

So he put another ring on it.
Complete with Beyonce in the background, and icecream  cones for all.

Be still my heart!

 

   

"Beware the Autumn People" - Ray Bradbury

Charles Halloway: I know who you are. You are the autumn people. Where do you come from? The dust. Where do you go to? The grave.
Mr. Dark: Yes. We are the hungry ones. Your torments call us like dogs in the night. And we do feed, and feed well.
Charles Halloway: To stuff yourselves on other people's nightmares.
Mr. Dark: And butter our plain bread with delicious pain. So, you do understand a little.
Charles Halloway: You are known in this town. My father knew you.
Mr. Dark: Your father? The preacher? That half-man?
Charles Halloway: He lived on goodness.
Mr. Dark: Tasteless fare. Funerals, bad marriages, lost loves, lonely beds. That is our diet. We suck that misery and find it sweet. We search for more always. We can smell young boys ulcerating to be men a thousand miles off. And hear a middle-aged fool like yourself groaning with midnight despairs from halfway around the world. 

Did you ever read, or see, 'Something Wicked This Way Comes?"

About Mr. Dark's Pandemonium Circus?

Well, no need.  

We're living that hell as we speak. 

Calder and I are jumping through one of the last hoops to get his driver's permit.

Which seems ironic;

as we are sitting in a city that serves as winter headquarters for over three circuses

-Hugo, Oklahoma. 

(No, really.  Look it up.)

  When you choose the homeschool route
sometimes things like this (getting a driver's license) can be a little tricky.

  It takes a magician's maneuvering,

 and sometimes on top of that-

an offering-

to make the Driver God's happy.

  One of those offerings is to take an eighth grade reading assessment (here in Hugo.)

  This is totally understandable.  

Perfectly justifiable! 

However, I assumed that this time 
there would be one less hoop, because:

Calder already has his GED.

-Skunked it-

He took college placement tests.

-Did great-

He took his ACT.

-we'll call it 'acceptable'... until next time-

And he's enrolled full time at the local college.

-with a 4.0- 
With documentation for all.

Calder's 16th Birthday

 

Nope.

Not enough.

The Oklahoma DOT Ringmaster, 

aka Mr. Dark, 

still insists on an eighth grade reading assessment.

  

Why does this asininity surprise me? 
It shouldn't.

  After all, it's coming from the same place that sent me an

absentee ballot this fall-

with Oklahoma stamped in big, fat, capital letters.

OFFICIAL OKLHOMA BALLOT

No.  I did not misspell Oklahoma.   
That would be The Autumn People. 
  
....maybe I'm just hungry.