Mind Blown

As I was going through the moving process, Aidan came over to get a few boxes of her things. She showed me this awesome card she received while she was in jail several years ago:

 

At first glance, you might think, "So what?" 

But I assure you, this card is very, very special. Sometimes, beauty comes from the most unexpected places.

The only things this twenty-year-old had to make the card were an ink pen, a piece of paper, her finger... and M&M's. 

Yes, this young artist, sentenced to a few years in one of the most horrible places imaginable (the Brevard County Jail), made this beautiful card for Aidan in a surprising and amazing way. 

The lettering was created with an ink pen. The colors were made by crushing up M&M's and mixing them with varying amounts of water to create different shades. The "paint" was applied with one careful finger. After all, she couldn't just crumple up the paper and start over if she messed up. She only got one chance, and couldn't afford to make a mistake.

Look at it again, and you can see the incredible talent and ingenuity this young girl possessed to create such detail from almost nothing.

What's even more incredible is, this girl, serving a sentence for a crime I don't know about, sacrificed most of the ink in her pen, a valuable piece of paper, and her M&M's, which were a rare and VERY expensive treat in jail. I remember when Aidan was in jail, she would write home in tiny handwriting on scraps of paper, because sometimes paper was too hard to come by. 

But this young friend of hers sacrificed much more to lift Aidan's spirits on her birthday behind bars. 

I was in awe and reduced to tears when the comprehension of this dawned on me, and Aidan had tears in her eyes, too, as she told me that there is so much talent locked away for no one to ever experience outside of that dark facility. So much wasted talent that could brighten the world outside those walls.

Aidan showed me another picture from an inmate friend. Whoever drew this could probably be a pretty good tattoo artist. 

There's a huge drug problem in our country, and many of these young people in jail were caught up in a substance (usually prescription pain medication) they couldn't control. That addiction is so strong it makes really good kids do really bad things, like steal from their families, commit crimes such as theft, and other things in order to feed that addiction. 

The problem is they can't just stop taking those drugs. They CAN'T, even though they WANT to with all their strength. Those medications create addictions so strong people will literally choose them over EVERYTHING else. And when I say "choose," that's not the right word. There's no choice involved. There is literally no other option for these kids in the claws of addiction. They often hate themselves for succumbing to their craving for pills. Rehabs rarely work, and if you ask most clean addicts how they got clean, most will tell you jail time...and God. 

I don't know about you, but these bits of art remind me that there are people with hearts and souls in our jails and prisons. Many are there for something they had no control over--maybe they were prescribed a pain medication in a doctor's office, and were genetically predisposed to addiction (as in Aidan's case--her father is an alcoholic, and my father was, too). Many of these young people lost their family and friends as a result of their addiction, and that is a freaking SHAME. 

NEVER GIVE UP ON YOUR LOVED ONES. I didn't, and through some jail time and the grace of God, I have my daughter back. She still thinks she's gangsta, but she's clean, has a great job, a bright future, and a powerful and inspirational story. Everything she tells me about her experiences makes my jaw drop and look up to give thanks over and over that she is still alive.

There are many others like her still sitting in jail, using their precious resources to express themselves in art for a world who may never see. and many of them have beauty to share, and a story to tell. 

And we should listen.

Settling In...

Well, I made the move from NSB to Naples.

Last Thursday, I sold nearly everything I own, except for clothes, shoes, keepsakes and computers. The sale was supposed to be Thursday and Friday, but everything sold by 12:30 pm on Thursday.

I was amazed when one guy came in and asked, "How much you want for your outdoor set?"

I glanced outside where the peeling wrought iron monstrosity languished like a snoring ogre on the driveway. I was bewildered that the eyesore would be one of the first things to be asked about. "Twenty-five dollars?" I replied, the question in my voice obvious that even I didn't think it was worth that much.

The guy said, "I'll take it," then similarly asked about many more of the large objects in my home. He ended up buying my bedroom set, my couch, my washer and dryer, the outdoor set, my grandfather clock and mantle clocks, and several smaller items. He asked me three times if I had any paper towels I would sell him. I had to tell him no to that.

This little eleven-week-old charmer was my absolute favorite customer of the day, though:

So, the moving sale was a success, and Friday I concentrated on getting all the boxes by the front door to make it easier for James to put them on the moving truck.I also boxed up all the little miscellaneous stuff and started vacuuming the empty rooms.

James arrived Friday night, and by about 3:00 pm Saturday, we pulled out of the driveway and I said goodbye to my home for the past six years.

We got everything unloaded off the truck on Sunday by noon, and I had most things put away by Monday. I also fixed James's AC by sucking out a clog with a ShopVac.

Yesterday, I got some errands done, found a local doctor and made an appointment, and started what I hope will become a daily swimming regimen. I managed 35 laps, and today, I've got a sinus cold, but want to do at least another 35 laps today. I want to work up to 75 within a week or so.

We put a cat door in for Zuri the Tolerable, and she's using it to go out and bask on the balcony. She loves it out there, and I find myself trying to coax herself into the air conditioning (to no avail) because I don't see how she can stand the heat with that thick fur coat.

Zuri was funny, because she sat on my lap for the trip to Naples, watching out the window between taking cat naps.

And the first thing she did at the new house was thoroughly explore and roll around on the floor in every room.

This weekend, we plan to finally go see "Wonder Woman" and generally just relax. I'm going to try and get most of the household chores done, including mowing the back lawn as a surprise, by tomorrow, so he won't have to worry about it.

Next week, or maybe sometime this weekend, I'll start writing my book, and work on a children's book James has a great idea for. I'll also start listing a bunch of stuff on eBay, and work on our business website.

Anyway, that's what I've been up to lately. As for the rest of our trip report to the Wild West, I'll aim for posting that soon!

Three Blind Mice (Or Rats)

Okay, I have to postpone White Mountain, because I have another story to tell. So, suffer through some cuteness for a little while, and let me tell you a story about three blind mice.

So I have one week left at my NSB home, and James came yesterday to help me tackle the garage today.

Near the end of a long day of hard labor I probably shouldn't have been doing, we dumped the contents of a chewed-on box onto the driveway. There was a bunch of old newspaper inside, all chewed up--the perfect little mouse (or rat) nest...

And suddenly, from the paper crawled six adorable, tiny, blind mouse (or rat) babies on 24 wobbly little feet. At first, with no momma mouse (or rat) in sight, we were going to just let them crawl into the shrubs to probably die.

But as they made their shaky way over pieces of bark twice as big as they were, my mind conjured up pictures of them suffering long, drawn out deaths due to exposure and starvation, or being gobbled up by the stray cat that made Terrible pregnant. I could hear their fragile little bones breaking in my head, and as I continued to watch, I think my heart bled a little.

"I can't do it," I told James.

"Well, what else can you do? They're probably gonna die anyway," he replied.

"I'm going to get a shoebox, and put them in there, and think of something to do, or someone to take them." I got up and rushed into the house without waiting for him to answer.

By the time I got back outside, only a few seconds later, three of the mice (or rats) couldn't be found, and we searched pretty good for them.

But the other three, I put into the box with some of the newspaper. I set the box aside and we finished the garage.

After a much-needed shower, Karen came over to look through some of my mom's clothes to give to her mom. Before she left, I said, "There's one more thing I want you to see, and maybe Deanne (her daughter) or Ben (Dr.Kollmer's son), can help them.

She gave me one of those looks, and I showed her the babies. She agreed they were as cute as can be, and she even held them, to my surprise. She said she'd ask Ben if he wanted to try to save them.

Her text came back a little later and basically said Ben wanted to feed them to a snake. Thanks a lot, Ben! Lol.

Then, the answer came to me...Aidan, the adopter of horrible cats and other animals, is a momma at heart, and even though she proclaims to be scared of mice, I knew her heart was soft for all cute-appearing things.

Before I texted her, I warmed up some condensed milk and got a little dental syringe and attempted to feed Simon, Melville, and Drake (the first three names that came to mind as I picked each one up to feed it). Simon must be the runt...he's very tiny.

They ate a little bit and I returned them to the newspaper where they felt safe.

Aidan, of course, wants them desperately, and has already declared she's changing Simon and Melville's names. I knew she'd keep Drake. Lol. I reminded her they would be hard to save, but at
least they would have a chance.

So, amid other childhood treasures I rediscovered today, like my pewter unicorn...

About one and a half inches tall...

and a baby doll whose hair I tried to massacre, we also found some tinier treasures that I have to try and save, if I can...the three blind mice (they're so tiny their eyes aren't open yet). Whether they're mice or rats, it doesn't matter--their little hearts beat, which makes them sacred, in my book.

Just a little longer...

I promise I'll have the White Mountain pics and story up soon. My official move-out date is next Sunday, and there's still a lot to be done before then. And I'm moving a little slower for the time being, so that doesn't help. But James got here today, and there was this fascinating show on the Smithsonian Channel about shrunken heads and head hunters, so James promptly fell asleep. Lol. He deserves a good nap, though, for all he's doing to help me move!

And for those who have sent emails, I'll reply to them as soon as I can... :)

Funny Thing

This afternoon, James sent me a text that said something like: "Are you enjoying your freedom and being able to do what you want?"

I replied that the answer was both yes and no, because when I went to work, it was what I wanted to do. I enjoy working with patients, and I like excelling at something. I don't like my former boss saying that without me, the job is tolerable, at best. Here at home, with things being packed up and moved out, I feel weird...almost like an unbelonging (I know that's not a real word, but that's the best way to describe it).

At the same time, I'm happy and excited for the future. It's just a strange, middle feeling, I suppose. I guess it's the feeling of change in a person that doesn't like change. Well, it's not necessarily that I don't like change, but that change is stressful.

Which I guess leads me to this video that announces the big upcoming change (if you watch all the way through, you will see how FF was involved):

So, yeah, there you go...I said yes, and I'm moving forward. James is a good man, and good for me. I don't know what else to say today.

Except that we buried this at the site in a plastic box inside a ziplock bag:

I'll post about White Mountain tomorrow.

But here's a few more pics from Fennboree:

 

The Boar's Tusk

Sometimes things have to be done out of order. Like my next few posts. I'm skipping back to our excursion to Boar's Tusk, a very unique feature near Rock Springs, Wyoming.

I've been interested in this strange landmark since my research of name meanings, way back at the beginning of the chase. One of Eric Sloane's names literally means "boar," and I've felt that a piece of Eric went into the poem as Forrest wrote it.

Forrest seems to have reinforced it with his scrapbook titled "Not Just a Pig," which was about some wild boars he raised. Then, there was a featured question where "blaze" was spelled "blase." A meaning of "blase" is boring. Bore sounds like boar.

The isolated Boar's Tusk rises above the Killpecker Creek (what does saltpeter do to young military cadets? Lol) plain at an altitude of 6808 feet above sea level. The ancient extinct volcano is an impressive sight from miles away. Boar's Tusk has one twin in the US--Devil's Tower, in Northwest Wyoming.

It was something I had to see and experience first hand. The volcanic remnant of the distant past is composed of the uncommon mineral, lamprolite, which sounds like a blaze in itself. Lamprolite and bananas have something in common--lots of potassium.

So, I plugged the location into my navigation, and soon James was driving our rental Kia SUV along a dirt road north of Rock Springs.

 Here we are just before the trip, ready for adventure:

The road was easy peasy at first, but as we grew closer and Boar's Tusk became visible in the distance, the road became less smooth, and more like a swampy, muddy mess with potholes a'plenty.

At one point, activity on the road ahead drew our attention. It appeared to be two large vultures feasting on roadkill, but as we neared the scene, the two gigantic birds took flight.

"Oh my God, oh my God!" I yelled, fumbling for my phone to get pictures like a teenage girl fumbles for her car keys when being pursued by an ax murderer.

They weren't vultures--they were eagles.  And as the majestic rapters took flight and we passed the roadkill, I looked back and one eagle was flying low toward the car on my side, approaching fast. And I was still clumsily fumbling to get the video feature on my phone going. It was like my fingertips were marshmallows or something.

The eagle was so close I could see the sharp point of her beak and the glint in her dark eyes. I still don't know if I got it on video, but as she climbed the sky and gracefully turned to join her mate, I got one nice picture.

I was beginning to think we wouldn't make it to our destination--so close and yet so far--as James had to leave the road entirely and drive over some sagebrush and a shallow ditch to avoid a huge pothole filled with muddy water of unknown depth.

That was where some fawn-colored cows were hanging out, and when I exited the car to guide James over the tricky terrain, they mooed at me with a vengeance. A calf was about ten feet or so away from me, and it lowed, calling out for it's momma. The momma was behind me, about thrirty feet away, and answered the baby. I imagine she said, "Agnes, get your little brown butt over here, now! Humans are dangerous and they'll poke your eye out!"

So, Agnes booked it on over to her momma, and James inched past the ditch to safe road.

Finally, we arrived at the giant rock, and with very little imagination, I could see the resemblance to a boar's tusk.

 
I gazed up at the ancient sentinel of the desert with awe, and wondered what the Indians who lived there in the distant past thought about the strange looking monolith. Did the dark, volcanic core have any spiritual significance? Did they fear or revere it? Was it somehow sacred to them? I don't know, but I'd love to find out. Discovering how the ancient peoples lived their lives and what philosophies, superstitions, and individual stories they held close to their hearts is one of my passions.  In moments of romantic reflection, those thoughts fill me with an unquenchable curiosity. 

When we got out of the car to look around, about five million or so starving mosquitoes mobbed us in a fierce black cloud of nasty. I hate those things, and I could imagine the horror-filled stares that would await us when we showed up at Fennboree looking like the victims of smallpox.

Here's a pic of a rock formation near the base of the tusk that looks like the stony profile of a man's face. He appears to be staring out over the Killpecker plain with a watchful, stoic satisfaction.

And although the scenery was beautiful in a raw, wild, and earthy way, I couldn't see Forrest hiding the treasure chest there. To me, it wasn't a specific enough location, and walking up the sloped side of the base of the formation would've been tough for us, and nearly impossible for an 80 year old man. So when James said, "Let's get out of here," I enthusiastically agreed, smacking the life out of a blood-filled mosquito on my arm.

As James drove away, I glanced back once more at the old boar of the desert. Silently, I thanked him for hanging around long enough for me to visit him, and in my mind, offered a reverent "goodbye."

Tomorrow, I'll post about our exciting adventure to nearby White Mountain, with it's smoky rock shelters and prolific petroglyphs. 

Where do I start?

Fennboree 2017 was a roaring success. No one was murdered. No fights broke out. All people from all blogs chatted together happily, and many friends were made.

Forrest made two appearances--he came for a few hours on Friday, and a couple hours on Saturday.

Friday afternoon was the hot dog roast, but I was so busy talking with old friends and new friends that I forgot to eat.

I know some people took lots of pics, but this post has a smattering of the very few James or I took.

A few "legends" made their first appearances at Fennboree--Diggin Gypsy was one, and one asked me not to post about her on the blog. It was great to see both of them for the first time, face to face. The other legend to make an appearance was Jenny Kile, who was as nice as can be, and very personable, along with her husband.

Jenny when she arrived:

James and I stayed until around 10:30 pm on Friday night, and near the end of the night, I discovered the guy I was talking to with Dal and James and Brooke lives about two miles from me in Florida. It was definitely a "wow" moment!

There were a couple of people writing books about the Chase on hand--one was Dan, a former writer for The Wall Street Journal, and I enjoyed speaking with him at length about the chase, and introducing him to as many "big names" as I could.

I also enjoyed meeting Ben and his wife, Laura, and had the pleasure of introducing them to Forrest. Ben has been researching the poem and following the blogs for about a year, but I don't see how he has much time, because he's an oncology surgeon. Forrest, as a cancer survivor, was very pleased to meet him and his beautiful wife.

Yesterday morning, I didn't feel very well. James and I have both been struggling with lingering colds. When we got to the campground, I sorta flopped on the ground next to Stephanie, and we chatted a while. NTMI had brought over his chair and graciously allowed me to sit on it next to Forrest. 

Forrest is a really cool guy. He engaged every searcher with his squinty blue eyes and casual humor. He was very cordial and pleasant, and every person that approached him received a smile and a question about where they were from. He signed every book brought before him, and in some, he drew little doodles. It was interesting to see him draw the seemingly meaningless little squiggles on their names.

And I also noticed that each time a man or woman held out their hand for him to shake, Forrest would remove his hat and stand in respect. I thought that was very gentlemanly and made him very personable.

He would also come out with some quick one liners that made me laugh. One time, a man asked if he and his family could have their picture taken with him. Without missing a beat, Forrest pointed at me and said, "You should be asking Mindy here for a picture with her; she's one of the top dogs," or something like that. I just shook my head and smiled.

At one point, Forrest leaned over while I was chugging down Powerade to restore some much needed electrolytes and asked, "Mindy, how old are you?" That caught me off guard, and I didn't have time to come up with a quick snappy answer, so I just told the truth. "Forty-eight." He replied, "You don't have another 74 years left then."

Nope, I sure don't! Lol.

As the day wore on, I started to feel better, and chatted with a bunch of searchers. The doodle contest was fun. I won second place for my silly little doodle (Thanks to whoever voted for me!) Dal said he was going to post the winner's doodles on his blog sometime.

I have a lot of respect of every searcher I met. I enjoyed talking to Brooke, who I briefly met last year but didn't get to talk to much. Of course, Spallies and Boomergirl and JDiggins are my peeps and I love them to death. Old Drum has so many interesting stories, and his wife, Sandra, is just a sweetheart. She kept bringing jars of jam to Forrest until Forrest couldn't find anywhere to put them. I think Shiloh stepped up and took them to the car.

Here's Old Drum and Sandra greeting Forrest:

And speaking of Shiloh, I got to meet the young man on Friday night, and he knew a little about me. We talked and joked for a while, then talked seriously about his business and what he does. They basically take old burnt wood and recondition it for flooring, which he sells all over the world. He even sold wood flooring to a place in Dubai! Anyway, I told him I think he's a great young man with a great work ethic. If anyone is interested in seeing his business, you can find it on the web here.

I enjoyed talking with Iron Will, who happens to be a big nerd like me. When Forrest was around, I said to him, "Iron Will and I are big nerds." And Forrest replied, "When you look up that word in the dictionary, you see a picture of me." Everyone laughed.

Well, maybe this picture is the one in the dictionary:

The owner of the hat is a really cool guy, David, who invented the Jelly Belly. The hat was made by the same man who made costumes for Elvis Presley.

Mike D or Mr D and I had a few good conversations. He's overcome a lot, and that guy is a GREAT painter! If you're reading this, Mike, send me a pic of one of your paintings so everyone can see your talent!

Heidini showed me her marvelous charm bracelets. They were very pretty! Heidini, if you read this send me a pic so everyone can see!

WiseOne told some exciting and pretty scary stories of her searching alone.

Seattle Sullivan and I shared a few comments. He's a smart guy...and I heard through the grapevine that Forrest said he was a genius at Fennboree.

Cynthia was awesome, as usual.

Desertphile was his usual quirky and quick-witted self. He has written a book and is in the process of looking for an agent. It looks like a pretty hilarious and great book. He, Wisconsin Christine (14 year old genius), and I broke into Cohen's "Hallelujah," when Christine said she liked to sing. It was pretty funny, because I can't sing. A little Crown in my coke was enough to temporarily lower a few inhibitions. Lol.

Here's a pic of the phile, holding an advance copy of his book:

Amy was a sweet princess, friendly as ever, and just so generous and funny and all around awesome. She invited me and James to stay in her home if we search Colorado. We just seemed to hit it off, and I can see us becoming good friends.

And I met Amy Sweitzer, too, and her husband, for the first time. They were very nice and friendly. Here's a distant pic of Amy S. and FF:

Fred Y was someone new, and he was pretty smart with good suggestions.

Patrick is the guy who lives in Port Orange and took his 79 year old dad with him to Fennboree. I think we exchanged an email or two a while back, but we didn't know we'd actually meet at Fennboree. It was a great moment, realizing the world really is sorta small while at the same time being so huge that even narrowing down the Rocky Mountains, no one can find the chest.

Okay, so I'm going to relate this whole trip in a backwards fashion. In the next few days, I'll post trip reports about sites we visited accompanied with lots of pictures. Some of you may already know the extra special news, but I'll post that soon for everyone else in the next week.