Happy Anniversary

Yesterday was my 13th Anniversary with Rob. We celebrated on Saturday night. We went out to dinner at Ruth's Chris Steakhouse which happens to have the best sweet potato casserole known to man. But I'm switching focus here and I should be focusing on my husband :). In any event I just wanted to say that I love you Rob and this has been a roller coaster of 13 years but filled with the joy of 4 children, many fun times and lots of remembrances to cherish. I'm not a sappy gal and don't get into the diatribe Hallmark version of ode to husband but I wanted to say that I hope the next 13 will be as good as the last.

With love,

Your wife

Hot Chocolate Heaven

Our family doesn't have hot chocolate that often. So I can't honestly say that when I filmed this, that Laura and Grant had ever had hot chocolate before. I focused in on Laura for this video because her reactions to running hot chocolate were too hilarious to pass up. This was my first ever attempt to edit a video and I'm really happy with how it turned out. I hope you like it too.

Eva

Soap Box Sally

I didn't mean to use this blog as an observation deck for life and all things happening in it.  But what I realized is that I have a lot of observations that go on in my head every day.  And I really don't have anywhere to express it.  So this becomes my platform.  

Here's the latest observation.  We are a lazy society.  I know, please don't link you in with laziness.  So I say, apply this where it might apply in your life.  My spewings come from my experience today.  I volunteered to be on the PTA as the grounds clean up chairperson.  I figured it was twice a school year, a Fall Grounds clean up and again, cleaning up the Spring.  No big deal.  Wrong!  Today was our Fall clean up.  Here's how it went down.  I sent out notification of this 4 weeks in advance, again 3 weeks prior, 2 weeks, and you guess it, about 4 days prior to the event.  Parents were requested in notification to respond to my email address to let me know they were attending.  Every day religiously I checked my email, waiting for those good samaritans to volunteer some of their time to help me take on the school grounds.  Not one email ever came.  I figured that was the American way.  Don't do the formal notifications---just show up.  I'm game for that too.  As the old cliche goes, I can't look a gift-horse in the mouth.  So this morning I arrive 30 minutes prior to the start of clean up in hopes of getting a good head start on the job.  There before me sits a large mound of "mulch".  Only Easterners use mulch apparently.  We continue every year to stack wood chips around our trees with some hope that it looks "pretty" but instead we're creating an activity bed for the tree bark to rot and not get as much water to the roots.  It's ludicrous but okay, stick with the standards.  I soon realize after 30 minutes into the time of clean up that not many will show up.  One parent comes with two boys and one shovel.  It's a help.  But the man stands there directing his boys on what to do while he does little to aid.  I think right then "We are a lazy society".  We are so used to not having to do the hard labor of our forefathers that life has become too easy.  Even my own husband was not much of a kick in the pants for this whole affair. I was taught the value of hard work and felt I was up to the task.  But I have to say it would have been nice to have the help of a team of volunteers.  We began with a flat tired wheelbarrow to load mulch, barrow by barrow to the base of each tree.  It was the only wheelbarrow we could find.  Apparently, the janitorial person was supposed to be there to help us with the mulch but I couldn't see him.  I thought he'd be out waiting with baited breath for our arrival.  I did eventually find Tanner (name changed to protect the innocent) who was the janitor and pulled him into the battle of the mulch.  Other parents showed up but without many tools in hand. I sent them to various parts of the school to pick up trash and large weeds.  Rob continued to shovel mulch, Tanner continued to deliver it to the site and we worked hard for 3 long hours.  Several other parent/child combos showed up to help and then everyone was gone.  And there I was with 4 dirty children, one smelly, mulch covered husband, and me with my Medussa hair, wondering what went wrong.  Why didn't more people show up?  And to add to that I had one mother tell me that I should have provided donuts and juice.  Oh, I see.  No one can bother to let me know they are showing up and yet I'm supposed to go out and try and "guess" how many might show up and provide donuts for them.  Donuts that apparently would have gone to waste or waist as you will because I would have purchased more--I have a glass half full approach and figured many others would show up.  But people can't bother to say Hey, I'm coming to help".  So then it took me to my FINAL conclusion of Grounds clean up, people want to come for 20 minutes and do a little work here or there, get instant gratification by saying "alright kids, we worked hard, let's pack up" and then have a donut and a juice on the way out.  I guess I'm not that sympathetic.  You want the donut and juice, come and put in an hour, 2 hours worth of hard work.  I see the positive in this---my children learned the value of working together and we had fun.  We worked hard and came home.  My house didn't get cleaned today, my grocery shopping will be done late and we won't have this one Saturday to do family fun things because we took the time to help clean up.  I guess I'm on this blog to get my own gratification.  I worked hard today and so did my family.  And we didn't expect anything in return.  But I'm disappointed that parents didn't show up.  And I realize that those who truly understand hard work are the farmers who get up before the sun rises and come home when the sun is setting.  I bet if I was in Iowa cleaning up a school, I'd get some great workers who didn't come expecting self gratification or food.  I know, I'm harsh.  But it's a disappointment to see that we expect too much and give too little.  Eva steps down from the soap box.  

Here's hoping the next entry becomes a happy family adventure.

Reduced to Numbers

Curses be to health and wellness I say. Today was another health focused day at work. They were kind enough to bring in a group that does cardiac assessments among other things (I'm reducing the medical terms down to kitche Mom terms). One of the assessments done was an entire body composition. So let's analyze this for a minute. Are they going to tell me what my body is composed of? I can do that myself thanks. But no....this doesn't tell you what you're made of exactly. It tells you numbers. Everyone can relate to numbers until you realize what the numbers of one's body composition stand for. Let me break that down for you. First, there's the fat percentage. Yep. I could have gone a lifetime without knowing what my fat ratio is. And in case you think I'm going to reveal that on my blog, uhhh....no. But let's just say the odds were not favorable. I'm as bouyant as a beach ball with current listed fat ratio. Then let's move on to actual pounds of fat. Apparently, I'm storing a small child in my body somewhere and she's made of 100% fat. If I was a cow, I'd be prized meat right now with just enough gristle to make everything tastey. That's how I give myself comfort in this time of trial. I know, weird analogy but in times of distress, you find solace in odd things. I've never been told how much of my actual body was just plain old unadulterated FAT. It's really enlightening to see. I might not have used the word enlighten when I first read the number. And as I was going over these numbers with my body composition giver--Charlene--I did not feel enlightened. And incidentally, how is it that these people who give you body composition tests do not feel compelled to do the same. I politely asked Charlene (once I heard her lunch request to a fellow coworker) if she had the opportunity to have the same tests. Oh yes, she said. Apparently, her fat pounds must not be equal to mine or she would not have ordered a fried chicken platter with an extra heaping of french fries. Apparently, she's not as affected by the fact that she could have been storing a small child made of 100% fat in her body either. She was about to feed the child.
So then I got to thinking about this whole numbers game and body composition. To my children, I'm a soft pillowy form of perfection. My body absorbs hugs and hangs on to them. I'm a soft shoulder, stomach, back, and thigh to cry on. And I can finish up wasted dinners with the best of em. But to this small electron charge going through my body, I was a mission, a project. The charge wound its way through my body, finding what it was told to find. Fat percentage...check. Fat in pounds.....check. Lack of appropriate hydration (aka, drink more water fool)....check. And when it found the numbers, it came back to report. Overlook the fact that I have feelings, that I have concerns, that I have needs for chocolate on certain (cough daily) occassions. This computer just spewed these numbers out and reduced me to a ratio. And so now my focus has changed. Once I was just slightly plumped up. Now, I know what is living inside me. I know what my body is doing with that extra slice of bread in the morning or those 5 extra candy corns I took from the office treat jar. It's feeding my FAT child. And I have to try and fit myself into these numbers now. I am told my fat percentage should be between 21-27%. That's final the computer says. You must comply or your fat child will grow larger. And I must lean the fat child within me and make it a fat toddler and then hopefully just a fat baby. But I guess that's the lesson today that I learned. That computers don't get hugs. Computers don't need chocolate. And computers don't know what it's like to have to accept yourself, even with the percentage of fat being out of whack. So I appreciate the feedback oh body composition calculator. But your kind isn't welcome around these parts any longer. And I think I can go at least another 5 years without knowing what exists inside my body. It's better that way. Then I can love myself for everything I'm composed of, even if it's not within the range of numbers I'm supposed to be in. It just goes to show you Bill Gates that computers still don't have common sense because they aren't living, breathing human beings. To err is human. Thank goodness because if I was in line to be a computer, my numbers are WAY out of whack. I'd have been stamped reject on the assembly line. So to all of you who haven't had your body composition checked, just say NO. And incidentally, if you're one of those women who works really hard at being healthy and you have numbers of perfection--don't share them. We already know you're perfect, we already secretly spit on the ground you walk on and wish we could be like you. We don't need your body composition numbers screaming in our faces (I'll just cite that based on a fellow coworker who fit said description and HAD to share her numbers with me). There, I feel better now. I think my fat child within is crying and there's a chocolate bar with my name on it.

The Simple Things

Last night, I was sitting at my computer, letting my kids frolic around the house while I did my usual mommy time of getting into emails, Ebaying, etc. Dinner was done, homework completed and the kids were biding their time until bed. Then it occurred to me "Eva, you're too structured. Let loose". So I did. I decided to play a game of hide and seek with my children. What a novel idea, a game. I get so focused on structure that I don't take the time to be a kid with the kids. And every adult needs to be footloose and fancy free sometimes. We get too serious. So I suggested the idea and the first question out of all 4 children's mouths was "You're going to play with us?" "Yep" I said matter of factly. They were giddy with excitement. I volunteered to count first. Children scattered and I heard the scuffs of little bare feet across the wood floor, a stomp stomp up the stairs as one headed up to No Mans Land. One of the requirements was that all the lights except where the counter sat had to be turned off. I was hopeful this would cure the two youngest of their imaginary fear of the dark as they navigated their way through it. As I began counting, Laura snuck into her hiding spot in the same room. I could hear her laughing quietly to herself, pretty certain she had found the best hiding place ever. As I neared the half point mark in counting, Laura piped in "Don't forget to say 'Ready or Not' when you're done counting". Thanks Laura. Obviously, she has yet to learn the art of stealthy silence in a good game of hide and seek. As I neared the end, I heard a few house sounds from the basement and knew someone else was tucking themselves into another great spot. I saw Laura right off, but played that I couldn't see her. "Now where is Laura Frances" I said, repeating myself a few times. I could hear her giggle in pure delight. Finally, not able to stand the idea of being hidden from Mom any longer, she popped up from her spot and laughed so heartily that I couldn't help but laugh. Next, I saw little Grantie huddled under a piece of furniture, again pretty plain for the human eye to detect. But in his little mind, he was concealed like camouflage to the forest. I touched his back and he giggled, loving every minute of his secret time. We went together to find the other two boys. Grant has eyes like a panther. He spotted Evan and I walked right past him. Evan was hiding in the dirty clothes hamper---ewwww. But hey, it's hide and seek. Hygiene has to be compromised for the sake of the best hiding spot. Aedyn was last on the list. He has been known to Gumby his way into the smallest of spaces. So we again went together to find him. The mirror in our main floor bathroom showed his reflection and Grant spotted him first. They were laughing and asking me if I thought that they had each found the best hiding spot ever. "Of course" was my reply. Evan didn't delay. Before I could say a word, he was into counting motion, huddled on the futon, waiting for us to disperse immediately. I went upstairs, where the dark was the greatest. Nothing like hiding in the dark. Laura's bedroom seemed an apropos place since it was nearing the end of the timed countdown. I wanted to see if this 36 year old body could fit under her bed. The legs went, the hips---barely but the rest of me, especially my melon of a head would have none of it. So there I lay, pulling the bedspread upon me, half in and half out, hoping I wouldn't be the first found. Well, that's not difficult to pull off considering Laura gives herself up willingly and Grant is soon to follow. Again, found second to last--wishew. And one more game, I went into a closet this time. I was quiet and slowed my breathing. As I stood there in the dark, it took me back to being a kid when I had oodles of energy and I could squeeze myself into Gumby type situations for the sake of finding a good hiding spot. Those times were gone. But what a rush it was to play a simple game of hide and seek with my kids. If you haven't done it lately, I suggest it as perfect family therapy.

Boston Mass

I just got back from a business trip to Boston, Massachusetts. It was a wonderful but quick trip. I went to attend a Lab Design Conference. As I'm new to the lab industry and especially trying to design it, I wanted to get exposure to people and products of the industry. I succeeded. But there was a particular segment of my trip that I'd like to dwell on unmercifully today. It has to do with what I thought was a talented architect. Yesterday afternoon the conference bussed us to various labs throughout the area. I was bussed to MIT (very cool college--I'm already asking for applications for my children ha ha). After that I went to Novartis, which is a Swedish Laboratory company. They bought a Necco candy warehouse and converted it to a beautiful laboratory. And it just so happens that the architect who spearheaded the project came in yesterday morning to do a glorious presentation on how he accomplished this project. I was so impressed with the presentation that I was very excited to go see the warehouse/lab that afternoon. The architect, in his early 50's was there to do the tour. Then along came 20 something Jennifer in her tight fitting dress and high heels. The great architect that had such potential only a moment ago was now in the undeniable control of Jennifer. I don't know if she knew he was a perv in action or not. But everything that I thought about this architect went right out the window. I could almost see saliva collecting on the corners of his mouth, with his hands flittering in a little greedy motion of "bring me the bait". What could have been a potentially educational and visually stunning tour (I know, I sound like Lilleth from Cheers) turned into predator seeks prey and I had to watch it unfold. He was asking her if she was married, all the while our little group is straggling along behind them, waiting for the glory of the tour. I checked to see if he had a wedding ring and didn't see one. I at least wiped my brow on that. I pity the woman who ever did marry this man. Here we are, a group of professionals, around 7 of us and Hormonal Hal the architect is busy with eyes just for Jennifer, who incidentally just got married in May as she CLEARLY stated to kind of put a halt to his oogle eyes. But it didn't stop the intense attention. And we were left to salvage what was left. You see, the architect was supposed to give us the tour. But instead he just walked us down a hall, probably so he could promenade with his potential victim a little longer. We heard no factual information, no points of interest, nothing. I guess he figured our ride in the elevator was jovial enough and that was that. So why do I write this in my blog? For one, it gives all those of you who wonder what I do insite into my work life just a little minus the pervy architects of course. And second, it was the school of hard knocks for me. I guess I wouldn't expect something like that to happen with a group of professionals but it's a fact--these sex crazed animals of the world exist in every walk of life and in every profession. I knew that all along but to see it unfold is something of a different animal, and an animal he was. As we came back down to the lobby, 10 short minutes later, miss Jennifer exclaimed in all her naive innocence that it was the shortest and easiest tour she had given. And I'm thinking...oh so you give tours...let's get back in there and get the real deal this time. But alas, I'll have to live off the embers of the presentation and pictures that I took. My children and my husband picked me up from the airport last night. Evan gave me a big hug, Aedyn had made me a sweet card, Grant told me never to go away again and Laura said Daddy did a bad job on her hair. She looked like David Lee Roth on a bad day. It was nice to be away and do a little self retreating. But it was great to be back and be told I was missed. Rob told me never to go away again because it's hard to take over everything when I'm gone.

Hurray Luray

Uncle Jeff will be leaving us soon. So we're trying to get in some last minute family activities. We decided that since we had not been to Luray Caverns for a few years, we would head over with two Uncles, 4 kids, and me and Rob of course. It was a fun day. The caverns are very very cool. I got a lot of pictures. It seemed like every time I turned a corner, there was more stalagmites and stalactites. I'll give you a brief education. Stalagmites grow up from the floor. Stalactites stick tight to the ceiling. I learned that from our 12 year old tour guide. Okay, so he wasn't really 12 but he was a little questionable on age. Luray is about 1.5 hours from where we live. It's a small, quaint town in Virginia. We went out to eat at a local restaurant afterward. We got some authentic German food and drove home. A fun time for all. And I can proudly say for the first time, we went through the cave listening to children fuss and cry over one thing or another and not once were those cries from my children. Small steps folks, small steps.

Grant calls this one the CHEETO.

A New Edition to the Freeman Family

Our lives have been further diversified with the addition of a sweet little dog named JJ. I found him on Craigslist. We have always wanted to have a nice little dog for our family and to date, have only found dogs that are difficult and mean and nippy. So we have given them nice homes with people with no children as apparently, they don't like our house and our children. But we have finally found a dog with whom we can shower love and admiration on and he just sits there, like a lump, loving every minute of it. He is 3 years old, a pure Chihuahua. We had a little Chihuahua about 5 years ago and we loved her. But our landlord made us give her away. So we had every desire to bring a Chihuahua back into our lives. And JJ was in need of a good home. He comes to us from a home with three children and a plethora of little ones as the lady had a daycare in her home. So I'm telling you, this dog can take children in any format and actually prefers them to adults. He doesn't bark that much and when harnessed to a leash--he doesn't run and bark and go crazy over other dogs. He knows his place outside to go do his business and come back inside for more loves and hugs and clausterphobic conditions from four children gathered adoringly around him. I thought I would post a couple of pictures of him. I think he looks like a baby deer. He has been sleeping with Rob and I at night but I'm too light a sleeper and he's too into snuggling next to a warm body. And I can't be sure but I think he's, by osmosis, giving me odd dreams. Last night, Marie Osmond came to me in her nightgown to tell me about her marital problems. Yes, it's that bad. So other than finding him a new place to sleep at night, we're very happy to have him in our home. He is fittingly loved and adored.

Kindergarten Woes

Little Grantie is 5 and the summer is winding down. This means that it's time for him to start on his long journey to greater education. Today was his Kindergarten Orientation. He was going to meet his new teacher and see his classroom and get "comfortable" with the entire situation. We live across the street from the Elementary School so it was a quick jaunt in the rain. Grant was not in opposition mode on the walk over. But after walking into such a large expanse of a building, he realized there was no backing out. And when Grant is faced with a situation where there's not a way to back out, he digs in his heels, literally. So his nice teacher came to collect him for a little fieldtrip to the classroom while we parents got the principal schpeel. Grant stood firm on that cafeteria floor, not budging. This is what he does when he doesn't want to do something. I offered to walk him to his classroom, knowing really this was the only option unless these poor parents wanted to be subjected to a total mommy/son melt down. So we walked. And the teacher saw me with him and in her quest to make the students more independent, she grabbed him gently by the hand and he gave me the nod that he was alright. It was then that I realized he had taken off the chalkboard sized name tag that they had hung around his neck. I got back to my table and there it sat. Again, I smiled inside. This is so Grantie. About 20 minutes later, he came back into the cafeteria to be reunited with me. I could see a twinkle in his eye and I knew he had enjoyed himself. He told me he was supposed to walk me back to his classroom to show me around and he informed me they would have cookies for us to eat. He went right to the classroom--good sense of direction already. He doesn't get that from me. I would have been over in the 6th grade hall had it not been for Grant. We partook of the cookies--Chips Ahoy special. And on the way out of the classroom, Grant tells me "Those were great cookies Mom. But I don't understand how they made them so fast". The assistant principal was in front of us and she chuckled, as I'm sure she finds reason to do on a daily basis with so many children around. We walked toward home, in the rain. Grant told me he wanted to stay in Kindergarten and he refused now to go back to preschool (he has 2 more days). Oy vey! So after some additional coaxing and another threat of a mommy/son melt down, we were on our way to preschool. Some parents, especially mothers get all sad and teary-eyed on the day their child crosses into Kindergarten. I'm there, providing the teacher with child-sized catcher's mitt, fully waiting for that cross over. It's not because I don't totally adore being a parent, because I truly do. It's because I'm excited to see one of my children grow, to see them take steps toward independence, and to know that they're learning. It's all a happy cycle. Then someday when he's trying to take me to the nursing home, I'm going to do the same thing to him. I'll dig in my heels, I will take off my big ol' moomoo and lay it on the table and run naked through the nursing home so that he can chase me down and surprise me with a plate of prune cookies or something. I know, not a pretty image. But life is about coming full circle.

Love ya Grantie. This is a picture of him with chocolate cake all over his mouth.

A Picture to Post?

I struggle with this whole blog thing. Is it a blog, is it a personal journal, turned public? I want to post to the blog. But my issue is that I feel like if I don't have these magnificent pictures of my children engaged in some activity that we've done, I am not allowed to post. What's up with that? I don't know. I think we as Mormon women emulate each other. So one starts up a post with beautiful pictures and we all feel compelled to follow. There's an unwritten law that unless you have a picture of said children, don't even bother. We don't really read your thoughts anyway ha ha. I don't know if people really read my thoughts. But I thoroughly enjoy writing. It's liberating. But as I said in my first post, I don't write to share the intimacies of my life, as though you're able to read all my thoughts. You read the basics of what I want to share.

With that said, I think we are a visual nation. We like to see pictures--they're fun and interesting. So we tend to gravitate toward the picture over the words. Maybe that's why people say the cliche of a picture speaks a 1000 words. Translated it means, save the saliva sister, just show me the picture. So now I counteract and write without a picture. Will I be scorned? Will my fellow friends see this and skim right through it, simply because there isn't a picture? I am one to boycott things that belong to a trend. So I'm boycotting pictures for this one post. Call me a cynic. I can deal with that.

So what is the purpose of this post? Just to share my thoughts on always having a picture in order to validate a post. My sister blogs without pictures sometimes. My dad says he doesn't ever read the words, he just looks at the pictures (thanks for your honesty Dad). And my hope is that in writing a blog, we take the time to share our thoughts with the picture. That we don't just think that our pictures speak for our lives. Words have just as great a meaning.

Cue step down from soap box. Thanks for your time. And just to attract all you picture people, I'm going to pick a superb selection from the "came with the computer" photo track to enhance my post. It's the least I can do--smile.

Cheers,

Eva

Seek the Creek

I'm an adventurous soul by nature. It doesn't always translate to an Indiana Jones type of response but at least the will is there. I try and take the kids on a walk every night. I tout it as exercise but it's nice to be out, talking and enjoying nature. We stumbled upon a trail one night. It was exciting. We continued down the trail and found ourselves at a small creek. It was beautiful and peaceful and who would imagine, right in our own backyard. So weekly we visit this place. The kids like to go there and roam around in the water. I think personally the water smells like the restroom stalls at Costco but kids--they don't care 'bout that stuff. So I captured some pictures of them having a ball. Uncle Jeff came with us and he dawned some nasty shoes to go wading in the water. I guess water brings out the kid in us all.

Independence Day

Yesterday was the Fourth Of July. It was a fun day but not what I had expected or planned. But as I'm always one for impromtu changes, I go with the flow and things seem to work out. I think if I were ever stranded on a desserted island, I would survive out of the sheer ability to adapt to my surrounding conditions. I had planned a great day for us to go to the church breakfast, head over to the Fairfax Parade and then to Lake Anna for a day of swimming in Virginia's second largest lake. Here's what really happened. I got up and decided I wanted to sleep in for once so I missed the ward breakfast. From there, we zipped over to the Fairfax parade (at least something stayed on schedule) but got there about 5 minutes prior to the parade starting and had to squeeze into the sea of people. Again, I adapt because I'm one that's not always overly prepared. We didn't bring chairs because we knew there wouldn't be room to put them. We watched the parade in humid splendor and the kids kept asking "When are we leaving?" My goal of creating a down-home 4th of July was not being received so well. We left the parade hot, sweaty and ready for a nap. Rob was sleeping (worked the night before). We woke him up and everyone dawned swimsuits for our foray at the lake. We drove 1-1/2 hours (much longer than I expected it to take) and got to Lake Anna just in time for the lifeguards to call everyone out of the water. It was thundering. We hadn't been on the beach more than 2 minutes. So we couldn't go in the water. I took the liberty of liberally applying sunscreen to all participants so that they would have time to marinate prior to entering the water. However, our dream to swim was short-lived. The clouds continued to move in. I of course had to take the kids to the restroom. I don't understand why kids have to use every bathroom of every building or place we go to. And when one has to go, they all suddenly have to go. And the bathrooms were a dreaded place. But we came out to see our posse of family waiting for us with chairs in hand. We packed up, got in the van and went off to return home. The trip started with the rain crashing down, lightening dancing through the skies and tree branches smacking into the windshield left and right. We stopped for gas and decided to hunker down at a Cracker Barrel for dinner until the rain stopped. On our way home, we made the last minute decision to go to the fireworks show at Fairfax Highschool. We were still in swimming attire but again, adaptation wins the race. We brought umbrellas, set up our chairs again and watched a magnificent fireworks show, completely open sky, as the rain poured down. Even with the rain, it still was a great show. A memorable Fourth, despite the downfalls, or rather---rainfalls.

New to the blog

Well, following in the blogging footsteps of my sister and various friends, I'm starting a blog of my own. After previewing other blogs, I'm a little taken aback at the candid honesty of some people on their blogs. I almost feel sinful reading them, as though I've snuck into someone's room and opened up their journal or diary. Why do people feel so comfortable sharing so much with perfect strangers? Maybe it's with the thought that it's refreshing to be uninhibited by such an idea. But I can tell you, none of that will be shared from my perspective. It's straight forward for me. I am just barely figuring out how to do this. So once I gather the in's and out's, hopefully I'll be able to post more. Until then, if I ever find my way back to this site (not sure how to even get back to this blog site)....Happy Trails.