RDC Photo of the Week

Tramadol Tablets Online

https://geolatinas.org/m956pgqrl Next week we’ll begin our “Silent Sundays (see Weekly Schedule page).”  To help begin the feel for next week, here’s the first of our RDC Real Tramadol Online Photos of the Week.

https://www.elevators.com/t79lfa1 If you feel you have a photo that highlights the Red Dirt culture of middle America, showcases the State of Oklahoma in some way or puts a face to who we are, please submit your entries to:  reddirtchronicles@gmail.com

follow If you see your submission show up the following week, then that means you win!  What do you win? The smiles of our readers when they pull up the screen on Silent Sundays.  We are convinced there is no better reward.

follow Shouting out to the NY Times “20 Somethings” article this past week, our back-to-school season, our penchant for travel and the geographical region of Norman, OK – here is our first Photo of the Week.  Enjoy!

https://www.yolascafe.com/f3j8g1u38j

20-somethings Peggy White and Rachel Roberts enjoy a moment under a 1950s "Turbinator Hair Drier" during summer 2010 vacation in New York City. Peggy is a free-lance artist and Rachel is a Photography major at the University of Oklahoma.

Meanwhile, Back At The Ranch: Divide and Conquer…..Together

https://alldayelectrician.com/4roax6z

source url It’s a Saturday.  The nine-to-fivers are reveling in the covers that hide the dawn’s glare this A.M.

Purple Martin house
Purple Martins found a home out here at the ranch just one week after it was built.

Cheap Tramadol Overnight Cod But not us.  My husband and I begin our weekdays before some people go to bed,  and the weekend is no different.   Like every household, we have things to do.  OUR problem is that usually we have each created our own lists (hidden in our own minds) and have divided the chores out between us without telling the other about the plans.  It could be a problem if we let it.  We don’t.

source I stopped picking the last of the tomatoes to watch Greg lower the Purple Martin house to get it ready for the winter and ultimately next spring.  He joined me in the melon patch to check on our first watermelons.  We are both amazed at how much fruit our only two melon plants have produced.  I made a mental note to put the tomato cages up for next season.  He set up the sprinklers to water the yard.  I fed the kittens.  He fed the cats.  I carried my coffee across the pasture to give the horses some carrots.  They knew it was not my usual time with them, and they seemed grateful.

Fence
Turning the corner on fence painting.

https://lpgventures.com/rpleui71f There is always so much to do out here, but neither of us seem to mind.  We have stopped to sit on the backporch to have some coffee.  Greg remembered that the front gate doesn’t latch.  We have got to fix that.  It’s added to the list.  Before noon we will have added as many chores as we have completed this morning.  Maybe he’s right next to me; maybe he is across the pasture.  Either way, we are content to divide and conquer our chores for today, so we can spend the evening……together.

From a White-Skinned Father to a Black-Skinned Son

https://geolatinas.org/uutefslov

Josh and Silas, November 2009

I am a white-skinned father with a black-skinned son.

A little over a year ago, my wife, Amy, and I adopted our son, Silas, from Ethiopia.

Silas turned two in December.

Today our conversations tend to revolve around our favorite snacks – yogurt and lemon pound cake at Starbucks – and favorite TV characters and movies – Elmo and Ratatouille. We also squabble very little these days. Sometimes Silas will take a swing at me when I take away the Wii joystick. And other times he’ll treat the cheese sandwich I made him for dinner like a Frisbee.

One day, though, Silas will want to talk about other things.  Like the color of his skin. And my skin.   And his mother’s skin.   And pictures and events and people and dates he finds in his history textbook.

There are some historical dates I don’t want to broach with Silas then. August 12th, 1955, for example.  That’s the day Emmett Till, a 14 year old boy, was brutally lynched in Mississippi by white, southern, “Christian” men.

Then there is September 15th, 1963. That’s the day when four little girls were killed by a white supremacist bomb at 16th Street Baptist Church in Birmingham, Alabama.

Or April 4th, 1968. That’s the fateful day Dr. King had his hope-filled voice silenced by a sniper’s gun.

But then there are days in America’s history I can’t wait to explain to Silas.

Days like December 1st, 1955, for example.  The day when Rosa Parks refused to give up her bus seat to a white man. That small, defiant “no” reverberated out into a large, defiant “no more.”

There are other days, too. Like August 28th, 1963. The day Dr. King delivered his famous message, “I Have a Dream.” It was a day unlike any other day. It was a day of dreaming of another kind of America.

And then there was November 4th, 2008.  Obama’s presidential victory.  And then there was January 20th, 2009.  Obama’s inauguration.

These are dates I look forward to telling Silas about – not as a student of history, but as a participator in making history.

Baby silas
Baby Silas

And I will tell Silas this: whether one voted for Obama or not, one could not argue that it was a significant symbolic moment.  And a storied moment with deep biblical resonances.  From hundreds of years wandering in the wilderness of prejudice and oppression.  To now the new days of exploring the “milk and honey” land of equality and opportunity.

Undoubtedly, MLK glimpsed the Promised Land from a distance.  Like Moses.  Like a dream just beyond his grasp.  But Silas, you, and others of your skin color will experience this land as a blessed reality.  Like Joshua.  And the nation of Israel.

I can only pray that this new land for you will shimmer with the topsoil of fresh possibility, and contain in its seedbed the promise of renewed dignity.  But, Silas, there are still weeds trying to choke out these verdant seeds.  For though the “color line” W.B. Dubois spoke of has been broken in America’s political establishment, it still exists in America’s religious establishment.  95% of the evangelical church, for example, still remains divided along the color line.  Unfortunately, Martin Luther King Jr.’s truism stills rings true today:  11 am on Sunday morning is still the most segregated hour in America.  Perhaps, though, Silas, by the time you come of age, that small, subversive 5% of the American church will have grown and spread through the body of Christ like a lush vine.

Voting though won’t bring this change.

Only Spirit-led repentance will.

I can only pray that you discover these seeds pods of repentance bursting within my heart.  And your mom’s heart.  And your grandparents’ hearts.  And in the hearts of all of those who you know that call themselves Christ followers.

I am reminded of observing MLK Day last year.  You, your mom, and I celebrated Dr. King’s legacy with our adoption community at the Queen of Sheba, a local Ethiopian restaurant.  On that special day, our dear friends, Eric and Tara, received their referral picture from Ethiopia of their soon-to-be-adopted baby boy, Malak. That night we laughed and cried over Malak’s picture, ooing and awing at his large black eyes and his luminous smile.

Later that night as I lay awake in bed and reflected on that festive evening, I couldn’t help but wonder if in fact Dr. King were alive today, would he approve of couples like us and the Silvestres adopting black children. I also thought about how far we have come, from an age of colonialism, where Africans were our slaves, to this new post colonial age, where Africans are now our sons. And I wondered if Dr. King could have even dreamed of such a day when such transformation was possible. Who knows really? But it makes me wonder if at the Queen of Sheba, if just for a fleeting moment, with our bellies full of freshly baked bread, and sweet Ethiopian wine on our tongues, and with you in our arms, and Malak’s picture in front of our faces, if we did not glimpse even if for a moment, the future community of God, the eschatological days when the old age of hatred and racial division will be truly over, and a new age of love and racial harmony will have begun.

As I closed my eyes to sleep, I suddenly recalled Dr. King’s words spoken days before he was assassinated.

“The end is reconciliation;

the end is redemption;

the end is the creation of the beloved community.”

And remembering these words, Silas, I thought to myself, Perhaps the end has already begun.

-Josh Bottomly

follow site Editor’s Note – this article is reprinted from Relevant, an online magazine. It was published as a Martin Luther King Day feature dated Monday, January 19, 2009.  Josh is the Director of College Counseling at Casady High School in Oklahoma City.  He coaches basketball, is a husband and now a father of TWO children from Ethiopia. Silas has a little sister.  She joined the family in June of this year.

Meanwhile, Back on the Ranch: An Oklahoma Girl From Head to Toe

by Julie Allgyer

Tammy and Julie
Tammy stopped by to visit on her way to Oklahoma

There is something special about girls from Oklahoma.  We are…different.

I realized this after browsing through a real estate magazine at a local restaurant and noticing a photo of a girl who went to my high school back in the late 70’s.  She was currently a local real estate agent living about thirty miles from me.  If you’re looking for oceanfront condos for sale Myrtle Beach SC, hiring a real estate agent may help you find the best deals.

We had not been good friends in high school and didn’t have a junior high slumber party memory to share, but somehow I knew that when I called her, she would remember me.  She did.

Shortly after contacting her, my husband and I were invited to her home for a Sunday lunch.  We had a fabulous time and I have since seen her on several other occasions.  I even stayed overnight at her house (not exactly a slumber party, but it will do) when a two-day workshop took me to her city.  We had dinner and talked about growing up in Chickasha, Oklahoma.

There are many other Oklahoma women who continue to touch my world: an OSU sorority sister bumped into me in the middle of Reading Station in Philadelphia, a classmate stopped by to have a quick dinner while traveling I-40 to a new chapter in her life, a lady at the convenience store wearing an Eskimo Joe’s T-shirt held my place in line, and my former principal, who is hoping to find her way back to Oklahoma, molded me into the writing teacher I am today.  My former principal is also expecting her fifth grandchild, a girl named Preslee, who no doubt will reap the benefits of being raised as an “Okie.”

So here’s to Preslee, who has no idea how lucky she is about to get, and all the other women who qualify.  You know who you are.

https://www.brigantesenglishwalks.com/fv88k56z An Oklahoma Girl From Head to Toe

Sun-bleached or shiny black locks like a horse’s mane

Lake-blue eyes, or as dark as night on a rural road

When it comes to character, Oklahoma girls reign

With inner and outer strength, they will always carry their load

Lips that whisper a song just when you think you’ve forgotten the tune

Shoulders that can bear the weight of her worries and yours

Beads of sweat on her back from the Oklahoma heat in June

A loving heart beating strong and fast like an eagle soars

Legs that can carry her to her destiny, however long

Feet barefoot or not, walking toward a horizon of blue

Are you looking in the mirror? Do you see someone beautiful and strong?

By birth or at heart, you may be an Oklahoma Girl too

All That’s Missing is the Tub of Green Plastic Army Men

Sleeping bag, suitcase and overalls: my "treasures" to bring home from Tuttle, America.

This morning I drove to Tuttle, Oklahoma.  My agenda: visit with my parents, say hello to my aunt and uncle, give my grandmother a hug and drive back home.

There is an ongoing ritual between my parents and I.  Most every time I go home, I bring something back that technically belonged to me when I was a child, and is definitely something my parents don’t have the heart to throw away.  I’m 46 years old and the process continues to this day.  Bits and pieces, here and there, trip by trip.  Books, school uniforms, the box with my trophies and medals…get the picture?

Today my treasure pile for the return trip consisted of a circa mid-70s mod flower print sleeping bag, a pair of overalls my mother found at a garage sale (just for the heck of it, these were not from my childhood) and a red, white and blue print pressed cardboard suitcase.  I assumed it was empty.

On the top of the suitcase written in my best childhood cursive penmanship was a blue ink message:  “I like Jeff H. and Mark W.”  Evidently, at that point in my life (which I’m pegging around the sixth grade), I had a hard time deciding which boy to like best so I just “liked” them both.  Apology shout-outs to Jeff Holsey or Mark Whittington if they ever read this post.  Also included in this message was a colored-in arrow and a star beside their names.  I suppose that was my way of emphasizing that I definitely meant THEM and they needed to be punctuated with a star.  (In my mind right now I’m hearing Mary Catherine Gallagher say, “Soopa-staaaahhh!”)

Later today I called my parent’s home by accident.  I spoke with my mother for a few minutes and before I hung up she said, “Kelly – if you decide to throw away those Barbie dolls, I want the hand-knitted doll clothes back, okay?”

I’m sorry…what?  Did she say “BARBIES!?”  Suddenly the suitcase became important.  No longer was it a cute little reminder of my childhood.  It was holding my BARBIES!

We were already on our way out the door to run errands.  I conducted an interview, took a shower, watched a Roller Derby bout, ate dinner with my eldest and her boyfriend and came home.  I walked in the door and immediately opened the suitcase.

As I lifted the lid it was like one of those movies where you open the treasure chest only to find another treasure chest inside made of better materials…wood on the outside, gold inside, right?  INSIDE the suitcase was my plastic coated Barbie doll carrier.  And inside THAT was Ken, Barbie, Skipper, and some little doll I never named.  She was in far better shape than the other three.

Ken, Skipper, Barbie and some little doll who I didn't name. I think her given name was "Dawn."

Here’s my chain of memories as they came to me next:  I had a groovy Barbie van they rode around in.  I made them a campsite with pebbles and teeny bits of twigs.  I changed their clothes a hundred times.  I warded off boys in the 4th through 6th grade who tried to undress my Barbie’s clothes because that’s just what boys do at that age.  I cleaned the smudges off their faces.  I combed Barbie and Skipper’s hair into ponytails, pigtails, doggie-ears and up-dos.  But some of the most fun times I enjoyed playing with them was when my brother and I set up all his little plastic green army men to protect my Barbies from our collection of plastic jungle animal “enemies.”

In our living room we had green shag carpet and an antique green chaise lounge my parents had re-upholstered with green velveteen-type fabric.  That combination was our pretend grass and mountain landscape.  Perfect, right?  The army men who crawled on their belly would be balanced precariously on the rounded arms of the chairs so that they could jump down on top of a tiger if it threatened the Barbie camp too much.

I loved those army men.  My mother sucked one up just about every time she ran the vacuum cleaner.  They were pretty well hidden in the shag carpet “grass” after we played with them for a while.

Back to reality and fading away from my memories, I looked at my watch.  “Late,” I thought.  I yawned and sifted through the rest of the Barbie outfits, hung the pastel green purse on Barbie’s hand and turned out the light.

I need to call my brother.  It’s just not going to be the same playing with these Barbies if he doesn’t bring over his bucket of army men.  I wonder if the missile launcher is still chewed off?

If he DOES find the tub and we DO play again, I’m denying, denying, denying that I chewed off the missile launcher.  After all, they can’t make me talk in pretend army camp.  And if they try, I’ll just drive my Barbie van home!

Los Arcos Wins the Unofficial Mexican Beer Contest of the Entire Universe

One Negro Modelo and one Corona Extra, please.It’s been over three months since I’ve had a Mexican Beer served up Los Arcos style.  The heat of the summer has droned on, my garden work has been accomplished, and I’ve traveled to England’s pub-land and back again. Not one beer.

Why?  Because once you’ve had a Mexican Beer from the Los Arcos cantina, there’s just no going back.

It’s worth a three month wait.

Oh sure…if someone has not experienced this end-of-a-long-week beverage before, they might protest:  “It’s like any other Mexican Beer!  Same salt…same lime pulp…same cold mugs…heck, I make ’em that way at home!”

Nope.  If your coldest mug is ice cold…theirs is stick-to-your-frost-bitten fingers colder.  If your beer is chilled down nicely before being poured into a mug, they win by at least two to five degrees lower every time.

Their salt is perfect and their lime pulp is more liberal than any other place I’ve found.   And, may I be stuck with a massive prickly pear cactus if this isn’t true…there’s a little tiny bit of magic at Los Arcos they mix into the mugs before you are served these treats.

What do you think? Is the chin strap a magic Mexican Beer ingredient?

Maybe the bar tender adds something under the counter out of the customer’s line of sight.  Maybe it’s the special way the waiter shaves his beard.  He sports a precision-shaved chin strap and really likes his new whisker style.  The waiter theory is plausible simply because I think he elevates his customer’s moods by his personality.  He shakes your hand, asks how you’ve been, and when he brings in the trays of food and drinks, he sets them HARD down on the table and says merrily, “LOOK at THAT!”

My husband disagrees with the “waiter theory” because we’ve been there before and the chin-strap dude was no where to be found.

A month back when I was in an Oxford pub with students and faculty, I got strange looks when I ordered club soda with lime.  “Don’t you want a beer?” they asked, holding their room temperature, dark European brew.

“No thank you,” I replied.

It’s not the same.  I don’t care if beer connoisseurs try to teach me about bitters, German brews, blah-ditty-blah-blah whatevers.  These details don’t matter to me.   Los Arcos wins my unofficial Mexican Beer contest of the entire universe.

See you there in another month or two.  Viva Los Lime & Salt!

Los Arcos Mexican on Urbanspoon

Plenty of Smiles to Go Around In Stillwater, OK

Barely visible through the privacy fence, the football team groups in a huddle for instructions.

by Red Dirt Kelly

As I approached the “No Loitering” a-frame sign I knew the message was a nice way of saying, “Stay out – we’re working.”  My curiosity got the best of me, however, and I walked closer to the corner gate of the practice field.  I could hear the OSU football team yelling drills and the sounds of helmets and pads crashing together as tackles took place over and over. The burning sun overhead made the practice atmosphere feel genuinely intimidating.  A physically fit man with sunglasses and white hair decked out in new orange and black coach clothes looked my way as I got closer.

“Hey – can I take a quick photo of the team practicing?” I smiled.

“It’s closed.  So…no.” He responded.

“How about of you?  You look interesting!” I retorted.

“I can assure you that I am NOT interesting,” he chuckled.  I waved and walked on….straight to the athletic ticket office.  For the first time in about eight years I picked up a packet of student tickets for my husband and I.  We were willing to trade our chair-backed seats in the alumni section for the reduced cost of these babies.  With three of our family members in college, you bet your patooty we were.  Besides, sitting in the student section always helps you remember mankind is a primal being – there is raw energy like no other around those crazy, crazy fans.

OSU student holding his girlfriend's bike while she picks up her football tickets. He was in a good mood too!

I checked the envelope to make sure his “student dependent/spouse” card was in the packet, talked to a few others picking up their tickets and walked back to the car.

On my returning stroll, I noticed that practice was continuing without a guarded gate and a photo would have been easy pickings…but I decided not to push things today.  After all, the atmosphere across campus was just way too happy.  I didn’t need to spoil the mood with being chased off the premises.

The volunteers manning information and water booths for the students were happy.  The students trying to find their way around campus were also happy.  The faculty walking up and down the halls in the College of Human Environmental Sciences were happy.  There were new posters on the walls of student athletes in our college, students who had earned honors or done research…a smile on all their faces.

Volunteer staff manning the information and water booths.  This is one of many stationed across campus.As I walked up the stairs to my office and sat down, I noticed I was in an incredibly good mood.  My season football and basketball tickets were now in my purse, my syllabi were written and I had just seen my first advisee of the semester.

I have a sneaking suspicion I know why professors wait so long to retire…something about the university setting is like a fountain of youth.  A new school year, a new promise of learning, a new hope of beating the living daylights out of our competition in the sports arenas.

It’s going to be a good year.

Physical plant staff driving a Gator across campus, carrying supplies for last minute touch-ups before Monday.

RDC Masthead Photography – New This Week!

Dear readers,

We’re pleased to announce a weekly rotation on our blog masthead beginning today.  We’ll change the photo out every Sunday morning to start our week anew.

Our photographer is Rachel Roberts of Norman, Oklahoma.  The images have been cropped from her portfolio especially for the Red Dirt Chronicles (RDC) and will encompass seasons, events, and impressions of the culture about which we write.

They will be saved in “Categories” on our right hand screen navigation under “RDC Mastheads.”  We hope you enjoy this addition to the site.

Have a happy August evening.

Sincerely,

Kelly Roberts, RDC Editor

Meanwhile, Back at the Ranch: He’s Home

Yesterday, I couldn’t wait to get home.  But as eager as I was to see my own home on a Friday afternoon, I was looking forward to an evening away from home on Saturday night…with someone who really knows how to appreciate coming home.

I met Bryan Hayes about five years ago.  I had just started teaching at the school where he worked as PE coach.  He did not appear to fit into the coach role.  He had long hair and looked like he really hadn’t done a push up in awhile.

As a couple of school years came and went, however, I learned more and more about my friend.  He could play the guitar and willingly brought it along with his mellow voice and beautiful wife to many late night functions.

He didn’t just play the guitar.  He had a BAND:  Bryan Hayes and the Retrievers… not so odd of a name when you know that Bryan is an animal advocate.  He has a home full of rescued Labs of all shapes and sizes.

One day Bryan came to school without the rest of his hair.  I thought that maybe he had gotten into trouble somehow, but nothing could have been further from the truth.  Bryan had joined the Army National Guard.  This spring while most of us were living somewhat normal lives, Bryan was in Iraq.  This son, husband, uncle, friend, singer, and teacher was busy making sure we had a safe place to call home.

Tonight Bryan and his band stood on a stage and humbly entertained friends and family.  Wait. No.  He entertained family. Bryan Hayes, our brother, is home.

(Click the picture to watch Bryan and the Retrievers play “Lonesome Soldier.”)

Bryan and the Retrievers playing "Lonesome Soldier"

Beyond Red

by The Howard

*Disclaimer: All facts reported in this article may only be facts to me and could have nothing at all to do with actual history.

You could say that I grew up in the red hills of northwest Oklahoma between Buffalo and May.  I never actually lived there, but have spent a lot of time in the area and have occasional, random opportunities to go back.  Not as often as in the past, but on occasion I get, or take, the opportunity to go.

Take last Memorial Day for instance.  My brother and I took off the Thursday prior and ran the gauntlet of Waynoka, Buffalo and Laverne leaving silk petals behind as we went.  We had a great time – took along my tattered Atlas & Gazetteer in an effort to get from place to place and back home again without straying onto a highway.

We weren’t completely successful missing the highways but we sure killed a lot of time!

My latest northwestern jaunt was for business to an area south of Gate, Oklahoma.  I’m assuming Gate is so-named because it is just inside the Oklahoma Panhandle, serving as the gate to “No Man’s Land.”

You have to love a place called “No Man’s Land.”  Texas didn’t want this 38-mile wide, narrow strip of land.  Kansas was restricted by geography and treaty from claiming it.  So, it was pinned onto the collective of unassigned lands fated to become Oklahoma.

What I found south of Gate was surprising and a little irritating. At least for a while.

You see, for at least 120 feet below the ground surface there is nothing red.  No “redbed” as the old-timers like to call the red shales and sandstones.  No red silts or sands such as what comprises the red hills outside Buffalo.  No red clays like those that cover much of the state.  Just light brown sand, gravel and a little bit of gray clay.

This geological footprint makes for an interesting drive; it’s like the undiscovered Little Sahara.  There are what appear to be hills but on closer inspection are discovered to be sand dunes rolling right into the Beaver River.  And the visage of these sage covered sand dunes…I couldn’t help but be reminded of Teletubby Land.  My son loves it when I sing the Teletubby song.  He’s now twelve years old, and was never as big a fan of the Tubbies as I.

I didn’t actually see a child’s face in the blazing hot sun (as in Teletubby Land), but after prolonged exposure I’m sure I heard giggling!

Laurie's Cafe in Gate, Oklahoma

By the way, if you ever go through Gate, stop for a cheeseburger at the local café.  They’re pretty good; I’ve had several over the course of two weeks.  And the special on Thursdays is fried chicken.  It must be good because it’s the only building within, say, thirty miles that has more than four people in it.  Every table is filled on Thursdays!

Driving home from these sage-covered dunes, I began to ponder red dirt and the Red Dirt Chronicles.  Oklahoma isn’t all red dirt but red dirt is a common bond.  It is a bond that’s unites us in this geopolitical jigsaw puzzle called Oklahoma.

I think about all the eco-diversity in Oklahoma…I believe we have six distinct eco-regions, depending upon which source you read.  Beyond red, we are a diverse mixture of urban and rural cultures and backgrounds.  But we are united by the wind and the red dirt carried upon it.

It’s good to explore Oklahoma!

Day 40 in the UK Brings Me Home

Lower red arrow shows where I stayed in "Staircase 14" - Amsterdam Quod. Other labels were added because I mentioned them in my posts.

Day 40 was 30 hours long.  At least it felt as if there had been 24 hours + the 6 hours time difference between Oklahoma and England.  And that’s putting things mildly.

On Sunday morning I left a city 75 minutes northeast of London and by Sunday evening landed on a very familiar Will Rogers World airport tarmac, right in the heart of Oklahoma.  The time in-between those two events is a bit of a blur.  Here are a few things I remember…

As I sit and write this entry my shoulders tell me this:

1) Suitcase = 61 pounds.  The service person at the desk “…let it slide.  After all, it’s not THAT much over 50 pounds.”  [Really? Cool!]

2) Laptop = 6 pounds.  I know.  Please, no lectures.  I realize there are sleaker models.

3) New bag = 7 pounds, crammed full.  If the top had included a magnet clasp, the prospect of carrying that much clutter scooped in the last minute from my dorm room vanity would have been dismal.  A zipper top is a thing of beauty.

4) Casebook, statues and handbook = 9 pounds, stacked neatly in a paper bag with handles.  In the morning the bag had gleamed in its spotless, wrinkle free state.  In the evening, the bag was hardly recognizable.  Smudges, rips, one handle barely fastened.  However, I got my books back.  Good thing – they were 300 dollars.  Young parents attending college must weigh this decision frequently: “Books? Or that child we wanted to have?”

Total poundage drug through three airports? 83 pounds.  Sometimes at a dead run.  Other times as a slow crawl.  Never gracefully.

And as I wrote those words, “dead run” another thing came to mind.  The magical beauty of an Express Connection bright orange sticker.

Like a Golden Ticket from Willy Wonka, only it's an Orange Ticket from American!

This little adhesive label allows the bearer to bypass thousands of people standing in line to get through customs and check-in counters because you happen to have been on a plane that arrived dangerously near the departure time of your connecting flight.  Amazing – – leave one plane, go through customs, retrieve 61 pound suitcase, re-check it into another counter, ride the train to a different terminal, run like anything (with no regard for how you look to others at this point), and get to the connecting flight with 11 minutes to spare.  Never mind that it needed repairs and didn’t leave for another hour or more.  The magic of the orange badge had already been experienced.

My very special library card

When I got home and started emptying 83 pounds onto the middle of the living room floor, a small white card fluttered down from my laptop bag and underneath the coffee table.  I stooped to pick it up, flipped it over, and saw that it was Brasenose College Library Card.

I’m not a big “souvenir” person.  I don’t appreciate clutter for all the nostalgia it might contain, and I don’t do scrapbooks.  For those of you who know Kelsey Sweger, she can attest to the fact that after a four-hour tutelage (and she IS a scrapbooking master), I have given up the notion of ever embracing the hobby.  As I instinctively raised my arm to toss it into the trash pile, however, I hesitated.

I couldn’t do it.  Maybe I’ll keep it.  I guess I can have two souvenirs…my handbag AND my Library Card.  And my memories. And this travel journal I’ve been keeping for 40 days.

Yep, that should do it.  I completed my 40th day by sitting in the living room, way past my bedtime, talking to my husband, daughters and their boyfriends.  I passed out travel gifts, listened to their stories about “how to jailbreak the iPhone 4,” what the girls did in Ecuador, and how Mick managed three yards at once while two sets of neighbors and I were gone.  It was a perfect finish to my 40th day.

But as I composed this post one day past day 40, I didn’t have closure.  One more thing needed to be done.

I lifted the top of my flatbed scanner, took the Library Card, and walked across my office floor.  I looked around and decided it needed to be protected.  Lifting the glass front to my antique 4-stack barrister shelves, I put it on the top row in the center, leaning against the back of the shelf.

I closed the lid and I was done.  Tomorrow I return to work with my handbag in tow.

My fingers found the light switch as I continued to study the placement of the card on the shelf.  “Well Done,” I thought to myself.  And I turned off the light.

Day 39: Sniff, Swirl, Sip, Swish & Swallow. Breathe. Analyze.

I am, to this day, a “Frasier” fan.  The affected antics of two psychiatrist brothers raving about their less-than-stellar chocolate shavings atop their cappuccino cracks me up.  The show’s writers blended a well-developed group of characters and scripting with the perfect mix of snobbery, culture, uncomfortable situations and physical comedy.

Take, for example, the ongoing desires of Niles and Frasier to become “Corkmaster” of their wine-tasting club.  Watching their over-the-top “sniff, swirl, sip, swish and swallow” routine always sent me into helpless giggles (while wrestling with an uncomfortable anxiety – could they really be that ridiculous?).

So…I was watching a British couple decked out in their after-five attire walk down the sidewalk last night, her white feathered headband bobbing to and fro, and I thought of Frasier, Niles and their perpetual “dressing up” for occasions…and then the aforementioned wine-tasting episode as I noticed the couple was entering a posh hotel – a massive picture window view of diners eating and drinking inside. “Yes,” I thought.  “There is my Day 39 inspiration.  Perfect.”

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Bag purchased on my last day in Oxford. One of my "final three" tasks to complete.

source Sniff – When I arrived in England I was completely disoriented. I had to breathe in the culture and test the question of whether or not to embrace my new adventure.  The aroma of London was promising enough, so I raised the glass of my 40 Day Trek to chin level and pressed on.

https://penielenv.com/jk5w3dnih Swirl – The nice thing about swirling your drink is that you are in control of the velocity, therefore having some influence of the blending process as you prepare for partaking.  I took my time, met with those who were important to me, my research and my energies, and agreed that this was a good thing.  Not too much, not too little; a manageable schedule with appropriate velocity.  I swirled, ramping up my culture intake, and went on to Oxford.

https://onlineconferenceformusictherapy.com/2025/02/22/g4fsyv4d0wd Sip – A gentle taste of things to come was helped immensely by the staff at Oxford.  “Here, my love, let me take your bags.”  “There you are now, dear, new fresh towels.”  “Oh no, you can’t find the bus in that direction.  You’d best turn ‘round and head the opposite way.  That’s right.  All better now.”  Sip too hard, your wine goes straight to your windpipe.  Sip too softly, and you annoy those around you with a horrible noise [aka – too many questions of too many people].  Read the Law Conference Manual, ask for directions occasionally, go to class, take advantage of what’s around you…and your drink is appropriately consumed.  Nice.  Very nice.

https://guelph-real-estate.ca/911kdyoqeun Swish – The purpose of swishing is so that you leave no cultural taste-bud unstimulated.  You fill every nook and cranny within your head, in this case, with aromatic information of the grape, vintage and year you’ve chosen to drink.  “Oxford, Summer, 2010,”she requested, “One bottle please.”  Included in this swishing were day trips, special lectures, events, studying, cramming and taking exams.  The final and most intense swish was accomplished through my Family Law final – a culmination of excellent lectures, incredible reading load, and an exhaustively complex three hour test that took us through marriage, divorce, child custody, international jurisdiction and the utilization of the Hague Treaty on child abduction.  Wait for it……[*gulp*].

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Tea and freshly baked Scones. #2 of my final three tasks to complete. Yummmm.

https://www.marineetstamp.com/invabkng3zn Swallow – on the evening of Day 39 the wine trickled down my gullet as I walked the streets of Oxford one final time.  I had three things to accomplish on the journey.  1) Purchase a souvenir handbag for myself I have been eying the entire stay; 2) Pay a visit to an establishment rumored to serve the best baked-when-ordered scones and tea in town.  The spread did indeed live up to the recommendations; and, 3) say goodbye to Oxford.  As I walked down Queen’s Lane that last evening, the warm afterburn of my drink in my throat turned to emotion-filled pressure…the kind you feel before a cry begins. I was going to miss this place.  I’m glad I came.  And, I was glad to be going home.

Buy Cheapest Tramadol Online Breathe – On the first breath taken after a drink, the “finish” is revealed.  Rustic flavors of ancient walls and scholars, berries from the bushes, cherries from the trees, and apples from the garden of knowledge filled my head and sinuses.  The finish was a good one; in the economy of payoffs vs. investment, I deemed my drink a winner.  I am the Corkmaster of my own journey, so the Frasiers can continue to argue all they wish.  I’ll be enjoying my wine for years to come.

Tramadol Online Fast Shipping Analyze – This category is still a work in progress.  As the information from my 40 days in the UK settles, gets categorized and utilized as needed, I may think about it differently than I do now.  Right now, my analysis is that I’m terribly grateful to my family and my place of employment for supporting my decision to come.

As I ended my evening walk, I metaphorically put the cork back into my bottle for safe keeping.  It was time to pack, time to rest, and time to think about returning home.

Oxford, Summer, 2010.

An excellent wine, a bountiful year, and if I were placing the value for the market listing, I would put “Sorry – unavailable.  Upon examination, owner renders a ‘priceless’ judgment and refuses to sell.”

Salut!

Day 38: The Amsterdam Field Manual on “Effective Exam Preparation Avoidance”

Henry, our Red Coated Tour Guide, is out entertaining cute children right now, so I'll have to stand in his place. Sorry - he's really good.

[Cue the soothing tour guide voice.]

Welcome.  Thank you for your interest in the highly sought-after talent of Effective Exam Preparation Avoidance.  Are you a beginner?  Perhaps you’ve had some experience yourself?  Oh, are you an expert?  Well then I’m sure you will have helpful contributions during our discussion.  Come along now…this way please.

click here Stop 1: Breakfast

Be sure and seek out a place to eat your morning meal as far away from your domicile as humanly possible.  Make sure it’s raining, and forget your umbrella so you can have “just one more cup of coffee until the rain lets up.”  Consider whether or not you’ve absolutely exhausted all possible conversation with the restaurateur.  If so, you’ve started out on the right track!  Next…

get link Stop 2:  Essential housekeeping chores

Although you could do laundry tomorrow afternoon following your three-hour exam covering a boatload of material, it would be better if you did laundry now!  That way, the three trips back and forth to put the laundry in, switch it out to the drier, and take it back to your room will absorb precious studying minutes.  Need even more help?  That’s easy – forget your laundry detergent.  Bravo!  On to…

go to site Task 3: Examine the interior of your dorm room while avoiding the open books on your desk

In case you don’t quite understand this advice, I’ll help you out with useful information to illustrate my point.  For example, did you know that my dorm room floor is so uneven that you can effectively measure the angle with an index card?  Well, now you do.  It’s easy…

Just look at your prefab bookshelves jutting out from around a corner in your room.  Measure the length at floor level.  See? It’s exactly the width of the “narrow” side of an index card!  Now, let’s measure the top.  Wow! It’s exactly the length of the “wide” side of an index card!  Now, just subtract the narrow from the wide in inches, then turn that into a right triangle spread over the area of one side of the floor to the other. Calculate, and voila!

Good job!  30 more minutes down the drain.  Excellent work.

What?  It’s only 11:30?  Well, that’s a mere 3.5 hours of avoidance.  Not nearly enough to be effective.  Perhaps an early lunch?  Definitely.  A nap because the lunch made you sleepy?  Perfect.  Now, we’re talking.  You’ve avoided your family law final exam for 5.25 hours now.  After all, what in the world would you have done with all that studying time?

Next…

http://www.mscnantes.org/0b6sh3f3lx Task 4:  Panic and freak out because you just wasted 5.25 hours of precious study time.

A good way to approach this point in the process would be to grab all the highlighters you can find, throw open your laptop, madly begin typing as fast as possible to complete the outline that is only half-way done, forget a good portion of week one and two course material therefore having to re-read several cases and a few hundred pages, look at your red eyes in the mirror, try to remedy your red eyes with saline solution, jump back on the bed and resume the “madly typing and reading” portion of your work, and keep this up for the next seven hours.  Make sure and skip your dinner so you’ll have a blood sugar level of less-than-optimum.  Good.  Very good.

I can see you’re going to be a pro at this.

Repeat the “freaking out and cramming cycle” until 2:00 a.m., sleep until 5:30 a.m., finish your notes at 7:00 a.m. Print them out, and seek out a healthy breakfast to get your metabolism back into some semblance of a chemical balance to hit right before the exam.

There.  You did it.  You have now completed the Amsterdam course on Effective Exam Preparation Avoidance!  If you feel you need to crash for a three-hour nap, then you will get extra points plus a bonus video.

Tune in tomorrow where I’ll demonstrate Effective Packing Your Suitcase Avoidance.

Have a nice day.

~~ ~~ ~~

Disclaimer:  1) Amsterdam is the name of the third quadrangle section of residential halls in Brasenose College completed in the late 1800s.  They have in no way endorsed this exam avoidance program, nor is this blog post to imply such assertion.

2) Rumor has it that if you do the opposite of the advice in this field manual, you will pass an upcoming exam with flying colors.

Day 37: Reckoning Day, and the Brasenose Library Book Kitty

Critically discuss that the European Union (EU) has evolved into a “U.S. of Europe.”  Critically discuss the free movement of people, goods, services and capital.  Are human rights adequately protected under EU Law? There is a democratic deficit in Europe: affirmative or negative?  Critically discuss the EU Parliament, the EU High Courts, the EU Commission…

Points, sub-points, counterpoints, caveats. Write, write, shake my hand from to relieve the pain of an ergonomically incorrect pen grip, and begin again.

For two days I had been preparing responses to these questions and now it was just a matter of cramming in every word possible within the allotted time.  For a brief moment while I was rubbing the joints in my hand I said a short prayer of thanks for the Brasenose library.  The venue exudes an air of getting down to business and prepping for exams.  My mind then flashed to the stuffed cat I saw curled on top of a stack of ancient volumes, and I diverted that thought as quickly as possible.

While I understand that stuffing a dearly beloved cat might be a positive thing, in remembrance of the feline soul and all that it gave the library over the years, all I could think was, “Icky!” (See 19th Century stuffed pets.)

Back to the exam.  I haven’t used a “blue book” since my undergraduate years.  I filled mine full save one page, stopped writing, leaned back in my chair and breathed in slowly.  Then out.  Done.  One down, one to go.

And in case you are now bandying about the answers to the questions in the first paragraph to entertain yourself, just let me know when I get home.  I’ll meet you at the pub and we’ll have ourselves a robust dialogue.

I’d love too, in fact.  Just let me know.

Day 36: My Favorite Stroll

Queen's Lane in Oxford - Image from Wikipedia

A brief post for Queen’s Lane, my favorite stroll in Oxford.

The gardens are nice.  University Park is a wonderful treat.  But walking along the curving way of Queen’s Lane in the evening on a cool night is the best.  The BEST walk, in my opinion, in all of Oxford.

No cars.  One or perhaps two rare bicycles.  Three or perhaps four people…no more.

High walls, ancient rock, carved gargoyles and mountings.  Long shadows, leaded glass, and cobblestones beneath your feet.

The Lane is fairly long for a street in the city, and walking around each corner reminds me of the feeling I first got when walking through a labyrinth made of turf and small shrubs.

Socrates described a labyrinth in this way:

“Then it seemed like falling into a labyrinth: we thought we were at the finish, but our way bent round and we found ourselves as it were back at the beginning, and just as far from that which we were seeking at first.”

However, at the end of my Queen’s Lane labyrinth, I usually find that which I was seeking…a quiet stroll in a foreign land, before I head back to my books then my bed.

Day 35: Mean Girls Guide to Oxford Tourist Identification (Pt. 2 of 2)

On “Day 34” I laid out my case for categorical identification of people I’ve spied on the sidewalks of Oxford.  It’s rather like bird watching, only with human beings.

Since then, I’ve become a local hero.  Well, actually I was just validated by the bartender at the college pub plus one other person…but it was a wholehearted validation, to be sure.

Well, they listened to my theory for about five minutes and then put in their own two cents for about 55 minutes.  But I think they agreed with me.  Yeah, I’m pretty sure they did.

I had just finished my EU Law final.  The professor says, “Hey lets go grab a drink before I go to Brussels.” So we go downstairs and start making small talk.  The entire rest of the class has had hours of pub time with this guy, but since I don’t frequent the pub I’m not exactly sure what to do.

The bartender chimed in with some banter and helped out a bit.  I asked the prof how many students he teaches each year.   And then – not knowing what else to talk about – I just sort of blurted out my tourist identification theory.  One hour later, the bartender and the professor were still talking about their own categories and having a jolly old time.

So, I suppose the moral of this little intro is that there is an audience for just about any type of writing.  And, I know at least two people now who have spent years of personal energy also fighting the mobs on the sidewalks.  Therefore, since I’ve now been personally fortified let’s finished this thing out, shall we?

We’re on category nine.  BTW – my brained is conditioned for life on the phrase “number 9.”  The Beatles and the 1970s backmasking scares have been imprinted my psyche for evermore.

9.  I threw this one in here because I’m still a “Friends” fan.  In honor of Joey’s famous not-so-manly man bag, here are the follow “Man Bag Dudes.” The big guys wear larger ones, the small guys wear smaller ones.  But most all the tourists, the male students and any dude with a Euro look falls into the “Man Bag Dude” category.

I actually think they are really practical, and can’t see how you would get around town much without them.  But I tell you true – there aren’t many back in Oklahoma.

Man-Bag Dudes
General tourist groups

10.  This next category earns the “Most Annoying Thing on the Sidewalk” award.  I’ve been a member myself, and I’ve struggled to get around them while NOT a member.  It’s the go site “General Tourist Group” category.  I could write an entire post on the behaviors indicative of this phenomenon.  But I won’t.  I want to stay in a happy mood today.

Women-wearing-hijabs group...

11.  Next on the list is the “Women-Wearing-Hijabs Group.”  I’m adding this category because it is a distinction I don’t see much in Oklahoma, even at our universities.  If you look at demographics from various geography websites, you’ll see that Oklahoma has such a negligible Muslim population it is listed as 0%.  In the UK, there are 2.4 million persons of the Muslim faith.  So, I thought my friends back home might be interested in seeing that pink must be the “in” color this year!

12.  This next category (see above) is another power group.  I call them a power group because they stick together so tightly that you just have to sort of flatten your back against the wall and let them walk on by.  These are the enter site “female student groups.” Generally entrenched in a deep conversation, they represent a populous force in the sidewalk.  As genteel as the business crowd is, these are the opposite.  Spot them early, and look for exits in case of emergency.

13.  I’ve already written about the Oxford cyclists.  So I’ll just reiterate that they are many.  They are legion.  They are everywhere.

14.  We’re getting close to concluding.  However, there are two other groups I feel are noteworthy. In our EU class there has been a good deal of discussion about the still-ingrained class system within the UK.  My bartender conversation I mentioned earlier also included a discussion about what we in the U.S. call the “transitional year” – – or the first year at a university.  Like it or not, Oxford encompasses a student body who represent an enormous amount of wealth.  The joked that the students learn one thing during their transitional year: “Okay – you’re rich, but so is everyone else…so get over yourself!”  Along this line, I’ve noticed a sub-group around the streets that I’m classifying as the “Eurocratic Student Couples.”  It’s interesting in that those who seem the most richly dressed and stay to themselves are frequently “coupled up.”  I’m not sure why…but it is a distinction that I’m calling valid until proven incorrect.

15. I’m going to wrap up my groups with an outlier.  In research, an “outlier” is something that doesn’t fall within the larger groups of data.  There are a few around, but not many.  In general, they are the individual older male tourist, or perhaps professorial, sidewalk folks.  There is a female counterpart, but they are even more rare.  This last photo is of an outlier gentleman I first saw during the pouring rain on Day 24.

I have to tell you that he got my attention because he was so incredibly kind.  He smiled at every person in the room, tipped his hat as he did, opened doors for people, waved at people…he eked warmth.  I later saw him in the post office, and then again once walking into a clothing store.  If I see him again, I’ll just introduce myself and tell him he made it into my blog.  Who knows…maybe HE has his OWN categories of those he meets on the streets.  I can tell you one thing, though – I’ll bet he’s nicer to them than I.

As I end my Day 35 post, I am realizing I have a new goal.  Next time I walk out onto the busy sidewalks of Oxford, I’ll try and put my invisible touristy-professory hat on and be nicer to those I meet.

After all, I think being an outlier is a really good thing.

(Note: December 8, 2010 – when we transferred sites, several of our photograph links got broken.  I lost the photo of this man, unfortunately, so I don’t think I’ll replace it with something else.  I’ll just sit with the memory of him. RDK)

Knocking on the Locked Door of Brett Favre’s Mind

by Mark “The Howard” Hinderliter

*Disclaimer: All facts reported in this article may only be facts to me and could have nothing at all to do with actual history.

Malleus of Thor

First off, let me just put it out there – I’m a Vikings fan. How that happens to an Oklahoma boy I have no idea….I blame Sheb Woolley but that’s a story for another day.  I’ve carried the Malleus of Thor since the days of The Purple People Eaters, Fran the Man, the Spin Doctor, Bud, Carl, Alan, Jim, Krause and the finest (and maybe the last) straight-on place kicker, Fred Cox — reportedly also the holder of the patent for the Nerf Football.  Cool!

I’ve endured four Super Bowl losses.  Not in four consecutive years mind you (ouch…sorry Bills Fans), but four all the same.  And they’ve been https://www.brigantesenglishwalks.com/4yacl8ito so close since those tough, early NFL Super losses.  Who can forget Randall Cunningham and the highest scoring offense in history? Does that record still hold??  They lost in the NFC Title Game.

And then there was last year.  It was our year!

The man Vikings defenses loved to torment…who had some of his worst games in the Metrodome while wearing green, was pulling the trigger for the Vikes, handing the ball to AD, tossing the lob to Shiancoe.  He made the incredible Favre throws.  And, some incredible Favre Oh No’s.

Once again…so close.  But they couldn’t take care of the ball against the Saints.  And in the process a 40 year old ankle was – well – it had to hurt!  No, I’m not a disinterested, non-partisan party.  Which makes those of us outside the mind of Brett wonder what is going on inside the mind of Brett Favre?

While Packers fans and fans of the other thirty NFL teams snicker at the “Continuing Drama of Brett,” Ragnar and the Purple Norsemen are ready to fall on their axes.  Are we to be left once again in the less than capable hands of Tarvaris Jackson?  Sage Rosenfels?  We may as well go with rookie Joe Webb and take whatever blows the hammer of the gods inflict upon us!

Reportedly, BF has told some teammates he will not return for his 20th NFL season.  But haven’t we been down this road before?  Nineteen seasons played and what, twelve training camps?  Isn’t this is a dodge we’ve seen before…like last year?

But what if…?  What if the ankle really hasn’t healed?  Could Brett be sincere in claiming he will not return?  SI contributor Peter King thinks Favre may hold out until after the Vikes by-week during “week five.”  Others suspect he’ll be in the Land O’Lakes as soon as training camp is over.

You know the commercials where Brett just can’t decide what tv to buy?  They’re not funny anymore.  Not if you wear purple.

Three things about Favre; two easy to verify and one that is hearsay:

  1. Brett is a fierce competitor,
  2. Brett has trouble making up his mind, and
  3. (weird) Brett is non-confrontational (huh?).

Could Brett be afraid to disappoint?  Say it ain’t so!  This is football!  Football is all about confrontation in the most violent ways men can figure while on two feet and without weapons.  So suck it up Nancy!  Get on the field, go for the ring.  And let us know what’s going on.

Football is no place for drama; it’s a place for action!