Muddy Girls

Simplicity is actually quite Complex

"Life does not revolve around a computer, please close it down"

"Turn off the television please, your time is up"

These two phrases seem like an almost daily occurrence in this house. Given that Mr. J works with computers all day long I sometimes feel a little mean implementing them. And, since the birth of both of our daughters I have fought tooth and nail against the intrusion of worthless toys descending upon us. I try to hold myself  tight to a minimalistic approach in regards to barbies and fisher price little people: Our playroom is a little on the bare side, and visiting play dates have looked a little startled upon arrival...  

I believe in simplicity in all things; I also believe that I was not put on this earth to entertain my children, but that they should be able to lose themselves in their own worlds, and when that hapenes its magical.

I believe that their imagination are more powerful than any that can be found in books as long as you let them imagine on their own terms.

I believe that it is okay for a project to be stuck to the living room floor for an entire week in order to let them create, explore and build.

I believe that integrating dust bunnies and inviting them inside the castle can only add to the play process.

And that as long as they are using painters tape, and not duck tape, why not write multiplication tables upon blue stepping stones.

And they know that as long as their project involves glue, scissors, old boxes and tissue paper, not to mention braided yarn and toilet tissue tubes they can convince me that "just 5 more minutes before we head to bed" is a very valid point even if they are already 15 minutes later than they should be.

 

And when I finally sit down at the end of a long day with a glass of wine in my hand there is nothing more intriguing than discovering what they have been working on and what they have managed to build. I discovered a sentence this morning: "Simplicity is actually quite complex" and I think I agree with it.

Lizards, Frogs and Venus Fly Traps

Sandwiched between the Oxford dictionary and a pot of freshly sharpened pencils is a small aquarium. Living inside are two lizards which the girls rescued from the cats. The lizards were rather stunned (indeed one had already lost its tail) once the cats had been persuaded to content themselves with toy mice and I was mentally picturing where in the garden their holes would be dug, but no, they were placed in their new home, a shopping list was produced divided into needs and wants, and both girls left for school.

Directly above the lizards, on the next shelf, is a larger aquarium full of wiggly tadpoles waiting to be pronounced frogs. When this point occurs no one knows; is it the ability to breath through lungs? The disappearance of the tail? When it can cram an entire meal worm into its mouth in one gulp? “Hop-a-long” as he was christened yesterday is lording it by himself for now, but not for long… the others are catching up fast.

The definition of “study” according to the afore mentioned Oxford dictionary is:

1.  “A room used or designed for reading, writing or academic work”
2. “The devotion of time and attention to acquiring knowledge on a subject by means of books”

I prefer to keep our books in a very cozy and inviting book nook and leave the study as a room in which to study, to question, to watch, to touch, to talk about and to live with that which we want to learn about.

My better half – Mr. J has just about managed to control his eyebrows over the last 20 years; they no longer shoot up into his hairline when a stray gets brought in and declared part of the family, and although he may prefer to remain aloof over such adventures I still remember last years foray into the exciting lives of Venus Fly Traps.

They had been set up outside a local produce shop, and on impulse I bought a couple and left them sitting on the deck. The girls had been interested about the plants; they had listened politely to my lecture, and then ran off to play.

Sundays around here are usually pretty quiet; we enjoy a large relaxed lunch, and if the weather is decent we set it up outside. This was such a day, the table cloth was crisp, silverware gleaming, wine glasses overflowing, and in the center of the table in lieu of flowers someone arranged the fly traps.

We sat down to eat and predictably it wasn’t long before we had uninvited guests. The food was covered and disappointed the flies buzzed lazily around until one was tempted to settle on our flower arrangement. We all watched with baited breath as it landed on an open trap, and was imprisoned.

I’m pretty sure that my parents Sunday dinners had never (and I really do mean never) seen such excited children; J and I were pretty excited for that matter, and we all sat there eagerly discussing plants and food chains.

Obviously the trapped fly must have been sending out warning signals because all other winged beasts were staying well away. Flushed with excitement, J showed the girls how to tickle the leaves closed and we all sat totally entranced with the magic. (I am not sure at this point whether to mention that a fly was caught and fed to the carnivorous monster… but it was… and the girls were amazed!)

Looking back and revisiting such events, or watching as they unfold before me, I have to ask myself if the same spark would be ignited if these were lessons learnt from a book, or gleaned from a television program. It worries me that for so many children time outside is limited. We tell our children that they must recycle; they must not damage this earth that we live on, that they are supposed to live a green life. It is all very well telling them all of this, but without understanding why, I am not sure that they will.  

 

 

 

 

Imaginations... thank goodness we all have them!

Yet again, in the darkest moments of the night, a little voice splintered the stars.

Yet again, in the darkest moments of the night we patiently battled an overactive imagination.

It’s been a tough one.

Several weeks ago we were buckled in and the roller coaster  left the station for a very long ride.

Deep in slumber, warm and cozy, just as we had finally tucked away our own dreams, we have been, rudely startled awake by a wide eyed seven year old. Dashing into her bedroom avoiding various toys that were invented to attack bare feet on sight is a challenge in itself. But what is equally as frustrating is trying to calm a tearful child who has already forgotten what the bad dream was to begin with.

At first we tried the shortest rout back to sleep; “If you can’t remember then it must have gone and its time to close your eyes.”

It almost worked - but not quite.

Being a great admirer of Torey Hayden, I was prepared the next night; and armed with the biggest sharpie marker I could find (because a big black permanent marker is way more impressive than an erasable pencil) and a piece of paper, I dashed into her room as the wail commenced and wrote down ‘bad dream’. I took it back to bed with me, the premise being I was looking after it for her as I was a big strong Mummy and could keep it overnight.

She was very impressed, so impressed in fact that it was repeated several nights in a row. During the safety of the day we looked over the accumulating pile of papers and, borrowed straight from Ms. Hayden herself, I pointed out that often keeping bad thoughts in makes them grow and burst out just when you least expect them to (generally at 2:15 in the morning!). Talking about bad thoughts releases them so they can fly out of our heads and far, far away.

But to no avail, she held firmly onto it with both hands, and I realized that this had the potential to become a long-term cozy chit chat permanently stuck at two in the morning. At about the two week mark we were both pretty tired, and grouchiness was sucking up all sympathetic feelings.

Last night, just after story time, when she began worrying that falling asleep was too traumatizing to contemplate I looked straight at her and in a firm voice stated that “You are the only one who can figure out what to do. You have to find a way to deal with these dreams”.

Eyes wide she lay still.

“You have to trust that I can help you, but you have to also have to help yourself”.

For a while we lay there quietly listening to music, and then she took a deep breath.

“Barney was arrested”

I must admit to my eyebrows shooting up to join my hair line.

“He said a bad word and the police handcuffed him and took him to jail”.

Barney, Barney? My mind ran through everyone we knew… every child at school… all acquaintances… Barney? And suddenly I stopped… surely not.

“Do you mean Barney the Dinosaur?”

“Uhu”

“Oh”

I was stunned? not quite, amazed? no not really, I was really trying to hold off on the hysterical giggle that was forming, and that only sleep depravity can bring on.  

Lying there quietly, minds joined as one I tried to follow her train of thought; if Barney was arrested for just one bad word, were we all doomed? Were they already on their way to pick us all up? For although our household has quite a tame vocabulary, quaint British phrases have been known to fly out under duress.

Briefly reviewing the judicial services and choosing words carefully we decided that the busy policemen had more important jobs to do than listen for recreational verbage abuse.

“Do you think they would have time to catch the boy who is chasing us though?”

“Chasing who?”

“You and me.”

I presumed that Barney was out on bail at this point, discarded until his court date when some sleazy bounty hunter would be waiting to see if he was allowed to drag his purpleness in to see the judge, and that we had finally uncovered the real problem.

“Absolutely”

“How would they know we were being chased?”

“Do I always have my cell phone in my pocket?”

“Uhu”

“I think that if I were being chased I would call 911 and they would send out the police to help us”.

“Would they be a nice one?”

At this point I was getting rather sleepy myself, and having no idea of the contents of the recess rumor mill, but having a good idea of the content of a seven year olds imagination I decided a concrete plan was needed.

“M, you know our very good friend S?”

“Uhu”

“Did you know that her husband is a police man? And if he is married to S I think that he must be a really, really great person, I bet that if I could dream that I was calling 911 I think I could dream that he was going to be the one they sent to help, don’t you?”

“Uhu”

Her tired eyes were struggling to stay open, and she was cuddled up under the covers, but she still had one last gambit.

“What would we do while we were waiting for him to come?”

“I think we should give the boy who is running behind us pink hair and yellow shoes; you just have to yell ‘riddikulus’ at him (Thank God for J K Rowling!)”.

With a giggle, she fell into a deep sleep which finally lasted the entire night long.

And so, Mr. D, if you ever get a call from dispatch at about 2:40 in the morning concerning a pink haired youth with yellow shoes chasing a pajama clad mother and daughter duo please, please, please come and rescue us, and if on the way you bump into either Ms. Hayden or Ms. Rowling please pass on my polite thanks; for without either of them I am sure we would still be trapped in the darkness of midnight!

 

 

The Mourning Of A Passing Seson

After the hues of fall have rained down from the sky,

And after the frost has nipped at my heels,

I am ready for the birds to sing and the sun to shine,

For the water in the creek to lazily pass my by.

 

But, blooms are sadly handing low,

discolored and wantonly discarded,

I try to remember their spirits bright and colorful,

Before they bow down in subservience and give themselves back to the earth.

 

Each season is too short;

Breath taking beauty short lived.

What gives flowers the courage to shine so brightly,

Fall and die,

Then return anew, refreshed, ready again for their time.

 

Just as I find the courage to shine,

Each flame of excitements extinguished,

How could I possibly expect more than the flowers?

Do I not get my chance to sup on seasonal wine?

 

I hold on to the sun with both hands, and hold tight,

For if I let go, I shall loose my way,

I have been down this road before,

Stumbling, stabbing my toe,

If I could just remember which rocks have the sharp points and jagged teeth,

I could keep them at bay for a while.

 

The colors of my world are not pleasing,

I do not celebrate the blooms of spring,

I am shriveling and falling,

And I am in mourning,

For this season, short, that is speedily passing.  

Preserving Community

Several months ago, while running down town in Winston Salem, a poster caught my eye. "How can our community be improved economically, socially, physically and/or politically through historic preservation?" and with that question, anessay contest for Preserve Historic Forsyth was born.

It seems that the question had caught the eye of a fair few, and last weekend tenof us were invited to the Preserve Historic Forsyth Annual Meeting to read aloud our missives. I was honored to have been chosen as a finalist in such a thought provoking contest, and while I did not carry home the grand prize I did bring back with me a strong sense of community who are striving to bring about positive change for this city of ours.  

Here is my essay, the hardest part of which was bringing it in at under 100 words!!!

"The most important part of our city is the beating heart of its people; for without them history would not exist. History from all communities needs to be woven together; for no matter which community we are members of, our stories should be amalgamated into one.  

Creating walking trails that showcase stories and photographs from a rich population, accessible by QR codes, would weave personal histories about Winston Salem together. All trails would combine at a central water park, the ebb and flow of water signifying our individual journeys end, and a bringing together of people for the future. "

At the reception afterwards I was chatting to another of the finalists who happens to work for Reynolda House Museum and Gardens and she took great delight in explaining to me that they are just getting ready to use QR codes for some of their outside exhibits... WOW - great minds think alike!!!

Running Changes Everything

 FLEET FEET WINTER 5K 

 

Do not be afraid of the cracks in the sidewalk,

for no bear waits to devour  you.

Instead let them be your guide, let them lead you up hills and down,

across flat lands and through puddles of rain.

 

RUN PROUD, feel the sun on your face, and notice the flowers

along the side of the road; for they are blooming just for you.

 

Capture the breeze and let it surround you with its comforting arms.

HARNESS its power and fly along with its presence.

 

The snow did not stop us; the rain has not halted our progress.

We have surmounted the winter elements, and together brought forth spring, this, maybe this is the runners high.

Place one foot in front of the other and remember to breath.

Run people, just run: for no matter where we finish, no matter where we place, we are all winners on this journey; for we have succeeded in completing what we set out to do and are now limitless…

RUNNING CHANGES EVERYTHING

 

In Celebration of the 5K Hope for Hospice Run - My Fleet Feeters are soooooo ready.

 

Before I wrote this story...

Before I wrote this story I was checking on a project down by the creek with a friend of E's.

Before checking on a project down by the creek with her friend, E wanted to finish the last chapter in her book.

Before finishing the last chapter in her book, her friend and I had made it back home, squelching with every step.

Before walking in the door to tell E the result of their project, I had flashbacks of having been in the same circumstances before; only it was my mother I was explaining myself to, not my daughter.

Before having to explain myself to my daughter, I had waved to the startled mailman who was delivering the mail, as I dripped along the sidewalk.

Before startling the mailman E’s friend and I had soggily ran up from the creek.

Before running up from the creek with soggy footprints, I had been about to pick up a piece of trash floating along the surface.

Before I picked up the trash, I plunged into the creek, gasping with surprise at the icy coldness.

Before plunging into the icy coldness, my foot was placed on what I thought was a firm step.

Before I placed my foot on the firm step, I wobbled a little.

Before I wobbled a little, I wibbled a little.

Before I wibbled a little, I was scampering over a convenient bridge consisting of a felled tree.

Before I was scampering over the fallen tree, I had prodding a stick into a soggy mass of plaster of paris that had not set despite sitting in the same place for three days.

Before discovering the un-set plaster of paris cast, we had discovered 3 other un-set casts.

Before discovering the other 3 soggy un-set animal print casts, I had sarcastically denied everyone the opportunity to laugh if I fell into the icy depths of the creek.

Before denying any hilarity, I was fully confident that I was the ONLY one who would NOT fall into the creek.

Before I was the only one who DID fall into the creek, we were on our way to check our plaster of paris animal track prints that had been made in the mud.

Before checking on our animal track casts, we had friends over to play who were so interested in E’s project that they wanted to do the same thing.

Before they wanted to do the same thing, E’s animal print mold had left a track of dirt around the house as she tried to brush it off her plaster cast of a cat print.

Before brushing off the dirt with an old toothbrush, E had used M’s new electric toothbrush.

Before using M’s new electric toothbrush, the cast had to be lifted up from the mud from where it had set.

Before lifting up the cast from where it had set, the plaster had to be poured in, in the dark.

Before pouring the plaster in the dark, We had to eat dinner.

Before we ate dinner, Emma had to have a bath.

Before Emma had a bath, the cat had to be rescued after he had patiently helped with several attempts of making clear foot prints in the mud.

Before the cat had made a clear paw print in the mud, several attempts were made to get the correct consistency of mud to hold clear foot prints.

Before getting the correct consistency of mud to hold clear foot prints, several bowls, spoons and lots of water were mixed together on the deck.

Before mixing the water and mud on the deck we were supposed to be eating dinner.

 

Before children I was sane and relaxed, calm and organized. But now life is an adventure to be lived to the full. Why is it that all the best ideas happen three minutes before we are supposed to eat dinner, the children called in from outside just as they totter on the pinnacle of inspiration; a fabulous plan forming even as they are washing their hands. They have had an hour of kicking around and complaining of nothing to do, and why, oh why do I end up falling in the creek while completing a project which my daughter started, as she sits on the sofa reading a book!

 

PLAY + FUN ÷ ATTENTION × TIME = LIFETIME LEARNING

PLAY + FUN ÷ ATTENTION × TIME = LIFETIME LEARNING²

This is my equation for life: play plus fun, divided by attention (because although you need some pointers, you have to find some stuff out by yourself), and multiplied by time (plenty and plenty of time), will equal a life time of learning. And I have been thinking a lot lately of just how important play is for learning, not just for children, but adults too.

It started a while back during a conversation startling for its complaints; Girl Scouts were wanting to play during meetings (gosh, shock horror), so the leader was agonizing to me, and the girls were not interested in badge work. My toes curled as I listened silently, I made a joke or two, made fast my escape and breathed.

What I had not truly anticipated was finding myself repeating the very same conversation with one of my own girl scouts just two weeks later… the recollection of which still makes me cringe. “Girl Scouts is not about playing” I was saying “We have badges to work on, the bronze award is really cool, but you will only earn it if you work at it”. While all this is true, I probably could have explained it a little better!

With this conversation still ringing in my ears and the list for this weeks GS meeting getting longer I went out to sweep the deck. The cats were treated to smattered mutterings of ‘pinch pots’ and ‘play clay’ and ‘pottery badge’ until the warm sun sunk down into my very soul and I realized that an inside meeting was not a reasonable choice.

Not sure what to plan, I gave up control of the meeting to my friendly group of girls. We had snack outside and then I listened as the discussion centered around books and what they were all reading and someone had read “On The Far Side of the Mountain” by Jean Craighead George and then, “well how did they make a compass from twigs and rocks and shadows and lets try it”… and there they were… building a compass from a twig just as tall as they were.

With the shadows stretching further and further away from the stick firmly planted in the ground the girls used a compass to check for North-East. When all were in agreement, they figured out that the sun rose in the East, and set in the West… and because they were playing time flew. They found North and South, they realized by checking the trees that moss grow on the north sides, and just as the sun was setting we squeezed in the fact that, although useful, you really didn’t need sticks to tell the directions of the compass; you could just look at your shadows, if you knew the time.

Adults are just in need of play as youngsters are; only we barely make time for it. When we find ourselves tired and rushed the only things on our minds are to finish one task so we can move on to the next. I am a running coach (amongst many other hobbies) and in looking at ways to support and encourage our program participants I stumbled across an article that reminded the reader never to underestimate the usefulness of fun and playfulness even for adults, it turns out that we need it too – how about that!      

In giving up a potters badge we started on the hiking badge, happily, and on the girl’s terms. Maybe next week I will split them up into groups and help them start organizing their hikes; on the other hand it might be raining.

 Directions for Building A Shadow Compass

 You will need:

 Sun light

A straight stick

A couple of pebbles

Insert the straight stick into the ground makeing sure it is in a clearing that has the benefit of full sun.

Place a pebble, rock or small twig at the end of the sticks shadow.

After 15 minutes you will be able to see that the sun has shifted the shadow somewhat.  Place a second pebble, rock or twig at the end of the sticks new shadow.

Draw a straight line between both of your shadow markers (either by drawing in the dirt or laying a long strand of grass between the two).

The line that you have marked will be an East-West line, to find the North-South line draw or place a strand of grass perpendicular to the first line.

As the sun rises in the East, and sets in the West, Your large sticks shadow will move in exactly the opposite direction to the movement of the sun, therefore giving you the ability to work out compass directions.

This idea can actually be a lot of fun to play with… I have set up a camp sundial and marked out mealtimes on the ground before. Let the girls experiment… you would be amazed at the uses they find for it!   

 

 

Natures Teddy Bear

In the 1700’s Lambs Ear was considered a very useful herb. Today it has all been forgotten about, that it, until our troop of merry girls took a nature walk just the other week.

 It had been a very wet couple of days, but once again the clouds evaporated leaving us with the ideal weather for an outside stomp. Truth be told I needed some fresh air and we would have headed out anyway; this group of girls does not tend to melt in the rain, but it does make for a pleasant change when the weather decides to cooperate.

 I set them a challenge before we left: A pin to the first sighting of a Jack-in-the –Pulpit. And yes, I honestly can say that I knew Jack would not be joining our party until well into May, but there is nothing like an unobtainable prize to make a gaggle of girls look at every plant just in case.

 Excitement gave way to despair, despair gave way to despondency. Several sightings were made “do you see it, its right there, just across the creek, up the hill and behind the second tree on the left” but I stood firm, Jack must be in full view of everybody. The search continued and despondency evolved into a grudging interest of the few ferns coloring the landscape.

 Further down the trail one of the girls was bending over something softly stroking its leaves. As everyone gathered around its velvet softness oohs and aahs were exchanged and their interest engaged. I softly stroked a leaf and explained that it was call lambs ear, because it looked and felt just like its namesake. “It’s an old fashioned band aid” one of the girls announced to the group, “My Dad says that’s what it used to be used for”.

 Now, not only were they interested, but excited, and I have to admit that I was too. I have always held an interest and love of plants, herbs and natural healing, but quite frankly, when I hear a young generation openly and excitingly discussing such topics I get all warm and fuzzy inside… there is hope for us all yet!

 I stood quietly to one side, not willing to intrude on their discovery; It would have been vey easy for me to leap in and deliver an adult naturalistic lecture to a group of kids, hoping to pump into them dates, facts, figures etc, etc… but this was their discovery… they had found it, they had marked it, and to all intense and purposes this was now their plant. There is plenty of time to pass on interesting snippets to peep their curiosity (like at the next meeting). After an earnest discussion a leaf was plucked for the museum and reluctantly we all moved on, to complete our hike.

 A few days later and I was looking up Lambs Ear on-line; that much excitement needs to be encouraged and I wanted to give them some more information on their find. It turns out that although there is no proof that Lambs Ear contains antiseptic properties, the other members of its family does; it was indeed used as band aids and field dressings for wounds.

Of much more interesting to the girls, I am sure, is the fact that it was grown around outhouses and is considered a moonlight plant because its leaves turn silver once moonbeams bounce of them. I was doubly impressed; my girls had found toilet tissue! Not just any toilet tissue, but apparently their brand has benefits, it can help with hemorrhoids!

 Hmmm, who would have known that a downgraded 1700’s herb is actually nature’s warm and fuzzy teddy bear, and just how much do we pay for band aids, toilet paper and hemorrhoid cream per month… per year even!

 Just in case you now want to delve out into the woods to cure your hemerrhoidal behind whist binding up a gaping wound, one of the troop drew a handy dandy picture to help you on your way… happy hunting!

  

Warping Time for 24 Hours

The time warp is not just a jump to the left and a step to the right, but many, many steps repeated over and over and over again, and as a venture scout troop we managed to do them over and over and over again for 24 hours. The local newspapers ran an article congratulating us on our accomplishment. As a troop we managed to raise over $800.00 for Children In Need (British version of Comic Relief). Once considered to be our troop’s anthem around various campfires, it is now a song I can not listen to without traveling back in time, my memories recklessly running amok.

I think the idea took hold of B when a few of us traveled to Margam Park in Glenmorgan, Wales (scroll down for Glenmorgans Night Life) for the Scout jamboree. Once there, we had the thrilling occupation of peeling endless (and I really do mean endless) mounds of potatoes in the camp kitchen. One of these potatoes was actually presented to our honorable Chief Scout just outside the kitchen quarters, whilst he was on a tour of the campsite. B and K respectfully handed to him a freshly peeled and naked spud, Was he surprised? Nope, he graciously accepted their offering and I’m sure boiled it for his tea that night!

 However, I digress.

As a way of thanking us for our cramped fingers and endless peeling the organizers brought The Stage Coach into camp who put on a brilliant performance. Full of dance tunes and familiar songs, one of which being The Time Warp, we all happily sang the evening away; adolescents have always been attracted by glittery pyrotechnics and bright lights, and that show had its own shine. By the end of the evening B’s plan was taking shape, and over the next few meetings he had managed to convince the rest of us to agree to it.

 It was madness itself, and indeed astounding… it was a 24 hour Time Warp.

 We met at the scout hut all wearing white shirts, bow ties, hats and yes, stockings and suspenders… fresh as daisies we threw the cd in the player, hit repeat and started what perhaps turned out to be the longest night of our lives! Early on, we warped and chatted, dancing in a circle, our camaraderie full of sparkle. Soon, however, that same spirit seemed to sink with the sun, and we took it in turns to have a short break.

 By about 11:00 p.m. we had split into two groups and from the midnight hours through to dawn we alternated between hourly dancing and sleeping. That night has become a hazy memory of rolling into a sleeping bag and blocking out guitar riffs, and rolling out of same sleeping bag and forcing limbs to move. I could go into more details… but it would not make for pretty reading.

 Three quarters of the way through the project and daylight returned perking us up a little. Local newspaper reporters appeared which served to raise our spirits even further and for the final hour we were time warping with the best of them.

 And that’s it, story over; we had accomplished our goal and raised our money. The point has come at which to end this, the story has been told. However, one rather hazy recollection grows clearer each time I replay the weekend in my head, and it is of Mr. W.

 Mr. W just happened to be helping B drop off his bag, and so Mr. W stopped in to say hi; He was heavily involved in scouting and knew us all very well. And then Mr. W generally made himself quietly useful. It was Mr. W, who in fact quietly suggested the midnight solution to a flagging and grouchy band of dancers. And Mr. W. who apparently dropped of – right next to the music and dancing, completely oblivious of the swearing, cursing, arguing and bickering (we were quite a colorful troop!) that took place, but waking promptly on the hour, every hour to direct a groggy change-over. He stayed all night, and once it was clear that our project had been a success, no one had injured themselves, and the music had not spontaneously combusted taking down the scout hut with it Mr. W took himself off, leaving us to claim all credit and applause.

 A true leader, I think, actually follows whilst quietly weaving, from afar, direction and purpose. This describes Mr. W completely, and I offer him my most heartfelt thanks for all that he did, not only on that night, but on many, many other occasions, but  for which he was not recognized for them at the time. I think, perhaps, that he was the true hero of the evening and should have been right there with us in stockings and suspenders for the newspaper photo, but perhaps, and this could be the most important aspect of being a knowledgeable leader, he also knew when to duck for cover!