Short on Shoes

Fromage

The Luau, 2008

The Fiesta, 2009

Some things remain the same no matter how old you get. 

My little brother will always make me laugh, no matter how much we age.

And for this I am grateful.

10-4, over and out, good buddy.

If I Have to be Hanged, I Prefer it to be Briefly - Part II

Continuing the saga of our day trip to the James’ farm, after the tour of the home was finished, Jane set us free to walk around outside and see the other sights (“Take as many pictures outside as you wish!  I’ll even take pictures of you and your family!”). 

 

A tour guide was not needed for this part of the tour, as there were signs explaining what we were looking at.

 

Our first stop was the tomb.  Zerelda (who we remember from yesterday was Jesse’s mother, although his wife was named Zerelda as well) used to sell pieces of Jesse’s tomb stone to tourists.  When she believed she’d taken enough stone from the headstone, she’d gather stones from the creek and pass them off as part of the monument.  The apple didn’t fall far, apparently.

 

 

The next stop was the slave quarters.  The James brothers were bushwhackers, with strong Confederate beliefs.  At one point in time, they had up to 7 slaves.  The little “home” we saw was no bigger than a tool shed that you might buy from Sears.

 

The next point of interest on the James/Samuel farm was a plow that was believed to have been used by a young Jesse.  The sign on the plow said that Jesse had been using this type of plow when confronted by Unionists and questioned on the whereabouts of his brother, Frank.  Frank had joined a gang at this point and was attacking Union soldiers and families.  Jesse had no clue where his brother Frank was, and the Unionists proceeded to slap him around a bit (this is the event that convinced Jesse to join his brother to become part of what was later known as the James-Younger Gang). 

 

The Unionists left, and Jesse ran back to the house, only to find that his stepfather, Reuben Samuels, had been hanged in an attempt to recover information about Frank (so said the sign).

 

This is where the story fell apart for me.

 

Here are the two events that didn’t compute for me: 1) Reuben Samuel had been hanged, and 2) Reuben Samuel was present when his wife’s arm had been amputated.

 

Hold the phone.  How could Reuben be in the room when Zerelda’s arm was cut off (many years after Jesse had joined the bushwhackers) if he’d been hanged?

 

Jane had returned to her hidey hole in the meeting house, and given her confusion over the door question, I wasn’t confident that she’d be able to answer my chronological question. 

 

I asked a woman who had been on the tour with us about the time line of events, and she just looked at me like I was an idiot.  Did no one else see a problem here?

 

We moved on to the Jesse James Bank in Liberty.  I was hoping to find an answer to the time-line issue somewhere in the bank.  When we arrived at the bank, we paid another fee and were greeted by a new “Jane.”  Turns out that the bank hadn’t even been robbed by Jesse James.  There was a possibility that he was outside on his horse, but as he’d recently been shot in the chest, it’s highly unlikely.  However, his brother, Frank, may have been one of the men that was inside the bank.  The James gang did end up taking credit for this heist, the first major bank robbery in the new United States, but there was never any proof that Jesse or Frank were actually involved.

 

 

Ok, what kind of tomfoolery are The Friends of Jesse James up to?  I felt deceived.  Not only had Reuben Samuel possibly been killed, but The Jesse James Bank?  Had NOTHING to do with Jesse James.  Someone had screwed up.  Jane?  Oh Jane?  Could it be possible that both of you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about?

 

Dazed and confused, my bank account $50.00 lighter, the kids and I headed for pizza, thinking maybe the problem was a lack of food.  After being fed, we headed off to a nice long two-hour baseball practice before we could head home and jump on the internet.

 

 

 

Here are some interesting facts  I found out in the course of my research: 

• Jesse’s father, Robert James, was a pastor (how ironic) and helped found William Jewell College
• Although Frank and Jesse James were hailed as “Robin Hoods,” they never shared a single cent with anyone outside their gang
• In the course of the robbery of what is now known as The Jesse James Bank, an innocent William Jewell student was shot and killed by the James Gang while standing on a street corner

 

 

And Most Importantly –

 

Reuben Samuel was briefly hanged in an effort to coerce him into giving up Frank’s location. 

 

So Reuben didn’t die.  But the sign on the plow stated clearly that he’d been hanged.

 

How many people do you know of that have been briefly hanged?  Most people I’ve read about (because I don’t know anybody that’s personally done it) haven’t lived.

 

It seems that a clarification is definitely in order.  Maybe the “Friends of Jesse James” need to do a little internet research. 

 

If I Have to be Hanged, I Prefer it to be Briefly - Part I

About a month ago, the kids and I took a little day trip.  We’d already visited the box home where Jesse James was killed in St. Joseph.  We decided we’d go visit the home where he was born in Kearney.

 

 

Before I go on, I feel the need to explain.

 

What is this strange fascination we have with Jesse James, you ask?  There really isn’t one.  Historical spots are limited in our city, and we’ve hit quite a few over the last several years.  All things Jesse James are near the bottom of the list.  We’re going to have to start venturing outside of our 2 hour drive time zone to find something new.

 

Anyway, when you pull up to the farm, there’s a “meeting house” where you pay for the tour (yes, $7.50 for adults, which includes Bubba now).  If you want to see the house, you must pay.  They also require you to watch a video in a make-shift theater.  This did not go over well with the kids, who by nature are not big participants in group activities that we have to pay for. 

 

 

We “watched” the movie, desperately trying to ignore the small family in front of us ( the only other people in the joint), who had some aversion to changing their rank, odorous, misbehaving child’s diaper and felt compelled to let their little tyke roam the theater and make as much noise as he wanted.

 

The minute the movie was over, we flew out to the tiny museum to peruse the artifacts.  Unfortunately, the small family had the same idea and the stench continued to waft from one small enclosed room to the next. 

 

We made a hasty exit and decided to wait for our tour guide, “Jane,” at the actual house. 

 

 

Jane was an overly enthusiastic, twitchy, non-descript woman.  She was a former teacher and had no children of her own.  Her limbs seemed not to fit her body and appeared to have a mind of their own.

 

How do I know all this?  When Jane finally made it up to the house she made us wait at the gate to the house (“NOT on the stairs, the tour starts at the gate.  If I don’t go in order, I get messed up!”).  We had to wait for one more family to make the hike before we could begin.  Jane filled us in on all her pertinent deets. 

 

When the final family showed up, we were allowed to enter the house, although no photos were permitted inside the home (Jane offered to take as many pictures of us in front of the house as we’d like.  Thanks, Jane!).

 

 

We slowly walked through the house as Jane explained in great detail the goings-on of each room.  While we were in the front bedroom, the malodorous baby wandered off.  The kids and I looked at one another, raising our eyebrows, while nary a thought of impropriety crossed the minds of the parents.  Jane started getting antsy, glancing quickly over her shoulder every 30 seconds or so, trying to locate this small child.  Finally, she just couldn’t take it anymore and dashed off with a nervous giggle, returning with the child in tow.  Who let’s their stinky toddler child wander off on their own in an historical home? 

 

 

There were three points of interest for me in this small wooden home:  1) There was at least one door that led outside in every room (2 doors in the kitchen), 2) In Zerelda’s (Jesse’s mother) bedroom, the position of her bed, and 3) The kitchen, where the Pinkerton’s had attempted to burn the Samuel/James home down(after Jesse's father died, Zerelda remarried twice, the last husband being Dr. Reuben Samuel).

 

I asked Jane about the doors in each room, and she couldn’t supply me with a solid answer other than there had to be at least one door in the kitchen because it would get so hot in the summer.  Seemed reasonable, but no explanation for all the other rooms.

 

While we were in Zerelda’s bedroom, Jane explained that her bed had been positioned diagonally in the room after Jesse was killed.  From that location, Zerelda was able to see Jesse’s grave.  Apparently there had been several attempts at robbing the grave of Jesse, so armed with a shotgun, Zerelda spent her nights in bed looking out that window at Jesse’s grave, prepared to take on any scumbag that messed with her baby. 

 

Finally, the kitchen.  Jane filled us in on the important events that had taken place in this room.  In 1875, the Pinkerton’s decided they were going to raid James/Samuel home.  On a cold night in January, the Pinkertons tossed an incendiary device through the window of the very kitchen we were standing in.  One of the slaves quickly swept the device into the fireplace, while Zerelda hugged her youngest child to her.  The device exploded, killing young Archie, and seriously injuring Zerelda’s right arm.  Zerelda had to have her arm amputated.  However, according to Jane, Dr. Samuel did not cut his wife’s arm off, another physician took care of it.  This seemingly indifferent fact will come into play later on.

 

Tomorrow, the saga continues.

 

I know, the mind reels with the fact that there’s more…..

Lions and Tigers and Bears

We woke on Friday with high expectations.  While it was likely that we might hear the up/down whizz of the elevators in our sleep for the next few nights, we were ready to tackle the zoo. 

After a $70.00 breakfast in our room (yes, that's seven zero) that consisted of two blueberry muffins, one english muffin, 1 banana, 1 apple, a bowl of moldy blackberries, 3 glasses of orange juice, and Frosted Flakes, we packed up the tornado that accompanies our family wherever we go and headed out.

Our first mission was to find a store, any store, that carried sunscreen.  The Irishman is so white has such sensitive skin that a little SPF was in order. This proved more difficult than it sounds.  We drove around for 15 minutes with nary a Quik Trip in sight.  Finally, we entered the barrio, and Eureka!  A Bag and Save!  My lily white husband, who speaks not a speck of Spanish, rushed in only to find he couldn't understand any of the people or the signs posted.  After long minutes searching, he finally found some Banana Boat sunscreen, one of only two choices, and made it out relatively unscathed, despite being a bit dazed.  When you think about it, people of Mexican dissent don't really have a problem with sunburn, so why would they need sunblock in the barrio?

After the Irishman was properly protected against the harsh rays of the sun, we dashed to our destination, the Henry Doorly Zoo, to meet up with my stepmother and my nephew, the Big D. 

The people were flocking to the gates like they were giving away free money.  I was worried that there wouldn't be room for the hoards of people until we made it through the gates.  Let me just say right now that this zoo is HUGE!  You could walk the zoo for two days and never run into the same people you saw at the beginning. 

Big D was our tour guide, as the zoo is one of his most favorite places.  He loves the zoo!  He knew all the best animals to see and where they were located, and then whisked us away to the next fabulous spot.  Parrots, lions, and penguins were ranked high on his list and didn't disappoint. 

Our favorites were the gorillas and the aquarium.

After a couple hours or walking, we decided it would be a good idea to take the train, a nice rest.  We waited for quite a while for this train that would give us a nice rest.  In line, in the heat, with lots of people.  My specialty. 

Yep, that's me, after we'd finally entered the cover of the "depot."  I don't think I look too, perturbed, right?  This is after the woman with the 11 week old baby and her sister and niece had butted in front of us.  I was not amused, but the Irishman was ready to take them out, baby and all.  They decided to pay after they had advanced in line rather than pay when they hit the window, thus advancing their chance of getting on the train.  When woman with baby went to pay and walked by me with her screaming newborn, the baby grabbed the strap of my sweater, while the mother obliviously walked forward, only stopping after the resistance of an adult being towed behind her became too much.  That child did not want to let go, and she clearly had no idea what she was doing.  Finally, she got the kid to let go, and my cute little beaded tank was stretched so badly that it sank half-way down my chest. This was after a woman pushing a double-wide SUV stroller in the primate house ran over the middle of my foot as I was pressed up against the wall.  "Sorry," she said.  "I was yawning."  Ok then.  Where do I send the doctor's bill?

The train ride turned out to be a short but much needed respite from walking.  We almost did not make it.  The last people seated were the two women who butted in front of us with their babies.  The Irishman was not going to let us be left behind because two women who were stupid enough to bring a newborn to the zoo were trying to push us around.  We found 4 separate seats where we had people move over so we wouldn't be left behind.  No way!  We'd waited too long.

We made our way through the aquarium, and then the Big D was HUNGRY!  Must eat now!  I totally understood, as I was fading fast.  We quickly made our way to the food court, where Big D, the Boo, and Bubba had a hotdog, recharging for the long walk to the car. 

We trudged to the cars, quickly unloaded some trains, and more importantly a pair of longed-for shoes, said our exhausted goodbyes, and headed back home.

So ended our week of stay-cation.  I think we did well, saw a lot for a little bit of money.  Well-entertained, for the most part.  And most importantly, all of the kids are still alive, no broken bones, no stitches.  All with the benefit of sleeping in our own beds (with the exception of one night sponsored by Otis, inventor of the elevator). 

We now return to our regularly scheduled programming.  Stay tuned....

Been on the road.....

wrapping up our stay-cation.  We traveled to Omaha on Thursday, our farthest destination of the week.  This time, all five of us made the journey, as the Irishman begged off a day of work.  After checking into our hotel, with an excellent rate courtesy of Priceline (come on, let's all sing it together and make karate moves - "Priceline, Negotiator!), we set off in search of dinner in the Old Market area. 

After walking far too long and dodging many scary looking people, we finally settled on a restaurant called Stokes.  By the time we finally sat down to eat, we were all cranky, hungry and tired, which did not make for the ultimate dining experience.  See evidence below:

At one point, the Sous Chef deemed my mood to be so disagreeable that he threatened to create a website featuring me, called "Mom's Gone Wrong."

After our bellies had been filled, moods started to brighten, despite the frigid climate of the restaurant.  We quickly learned that in order to be warm, it was necessary to stay in the bathrooms. 

Not ready to let the day end in the toilet, we left and began our scary walk back to the hotel, evading the beggars and camouflage gangs.  Just short of the hotel, we came upon this:

The Sous Chef had this to say about this piece:  "This artist must have been a real creeper!"  The position of these two bison or buffalo just seemed a little too off, wrong.

If you haven't gathered by now, "creeper" is the word of the week.

After taking a late night swim (the Irishman and the kids, as I'd done my swimming for the next two years), we settled in for the night.  And then realized why we got such a great rate on the room.  We were right behind the bank of elevators.  Going up!  Going down!  We heard it all.  After midnight, it seems as if the convention for state and county workers had broken up, and all the women, like Cinderella, hurried to make the pilgrimage back to their rooms.  Despite the fact that we heard plenty "God!" exclamations as they passed our door in their drunken state, I'm pretty sure there was nothing religious in their journey.

Tomorrow's post:  the Zoo 

Man I Love My Kids

If I didn't love them so much, there is no way in hell I would have gone to today's destination.

• Strike One - I can't wear make-up
• Strike Two - I have to wear a bathing suit
• Strike Three - There are crowds and crowds of people there

Basically, my worst nightmare.  I occasionally had to remember to use my deep breathing techniques when the panic and anxiety crept up on me. 

I thought we did pretty well, we stayed a healthy three hours and forty-five minutes.  Really, how many times can you go down the slide and get pushed around in the wave pool?

Here's some good news that I'm sure everyone is eager to hear.  Did you know that there's a whole camping "village" at Worlds of Fun?  Well yes there is.  Just in case you have the urge to set up your RV right next to the very busy highway and are willing to breathe noxious fumes all day.  If that sounds like something you're interested in, this place is for you!

   

And if you're not able to drive your own home to the village or pull it behind your car, you can rent one of these generously appointed cabins:

By the time we left, we were all exhausted, our limbs weak, and our bellies empty.  We had to hurry back home so the Sous Chef could make his Dang Quesadilas (yes, we pronounce them like they are spelled here, with only one L, Napoleon Dynamite style).

Ahhllll, AAhhhllll Righ-ty Then

For those of you that haven't been forced to watch Ace Ventura, Pet Detective by three people who genuinely enjoy weird humor, this is a chant that Ace sings in the movie.  Which is the clue today's destination, The Basilica of the Immaculate Conception. 

We traveled an hour and a half to a little town(?) called Conception to

The church was completed in 1891, survived a tornado in 1893, and was named a minor Basilica in 1941 by Pope Pius XII.  A renewal project was completed in 1999.  The church and the artwork inside and out were gorgeous.

I thought we might have encountered a monk's service, chanting, the whole bit.  But there was nary a soul inside.  The small beep of the camera echoed off the walls of the empty church. 

We went round to the gift shop and tried to buy some merchandise that I thought might boost sales.  Two bars of soap, a wind chime, and a small Christmas gift.  But the bill hardly came to anything.  How do they make money?

On the drive to Conception, we drove on a highway I didn't even know existed.  We were surrounded by fields on either side, but at least the highway was 4-lane.  When we turned off to complete the last ten miles to our destination, we were really in the country, two-late road, hills curves. 

And then we came upon these:   

Interesting to see up close.  They were all over in the fields.  Alternative energy is everywhere. 

So concludes our relatively quiet second day of traveling.  No baudy signs or messages at the Basilica.  Although wouldn't that be something?

Today's Mystery Location Is.....

That's right, beautiful Atchinson, KS, just a short hour-long ride and we arrived at our destination. 

Our first stop on the tour was the Atchison Rail Museum.  I thought it might be fun to be able to climb in train cars, and see what real trains actually look like.  Unfortunately, only one was open, the engine. 

We were able to climb in and move about wheels and levers and bounce in what must have been the most uncomfortable engineer's seat ever.

 

Even the caboose was locked, my favorite car of all.

We walked the whole train yard, with no luck.  As it was 104 degrees out, we walked quickly.  By the time we reached the visitor's center, the Sous Chef was screaming that his toes were burning off. 

After a quick tour through the Atchison Museum for a bit of cool air, we left for our next stop.

Atchison is the birthplace of Amelia Earhart so we took a short ride to her house.  The house was beautiful, particularly the dining room and large master bedroom.

There was a self-guided tour on a piece of paper that we followed and made it through in less than 15 minutes. 

Our last stop on the tour was the Evah C. Cray Historical Home Museum. 

This was a beautiful home, that was generously appointed many years ago by the wealthy owners, the Hetherington's.  Unlike the Amelia Earhart home, we had to take a guided tour of this mammoth home.  The tour lasted about a half hour, and despite the dryness of the elderly tour guide, we learned quite a bit about not only the home, but the era in which it was built.  The boys were a little discomforted when the tour guide showed us some of the undergarments women wore in the 1800's, as well as how the pantaloons with the slits running up and between the legs were used.  Too much information for them.  At one point, the woman showed us a money belt that men used to wear beneath their clothes, and attached it to The Boo's waist.  It was only slightly bigger than she was.  Later in the car, the Sous Chef had this to say about the size of all these people's waist size:

"These people must have looked like real creepers back then!  That guy should have used some of the gold from his money belt and bought himself a steak."

So ended our tour of Atchison.  I leave you with these two parting shots:

The Boo:  "Mom, how do I work this thing?"

and

My favorite sign of the day.

And Today's Activity Was....

Absolutely nothing. 

Last night, after a day of baking, my Sous Chef and I made barbecue chicken pizza.  We generally followed Emeril's recipe, with the exception of a couple little "Bam's" of our own.  The pizza was ok, but next time we'll add more chicken and less barbecue sauce.  As it turned out, we had enough sauce left for dinner tonight, and then some. 

After dinner, I assembled a snack bag for each of us, we filled the cooler, and loaded the chairs in the trunk of the car.  Included in each bag were some grapes, some home-made Chex mix, rice krispie treats with chocolate chips, and blondies with chocolate chips.

And our destination was....

Yes, the drive-in.  We had more than enough food for a 2 hour movie.  Normally, we'd just visit the concession stand, order some popcorn and pop and be done with it.  But we now have three, count them, three children in orthodontics.  No popcorn allowed.  And so we improvised. 

The movie we saw, "Wanted," was an Angelina Jolie flick.  It was slated to begin at 10:45, but didn't start until at least 11:00.  Boy, has the drive-in changed.  There are some seriously scary people that attend these late night fests.  The entrance to the quarter mile entry was filled with 5 police cars, all with lights flashing and officers everywhere.  Probably not a good sign.  They had someone pulled over to the side that apparently required the whole troop to control.  Although the two people I saw sitting calmly on the ground looked as if they couldn't care less.  Despite the daunting welcome, we drove forward, paid and finally found a spot in the designated parking lot.

I want to know when the drive-in became a tail-gating affair.  People bring their grills now and have whole meals at the drive-in.  This is new.  Also, now you can listen to the movie by tuning your car radio to a specific station.  That is to say, if you can parse out the static, you might be able to catch a few key phrases. 

Prior to the beginning of our movie, I thought it would be a good idea to visit the restroom, a scary proposition in itself, given the  set of people that surrounded our little piece of real estate.  The Boo and I decided to be brave and make the trek by ourselves.  The closer we got to the corrugated metal building that housed the restrooms and the snack bar, the tighter her little hand squeezed mine.  Surrounding the women's door were a bunch of shirtless, smoking men.  I'm sure they were waiting for their girlfriends, wives, kids.  But The Boo squeezed so close to me we could have been Siamese twins.  There was nothing threatening, the setting was just eerie.  No females.  We were in, we were out and back to the car in record time.    There would be no more peeing for the duration of the movie, which seemed like forever.

Because the movie started late, we didn't get home until 1:15.  I told the kids to hurry and find clothes for tomorrow (today) so we could get up and get going on our adventure for the day without an hour of "What should I wear?"  By the time the dogs went out, clothes were found, e-mail checked, it was 2:00.  Then Bubba realized he hadn't fed Iggy.  Back downstairs the boys trooped to thaw the mouse.  It just so happened that this was a larger mouse than normal, with fur.  The store had been out of the size Iggy normally eats.

That snake took almost an hour to eat the big mouse.  I didn't want to go to sleep until I knew that Iggy was done and there was no regurge involved.  Bubba let us know around 3 that Iggy was done and we all tried to settle done to go to sleep.  Just minutes later, Bubba reports that Iggy, has in fact, thrown up the mouse.  Everybody back up.  He didn't want to carry the mouse through the house, so he opened the window, threw it out, then went outside and put it in the trash.  Back to sleep around 4.

So today, I was the first one up, 10:55.  Next one up, The Boo, around 12:30.  The others straggled out of bed around 1:00.  Needless to say, the day was shot.  We decided to rest up, regroup, and start again tomorrow.  The Boo and I did manage to get some paintings done for the living room, to be posted at a later date.  Our big accomplishment for the day. 

Stay-cation, All I Ever Wanted.....

Yesterday, at 2:00 p.m., my vacation began.  Yes, I left work early.  I couldn't help myself.  When informing others that I work with that I wouldn't be around next week, the question always arose, "Where are you going?"  Does it really matter?  I'm going to be on vacation!  A much needed rest.  The truth of the matter is, we're not going anywhere exotic, no far-away dream destination, nothing that anyone would find exciting.  Exept me.  I'm going to be "at home" with my kids.  School starts in two weeks and they need a distraction or two.  I have something planned for every day of the week, and while the locales may not be sexy, we will be out and about and spending time together.  All except my poor husband.  Unfortunately, no vacation for him this year.  We have outings planned for the days he's not working, but the circle's not quite complete.  However, I will be working hard at making sure everybody's happy, well-fed, and hopefully worn out by the end of each day.  No more sleeping until noon for these kids!  Places to see and things to do.  And I'll be singing Stay-cation, all I ever wanted for the rest of the week.