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Early morning storm in Albion, Indiana

Did you know I had a YouTube channel? I'm surprised if you did--I keep forgetting about it. Mostly I use Youtube to find music to write by, but it's a good place to display your own videos, too ... as long as you don't forget to tell people about it. Which I do.

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Got the Itch for Etsy? I have a Code

 My oldest daughter, Charis Koehl, has set up an Etsy account. Between the grand-twins and other factors she can't be away from home all that much, so this kind of thing is perfect for her--she's always been a creative type, which I'm going to take credit for under the "runs in the family" theory.

(The main difference is that she can do actual hands-on stuff; when I try that I usually end up doing hands-broke stuff.)

You can find her here:

https://www.etsy.com/shop/WhiteBirchLaneDesign

 White Birch Lane Design, I like it. The name's based on a lane, which has white birches along it. Also, it's given me a better idea of what Etsy is. That may not seem like much, but I still have a Netscape manual at home.

I'm proud to say Charis named a line of kitchen decor stuff after me! Well, after my long-time humor column, "Slightly Off the Mark", which you've probably figured out became a blog. I wasn't sure of the connection at first, until I realized the items often include puns, which I'm known for, and towels, which I'm known for needing when I'm in the kitchen. I use them a lot--you can eat off my floor. Yep, I spill so much food you could eat off my floor.

I cannot lie: They're so me.


So here's the deal: I have my own coupon code! It's the big time. Go to Charis' Etsy, and get 10% off your Slightly Off the Mark collection order when you put in the code MARK10.

Also, if you order anything from Charis, on Etsy or in person, and then show me the proof (you know, like a photo), I'll give you 10% off the cost of any of our books! You have to buy the books, you understand, I won't just send you the difference. This is one of those ideas I had as I was typing this, and didn't run it by anyone, so I suspect it will end in disaster.

Anyway, in addition to the Etsy site Charis plans to sell her stuff in person at the Community Learning Center, which is at 401 E. Diamond Street in Kendallville, where they have a farmer's market type thing on Saturday mornings from 9-12.  (The exception is this coming Saturday, when she'll be at the Allen County Fair.) I'll pass on any new appearances or cool stuff that comes along.


 

Like any small business people, Charis and I appreciate your support. I've found that businesses always have trouble when they don't get ... business.





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Movie review: Black Widow

 Finally, Black Widow gets her own movie! At least she beat Hawkeye.

Considering what happened in the last Avengers movie, "Black Widow" just about has to be a prequel. (You crazy kids and your two year old spoilers.) Sure enough, we open with a very young Natasha Romanov, living a quiet life in Ohio with her parents and cute little sister, Yelena.

But it's not that kind of a movie.

 

Natasha is torn from her family and sent to the Red Room, where she grows up to look just like Scarlett Johansson and becomes a Black Widow--Russian spy and assassin who somehow keeps her mid-American accent.

Fast forward to the events of Captain America: Civil War, which you don't really have to watch to see this, but why wouldn't you? Natasha finds herself on the losing end of an Avenger vs. Avenger slamfest, and with almost all her comrades imprisoned, she finds herself on the run. But that's okay: She has a lot of experience being on the wrong side of the law. Natasha finds a self-sufficient house trailer in the middle of nowhere and settles down to watch James Bond movies while the outside world cools down. (The particular movie she watches foreshadows a reveal later on.)

But it's not that kind of movie, either.

 Natasha is drawn back into the spy world again, trying to infiltrate the Red Room and rescue her sister black widows--including her sister (played with style by Florence Pugh, who I will lay money on being the next black widow to become, well, the next Black Widow.) Along the way she and her sister have a family reunion that's to die for, and also to kill for, because it's that kind of a movie.

 

Because "Black Widow" is set mostly in 2016, when other things were going on in the Marvel universe, the movie can't make use of the usual MCU supporting characters. That's a good thing, because it allows development not only of the character, but also her own cast of great supporting characters. Also, we finally get to find out what happened in Budapest, and the throwaway line from the first Avengers movie becomes a major plot point.

I get a little CGI weary sometimes, but "Black Widow" makes good use of modern effects, and the fight scenes are spectacular. At the same time--and in no small part because of acting skill--we get a real feel for what Natasha and her family go through as they fight to make peace with their past. The only real complaint is that we won't see Johansson in the role again, but on the bright side "Black Widow" serves as an origin story for her sister Yelena, who apparently will be an anti-hero in the upcoming Hawkeye series.

(By the way: If you're any kind of a fan, you'll quite definitely want to stick around for the post-credits scene.)

In the end, "Black Widow" is not so much a superhero movie as an amped up spy thriller with a surprising amount of heart, and unsurprising amount of action.

My score:

Entertainment value: 5 out of 5 M&Ms. The good milk chocolate.

Oscar potential: 3 out of 5 M&Ms. Maybe in the effects related categories. There's some quality acting going on here from several cast members, but the Academy is still prejudiced against SF/fantasy movies. That's especially sad with "Black Widow", which features two Oscar winners and, in its main roles, two Oscar nominees.


 
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The Potawatomi Trail of Death

 Emily and I were traveling through Marshal County, Indiana, when we stumbled across a sign:

We knew about the Trail of Death, having traveled across Indiana for two years researching our book, Hoosier Hysterical. Since Emily and I have Native American blood, we followed our curiosity and other signs ...

To the statue of Chief Menominee. 


Here Beowulf (who was not allowed to pee on the property) investigates a plaque at the memorial site. While other Native Americans signed treaties and moved themselves west of the Mississippi River, Menominee gathered into his village a group of people who simply refused to go. In 1838 he and five other leaders were arrested, and the final 859 Potawatomi were forced to move to Kansas, a two month trip. It was the largest single forced removal of Natives from Indiana. In a march of about 660 miles, forty-two of them died, many of a typhoid epidemic; twenty-eight were children.

A Catholic priest who made the trip with them died on the way back, of exhaustion. Menominee himself passed away less than three years later, and is buried in Kansas.


The first monument to a Native American under state or federal legislation is this one, erected in 1909 by the State of Indiana. It's near the headwaters of the Yellow River, and not far from the location of his village.

So.

Emily and I both have Cherokee ancestors: Hers were forced onto the Trail of Tears, ending up in her case in Missouri; mine apparently hid out in the Appalachians, escaping government removal. There are markers and monuments commemorating events along the routes, and I'd encourage people to follow them sometime.

If there's one thing our road trips have taught us, it's that you come across the most unexpected things along the way.


 
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4H Writers Write Right Writing

 If I'm counting correctly (which is never a given), this is my sixth year judging 4H prose writing entries. And to think, before that I used to think all 4H kids did was push animals around.

Truth is, 4H'ers do a lot more than working with farm animals, which is probably what the average person thinks of. It's too bad they don't get more credit. When I was a kid we'd walk the fairway of the Noble County 4H fair, and when we got to the end I was puzzled by why they had all those barns full of cows, sheep, goats, and various other four legged guys. Since we didn't have the money to buy a lot of food or ride a lot of rides, I eventually wandered around enough to figure things out.

(For any of you who haven't gone to fairs, be cautious about buying a lot of food AND riding a lot of rides.)



Do 4H members show turkeys? I feel like they should.


I wonder if they had the writing stuff when I was a kid? I'd have been all over that: Other than extra credit in English class, I had nowhere to go with my writing until I turned eighteen, and started my eclectic collection of rejection slips. Not one of those rejections had a ribbon on it--not even a white ribbon.



Speaking of which, I don't know if it's a sign that I'm too easy, but I think I gave all but one of the entries a blue ribbon this year. With the one that got a red ribbon, it was really close to blue. The problem is, I have a clear memory of how good my writing was at the same age, and they're all better than I was. That's in all three categories--the youngest are at about the same level I was at the intermediate stage. The oldest are better than I was when I started submitting, which maybe explains the rejection slips. I'd have been a red ribbon all the way through, if not white.

So I had to not only keep in mind their ages when judging the entries, I also had to guard my self-esteem. I thought about turning on reality TV shows and saying "at least I'm not on a reality TV show!", but I didn't deserve that kind of punishment. Instead I told myself I was good enough to deserve chocolate. Then I ate chocolate.

If one of them hits the best-seller list before I do, there won't be enough chocolate in the world.

Look! A 4H clover!



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We Were Real Firecrackers, Back Then

 When I was a teen, I had a friend who sometimes got me into ... questionable situations. Case in point: One day he, I, and another friend were walking down the railroad tracks ...

And there you go. Questionable situations.

He was a bit ... reckless. He also wasn't too good at impulse control, which I suppose is the same thing.

(He also once coaxed me onto the tracks to find a good position for viewing Halley's Comet. We couldn't see it. I don't know what his thing was, with railroad tracks.)

Anyway, we were walking down the tracks, late at night, carrying packs of firecrackers and bottle rockets.

Once, when that other friend and I were playing chess, my questionable situation friend got bored and threw a firecracker into the middle of the board. We never did find all the pieces.

There are certain things you should never do with fireworks. At the time, I did most of them. He did all of them. In this case I was carrying firecrackers and a lighter, while my friend had bottle rockets and a bottle, which is what bottle rockets were originally to be fired from. Thus the name.

I have to be honest at this point: I can't remember which of my friends was actually carrying the bottle. I'm just basing this on the odds.

These bottles were supposed to be rested on a level spot on the ground, from which they would rocket the, um, rocket. Manufacturers suggest you lay firecrackers down, light them where they lay, then do a stunt man roll away from them. We didn't do those things.

I used to be able to do a stuntman roll. I also used to be able to see my belt without sucking in my gut.

Anyway, I was lighting the firecrackers and throwing them, even though I'd already been a firefighter for a few years and knew better. My friend was using the bottle as he should, only instead of putting it on the ground he would hold it in his hand and pointed it toward safe areas, like high grass, creosote-soaked railroad ties, or birds.

 

"Oops ... sorry about that."

 

 

 Probably bats, in this case.

Afterward it took us awhile to put together what happened.

That sentence tends to pop up in many of my stories.

I lit a firecracker. At the same time, my friend lit a bottle rocket. Our other friend was walking between us. Instead of launching, the rocket dropped into the bottle. The firecracker fuse had apparently been soaked in nitroglycerin, because there was a fuse there--but the firecracker reacted as if there wasn't.

BOOM!

Both went off at the same instant, followed closely by terrified screams, and my friends probably yelled, too. The firecracker went off in my hand. The bottle exploded into shards of glass that flew like shrapnel.

No, we didn't get our deposit back. I'll explain that joke to you younger folks later.

I waved my hand around, but at the same time didn't look at it. I had no desire to know how many digits were missing. Maybe if I ignored the problem it would go away, just like it never worked before. Would I spend the rest of my life known as "Lefty", "Three-Finger Mark", or "Stupid"?

"Look! There goes a left thumb!"
 

 

The guy who played Scotty on "Star Trek" lost a finger in World War II, and did his best to hide it when the cameras were rolling. There's a guy who could have bragged about his loss; in fact, if I had come out of this with fewer digits, I probably would have stolen his story and hoped no one asked for details.

I had minor burns on my hand; I don't think my friend even had a cut. If I had a dime for every time my hand got burned, I could buy some gloves. Still more proof that angels watch over the foolish.

I sometimes wonder if the frostbite damage done to my hands several years earlier could have protected them, somehow. That would be ironic.

The moral to this story? Well, don't be stupid. Duh. Still, memories like this give me mixed feelings when it comes to dealing with young people. On the one hand, people inexperienced in life--and seemingly further from death than I am--are going to do stupid things. That hasn't changed since the first cave-teen teased a T-Rex. On the other hand, I'd like them to learn the easy way, even though they're hard wired to learn the hard way. I prefer to split the difference and try to talk them into avoiding both death and hospitals.

Personally, I've seen enough of both.


"Heh heh ... heh heh ... cool."


 

 

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Engines are usually made of metal, but this one is ... Groot?

I don't claim to understand it, but I saw this at the Avilla Freedom Days car show two years ago:






All I could think was: Shouldn't Groot be in a Woody?


https://www.pinterest.com/pin/467811480025583082/?lp=true

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Happy Second of July, Kevlar!

 John Adams, signer of the Declaration of Independence, Second U.S. President, and all around unpleasant guy, had this to say about America's Independence Day:

"It ought to be solemnized with Pomp and Parade, with Shows, Games, Sports, Guns, Bells, Bonfires and Illuminations, from one End of this Continent to the other, from this Time forward--forever more."

 In other words, he thought it would be a pretty big deal, and he was right. Those Founding Fathers, they were smart cookies. Adams, Tom Jefferson, the guy who kept putting his John Hancock on things, and of course Bill, the Earl of Rights ... They were generally good, smart men, who only wanted to, you know, overturn the government.

Of course John Adams also said this:

"The Second Day of July 1776, will be the most memorable Epoch in the History of America."

Wait.

The Second?

Nobody's perfect.



"Hey, bud--let's party!"

 

Actually, Adams had a point: The Continental Congress did indeed approve a motion to change the United Colonies into the United States on July 2. It was the first big bureaucratic boondoggle, requiring the government to print up new letterheads, buy new rubber stamps, and change the seal on the Presidential Podium. Not to mention they had to fund an army.

But, in yet another classic case of putting the cart full of red tape before the red, white and blue horse, the Congress then spent two days editing the Declaration of Independence before they finally approved it--on July 4th. So that date got printed at the top of the Declaration, and eventually led to our National holiday.

The Founders didn't care. They hated John Adams so much that they didn't take any of his suggestions for bells, bonfires and such, anyway. Adams' last words, as he died on July 4th, 1826, were: "Thomas Jefferson still survives. Why isn't he setting off fireworks?"

Adams didn't know that Jefferson had died five hours earlier. Jefferson's last recorded words were: "Is it the Fourth?" When offered painkiller, he added, "No, doctor, nothing more. Make no noise that would make that ass Adams think we're celebrating."

As a result, the first recorded noise complaint to police didn't take place until the night of August 24th, 1814, in the city of Washington. I just happen to have transcripts of the call to police:

"This noise has been going on for hours. I have kids, and I have to get up early to go to work!"

"Sir, you don't understand: The British are burning Washington!"

"Well ... can't they do it more quietly?"

Ironically, the first recorded celebration of Independence Day was on September 13 of that same year, 1814, during The War of 1812.

 (I suppose it's for the best that we didn't call it The War of 1812-1815, which doesn't trip off the tongue so well.)

The British were not huge John Adams fans. Still, they had it on good authority that Adams was busy in Massachusetts, debating with its legislature the best way to spell Massachusetts. (A name definitely decided by committee.) So they brought all their cannon, mortars, and rockets, in an attempt to crash the party being thrown at Fort McHenry.

But the Americans manning the fort had a secret weapon: a giant American flag, made of Kevlar.

Most people think Kevlar was introduced in 1971, but in reality Benjamin Franklin invented it accidentally in 1784, while trying to introduce a stronger condom. Apparently he was still fuming about his son William being named Governor of New Jersey--royal Governor of the colony of New Jersey, on behalf of the King. Not long before he died, Franklin was heard to say, "I'll never have another child! ... well, hello, ladies!"

It's not recorded where he said this.

Your flag may vary.

 

The Kevlar was adapted into a flag, allegedly by one of Franklin's great-grand-daughters, and repelled everything the British could throw at it. This led an onlooker to write a poem that was later turned into a song:

Oh, say, can you see,

blocking Franklin's pee-pee?

No latex surrounding--

 but this stuff can take a pounding.

The lyrics were later changed by the Daughters of the American Revolution.

So it took a lot of time and history type stuff, but in the end Adams was right about the holiday, if not the date. From one end of the continent to the other, we make noise, flash lights, burn stuff, and generally annoy each other. I'm not sure if everyone doing that stuff actually gets why ...

But we're still here.

I can see my house from here!


-----------------------------------------------------------------------


If you really want to have fun on an Independence Day picnic, bring along a book that has the American Flag on the front.



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Images of America: Albion and Noble County on sale

 Looks like all the Arcadia Publishing Images of America books, including Images of America: Albion and Noble County, are on sale for the holiday weekend!

https://www.arcadiapublishing.com/Products/9781467114516

40% off, at least there on the publisher's website; I haven't checked around elsewhere, and it appears to be the paperback version. Still, that makes it $13.19, which is pretty darned good for all those photos and all that history. And hey: If you live near Albion, Michigan or Albion, New York, they also have Images of America books on sale.


Emily and I worked hard on this project, and we're justifiably proud of it. It may not be as amazing as that one time when I did yard work without getting injured, but it's pretty darned close.


http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/"Mark R Hunter"

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Landlines Leave Lasting Legacy

I'm cutting the cord, so to speak. Unwiring, vaulting myself into the 21st Century, taking the leap--

Okay, I'm mostly doing it to save money ... I was perfectly happy being wired. I suppose someday soon the doctor will want me to cut out caffeine, and after that I won't be wired in any way at all.

I've been a hardliner all my life. I'm not trying to start an argument about politics--I mean telephones. You see (listen to this in a grumpy old man voice), when I was younger they didn't have them-there newfangled cellular phones.

Don't laugh. When your kids grow up, they'll make fun of you for not having a brain input port on the back of your neck.

But when I was a kid you couldn't even carry the phone over to your couch: Our phone was on the kitchen wall. Maybe the theory back then was that housewives could talk while cooking. We don't really have housewives anymore, either.

And it was a party line. I know, right? Just imagine.

Wait, you don't know what a party line is?

Well, we lived out in the country, and several homes around the area shared the same line. Before you made a call, you had to quietly pick up the receiver, to make sure someone wasn't already talking on it. If they were, you very quietly continued to listen for any good gossip.

So we didn't have a private line until I moved into town as a teen, and even then it was still screwed into the wall. It wasn't until I moved out on my own that I got a phone that was actually portable. And by portable, I mean it rested on a table, and had enough line coming from the wall that I could carry that heavy thing anywhere in my apartment.

You could use it to call a hospital, or send someone to the hospital.

 

Of course, my first apartment only had two rooms, if you include the bathroom. Still, a phone that heavy could be used to give burglars a concussion.

Back then you could actually get tired dialing. Why? Because dialing in the 80s often meant an actual dial. If you called a number with a lot of ones, no big deal. If you called 219-797-8998, you'd have cramps at the end.

Around that time somebody came up with the idea of a mobile phone you could have in your car. You had to pay attention to how much phone line you had left, or the car would come to an abrupt stop at the end of the reel.

Around 1990 we got our first cordless phone, a huge advancement, as long as you didn't stray far from the base. I remember standing outside (okay, five feet from the house), feeling strange that I could talk outside, at least until the neighbors complained. Cordless phones also encouraged exercise, by which I mean wandering around the house, trying to find it.

Hello? Is it me you're looking for?


Then, in 2001: My first cell phone. Entirely portable! All you needed was a shoulder strap and a back brace to carry it. After that you could have real fun with your phone, like drop it in your drink, or talk while driving, or drop it in your drink while talking while driving. It was great to have a way to call for help if you crashed while talking and drinking.

But I kept my land line for twenty years after cell phones became a thing in my family. My initial argument was that if cell service went down, or a power outage led to drained batteries, we could still talk on a phone that used a separate line. But then, one day, I realized he only phone still hooked up was the cordless--which would stop working in a power outage, anyway.

By now the only calls I got on it were from people sitting in cubicles in India, asking about my extended warranty.

So as of now, although the number's still in the phone book (if they still make those), it no longer works. If you want to talk to me on the phone, you have to ask for my cell number. And I don't pick up there when there's no name on the incoming call, because apparently the FBI has a warrant out for me and doesn't use caller ID. Well, that's what the guy on the old phone said.

Or, you could e-mail me. But that's a whole other story.

Is that a tiny little phone in your pocket, or are you just sad to see me?



http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/"Mark R Hunter"

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