No, this is not Abrigador Trail in Comstock Park, though it would fit right in.  We're river rats, no two ways about it.  This is a river-rat barn we came upon while stopping at a gas station in Johnstown, Ohio.

I'm writing from the river town of Zanesville, Ohio where we're staying at a brand new Holiday Inn.  I lectured here tonight at a Methodist Church, last night in London, Ohio, a couple of hours west of here.  This region of Ohio has had a lot of flooding and I've been fortunate to collect some wonderful river drift wood.  Today, between speaking engagements, we went to the State Park at Hocking Hills and hiked for a few hours.  That park ranks as a favorite of ours right along side Starved Rock State Park in Illinois and Brown County State Park in Indiana.  Here is John at one of the caverns.

As we were coming into town this afternoon I saw a business establishment that appeared to be a combination funeral home and taxidermy shop.  Why not?  If you embalm people why not do your taxidermy in the room next door, using the same toxic chemicals for both. It reminded me of my short stint as a taxidermist.  When I was a sophomore in high school taking a biology class we were required to have a project of our own choosing.  I decided to stuff a squirrel.  Brother Jonnie gladly shot one for me and I skinned it and then followed the directions from a kit for preservation and mounting---including the addition of glass eyes.  In the process the skin stiffened and stretched out and the squirrel didn't look natural at all.  I wanted to get full class credit, so I simply cut the squirrel in half, mounting the top half over the bottom to shorten the length.  I smoothed the fur and no one knew the difference.  Years later I went back to the biology room, and my squirrel was still in the show case-----though during my most recent visit to my old high school a few years ago it was no longer on display---probably relegated to a locked closet or in a landfill. 

Last night I watched "60 Minutes."  One of their stories reminded me of my own situation in a previous life a quarter century ago.  The story was about a middle-class family of five from Florida who had lost their home and lived in their van and then in a motel, paid for by the father's day labor.  When he could no longer get that work and was fearing he'd be kicked out of the motel, he wrote out a sign begging for work and stood on a corner.  The daughter, no more than 12, told how embarrassed she was living like they did and was especially shamed thinking he was her father begging for work.  She and her brother were very articulate kids and I was reminded of a time gone by, the fall of 1987.  Carlton and I had escaped serious abuse from his dad (who has been long gone all these years since).  I was very hard pressed for money, and Carlton was lending me enough to get by on from his various odd jobs and paper-route money.   Then one November afternoon, one of the ministers from our church stopped by with a 20-lb. turkey and all the fixings for a Thanksgiving dinner.  What could I do but be gracious and thank him for the kindness, but as soon as he left shame flooded over me.  I pulled myself together by the time Carlton came home from school, and casually remarked that Dick Doeden had stopped by with a nice turkey and some other things.  I should have expected his response.  He exploded.  Why did you take it!  I can get extra work.  We don't have to take hand-outs.  What if people find out!  I can't believe you accepted it!  He probably felt more shame than I did.  I wonder if we're the only people whose Thanksgiving has been spoiled by wonderful well-meaning people.  It was a grim time for us, but surely not as grim as this family from Florida.

In the midst of my reminiscence prompted by this shamed girl on TV, I painted.  (How times have changed).  We get a lot of traffic on Breton Road where our shop is, and this big metal fish will hopefully let people know we're not just a spring-summer seasonal store, as they sometimes assume.

We just returned home from a 2-day trip to Chicago where I lectured last night to a group of students at Moody Church, founded by the great D.L. Moody himself.  Our first stop after we arrived was the Art Institute, getting our yearly fix on the great masterpieces.  Then off to our Crowne Plaza Hotel right of the Michigan Mile and then my evening of work while John enjoyed Old Town which is right in the neighborhood of the church.  Late this morning we drove a few miles to a 5th-floor condo in a wonderful old neighborhood in Lincoln Park to have lunch with Hutz, Lynne and Hiley Hertzberg.  Hutz is the executive minister of Moody church and has been a dear friend for twenty years, since he was a student of mine at Trinity Divinity School, and Lynne since they married several years ago in Dallas, a beautiful wedding I was privileged to attend.  Here we are, Hutz being the photographer.