Word of the Day

jaded \JEY-did\,

adjective:worn out; tired, weary

c 1593, of unknown origin, possibly from Old Norse or Icelandic jalda "mare"

Grandparents' Visit

We were so pleased that the Ormond Beach Grandparents made it up to this area for Christmas. We enjoyed a lovely afternoon with them.

Hope your New Year is happy and warm, Grampy and Grammy!!

Love,

~Jonathan and Jenny

This just in...

From our correspondent: The people over at the Earth Status Board have changed the earth's status from "Not Destroyed" to "Destroyed". And automatically updated the box on our blog. And like DMM, they have blamed the scientists at the Large Halidron Collider. (Though not the collider itself - the scientists did it first as a precaution to keep the collider from accidentally destroying the earth.)

Art of the Day

Work: Adam & Eve

Artist: Hans Holbein the Younger, 1497/8-1543

Medium: oil on paper on panel (30 × 36 cm) — 1517
Kunstmuseum, Öffentliche Kunstsammlung, Basel

Reference: Genesis 3:12
"And the man said, The woman whom thou gavest to be with me, she gave me of the tree, and I did eat."

Commentary: Adam looks like someone from a bad Samurai movie. And Eve doesn't quite look like that diet is working out - maybe she should try some fruit? (The Brain)
I wonder if he based these two on real people for a commission or to try to curry favor? More likely to insult them! (The Heart)

Brownies

Introducing our new favorite assistant chefs. They did an excellent job stirring and licking out the bowl. Because seriously, what else is all the batter left in bowl for but licking??

Charlotte

Phillip

Henry

And the brownies were good too, and we even left a few for the parents... shh... don't tell, maybe they will forget and then we can eat them!!

Bumper Sticker of the Day

~

Support Search & Rescue

Get Lost!!!

~

30 Days Without Heat

We turned on our heat tonight.

We lasted longer than the Davis family by 30 days.

Side Note - This was not a pitched battle, there was not official competition, and Dan and Ang will not know about it until the read this post. I think they were handicapped in this venture by the fact that not only do they have to consult their own comfort, but they also have to consider the health and safely of their darling, little ladies. Jonathan says that I am too soft, but it really does seem weighted in our favor.

I do not think that a "no-heat" competition would have appealed to me if offered the chance outright, but once Danny posted I could not resist trying to wait out a month longer.

Word of the Day

I like this word, and always have. Now that I know more about it, I think I like it even more.

ensconced \en-SKONST\, adjective:

1. sheltered comfortably and firmly
2. sheltered safely; hidden

by 1590, "to cover with a fort," from en- "make, put in" + sconce "small fortification, shelter," probably from Dutch schans "earthwork".

So, if you have made a fort from sheets or blankets (depending on the season) and your bunkbed or couch or table or whatever handy piece of furniture you have about you, you are not just ensconced in the comfort and ease of imagination, you also have an excellent position from which to blitz the other natives of the region.

Art and the Bible (and Politics)

Feast in the House of Levi

Technical Details
Oil on canvas (555 × 1280 cm) — 1573

Galleria dell'Accademia, Venice

This work is linked to Mark 2:15 - "And it came to pass, that, as Jesus sat at meat in his house, many publicans and sinners sat also together with Jesus and his disciples: for there were many, and they followed him.

History of the Painting

A huge painting by Paolo Veronese, the work originally called The Last Supper, got him into serious trouble with the Inquisition. He was accused of heresy, a capital sin: the work did not show enough respect for the holy subject. There were midgets, drunks, fools, people dressed as Germans (!), and a dog was sitting on the spot reserved for Mary Magdalene. Veronese showed some remorse and was ordered to replace the dog with Mary Magdalene and to remove the Germans.

The artist must have felt that the power of the Inquisition was limited in Venice, because he never changed the work. But he did give it a less dangerous name: Feast in the House of Levi.

For those who know about this kind of thing...

For those of you who do not... you seriously need to watch more old British Sci-Fi. If you are really curious you can google "TARDIS" and that should set you up nicely.

Words of the Day

Today I have two rather delectable words to share.

bailiwick \BAY-luh-wik\, noun:
1. A person's specific area of knowledge, authority, interest, skill, or work.
2. The office or district of a bailiff.

Bailiwick comes from Middle English baillifwik, from baillif, "bailiff" (ultimately from Latin bajulus, "porter, carrier") + wik, "town," from Old English wic, from Latin vicus, "village."

malfeasance \mal-FEE-zuhn(t)s\, noun:

Wrongdoing, misconduct, or misbehavior, especially by a public official.

Malfeasance is derived from Old French malfaisant, present participle of malfaire, "to do evil," from Latin malefacere, from male, "badly" + facere, "to do."

If you habituate malfeasance, the sheriff in whose bailiwick you row will nab you.

Peace On Earth - Good Will Toward Men

I just purchased the first Christmas 2008 present on my list!

I am rather pleased with myself.

Some people take "Never been kissed" too seriously

Article here (pdf): "Stabbed to Death in Office Frolic"

Remember, boys and girls, but especially boys, sometimes in the face of overwhelming numbers, you need to just stand there and take it on the mouth like a man. This is not something to fall on your own sword about.

Visit with Friends

Chronicle of Cocktails: Raspberry Londonade

Another one of Jonathan's beautiful concoctions: Raspberry Londonade - a light and sunny drink that refreshes and smooths the palate.

No raspberries were harmed in the making of this drink.

Cloistered Homeschool Syndrome

The following is a good look at a problem that is facing a certain sector which we bump into every so often. I think the authors have taken a fair assessment of the situation. The article is a bit long, but very worth the time it takes.

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Cloistered Homeschool Syndrome
By: Michael & Debi Pearl

The Foger family came to stay with us one spring about 12 years ago while they were on furlough from Mozambique.

Their eighth child was soon to be delivered. Although I had just met the family, I was highly impressed by them. The oldest daughter, 19 years old, was a joyful, hardworking, energetic, blue-eyed beauty. The next, a 17 year old son, was cut in the mold of his father, dedicated, reserved, and very mission-minded. The five other children were 13 years old and younger. The family sang together with strong, forceful voices, no bashfulness among them. The two oldest children provided the instrumental accompaniment. It was an experience just listening to such a group.

They all understood and spoke two languages. The oldest two children spoke three languages. The father had left South America after ten years of mission service to move to another country, which meant learning another language. The parents still stumbled around slowly learning the Portuguese language. The two oldest children were invaluable in the new ministry, which was already showing promise.

While we sat around one evening, the mother casually asked us to pray that their daughter find a husband before they left for Mozambique in the Fall. I asked in a shocked manner, “Why on earth would you want her to marry now? She is such a blessing to you and knows the language. Surely you need her to help you with the other children.” The mother lifted her arched brows as she pondered how she would answer me. Her look conveyed her surprise at my lack of understanding. “We will be in a foreign country for the next 4 years. All that time she will be at the prime of her marriageable age. We feel it is best for her to marry an American. God called my husband to Mozambique as a missionary…not our adult children. We have obeyed God and raised them up to serve HIM…not US. We don’t add; we multiply. It is time for her to live her life.”That next year we received a mission card with their picture. There were only six children in the picture. The mission letter briefly stated that the oldest son was in Bible school and the daughter was married.

Over the years I received their missions update. I noted that the parents were growing fatter and grayer. The children disappeared from the picture, one or two every year or so. It was sad to see the diminishing of such a magnificent family. The mission letters were filled with gospel film presentations to prisoners and villagers, church camps, protracted meetings, people getting saved, and only a brief mention of their now grown children. They would write something like, “Joshua and his wife are in Romania serving as missionaries; Peter and his wife are in Russia working with the something ministry; Sara married this year. Her husband is the pastor of a church.” And so it went.

Today we receive mission letters from their now grown and ministering children. I see their families expanding. Their joyful, energetic, blue-eyed beauty of a daughter is now the mother of six children. Her family is growing up in Cajun country. I know if I meet them I will be very impressed. I heard that they sing like soldiers…with power and command.

I am thankful for the testimony of the Foger family as well as other families that have come into our lives. They are a prototype to help us understand the problems that are arising among some older homeschooling families. We call it by different names. Today it is the Cloistered Homeschooled Syndrome. Briefly, it is the failure of the parents to understand, appreciate, and respect the individuality of their adult children. They sacrifice the individual identities of their children on the altar of their own emotional needs, making them nurse when they should be killing and dressing their own food, making them obey when they should be learning to command. They seem to think that grown children are God’s gift to them rather than their gift to God. Through letters and personal contact, we see more and more of this cult-like isolationism, parents demanding absolute allegiance to the family group, and fearing outside contact might break up their “fellowship.” Adult kids who want to launch out on their own are told that they are rebellious and disloyal and are causing grief to those who have nurtured them. Emotionally needy parents manipulate their grown children into remaining loyal to the unit. Thirty-year-old daughters sit at home acting as surrogate mothers, watching their prospects to ever be a mother dwindle.

You cannot stop a tree from growing without killing it or deforming it. Likewise, every year of one’s life up until about the age of twenty-one or twenty-two is a year of radical change and development. Some parents are trying to stop that development, clinging to their teenagers like they were six years old. We have observed the victims many times. They either flee their chains in anger, or they are slowly smothered into inordinate submission, and their personalities die as they merge into the ego of their dependent parents.

This medieval hierarchy is preached as Bible doctrine. Father and Mother as King and Queen of their little kingdom preach the divine right of Kings and parents—“Obey me without question, for it is your manifest destiny.” Their “patriarchal” status is the only expression of their significance in an otherwise disconnected world, and they milk it until their children are dry and lifeless in spirit, or until they fly away to breathe fresh air.

For over a year we have been discussing this subject, thinking about how to address it. We have talked with many young adults who are, or were, held captive, the rebellious and the subdued, those who are disciples of Christ and those who are worldly and lost. We have spoken with families who lost their children early, in their teens, and families who lost a child to the world in their twenties or later.

How did this happen? It is the old pendulum at work. Thirty to forty years ago Christian parents were losing their children to the world through public schools, public churches, and public play. The family was disconnected and dating was the norm. We rebelled against the soul eating monster and took charge of our lives. Our children would not be raised on the TV. They would not lose their virginity in a school bathroom or under the stairwell. No more evolutionary philosophy and godless history and science. We took our children home and taught them from used books and the Bible. We created culture anew, abstaining from mega churches with their youth groups and revolving boy-girl relationships. We parents became the principle influence in our children’s lives, selecting their friends and ours with care. No overnight sleeps or backyard playhouses with closing doors. Family worship and Bible study took the place of Television. Once again parents were in charge and there was hope. It felt good to be in control of our own destiny, to not be a victim, to know that our children would escape the sin and shame that some of us had to go through before we came to Christ.

There was a vacuum, a need for leaders to arise and define what had become a movement, to clarify our journey and give us direction through uncharted waters. First, curriculum was written, then seminars. Sub-movements arose to flesh out the new culture, specialists addressing every conceivable issue—head coverings, dress, doctrine, spanking, scheduled nursing, Kosher foods and Jewish practices, and the list goes on. Books were written, some good, some not so good. Then someone pulled from ancient Chaldean and Sumerian culture, also practiced by Jews of that day as reflected in Scripture, a system of Patriarchal rule. It was the way nomadic clans were held together, a necessity of the times, but never taught by Moses, the prophets, or Christ as God’s divine plan.

I laughed the first time I hear of the Patriarchal Movement. “It will never fly,” I said, “People are not that gullible.” But they were. Daddies who were never in charge of anything, maybe not even their wives, were finally given justification for assuming the throne. Yippee!

It is now become a disease of epic proportions. We call them PDFs, Patriarchal Dysfunctional Families. The children are treated as permanent property of the parents. If they don’t marry, and many of them never have the opportunity, they remain at home as a sort of indentured servant, never rising to the status of an adult, always under authority of the head of the clan, the Patriarch Daddy. Don’t snicker. A lot of kids are hurting. And if you want to see something scary, try to conduct a betrothal with two patriarchal mothers involved. It is uggggly. Daughter sits at home serving the younger children and doing Mama’s chores—waiting for God’s choice. Daddy and Mama hold their merchandise guardedly, waiting for a buyer who never comes.

What is pitiful is the whole process is done in hopes of getting the perfect will of God, but one vital ingredient is missing—encouraging your children to become responsible, autonomous, well educated, and experienced adults as soon as possible. You should have trained your sons to be men by the time they are fifteen, independent by the time they are eighteen. Your daughters should be capable of living apart from the family by the time they are eighteen and should be allowed to make their own life’s decisions somewhere between the ages of eighteen and twenty. Unmarried, grown (18 years old) children may remain at home; it is good if they do; but the parent-child relationship should evolve into an adult-adult relationship by the time they are sixteen to eighteen years old. Parents should have earned the right to give advice, and kids should have grown in wisdom enough to ask for it. But a parent should never invoke his parental authority on a grown kid. It is demeaning to both and akin to not being potty trained.

To teach a student to drive or fly a plane and then always make him be in the company of his parents is degrading. You teach them so they can become independent of you. Whose need is being met when a Father treats a 22-year-old girl like a child, dictating the parameters of her choices? The glory of a parent is to work himself out of a job, to stand back and see his kids fly solo. I expected to have supplanted myself by the time my kids were eighteen. And so it was. Long before that, I began to confer with them adult to adult. I have stepped back and allowed them to make decisions that I knew were not the best choices, and sometimes I was wrong; they were wiser than I.

Space does not allow us to say more at this time. More will come later. Sit down and talk with your nearly grown kids. Ask them what they want, feel, aspire to. Don’t express hurt, and don’t emotionally manipulate them. Encourage them to pursue their dreams and support them in their effort.

In 1996, our daughter Rebekah Joy, then a 20-year-old in training to be a linguist, wrote this poem. At the time, the poem was the future; it was full of promise and hope.

There is a mighty army

Being trained to stand and fight.

A Battlefield of soldiersLearning what is right.

A Company of warriors

That will boldly take the Word

To every tribe and nation

Til every soul has heard.

There is a mighty army,

I’ve seen them everywhere.

Most are wearing diapers

And dragging Teddy Bears.

Infants in the training

Drilled in right and wrong.

Mom and Dad are making

Soldiers brave and strong.

There is a mighty army

Trained in righteous war.

Cheer them on to victory,

Children of the Lord!

At 22 years old, Rebekah went into a remote mountain range of Papua New Guinea to study the language of a tribe who had never even seen a white person. Her 19-year-old brother, Gabriel, went for a few months, then was replaced by Nathan, her 17-year-old brother. Nathan stayed for a few months until he believed that she would be safe. She was left alone on that mountain with the unreached tribe. After two years, others came to help, and she came home.

It was her understanding of languages that gave us the information needed to pass on to veteran missionary Tom Gaudet. He is a publisher of Bibles into obscure languages. He sent out an appeal on the web for any translator that might have been working on a common language of that area. He received 14 replies. One was from a missionary who had spent 35 years translating the Bible, but when he went home he couldn’t raise the money to get it printed. Tom pulled together all the translators, had them correct each other’s work and settle on a finished manuscript. We raised the money to get 20,000 printed and shipped.

Sending a beautiful, unassertive, young woman is not God’s usual way. He was proving a point. He was making a statement to her, to us and to you. “If I can protect and use this young girl to win a remote tribal people, then I can do the same for you.”
Rebekah kept a diary of those years, which we read when she came home. We wept at her courage and resolve. We wept that we had the honor of being her parents. We published Rebekah’s Diary in 1997. She was such a regular, normal girl until God gave her the vision of reaching a tribe. A few years ago, missionaries contacted us and told us that there are now seven strong villages of believers on that mountain and that the village men proudly carry their Bibles under their arms.

Because a young girl went willingly…Because we, HER PARENTS, didn’t say no. Because she would have obeyed us and stayed home. But we cheered her on to victory…There are new names written down in glory

Ladies Wingtips By Naturalizer

They remind me of Jonathan's wingtips...a bit. I am sure there is some girly name for them, if someone would be kind enough to elucidate me I would very much appreciate it. I don't know how many pairs of Naturalizer's shoes I have at this point, but they are all so comfortable and stunning. Since Naturalizer is one of the only places that I have found 7 1/2 Ws I have joined their frequent shopper club.

Mid-Aftnoon Nap

"It is a common rule with primitive people not to waken a sleeper, because his soul is away and might not have time to get back”

~ James George Frazer

Sometimes they just need to hit things...

"Fat Alumni = Flat Students"

Why do guys do that?

"The Stages of Life"

Beautiful day for a game.... Autumn is here!!

Annual Business

The people I miss!

You all need to move to the EC!!!

Word of the Day

Did you know that Pen and Panache are from the same root?

panache \puh-NASH; -NAHSH\, noun:

1. Dash or flamboyance in manner or style.
2. A plume or bunch of feathers, esp. such a bunch worn on the helmet; any military plume, or ornamental group of feathers.

Panache is from the French, from Medieval French pennache, from Italian pinnacchio, feather, from Late Latin pinnaculum, diminutive of penna, feather. It is related to pen, a writing instrument, originally a feather or quill used for writing.

So now you know.

Congratulations!!

Cufflinks

Thank you!

Dear Uncle Jonathan and Aunt Jenny,

Thank you so much for the birthday package that you sent. I had fun watching Mom open it and chewing on the paper. I really like the clothes (see attached pictures) even though you can't tell by my face. Some days just are like that. Thank you also for the book. I like it when Dad reads to me and look forward to enjoying your book for years to come.

Mom says to say hi to you all and sorry that this is coming in an email, but she thinks that my handwriting is illegible but that my typing skills are ok. Plus it is easier to send a picture this way.

I love you all and look forward to meeting you soon!
Joshua

(UJ sent him the onesie with the subversive message, corrupting the youth and all that, what else are uncles for these days?)

Who is going to welt the whelps??

Fellow Alums,

The time has come. Homecoming is just around the corner so let's get organized for the Alumni vs. Students Football Game. We must unite to put the whelps back in their place! Are you with me??!!!!

If you are planning on being at Homecoming and are interested in playing in the football game, please send a quick email to [redacted] so I can start coordinating with Student Life regarding the details of the game and so we can coordinate amongst ourselves to assure victory by the old(er) guys.

Semper Defeati Studentuses, ; )

C-

No, I don't miss Latin.

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Actually, I (The Heart) made up the titular alliteration (Is it also an assonance, due to the Es, and is it a true alliteration since W and Wh are actually different sounds we just don't really recognize them in English like they do in other languages, say for example, Arabic, which I am starting tonight after taking the summer off to rot my brain, not The Brain, who is very wonderful, to have fun, and I could also note that the appearance of "amongst" in the missive prompted me to research the supposed controversy in usage as propounded by The Brain, Ceil will be happy to note that I looked in both the OED and Bartleby, which are reputable sources, but nothing conclusive could be ascertained except that due to euphony "among" is more common in the States, and I do know this is a run-on sentence, more like paragraph, and if not then what is it ?) for this post.

No, I do not miss Latin either.

To C and his Es, I cannot wait to see ya'll. Go Old Guys!!!

Joshua Aiden

8 lb 11 oz, 21 in, the blue-eyed Nephew arrived at 5:12AM!!!

Because lunch for the Black Dragon is just like that sometimes....

The following was conducted by email, more than a year ago. While I was cleaning out old messages I found it. The Black Dragon, The D5 Coaching Lady, and I very much enjoyed the exchange.

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Invitation ~ The Black Dragon

Ladies.

Insomuch as it is desirable to beat the horde....
And in consideration of the lunch hour almost upon us...
And upon the further urgings of my stomach.
I do hereby propose we convene at 11:30 to feast right heartily.

Humbly, (and hungrily)

The Lady Counselor of Admissions

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First Response ~ The Heart

Here, here!!! The Lady doth speak well. We will meet you convocation in the Hall of Dining.

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Second Response ~ D5 Coaching Lady

the time, location, and purpose sound great--but shouldn't ya'll be sending these kinds of messages by pigeon or something?

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Third Response ~ The Heart

Owl, Dear Lady, they should be sent by owl!

Really Bad Baby Names & Really Good Commentary

Parent: I've suggested to my sister that she name her little girl to be - Manchester. She's not sure about it but she's considering. What do you think?

Commentator: Clever. Like being named Pittsburgh or Schenectady. Kid'll grow up to be beaten to death by Liverpool fans.

Parent: Beaufort Michael. It's French for "handsome and strong."

Commentator: Especially works if he's an after-dinner port. I'm naming my kid Voiturenez. It's French for "Automobile nose."

Parent: I like the name Tegwin for my third child. My two children have uncommon names that are easy to pronounce and spell. I am compelled to use something original...ideas???

Commentator: Yes. Jump off a bridge. Your kid sounds like an elfin creature in a Tolkein book.


The Heart: I have not enjoyed reading commentary so much since i, Sardonicus and Karl A. Kilgore's exploits. For more such exchanges click here.

(Once again, The Brain found this, not sure how, don't really want to know, but I thank him all the same.)

So, how do you know Jonathan?

We went to a party this evening for one of the guys from Jonathan's office. One of the other guys from the office was helping to host this party, and was collecting RSVPs. We will call him simply M. Jonathan told M that we would be attending and we did. It was a great party, excellent food, friendly people, and good entertainment. While milling around and chatting with people I decided to go talk to M. Jonathan had introduced me to him, so I thought I would be friendly and all that. Anyway, he starts of the conversation with, "So, how do you know Jonathan?"

Needless to say, I was astonished. Jonathan and this fellow work in the same office, Jonathan told him to expect two persons, Jonathan and I came together, Jonathan introduced me to him, and Jonathan and I both wear the normal, traditional, wedding jewelry. Most of the people in Jonathan's office are married and we all get together occasionally for parties. This fellow is new to the office, but not that new. (Also, I make lunch for Jonathan almost everyday, which has become something of an office joke because when he reheats it most people's mouths start to water and they talk about evacuating until he is done eating. His boss has even talked about having me cater the office Christmas party.) Taken with the other evidence I was not sure if he was serious. So I said, a bit incredulously, "We are married."

At this revelation M was completely shocked. He even took a step back. Fortunately for both of us a few more guests came in and he had to turn and welcome them. I sauntered off to find my husband and tell him. We enjoyed a private, marital laugh over the meatballs and crabcakes.

The funniest part of the eipsode was that we were both sure that when Jonathan introduced me it was as his wife.

Congratulations to the Brain!!!

He is now a level 3, or orange belt, Krav Maga fighter.

Maybe we should start calling him "the Brawn"!

Finally Found It Again

I have been looking for this photo for a while. Probably, because since Jonathan started taking Krav he references this as an extreme of physical dilapidation. When he comes home with bruises and lacerations he will say something to the affect of, "I am not as bad as that time I had poison ivy and Mark had a broken nose."

Thanks to MH for the photo.

Why I love the [practice of] law

I was in court this morning for an administrative matter. Because it was a general docket, there were a large number of attorneys near the front of the courtroom waiting to talk with the judge for about one to three minutes each as their cases were called.

When the judge (whose last name starts with "O'Fl...") came in, everyone stood up, in accordance with old custom. The judge, however, immediately stated, "Please remain seated. Standing was a tradition that started with the English kings. Two of my brothers ran arms for the [Irish] Republic. So you can see what I think of English kings."

Hershey Park

A great way to spend a weekend - friends, rides, sun, overpriced food, and expensive water. Maybe not the last two. We had a great time, as you can see from the picture.

And Introducing...

Helmfried would like to introduce his new companion.

Warwick

Warwick is pronounced "War-rick". Ask the English. It is their name.

He is a very manly truck!!

He boasts a great amount of cargo capacity...

...as well as some much appreciated comforts:

heated leather seats, air-conditioning, a CD player, power locks, and windows.

He will primarily be the transport system of the Brain, but the Heart actually did the work to put him on the road. So, she likes him too. But not as much as the Brain does.

End of an Epoch: Last Ride of the Black Angus

It is with a heavy heart that I announce the passing of a titan. Black Angus, our 1991 Chevy Astro, has passed on, having reached a respectable 240,000 miles (just short of the quarter million I thought it would make it...). Although he still ran well except for some transmission slippage, I was able to sell the van, so it was really time to move on.



I purchased the van from family my junior year of college, and it faithfully served my every wish for more years than it was meant to last. It accompanied me on cross-country treks, hauled anything I put in it without complaining (I topped 1800 pounds in one load I ran about 35 miles during rush hour). Angus carried friends (up to eight at a time), let me empty my dorm room in a single load (as well as pick up treasures left behind by others who lacked such help), helped with finding and retrieving bargain furniture, and taught me a significant portion of what I know about repairs (you can ask Joanna about repairs on the fly in the hills of West Virginia). In the first few years I owned it, there were a few scares with safety and emissions inspections, but the last few years it breezed through. I hit a deer once, but the van didn't even really notice. It had enough ground clearance that I cleared another deer which had already been hit and left in the middle of the lane on a blind curve.




I broke my arm falling off Angus's roof.



Angus had a significant role in my courtship of Jenny, providing transport to events and meals for dates. I picked Jenny up from the airport in Angus once (long before we thought anything each other). We had a number of important conversations in the van, including before we were officially going out, when the cargo capacity was "important" for Eden Troupe supply runs. During the time we were living a ways apart, the noble beast of burden was a symbol of our going any length to see each other. Angus was our getaway car at our wedding. We also drove straight out to New Mexico together, and when we loaded up all Jenny's stuff in the back, Angus still had enough sprightliness to cross a median ditch in the hills of Tennessee on the way back. The van gave us the room (on the inside) to haul our bikes to various spots in the area, an activity we enjoy very much.







A few weeks ago, Jenny took the van to work and called reporting a racing noise on acceleration. Analysis the next day revealed that the gear shift from 2nd to 3rd was slipping, effectively limiting the van to 45 miles per hour. Having replaced the transmission once already, (and there being other limitations such as no functional air conditioning), we decided against further repair.



Black Angus, you are gone but not forgotten.