Sharritt New Years Letter 2024

 Dearest friends and family,

We hope that your 2023 Christmas was full of wonder and blessings. On December 20th, our five year old granddaughter Maggie was lying in bed. 5 days away and already unable to sleep; too much excitement. There was a party at the Boys and Girls club. Her world stage debut in the elementary revival of a kindergarten Christmas program. Too much excitement. Sleep was a long way off. Maggie was laying beside Grace’s bed holding her hand, stroking it. Maggie looked up at Grace and said “Mommy, just 5 more sleeps before Christmas.” A few moments passed and Maggie said, “After that there are 4 more sleeps until Christmas.” A pause for silence, “Then 3, then 2, then 1 more sleep and then it’s Christmas.”

I know. I know. We are living vicariously through the wonder of a five year old. In reality, the lovely Miss Beverly and I were exhausted by noon after we, Viki, and Vaeh had opened gifts and they were heading to Grandma’s and Grandpa’s for more gifts. They left for the party while Bev and Roger walked across the room and grabbed a couple of afghans, then headed back to our respective chairs and took a 2 hour nap.

We set this scene to highlight our belief that Monday Christmases are the greatest. Saturday to get the last of the shopping done. Sunday for church and candlelight service. Monday for the big event and Tuesday as another day off work. Yes, Monday Christmases are the best. 

2023 has been a great year for the Sharritt’s. 

• Maggie’s incandescent excitement for Christmas and just about everything else.

• Watching grandson Quinn change through each infant stage into the sweetest contemplative climber. 

• The lovely Miss Beverly visiting Chicago monthly to get grandma time with Quinn.

• Maggie’s sleepovers doing farm stuff until she collapses. 

• Slivers of time up in the shop for Roger to put together a clacking roller toy. 

• 8 days up at the dunes for summer vacation as an extended family.

Viki graduated from PHHS in May and we celebrated with wings and hot fudge sundaes! She was the dried flower specialist for the farm over the summer, keeping up with bunching any blooms that came home from market to hang in the storage barn. This fall, she tried a joint program with Ivy Tech and Ball State, living on campus and decided to move back from the dorm after a semester, realizing she didn't like it—kudos for trying. She's currently living back at home and attending Ivy Tech for a dental assistant program. 

Vaeh is attending the county vocational program for welding as a junior. She was a sprinter and long jumper for the varsity track team last spring and even tried pole vaulting. She worked a lot of Saturday markets for the farm, honing her sales skills, keeping Maggie in line, or just looking for the best macaroons to purchase. She also wins the “let’s see who can tear down/load market fastest contest” so that she could go home and nap.

The “slippery flower growing slope” that the lovely Miss Beverly and Roger embarked on six years ago is over . . .  Psych! It is still growing strong. It’s just that it is no longer a slippery slope. It has morphed into a full blown Olympic luge course. We are careening downhill at ever higher speeds. From narcissus in late April to mums in November, Roger grew more flowers than you could shake a hoe at. And the lovely Miss Beverly, found even more inventive ways to get them into people’s lives than ever before.

We had a great snapdragon season. The cold frame kept them alive even through the 10 below polar vortex. They bloomed for more than two months. On the slippery slope of money flying out of the bank, we went out and bought an electric delivery van. We snagged the coveted vanity license plate “SNAPWGN” to haul all of those snapdragons to markets and customers.

There was the late June day when we had a U-pick event at the farm and severe weather rolled through. While the Ingalls sirens were going off, a mother and daughter expressed their angst on our front porch. Daughter, who had moved to the east coast and was visiting, was sure that the world was ending. Mom, a hearty Hoosier, said, “I know the siren is going off but it really doesn’t look that bad.” Mom was right. They made it to the hoop house right before it rained hard for a few minutes. Everyone got a quick steam bath and an armload of snapdragons. 

The lovely Miss Beverly is rocking balancing her PATINS work with supervising the flower crew that has grown to 6 part time employees. Roger utilized technology to make video instructions for the crew each evening for the jobs needed the next day. The Gen Z crew quickly learned how to interpret “that patch over yonder” with the blurred upside down video or they texted Roger for clarification. Our crew member Jameson claims he can speak “Roger” and is available to interpret for the others. 

Having a great crew has freed Bev up for those Chicago visits and helped with her luge ride into all things marketing on the farm. She really enjoys selling beautiful things that people love to have in their house.

Roger spent the early part of the year recovering from hip surgery. He and Marlin are happy that he can balance on his right leg while using the left foot to rub the dog’s belly for a minute at a time now. Everybody wins. Roger got his leg stronger. Marlin got his belly rubbed. The left hip, while a bit cranky, is behaving well enough that it doesn’t need replacing at this time. That is a big blessing. Retirement is still a distance in the future, but he can glimpse it as he careens down his luge run through all the aspects of production at the farm. Only a handful of tax seasons to get through before he joyfully shakes his hoe at flowers full time, and can get the crew good and confused in person. 

That is about it. To paraphrase a bible story that I have always loved, basically John the Baptist was having a bad day so he sent his disciples to ask Jesus are you who you said you were. Jesus basically said the work is getting done (Matt. 11:2). While the question is different, know that the work of a blessed life is getting done.

Take care.

Roger, Bev, Victoria and Nevaeh

Sharritt New Year's Letter 2023

 Merry Christmas and Happy New Year from the Sharritt’s!

 

The house and garage/barn are decorated with fresh wreaths and lights for the season. Bev loves having plenty of lights in the winter. She assumed this is what folks driving by would notice about our property in December, but discovered otherwise when a car slowed, then stopped while she was walking out to bring the trash cans in.

 

“You have a lot of moles.”

 

While true—so many holes out by the mailbox due to a warm late November-- Bev was a little flabbergasted with how to respond.

 

“Yes. Moles,” came out as a weak reply–(so many cleverer responses thought of while walking back to the house minutes later.)

 

The couple quickly explained that they drive by frequently on their way to a restaurant in Pendleton and had stopped last spring to buy ranunculus. Bev let down her defensiveness after remembering their large purchase and generous tip.  They had a nice chat about good barbeque before the couple drove on, and Bev took a detour through the yard to roll over some of the mole hills with the trash cans.

 

So much depends on where you aim your line of sight—you can focus on the moles or the pretty porch just beyond. Here’s our lens to show you our year:

 

 Roger crossed the 60th year threshold. When he spins the “date born” wheel on an internet application, his thumb has been cramping. Way back in April, Roger also began complaining about his hip. It hurt all the time. It was difficult to get a good night’s sleep. After going to the doctor and getting an MRI (not a fan), the doctor said you need a new hip. Roger responded that if it wasn’t for flower farming, he would follow the doctor to the operating suite right then, but November 8th was penciled in. The procedure went great, and Roger woke up with 9 inches of staples in his leg and a walker to use to get home.  Bev was a trooper. She mapped out the medicine and put the compression socks on over Roger’s gnarly toes. Roger left the walker behind after the first day, and has recovered well.

 

Quinn Asher Low-Sharritt was born in a Cincinnati hospital on May 25 to Ben and Lisa.  As of this writing, he is already crawling around and causing grandma considerable angst while standing in his crib taking a selfie.  These kids and their phones these days.  Ben and Lisa are doing great. Lisa completed her PhD in poetry in the summer, then they loaded up the truck and moved to Chicago, still close enough for monthly visits from Grandma. Ben is teaching in a school only blocks away from their place in Little Village and can walk, bike or skateboard to work. Unfortunately, the winter weather conspired to delay Christmas in Ingalls. Fortunately, Quinn has wise parents and they stayed safe in Chicago.

 

We rejoiced with Grace as she finished seminary this year and was ordained as a pastor in the Disciples of Christ Church. She took a position at Bread for the World where she is a lobbyist and community organizer for the state of Indiana to end hunger. Chris continues his work as an attorney and has joined the Worship and Wonder team at church, much to Maggie’s delight.

 

State rules kept us from writing much about Victoria and Nevaeh in our Christmas letters for the last few years.  That changed on July 14 of this year. The state granted guardianship after placement with us as fosters since 2018. They have been part of our lives for 6 years total. We are grateful to God that they have become a part of our family. We are also grateful for all the folks he sent our way to help guide us through some tough transitions. Liberation from monthly check-ins with DCS has made us all breathe easier, and helped the girls move forward. The girls have also been able to begin to reestablish a relationship with their dad—an answer to prayer as we were anxious about how this would play out after guardianship.

 

Viki and Vaeh are doing great.  They are becoming good students through a combination of hard work, stability and figuring out what motivates them. “I don’t want to work at Steak and Shake when I am 30” is a good motivator.  Viki is a senior and is leaning heavily towards becoming a dental hygienist. We are waiting with bated breath for the IUPUI acceptance letter in the next couple of weeks. Vaeh is looking at the possibility of one of the trades, maybe welding, but still has a couple of years to explore. She is a sprinter for the track team, and Roger is recognized by all on the team as the dad who wears the fluorescent orange jacket and yells the loudest, “Run, Vaeh, run!”.  There are love interests. Roger is recognized by them as the one scowling directly at them. With two drivers, there are negotiations for keys. There was a new car, a wrecked car, a totaled car (same car) and then another new car, all with the hard lesson on questions like “what’s a deductible?” They are both doing well, and we are so proud of the young women that they are becoming.

 

We celebrated guardianship prior to the fact by taking the girls to Maui for spring break. It was their first experience flying and our first experience looking for the best shaved ice for 9 days straight.

 

Dirt continues to fly at Flying Dirt Farms.  We were fortunate to find several part time field workers this season to help with our expansion into another farmer’s market and growing 40% more flowers.  It made quite a difference from changing our usual October prayers begging God to bring on the frost to being able to enjoy a beautiful autumn. We even worked through November with the addition of heirloom mums grown in the hoop house for Thanksgiving sales.  Grace still helps a ton with managing social media, creating many of the wreaths we offer, and selling at the Garfield Park Market.  Maggie and Grandma Bev continue to love their Saturday market time together getting their weekly treats and exploring the park, pool or library.  We are expanding for 22/23 with the construction of a 90 by 30 ft greenhouse.  It has no supplemental heat, but the sunny but frigid Christmas day had the inside temperature up to 50 degrees when outside it was a high of 12.  You are invited to bring your beach chair on a sunny February day and get to work on your tan.

 

The lovely Miss Beverly ponders retirement as she reaches the rule of 85 for her teaching pension. She is working on a plan to combine PATINS, flower farming, and mom to the girlies as they launch, while sprinkling the delight of visiting grandkids into the mix.  Then in a couple of years, she’ll be happy to be an empty nester flower farmer.

 

We’d love to see you at the end of our driveway in 2023. You don’t even have to tell us you’re coming. The moles will be there to greet you, and we’ll pull out the leftovers or order take out from that great barbeque place down the road. If you’re lucky, you’ll experience  a teenager sighting as the elusive creatures dart downstairs for food, and we’ll hand you a bouquet as you head out the door. 

Much love and peace, 

Roger and Bev

Too Much Time on my Hands

Dear Blog Reader.

I hope that this finds you doing well. I am fine. The family is still asymptomatic. The lovely Miss Beverly and I are finally starting to ease our anxiety levels.  You see way back in early March the lovely Miss Beverly and I went to Hawaii to get away from it all. Yes the Covid storm clouds were gathering but nothing had changed yet. Change it did and quickly with each of our 10 days in paradise. One day the lovely Miss Beverly was sunning herself (ooh la la) on the beach. The next day, our fellow sun worshipers from Europe were reading texts that travel to their continent was ending. The day after, the mall was closing and we had to plead with a native in the drive thru of Star Bucks to buy a grande 2 pump mocha because we weren’t being allowed inside. I suddenly felt the sting that shirtless, shoeless Americans have endured for 70 years.

Bev and I started this strange disconnect from time while in Hawaii. We had booked it after Christmas as a needed respite from foster parenting. Things rapidly cascaded soon after we arrived,  10 days left. 9 days left. What day are we leaving? Was that the day we hiked to a gorgeous Pacific overlook, or the day the president declared a national emergency. Or both? Will they shut down domestic travel? Can we get home? It looks like LA is a hotspot. We are traveling through LAX. Should we? Shouldn’t we do this? 

We did, and in the year since we have been back, our two week incubation period has passed. That has been a weight off of our shoulders. However, in waiting for those 14 days to pass the Sharritt train of time has completely gone off the track, as we’ve heard it has for many of you. Early in the fortnight, Chris, Grace, Maggie, Viki, Vaeh, the lovely Miss Beverly and I were sitting around the table wondering which of us we should eat first if we didn’t find something sweet to eat soon. Thankfully, the lovely Miss Beverly remembered that we had one can of pumpkin from last fall. It was agreed that a pumpkin pie would spare the weakest and slowest of us.

Then someone pointed out that it wasn’t October. We have a hard rule at our house. No pumpkin pie except for during pumpkin pie season; October. Sweat broke out on some of the foreheads around the room. I was hoping that I could change into tennis shoes before the great race began. Then Grace spoke up, “Its okay. Time is now meaningless.” Its true. How many days before the weekend? It doesn’t matter. While I may not sit in front of a work computer in the corner of my bedroom on Saturday and Sunday, I am not going any place. I will stay on the same acre of ground. I venture out to the 17 miles of asphalt on a bike, but the same 4 walls will be my landscape. Time will continue to mean nothing.

I hope that we have reached our nadir today. It was noon on WhateverDay and we hear the garbage truck down the road. “Oh no! We forgot it was trash day!” I looked out the window and the trash man was coming our way. We live 150 yards from the end of the drive—it would be close, but we had to try.  Run Beverly Run! Off she sprinted to the garage. It was a hobbled sprint since she was only wearing socks and the limestone drive is brutal on anyone’s feet this early in the spring. The driver caught site of her, and waited. Thankfully, I could not find my phone or I would have taken a video and posted it under #ItCan’tBeThursdayYet #MonTueWedTRASHDAY. 

Another set of days erased. Will we ever start tracking days again? Will we ever gain our rhythm again?

Very good questions. But we shouldn’t be surprised. I was listening to someone yesterday who described what we were going through as a collective national (international) grief. As R.E.M. once sang “Its the End of the World as We Know It.” When will we get back to normal? Will we get back to normal? Have we been thrown back to the dark ages? Do you know how to butcher your own chicken? Grief, grief and more grief. We know that we lose time when first immersed in grief.

We have experienced it a million times or at least dozens of times. Can you remember any of the days between a loved one’s death and the funeral? It was all a blur. Can you remember the days between that big break up and your fourth pint of ice cream? Can you remember what you did last weekend or any of the big projects you’ve plodded through at work to save the world this past last week? Of course not. It is grief. Grief erases time.

It is grief and it will pass. Time will come back. Sand of the hourglass will flow like the days of our lives again some day. (Did Salem suffer from a Covid outbreak? That would have been a good soap opera plot.) No this too shall pass and while we will not get the days back, time will restart. And in the mean time? Put some cool whip on that slice of pumpkin pie.

Take care.

Roger

Shelter in Place

Dearest Blog Reader.

I hope that this finds you doing well. We are fine and asymptomatic. Which really is about all that you can say during these times.  They say we can be carrying and asymptomatic for two weeks. So who knows, we may be a percolating cesspool of Covid 19 waiting to leap out at the world. For now we remain untested wondering if that sudden sneeze is a harbinger of spring allergies or the of the world as we know it.

Speaking of testing. How in the world can an actor get on social media and say I tested positive for Corona (virus not beer) but am asymptomatic when people who are hacking up a lung, on a ventilator can’t get tested and are presumptive positive for Covid 19? Don’t answer that. I know. It’s because he’s and actor and his poop doesn’t stink.

I have decided to pick up some blogging (at least for today) while staying at home. It is an effort to connect with people again. While being an introvert, I have a really strong baseline of the human contact that I desire. It is as if by limiting social contact all of these years for my emotional comfort any reduction in its level throws me into panic. So I am taking up an old hobby for a while to connect in a one-sided manner with you. We can make it two-sided if you comment back on the face book post.

The extended Sharritt’s are camping out around the lunch table right now trying to figure out how to get our 19 month old grand daughter, Margaret (or as we like to say Marge in Charge) (actually we call her Maggie); trying to figure out how to get Maggie to eat left over beans and Thai chicken. She loved them 18 hours ago. Ate 3 helpings. We all thought, this is a keeper recipe. And now 18 hours later it is kryptonite and her name is Maggie-El. (Look it up. You’ll figure it out) She squawks when you put it down in front of her. I kid you not she just threw an expression on her face that looked exactly like Jack-Jack on the Incredibles.  I said a little prayer; “Lord I pray she is wearing the asbestos diapers!” She is not liking the Thai chicken. At 19 months, her significant others are wondering how to increase the palatability of any vegetable based meal. Nothing doing. Those fancy French cut green beans were not gaining access to her digestive track.  Success was finally found via the quesadilla Trojan horse. Success until she tasted a green bean and started to perform queso dissection. Our nefarious intentions were discovered and queso hit the floor.

I know what your saying, “why are you visiting your children and grandchild during these times of social distancing and quarantine?” Well decisions were made early on to shelter in place together. Grace and Chris brought Maggie and Kevin the cat to quarantine with grandma (the lovely Miss Beverly), grandpa, Viki and Vaeh, our foster daughters, Marlin the dog and Jacques the cat. There are lots of expectations of child care, elearning, and work from home. So the hope is that we can help one another out. It really does feel a little bit like we are in the middle of a three hour tour that went wrong.

Just like Gillian, the weather started getting rough and our tiny ship was tossed. But the courage of our fearless crew and passengers has kept our tiny ship from sinking. As we enter the second week of this stay at home thing. We are doing pretty good. Viki and Vaeh wish that they could visit friends and are doing the calculus budgeting social media time between TicTok and FaceTime. Adult children and parents are doing a good job breathing deep and thinking “not the way I’d do it but no one is going to die from that method.” The stranger cats are having a stare off at times and small skirmishes at other times. And the dog is laying asleep underneath the kitchen table.

I am coping by writing about what is clacking around in my head. I was telling my counselor the other night via FaceTime; “this would be a great time to be a sociology PhD candidate. You could freeze all of your data points during a calamitous time and spend the next forty years writing scholarly papers about it.”

So stay tuned. The Sharritts, Kozaks, and Becks have placed a tablet and pen on the dining room table and we are writing down possible topics for another day’s blog. Who knows? If this lasts, we may create a virtual tablet and I may write about the things you put on it.

I want to leave you with a great story that I saw in the paper this morning. A pregnant woman was due April 8th. However, she started having contractions yesterday morning. With social distancing and its challenges, they intended to stop by a gas station on the way to the hospital to hook up with grandma and grandpa to drop off the soon to by oldest sibling. The paper said in the couple of minutes it took for the handoff to take place things progressed in the car with mom. I’ll say! When dad got in the car, he looked over at mom and saw the baby’s head, How shall I say this; sticking out, making an appearance, coming through the door, oh crap (my personal fav.) Let’s stick with the medical term crowning.

So the baby was crowning; dad shouted out to the Pilot employee “call 911”. He ran around to the other side of the car, opened the door, and at 7:45 a.m. on Saturday March 29, 20Covid, made a diving catch in the outfield. Baby and mom are fine. 

As you are want to do after catching a baby, you stand around the parking lot waiting for the emergency personnel to arrive, the Pilot employees ran inside, grabbed a blanket, a couple cups of coffee and cigars for the new father and grandfather. I read that story and started to cry. In the midsts of dark times we need some new birth, some regeneration, some hope. Just like Jeremiah once wrote about a plague of Babylonians. “Build houses and settle down; plant gardens and eat what they produce. Marry and have sons and daughters; find wives for your sons and give your daughters in marriage, so that they too may have sons and daughters.” Shelter in Place.

Take Care.

Roger.

Winner of the 2019 limerick contest

Dear Blog Reader.

It is my distinct pleasure to announce the winner of the 2019 Hoover family/friend/acquaintance limerick contest. This year marks the 7th anniversary of the event to honor Doyle Hoover, Bev’s dad. Doyle loved things like skipping with his grandkids, taking the grandkids to the state fair, ripe tomatoes, and a rhyming poem that makes you smile or even laugh out loud. This year's theme will be BABIES AND EARLY CHILDHOOD MEMORIES. 

You’ll remember the announcement for the contest. It include an internet GIF of a baby having its poor little cheeks squeezed. Did you find that disturbing? I did. How does the little baby ever outrun that memory? When the memory fades, Facebook will throw up “remember 7 years ago post” and he or she will run from the room screaming “I hate the name sweet cheeks!” 

Hasn’t social media changed the way we remember things? Rather than “I was sitting in the living room of our house watching the town cop hassle my dad for lighting fireworks celebrating man’s steps and mankind’s leaps on the moon”, we get pictures of a bunch of geriatrics posing for the 50th anniversary of moonwalkers.

Memories are complicated. They get more complicated as the years roll by. Speaking of rolling by, my iPhone has pointed out another disturbing reminder of days past. Every time an application asks for a date of birth, it provides a virtual wheel for me to scroll back to my birthday. My thumb gets tired rolling that far back. I feel like I am on the wheel of fortune really having to put my back into it to get the big wheel to spin an entire rotation so I can qualify for the big show case. (Chevy Nova $3950)

Memories are complicated and so hard to wrap up in five AABBA rhyming lines with an anapestic (thanks Lisa Low for a  PhD word to impress my friends) rhythm. Memories free us or trip us up and often come unbidden. To that end, I would like to thank everyone who went for the gold or pie this year and did such a great job encapsulating their memories in those 5 lines of witty humor. There were trike rides, fudgesicle stains, accidental 911 calls, water slide rides, and birth order recaps. Everyone did a great job putting themselves out there.

But as will all great contests, winnowing must take place, points assigned and a winner’s pie selected and made.

Drum roll please ! ! ! 

In third place . . . Cyndi Rohlf “rohlfing” a banana.

Time after time drives to see Nana

I remember throwing up a banana

The Rathmacher Kin

Say pass the trash bin

Many memories in Indiana

In second place . . . Grace Kozak evoking vivid memories of a slobbery game of fetch.

Busi brought me a slobbery ball

I can’t have been four feet tall

Threw with all of my might

The dog’s eyes were alight

As she obediently heeled to my call.

Finally winner of the pie of her choice and one of the many apples of her father’s eye . . . Cindy Pyle pulling all of the grandparent strings of this grandpa.

As a mom I truly was blessed

With little to zero days rest

But then came the day

I was happy to say

“Being a Memaw is simply the best!”

Until next year, may your pie winning dreams fuel a host of Doyle’s 5 line ditties, share them with your friends, neighbors and kin. As Johnny Cash once sang, May the Circle be unbroken.

Take care,

Roger

Sharritt Christmas Letter, 2018

Dear Friends of the Sharritts,

Ajlnele lnljenion. Jnaiijj[ji[, kkkkiehhihl.  Jjio . . .

Wait a second! Wait a second! Let me get the assistive tech activated without waking Grandpa (Arch Duke Ferdinand—as he likes to be called). I can’t believe that it is the 27th and he and Grandma have not started their Christmas letter. Who lets the adults decide what we, the hope of the future, would call them? Mom and Dad didn’t even let me name myself. Instead, I came out Margaret Rosemarie on August 12. Don’t get me wrong, Margaret is a great name. Especially when they shorten it to Marge. Marge in Charge as I like to say. Don’t believe me? Let me loosen my vocal cords and Mom and Dad will snap to attention. Ssshhh! They're crashed on the couch after a big Christmas brunch.

Isn’t this assistive tech great? At 4 1/2 months, my hands are just starting to grab things and shove them in my mouth, so without it, it is all Ajlnele Inlienion, Jnaiiij[ii[, kkkkiehhihl. Jjio. With it, I can start and finish Grandma’s and Arch Duke Ferdinand’s Christmas letter. They say they’re busy. But really, its just 1000 words of narrative that practically writes itself.

Speaking of assistive technology, Grandma Bev continues to work at PATINS, the assistive technology specialists helping schools test, install and utilize many gizmos that help kids with blindness and low vision and their pals navigate their academics. It is a great job that takes her all over the state in search of the perfect piece of diner pie. She also spends weekends from May through October putting together cut flower bouquets for Garfield Park’s Farmer’s Market. Stop by Flying Dirt Farms booth next summer on Saturday mornings and meet the cutest member of the sales force (me). See you then.

Gran . . . “Arch Duke Ferdinand” has too many hobbies. Besides his day job, he continues to make dirt fly tilling the flower gardens. He may be going a little bit deaf as I heard grandma’s admonition on several occasion as clear as day,

“No more perennials for the flower beds out east. We have too many the way it is.”

The next week he would be sneaking out to the perennial garden with another box full of plants and a hoe. An hour later he would come back in, the box empty, with dirty knees and a smile on his face. That’s not all. There are bees, and sometimes bike riding, and less often blog writing. Finally, he just finished off Christmas presents in the shop for practically everybody. Well not exactly finished. He still has a couple of tables to finish for Mom and Dad and Aunt Lisa and Uncle Ben. He says that he is close and that he would love nothing more than to visit us in Indianapolis and Lisa and Ben in Cincinnati to deliver the goods in the new Honda Pilot.

What do my Grandma and Gr . . . Arch Duke Ferdinand need with a big ole Honda Pilot? They should be thinking about downsizing. What about saving the planet for little ole me in a Prius? Well even though they know better, their family just keeps getting bigger. Last year you met their foster son J.D. and this year Viki and Vaeh, two sisters returned to the end of the driveway in June after being with their dad for a couple of years. The Subaru Forester was suddenly full with five people. Any time a friend came over (and what jr. high or high schooler doesn’t want friends to come over) the family would have to take two cars to the destination to transport everyone.

I can’t wait to get in the back seat to watch Little Mermaid on the in-car entertainment system. In the mean time, making sure that homework is done, going to band concerts, and monitoring Snap Chat with the fosters makes time fly by for G & ADF and eliminates all of those ridiculous questions about “what were they going to do when they were empty nesters?”

I know what you are thinking. What about you Maggie? What did you do during the past year? Well I started out January the size of a raspberry. I bet you’re wondering, “what can a raspberry get up to?” As it turns out, I was very good at making my mom sick and tired. As I grew through the spring I mastered bladder kick boxing—delighting mom and dad as they anticipated my arrival. Admittedly, even I was a little bored in the summer months while I waited to become a fully cooked watermelon and apparently with me it took nine months and 9 days. Those last few days were pretty stressful.

The families came to Michigan for my big debut and I was a little shy. While the fam was starting to feel like witnesses in a safe house, I grew to be 7 pounds, 4 oz with a 98th percentile head by the time I was born. Since August, I have slowly but steadily been learning new tricks.

I can smile, laugh, spit up on my mom and dad with incredible accuracy, and I’ve already moved to a new state and visited two more. Mom in particular enjoys my sleeping all night trick, which I’ve been doing since I was six weeks old. Currently I am working on my first tooth and my Uncle Ben is teaching me cool dance moves, photoshop fun, and the difference between wood, yarn, and drywall. My best trick is getting grandpa to fall asleep when he gets cranky. Shhhh, he’s asleep he’ll never know that I called him Grandpa. That Arch Duke Ferdinand stuff is such a wacky mouthful.

Jdgghsj kki nnnnhy,b dddd us. Well it looks like jioyhlkjljl technology is about to run out of llttrnny, battery. It has been a lovely and blessed year. I am pretty happy to throw my lot in with this bunch for it is a house of many blessings.

Merry Christmas, Maggie Kozak

Limerick Contest 2018. . . And the Winner is?

It’s time to announce the winner of the 2018 Limerick Contest. This year we thought we’d build the suspense way past when you’d even remember entering or reading the entries. We’ve waited a full season just to make sure. Also, our lives have been overcrowded with the joys of abundant flower harvests, and new grandparenthood. Our buckets and burp rags surely overflow.

Hint: One of these two beauties is the winner!

This year’s theme was . . . hold on, I’m going to need to look it up on my July timeline: “Summer Festivities”. Today, November 12, when the last of the leaves are blowing down in advance of tonight’s first snow, is a great day to hear these again. Here’s a link to the post if you’d like to get sweaty reading them all.

We always do a first round rubric with all the limericks, and the ones that score the highest make it to the finals. This year, seven entries scored 18/20. All good, but no clear frontrunner as in other years. So we contacted these finalists, and gave them an opportunity to edit their work,  tweak their rhythm, and give that ending line some extra zing.

Here are those finalists, with the WINNER listed last:

Joyce Young

Dave Dziabas, Chris Burke, Mikey Benton, 

grew more hunky as summer went on, 

the balers of hay 

to gaze at all day 

Dad's hay camp had all of my attention.

Danielle Grandholm

While most are out campin’ and fishin’

I am at home rhymin’ and wishin’

That this might be the July 

that I finally win pie

That Aunt Bev is bakin’ and dishin’

Jake McKowen

Wake up late barely feeling alive

But I know that I still have to thrive 

Check traffic and shout

The schools are out!

This summer has shortened my drive.

Jacob Rathmacher

Five weeks smelling like pigsty

Fighter jets high in the sky

Marching hut, two, three, four

Keep those blues off the floor

Now please give me that damn pie

Lyn Ellis

So humid you can swim from here to there,

It’s totally affecting my hair,

It’s really so big

I’m considering a wig

But that’s really too hot to wear!

Kelly Moe

Roger celebrates his birthday in June

Eating pie under the Strawberry Moon

He will whoop, holler, and cheer

With news that Maggie is here

Baby cooing is his favorite tune

WINNER! Grace Kozak

Grandpa Doyle turning seventy-five,

We played kickball when all had arrived.

Johnny Cash cover band

Pie and ice cream at hand

Sharritt’s yard was a buzzing beehive

Congratulations Grace! We’ll bake an extra pumpkin pie just for you this week as we prepare to feast and give thanks. We are grateful for poetry to make life richer, and friends and family who are patient with deadbeat judges.