Penn's Colony Visit

I'm facinated with the American colonial era.  I always have been.  Not sure if it was the simpleness of it, or the fact that grown men actually felt comfortable walking around in tights and wigs all day.  Either way, I've tried to attend anything "colonial" that's going on.  Williamsburg VA was a big hit.

This time, it was Penn's Colony in Saxonburg PA.  Of course, it takes no rocket scientist to see the correlation between "Penn" and "Pennsylvania", the former being the "founder" of the latter. 

No real mention of any relationship between Saxonburg and the ACTUAL Penn's Colony.  So, it is probably just a matter of point that modern day historians had to pick somewhere to hold a Penn's Colony rally from time to time... Saxonburg is it.

Mr. Penn (though it might be hard to really consider him a Mr... see photo below) was an avid colonialist, planting little Quaker colonies all over the area.  Pennsylvania was given to him by the English king at the time in order to pay Penn for debts incurred.  It was a small gift... 40,000 square miles of land in the New World.  He founded Philadelphia-- the "City of Brotherly Love"-- to honor the brotherly love he vowed to the local native Indian populations.  Anyway, just some minor details that I found interesting.


Kinda looks like a Colonial Michael Jackson to me.



Anyway, the past couple of weeks have been the Penn's Colony Festival in Saxonburg, so we went there yesterday to see what all the hub-bub was about.  Chrissa, being the teenager that doesn't like to be seen with her family, had decided to stay home.  Penn's Colony is situated back in a large stand of trees and consists of paths cut through the trees with booths on either side for people selling food, trinkets, knickknacks, gadgets, baubles, and whatnots.  People dressed in colonial wear from either the British side of things or the French side of things were common, and from time to time, you could see Iroquois indians mulling about.  The era was, of course, the French-Indian War that focused on the dispute between British and French claims to territories in the western Pennsylvania and Ohio areas, with particular attention paid to the control of the Monongahela and Allegheny Rivers (which converge to form the Ohio River at Pittsburgh).  This conflict was the first mention of Major George Washington, a 21-year-old figure of the Virginia militia sent by Governor Robert Dinwiddie of Virginia to counter French military presence in Ohio.  So, George trekked all over these parts in his youth.

And, with a name like "Dinwiddie", how can you lose?  But, I digress.

Anyway, we dropped $30 buying food of various sorts, took part in some kid activities, and witnessed a French-Indian War re-enactment. 

Got great pics of the kids, too.  The boys were semi-intrigued with the things going on there, but as usual, it was hard to keep them focused.  A photo slideshow can be found, right side of the blog.

  

Cuteness That Only a Jensen Can Have

I'll put aside my comments on these pictures... they speak for themselves.

So I Married Betty Crocker

So I married Betty Crocker, the "canning" version.

Michelle has become quite the home engineer lately.  And, to add to her list of canning accomplishments this year, much of the stuff she canned actually came from the ugly trees we have growing in our yard.

She canned roughly 36 pints of homemade salsa:

Roughly 16 gallons of homemade apple cider:

A dozen or so pints of peach jam (you only see one of them here, on the left): 

And untold number of quarts of homemade applesauce:

Phew!

Ethan, Our Perpetual Thinker

Ethan is a great kid. His mind is always working. Most of the time, we have no idea what its working on, but we know its cranking around some idea or thought. The results are always surprising.

His interests change constantly. The funny thing is that his interests are taking on a life of their own, and down a different path than most other boys his age. Firemen, dinosaurs, airplanes... all irrelevant to him. Childish. He could care less.

To give you an idea, Ethan was recently interested in diamonds. How he got on to that subject, I'll never know, but I think it has to do with an episode of Mythbusters where they were trying to make them, stating how hard they were, and so on. Then they mentioned how much money was "in them". Ethan took this to mean that money literally grew inside diamonds, so all he had to do was break one open and pull the money out.

For a while, everything was diamonds. Diamonds this, and diamonds that. What is the biggest diamond in the world, dad? Where can you get diamonds? What are diamonds made of? How can I buy a diamond? Lets try to make diamonds like the Mythbusters did by covering charcoal in peanut butter and microwaving them for 2 hours!

He even created his own Superhero-- Diamond Man. He was made of diamonds, of course. Totally indestructible.

The interest in diamonds evolved into gems in general, and then it petered out.

It then turned to gold. Gold this, and gold that. Lets go dig for gold, dad! How can I make gold? On and on.

I have learned that all of these things interest him for one reason-- they are worth lots of money... money he wants to use to make his own chocolate factory in our backyard. Somehow, it all boils down to this chocolate factory.

Now, he's on to submarines. We've lately been watching this show called Treasure Quest on Discovery... a group of treasure hunters on the ocean. He is fascinated with it. During their tours, they'd run into old sunken boats; however, its their encounters with sunken submarines that has caught his attention. In particular, old WWII German U-boats are his main interest, and in watching an reading, he knows more about them than most Germans did at the time, I'm sure.

So now its: Dad, what is the biggest submarine in the world? What is the fastest/smallest/longest/most expensive/deadliest submarine in the world? How can I buy my own submarine? How many missiles/torpedoes/people/kitchens/bathrooms does this or that submarine have? We've toured the Internet, printed pictures, and toured the USS Requin, a WWII sub parked in the Ohio River at the Carnegie Science Center, all aimed at quenching his submarine thirst.

And, to top of his wonders, why don't they make submarines out of diamonds?

The kid never stops thinking.

School Madness

Its no surprise that with the start of the new school year, the kids bring home all kinds of paraphernalia aimed at raising funds for their schools. Ethan just brought home a fundraising kit where kids go door-to-door to sell magazines, and I expect the usual cookies, sub sandwiches, candy bars, and who-knows-what-else to come knocking at our door.

Sometimes, it isn't even a kid in our school district. Somewhere, each year, someone feels it is appropriate to send their kid to another school district to raise funds. How about that!

I have a plethora of problems with the school fundraising efforts. My view is that as long as it is permissible for kids to work by going door-to-door to try to convince grown ups to throw money at them without anything of value in return, why not make it permissible to allow grown ups to ask for work to be done by these kids around the house? You know, its reintroducing the whole "work for money" idea that these kids should be learning anyway.

You want me to give you money? How about in return you pull the weeds in my flowerbeds? Trim my lawn? Wash the car? Honestly, the last thing I need is a $3 candy bar, a bullet-hard submarine sandwich, or a year's subscription to Good Housekeeping magazine.

I don't have an issue with helping organizations raise funds, like the Girl Scouts or a Little League team or some health organization. Boy Scouts... another issue. Those boys should be working, like I had to do when I needed money for scouting activities. I'm a Scrooge, I know, but I cannot understand why the Boy Scouts are being trained to knock on doors with their hands open instead of grabbing a shovel for some cash.

So when Ethan showed us the magazine fundraising kit, I about blew my top. Thankfully, Michelle blew hers first and beat me to the punch. Poor Ethan, all he wanted was to be the biggest fundraiser and earn his class that pizza party.

The problem is that we spend roughly $5,000 per year in school taxes for our local school district. That's a lot. Pennsylvania lies about in the middle of the 50 states, but still, when you figure all those who live in this area that do not have kids, it translates into something like $9-10K per student, maybe more.

And the schools still need to raise funds? Wow! Based on the quality of school lunches, the books, and so forth, they aren't spending that money on the kids. Besides, we're still being asked to supply things like Kleenex boxes, crayons, snacks, etc.

Don't get me wrong... I think our local schools here are pretty good. I just don't want them to think that the money spigot at the Jensen house is always "on". You get your tax money from me, which is a lot, so go do your best with what you have. I have to! The greedy buggers...

To think about it, I'm not surprised at all that the one class I felt the school would teach-- personal finance-- isn't being taught. There is no one in the school district qualified to teach it. I'm sure even if they did, the curriculum would be centered around "how to squeeze more money out of your friends, family, and relatives".

So the year starts again, and with it, all the requests for hand-outs. A school club going on some huge trip; some sports team playing in a national tournament; the PTA needing money to put on little puppet shows. Its a constant turnaround of people with their hands out, wanting me to drop a $20 into it.

Arrgh, its aggravating. I think upon those old shows, like Little House on the Prairie or something, where the kids came to school with a bucket for a lunch box, they all sat on benches with tables, they had few books, one teacher, and a simple chalkboard. Are we any smarter today? I'd like to think so, but just the other day I was helping Chrissa with her math, and then I have to really wonder.

A Series of Unfortunate Events

It was one of the strangest weeks I've had in a long time. 

It all started last Sunday... and with it, the most bizarre display I have yet witnessed in church. Prior to the start of priesthood class, a friend pointed out to me the presence of another guy whom I had never seen before. "AJ" was his name, and in the week or two prior, he had shown up at the weekly basketball games the priesthood men hold Tuesday or Wednesday nights. This guy, obviously out of his mind (drugs, diabetes, whatever), was basically unresponsive and delirious and ended up barfing on the gym floor. Yeah.  My bet, and the bet of those I know, believe he was on some serious recreational pharmaceuticals of questionable and somewhat dubious legality.

This same guy came to priesthood class-- with me giving the lesson, of course.  And, as if on cue, and no more than 10 minutes into the lesson, AJ stands up, takes off his shoes, puts the shoes behind his chair, and starts walking in tight circles. The group sits in a large circle, so all of this was going on in the center of the ring, kinda like a clown display at a Ringling Brothers circus. He then started laughing at himself, pulling at his hair, rubbing his face, pretent punching some of the guys, and shaking. We all just froze. I'm certain part of us were unsure if he was having a medical episode (either legal or illegal drug-induced) or trying to get attention. I, too, just sat there bug-eyed, not believing that, again, my attempt to teach was being met with some strange influence.  Great luck, eh?

Slowly, it began to dawn on us that this guy was not faking it, so a medical student in the class began asking all the right questions, and slowly and carefully others started standing up to help and escort him out of the classroom. With only 10 minutes left of class, and after half of the class had left with this guy, I sat there, notes in hand, without a thing to say.

Never in my teaching experiences have I bored a person into strange behavioral peculiarities, until this past Sunday.

So, believing the worst of the week was behind me, I head to work.  All goes well until Wednesday, when a police officer knocks on our door at the convenient time of 10PM.  Perhaps he was there to arrest me for disorderly conduct in the churchouse?  I wasn't certain.  Luckily, I sent Michelle to answer the door, just to be safe.  He was looking for someone named Randy or Russell or Robert... can't remember the name, but whomever it was gave our address as his.  Sorry, Michelle said... no one here by that name.

Then again on Friday, the missionaries show up saying that someone by the name of Douglas had requested them via lds.org to pay him a visit.  Again, our address was given.  A quick search of the white pages showed Doug living around the corner from us, up the street a little way.  Why give our address?

Then, Friday evening.  For three months I had been planning a men's vacation out on Lake Erie for a day-long walleye fishing trip.  Three months.  We finally got settled on a weekend (Saturday), got our stuff, and were ready to go when the guide called me to say that "we have a problem.  The boat crashed."  Really?  CRASHED?  The day before we were supposed to go?  Surely, I must be doomed with bad luck this week.  All that time, all the wait... gone.  No fishing.

And so, with my head hung low, I wave the white flag. I surrender. My teaching experiences are done. As further proof, a couple of guys from the class said to me afterwards, "Next time you are asked to teach, I'm staying home!" They, of course, remembered the middle eastern guy (another strange church episode of months ago-- again, when I was teaching), and combined with the current situation, see the light on the wall as well: I shouldn't be teaching at all.  Given the events of the rest of the week, I shouldn't have gotten out of bed, either.

Car Inspections

A couple weeks ago, both the van and the truck were due for their annual state inspection. In Butler County, where we live, this does not include an emissions test, thank goodness. So our cost and inconvenience isn't as bad as it could be.

But, not to be outdone by its neighboring counties, Monro Brake and Muffler-- the chosen vendor for our services-- is probably scamming their clients in excess of what we might save without the emissions test, anyway.

I'm always suspicious of people that cannot spell your name or spell certain car parts on a receipt, yet they seem to know all the nuances of your car to the detail. You know what I mean? "'Brake'... we can't spell, but we sure know how long you have till yours die on you. How about we get new ones on for ya?"

The van, which was our first victim, actually went in and out without a hitch. The reason was most likely due to it being a 2007... hard to find something on it where a mechanic can fool the owner of being "old" and in need of repair or replacement.

Then the truck went in. It, being a 2002, was going to be less likely to escape unscathed. I had it scheduled for 10AM, and the inspection takes about 1.5 hours. They knew I worked at Westinghouse, so figured I could just pick it up after work.


Sign you have hired a bad mechanic.

That was my mistake... I said, "Sure".

Anyhow, at 5:15PM, I arrived to pick up the truck, only to find out that they just started the inspection. So I waited. And waited. And waited. Finally, the manager asked me to come back with him to see something... yep, sure enough, they found something to charge me for, something that HAD to be replaced before they would pass my inspection. Surprised? I wasn't.

My brakes on the front wheels were shot. Actually, they were in bad shape, I'll admit. They didn't have enough on the shoes to pass the inspection, so in order to pass, I needed new ones.

And, of course, if my front ones were shot, the back ones were shot, too, or so they tried to convince me.

I'm certain that if I had looked like someone that didn't know beans about cars (and, in reality, I'm fairly close to that), they would have told me that the blinker fluid needed flushed, or the Kuhneutson valve needed replaced, or the radiator needed insulating, or the muffler bearings needed greased, or the Johnson rod needed torqued, or the piston return springs needed adjustment... something, and I wouldn't have known the difference.  "Oh, the Kuhneutson valve...  yeah, sure... gotta have one of those, " I would say, and off they'd go with some stupid scam repair.

Back to the front of the store, where the manager went to work finding the most expensive and time consuming brakes on the market to install on the truck. After 5 minutes of number crunching, the results were in: new brakes on the front, new brakes on the back, labor, and inspection-- $750!

I actually laughed out loud on that one. Had I been inhaling instead of exhaling when I saw the bid, I probably would have choked instead.

My first question was, "What kind of brakes are you trying to sell me?" Manager: "Oh, these are ceramic brakes, best on the market." Me: "Have you seen my truck? Do you know how many miles are on it? I don't need the best." Manager: "Yeah, but these have a lifetime warranty." Me: "Again, look at my truck. It won't last a lifetime. With any luck, I'll get another 100,000 miles out of it. What other less-expensive brakes do you have?" Manager: "We have metallic ones, but they are inferior, and your brakes might squeak." Me: "If they are inferior, why are you selling them? What other inferior things are you doing? And, I can put up with a squeak here and there because half of the truck squeaks anyway."

With that, and without a logical comeback, he agreed to put on the metallic brakes. And, after finding out the real story, I realized I didn't need the back brakes done at all to pass inspection. But, I was warned, "You only have 2 weeks on the back brakes, so get it back in here as quickly as possible."

Funny, when I had the truck in there last March, I only had 2 weeks left on the brakes then, too.

Slowly, my bill dwindled from $750 to $125. And, again, not to be outdone by someone else, they then informed me that the van with 35,000 miles is due for a radiator and power steering system flush at a cost of $250. Factory recommended.

Had I been a bobble head, I would have paid him about $1000 that day, all for the purposes of driving the dumb things.

Which got me thinking. If I were Pennsylvania Amish, would I have to get my horse and buggy inspected?

"Yep, Mr. Jensen, your horse's shoes are worn out, it's missing a tooth, and it's 'emissions' are above state limits. Plus, the buggy squeaks, your knuckles are cracked, and I don't like your pants."

Home Alone, Almost

Two weeks ago, my wife decided she was going to leave me with all the kids (minus Chrissa) and head to Utah for a weeklong visit with her family.

Obviously, this presented some serious challenges for me.  First, I had never had to watch my kids, alone, for that length of time.  Second, I had to work.  Third, I had no where to run and no where to hide.

Sometimes, looking back on the "adventure", I wonder if this was all some sort of sick experiment.  Someday I'll ask Michelle. 

My intentions were to show the kids a great time.  Eat Fruit Loops for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.  Play Wii till we fall over asleep.  Run around in our underwear.  That sort of thing.

I dropped Michelle and Chrissa off at the airport on a Saturday.  I never saw someone leave with such a smile on her face-- and in record speeds.  It was almost as if she really WANTED to get away from us!  Hard to believe.

Anyway, that night presented its first set of challenges.  Sensing something was amiss, Amberlee woke up 3 times during the night, and Preston wet the bed-- twice, once in his bed (after which, at 2AM, I cleaned him and the bedding up and started the washing machine to clean his sheets), and again in MY BED at 5AM, partially getting me.

The second night was roughly the same as the first, minus one episode of bed wetting.

By the third night, I was ready to strap myself into an electric chair than to endure another night of calming kids and cleaning sheets.  I had gone through two prior nights with roughly 8 hours of sleep total between the two.

Slowly, we got into the groove.  I took the first Monday of the week off from work, worked from home one of the workdays, and had a babysitter come in for the others.  The Fruit Loops were gone quickly, and we had to replenish our supplies of root beer and ice cream.  But, we soon found our groove and all was well.

In 7 days, I probably changed more diapers than I had in the previous 7 months.  Not that I'm anti-diaper... its just that most of these opportunities go to my wife, of which I quietly hope for.

I had noticed half-way through the week that malnourishment was probably setting in.  I had done a few freezer meals and left-overs (not much else to do when I got home from work), but thankfully, Sherry Bonitz-- our adopted mother here in PA-- came through with a bag of potatoes and corn that she had picked up from an Amish family north of here. 

And, I smoked a brisket to go along with them.  We ate like kings.

My stress levels throughout the week warranted a Valium IV drip, and knowing an anesthesiologist and anesthetist in our ward, I could have probably made that happen.  However, once my ambitions turned from getting through the night to plotting my revenge to having a good time with the kids, it turned out to be fairly simple.  I'm still contemplating the revenge, but I've lessened the expectations of it.

I did take the kids to the Carnegie Science Center in Pittsburgh the day before mom came home.  That was their last hoo-rah before the rules set back in as mommy came back home.  Unfortunately, the camera died shortly after we arrived, but we spent the day playing with robots, doing science experiments, eating expensive hamburgers and greasy fries, and watching "Animalpalooza" on the IMAX. 

It was fitting to end with the Science Center, too.  Our week had been a science experiment by itself.  Had I known, I would have set it up as such, charging people to gaze in upon us as the kids ran me amok.  Perhaps I would have made enough money to cover the $5 hamburgers (which, by the looks of the, should have only been 50-cents) at the Science Center.

School Days Are Back!

It is with great pride and pleasure that I announce the return of our kids to all things academic (school). Ethan is now in second grade and Chrissa is now a freshman in high school. Wa-hoo! We are all thrilled.  The Seneca Valley School District opened their doors this past Thursday, Sept 2nd, to allow us parents to offload our kids without going through the guilt of orphanages.

Out comes the Advil for me. Tutoring starts soon, I'm sure, with Geometry and Biology coming down the pipe. Just thinking about it makes my blood pressure rise.

I'll be honest... convincing my teenager that you really can do the math "X + Y" is nothing compared to what I face in Geometry: the Pythagorean Theorum, volume of a pyramid, surface area of a sphere, polygons, congruent angles, pi, corollaries, quadratic equations, etc.

And in biology: the Kreb's Cycle, electron chain transfer, evolution, deoxyribonucleic acids, protozoans, adenosine triphosphate, cell theory, and so forth.

Oh. I'm sick.

The deal with tutoring is-- she gets all the tutoring she needs, and in return, I don't get the teenage "death glare" when I ask her to do the dishes.  Chrissa has perfected the "death glare" to a level that would make Darth Vader jealous.  This arrangement has semi-worked so far, but I'm beginning to feel that I'm getting scammed. 

But, overall, I guess it could be worse. 

The Importance of "Y"

My Blackberry, that horrible device that keeps me connected to my office 24/7, broke. I'm sad-- but not really. It basically still works. However, the "Y" button has become possessed with some evil demon.

On its own, the phone will suddenly start searching for anything that starts with "Y". Then, 2 seconds later, another "Y" will be added to the search... "YY". This continues until the search box contains the following: "YYyyyyYyyYyYYYYYYYYYyyyyyyyyyYYYyYyYYYYyyyYY..." I've wondered how long it can keep adding y's to its search box, but so far, I haven't been able to hold back the suspense.

So I get a lot of "Y's" on the phone. To this, I read, "Why"... or, better yet, "Wwwwwwhhhhhhyyyyyyy". And, my response is, "I have no idea."

If it isn't doing a search, it will decide to pull up the first person in my contacts list that has a last name that starts with "Y". That would by Ching Yu-- I have no idea who this is. But, if "Y" is pushed again, the phone will ask itself, "Do you want to assign a speed dial to the 'Y' key?" Of course, it will push "Y"-- for "Yes". Now, Ching Yu is on my speed dial under the "Y" key.

Not being happy with that, the Blackberry will then push "Y" again later, which is a speed dial for Ching Yu, and call this person, but not leave a message or anything.

Very rude.

I have my replacement Blackberry ready to take over command in the next few days. So for a couple weeks I've been slowly evolving (or devolving, depending on how you look at it) into Chuck Nolan-- Tom Hanks' character in Castaway-- as I talk to my Blackberry "Wilson", telling it to stop talking to me and asking me so many questions.

So, as you can see, one of the least used letters in the alphabet can cause a lot of trouble if left unchecked. Moral of the story: consider the "why's" in life, such as:

1. Why do prison buses have emergency exits?

2. Why is it that "laughter is the best medicine" when you can "die laughing"?

3. Why is it that when people are winning, they never say, "Its only a game"?

4. Why would Noah put woodpeckers on the ark?

5. Why do you have to press the "Start" button to turn off the computer?

6. Why do you say "getting your dog 'fixed'" when, afterwards, "it" doesn't work anymore?

7. Why do some people avoid anything that is related to the number 13, but book publishers don't avoid Chapter 11?

8. Why do we park on a driveway, but drive on a parkway?

9. Why do we put garments in a suitcase, and suits in a garment bag?

10. Why aren't cows kept in refrigerators if warm milk supposedly goes bad?

11. Why do banks have "branches" if its true that money doesn't grow on trees?

12. Why do they make sandwich meat round when all the breads are square?

13. Why do you never see an IHOP employee with only one leg?

14. Why is the agency that is responsible for everything "outdoors" called the Department of the Interior?

15. Why is the word "abbreviation" so dang long?