A fun Haynie/Shine fact

I forget to mention that at one point my parents would've been legally responsible for the Shine kids in the case of Larry's death.

(I think my parents had a talk with him around # six or seven.)

So good!! I just became a convert

I am so proud of my neighbors!

I was in Florida and heading toward the airport when the episode aired. Just saw it now.

The Shine kids are adorable! (Larry told me the producer, Bridget, knew what colors would look good on the girls and he was right. She nailed it. They put Henry, the oldest, in Nantucket Reds. Love it.) I think Halle, their oldest daughter, is just stunning.

I found a clip from the show. If that doesn't work, this might. If I can find the whole episode I'll post a link. Heart wrenching, people. My mom and I sniffled through the entire program. (Here's the preview.)

You know what?

Oprah can be pretty damn cool.

(I actually realized this in South Africa, where it also airs, but wouldn't admit it.)

I've had people from all over the country email me since this aired. I guess they Googled me and found my article. Everyone wants to get in touch with Larry. Some want tips about adoption, others just want to cheer him on.

Such a cute family.

I've never been much of a babysitter (Larry brought this to my attention several times during our interview), but I can always start late, right?

Right...

Oprah, world, meet my neighbor, Larry

You might remember Larry Shine from one of my old postings.

He's the skinny, neurotic, 61-year-old neighbor who has a strange preoccupation with my love life. He's also a widower, and single father of nine. His first kid, Henry, was a toddler when his wife died from melanoma; he got eight others through surrogacy and international adoption. Henry's 19 now. His youngest, Lucia, is three.

Larry's been famous in my universe for about 20 years now. And on Monday at 4 pm Eastern Standard Time, he'll have his brush with national fame.

The Oprah Winfrey Show is doing a segment on "unique and exceptional fathers," and Larry's family (English bulldog included) will be one of the four featured.

Another neighbor gave me the heads up about this last week, and I was able to hang out with Larry and talk about his experience on the show.

I love this man. He works full-time as an attorney, runs six miles a day, and still manages to make dinner for his kids every night. He's Jewish, but spends his Sundays at a local African American Baptist church because "he really likes the singing and the clapping." He's also writing a book.

Lucky for me, I think the affection is mutual.

In addition to suggesting that I explore various online dating sites, Larry has also tried to set me up with every first-rate bachelor in town. Just a few weeks ago, while at the gym, Larry met a young man on an elliptical machine next to his.

Later that afternoon, I came back from a meeting and found a voice message on both my cell and work phones. "It's not an emergency," he said. "Your house isn't on fire or anything. But I have a social matter I would like to discuss."

When I called him back, he asked if he could give the guy my number.

(Larry has decided that I need to date someone "international" and this man had just returned from living in Japan. As far as neighborhood matchmakers go, I can't really complain. He does have good taste.)

I guess I have been taking some strange phone calls at work lately. (Had to delete that last post, by the way. Something about letting it stay there just didn't seem right. For those who missed it: we hung out, and he was nice. But the whole conversation could have taken place in 1912. We even discussed our favorite ice cream flavors.)

Anyway, if you can, watch Larry on Monday. He’s amazing. Spend five minutes with the man and suddenly adopting seven kids from Guatemala and Paraguay doesn't seem so strange.

Taking one for the team

My second column came out last week. It was about "boomerang kids," a.k.a adult children who move back home.

I cringed a bit as I wrote it, picturing angry old men reading my words, shaking their heads, and saying "lazy kids these days just can't stop mooching off their parents."

But the reception was positive, thank god, although also a little... strange.

The next morning I got a few emails thanking me for writing the column, which was very appreciated, and made the mild amount of humiliation I suffered through writing it worthwhile.

A few hours later I got a call from an unrecognizable number. Turned out it was a suitor who read my column, saw my photo, thought we might get along and wanted to ask me out on a date.

I didn't know what to do. This conversation was taking place at noon, at work, in front of several cube mates.

Partially because I admired him for taking the risk, and partially, honestly, because I thought it would be a good story to tell, I said yes.

I have since been assured by another reporter who knows this man that he is not a stalker, felon, or weirdo with any sort of questionable past.

Tuesday night is the night. We'll be meeting in a very public place.

Is this stupid? I don't know.

I don't know. I don't know. I don't know.

Homage to my favorite Swede

I made my first foray into column writing today, and the results were mixed: while the women in the newsroom gave me kudos, the men in the newsroom told me that the column's premise (that women and men can be platonic friends) and the conclusion (that those friendships can endure after one friend marries) were total sh@$#%@.

I remain a true believer in the premise. As for the conclusion, well, I'll take a leap of faith.

DC friends: Please excuse my hyperbole. Tribes can last forever, in one form or another. Also, Josef would like me to clarify that he only once agonized over the title on his business cards.

Fort Wayne friends: I understand you may have missed this column in print, having mistaken my photo for one of a bloated chipmunk. Forgiven. Whatever you do, just please don’t tell me it looks like me.

Miss Positivity

Sorry for the month-long absence.

I've been anguishing over my article draft. And I may have been suffering from a case of the "winter-never-ends-here-crap-there-may-be-no-newspapers-tomorrow" blues.

I have, however, taken steps to address my condition: I'm habla-ing Espanol every Miércoles at my local community college, dragging my body to yoga twice a week, and finding creative ways to convince people at the newspaper to be my friend (I've found emails with subject lines like "Wanna grab lunch? I need some friends" to be very effective.)

I've even changed my blog title to reflect my new-found sense of positivity (and because some Hoosiers found the old title, "Grounded in God's Country," offensive. I'm sorry! It's not the Wayne. It's me!)

For those I haven't told: Last week, the Journal Gazette publisher announced that staff needed to take a six percent pay-cut to avoid lay-offs.

The atmosphere inside the newsroom is morose, yet I remain undaunted.

Who needs a journalism career when you can be a full-time nose model? During a sneezing photo-shoot a few weeks back, I may have found my other calling.

In other news:

My bedroom has been invaded by hoards of orange, lady bug-like insects that land on my face at night, crawl in the sheets, procreate constantly and never die. I've started to vacuum the floor every few days to curb the population; Darlyn is enjoying a few mid-day snacks. Neither extermination method has been particularly effective.

Otherwise, life ticks on as usual at the Haynie Writing Retreat/B&B.

The owners leave tomorrow to go to Florida for two weeks, so Darlyn and I may throw an evening bash: a few bottles of Pinot Noir, crackers and Camembert, Alaskan salmon dog treats.

We'll keep you posted.