God's Country Gave me Something Good

So it wasn't easy (hardest thing I've done in my life).

And it wasn't quick (took about two years, with two 6-month breaks in between).

And it wasn't an emotional breeze (more than a few shed tears of my own frustration, and quite a few from others as well).

But it wasn't all for nothing, either.

THANK GOD. I finally got the damn article published!

I will have a life again now. I'll have time for friends. I'll have free weekends. I'll have time for...my blog?

Thanks to all who put up with my low moments. Couldn't have done it without you!

I guess I'm not a true Hoosier

An email forward I received today:

THE RULES OF RURAL INDIANA ARE AS FOLLOWS:
Listen up City Slickers !

1. Pull your droopy pants up. You look like an idiot.
2. Turn your cap right, your head isn't crooked.
3. Let's get this straight; it's called a 'dirt road.' I drive a pickup truck because I want to. No matter how slow you drive, you're going to get dust on your Lexus. Drive it or get out of the way.
4. They are cattle. They're live steaks. That's why they smell funny to you. But they smell like money to us. Get over it. Don't like it? I-70 goes east and west, I-65 goes north and south. Pick one.
5. So you have a $60,000 car. We're impressed. We have $150,000 corn pickers and hay balers that are driven only 3 weeks a year.
6. So every person in southern Indiana waves. It's called being friendly. Try to understand the concept.
7. If that cell phone rings while an 8-point buck and 3 does are coming in, we WILL shoot it out of your hand. You better hope you don't have it up to your ear at the time.
8. Yeah, we eat taters & gravy, beans & cornbread. You really want sushi & caviar? It's available at the corner bait shop.
9. The 'Opener' refers to the first day of deer season. It's a religious holiday held the closest Saturday to the first of November.
10. We open doors for women. That is applied to all women, regardless of age.
11. No, there's no 'vegetarian special' on the menu. Order steak. Or you can order the Chef's Salad and pick off the 2 pounds of ham & turkey.
12. You bring 'coke' into my house, it better be brown, wet and served over ice.
13. You bring 'Mary Jane' into my house, she better be cute, know how to shoot, drive a truck, and have long hair.
14. Colleges? We have them all over. We have State Universities , Community Colleges, and Vo-techs. They come outta there with an education plus a love for God and country, and they still wave at everybody when they come for the holidays.
15. We have a whole ton of folks in the Army, Navy, Air Force, and Marines. So don't mess with us. If you do, you will get whipped by the best.

A true Hoosier will send this on!!!

I join staff of 60 Minutes

Not really. But I did pick up a camera last week and do some filming for the first time. (See bottom right on the screen, and please don't read the story.)

It wasn't exactly hard hitting documentary work. I shot a lot of wagging tails. That said, I now know how to correctly use phrases like, "establishing shot" and "b-roll," which makes me feel pretty cool.

This is the second time work has made me feel cool in the last two weeks. Last Monday, we published a front-page story I wrote about Indiana soldiers who were exposed to toxic chemicals in Iraq. It was so up my alley that I dreamed about it for two nights. (I never said I was cool, mind you, just that I sometimes feel that way.)

To catch up: Earlier this summer, our editor nearly gave me an anxiety attack by abruptly taking me off the features desk and assigning me to the military and education beats. I love talking to soldiers, who I see as a foreign yet intriguing species. But I'd almost prefer to parachute into a war zone than sit through some of these school board meetings.

I've had to learn about school corporation budgets (not exactly a strength) and write about them in under twenty minutes. The resulting stories are so painfully boring that my mom can't even read them. But I haven't had to write any corrections so far, so that's a miracle.

(Now if I could only get a handle on my own finances, I could declare true victory. My credit card debt almost rivals the school corp.'s deficit.)

When I go into work today, I'm looking in to donating plasma.

($200 a month if you donate regularly. Who can say no to that?)

At first I thought they were kidding...

Last week, I accompanied my parents to a nearby farmer's market. Sole purpose: to have a puppy pumpkin photo shoot. More photos to come.

Blogs.

Like they need to be updated.

Like regular updates are at all key to their appeal and success...

Sorry. I'm back!

I'll get to excuses (some good, some not-so-good) at some point, but for now the updates:

We have two new fantastic roommates at the Haynie B&B. Cole, the oldest, is almost five months now. Size-wise, he's like half of a skinny adult golden retriever. Personality-wise, he’s a little like me: loves attention, likes food even more, can be both overly confident and overly cautious, and has a tendency to slam into walls and doors.

Ella, the youngest, is about three fourths the size of Cole and twice as feisty. She's both a biter and a licker and has 'pick me up' eyes and a patchy, cream and golden coat. Of the new crop of Haynie roommates, she's definitely the most spoiled.

Watching my parents interact with Ella and Cole is sometimes a bit like having a childhood flashback. Cole sits silently underneath the dinner table, bothering no one as he chews and drools over a white dog bone. It's one of many in the house, but Ella suddenly decides she needs to have it. When my parents aren't looking, she ambushes Cole and rips it from his mouth. Cole chases Ella and tackles her, she whimpers and wails, and then my parents yell at Cole and cradle Ella as if she's the most innocent puppy to ever touch her over-sized paws to earth.

Some things never change, I guess. Cole, like some Haynie's before, will have to adapt to an unfair world.

Perros, Schmeros.

Parros sounds nicer.

What would mi maestra think?

Tonight she'll be thinking, "Donde esta Devon?" Because I'm skipping my Spanish class in favor of a much-needed beer.