Indian Pow Wow Heap Big Fun

Naperville residents didn't need to drive their wagon trains into a circle when native American Indians hit town this weekend. They were only here for the 14th Annual Harvest Pow Wow at the Naper Settlement.

Hold the front page! Rumour has it Chicago Bears' wide receiver Mike Hass (number 83) has been bought by the Redskins.

One little Indian looks hard for his nine friends.

" Is this the right line for the restaurant? I have a reservation."

Hey lady, can you help get this racoon off my head!

Shake those tail feathers

Anyone wanna buy a watch?

Big Chief Sitting Full - there was plenty to eat and drink

Don't you hate it how historic homes are torn down and replaced with new ones?

Learning how to make fire. Very useful when your mom won't let you play with matches.

Is it a smoke signal or just too much charcoal on the grill?

No ones going to put my feathers in their hair. I'm eagle eyed.

Huskies Pix

Go Huskies!

In England, when a school takes part in sports you’re lucky if six people and a dog turn up to watch. In Naperville the entire town seems to show up. Even people with kids not on the team. Even people with kids not at the school. Even people with grown up kids who live on the other side of the world!
Last night we went along to watch ‘our’ team, Naperville North High School play Glenbard North. The place was packed, the football field lit by giant lights with the local radio station commentating! We could have been at a Bears game it was so exciting. (Well, the crowd would have been just as excited if their kids were playing for the Bears, anyhow).
“Let’s sit here,” said my friend Venus bounding up the bleachers like a gazelle. I puffed up behind her. I was impressed. Not that I could actually climb after her, but because it was just like in the movies.
“When do we start singing Summer Nights?” I asked. Venus didn’t, or pretended not, to hear me as a roar went up from the crowd. It was loud!
After a rousing performance of the National Anthem by not one but about six local school marching bands, the teams ran out onto the field. I was astonished to hear the announcers calling out their weights as they ran on. That would put me off playing if nothing else, at least that’s what I thought until I saw how fast and rough the game actually was.
There were so many people there. First the team. There appeared to be at least 80 on each side, which Venus explained was because half the school are on the team, but only the select few play. I guess the others just go to training for the exercise. Every member of the team, whether playing or not, had his dad there. Every cheerleader, every baton swirler, every gymnast, every musician, every mascot had their own individual supporters. I’m surprised the hot dog sellers and ticket sellers weren’t being followed around by their own personal groupies.
The cheerleaders really did look like those Build a Bear teddies. They had their hair in pony tails, wore cute little costumes and even used giant load hailers! Not only could they shout out, dance and flip like Shawn Johnson, but they formed pyramids and waved pom poms.
The half time entertainment only needed a washed up 80s singer to make it as good as the Super Bowl. I expected a traditional marching band strutting up and down the field, but what we got was an exciting story of cops and robbers running around waving flags and playing instruments.
“This is really great,” I said to Venus through a mouthful of hotdog. “I can’t believe I’ve never been to one of these games before.”
Just then I noticed some dogs being walked around the track. Turned out they were Huskies, which is the team’s nickname.
“Just as well the other team didn’t bring there’s,” I said as our team ran off victorious. Glenbard North’s team is known as the Panthers.

Animal Critters In The Soup

In Britain, red squirrels are an endangered species. If they used to behave in Britain the way they do here, then I have no sympathy. When we first arrived in the U.S I was thrilled to see one skipping about in our yard.
"Oo look," I gushed. "A real red squirrel. And chipmunks. It's like a scene out of Bambi!"
The novelty began to wear off when I realised we didn't have one lively pet squirrel, but about 250 of them. I got really annoyed when we filled up a bird feeder only to see a very fat furry fiend filling up his shopping cart with the contents and scurrying off at speed to sell it to his mates.
But now it's war. Let me explain. With autumn beginning it was time to reorganise my front yard. (Roughly translated, that means buy a couple of chrysanthemums and dig out the little autumnal characters I bought in a craft store last year when I was desperately trying to be accepted by Naperville society).
I decided to buy some decorative gourds to surround the little figures at either side of the front door. Once I had done that, I dead headed the hydrangea and felt I had put in a full morning's yard work as they call it here.
I went out, looking back to admire my handiwork, which was very cute if I say so myself. But when I returned I found the gourds scattered everywhere.
"Must be those pesky critters," I grumbled to myself in my best Elmer Fudd voice. "Still, they obviously couldn't lift them, so at least they're safe."
This morning I went out again. All but two of the gourds were gone. No signs of any vandalism, but knowing Naperville as I do, the neighbours are more likely to break in and redecorate your home than steal anything off the front porch.
I tidied up, went out and came back an hour or so later.
This time only one gourd remained, and one of the figures was felled as if he had been mugged!
"Ok, I know you're there somewhere!" I shouted, looking around.
True enough there was a squirrel and a chipmunk whistling in front of the porch as though peanut butter wouldn't melt in their mouths.
I guess for now at least they've won. I'm done with providing them with gourmet gourds. All I can say is they'd better watch out when I Halloweenize the front of the house next month....

Out Of The Hands Of Babes

After a week without the internet, I get that fixed and my Blackberry goes wrong! I could receive messages but not open them, which is very frustrating for an addict like me. I spent hours last night trying to fix it to no avail. This morning I took it into my nearest T mobile shop.
The 12-year-old girl behind the counter promptly took it from me, took out the battery and Sim card, waited a minute, replaced them and handed it back to me all better.

Today's Column....

This is the last word on our Jamaican trip. It's my column from today's Naperville Sun, which I'm posting for out of town readers. Of course if they remembered to update my webpage I wouldn't have to!

Take a look at this travel brochure with me. Look, here’s a photo of a turquoise sea lapping against a white sand beach. A handsome man lounges in a hammock, strung between two gently waving palm trees. The girls are stunning, bikini clad nymphs laughing as they run into the sea. Who is that blob in the corner? I hear you ask. It’s me, covering up what I can under a sarong, skin burnt by the sun, covered in red boils from mosquitoes, white residue from calamine lotion and tracks where I’ve scratched through because the lotion doesn’t work. My hair so frazzled it looks like I’m balancing a giant cotton candy on my head. Welcome to the real world of holidaying in Jamaica.
Only I would need a vacation from a vacation, so I picked out the only excursion I could find that didn’t involve water as I don’t swim.(Don’t even ask me to try that for a column).
“This one looks good,” I said to Grumpy. “It’s a jeep trip. It’ll give us a chance to see some of the countryside.”
The trip started off well. We bounced along the roads listening to Bob Marley, past shabby, not chic, villages, lush hillsides; the ocean twinkling in the distance.
The first stop took us to a high point with a breath-taking view of Montego Bay, the second an 18th century church built by slaves.
“This is really interesting,” I said to Grumpy, as he sprayed his legs with industrial force insect repellent.
We piled back into the jeep towards the next stop.
“Hold on tight,” called our guide from the driver’s seat. “We’re going off road. Put your heads down!”
Instantly we were in an adventure movie. We jerked violently up and down, bent double to avoid the branches above. My seat belt sliced into me like a contraction. I hadn’t had so much fun since my 14 hour labor with Orphan No 1.
Eventually we ground to a halt and I wobbled off the back of the jeep. But worse was to come.
“Follow me, we’re off to the waterfall,” said our guide. Why had I not noticed his resemblance to Indiana Jones before, I wondered?
We stumbled down a little path which appeared to lead to a 90 degree drop.
“Are you nuts?” I said to Grumpy. “I’m not going down there.”
“Just hold onto the rope, you’ll be fine. Go as slow as you like,” he said.
The others in our little group disappeared ahead of us in seconds. The slippery rock path had a rope along one side to hold on to. I held on tightly with both hands and began my descent, walking sideways down the trail. I couldn’t have held on tighter if I had been a man dangling off the side of the Empire State Building.
“How come the others have gone on so fast?” I hissed through my terror at Grumpy. “Are you sure there isn’t an elevator?”
“Just come on,” he replied, scratching his legs. “I want to cool off in the water.”
By the time I made it to the bottom the others were frolicking in the waterfall like a shampoo commercial.
“Oh there you are. Good, come on in,” said Indy.
“That’s ok,” I replied. “Somebody has to watch the bags.”

Leaf It To Me...

September is my favourite time of year here in Naperville. The weather is still beautiful
(82 degrees today, sorry English readers,) and the leaves are just beginning to turn from bright green to warm golds and bronzes. It still feels like summer, but there is the expectation of crisp walks, the chill of the evening nipping at your nose and the spirit of Halloween just around the corner. Pumpkins and chrysanthemums are popping up on porches and in window boxes as I write.
As I look at the beautiful trees that surround my house I look in wonder how many leaves each one hosts? 20,000? A million? Just how many trees exactly are we blessed with? Too many to count. Which brings me to my point. If I could invent a machine to suck all the leaves off the trees before they fall on the ground, I could make a fortune. I could wait for them to turn in colour, then the day before the entire load dumps itself on the ground, I would suck them all up and have them taken away (or more likely tip them into my neighbour's yard).
Since spring I have been looking at the leaves in dread. Everyone that grows means more work scraping, raking and shovelling through the autumn. If we didn't do this we'd be thigh high in them everytime we left the house. My only hope is for an early winter. If the leaves were covered in a foot of snow, we wouldn't have to worry about them at all.

Hello Mrs Chips

When I ran my last children's scriptwriting course for Kidz Kabaret I had a calm class of four little girls and one boy. They devised a gentle little story about three teenagers on a beach.
This time I have five wildly excitable 11-year-old boys, one of whom will go to any lengths he can to stay on a chair without actually putting his bottom on the seat.
"Ok," I said to them above the shouting. "In this course I'm going to help you devise your own story which you will write down then perform. It'll be put on dvd for you to keep."
"Oh, I already have a story," said Tommy. "It's set in a school and ..."
"It's really good you have ideas," I retorted in my best teacher voice. "But I want you to.."
Shlurp.
"This milk shake is really good," interupted Timmy from behind a 32 oz cup. "I think milk shakes are my favourite food. Apart from ice cream, of course."
"Oo, I like pizza," chipped in Todd. "Sausage is best."
"Very interesting," I interjected. "Now about the script."
At the end of a very long hour, Timmy was so high on sugar I was longing for the time when he was merely laying across the chair with his head on the table.
Still, the boys had managed to choose a character each to be for their skit, and written a list of characteristics. Next week we'll move on the setting the scene and writing it all down. I'm a firm believer in giving children free choice over their writing ideas, particularly as this is meant to be a fun alternative to the more disciplined writing they do in school.
But if anyone can tell me how we're going to put together a skit featuring the following characters, I'd be keen to find out.
We have a man who looks like a baby but he's a really a 54-year-old lawyer. A mean homeless six-year-old who lives in a box and makes money by playing Yugimon card games. A 43-year-old bridge builder who can juggle 1,000 things at once, but will probably only be able to manage two for the show if he puts down his milkshake and one-year-old baby who sucks his thumb and giggles a lot (but in a highly irritating way if the little rehearsal was anything to go by). There is fortunately, one girl, but she's bald and comes from Venus.....

Walking the Line

We're back! I won't expound yet again on the frustrations of my life without internet, but it has now been repaired (I hope) so I should be back blogging again this week. It does seem ironic I had no trouble getting the internet in my hotel room in a tiny corner of Jamaica, yet could not receive it in my own home in suburban Chicago.
This is what you could have been reading about last week: An evening with my friend Kay Mary advertising Mary Kay beauty products (co-incidental name, don't you think?!); attending memorial prayers at the home of a Second World War hero for his wife; an interview with one of Naperville's VIPs about future plans for the Century Walk (the artistic side of the downtown area); our assault on Congregation Beth Shalom as we presented the first British themed oneg (ceremonial mini-buffet after Friday night services); the Riverwalk Art Fair and the American optician experience.
Click in this week for my new teaching class at Kidz Kabaret, my forary deeper into the world of Rotary and who knows what else?

Part(y)ing Shot

Of all the souvenirs we saw in Jamaica, this had to be the strangest; on sale at Montego Bay Airport. Those Democrats get everywhere......

The Day That The Rain Came Down

Having escaped Jamaica with only the merest hint of Hurricane Ike last Monday, we arrived home to catch it on its way up through the United States. There was no wind to speak of, but torrential rain for the past couple of days. Amazingly our flight wasn't delayed, particularly amazing as O'Hare airport was closed for part of the day.

We've taken innumerable photos of the beautiful Riverwalk since we've lived in Naperville, but none quite as dramatic as these.

Sandbaggers were out in force as the Dupage river began to burst its banks.

This is Centennial Beach. (For out of towners, it doesn't usually have a waterfall, but perhaps it's a feature worth considering). Make a careful note of the slide on the right of the photo...

..here it is a couple of hours later.

Always busy, the Riverwalk attracted crowds of locals to watch the drama develop.

But I think this little fellow would rather have been inside in the dry.

Jamaican Farewell

As the sun sets slowly in the west, we bid farewell to the tropical paradise of Jamaica. Many holiday makers expressed their disappointment at having to return to reality. However, when you enjoy your reality as much as I do, it can be a welcome relief to return home.

Bathing Beauty

You may note I've posted no pictures of myself here on the beach. The reasons are as follows:
1. I wouldn't want to traumatise anyone by making them see how awful I look in a swimsuit.
2. My hair explodes into a frizz ball every time I leave the room.
3. My skin in covered in red boils thanks to the mosquitos.
4. My red boils are covered in white powder thanks to calamine lotion.
5. My white powder is covered in red wheals because the calamine doesn't work.

Romantic Interlude

Our resort is very romantic. You can swing in hammocks under the palms, dine on the beach between tiki torches an night, sit round a bonfire while a guitarist strums - you get the picture.
Trouble is romance cannot be enforced. Candlelit dinners for two are all very well, but romance is a state of mind.
To me, romance is travelling to Singapore to find all your favourite love songs are being played everywhere you go (even the really obscure ones).
It's celebrating 25 years of marriage with fish and chips on an Australian beach.
It's being awoken at night by a fantastic firework display outside your 17th floor hotel window.
It's also finding out your husband has self published your blog as a book, painstakingly formatting every page himself without your knowledge.
Unfortunately, romance is not pretending to your wife you have booked a candlelit dinner under the stars with a private musician, when the truth is the entire hotel eats on the beach that night.
It's also not staying up all night trying to fix a virus on her laptop.
But knowing this wife, perhaps it is.......

In the Soup...

And to think Americans think the price of food is high!

Downtown Negril

Ross-tafarian

Sorry to be so cheesy, but this is the picture you requested...

How To Be A Tourist

Obviously this is about Jamaica, but I imagine it would work for many similar tourist destinations.

1. Make sure you pack six changes of clothing per day and 17 items of swimwear because all you will need is 1 swimsuit, a pair of sandals and one outfit for the evenings.

2. Save space in your case by not bringing suntan lotion, bug repellent or bite creams as none of them work.

3. Surprisingly enough, even if you wear a hat made of the local flag you will still look like a tourist.

4. If you go on a shopping trip organized by the hotel, you will be forced into certain shops. If you go into the one next door, it will be cheaper.

5. Wherever you go in the world, tourist shops are run by Indians.

6. If you bargain for souvenirs, remember you will always pay at least the lowest price the seller is prepared to go to.

7. If you stand around with a camera you will look a tourist.

8. If you stand around without a camera you will still look like a tourist.

9. If you speak to someone on the street they will expect a tip, no matter how friendly they seem and how little they give you. If you wear the string bracelet they give you, it will show other locals you have been caught. Not only will it give them a laugh, but it means you are fair game.

10. Leaving your resort is exciting. It means you can see the 'real' country like a 'real' traveller. It also shows you are much better off staying in your hotel....

What They Don't Tell You In The Brochure

Before we left for Jamaica our new, somewhat nervous, American friends were concerned.
"Jamaica's a very dangerous place. Don't go out of the hotel," warned one.
"You're going in hurricane season? Ooo, I wouldn't do that," said another.
This only encouraged us more. In most respects the Yanks are much more outgoing than us Brits, but they can be, and I mean this in the nicest possible way because way because we are coming home on Saturday, a bit neurotic.
We had no problem when we went out on a jeep safari on Monday. Sure there was a guard following us but it didn't worry us at all.
Similarly the weather. Sure we got the edge of Ike the other day, but what's a four hours of torrential rain when you're British?
However, just to prove I'm not so laid back I'm horizontal, I do have one moan. MOSQUITOS!
I know they're part of any vacation in a hot climate but per..leez. It's pointless working hard on our tans because by the time we leave we'll be completely smothered in red boils. At night we have to have the air conditioning down to -20 and the fan going. That's because the colder it is the less the bites itch. Unfortunately even this regime has limited success because you just wake up freezing and scratching every hour.

Two By Two

This is the first time we've stayed at a resort especially for couples, Couples Swept Away in Negril. It's all very lovely of course, but somehow a bit surreal. Think about it. In your normal day how to people normally move around? One person rushing to work, three mothers and six children at the mall, three male and four female co-workers sharing lunch perhaps? As the name implies, couples resorts are for twos. No singles, no groups. Everyone goes in two by two, just like Noah's Ark. Tables in the restaurants are for two, two can take out little catarmarans, two on the pedalos, you get the picture. At times its a bit like village in The Prisoner. Happy smiling couples walking hand in hand. They could be in a sanitorium.
In the event a couple somehow becomes separated (not encouraged) it's fun to work out where the other one is. At dinner last night we saw one poor lady eating alone. Later in the piano bar, there was a man on his own singing. Where they partners I wondered? Couples are allowed to talk to each other, but they tend to be short chats in bars and restaurants.
I suppose I shouldn't be surprised really. Many couples are here honeymooning. A large proportion actually marry here on the beach, although it doesn't seem quite as romantic as the brochures when you realise you're surrounded by tourists on their sun beds listening to you say "I do."

Home and Away

Jamaica is just like Naperville. In our affluent middle class town we have Mc Mansions - the million dollar gothic monstrosities than dwarf ordinary homes. In Jamaica they have homes like this...
Jamaica also boasts colourful buildings. Everyone dresses in the latest fashions.

Here's a main street with the latest cars and fancy shops..


And here's a beautiful slate clad bar with full air conditioning...

In Naperville we have the award winning Nichols Library. Here's one in Jamaica.

Naperville has some of the best schools in the country. Here's a Jamaican high school.

Visitors comfort themselves by knowing that tourism is the number one industry in Jamaica. They relax in comfortable luxury beach front hotels while the locals live in shacks over the road.

Sometimes they even adopt orphans and bring them home as souvenirs.

Going Jeep!

The trouble with a tropical paradise is that it becomes that way because of hot sunshine and plent of rain. Today we had the rain. But undeterred we went out on a jeep safari, bounced off road over rocky terrain and slithered around a waterfall. (The things I do for my column. I hope the good folk of Naperville appreciate the expense I go to just to entertain them).

Tropical Paradise

Here's my quick bit for the Jamaican tourist board...

Yes, the beaches really are talcumn powder soft, the sky is that blue and the trees are this green
If you would like to join in the Jamaican experience, lay on the floor with this picture in front of you. Shut your windows,turn your heating up full blast (I know it's summer), open a book, glance up at the screen and you'll see exactly what I saw while reading my book under a straw beach umbrella earlier. (Don't say I'm not one to share).

Part of lush gardens that surround our resort

And finally sunset. Jamaica is famed for these so you may see a few more of them over the next few days.

Wish You Were Here

Sorry to disappoint those of a nervous disposition, but so far we have not suffered the following things that people warned us about before coming to Jamaica.
1. We have not been hit by a hurricane, unless you count the ones that come in cocktail glasses.
2. We have not been plied with drugs, although it was nice to be offered. It made me feel really cool.
However we have discovered two things.
1. If you say "yo mun" to everyone they will think you're a native. (If they have their eyes shut).
2. In Jamaican Grumpy's real name is a swear word! One of the bar staff nearly fell over when he told her what his real name is, so just as well he has a nickname.

Swept Away?

Today I'm rushing around preparing for our latest adventure. Tomorrow morning we're heading to Jamaica for a week. Yes, I know it's hurricane season before you start. But a little extreme weather always adds to a holiday, don't you think? The fact that our hotel is called Couples Swept Away could be an ominous omen, but the resort sounds a little quiet for us, so it might be fun to have to spend a week locked in a basement with a bunch of strangers.
I'm sure we can cope if there are any problems. I'm quite resourceful. For example, I'm writing this in another local coffee shop because we lost the internet yet again in yesterday's heavy rain. (Remains of Gustav).
Just a minute?Suppose there is a hurricane in Jamaica? Hiding under a table? Fine. Food run out? Probably just as well considering my failed efforts at Weight Watchers. But no internet??? Suppose I'll just have to send you all daily postcards...

Face Values

Who would you choose? British MP Ann Widdecombe or

the lovely Sarah Palin

Is it just me, or has anyone else noticed that Republican VP Sarah Palin looks like one of those characters in a film who pulls a pin out of her hair, shakes her head, takes off her glasses and whose boss says: "But you're beautiful, Miss Jones?"

Do you think her stylist told her to put her hair up and glasses on to detract from her beauty queen image?

As you can see, I'm fascinated by the shallowness of American politics. Of course in England our female politicians look like Margaret Thatcher and Ann Widdicombe, so it's never been an issue....

Political Partying

I'm hardly a political animal. I can no longer vote in England because I have no residence there, and I cannot vote in the U.S because I'm not a citizen. But the upcoming general election is just too amusing to ignore. I doubt either political party would choose to consider themselves as mere entertainment, but the circus which was last week's Democratic convention and now this week's Republican are just so shallow. To think in England I used to think the aim of the conventions was to convert voters and explain policies to everyday people. In reality they are as stage managed as any Hollywood movie, full of rousing speeches with empty promises and little videos designed to make you cry.
I've only met two Bush supporters in the entire time I've lived in the States. It's not my place or intention to perpetuate the idea that he's stupid, but I have to tell you about the pantomime I saw this evening during NBC's coverage of the President's speech to his party's convention via satellite.
The speech was shown a few minutes later than he actually delivered it. What was shown was the President speaking, then apparently pausing regularly for applause and laughter. The problem was they never showed what he could hear, so what viewers saw was the President standing smiling and nodding at silence like he was a complete idiot!
If I didn't know better, I would swear NBC had done it deliberately. But only the English Press would be that cynical..

Uneasy Rider

If you enjoyed the video of my Harley experience, this is the column I did it for from today's Naperville Sun...

As she boldly strode into the bar all eyes were upon her.
She knew she looked good. Her black leathers fitted her like a glove. Carefully she pulled the shiny red helmet off her head and her flaxen hair tumbled around her shoulders like water cascading from a fountain.
The bar man stood to attention. He was edgy. He knew better than to mess with a biker chick. One false move and she could have the whole place in splinters at her feet. Sensing her power, she slammed her hand down on the counter and hissed threateningly, "raspberry iced tea please."
At least that's how it was supposed to happen. In reality I'm more biker chicken than biker chick.
For months now, my friend David Harleyson has been promising me a pillion ride on his motorcycle, an 80 cubic inch Low Rider Harley. I can't say riding a motorbike was ever an aspiration of mine, but it seemed rude to refuse.
I'd seen enough movies where small towns quaked as the bikers rode into town, and sadly, to someone over 50, it sounded pretty cool. Eventually the time drew near and we set up a date.
"Are you sure you're not afraid?" said Grumpy, showing unusual concern for one of my crazy ideas.
"What's to be afraid of?" I said. "I'm not driving, just sitting on the back. It'll be fun. I might even want to get one myself after."
But his words lingered in my head. Supposing there was something to be afraid of? Since I've never managed to actually master a bicycle, what was I thinking?
Anyway, the day finally dawned. I could hear the Harley approaching from the distance, roaring up the road like a herd of buffalo.
"Ok," said David. "Hop on."
"Hop?" It was like trying to mount a horse (and no, I'm not doing that either, by the way).
"Er, what about the leathers? What about the helmet?" I said, stalling.
"You'll be fine," David said. "We only wear leathers when it's cold and helmets aren't mandatory in this state. Don't worry, I've never had an accident and I've been riding for 30 years."
"First time for everything," I worried under my breath.
After five minutes of swaying my left leg wildly in the air, I managed to climb onto the bike without pushing David off. OK, this wasn't so bad. The seat was quite comfy.
"Hang on," he said.
Hang on where? To what? Why wasn't there a seat belt? To be honest I don't know David very well, but we got a lot closer as I realized if I didn't wrap my arms around him tightly I'd be a heap on the roadside.
He revved the engine, which thankfully wasn't as loud as I feared. OK, I could handle this. No problem. Oh my God! He shot off the drive at 100 mph (OK, five but it felt like more) and we were off up the road. Once I opened my eyes I realized we couldn't be going that fast because we were only a few yards from my house. Horrified, I saw my neighbor waving wildly at me. How embarrassing. There I was clinging on for dear life to a comparative stranger with my hair blowing around so much I looked like Cousin It!
We got to the end of the road in one piece.
"Here, we'll go this way, hold tight," said David as we swerved round the corner.
Hold tight! If I held any tighter his eyes would be popping out of his head.
"Aaahh," I screamed, "Remember it's only 25 miles an hour along here."
He let out a devilish laugh as we shot off down the road at 55.
Five minutes (that felt like five hours) later, we got back to the house and I crawled off.
"I think I've suffered permanent damage," I said. "I may be off the bike, but my thighs won't stop vibrating."

Wet Between the Ears?

As part of his initiation ceremony for the local masonic lodge, Grumpy is forced to take part in a corn eating competition. Not sure what was more humiliating, that he had to gobble down a corn cob as fast as possible, or that he won!

Labor Day Parade

With temperatures in the 90s, you'd never think it was September as the annual Labor Day Parade took place in downtown Naperville this morning.

These young ladies decided it was best to stay in the shade..
..whereas some didn't know which way to turn

What would a parade be without marching bands?

With no breeze, the balloon sellers were safe

Who is this? It's the local Masonic lodge

We call them penny farthings..they call them big wheels

Is that a familiar face with the Union Jack?