Radiohead

Our steadfast traveling companions have been PBS and CBC. In the wilderness of radio religion, nutso news briefs and godawful music, these two fine institutions have linked themselves, mile by mile, to enter our world with thought provoking and entertaining tidbits. The news is scary but the balance is in the art, music, humor and philosophy of being human. One such show about sacred places spawned miles of supercharged thinking—watching North America change from orchards to mountains to plains to the north country to the Great Lakes to rivers and lakes and hardwood trees slowly turning color. This earth, this continent is sacred, of that I am sure.

We turned around at the tip of Cape Breton Island, Nova Scotia. With wistful reluctance, we decided against the expensive journey to New Foundland. When we gray out Canada in our thinking of distance coast to coast, we think it is about 3,000 miles. We forget there is so much more of the continent to the east north of the border. “Another time”, we agree, though with the tumbling economy, all the environmental reasons against wandering as we have and our age, I feel the jaws of the wolf snapping at our backs. There may not be another time. So, on a day so foggy we could barely make out the Cape North road sign, we pointed our van Roosevelt to the west and began the journey homeward.

All trips are buffeted by the winds of travel—the cold rain, the missed ferry, the lost credit card, and worse, the “you should been here yesterday or come next week”. We have had our share. Still, you can’t go too wrong in the Canadian Maritimes. Stop and ask for directions and get an invitation to camp in the back yard by the old barn. Arrive at the Cape Breton Glenora distillery at noon and get an impromptu lecture on the fine art of distilled spirits and the state of the world from the young bartender (along with a wee dram and coffee). Blow into the fishermen’s coop and walk out with 2 caps gifted along with your purchase. At the Red Shoe Pub in Mabou, the former premier of Nova Scotia rises to clog along with the fiddle and piano and later takes out his own fiddle. We sleep in the parking lot, welcomed to do so by the pub staff. The next day, in Cheticamp, we snug up the Visitor’s Center to “borrow” some wifi and cook dinner. When the janitor spots us, he does not shoo us away, but rather, sits on the curb and talks stories. As the rains come down, we are in the DoryMan Pub, and when we request “The Jeannie C.” by Stan Rogers, the balladeer takes it up. Everyone sings along while we dance a slow one, two battle-scarred travelers in a tender moment.

We have so far spent about $200 in 17 days of travel on overnight accommodations. About $11.75 a night. And Rick Steves would be proud of our back door cheap picnic style eating. Um, of course, that’s with $1400 in gas.

We made the trip into Halifax to see our friends Ayla and Martin. Yes, that’s Chalifax or Halalifax ala Jon Stewart . After a great dinner and Irish/Maritime music at the Old Triangle, we peacefully slept in the van again on the streets near the harbor.

Thanks to our guest writers and for thoughtful comments. The immediacy of the elemental is playful (mostly) connection with the Divine, it’s true. How is it different from when we first came this way? In short, it is tamer, and more crowded. The wilds have become golf courses, the fishing villages get tour buses with digital camera snapping tourists. On the other hand, the towns recycle, many open spaces are protected. We have talked now with enough 20 somethings to sum up the dilemma of being young in this frightening time. “The times are scary but I am not afraid. I can’t be.” To that, I would echo: Ditto.

Acclaim/Blame game

“We must blame them and cause a fuss
 before somebody thinks of blaming us!”

Although I am not a huge South Park fan, I enjoy satirical humor that pokes fun at perceived American stereotypes. This might be why I wrote a paper in college that questioned the impact of movies like “Team America”...The question in my paper asked: Does playful mockery of the left/right pop and political culture in the U.S. perpetuate negative stereotypes or does it help encourage dialogue about uncomfortable and touchy subjects? This interest I have might also explain why I so thoroughly enjoy watching Jon Stewart, who is my steady source of news and current events. I know I am not alone in this mixed world that blends news, education, and entertainment into a blanket of irony, but I don’t know if it’s the right place for our generation to go. I know other kids my age feel like watching Saturday Day Night Live or Jon Stewart, or reading the Seattle Stranger, is not only more entertaining and easy but maybe even more educating and less biased then questioning statistics we see on Fox News or listening to CNN shred apart the incongruous pledges of the Right. I have a lot of questions for you parents, oh yes I do…. first, in your opinion how has news changed for better or worse, in the last 10, 20, 30 years? To follow-up this question which ultimately compares traditional news broadcasters to Comedy Central-type media, are we living in a ‘naïve’ world if we’d rather laugh and stay lighthearted, than question and get involved with pressing/depressing issues that we may or may not have any control over….? If so, could this be a human reaction to protecting our desire to enjoy life, or is it a defect of our news network? I fear that people will continue to reach for Comedy Central, while loosing faith in the validity of our ‘real’ news, and subsequently loosing an overall interest in being educated about the world, the nation, the community, etc.

Part of me wants to embrace stereotypes, to indulge in them, to acknowledge them and laugh at how silly we as a nation, as humans, as Islanders, as Portlanders, (and whatever sub-category fits you) can be. Part of me loves the humor of the Irish, the English, and Canadians specifically because they have an unexplainable and eloquent ability to blend politics with humor, on a basic level of interacting. It feels healthy, refreshing, and necessary. Yet aren’t we, Americans, taught, and maybe this is where I am wrong, that politics and humor shouldn’t coincide, that a sarcastic comment or casting a stereotype is not “politically-correct”, that it is either dangerous to bring up depending on your company, or considered racist, or un-educated? Is our sensitivity as a nation beneficial, or do people feel like they’re walking on eggshells when they shouldn’t be? With the grace of balance, I obviously think there is a healthy bridge between not taking things too seriously and not caring. I am confused about how the rest of the nation is dealing, or not dealing with the fact that we either get chastised for laughing at our human mistakes or dishonesty and deception are perpetuated for fear of falling outside of one’s accepted circle. I enjoy reading your travel observations Mom and Dad; it makes me think. Maybe it is because I am your daughter, but I, like you, have enjoyed the energy and friendship of many Canadians, and it makes me smile to hear words that parallel my experience.

Is this also activism?

MWP: I sit alone in a house in the woods. It is dark and stormy out, and I am listening to Regina Spektor, occasionally pausing to tap on Jesus' tank (Hey-Seuss, my fish), and marveling at how brave I have become.

Sometimes I think that there is too much wrong in the world to be naive anymore. Other times I think holding onto youth’s naivety - hopefulness, rawness, openness - with a fierce emotional vice-grip is the only way to save your own sanity.

In the last year, a profound change has altered my life outlook. I used to spend time wishing I could fix things on the outside, and genuinely believing that the outside was within my power to fix. I imagined myself having a huge impact on the world.

But I don’t know if I am interested in trying to save the world anymore.

Here is what I do know I want.

I want to live close to nature, and nurture a family. I want to be a mom. I want to love the man I marry. I want to have a {green} home. I want to love what I do, and and I want what I do to be elemental, creative and flexible. I want to save my own little piece of the world. I want to seek and protect my own happiness. Is this also activism?

I am cringing as I write all of this. I know how shamelessly selfish I sound. I know that to want any of this, is to first need a healthy, functioning planet to live on. I know that suffering comes. But I do not wish to hold the suffering of the world heavy on my heart.

I see that most people are unhappy because they stand in their own way, even as they are standing for many causes. I see the need for activism. I do. And I am a daughter of this Earth. I care and care deeply and always will. I just want to be a happy, healthy, optimistic activist.

I know you are right when you say that dreams need to be something bigger than ourselves, to make being human worthwhile. I am planting my dream-seeds this Fall. I am still naive, in a good way. And I think you are too.

Acclaim Canada

I told Steve it had to rhyme with "Blame Canada" or it wouldn't be funny. If that doesn't makes sense to you, as it didn't to him, never mind.

From Quebec City through New Brunswick to PEI. So much amazing country. My eyes are feasting on beauty. Steve is loving talking to the friendly people. I don't think I have EVER met friendlier types, and that's saying something given our history in Ireland and Scotland. I just really appreciate this country. The scope of it, the energy. Just the fact that it is not the U.S. is relaxing. Oh, and did I mention the socialized Medical System? So civilized. Anyway, just a short post from lovely Prince Edward Island. Long stretches of red sand beaches on the Gulf of Saint Lawrence.









Today, we will take the ferry to Nova Scotia. Our time is short for internet today but I hope it will be big on music.

OHHH! I found it! The magic key to posting on Drive Across America! Hurray!

So here's the deal - In June, my husband Dave and I drove from Portland to Chicago to deliver our 22 year old daughter to her post to Teach for America at an elementary school on the southside. We started to think about roadtrips in a different way than we had before - the adventure of making it up as you go.

I think we all want more play and more opportunities for creativity and connection in our lives. More play. Not necessarily "less work". Just more play, more engagement with the world in a "non-productive fashion", where our brains are less directed and more open to what IS and what WILL BE.

Perhaps this is the place we need to visit more frequently. Perhaps this is the state of mind that connects us more fully to God, to right-action, to the mystery of flow. Maybe it is in this state that the nature of reality shifts and we see past the illusion of our constructions - politics, the economy, global warming. Perhaps in this place all that can be imagined is possible. Your way of travel can take you there. Making art takes me to this place as well. As does prayer.

Stumble Upon: The Eeck and the Ahh…Awe…

Our style of traveling is hard to put into words. It is equally divided between planning, spontaneous “stumbling upon”, argument and the grace of strangers.

We drive until we reach the eeck moment. One hour or half hour or 15 minutes before dark. We are usually somewhere around our approximately planned destination, but not always. Arguments typically erupt as we decipher whatever presents itself and the advice and directions from the cast of characters we meet at that moment. Steve asks people, I consult the map and together we stumble upon the perfect spot. Seriously. I can’t recommend it. But I can tell you it works.

Thus, we have stayed at two roadside parks in Wisconsin and Ontario (neither of which were on any map-so we found them through George Porten’s Son, our own GPS). How we ended up at the Pettawa Canadian Airforce Base is harder to fully explain but it had a lot of eeck and seemed crazy and wrong as we found ourselves in the middle of the big base, complete with uniformed soldiers and military housing, following a little sign labeled Back Bear Campground (the name itself was slightly frightening). But when we got lost and Steve asked the first stranger we found, he said “I will show you” and he led us straight to a lovely campground, run by the base. There we had electricity and showers and all at no cost. The next morning, it was breakfast at half price at the Base, and then shopping in the PX.

We got to Quebec City after a great afternoon in Ottawa and found our way into the city with this same process. No surprise when after some serious eeck in city traffic, we stopped and asked and found someone with perfect English and a wealth of knowledge. We decided to spend the money we could spend on a hotel on dinner at the restaurant he recommended and a bottle of wine instead. By the time we were done, sleeping in the van in a city parking lot was just fine. Quebec City the next morning was rainy but warm. Jack especially loved the Hills of Abraham, a biblical sounding name for an amazing park with a lot of history. We left late in the day, and arrived after all of our “eeck and ahh” process, which included gathering directions from the local police, at a wonderful hostel in Rivière-du-Loup, on the Gaspe Peninsula, Quebec.

The hostel life, if anyone wants to know, is one of the most sublime experiences I have ever known. Cooking together, eating together, talking with travelers, sleeping together…well, ahem—it is cheaper in the dorms. So, yup—that is part of the experience and though a light sleeper, I cannot explain how it somehow comforts me and I sleep for the better despite the sounds of others.

Today, warmed by conversation and fellowship, electrical devices charged, and posts sent off, we will likely camp somewhere in Nova Scotia. Next to try: couch surfing.

Response to Naïve but in a good way

Ah, Mariya—love this sincere question. To be honest, we have not spent a lot of time talking with people your age on this trip. Luckily, we have a vast store of connections with 20-somethings from home and extended community. I will give part 1 of my response, and hope that this becomes an ongoing conversation.

I looked up the meanings for naiveté. Ingenuousness; innocence; gullibility; greenness; rawness; inexperience. But also: honesty; candor; frankness, openness.

So, the quality of being naïve is actually the quality of being youthful and inexperienced. Being white, educated and from a reasonable foundation gives you that privilege. My guess is that there is a time when you are given a choice to lose your naiveté. And that happens at different times for different people. If you have it hard, then you might lose it when you are 4. We live in a dreamtime now. Soldiers go to wars that don’t touch most of us. Climate change attacks the poorest countries first and so it seems far away and esoteric. You live in a time when your own reproductive rights and school systems are being eaten away by fundamentalists. When the time comes, you will have to choose whether or not to lose the naiveté and stand up for something. Hard changes are coming. You will want to be at the table. Protest gets us to the table.

A smattering of 20-somethings are how they are doing:

T-running her own hair salon and serving in a restaurant.

N-tending bar; raising her kids, being with parents and grandparents.

L- designing her own clothes

M-Just finished 2nd book-writing a 3rd about whales; working part-time at Luxel.

C-kayak guide.

A-working with the Center for the Ecological History of the Salish Sea.

B-Teaching part-time and devoted to not having a car.

R-building a cob house; has own band; works as farmhand and laborer.

T-Into urban farming; works at store, dumpster dives as political statement, just started doing art for money.

J- farming on Orcas and serving in a restaurant.

C- started coffee and tea business, announcer for Alaskan NPR, tends bar.

A bunch are in grad school. Another bunch have started families. Another group has gone traveling. And some are into social change such as Teach for America. Another group are into farming- alternative and small scale agriculture.

It strikes me that the 20s I know are exceptional, everyone. I think that’s because of the island and because we have always sought community. So these 20-somethings know and value community. I see them hugging roots harder.

I think dreams need to be something bigger than ourselves to make being human worthwhile. But the seeds for dreams are everywhere.

How to find your grandmother’s cabin

We find things, sometimes, by bumping into them.

How to find your grandmother’s cabin.

1-Go toward a scenic point that a friend told you not to miss.

2-Realize halfway across Montana that this means you could go by Bottineau, North Dakota, which is not on the way to anywhere except Lake of the Woods (the scenic point).

3-Get to Bottineau half an hour before dark and find out all the motels are taken up with oil shale workers.

4-Go north to state park on Lake Metigoshe, stumble on a motel next to it. It is dark. The motel has one room left. You take it.

5-You call your aunt and find out that Grandma had a cabin on Lake Metigoshe. This is where she learned to canoe and watch birds and love nature. All qualities she passed on to you. Importantly, she gives you the subsequent names of the owners, married children and so forth.

6-Next day, you set out to find the cabin. your husband on it like a hound on a fresh scent.

7-He asks the store clerk where we can find an old-timer who knows “everything”.

8-That would be Grace at the Marina, she answers, without hesitating.

9-You go right down to Marina, you guessed it, and yep, there is Grace. Not all that old, but she does know everything.

10-Grace knows who to call, that’s the main thing. She calls another someone who knows everything, and they trace the linage to pinpoint the cabin.

11-You get careful directions from Grace.

12-You find the cabin, right on the shores of Lake Metigoshe. You feel your Grandmother's in your blood sweet young energy. The chickadees cheer.

Naive, but in a good way.

Yesterday, on my drive from South Lake over to the opposite side of the lake, I listened to an NPR show that featured Sam Terrell, a culinary student and aspiring musician in Hyde Park, Chicago, who is the same age as me.

Here is a short transcript of his interview with NPR:

NPR: How do you feel in general about your generation - People in their 20’s who are graduating from school and looking ahead?

ST: A lot of my friends are kind of in limbo and don’t know exactly where they want to go, but at the same time they aren’t too worried. I don’t think it keeps them up at night.

NPR: It’s interesting because we have a lot of reports and conversations on the air right now about how bad the economy is right now…how it could be in rough shape for a sustained period of time. What gives you that level of hope when you read those headline?

ST: I don’t know. Maybe luck in the past. Maybe naivety.

NPR: Feeling naive, but in a good way?

ST: Yeah, maybe just that I am young and haven’t had my back up against the wall just yet.

My throat tightened as I listened to Sam's interview. We are Naive, and thank God for it. If the woes of the economy kept my generation up at night, kept us from pursuing our dreams, then where would we be?

My question to you, mom and pop, as you drive across this grand country, is, how are my peers? Are they indeed optimistic about their future like Sam Terrell and I? Or not?

Heritage Tourism

So, at some point on the drive across America, you kind of bump into the Great Lakes. We skimmed along just south of the Canadian border to International Falls, Minnesota. The weather turned fierce. Smoke from the big Boundary Waters fire mixed with high winds and cold temperatures. After some debate, we turned south and camped at Voyageur’s Park. The mercury dipped to 23 degrees but we stayed warm with a little help from some hot soup and fine Scotch. The calls of the loon echoed through the night and heralded the dawn.

We travel in a holographic mode—both of us simultaneously re-living our old travels and currently managing this trip. “This place is where my old van (also a Ford Econoline) broke down,” Steve says. “And I made friends with the mechanic and his wife, and they took me in. “ So, we look her up, though her husband has since died, and she is thrilled by the visit. Looking at the smoke billowing in the sky, I remember the 5 weeks I spent in Minnesota as part of a hotshot fire crew from the North Cascades. How fierce the flames were and how fast they moved.

From Lake Superior to Minneapolis—experience the Mall of America and grateful to leave it, cross the mighty Mississippi and into the rolling farmland of northern Wisconsin. Waning moon over Mole Lake, colors starting to crisp up and today, across the UP of Michigan.

Shann

Jack's Post from Minnesota

We stopped in a town the humans called Duluth. I liked Duluth. Big big lake they called Superior. Of course, my male human had to take off his clothes and jump all the way in. Personally, I stop when anything wet hits my belly. But it sure was fun to run around and chase rocks.

After that, we went to a place where all the humans were pretty old. My male human had a friend there we went to visit. I didn’t smell any other dogs or even cats, just a scent I would call lonely. The old people liked me alright and my humans let me greet everyone and sit down for cookies. I gave them all the dog love I could, to keep them happy after I left.

Past the Geographical Center of the U.S. on Blue Highways

This post written from the Waters of the Dancing Sky Scenic Byway, in the Mallard capital of Minnesota, about 40 miles south of the Lake of the Woods--with Boundary Lakes and Thunder Bay, Ontario ahead of us. Summer ended in one day as we went from the nineties to the forties and wind overnight. They say it will come back to the seventies but I am wondering now if I should stow the shorts deep and dig out the scarf. We have been on the road for just 6 days. Already the trip feels like this country does right now, with miles in either direction.

It is hard to write on a road trip when you are camping. So, this time, I will write in the car, post from the library, and try to catch up. Here are the blue highway snippets from the last few days.

Big bag of beautiful Washington fruit still keeping us company.

Washed in gorgeous scenery. America the Beautiful. “Purple Mountains Majesties” in Glacier National Park.

Going to the Sun Road is its own marvel, and too many cars on it to really relax. Coming down into the long stretch of eastern Montana, under the ”Spacious Skies”.

We drive until we are tired and then we look for a place to stay. So far, a friend’s house, 2 “no camping” recreation sites, 1 park campsite with lots of bear warnings, 1 motel and 1 city park.

Dead trees from a big burn standing in memoriam on the anniversary of 9/11, as we listen to the crackling voice of Paul Simon, trying not to lose the faint PBS channel, connected by a strange nostalgia to a game-changing event 10 years ago.

Windmills moving in time to “drifting along with the tumbling tumbleweeds” cowboy music, Indian reservations, big ranches, one after the other.

Huge oil shale boom going on in North Dakota. Oil pumping, gangs of machinery and workers and trucks. Reminiscent of Fairbanks pipeline.

Headed so far north that if we stood up straight, we would hit our head on Manitoba. Visited the town where my grandma grew up, Bottineau, ND and then north to Lake Metigoshe, Chickadees, her favorite bird and mine, cheered around us as we found the family cabin where she learned to love nature. I always thought of ND as the “Fruited Plain” and “Amber Waves of Grain”. It is that --but this little lake is right out of the North Woods.

The Peace Garden between North Dakota and Manitoba straddles the border. The peace poles are donated by Japan, the September 11 Memorial is donated by the government of Manitoba. On the 49^th parallel, the invisible border between two friendly nations stretches, framed by formal gardens and winding nature walks.

Oh, and Jack is one super trooper.

$#@!%^ computers!

I am a mechanic (in the pejorative and literal sense)---a blue collar, baby boomer (I just turned 65), with a law degree from Syracuse U., with fingers that kept wanting to get greasy and dirty. I don't take easily to the electronic gadgetry that my spouse and daughters inhale, but if I want to be engaged with them, I am forced to it if I don't want to loose out on the flow. So here I am!

I will from time to time, give my perspective on the drive ability of our 1995 Ford Econoline -Travel Time Conversion Van. Also what it's like to travel with our 75 pound Labradoodle Jack and 140 pound wife Shann, as we weave our way across the Blue Highways of America.

First insight: I stopped in at the Post Office in Badger or was it Greenbush, Minnesota an hour or so behind us (we are traveling west to east along some of the same territory that Shann's pioneer family lived and traveled through a 100 years ago). Of course my wife wanted to know what was up, and of course my mischievous self that always wants to mess with her, wouldn't say until I got young Jack out, with his Sport Dog zapper collar on (it helps remind him of dangers and problems with his human interactions) and ready to go. By then her big old Bass mouth was raising to the bait and I said "O for goodness sakes we're just off to get stamps".

I love getting and sending cards and letters through the U.S. Postal Service! It was my eldest daughters 26 birthday yesterday and I did another of those mysterious stops along the byways of America (Dollars and Less Thrift Store), to find a birthday card ($1) and a cheapo set of earrings ($3)to mail off to her. The Post Master and his one customer were 'jawing' when I and Jack showed up on the scene. I got the needed stamps and 10 minutes worth of conversation on the state of the USPS, local lore and directions to the nearest library. Poor old Jack , looking as sweet as could be and sitting while the 80 year old customer tickled his loppy ears, was wondering why there were no dogie treats, like the ones he is accustomed to at most every stop he makes with me, on our San Juan Island 'runs'.

The Post Office may be a 'dinosaur' that's looking down the barrel of extinction, but it is definitely one of those institutions that has been at the center of community since the inception of this good nation of ours. The passing of a community member on our island is still marked for the public to know, by a picture and obit. posted on the P.O. front door!

Ok, there's my first blog entry ever! steve

Jack's Post

From the "Heart of Nakota and White Clay Nations" blares the radio. Ft. Belkamp Indian Reservation, Wolf Point, Montana-say my humans as they consult that map thing. Kinda miss chasing voles in tall grass back home. But the new smells are worth something. Dead deer. That’s one of my favorites. Tried to check one out last night on a really big river my humans called the Missouri. But that made my humans yell my name, so had to leave it. This was after they had a long conversation about a sign that said no camping but then decided to stay there anyway. My man human usually likes to jump into any kind of water --but this time, he decided it had too much undertow. That made me happy. Good decision! In the middle of the night there was a knocking on the window that woke us all up. I barked and they talked with the man that had a sign on his truck that said Tribal Police. Turned out he was really nice and I wished I could have greeted him. I like to greet people whenever my humans let me but it also makes them yell my name. People always say “he sure is tall” about me, though sometimes they yip first if I try out a dog greeting. Hope that’s not all they think about. Anyway, I know how to fold up small and how to pant hard when it is time for a stop. I love evenings best when my humans rest and eat and I chase smells and it feels like home and then we go into the van and snore happily into the night.

We finally depart

Things happen fast when they want to. You dream and plan and scheme and anticipate. The date comes. The force of the change sweeps you away like an undercurrent.

September 8 was circled in red on the calendar and it ran blessedly clear for weeks after. By 3:45PM, we were finally on our way, accompanied by the ever beautiful vista of islands in the Salish Sea. Touch a hand to the waters of the Pacific. It will be awhile before we smell your salty breath.

We drove with little discussion, listening to the disquieting news of America and the world, through familiar landscapes as the Skagit Valley climbed into the Cascades— processing the advent of leaving, finishing a hundred internal dialogues. When the day gave way to a brilliant night lit with a three-quarter moon, we were at the summit of the Cascades, with the radio gone silent and the big bowl of mountains around us. That was the first time I took a real breath. As we landed in the Methow Valley, Jack led the way in front of the van running delightedly up the dirt road. It felt like pure grace under that same bright moon, finding our friend’s house, like an oasis spread and waiting for us. Over a late dinner and some wine, we found a CD dedicated to Pablo Neruda, and as travelers do, found ourselves in a reverie of our travels in Chile, where we had explored, as pilgrims, each of his three houses. Suddenly, we were having conversation we hadn’t had in months. We are synching in to each other and to the road. Shann

Jack:

Woof. Snort. Snarfle. Wag.
Hmmm... better switch to English. They only get the most basic parts of Dog.

Big Van in the yard now. They keep showing it to me and talking in high voices. And I jump in and out to show my enthusiasm. When humans act like this, it means I'm going.

Better get serious or she won't publish this.
The glorious smells tickle my nose as we travel. Every stop a new place to explore. Vole and cat have passed here. Interesting scat. Some dog thinks he owns this whole place. I will leave my mark to show him different.

We leave in 4 days!

I am almost finished messing with this site. Please feel free to participate in the Community Answers section, and tell us anything you want us to ask, or see or do. Also let me know if you have any issues with the technical parts!