...the Journal

The Guest
Refrigerator Door

The next set of magnets is from the fridge of my brother-in-law and his wife.

* NEW *

Someone suggested I add a discussion board, so I have.

If you have anything to discuss, go to this link. Feel free to start a new discussion on anything.

I'm gone--but you guys chat amongst yourselves, please!


I'm a Stranger Here Myself

Bill Bryson

I enjoyed his Australia book so much, I decided to try the one about this country.


Scattering Dad
(The ABC Sunday Night Movie)

That's it for today!


28 May 2001

Well I did something dumb today. My friend Mary wrote in her journal about taking an Emode test to discover her "inner rock star" (sheís Sade, which means absolutely nothing to me) and so naturally I decided I needed to find my own inner rock star.

Now considering that I know nothing about rock music and even less about current rock stars, I knew it would pretty much be an exercise in futility. But what the heck, Iím a daring sort, so I took the test.

They tell me that my inner rock star is Bjork. This supposedly describes the true me:

Wow, your inner rock star is Bjork. You've charmed the world with your beautiful, zany, personal style. To say you're a member of the alternative set would be a gross understatement. You and Bjork define alternative in its purest form. You've got nothing to prove, it's your remarkably creative point of view that lets you make art from anything--art, music, politics--whatever makes you passionate. It's just who you are. You've got the courage to experiment with your style and career, and all the while remaining positively sweet and humble. You are as much a free spirit as they come. Celebrate your inner Bjork.

Fortunately Iíd watched the Oscars this year because I had at least heard the name of Bjork. In fact, I even knew that she was the person who showed up wearing the swan draped around her body.

Maybe thatís why Bjork is my inner rock star--because of the affinity for swans that I developed on our cruise.

We had 8 days on the Thames. This being spring, the banks were alive with bird families. Canadian geese, ducks of many varieties, coots, and the swans. Everywhere the swans. You spend a day on the Thames and you realize why there are so many establishments in England named "Swan." All the swans belong to the queen, you know. They are all banded and they keep track of their comings and goings.

The swans are the royalty of the river--and they know it. They take over, chase away the other birds, and act...well...like they own the place. We went through one lock where a swan couple had decided to build a nest right outside the lockkeeperís front door. Nobody was going to disturb mother and baby--especially with Dad parked nearby to chase away interlopers.

Most of the swans had their babies in nests at the waterís edge. I loved the mother we saw with her two cygnets following her and carrying a third on her back.

Swans gave us the most excitement we had in the 8 days. Three babies got swept into the wake between the two boats. The mother dived under trying to find them and the passengers in the boat were trying to sweep the young ones out so they could find their way back to Mama. The crisis didnít last long, but it certainly livened up the afternoon.

Mostly the swans just swam by the boat in endless circles begging for food. Kind of the swan equivalent of picketing, I guess. It was fun to wake up in the morning, open the curtain and see a swan peeking in at you.

So I guess thatís why my inner rock star is really Bjork. She and I both obviously have an affinity for swans.

Whaddya think? Is it me?

One Year Ago:
Thank you, Charles Schultz

Some pictures from this journal
can be found at
Club Photo

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Created 5/28/01 by Bev Sykes