sex warehouse

When I was young, maybe third and fourth grade, I took a job cleaning the beauty salon in Wakarusa every Saturday afternoon. I had to wash all of the towels that were used during the week and sweep, mop, dust, the salon. This is the laundromat that I spend every Saturday afternoon for a few years. It looks exactly the same.

This is the Wakarusa Missionary Church that I attended from birth until my freshman year in high school when I walked out of service, never to return. The pastor at the time asked the church to pray for me during one of the services because I was in my high school production of the musical, "Applause." Now granted, the show is based on the Bette Davis classic film, "All About Eve" and involved a starlet sleeping her way to the top. But, I did not understand that, until my pastor made such a big deal about it. Anyway, members of my church insisted that they have the opportunity to come watch a rehearsal of the play and make changes, or they would protest. A group of 6 people came and we were forced to cut some words, and change others (which some of us added back in on the night of the show). That was it for me, no more church after that.

This is not really "my" landmark, but it is not often that you see a somewhat attractive Amish boy. Often times because of the close DNA ties of the Amish, they usually end up looking a bit funky.

This clock used to hang in the Wakarusa Middle School gym. When I saw it hanging in the Wakarusa Historical Society, I wanted to buy it for my house. Tom asked me if I wanted him to create a distraction so I could take it, but I just could not do that to my Aunt Helen.

Finally, I am not sure why they are making such a big deal about the new Florida license plates, because Indiana already has them beat with these special plates.

After visiting Aunt Helen, we went to Nelson's for the PTA's BBQ. Nelson's secret BBQ recipe is not patented because he would have to reveal what is in it for the patent, and he doesn't trust the government. The chicken is incredibly moist and it tastes really good. I still crave it, so I was glad I got to have some while I was home. But perhaps they should update their marketing materials a bit.

We then drove over to my parents house to say goodbye, and while we were in the kitchen, Mike noticed this notepad on my parents' refrigerator which had peas, corn, peas, corn, alternating and crossed out. He asked what it was for, and she explained that every Friday she makes pork roast and has either peas and corn with it. She likes to alternate weekly between the two, but never remembers which one they had the previous week. She developed this system as a foolproof way to avoid repeating the same vegetable week to week. It was at this point, that I knew it was time to hit the road from Bloomington.

One the drive down, all the boys fell asleep and Marcia stayed awake with me, talking the entire time, like she does with her father when they drive anywhere. We stopped to get gas in Peru (birthplace of Cole Porter) and Marcia bought some scratch off lottery tickets and won $50.

While driving through Kokomo, we came across this SUV that had rolled over. Given that I was driving a similar SUV, I decided to slow down a bit.

To close out our tour of Wakarusa, I took everyone to the Wakarusa Historical Society. WHS was started by my Aunt Helen Klein, my Dad's sister, and a few others in 1975. I believe my Aunt is the only one of the original founders still alive today, so she considers it to be her enterprise.

When I walked in, she was standing in the office, about ready to give the Amish girl in the background a tour. I said, "Helen, do you recognize me?" She responded, "No, you are in the light and I can't see you very well, stand over here so I can get a good look at you." When I did, she still looked puzzled, so I said, "I am Kenny's boy." That is when she threw her arms around me and told the Amish girl that she would have to give her a tour some other time.

Aunt Helen took us through the main building with the old Citizen's Bank vault, the telephone exchange, and a bunch of collectibles that people have willed to the museum over the years. Based on her stories, it seems like people want to donate items only at "Ten O'Clock" at night.

Here she is holding the official City of Wakarusa flag that she created and paid $300 to have made by a local flag maker. Apparently, it was from funds that my grandfather donated in his will to the Historical Society, so she called it "Dad's flag."

Speaking of my Grandpa Eby, here he is getting his hair cut as the first customer of the US Male Barber Shop in 1974. Les Eads, who is pictured, was the head barber, and the other barber's name, I believe was Doug. I had a crush on Doug because he had long hair and dressed like he belonged on the Studio 54 disco dance floor. Les, as you can see from the picture was black.

When my Aunt was describing this section of the museum she said, "Keith, go up and look at that picture there. I think you might know the man with the colored barber." I turned around to see that all of my friends were looking at me with that "OMG" look. Then she said, "I was so happy when I found that colored mannequin because I could use it to represent the colored barber." I am pretty sure my Aunt is not racist, just not up to date on the preferred terminology.

This is Dick Smith, who was my 6th grade civics teacher and who is currently on Helen's board of directors (her words, not mine). When Helen got tired of showing us around, she asked Dick to take us to the other 6 buildings. He didn't recognize me at first, I had to remind him that he spanked me twice in middle school. He is pictured here searching through old Wakarusa Middle School year books to show my friends embarrassing photos of me. I wanted to paddle him.

I made the mistake of asking what these "hog scrapers" were used for back in the day. Believe me, you don't want to know.

When I walked into one the of buildings, this little blue dress and sign caught my eye. I stood stupified for a few seconds before I was able to turn to Tom and Marcia and say, "That is my Grandpa Eby's dress?" I was told that back then, all little boys wore dresses until they were potty trained because it was easier. Once they were trained, they were dressed in shorts. I guess I buy it, but it looks like I am not the only Eby male to wear a dress.

These two civil war reenactors were walking around while we were there. They came up to my Aunt and asked if they could fire their rifles, which I found odd. She said yes, as long as they owned up to it if the "marshal" came to investigate. After they fired a shot, I heard one of them say, "Oh, that felt really good. I have not fired a shot in uniform for a good six months."

Aunt Helen has done wonders for the town of Wakarusa, having grown the Historical Society from one building and this caboose, to seven buildings and thousands of items. She is showing signs of slowing down, (as she claimed that the reason she didn't recognize me was from her drug overdose in the hospital) but I have a feeling she will be running the museum for several more years if she has anything to do about it.

I think these pictures say it all. Rural, small town parades are all about the pageant queens, politicians, kids, cars, motorcycles, tractors, and firetrucks. There was nothing in the parade about maple syrup, except for the queen and her court and this sweet boy that stood across the street from us. Enjoy the parade.

I felt horrible after my first night in my old bedroom at my parent's house. My head was completely clogged, my eyes were itchy and dry, I was sneezing, and had trouble breathing. I thought I was coming down with the flu until I looked up at the ceiling and saw two small patches of black mold growing. Great. The next night, I slept in the mildew-ridden basement with my old stuffed animals at the foot of the bed.

To my left was my mother's rollator that she used to get around the house after breaking her back following knee replacement surgery (she is doing much better and has lost several pounds). I gave it a spin around the basement a few times and was impressed that you can use it as a chair and/or a walker.

To my right was the stuffed chicken hawk that my Dad shot in Wyoming. That bird used to scare me to death when I was a kid. I thought the thing was going to come back to life and attack me like in an episode of Scooby Doo. You can also see one of my mom's creepy dolls, sitting on a white pillow and the unstable shelf hanging on the wall that I made in my high school shop class, holding her bell collection. She collects everything, nothing has been thrown away in that house for 50 years. Even things that don't work anymore and clothes she doesn't wear.

This is a relatively new addition in the last few years, and I don't understand it at all. A bird cage made of yarn with a fake bird hanging upside down like it is dead. Are you kidding me?

But the piece de resistance in the basement has got to be my Dad's trap shoot trophies. He used to be on a team at his factory and they would shoot every Sunday afternoon, sometimes to practice and sometimes for competitions. I would anxiously await his return home after competitions to see what design, color, and size trophy would be placed on the shelf. Now they sit in a dark, smelly, wet basement.

Merry Christmas from the Eby's. Although the picture kinda looks Rockwellian, believe me, the atmosphere is not. Christmas lunch consisted of ham, mashed potatoes and gravy, and green bean casserole. But the way my mother acted all morning, huffing and puffing, talking about how exhausting cooking Christmas "supper" was, you would have thought the menu would have been more extensive.

Becca did not really care about Christmas lunch. All she wanted to do was play games and open her presents. I have a special bond with Becca, because I understand the way she thinks.

Adam and Carmen are the oldest and are polar opposites. Adam is loud, social, and a ham, while Carmen is quiet, introspective, and does anything to avoid the spotlight. They balance each other nicely.

Then, there is my mom and dad, or as I like to call them, Ken and Shirl. They are a piece of work. For example, when I came home, there was a huge floral centerpiece on the dining room table. I thought it was odd, because my dad would never spend money on something like that. I looked at the card, and it was addressed to the neighbors across the street. Apparently, the neighbors were not home when the UPS truck came, so my mom yelled to the driver that she would take it for them. When the "neighbor boy" called that he was coming over to take the centerpiece, my mom jumped up off her chair and grabbed the flowers, wrapped them in plastic, and stuffed them back in the box while my dad "distracted" the neighbor boy. Happy Holidays!!!