Airport Station

Because Ma worked, The Brother and I spent a lot of vacations with Ma's sister. My grandma lived with my aunt in a brick three decker on Chelsea St. in East Boston. The house was close to  Logan Airport. So close that you could go up to the roof, stretch you hand up, and touch the landing gear of the planes  that were landing or taking off.

We would ride the subway with Dad into Boston. He would leave us off at Government Center on the Green Line. We would go downstairs and catch a Blue Line train. We were warned we were never to get off at Airport Station, which would have been close to Auntie's house. We had to get off one stop further away at Maverick Station and walk the mile or so down Chelsea St. We never broke this rule. I think there were hobos at Airport Station.

Hobos

Red Skelton as Freddie the Freeloader

When I was growing up, we were told a thousand times, we weren't to go down Third Gate, and we weren't allowed to play in the woods. My ma worked and "what your mama don't know you're mama don't mind."

Third Gate was marked by a paddock gate. There were three gates along the main road and with a field stone, rock wall held the woods at bay. Behind the gate was a worn track that dropped steeply into the woods. The Brother and older boys in the neighborhood would spend Winter days hauling buckets of water up to Third Gate to ice the track. Think a luge run. With trees crowding the track, and the ice, sledding was a wild, exhilarating, and  dangerous ride.

In the Summer, the woods behind Third Gate were filled with wild blackberry and raspberry brambles. We would snack on the berries and collect them in pails to bring home and put in the big freezer in the cellar. We would eat them frozen on sweltering Summer days.

I'm pretty sure Ma turned a blind eye to the containers of berries in the freezer. She couldn't have missed them because she ground her own hamburger to freeze, and bought zillions of boxes of frozen vegetables when there was a stock up sale.  The real reason Ma didn't want us to play in the woods was because there were hobos in the woods.

Now as many times as I picked blackberries or played in the woods, I never saw a single hobo. Not one. Not even evidence that a hobo had passed through. Not even at the glade were a small creek with its crop of skunk cabbages grew. No campfire ring, cigarette butts, or half-smoked stogies. No beer or whiskey bottles. I never saw anyone that remotely resembled Red Skelton's Freddie the Freeloader or anyone else for that matter.

The Friday Five

USS Constitution, one of the stops on the
Freedom Trail.

Summer is officially here! If you're looking for something to do in Massachusetts, but your budget is more Ripple than Dom Perignon, no worries. Five free things to do all Summer long.

1. Starting today, The Highland Street Foundation is sponsoring Free Fun Fridays. Sixty museums and cultural venues all over Massachusetts will have free admission to events every Friday during the Summer! Each Friday, six venues will offer free admission. Check the calendar to plan your trips.

2. The Worcester Art Museum will offer free admission during July and August. The museum is open Wednesday through Sunday.

3. If you're in Boston, follow the red, brick lined route for 2.5 miles and visit 16 historical sites along the Freedom Trail.

4. Monday through Saturday, The Boston Public Library offers a free Art and Architecture tour. The tour meets in the lobby of the McKim Building, Dartmouth St. entrance. Check the BPL site for the schedule. And if you go on the tour, don't forget to rub the tail of the lion for luck as you go up the stairs, and say "Hi" to my great-uncle Manny who worked on the lions.

5. If outdoor and hiking or picknicking is more to your liking, brave the wilds of South Central Massachusetts and visit Purgatory Chasm in Sutton, Massachusetts.

Beat the Heat

Spend Tuesday nights in July with me as we explore Color and Form in Calligraphy. You'll visit the Worcester Art Museum gallery for inspiration and then work on your own "calligraphic" hand in the climate controlled comfort of the studio. Add panache to your work with various watercolor backgrounds. Spaces are still available.

Tuesdays, 9. July to 30. July 2013, 6PM - 9 PM

Wordless Wednesday

Tuesdays with Elders - Petition to Sell

The last hurdle after settling the Elders in the nursing home was the sale of their house. Medicaid wanted the money, and I had nine months to sell the house.

It should have been easy. As Dad's attorney in fact, I had the authority to sell his half interest in the house. However, being my mother's conservator didn't give me permission to act as her agent to sell property. That involved another trip to court for Permission to Sell.

I didn't quite understand what was involved. While I puttered and dragged my feet cleaning out the house, I was expecting my attorney to tell me, they received the Permission to Sell paper. I learned the Court would only grant me permission when I had a buyer in hand. My bad. The problem it caused was with Medicaid. They wanted their money, and the threat was Dad would be dropped from Medicaid and would have to make private pay payments (at $379/day) to the nursing home.

I hired a cleaning company to come in and spruce up the little house. The house was some 65 years old and since my parents left became a Fall of the House of Usher. A friend is a real estate agent, and he and the lawyers took care of finding a suitable buyer who would buy the house "as is". What the house lacked in move in conditions, it's location was its greatest asset. The house had barely been listed when the real estate agent received two dozen offers. I accepted a cash offer. There were a few glitches with the closing, but in the end everyone was happy.

One side note. One of the things that took me so long to get the house sold was looking for a document called The Discharge of Mortgage. This is the paper you receive from the bank when you have finished all your mortgage payments and the house officially becomes yours. The Discharge of Mortgage must be filed with the Registry of Deeds and provides clear title to the property. For some reason, Dad had never filed the document.

The Real Estate Agent had told me the house could be sold without the Discharge of Mortgage, but it would be a lot easier if we had the document in hand. Eventually, I found the paper. Picture me shouting "I've got the papers. I've got the papers.", like Mortimer from Arsenic and Old Lace. And while at the Probate Court being appointed permanent guardian/conservator, we were able to file the Discharge of Mortgage. The Registry of Deeds for Middlesex county is located on the second floor of the court house. One trip, two stones.

My Influence Map

Found the idea for this creative exercise from my colleague and influencer, Andy Fish. An influence map is a bit like a vision board, but instead of showing where you are going, it shows where you came from, and what or who inspires the art you make.

You can fill your map with anything you want, books, movies, artwork. Whatever your little heart desires. I made my own layout using Paint Shop Pro. I wanted to limit the number of images I used because there would be too many, and the image would be so huge it would take days to download. Each image I used represents more than one influencer.

The influence map isn't limited to artists. You can use it to show what inspired you to become a(n) [insert your profession here].  You can find the influence map template here. If you don't have a program that allows you to manipulate photo images, you can use free, online, image sites to make a collage. Try Photovisi or Fotor.

Have you ever made an influence map?

Tools, Gadgets, and Widgets

I got a new toy. It's a Jawbone UP. The UP is an electronic bracelet that tracks your movement, sleep patterns, and eating habits. You sync the device with your smartphone where you can set your goals., how many steps you want to move in a day, an alarm when you've been sitting too long, hours of sleep, and what you are eating. You can also connect with friends who also have the device.

I'm still in the getting to know you phase. The bracelet is made from latex-free rubber. (Good thing because I have a severe latex allergy). You wear it day and night, in and out of the shower. I don't like the feel of it when it's wet so I take it off to shower. The few steps dancing around aren't going to matter for my 4,000 step goal. I'm working up to 10,000 steps per day.

The device comes in a bunch of colors and looks like a colorful bracelet. It fits well, but is a little heavier than it looks. You know you are wearing it. You change the operating mode by pressing on the silver endcap. Changing modes isn't intuitive and it takes some time to get it right. There are quite a few online resources to help you out as the device doesn't come with a manual.

The down side to the device is having to remove the silver Jawbone cap to connect the device through the earbud port on your smartphone. Jawbone also makes Bluetooth headsets that use a wireless connection to detect your phone. Too bad the same technology wasn't included in the bracelet.

The bracelet comes with a charger that connect by USB port to your computer. The charge supposedly lasts 10 days. I ran into a problem where the bracelet crashed when it indicated it still had a 3 day charge left. Again, online resources helped me get the device back on track without losing data.

I'm enjoying UP. I like trying to beat my daily personal best and best of all I don't have to spend hours at the gym working out.

Letter Play

Fridge magnets for the Gals who like The Boys

Pigma pen, watercolor pencils on Arches 140 lb watercolor paper

The Friday Five

Pictured left to right: Justice John V. Spalding of the Supreme Judicial Court, Dr. A. Chesley York, president of Portia Law School and Calvin Coolidge College, and Rev. John Nicholls Booth, principal speaker

1. The clipping is from The Boston Daily Globe, dated 21. June 1950, 63 years ago.

2. This was the 39th commencement of Portia Law School and the 10th graduation of Calvin Coolidge College.

3. 135 students were awarded degrees. The ceremony was held at the John Hancock Hall. 

4. The valedictorian address was given by , a female graduate of Calvin Coolidge College. Her speech was entitled, "The Liberal Arts and The Liberal Mind." . My dad, a graduate of Portia Law gave the salutatory address, "The Challenge." Dad was always a bit peeved that the young lady was picked to be the valedictorian, even though he claimed his marks were higher. He attended law school at night and the valedictorian was to be a graduate of the college's day program. Personally, I always thought his nose was out of joint because he was beat out by a girl, but you never heard that from me.

5. Portia Law School became New England School of Law in 1969.

How Does Your Garden Grow?

Mine grows wild. Sitting in the tall grass, shaded by the honeysuckle vine is Little Cacciatore. Might not be catching a glimpse of him or her. Yesterday, a red-tailed hawk swooped low by the sun room windows.

Wordless Wednesday

From Grandmaster E's Facebook Page

Tuesdays with Elders - Too Many Cooks

In sharing battle stories with others, the theme of Elder care causing disagreements between siblings crops up.

In my case, I was very lucky. The Brother had told me whatever decisions I made were fine with him, and he would support whatever decisions I made. He did say he wished there was something else that could have been done besides putting our parents in a nursing home. There are always other options.

I had asked him if he was willing to take both Ma and Dad into his home. Would he be willing to see that they got the round the clock care that was needed to keep them healthy and safe? I heard crickets. I didn't blame him. I wasn't willing to take that on either.

Would he be willing to find round the clock caregivers and services to keep the folks healthy and safe in their own home. The cost for in-home, 24 hour care is approximately $125,000 per year. If one of the caregivers became ill, had a family emergency, or couldn't get to the folks because of inclement weather, would he be willing to find substitute caregivers or go over and stay with the folks himself? Nope. I didn't blame him. With two girls in college our financial resources were tapped out.

We both wanted the best for the folks. We tried to abide by their wishes to keep them happy, but the primary concern was to keep them safe. Their happiness was secondary. They weren't safe in their own home. The only option left to us was nursing home care.

Some people mean well, but unless you have gone through the trial of Elder care, you have no clue what it's like. After Ma was in the nursing home, and Dad was still living in his house, some family and friends reprimanded me for not taking Dad to live in my home. As if being in my home would prevent Dad from wandering around town in the dead of night.

I feel if you aren't involved in the nitty gritty of personal care, housekeeping, chauffeuring to appointments, shopping, errands,outings, or daily/weekly visits, you really have no say in the decisions of the primary caregiver(s). As Dean from Supernatural so elegantly stated: Driver picks the music, and shotgun keeps his piehole shut.

Yondan

The rank tests are brutal both physically and mentally. No doubt Himself would come through with flying colors.

Testing

Wish Himself luck as he tests today for his fourth degree black belt in Karate.

Crackle

I just discovered Crackle. A service where you can watch movies and television shows for free. (online, on television through a blu-ray player, and on a tablet) Usually the free sites don't have the best shows, but on Crackle, I found an old chestnut from the late 1960's I loved, The Prisoner starring Patrick McGoohan.

McGoohan plays a secret agent who resigns from the service. He's abducted and taken to The Village, a bizarre prison, where he's given a new identity as Number 6. At The Village, he's constantly being interrogated to find out why he resigned. He spends his time trying to escape and to find the identity of Number.

Have you heard of Crackle?

The Friday Five

The weather this past week

1. Monday, Rain

2. Tuesday, Rain

3. Wednesday, Partly cloudy with occasional showers

4. Thursday, Torrential downpours

5. Friday, Rain in the morning. Clearing, I hope.

What's your weather been like?

He's Back...

I think. Pulling into the driveway the other day, I thought I saw a flash of white leap into the garden filled with daylillies, Queen Ann's lace, and variegated leaves. The leaves and flowers never moved so I thought I had imagined things.

Yesterday, as I pulled into the driveway, there was a very small bunny sitting near my space. He leaped into the daylillies with a flash of white tail and tiny brown feet. Cacciatore is back or a little Cacciatore.

Any wildlife in your garden?

Wordless Wednesday

Tuesdays with Elders - The Mahket

Saturday night, we had stopped at the big orange box store for a dehumidifier. Across the way is The Mahket, the same chain Ma loved. I have never set foot in the store near the orange box store. Many who followed my Whine blog know I hated the store where my folks shopped. The store was small, crowded, and dirty. i also don't do the grocery shopping. That job belongs to Himself.

We needed milk and the shopping had to be done. I didn't want to go in, but it would save Himself another trip. I went in, but not with a glad heart.

The store is new, clean, and larger than the store my parents shopped at. The store is laid out the same way. As we made our way around the store, so many memories of shopping with my parents flooded back. I remembered their entire shopping list, produce that committed suicide, and foodstuffs that were murdered.

In honor of me setting foot in the new store, here's a Mahket reprint from my Whine blog from a few years ago. Taking care of Elders is serious business, and you have to find the funny in order to keep yourself sane.

After the shoe fitting, we headed 15 miles down the road to my favorite Weeble destination, Market Basket. I was looking forward to some profitable time while the Weebles shopped. I've been able to finish whole volumes of books or write complete Heath sagas. Himself had the laptop and the gizmo to run the computer off the car battery.

No surprise there were no handicap spots so Himself pulled alongside the curb, and I got out to offload the Weebles. Ma clasped my arm with an iron grip and said, "You come with me. I need your help." My heart sank. No reading time. No finding out what would happen next to Jamie and Claire in Dragonfly in Amber. No time to start a new Heath story. I hoped my grimace looked like a good natured smile as I helped Ma to the store entrance. Dad had gone ahead to get Ma a shopping scooter. I turned to watch Himself troll the parking lot and find a space away from cars, distractions and shopping.

Ma boarded the scooter and headed to produce. Dad took a carriage and coasted to dairy at the opposite side of the store. I sighed and trailed along in Ma's wake. I hate grocery shopping. I don't do my own and here I was helping Ma with hers. Ah well, the good deed will certainly shorten my stay in Purgatory or at least boost me to a higher level of hell.

We wove our way through the produce cases. Ma pointed at the items. I pawed, selected, and thumped and handed over the item for final inspection. I went on search missions for a five pound bag of carrots which we had walked past and MacIntosh apples. Her cart was laden with fresh produce of all shapes, sizes, and colors, and then we rolled into the Meat Department.

Dad had told me shopping took so long because Ma had to look at all the meat in the cases. She doesn't just look at the meat, she blesses every single package. I stood at her side like an acolyte and handed up the neat shrink-wrapped packages. In the nomine pork chops, et filet de mignon, et spirited sirloin. She stared, debated, and decided down the entire 80 feet of refrigerated cases.

Three quarters of the way through the department, she said "I want a ham slice." I look back the way we came, but don't see pork or pork by products. The meat manager suddenly appeared and I asked him for directions. I find the ham slices. Large, single slabs of ham that would grace Heath's breakfast plate with a side of scrambled eggs and hash browns. I don't think is what she has in mind, but I present it to her. "No, ham sliced."

I cock my head to the side like a puppy learning a new trick. I do not understand grocery lingo. "You mean sliced for sandwiches?"

"Yes."

We were still a day and a half away from the deli. "You want ham from the deli?"

"No, sliced in a package."

I went in search of the meat manager. "I'm looking for ham slices, like you would have for sandwiches, but not from the deli." He cocks his head like a puppy too. I tried to translate. "You know how Oscar Mayer has bologna in packages? My mother wants ham like that." He led me to the packaged meat. There's eighty feet of gleaming white refrigerated cases each laden with cryovacced packages of nitrates. Oscar Mayer, Hormel, Plumrose. I found a package of store brand, sliced ham. I brought it back to Ma and handed it to her as if I'm holding the Holy Grail.

"No, I want the sliced ham like you have for New Year's dinner." She is sitting next to a case of spiral sliced hams. "Like these!" Shegrabbed a small ham. I returned the package ham to its correct place.

We entered the deli department on the opposite side of the store where we started. Dad caught up to us. The deli is perpendicular to the dairy department where Dad started. His cart has a dozen eggs, a gallon of milk and a gallon of orange juice. I'm puzzled and am about to ask him how it could possibly take an hour adn a quarter to gather these items. Then I remember I don't grocery shop so I kept my mouth shut. He took a deli ticket and leaned over to get instructions from Ma.

"Oooo!" Ma tugged my sleeve. My Uncle Bob, God rest his soul, had once told me he did the shopping for his wife. He'd get home with the bags and she'd say "Oooo, I forgot...." He said he spent $80 on groceries and another $40 on "ooooo". Ma needed denture cleanser so we headed back towards produce to the health and beauty aisle.

There was no one in the aisle except a girl stocking shelves. Ma hit the throttle and tore up the aisle. Thankfully, the girl was able to leap onto a shelf as Ma rocketed by.

Ma maneuvered the cart up and down the aisles but misjudged a turn and a four foot stack of Little Debbie snack cakes came down in a clatter. People all over the store came to a standstill. I dove for the boxes as Ma tried to back up the cart to make the turn, and grabbed them before she crushed boxes of Zebras, Brownies, and Christmas Cakes. With a red face I quickly stacked boxes before a disembodied voice could announce "Clean up on aisle 6"

"She usually worse than that," said Dad shaking his head. I raced after Ma as she turned down the pickle aisle. Ma and Dad spent 10 minutes debating the merits of pickle cuts and whether kosher dills were better than polish spears.

I danced from foot to foot partly from impatience but more from a full bladder. I have problems using public toilets and no way in hell would I use the grocery store rest room which I was sure was filthy. I hoped they would choose a jar of pickles before my bladder burst.

A choice was made, and she sent Dad in search of an item while we went back to the pasta aisle. "Get the elbows they're on sale five for a dollar." Dad came up behind me as I reached for the elbows.

"What are you doing?" he snapped.

"She told me to get the elbows."

"Why?"

"They're on sale?" I offered feebly.

"But she doesn't like them, and I'll get yelled at for cooking them."

I shrugged and tossed them into the cart. Thou shalt honor thy father and mother which means obey. Ma has more power.

After crisscrossing the store in several more search grids for forgotten items, shopping was finished. I made my escape as they entered the check out line. I found Himself happily tapping away at the laptop, warned him they were in the checkout line, and he needed to bring the car around so we could load Weebles and groceries.

As I helped Ma into the car, I noticed her pocketbook was very light. I looked in it and it was empty. "Ma, where's your wallet?" Dad accompanied me into the store to look for the missing wallet.

"This happens every %^$%^$ time!" he yelled adding other phrases in a variety of tongues. A check out girl sipping a soda on her break burst out laughing as we walked by. Without the wallet we go back to the car.

"Where were you? I didn't bring my wallet!"

I heard combinations of phrases I have never heard put together before. I get in the car. Chug, chug, toot, toot. Off we go. Not too bad, we completed the shopping expedition in two hours. As we pull into the driveway, Ma informs me she didn't finish all the shopping and will need me the week after the holiday week. Deep sigh.

Class of 1973

Yup, that's me. Forty years ago today, I graduated from high school. My how time flies.

What were you doing in 1973?

Comfort Zone

I'm trying something outside of my comfort zone. More on that next month.

Have you tried something outside of your comfort zone?

The Lights Went Out

It was a dark and stormy night. Just as the natives were dancing and chanting "Kong, Kong", the lights went out. Wait, it wasn't dark or stormy while the natives were dancing. They were dancing in broad daylight. Never mind.

It was pouring. The rain made a din on the sun room roof. We were having trouble hearing King Kong, the movie we were watching. Just as we got to the part where the natives stopped their dancing and chanting because they were interrupted by the crew of the tramp steamer, the lights went out.

I chanted a string of phrases. We waited a few minutes to see if the electricity would come back on. I grabbed the iPad and went to the National Grid site to report the outage. It took forever to get  a 3G signal from Verizon. Verizon boasts the largest coverage, except for the dead zone where I live. And they want me to upgrade to 4G and they can't even provide 3G service, but I digress.

National Grid has a pretty good way for customers to keep up with status updates during outages. After  you sign in at the site, there's a display that lets you know how many in your area are without power and a time estimation when power will be back.

Ten. There were only ten customers in my area without power and power would be restored by midnight.

While I was reporting the outage and making status updates, Himself set out the lanterns and went to the basement to hook up a portable pump to a battery generator to take over sump pump duties. In the time it took him to accomplish this feat, a puddle of water accumulated in the basement. Himself came upstairs and we settled in the sun room to wait for the magic hour.

A short time later I noticed flashing lights in front of a neighbor's house. It was an electric company truck. I could have almost cried with relief. We watched the flashing lights and could make out the cherry picker ascending the heights. I thought what a crappy job the line dudes have. Miserable weather, so dark you can't see your hand in front of your face, and there they are heroically restoring electricity so the rest of us can be comfortable. We cheered when the power was restored.

We got between 2.5 inches and 3.0 inches of rain from Tropical Storm Andrea and a small puddle of water in the basement. It could have been so much worse. So here's to the electric company dudes for their speedy and efficient service and a hope that this year's hurricane season fizzles out.

The Friday Five

The first (and hopefully, the last) tropical storm of the season, Andrea, is coming up the coast.

1. Rain, rain

2. go

3. away

4. don't flood my basement

5. today or tomorrow

Wordless Wednesday

Tuesdays with Elders - Roger's Guardian Going to Law and Med School

I thought with my folks in the nursing home, things for me would be easier and smoother. Far from the fact.

The nursing home had sent Ma to the geriatric psych hospital because they claimed Ma was a danger to herself and to others. I had suspected an incident that happened had been blown out of proportion. My suspicions were corroborated when Ma, without prompting, related what had happened.

The nursing home claimed Ma needed anti-psychotic medication. Ma has dementia, sees people, animals, vermin that are not there. They insisted she needed the drug Risperdal.

Use of anti-psychotic medications for an incapacitated person requires a Roger's Guardian to be appointed by the Court. The Roger's Guardian monitors the care plan and use of drugs and reports back to the Court.

I found myself going to law school and medical school. As my mother's temporary guardian and her daughter, I not only felt a filial obligation, but a moral obligation as well to fight on her behalf. Because of the dementia, Ma couldn't make decisions regarding her health and welfare.

The use of anti-psychotic medications in Massachusetts state institutions was challenged in 1975 when Rubie Rogers and others sued a Massachusetts state mental institution for using drugs as chemical restraints without the patient's consent.

Most of the residents on my mother's floor at the nursing home spent their days parked in wheelchairs in front of the nurses' station. For these poor souls, the lights were on, but no one was home. Ma didn't fall into this category. She was outspoken and demanding. I think at 92 years old, she felt she had earned the right.

I then read up on Risperdal, the drug the nursing home wanted to use. I found the drug is used to treat schizophrenia, mania or bipolar disorder. In all the literature I read, it plainly stated the drug was not to be used to treat behavior problems in elderly adults with dementia. Other literature suggested that in elderly patients there was an increased risk of stroke. Ma had a stroke in 2003, and I'm sure she has had several mini-strokes since.

At the geriatric psych hospital Ma showed none of the behaviors the nursing home claimed. She didn't post a threat to herself or others. Ma's age and the possible side-effects didn't warrant the use of Risperdal in my opinion. The doctors at the geriatric psych hospital agreed. The nursing home refused to take Ma back without a Roger's Guardian in place. That's how in the middle of a blizzard I found myself touring nursing homes that would be able to care for my mother without the use of powerful drugs that would cause more problems than give her benefits.

My parents were transferred to a nursing home that specializes in dementia (Alzheimer's is the most well-known dementia). They got good care at the first nursing home, but now they get excellent, individualized care.

I still keep a watchful eye out. I attend all care plan meetings and question all medications and treatment. I make unannounced visits and observe staff and other patients. I'm The Guardian.

Inside Out Cannoli

I had Ricotta cheese leftover from the cookies I made last week. It was too blessed hot to make ravioli or fire up the oven for lasagna or another batch of cookies. What to do?

I took a cruise through Allrecipes.com found a recipe that used the cheese and didn't require cooking: Cannoli Cream Dessert It's like a cannoli without the shell. It's a very simple recipe. Just layer the ingredients in a dish. You can also customize the recipe to suit your taste. I used strawberries instead of peaches. The only thing I would do next time around is to add a bit more sugar to the cheese mixture.

What fruit would you add?

Save the Dates

Looking for something to do and a way to beat the heat this Summer? The Worcester Art Museum will be offering free admission during the months of July and August!

Plan your visit now. Can't make it to Worcester? You can view the collection online. Don't forget to say hello to the Freakes.

The Graceful Envelope Contest

Just like college acceptance letters, large packet, you're in. Business envelope, you didn't make it. I didn't need to open the envelope to know, my entry didn't make it this year. Oh well.

The winning entries have been uploaded, and the envelopes are amazing. Congratulations to the winners.