It’s a Monday morning, and a weird one at that. For some reason the subject of Elohim City came up. I did what I do, I started reading. I came across this post from almost 10 years ago about the place, but it did something none other have done. It explained in great detail what I love about Adair county Oklahoma.
“The western edge of the Ozarks begins here in Adair County, a sparsely populated spread of bucolic communities with a mere 22,000 residents (43 percent of whom claim Native American blood) over 577 square miles. The pastoral beauty of the majestic, unpredictable terrain stands in stark contrast to the rural poverty that plagues much of its population. Roadsides are often littered with garbage—discarded, empty cans of Busch beer, cast-off plastic grocery bags, cigarette butts—and road signs are peppered with bullet holes. Gutted shotgun shacks and ramshackle houses with landfill front yards rest precariously next to forests of resilient pines and dead, twisted post oaks. Multitudes of modest white churches adorned with hand-painted signage offer a point of communion for residents to congregate and socialize.
Underneath the surface malaise and natural wonder of Adair lies an explosive history, one that informs Elohim’s existence. This is the heart of the Cherokee Nation, the last stop on the Trail of Tears where 11,000 Cherokee Indians were forcibly relocated. The area’s history is America’s history, fraught with instances of revolt and rebellion, of fierce individualism repeatedly clashing with a government status quo. This is the territory where Cherokee general Stand Watie held out against Union troops, making him the last Confederate general to surrender at the end of the Civil War, thus ending the South’s campaign for secession. It’s the home of Ned Christie, a Keetowah Cherokee traditionalist falsely accused of killing a federal marshal. When he wouldn’t surrender, a posse of hired guns from Fort Smith pushed a burning wagon into Christie’s fortified home.
The James Gang hid out here, as did Belle Starr and her bunch, the Dalton Boys, and Charles “Pretty Boy” Floyd. In 1977, Gene Leroy Hart, a Cherokee, was accused of the brutal rape and murder of three girl scouts in Mayes County. Hart was a violent local fugitive who’d previously been convicted of raping two Tulsa women. Despite the public outcry, a Mayes County jury acquitted Hart.
Today, the Cherokee Nation is humble home to small-town Oklahomans, many of whom are largely untouched by 21st century development. The landscape is wild and primitive, and self-governance is necessary for day-to-day survival. And the area’s legacy of isolationism and individualism continues, carried on in large part by Elohim City.”
I asked my aunts about the place the last time I was out, just as this pandemic was starting. I got different answers from each of them. One said that they were “Survivalists” while the other told me “Don’t even go around there or you’ll get shot.” I cannot remember what my 3rd aunt said.
I’m still coming to grips with the fact that there is a community like this so close to the area I’ve grown up loving, the area that makes me feel free as a bird. I’m not trying to start a conversation about these issues however. I understand the separatist lifestyle, that could have been me and my family at Ruby Ridge. I guess finding out about this place was the day I that I officially grew up.
Something I’ve always been critical of, primarily because I’ve never felt comfortable with is leadership. I’m more of a get to work and get things done sort of guy. Handing out tasks, and delegating aren’t tools in my toolbox.
Professionally, I’m an army of one. A lone wolf in a world that praises teamwork and cooperative efforts. It’s just in my bones, and in my nature. I can only blame it on my growing up as an only child. I didn’t have others to rely upon, I just had myself.
A few months ago, I was unanimously voted to be the president of the Janeway Collective. I think primarily because I took a situation that was in free fall and brought some order to it. I officially incorporated us, and we are currently in the middle of applying for 501c3 status.
Moi, when the statue was unveiled to the world – 10/24/2020
For me, it’s not the issue of the doing, it’s the “being a leader” end. It’s my place to set goals, direct our meetings and set agendas. To me, those things are minutia of minutia.
The Collective, and the people within it are near and dear to my heart. It’s a cause I’ve always been for. I’m extremely proud to have been a part of the group that finally got it done. I’m humbled beyond belief that they all trust me to lead our starship on the journey afterwards, or to give Star Trek speak, “The Continuing Mission.”
Our little statue has become an inspiration around the world. With a group working to build one in New Orleans for Sisko, and calls for one in France for Picard.
It feels so odd to just be a part of a rag tag bunch from a “small town” in Indiana that has caused quite the global stir.
On this day (4/16) in 1960, in Kokomo Indiana, my mother was born. Her life was full of what I can only assume was a hard childhood. Her mother, my memaw was not married and in her later years confessed to me that she became pregnant with my mother during a tryst in a church in her hometown of Leavenworth, IN.
My mom and my aunt, 1962
Soon she would have a sibling, from a different father. I know as sisters they loved each other very much, and her new stepfather legally adopted my mother, but there was something she never elaborated about that she didn’t like about him.
From the combination of things both my mom and dad said to me, my mom grew up not knowing her real father, but she eventually got to. I don’t know if she was still in high school or not, but it was around the time she was 18. The experience was not what she had hoped for it to be, she had additional 2 half sisters. In the end, my father (who had just started dating her at the time) had to drive down to Floyds Knobs to get her. According to my father, he ended up putting a bullet through his head around the time I was born.
Senior picture, BHSN 1979
Motherhood wasn’t something my mom was prepared for, or enjoyed. She was still trying to figure out who she was when she became my mom. They were some hard years for her, trying to find her place in this world. It’s then when I think her never ending search for a “dad” began.
Little me and my mom, in our first home
My father loved my mom deeply, and wholeheartedly until the day he passed away. Unlike my own experiences in life, he was always a part of the family to which he had divorced from. Even as an adult, my dad would come over to my moms for holiday events.
My mom on the other hand, spent several years cheating on my father, going to parties and spending time with darker ends of society. I even have memories of being at these gatherings with her, drugs and alcohol on full display, sex everywhere. The TV was a tool used to distract my eyes from what was going on.
My parents eventually divorced, with my father uncommonly retaining full custody of me. My mother could have visitation with me, but often didn’t have a place for me or transportation. I don’t think she ever paid child support.
For years, my mom disappeared. She was with her new man on the run from the law. Originally they had plans to go to Washington State but the gas money ran out in Texas, and that’s where they stayed. She eventually returned in an effort to get away from him but that was only temporary. It was however a sign of life getting better, as she started the job she would hold for almost 20 years then, at General Electric.
Through no choice of my own, I was forced to live with her between sixth grade and the age of majority. They were best of times, they were the worst of times. For the most part, it was like living with a room mate. There were a couple of times where I genuinely felt like I had a mother; but I always relied upon my dad for emotional support.
She supported me financially. She gave me what I can only call a middle class life, but our family unit was definitely shattered. I would often times purchase drugs for her. She would buy me a carton of cigarettes a week. She only had 1 rule, that if I was doing something illegal – I stay put. I kept my word on that rule, as I felt that it was the single thing I could do to honor her.
My wedding, where my own parents and grandparents were married
As an adult, her life seemed to be one series of disasters after the other until a large disaster reformed her life, she was laid off. The GE factory that I had even worked at was coming to a stand still. It’s now been closed for years. Through a program they have however, she was able to essentially skip the line and get a new job at the GE Appliance Park in Louisville, Kentucky. At the start it was a little rough, but she eventually was able to buy a home! Something neither of my parents had really done, owned a home.
Then, in the spirit of Star Trek, “Shakka, the walls fell.”
She lost that job too, she had amassed a large amount of debt and had nothing else to cling to but the inheritance her own mother left her of roughly $50k in an investment account and shared ownership of her home with my aunt, a home I always adored.
Unbeknownst to her, my aunt had allowed her youngest son and his newly started family to live there. I understood and appreciated it. It was better for someone to be there than for it to be empty, abandoned. I always wanted to keep that house in the family, no matter what.
With nowhere else to turn, and nothing else to lay claim to, my mother filed a protection order on her own nephew, who is an active member of the US Army. This forced him to leave the home his own mother let him stay in, that she legally owned 50% of.
It was during this time that I was going through my own circles of hell, with a divorce under my belt, a protective order on me and pending criminal charges happening. I had just gotten the job that I still have, giving me a level of financial freedom I had never known before. A load of responsibility came along with that however.
So here she was, my mother, in my deceased memaw’s house, “cleaning” it. There is no power, there is no water – there are no utilities. She asked for my help, and I did the only thing I felt that I could. I bought her as many non perishable goods I could, and loads of bottled water. I took her out to dinner, and I filled her gas tank up. I didn’t want her to die.
It was when she asked me to buy her cigarettes that I drew the line. I had tried to get her to quit smoking and at minimum start vaping for years. It is also at this point when the physical track on my mother went cold. I only heard from her two times after that day. All other information I have is 2nd hand or from law enforcement, doing welfare checks.
I found out years later that my memaw’s home, that her and my papaw had worked many hours of overtime and put lots of blood, sweat and tears into turning into the house of this grandchild’s dreams, was sold due to being behind on property taxes. It was sold to my half-sister’s uncle. Who has now turned it into something I don’t even recognize anymore. I refuse to even drive down that stretch of road anymore. My heart can’t bare to see it. They spent their lives trying to make the lives of their descendants better; and in the end the temple to which our family celebrated many of the things families celebrate became the subject that tore ours apart. It hasn’t been the same since.
So, happy birthday mom. Your children are doing okay. You have a new grand daughter. Both of your children do love you, and we do worry about you. Your oldest grand daughter needs you back in her life, as you are the only grandparent she has left; and that has left a tremendous hole in her heart.
I haven’t wrote here for a while, and it’s been highly frustrating. But there have been many reasons as to why. Something happened with my word press installation, making posting all but impossible.
Spring has brought upon me the urge to do the projects I have put off for too long. The first of which, my kitchen faucet. My girlfriend and my daughter were the loudest voices in their disdain for it. I won’t lie, it should have been replaced years ago. It leaked each time the water was turned on and the sprayer hose leaked as well.
I’m not a fan of how kitchen faucets are designed now, so I found one with the qualities I liked, bought it and installed it within a day. Boom, done. Or I thought. I got some comments from my girlfriends father, and her on how I should add a filtration system under the sink so I could get rid of my on sink Pur filter. I’ve never found an issue with the water quality, but the girlfriend and youngest daughter do. So I then ordered a 3 stage system, and am waiting on it to be delivered.
Then, I decided to use my 2021 Stimulus payment in a smart way. I purchased a hybrid water heater. It’s Energy Star certified, uses 1/3 of the energy my former one does, will net me a $500 rebate from my electric company, and net me a $300 tax credit next year! The rebate and tax credit pay for half of it alone.
Richmond Encore Series Hybrid Electric Water Heater
Plumbing isn’t one of my strong suits, but I can get the job done. The manual actually stated not to use plastic or copper hard line to connect and instead recommended PEX. A combination of me being stubborn and unwilling to buy the special tool required for PEX left me doing it this way.
I had the lines blow apart on me three times, flooding my basement. That however isn’t my first rodeo.
To show a comparison of energy consumption between the models, here’s a image of my old unit’s yellow tag:
Here is the yellow tag of the new one:
Large difference isn’t it? With my girlfriend and her kids now staying with my full time, keeping us comfortable while also keeping my bills as low as I can have been paramount. This has a bit of IOT built into it, with an app that lets you schedule and control which mode it uses. There are five modes that can be used, Energy Saver, Heat Pump, High Demand, Electric and Vacation.
I’ve made some changes to my bedroom. My girlfriend had been complaining about my queen size bed, it hurt her back. It was old and it did need to be replaced. I got a deal on a nice king bed and foam mattress from Amazon and went with it.
Extreme Wide Angle: I had to put my phone on panoramic mode with it against the wall to get the entire bed
This caused a problem however, as I had less space in my bedroom. I needed new night stands. Fortunately, I know a guy and I enjoy what he does. He’s my girlfriend’s brother.
He had shown us the ones he made for himself, and I really enjoyed how they came out. Knowing him as I do, I also felt comfortable letting him have his way with any creative endeavors he wanted to have on this project. My only dictation to him, the dimensions.
Assembled teaser image
He kept sending me pictures through the whole process, and got to work on them rather quickly. I was surprised really. In all reality, these tables cost me just a little more than something I would have bought; yet these are handmade and will last generations versus something I might keep for a decade and throw away.
When I picked them up
The tables are compromised of Walnut and Cherry with traditional joinery. The only screws on it are for the table and top. Finished with wax.
Top View
A week after I got them, he sent me some messages asking how I liked them. If I wanted anything different or if I had any tweaks about them. The only real issue I can see is the size of the drawers, as they are a touch small – but okay for my use. I sent him the following image of one of them in my room. I’m a happy man.
Craftsmanship isn’t appreciated as much as it should be in our consumer centric society. When and where I can, I try to buy nice things instead of just things.
I will forever be appreciative of Tim’s talents and efforts in making these tables for me. Just as I asked him to make them, he told me that he is planning on moving clear across the country. It made me sad, as he’s a really awesome guy. Someone I strive to be like.
One of these days I’ll get around to actually working on this place, like I’ve wanted to. I have so many things I want to get done, but so little will to actually do them. It’s hard.
Last week I began a new adventure professionally. One I didn’t know or have a choice in participating on. I have been named the Primary IT Contact for the still under construction, Regional Academic Health Center.
Rendering of completed site
The RAHC from what I have been told is being pronounced “rock” by IU Health personnel, is a joint venture between IU Health and Indiana University, my employer. It is a new hospital that is replacing the current one, which exists in a central location. It also houses a building for all of IU’s clinical education units, which I work in.
The buildings sit on the site of the old IU par 3 golf course and driving range.
This opportunity has given me no accolades, no pay raises, no appreciation. It has only given me seemingly incredulous amounts of responsibility that I did not have previously.
I have been kept in the dark on many things to do with this project. Specifically with many things that directly affect my job. To say frustrating is an understatement.
Last week, I took care of a large portion of my newfound responsibility by configuring the computers in each of the general classrooms, sans one of them. I made a friend, who seemed saddened by how disturbed the landscape was changed.
The the task was easy, just overwhelming. Put a new operating system on roughly 20 computers while learning a new building and the technologies put into the building that I had never worked with, or had an opportunity to know about.
Classroom technology control panel, there are quite a few flaws
That panel gives me some anger. IU is full of red tape and bureaucracy, much like a government is. The official building code for this building is AH, not RAHC. I’m a stickler for detail. I have requested that be changed.
This screen almost threw me into a seizure
IU Health, is not IU. But this partnership and what is in essence “licensing deal” has blurred the lines for many across the state. There are many who think they are one in the same. It frustrates me on many levels. The president of IU and the dean of the School of Medicine are on the board of IU Health, for which they both get a salary that is along the lines of the median household income level for the area. It’s through these sort of deals that have gotten us to where we are today.
This week, I will have to configure the large room of our building. It can be split into four different rooms and has up to sixteen different configurations. All of these configurations are controlled with a touch panel mounted to a rack in what will eventually be my office.
I’m not a fan of that space as my office, as it offers no security. Others will need access for the functions of that room. I have spoken with the building manager, and there are other spaces that I will be able to utilize that foot the bill.
The largest thing lingering in my mind at this point is how I will handle all of the responsibilities given to me on this building, with all of the other responsibilities I have still in the other buildings I support on campus? All signs point to hiring an assistant in my eyes. My management says “ticket numbers will tell us if you need one.” It’s hard to make numbers when you are spending half of your days driving between buildings however.
With the pandemic in full force, I cancelled Thanksgiving and Christmas festivities with my aunt and uncle. My uncle said it was the first time in 60 years that he hadn’t came home. They are in their 70’s and I didn’t want to risk their health.
It’s commonly known that this and other coronaviruses can silently spread, as some people can be infected and contagious without even knowing. I have been careful, so has my girlfriend. But my daughter’s back and forth lifestyle finally caught up to us, and her.
I had her for almost a week around Christmas, but not including the day itself. It was that day that she spent with her mother, per our divorce decree.
The day after I returned my daughter to her mom, my ex wife texted me to inform me that her husband had been admitted to the hospital with double pneumonia caused by covid.
I was floored. She went onto say that he had been sick since the 18th of December. I was enraged. I demanded our daughter get a test, as she had obviously been exposed. Her mother refused. I offered to do all of the legwork and get her tested myself, she still kept up her stonewall tactics. Instead of continuing to argue with her, I called my attorney. By the time he called me back, she gave in and scheduled her to get a test.
The results came back, positive.
My daughter hadn’t shown any signs or symptoms of infection, sans a runny nose here and there or a sore throat. After the results came back however, she apparently got sick.
Then we started showing signs and symptoms ourselves. I felt very flu-like, but had no fever. My girlfriend however got what seemed to be a full onslaught of Covid symptoms. It seemed like she could barely breathe, and would get light headed after walking ten feet. We all immediately ordered tests, with all results being negative.
Then, in the middle of the day while sleeping, I heard a scream. It was her daughter. She had fallen down half a flight of stairs in my home. I instantly called 911, with VBFD paramedics responding within a minute. I wasn’t sure if the fall had broken anything or made any of her ongoing spinal issues worse. She spent the day in the ER, where they performed a series of tests. She turned out to be okay physically, but still well in the throngs of symptoms. I was concerned.
It’s been a couple of weeks since those events happened, and while she is still healing, she is significantly better now. I still worry about her though. I still haven’t seen my daughter since the weekend after Christmas. My ex wife started texting me again, and I told her that I want her to get another test before I see her again. She didn’t give much resistance, but still refuses to test her household. I don’t understand.
I miss my daughter, but I will never miss the onslaught of ways in which we have felt due to this exposure.
Last weekend my youngest daughter had a follow-up appointment with the IU School of Optometry about her eyes. They were concerned about her retinas, but hadn’t elaborated as to why. We found out that they were abnormally thin but not giving the usual symptoms. Stating the symptoms are that of someone with “egg shaped” eyes, which she doesn’t have.
Her vision is okay, but she has a prescription for reading and close visual activities at school primarily.
During the exam, they dilated her eyes and then took images of them. While I was not able to get direct copies, I was able to take photos of the photos. Years ago, I was able to take similar photos of my own eyes.
After our visit, they stated that they wanted to have a faculty conference to decide the next steps on the future of her eye health. That in itself frightened me as a parent. She’s only eleven years old, many eye issues cannot be cured sadly. I do not want her to have the weight of such a medical issue so early in life.
However, as someone who works for the IU School of Medicine I felt this issue had past the field of Optometry and entered the world of Ophthalmology. So I reached out to my contacts, receiving a response within an hour. That contact connected me to a Ophthalmologist, who connected me with a pediatric ophthalmologist. I sent the photos above to them.
Their rough diagnosis? Lattice Degeneration of the Retina. I of course started googling my heart out. It apparently happens to between 8 and 10 percent of the population, and can lead to retinal detachment but doesn’t necessarily mean it will happen. They asked I get a referral so records can be officially transferred. As soon as Optometry called me back, I did.
I worry about the future of my little girls eyes, but I feel safe knowing her dad can get the strength of an entire school of medicine behind her. We will have upcoming appointments in Indianapolis.
November 8th I participated in a car rally with my girlfriend’s son. The first time I’ve ever done such a thing. It was called “The Hunt” and there were 110 cars in total, including a Lamborghini Diablo, a Ferrari FF and an Acura NSX.
This rally was a trip from Indianapolis to Cincinnati and back, with detours off the interstate to keep things interesting. I went with 4 other cars from the Bloomington Auto Club, where we met up at 6am.
After a swift drive up to the place where we were staging, the cars started to roll in. We had made it around 8am, and were not set to head out until 10. So we hung out, checked out other cars and after checking in we all had a catered breakfast.
Photo of Lamborghini Diablo, courtesy of Chris Cunningham.
I felt a little embarrassed while we waited. Here I was in a incomplete 32 year old survivor car. Surrounded by vehicles worth more than my own home. I was with car people though, and several came to tell me how happy they were to see a 3rd gen Camaro. One guy even took photos of almost every angle imaginable. My car is of the elder generation now, and the respect it is shown makes me very proud.
The rally was started with a fury like no other. Speed limits didn’t exist. Before I realized it we were out of Marion county. We took an exit off I-74 onto a country road that met back up with I-74. I hit a bump on one corner, which put me in a slide that I was able to control. Tyler was loving every minute of the action.
Meanwhile on the app we were using for the rally, messages of “COPS ARE EVERYWHERE” were being blasted. Apparently our shenanigans had caused the phone lines at many police departments to light up.
Pit stop # 1, photos by Chris Cunningham, merged by me.
As pictured, our first official pit stop was something else. We completely filled up the parking lot in this gas station, with additional cars parked on the side of the highway. If you look closely, you will see my car.
That pit stop lasted about 30 minutes or so. When my fellow BAC members finally decided to take off, I went with them and within 15 minutes it all fell apart.
We were cruising on the interstate at nominal speeds, nothing insane, when I seemed to have lost all power. The engine was still running but driving at speed was impossible. I did not want to stop on the side of the interstate, and so I hobbled along 12 miles to Greensburg, IN. During that 12 miles, the temperature gauge began to spike, the car died once. When I made it to the exit – there was no gas station in sight. So I had to make some evasive and illegal maneuvers to keep the momentum going to make it to a gas station about a mile away.
I got the car parked in a way where it could be towed if needed. I then popped the hood and it began to overheat. So I turned the fans on (a little trick is to turn the AC on with the car off) to do what I could to help it cool. After about 30 minutes, I started the engine. Almost immediately, it sounded like a pop can rattling inside one (or two) of the cylinders. Cylinders 1 or 3 to be exact.
That’s when I knew the course of action. We were done, and the car was not going to move under it’s own power. This was to be the last time I took the car out for the year, and what a way to go out.
Such a sad site
This was meant as a pressure test on the car for an eventual trip to see my family in Oklahoma. My father bought this car in 1988, and none of them have ever seen it in the flesh. I would have had a massive emotional breakdown if it wasn’t for Tyler, my girlfriend’s son. His positive attitude kept me positive through the whole ordeal. The tow bill? $575.
After I contacted my fellow guys in the BAC, I was a little shocked as to what happened not too long after my break down. There was a road block! One of my guys pulled a U turn and got a ticket. There was also apparently LEO’s in the Cincinnati area trying to catch Rally goers. My red Camaro would have been easy to spot from a mile away.
At this point, the probable diagnosis is a broken valve. It could be much worse however. A piston or rod could have had a problem. The head could be warped. The absolute worst case is that the block is damaged beyond repair.
I have ordered a scope to get a look inside the engine and am still waiting on it’s arrival. Once I get that initial diagnosis in, I’ll get a better idea of what direction I have to take. I have no issue rebuilding the top end of the engine with better flowing heads, valves, and to port the intake or find one of those “big mouth” bases for a TPI.
For almost two years, I have been on a journey with other Bloomingtonians to complete something others had tried, but never completed. Over the weekend, we did the thing, and completed it.
The Herald-Times Front Page, 10/16/2020
Three disconnected groups of Bloomington area residents joined forces, doing what they say couldn’t be done. I take no credit for anything major here, but I was involved as much as I could be.
For those reading this who aren’t familiar with the Star Trek universe, Kathryn Janeway was the first Captain of a Star Trek series, Voyager. Her character was born in Bloomington, Indiana. This immediately became a source of pride for trekkies in the area.
The monument and event took place on the B-Line trail, with an immense crowd of fans. So many that it made social distancing almost impossible. I played my typical role of jack of all trades, giving a hand to make sure what needed to be done, was. I’m not fond of the limelight, and prefer to stay out of it as much as possible.
The monument is a bronze bust on a limestone base with an inset stainless steel plate. Beside it is a informational table, that has my name on it twice.
The unveiling setup
Due to the COVID-19 pandemic, we had to lean on live streaming harder than we originally planned for the event. We had some difficulties with the microphones causing echo on the videos we played but otherwise it went well. Later on that day I had checked the stats for the live video, and 16.1k people had viewed it!
Kate Mulgrew has such an infectious smile
We were fortunate that Kate Mulgrew agreed to join us virtually. The event was at 11am but she was in California, where it was 8am. I was so happy to be behind the scenes, where I got these excellent photos of her reactions to this monument of a character she played and is reprising in the new series Prodigy.
If you look closely, you will see my name – twice!
The informational table tells the story of Janeway, and her creator Jeri Taylor who spent her childhood in Bloomington and graduated from Indiana University. The papers in which the Janeway character was created are housed at the Lilly Library. A display of these papers was in the original plan for the unveiling event.
I’m not a fan of pictures of myself, but here I am.
I began the day at 7am, and it was full go until everything ended roughly at 2pm. I was tired, I was exhausted but I was also immensely humbled and fulfilled by the days events. My youngest daughter was there with me to be witness to the event. My eldest joined the live stream, as did one of my aunts in Oklahoma. The next day was my 40th birthday, and this is the best present a guy could have.
My blurb in the booklet
We produced a booklet for the unveiling. I’m unsure of how many were produced exactly, but we ran out of them before the unveiling actually happened. I grabbed four of them because I knew they would go quickly. One of them I gave to Jeremy Hogan, who runs The Bloomingtonian, I gave my girlfriend another. One of them I saved for Steve Volan, who without his connection I would have never been involved in this. I made sure he would be added to the special thanks portion. Leaving one for myself.
We haven’t discussed our long term goals or plans as of yet, I am currently working on a Wikipedia page for the monument, which is currently just a section on the main Janeway page.
