Thirtying Toward Thirty.

302- Love Trumps Royalty

2011-04-01T18:19:00.002-04:00

Romance #4: (Day 64 of 365)

The recent media obsession surrounding the impending nuptials of Prince William and Kate Middleton sort of prompted this post, but Prince William’s romance tale doesn’t even come close to this fellow Windsor relative…

In 1936, King Edward VIII of England’s House of Windsor found himself in love. His royal highness’ heart was cleft in two for both his love of country and woman alike. Although his love for country was faithful, he also loved socialite Wallis Simpson, and he expressed his desire to marry her.

The British government was not amused.

Edward was a divorcee, and his ex wife was still living. English law stated that he was not allowed to remarry if his first wife was still alive, and therefore he could not simultaneously reign as king AND marry Wallis Simpson. His choice was surprisingly simple and romantic…

He gave up the throne for love.

303- Joltin' Joe and Miss Monroe

2011-03-31T19:35:00.002-04:00

Romance Day#3: Day 63 of 365

Hollywood couples are a dime a dozen, and most come with some form of baggage from one party or the other. Joe DiMaggio and Marilyn Monroe's love story certainly fits the mold of being rocky (at best):

Yankee slugger becomes enamored with the sex-symbol “Beauty” of the millennium, Beauty looks past the gapped teeth and agrees to a two year courtship, slugger proposes-- beauty and slugger tie the knot in front of a NY-Justice of the Peace, Beauty does a movie shot exposing her white dress and lady parts to all of America and later gets tangled up with the Kennedys, Andy Warhol and dope (a certain trifecta of doom), Slugger and Beauty divorce after a 9-month marriage.

I can’t say much about Marilyn, but here’s the impressive romantic found within DiMaggio: Even after such a short marriage, Joe and Marilyn remained close friends up until Marilyn’s death. Joe planned the funeral, and for twenty years he had roses delivered to her gravesite three times a week until he himself passed away.

I don’t know if that’s love, but it certainly is romantic.

304- Ken and Barbie

2011-03-30T19:42:00.000-04:00

Romance Day#2: Day 62 of 365

The plastic romance of Barbara Millicent Roberts and her boyfriend Ken Carson is definitely one for the ages. With their creation in the early 1960’s, both have managed to keep their unreal appearance completely authentic and genuine—no Botox, waxing, or boob jobs needed (I suppose being made supremely perfect already helps this cause...).

Although rumors emerged in 2004 that their relationship was on the rocks due to Ken’s non-committal attitude, they have remained an item. Not having Ken and Barbie together would be akin to separating peanut butter from jelly, or banning peanuts from the baseball park. It would simply be un-American.

Un-American, I tell you.

While little girls dream of the Barbie lifestyle, parents shouldn’t be concerned that she’s setting a bad example by dating Ken for over sixty years without tying the knot. Co-habitation? “Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?” It’s a non-issue. Their love is strictly buddy-buddy and platonic. After all, they’re androgynous.

I mean c'mon... have you seen those blank anatomical slates down there?

Here’s to hoping that future generations of young Americans will continue to daydream of Ken and Barbie’s African Safaris, Malibu mansions, and unrealistic endeavors. It’s good to know they can keep La-La land a reality while the rest of us chip away at our woefully average lives.

I know it sure helps me sleep at night...

305- Annie Oakley and Frank Butler

2011-03-29T17:41:00.000-04:00

Romance #1:Annie Oakley and Frank Butler

(Day 61 of 365)

Annie Oakley was a true icon in the Wild West. As a sharpshooting show-woman that travelled the nation showing off her famous trick shooting skills, (remember the mirror shot?) Oakley set the precedent that it was OK for women to showcase their talents in whatever realm they chose. Also, in having impeccable marksmanship, Oakley’s talent set her apart in that she excelled in a predominantly male-centered activity.

Here’s the romance part…

On Thanksgiving Day in 1875, Annie Oakley met Frank Butler—a man she was slated to compete against. She soundly beat him in the shooting competition (shooting a perfect score), and he accepted his defeat… graciously. Rumor has it that the last opponent he expected was 15-year-old Annie, and he was quoted as saying: “I was a beaten man the moment in which she appeared.” They married the following year, and spent over fifty years together.

Annie passed away on November 3rd, 1926, and Frank followed her in death eighteen days later… telling his brother in his last days that he had suffered a “terrible broken heart.”

Love at first shot.

Moving Right Along...

2011-03-28T20:17:00.000-04:00

Here we are at day 60. Although I've made sixty posts, I've fallen behind in the posting-every-single-day routine. Having photographs posted for the second month was a pretty easy excuse to become lax, in that I could really post a bunch at once and not do one each and every day.

If you were a loyal reader during my "good memories" of month one, and were horribly disgusted at my lack of personal discipline during the "photos" of month two, I apologize.

Sort of. :)

Here is where things get tricky. I'm at month three, and I'm on to a new topic that is a bit outside of my comfort zone... romance. That's right, I said it.

Romance.

(Please take an appropriate moment to shudder in displeasure if you must)

Now before you go screaming for the woods in horror, I'm not going to butter you all up with some mushy-gushy stories that Jay and I have been dying to share about our courtship days and random smoochfests. I don't do that.

Ever.

Instead, I thought that it would be nice for me to attempt to work on romance in my own marital life, spare you the sordid details of who kissed whom, or who cut her husband's lunch into tiny heart shapes, etc., and just share some stories of romance that I thought to be pretty neat over the course of history. The romance stories could come from well-known people, or even from members of my own family. No one is safe. I repeat...

No one is safe.

Rest assured, I'm not here to air any dirty laundry or solicit grievances... I'm just here to help us all remember how wonderful it is to love and be loved.

306- Grandpa's Happy Place

2011-03-28T20:02:00.001-04:00

Photo #30 (Day 60 of 365)

The idea for this picture came from my mom. She wanted to have a picture of my grandfather (her dad) trout fishing, and she knew that the time was coming soon when he wouldn't be able to go anymore. She gave my brother the task, and told him to get the picture when he wasn't aware that it was being taken.

Grant obliged, and this proved to be his last fishing trip indeed. I was thankful to have been there that day, and am thankful to have this photo thanks to mom's intuition.

Thanks for the memories, Grandpa.

307- 569 East McDonel Hall- MSU

2011-03-28T19:58:00.000-04:00

Photo #29 (Day 59 of 365)

This is a photo taken by my suitemate Lauren during Fall Semester 2002 at Michigan State. This picture brings back so many memories... working for the State News, living with a South Korean that didn't speak much English, caring for two houseplants named Norman and Edgar, and sharing a bathroom with a Super-Senior who acted like Seinfeld's Kramer.

I don't have many photos from my college dorm days, but this one sure says a lot.

308- Twenty-One.

2011-03-28T19:55:00.000-04:00

Photo #28 (Day 58 of 365)

This photo took place on the weekend of my twenty-first birthday. I received many gifts of 21-items, I air-guitared with grandma's cane, and I couldn't feel my legs. It was a fantastic weekend, indeed.

309- A Thousand Words? You Betcha

2011-03-28T19:52:00.001-04:00

Photo #27 (Day 57 of 365)

They say that a picture is worth a thousand words, and in this case, that saying is accurate. If you know anything about both my patriarchal and matriarchal sides of the family tree, you know that I'm much, much closer to my mom's side of the family, and that my dad's side of the family is polar opposite. That's the truth.

Here's the fun part: if you know anything about literature, you know that light and dark are typically symbolized as forces of good and evil. Now look at the picture.

Look at the colors worn by the adults.

Look at who's smiling.

Look at who's reeling in horror at my infant presence.

Guess which people are on which sides of the family tree... go on... guess!

I'm even making things worse by smiling up at my paternal grandmother who is, well... not pleased.

I love irony.

310- Wish I Could Sleep Like That...

2011-03-28T19:47:00.002-04:00

Photo #26 (Day 56 of 365)

311- Patriotic to the Core

2011-03-28T19:45:00.000-04:00

Photo #25 (Day 55 of 365)

Halloween, circa 1988. That's right, I chose to be Uncle Sam. Thanks, especially to mom for her awesome sewing machine skills!

312- On Target

2011-03-28T19:43:00.000-04:00

Photo #24 (Day 54 of 365)

Shooting at the archery qualifier for ESPN's Great Outdoor Games in Oak Ridge, Tennessee in the spring of 2005. I was outshot by PROS far and wide, but it was an awesome experience, and I don't think I've shot quite as well since...

The tall guy with the camo hat behind me to the right won a TON of events that weekend. It was fun just to watch him.

313- Fishing With Grant

2011-03-28T19:40:00.001-04:00

Photo #23 (Day 53 of 365)

Heading out on Indian Lake with Grant in Grandpa's old boat. Again, simpler times and simpler places...

314- The Trifecta Cleans Up Well

2011-03-28T19:38:00.000-04:00

Photo #22 (Day 52 of 365)

Proof positive that my siblings and I clean up pretty well if the occasion calls for it. 'Twas a great day, indeed.

315- Tiny Timbits

2011-03-28T19:35:00.000-04:00

Photo #21 (Day 51 of 365)

This is taken on the first day I brought Timber home. From day one, he was a handful, but he's such a good buddy. I miss those giant feet and his puppy breath!

316- Captain Wayne-o

2011-03-28T19:33:00.000-04:00

Photo #20 (Day 50 of 365)

I don't know why I like this picture so much. Perhaps it's because of the look on my face. Perhaps it is because it was taken during a simpler time when everything seemed a lot easier. I don't know why, but I like it.

317- Bit By The Backpacking Bug

2011-03-28T19:30:00.001-04:00

Photo #19 (day 49 of 365)

Although it isn't glamorous, this is a great memory... it's my first (of many) backpacking trip. Jay and I backpacked the Presque Isle area of the Porcupine Mountains, and it was a blast.

318- Moonshine In The Backwoods

2011-03-16T21:48:00.000-04:00

Photo #18 (Day 48 of 365)

Photographer Unknown- Circa 1930's in Ontonagon County, MI

There is a lot of history here, and this is why it's a favorite photo of mine. I really like how just looking at the photo shows the age and generation of a time nearly forgotten. What makes it especially interesting to me however, is the fact that my grandfather is in the photo (third from left), and that one of Jesse James' outlaw friends is in it as well (second from right).

The outlaw was hiding out in the U.P. to avoid being tied to Jesse James' gang, and rumor has it that he taught many a-relative about the moonshine business.

You can only guess what's in those bottles...

319- Grandpa's Lap

2011-03-16T21:43:00.001-04:00

Photo #17 (Day 47 of 365)

Photo: Ann Emery 1987

My cousin Josh and I were best buddies growing up. Together, I had the best grandfather, and he had the best great-grandfather ever. Hands down.

320- Breathe Deeply...

2011-03-16T21:40:00.000-04:00

Photo #16: (Day 46 of 365)

Photo: Sarah Hall 2010

I am blessed to live in a place where my grandparents once lived, and to have the joy of caring for their two massive lilacs bushes (trees). Each spring, I am graced with the beauty and majestic fragrance of one of the loveliest, ephemeral flowers known to man.

321- Perfect Day

2011-03-16T21:36:00.000-04:00

Photo #15 (Day 45 of 365)

Photo: Joan Schultes 2006

On this day I married my soulmate.

322- Tranquility

2011-03-16T21:32:00.000-04:00

Photo #14: (Day 44 of 365)

Photo: Sarah Hall 2006

There isn't much special about this photo... other than it reminds me of the grandeur of the Great Lakes, nature in general, and how I feel when I can experience either of them.

Yeah... nothing special at all...

323- This Never Happens

2011-03-16T21:30:00.000-04:00

Photo #13: (Day 43 of 365)

Photo: Denise Bujalski 2006

This was taken on the day after our wedding. Jay is dancing with my mom. Jay hardly ever dances, and the two of them look so happy.

I love them both so much!

324- Autumn Love

2011-03-16T21:27:00.000-04:00

Photo #12: (Day 42 of 365)

Photo: Cindy Milligan 2003

This was one of our engagement pictures. Cindy took them all on MSU's campus in September of 2003. Jay and I were engaged in July, but we wanted fall pictures. This one was taken between Beaumont Tower and the MSU Union. The leaves were beautiful that day. We were so happy and in love.

We still are, and we visit that tree each fall on our return trips to campus for home football games.

What a great memory.

325- Dutch John Trout

2011-03-16T21:23:00.000-04:00

Photo #11: (Day 41 of 365)

Photo: Sarah Hall 2007

Pretty much the perfect day. Good friends, good fishing, and good luck. Two B-E-A-U-T-F-U-L trout that I caught in Dutch John, Utah in June of 2007. The brown measured in at 17 1/2 inches, and the rainbow at just under 19.

Not much beats the sound of a reel screaming on a gorgeous summer day...

326- Tom Never Made It Home

2011-03-16T21:19:00.001-04:00

Photo #10: (Day 40 of 365)

Photo: Chris Stibitz 2005

The turkey assassin of 2005! I was pretty geeked about my first turkey-- 22lb. Tom with a 9 1/2 inch beard and 1 3/4 inch spurs... called him in about 7:18AM in Yankee Springs. He never made it home, and I almost won the "big turkey contest" among the employees that year.

If only he would have had multiple beards, I would have clinched the title!

That's OK. I'm still the Queen of the Forest.

327- Give Me Your Tired, Your Poor, Your Huddled Masses...

2011-03-16T21:14:00.000-04:00

Photo #9: (Day 39 of 365)

Photo: Sarah Hall 1998

I remember that this was actually one of the first few pictures I had taken on my own that I was somewhat proud of showing off to other people. Not a cloud in the sky.

328- VBS 1989

2011-03-16T21:11:00.000-04:00

Photo #8 (Day 38 of 365)

How ridiculous this was. I distinctly remember telling my cousin Beth that I wanted to get my picture taken with her behind this contraption, but that I did not want to be the tiny man. The result? Pure hilarity during Vacation Bible School of 1989.

329- Utah Fishing

2011-03-16T21:07:00.000-04:00

Photo #7: (Day 37 of 365)

Photo: Cindy Milligan 2007

Jay and I trout fishing with Cindy and her family at the Flaming Gorge in Utah in the summer of 2007. Jay looks thrilled!

330- Unhappy Cookies

2011-03-16T21:04:00.000-04:00

Photo #6: (Day 36 of 365)

Photo: Sarah Hall 2003

This is what happened when Jay and I attempted to make our first batch of Christmas cookies together. You get three unhappy gingerbread men (one amputee, one who peed his pants, and one who sat in blue paint), A shot polar bear, a bloody spearhead (Christmas tree), and the letter "J."

By the way, they were delicious.

331- There's A Feather In My Cake

2011-03-16T21:01:00.000-04:00

Photo #5: (Day 35 of 365)

Photo: Joan Schultes

You guessed it. This is our wedding cake. Three differently-flavored tiers decorated with river rocks, ferns, feathers, antlers and trout flies. We received an outstanding number of favorable comments regarding this cake, and our cake lady was even jazzed about making it! Bonus!

332- A Brother/Sister Bond

2011-03-14T22:43:00.001-04:00

Photo #4 (day 34 of 365)

Photo by Denise Bujalski

This photo occurred about three to five hours after the forced touching of the baby. This was well into the evening of my marital shindig, and people were dancing like crazy.

My brother thought it pertinent for us to dance, yet didn't want to put down his cigar and beer. So, being the ever-resourceful person that he is, he said that I could smoke it.

Thoughtful? Yes.

Classy? Youbetcha.

333- A little bundle of (nightmares)...

2011-03-14T22:37:00.001-04:00

Photo #3 (Day 33 of 365)

Photo by Denise Bujalski

My sister was on a roll with the photography surrounding the day of (and after) our wedding. This one comes from the reception/shindig that we threw in marital celebration... and I'm not one to brag, but that was one of the best parties... ever (another story for another day).

The lovely photo here is of my Aunt Marge holding a baby (not sure which one), and her ensuing efforts to get me to touch it. What I especially like about this photo, is my face. I am literally grimacing (and laughing) at the thought of touching a newborn... even an eensie weensie bit.

I have an innate fear of babies. I don't dislike them. I just don't know what to do around them. I'm sure this was a lovely baby, cute, cuddly, and the whole nine yards... I just didn't want to touch it!

If I ever become a mother, this should prove to be very interesting, indeed!

334- Mini Me

2011-03-14T22:27:00.004-04:00

Photo #2- (Day 32 of 365)- Me At Victoria

Family Photo

This photo is simple, really. It's a picture of me in 1986 (I was four), at Old Victoria in the Western U.P. Old Victoria was a mining town in the late 1880's, and all that remains now are some old buildings in a quiet, peaceful place.

I don't remember much about that place, other than it is a reminder of a simpler time in a simpler place--something I strive for, daily.

Again, my sister resurrected this photo a few years back, and gave it to me, with the following words: "you were born with this in your heart."

She's right.

I live for simplicity.

335- Grandma's Hands

2011-03-14T22:21:00.000-04:00

Here starts the second leg of my "thirtying" journey. From February 28th-March 28th, I am planning on sharing thirty of my favorite photos--some taken by me, and others taken by people I love. Regardless, each has a special place in my heart, and I will share the memory with you. Enjoy.

Photo #1 (31 of 365) - Grandma on my Wedding Day

Photo by Denise Bujalski

This photo is very special to me for good reason. It is a strong reminder of a special day and special people in my life. In essence, it's a photo that my sister took of my grandmother holding my marriage license on my wedding day. My sister is really into taking photos of people's hands, and this one says so much. Thank you, Denise.

338-337-336 ("Good Memories" Wrap-Up) - Ridiculous Fears

2011-03-14T22:10:00.002-04:00

Month 1- "Good Memories" Days 28, 29, 30

338- Jiffy Pop

While Jay and I were dating, we discussed a lot of things. We fondly recalled many, many childhood memories, and we soon realized that both of us had spent a great deal of time outside during our younger years. Jay's family camped frequently, and mine travelled to the U.P., where we stayed at the family farmhouse.

Our discussions of camping grew frequent, and I told Jay that I had never actually gone camping. I had been outside for countless hours, I had gone without electricity and running water while at the farmhouse, and I had enjoyed countless campfires, but I had never actually slept outside overnight.

Ever.

This became a running joke with us, and on a shopping trip to Meijer's one weekend, I told him I was curious about Jiffy Pop--that popcorn that comes in a single-use foil-wrapped skillet--an absolute favorite of seasoned campers (at least according to Jay). My intrigue significantly piqued, I spent the $2.18 and bought some.

I took the Jiffy Pop (two pans worth) back to my apartment, and told Jay that I was going to make it right then and there. Deliberating between my fireplace and gas stove, I chose the stove. I figured that it would offer the most even heating option, and I wouldn't have to crouch down to make it.

I removed the outer cardboard wrap and fired up the stove. Jay was extremely amused at this point. I followed the directions to a tee... swirling the foiled contraption over the flames until I could hear the oil hiss and sputter from inside the makeshift pan. Then the popping began.

Did it ever.

It popped with a fury unmatched to any other popcorn I have since made. As it popped, the foil top expanded and steam hissed out of the top opening. With each violent pop, I turned my head in horror out of fear that a blazing kernel would perforate the thin covering and attack me with some sort of bludgeoning malice.

I sincerely feared this popcorn.

Jay rolled with laughter, as I donned two oven mitts, and turned away so cautiously that it appeared I was cooking Jiffy Pop behind my back. Finally, the popping ceased, and I began to breathe again. The nightmare was over.

We opened the foil top, and I soon realized that the popcorn was supremely sub-par, but Jay asserted that the $2.18 entertainment was worth every single penny.

_____________________________________________________________
337- Bathroom Spider

If you know anything about me, you know that I am deathly afraid of spiders. For being so attuned to the outdoors and nature, you'd think that arachnids wouldn't pose much of a threat to me and my psyche, but no dice... I hate the buggers.

Hate. Hate. Hate.

This memory takes me fondly back to college. I was living alone for the first time ever, and I had to learn to do a lot of things for myself.

The back of the apartment butted up to a large woodlot, and as a consequence, there were a lot of critters in that apartment. Chipmunks on the back deck, Squirrels in the bird feeders, and yes... lots and lots of spiders.

Now my fear of spiders is a crippling one. Should I see pretty much any spider, I will freeze out of sheer terror. I can't explain why, really... I just know that there is this innate reaction to stop whatever I am doing, and refuse to move.

Back to the memory...

So one morning, I was getting ready to go to class. I had showered, dressed, and was in the process of brushing my teeth before walking out of the door. Just as I rinsed off my toothbrush, and turned off the faucet, there it was. Humungo-Death spider.

I don't know what kind of spider it was, nor did I care. All I know was that I couldn't move, and this thing was on my bathroom wall. I desparately wanted to kill it, but lacked the inner ability to do so... so I did the next best thing...

I called Jay.

He of course, was on his way to class too, but he said he would stop over later and see if he could find it and kill it before I got home.

Fantastic.

To ensure that the horrid freak of nature wouldn't escape the bathroom, I gingerly turned out the lights, closed the door, and proceeded to shove towels around all of the door openings/cracks. I then placed a giant sign on the door saying: "In here, kill it, kill it now!"

He did. (love!)
_____________________________________________________________
336- LCD of Death

It's odd to think of the types of things that scared you as a child. Some things I never outgrew (heights, spiders, Democrats, you know, the norm...) This one was particularly, odd though...

I was afraid of the red glowing LCD numbers on clock radios in dark rooms.

That's right.

Red glowing numbers.

You heard me.

I used to walk into darkened rooms with my eyes closed, humming a cheery tune, whistling, or even talking to myself--saying positive things out loud to reassure my own conscience from those evil numbers.

Come to think of it, I never really liked math either... correlation perhaps?

I think so.

Updating

2011-03-04T13:38:00.000-05:00

The past two weeks have been pretty busy. Jay and I travelled out of state, and this weekend, I'm enjoying some R & R.

I'm onto the next adventure of "thirtying," and will be transitioning from "good memories" to "photography" soon.

Stay tuned for the catch-up posts that are forthcoming.

I promise.

339 No Swan Diving

2011-02-26T10:27:00.000-05:00

Month 1- "Good Memories" Day# 27

I grew up in a rural area--specifically, an area where farm fields literally surrounded my house. It was quiet, peaceful, and generally a really great place to spend your childhood. In the summer, flowers bloomed and gardens flourished. In the fall, the leaves turned, deer grazed in the fields, and combines whirred in their efforts to remove corn and soybeans from whence they grew. Winter brought with it snowdrifts and icicles-- all things that made for a great outdoor playground.

In the spring, it rained.

It rained, and it rained, and it rained. Then it rained some more. We used to have a poorly culverted area in our backyard, and when it rained so heavily, that area of the yard flooded, and we had our own lake. Similarly, the low spots of the adjacent farm fields would flood. Occasionally, there were acres and acres of flooded areas each spring, and the farmers had to wait until the areas dried prior to planting their crops.

One such spring, a field across the road from my house flooded quite badly. A friend of mine was over at my house for the day and we were bored to tears. There wasn't much on TV, and we had exhausted many of the other options of "fun things to do." As mischievious teenagers, we came up with what we believe to be a fantastic plan-- we decided to go swimming in the field.

We put on regular, old, clothes instead of swimsuits, and walked across the road. We initially began walking into the field, and the sensation was a lot like playing in a mud puddle. I won't lie, either... it was gross. We waded out a ways and found that the field was actually a couple of feet deep with water. Actually enough to swim. We splashed around as we normally would have in a lake or swimming pool, and laughed at how disgusting the situation was.

Oh. My. Was. It. Ever. Disgusting.

When we would partially submerge our heads, and then lift them out of the water, a brown film clung to our faces and necks. My friend referred to them as "poop beards." It was so gross. So, so, very gross. Eventually, we had our fill of fun, and walked back home. Once there, my mother refused to let us into the house, and we had to rinse off with the garden hose in the front yard.

Our choice of wearing old clothes was wise, for every bit of clothing that we had worn was stained a permanent mud color. It was extremely disgusting, and yet we were laughing the whole time. There was clumps of mud and sticks in our hair, and we were freezing cold. I think when we finished in the front yard, we ended up taking multiple showers that day.

It was gross, but fun.

340- Ohio

2011-02-26T09:58:00.000-05:00

Month 1- "Good Memories"- Day# 26

This "memory" is a recent one, in that it occurred yesterday.

Jay and I are big fans of stand-up comedy. Occasionally, we go to see stand-up near home, but quite often big name acts do not make it to our neck of the woods and we must resort to TV, DVD's or audio to enjoy some good laughs from these people. One of our favorite comedians is Jon Reep, winner of season 5 of Last Comic Standing, and the "Hey, that thing got a HEMI?" guy.

We recently found out that he was going to be playing a show in Ohio, and figured that it would probably be the closest show we could see to actually seeing one in Michigan, so we decided to go. There's just one caveat...

I hate Ohio.

I've always hated Ohio. I really don't know any specific reasons, why... it just usually seems that whenever I'm travelling to or through Ohio, nothing goes right. Yesterday held true to form.

We left our house in Michigan mid-morning, and made our trek south. Apparently we had missed a morning snow storm around and south of Detroit, so that was actually part of the game plan--leave later, avoid snow--you know how it is. Nearing the Michigan/Ohio border at about 1:30pm, we casually joked about how much Ohio was inferior to Michigan. After all, in our minds, we live in the best state in the Union.

We crossed the border, and NO LIE-- within 3 miles, we faced bumper-to-bumper traffic. Apparently we had hit the "snow belt" from the overnight storm, and the large accumulations of slush had caused a wreck on the highway. Our trusty (borrowed) GPS re-routed us safely and accurately, and we resumed our trek south on I-75.

A few miles down the road, I wondered if I had forgotten anything at home. Such a thought is pretty common when leaving for an overnight or an extended vacation, but then horror struck. I did leave something at home--a prescription medication.

Great.

Jay said that since I get my meds filled at a local Wal-Mart pharmacy back home, all we should have to do would be to locate another Wal-Mart in Ohio, explain the situation, and get a refill. It sounded simple enough, really, and as we continued southward, we looked off of the highway for Wal-Mart signs. We finally located one outside of Toledo, and we decided to try it.

Leaving the expressway was pretty treacherous. It appeared as if the area had received AT LEAST a foot of snow overnight, and that the quickly rising temperatures had turned the quantity of snow into a giant mess of slush. None of the on/off ramps to the expressway had been plowed, and we literally crawled into town.

We located the Wal-Mart, and went in to explain the situation. The pharmacy tech at the counter said that it was possible, and then attempted to locate our Michigan Wal-Mart in her computer. Apparently it didn't exist. We told her the road that it was on, the county, city, etc., and she simply could not find it. Finally, I decided to call *411 (information) on my cell phone, and I was able to retrieve the store's phone number for her.

She wouldn't call it.

I don't know if it was a matter of personal pride, or what, but she looked at the phone number that I had scribbled down for her as if it was a piece of garbage. Eventually, the pharmacist intervened, and was able to find the information that she needed to fill my prescription. I handed over my Michigan driver's license and insurance card, and we were told to come back to the pharmacy area in a few minutes.

We returned, only to have the pharmacy tech tell me that if they filled my prescription in Ohio, it would essentially "kill" the prescription, and that further refills could not be re-transferred back to Michigan. Apparently, there was a new law enacted on January 1st in Ohio that limits patients to only transferring prescriptions to pharmacies once. Upon returning home, I would have to call my doctor's office to get another prescription. We were then told to wait again.

Fine.

Finally, the "cheerful" pharmacy tech summoned me to the counter and said, "Usually you get three months filled, right? Well, we only have one month." I told her that that would be fine, and that I just wanted the script filled--we had to get back on the road. She then dropped her final bombshell in saying, "Um, your insurance can't be verified until tomorrow. If you want the medication, you'll have to pay full price for it."

I simply smiled at her and said, "You're killing me here, OHIO!" She laughed, and then informed me that a single-month of the prescription would cost as much as four months worth would have back home. I said I'd pay it, just to get out of there. The script was filled, and as we walked out, I looked over at the pharmacy tech, and told her, "You should come up and visit the state of MICHIGAN some time. It's swell."

At least she laughed.

I thought the ordeal was over, and that we could go about our merry way, but as we resumed our journey back to I-75 south, a semi swiftly passed us in the left lane, hit a 50 foot long, 12"-high swath of muddly slush and promptly proceeded to turn my pickup truck into a giant, dirty snowcone.

I hate Ohio.

341 DNR Prankster

2011-02-21T21:08:00.000-05:00

Month 1- "Good Memories" Day# 25

On another trout fishing excursion, Dad and I went up to the AuSable river on the last Saturday in April (trout opener) in 1997. The river was pretty busy with trouters that day, and we both braved the freezing water to get in on the fun. About mid-morning, a bunch of the locals had died off, and there were only a few of us left on the river. The sun had come out, and I had two nice legal rainbows in my creel. Dad had left an hour or so before to take a nap in the vehicle, and I was about ready to quit for the day. I reeled in my fly, broke down my rod, and fastened my wader loops for the trek upstream.
In a few minutes, I found the bank where I had descended into the water, and made my ascent through the woods back up to the truck. About fifty feet from the water, I was stopped by a Michigan Conservation Officer. He politely asked for my license, and said that he had received a tip of a female fishing downstream, and keeping too many fish. I didn't know what to say. I knew that I hadn't broken the law, but I also knew that I was freaked out by the accusation. I provided the C.O. with my license, and shakily opened up my creel for him to see. He looked at the license, and then laughed out loud.

Apparently, he had been a roommate with my brother at the DNR academy, and having recently talked to him, he knew to keep a look-out for Dad and I on the river--just to get our blood racing. It worked.
He told me to enjoy my fishing, and to tell my brother hello for him.

Oh, I told him hello. :)

342 - Grandma Speaks "Bear"

2011-02-21T21:05:00.000-05:00

Month 1- "Good Memories" Day# 24

As long as I can remember, I've loved to go trout fishing. Even when I was little, I'd accompany my grandparents, parents, aunts, uncles, siblings, and cousins (or anyone who would take me) to various trout "honey holes" throughout the western Upper Peninsula of Michigan.

The next two "memories" will stem from these adventures.

When I was about eight, I remember sitting with my grandmother on the bank of the "Two Mile" in Ontonagon County fishing for brookies. Dad and Grandpa had gone further upstream to fish some other holes, and the two of us were left behind. We had been there about an hour, when Grandma looked at me and silently gave me the "shush" finger to her lips. She then pointed across the bank, about 60 yards away.

The pines rustled and soon after, through the weeds, an adult black bear came lumbering along the bank. The bear was a little too close for comfort, and since it was coming in our direction, Grandma simply looked at it, and said: "Go away bear. You go away now." And you know what?

It did. It turned around and went back from whence it came.

I don't remember what (or even if) we caught any trout that day. All I remember is that I went home thinking that my grandmother could communicate with black bears.

I'm glad that she did.

343- Houdini Dog #3

2011-02-20T13:00:00.001-05:00

Month 1- "Good Memories" Day# 23

(Timber's escape stories- 3 of 3)

This memory is by far the most impressive of all of Timber's escape stories.

We had been "home" for two years, and Timber had gotten used to his surroundings. He liked (and still does like) the fenced-in backyard, where he could run freely-- he would often chase rabbits, squirrels, birds, and the occasional neighbor cat. He loved being outside.

It was fall, and while we were home over the weekend, we had a new front storm door put in. The old wooden one was hollow, drafty, and not the most energy-efficient thing. The new metal door that went in was a lot sturdier, too. We purchased the door, as well as a new knob and lockset. Apparently, however the man who installed the lockset told us that the knob that we had purchased was no compatible with the door, and we would have to exchange it. He said that he would put the "old knob" on the door as a temporary fix until we could get the new one, and we agreed. The old knob only had an interior "button type" lock mechanism on the knob itself, and wouldn't work with the new deadbolt. We figured that this would be acceptable for only a day or so.

We were wrong.

The next day was a Monday, and Jay and I went off to work as usual. At 3:18 (the exact moment that my school dismisses students), my classroom phone rang. It was Jay. He never calls me, so I knew something was wrong. He said that he had gotten home from work, and he hadn't even gotten into the driveway yet, when he noticed that the front door was open, and that Timber was gone.

I asked if he thought we were robbed, and he said he didn't think so, but that he was going to go search for the dog. I left work right away, and said I'd be home to help look. I called Mom, and she came over to stay at the house, just in case a neighbor called, or someone came by with him. After all, nearly everyone in the neighborhood knew (and liked) Timber.

I came home, and noticed that Jay's car was half in the driveway, and half on the road. He had stopped the car right there, called me, and then shut the front door. I got in the truck, and began driving around town. Jay hadn't told me where he was going to look around for him, so I didn't know where he had gone already. All I knew was that he was searching for Timber on foot.

Driving around town, I called out the truck window for Timber, and whistled. He usually came to my whistling, and Jay couldn't whistle at all. No dice. I drove up and down the various blocks, and saw no sign of him. Finally, I drove down a street that ran parallel to our own street and backyard, and when I reached the end of it, something made me stop. The street butted up to a soybean field that ran for acres before reaching a stand of woods about a quarter mile away. Near the treeline, I saw a blob of orange and white zig-zagging through the beans.

It was Timber.

I stopped the truck on the shoulder of the street, and ran out into the bean field. I called out his name, whistled to him, and walked toward where he was. He ran a little ways toward me, stopped, sat, and stared at me. He was only about 25 ft. away, when he decided that running would be more fun. After all, he loves being chased, and playing keep away. There was no way I was going to catch him.

He decided to run straight away from me, through the bean field, until it met up with a standing corn field. I sincerely hoped that he wouldn't go into the corn, because if he had, I wouldn't have been able to see him at all. Sure enough, this was where he headed... as fast as he could run. He got to the edge of the corn, and then immediately stopped, turned, and ran full-speed for the main road.

I panicked.

It was fall harvest season, and many neighboring farmers were busy harvesting sugar beets and beans. Semis were running rampant day and night up and down this road, and I didn't want Timber to get hit. I ran back to my truck, and floored it toward the main road. I was going 60mph in a matter of seconds, and Timber was matching my pace. It was crazy. I finally caught up to him.

I stopped the truck, got out, and whistled to him. He was filthy and panting. He stared at me from across a 25' wide, 30' deep drainage ditch, and I knew that if I said "want to go for a ride?" he'd come through the ditch, and meet me at the truck. I did just that, and down he went into the ditch--through the green muck and filth that lay at the bottom of it, and came up the other side, dripping, smelling, filthy and foul.

I grabbed his collar. I had him.

Now, there was no way I was going to put him into the cab of the truck smelling like that, so I put him in the bed of the truck and drove off--hoping he'd stay there for the half mile ride home. We got about ten feet, before I saw him in the rear-view mirror trying to jump out of the truck bed.

I was livid.

I stopped again, reached behind the seat of the truck, and grabbed two tarp tie-down straps. There, I attached one end of each strap to Timber's collar, and the other to the cargo loops in the truck bed. He wasn't going anywhere after I held him in like a motorcycle!

We got home, I put Timber in the backyard, and then went outside. Mom and I were talking to one of the neighbors about Timber's little adventure, and we figured out that he had stood on the coffee table by the front wall, stood up to the doorknob, pawed at the knob to unlock the button mechanism, and then used his mouth to turn the knob (there were teeth marks around it). It was unbelieveable.

We talked about this out on the sidewalk for about ten minutes, when the neighbor lady looked down the road and said to me, "isn't that your husband?" I looked, and sure enough, it was Jay-- a quarter mile down the road.

I got in the truck, and went to pick him up. He got in and said,"What the hell was that? You left me like a lost survivor!" I said that I didn't know that he was out that way, and he then proceeded to tell me that when I first saw Timber out in the field, he had been on the edge of the cornfield--hoping to keep Timber out of the corn as well. I just hadn't seen him back there, and when Timber ran toward the corn, he was also running away from Jay, thus turning him toward the road, where I met up with him.

He said that when I put the dog in the bed of the truck, he was waving his arms and screaming for me to hear him. I never did, and instead drove off. It wasn't ideal, but we all got home safely, and to this day, our front door has a baby-proof knob on it.

Timber isn't escaping this house again-- at least not until he can grow some thumbs.

344- Houdini Dog #2

2011-02-20T12:25:00.000-05:00

Month 1- "Good Memories" Day# 22

(Another tale of Timber's escape efforts)

Shortly after getting married, and moving "home," we were uncertain how Timber would react to the new surroundings of living in a new place, and we didn't want him to have "free reign" of the house when both of us were at work. Having researched some of the better methods of training a dog, we decided that it was time for Timber to get a crate (kennel).

At first, we put his kennel in the office, but we didn't want him to scratch the wood flooring in there, so we moved it upstairs. Each day, before going to work, we fed and watered Timber, took him outside, and then put him in his (pretty large) crate to stay calm and collected while we were at work.

Yeah, right.

It only took him about one week to out-smart us. Being hard-headed in more ways than one, Timber used his head as a battering ram, and slammed his head against the door of the kennel over and over and over again. Eventually, the welds that held the door latch on, broke... and he could get out. When we got home, there he was, happy and elated to greet us at the door.

We fixed the door latch on the kennel, and secured the entire door with metal carabiner clips. We figured he couldn't break those, and well, we were right. He couldn't. However, we underestimated his desire to be free, and didn't think he would work on busting out of another "wall" of the kennel.

Silly us.

We resumed kennelling him each morning, and this time it took about two weeks. He used his head to break the entire top row of welds that held the side wall in place. Once the welds were free, he threw himself against the wall until it bent outward,and he could climb out.

It's hard to say whether he--or us-- was more stubborn, for over the course of the whole next year, he broke his way out of three different kennels--bigger, smaller, stronger, square barred-- it didn't matter. You couldn't hold him in.

We gave up, and chanced that he would be fine in the house. For the most part he is, but to this day, you can't say the word "kennel" without him staring daggers at you.

345- Houdini Dog #1

2011-02-20T12:13:00.000-05:00

**I've been a bit behind--so you're getting the "catch up" posts today... :)

Month 1- "Good Memories" Day# 21

Ever since I've gotten Timber, it's been quite evident that he didn't like to be caged, tethered, or constrained by any means. He did everything in his power to tell me (and Jay) that he was a free spirit, and once we quit trying to keep him under wraps, he's actually a much better dog. The next few posts will discuss Timber's attempts to teach us these things... :)

The first time I learned Timber was a Houdini dog (fan of esacape) was when I lived on the third floor of an apartment complex in Grand Rapids. I had only had Timber for 6 months or so, and he was a handful. Whenever Jay would come over, we'd take Timber out behind the apartment complex on the running trail, or to the local park, and we'd let him run free. He loved that. He had so much energy.

So. Much. Energy.

One day, I came home from class, and the neighbor lady on the bottom floor stopped me in front of the building. She asked if I had an orange and white dog, and when I told her that I did, she asked if he was "OK."(Her "OK" came out as if to mean, "is he mentally-challenged") I asked her to elaborate on what she meant, and her explanation left me horrified.

Apparently, Timber had been running head-first into my bedroom window, in the hopes of escaping the apartment. Had he been successful, he would have smashed through plate-glass and falled three stories to the ground below. He didn't get that, or at the very least, didn't care.

Yeah, he's that kind of dog.

Immediately, I noticed his plan of attack. He had been running full-speed down the hallway, launching himself onto my bed, then up onto the nightstand, and then full-force onto the outside window. I'm really surprised that he wasn't successful, but thankful at the same time.

The bed and nightstand were moved to the opposite wall, and Timber quit trying to escape by throwing himself at the outside window. If I only had known that this was the tip of the iceberg in terms of his escape attempts...

346- Lost In Translation

2011-02-18T12:03:00.001-05:00

Month 1- "Good Memories" Day# 20

When I was a sophomore at MSU, I had signed up to room with one of my high school friends in an east campus dorm. Long story short, she bailed on me (on two different occasions, to be exact), and I ended up having to "go in blind" with a roommate. Fun.

During the summer, I had moved back home, picked up a summer job, and eagerly awaited my return to campus in the fall. One day, I received a letter from MSU housing stating who my new roommate would be.

Ye-Seong Kim. South Korea.

This was going to be interesting. Usually, MSU will give you the phone number of your roommate so you can call them ahead of move-in, and work out arrangements for personal items/habits/ground rules, etc. before school starts. That would have been ideal, but no. No phone number. I was going to have to wing this one.

Since I was still working for The State News at the time, I got to move in to campus early. That was a perk in and of itself--no having to fight for parking spaces, elevator wait times, crowded hallways, etc. For a whole week, I had 569 East McDonel Hall to myself. It was glorious. The following Monday, however, all bets were off.

The door opened, and in walked a super petite South Korean girl. She appeared to be about 12 years old, but was actually 19. She had a suitcase, two large shopping bags, and a box. I was polite, said hello, and asked her if she wanted the top or bottom bunk. She had no idea what I was saying. It was unreal.

After a few minutes of pointing at one another and our things, we sort of figured out a plan. She wanted me to have the top bunk--why, I'll never know... I was two and half times her size, and if I was her, I would not want me sleeping on the top bunk! Still, I moved my things up top, and left for work. She was left to put her things away.

Over the course of the next few days and weeks, our conversations grew--albeit minutely--day by day. I learned that she was at MSU to learn English, and was therefore enrolled in a one-year immersion English-As-A Second-Language (ESL) program. I also learned that she thought Jay was freakishly tall, and that would she go away everytime I played Ted Nugent music. It was interesting, to say the least.

Occasionally, her parents would call--in the middle of the night--and I would usually hear the phone first, crawl out of bed, answer it, and when they knew it was me on the phone and not Ye-Seong, they'd hang up. What a joy that was at 3AM.

The language barrier was pretty severe, but we made do. Whenever I was at work or class and Ye-Seong had something to tell me, she would leave me a note written in highlighter on either a pastel or Hello Kitty Post-It note. She always used her pocket translator, and sometimes Korean words didn't quite translate to American English as they should. Still, I always figured out what she needed to tell me, and there wasn't an issue.

As fall progressed, I noticed that a large amount of Japanese beetles (similar to ladybugs) were frequenting the dorm. The back of our building butted up to a large wooded area, and when the temperatures dipped, the bugs sought out the warmth of our building. Essentially harmless, they just crawled around, and died in inconvenient places. I didn't think it was a big deal.

Apparently, Ye-Seong did.

I came home one day after class, and stuck to my computer monitor, was a pink pastel Post-It note, written on in blue highlighter--true to Ye-Seong fashion. I didn't think much of it, I just picked it up, and read it. Immediately, I began laughing. She had drawn a crude picture of a ladybug on the note followed up with this message:

Sarah-

Many thing (arrow pointing to ladybug picture) crawls on your windows.
Contact authorities.

-Ye-Seong.

I understood that she just wanted me to call for maintenance to take care of the bugs, but to this day, I get a kick out of "authorities."

Call the cops! We've got lots of freaking bugs in here!

347 Celebrity Encounter #2

2011-02-17T20:41:00.001-05:00

Month 1- "Good Memories" Day# 19

In an earlier post, I alluded to my first celebrity encounter while a student at MSU. Now granted, Ralph Nader really isn't a celebrity--at least not of "Snookie" or Brad Pitt fame--but I'll take it and chalk it up in the "win" column nevertheless.

Today's post reminisces of another brush with a political legend (of sorts) while at Michigan State, and just for your reading pleasure, today's memory goes just a tad higher up on the scale of impressiveness.

Maybe. :)

Rewind to 2002. I am no longer working at The State News. I figured out that I didn't want to be a life-long journalist, and I had successfully had my fun as a columnist and copy-editor. This wasn't the life for me, and I moved on to another job--working as a student supervisor for the MSU Union. Out of all of the jobs that I have had in my life thus, far, this is up there with being a favorite...

Being a Student Supervisor was a pretty sweet gig. I helped out at the Union stores, sold sweatshirts, stocked soda in the giant cooler, made graduation announcements, sold commencement regalia (caps and gowns), and the best of all-- did my homework and got paid for sitting around. It seemed as if all of the workers got along really well together, and there wasn't any drama. It was the ideal work environment for a college student, and to this day, I still go back to visit my former bosses on home football Saturdays.

Anyway...

One day in the spring of 2002, our "Spartan Spirit" store was bustling with faculty and soon-to-be-graduates that showed up for measurements and caps and gowns. The undergrads were pretty easy to deal with, but the more advanced the degree--generally the more irritating the customer. Some of the PhDs were nice, but if I had to lump them all into one category, it would be "arrogant and annoying." J.D's were up there too, as were the M.B.A. guys from Troy.

I digress.

Business was hoppin'. Folks were ready to graduate, and we were the "official" place on campus to get everyone rigged up for walking during commencement. This also placed a certain level of responsibility on us to dress the university president, provost, all of the trustees, and the guest speaker. Up until a few weeks prior to spring commencement of 2002, we still didn't know who the guest speaker was going to be.

Well, I walked into work one day, and my boss stopped me in my tracks and began to pepper me with some very personal questions.

"What's your social security number? What town were you born in? What's your mother's maiden name? Do you have any aliases?"

Immediately, I thought this was a joke. She was a pretty funny person, and I played along.

"I'm not telling you any of that information. You just aren't privy to such juicy, informative tidbits!"

She frowned. She wasn't joking.

"You have to answer those questions, we need to get you FBI clearance."

What?

She went on to explain that Vice President Dick Cheney was slated to be the guest speaker at commencement, and seeing as how we were the place on campus that outfitted the rest of the "powers-that-be", we were to outfit him as well. Knowing this information, the Secret Service had informed our store that two people were allowed to be in the VP's presence and help aid him in being properly attired for his speaking engagement. The two people were to be us.

Holy _____. She wasn't kidding.

I coughed up said information, and we were given measurements for VP Cheney by the White House. Height, weight, chest size, arm length, etc. All in all it was a pretty standard order, with the exception of one thing. The White House would not tell us the Vice President's hat size. Apparently, it was a matter of national security.

Really? His freaking hat size?!!

We did what anyone else in the situation would do... we guessed. We ordered three different hats (all to the tune of over $100 apiece), a lavish honorary doctoral gown with purple velvet bars, and waited for commencement day. Honestly, we were pretty geeked about it. Cheney was going to be stylin'.

The morning of commencement arrived, and I loaded up all of the trustee, president, provost and Cheney gowns into an MSU van, and we drove to the Breslin Center. We drove into the tunnel, and unloaded our things into a back hallway--literally into a room the size of a broom closet. It was just like any other commencement, with the exception of one thing. We had FBI clearance, the Secret Service were there, and the windows of the "broom closet" were blacked out.

Wow.

The trustees and the other MSU regulars were pretty well set. They attended big commencements each spring and winter, and this was old hat to them. They dressed in no time--most of them out in the main hallway. As I fluffed out the wrinkles on the back of Trustee Nugent's green gown, my boss called to me...

"Time to dress the V.P."

I won't lie. It was a pretty nerve-wracking experience. My boss and I stepped into the broom closet. She held the gown, I held the three boxes of hats. Cheney entered, followed by two Secret Service agents. They had earbuds and black suits, but no sunglasses.

I was minorly disappointed.

My boss unzipped the gown, and Cheney stepped into it. She zipped him up the front, and worked on attaching the hood to the front clip, and properly opening it in the back. Then she motioned to me to get out his hat.

I opened the first box. My boss looked at his head, and then at the box, and her body language told me the hat was too small. Onto the second box. Same story. I hoped that the third box was indeed the charm, and I plucked the velvet tam out and held it in my hands. My boss busied herself with fluffing out the velvet on the gown, and smoothing out any last minute wrinkles. I felt sort of useless, so I spoke up.

"Which hat is going to be worn?"

No one answered. I really hadn't addressed anyone, I just hoped for an answer. No dice... so I asked again?

"Mr. Vice President, which hat would you like to wear?"

Again, no answer. Hmm. Perhaps he was hard of hearing... I picked up two of the hats and took ONE step toward Cheney. Immediately, both Secret Service agents took a step toward me, and one looked me squarely in the eye and said,

"Mr. Cheney will not be wearing a hat today, ma'am."

I'll admit, that was a pretty insane moment, and I wasn't going to be taken down by two ripped Secret Service guys, all in the hopes to get the V.P. to wear a hat. I'm a pretty gung-ho Republican, and even I wasn't going to make a stupid move such as forcing Cheney to wear a hat. Forget that! Instead, I took a step backward, dropped the hats into their respective boxes, and simply said, "OK."

Cheney kind of gave me a look as if to say, "tough luck, kid" and went out into the hallway and on to his speaking engagement. To this day, I bet there's an FBI red flag next to my name in some governmental record-- just for attempting to make a Vice President wear a hat.

That's OK.

It makes for a pretty good story.

(And here's the picture as proof!)

348- Imaginary Friends

2011-02-15T21:02:00.001-05:00

Month 1- "Good Memories" - Day# 18

I have always had a pretty active imagination, and nothing really exemplifies that more than this story/memory...

Circa 1986. I'm four. I'm into all things related to Oscar the Grouch, my brother's dog, Susie, and my Braveheart Lion Carebear. It was a pretty swell life, let me tell you. The icing on the cake, however, had to be my two imaginary friends, Jimmy and Duke. Little kids often have imaginary friends, but mine were far from ordinary.

Jimmy was my age. I don't remember much about what he looked like, other than he had shaggy black hair and he always wore a black and red wide-striped sweater. While he was the key player in my pair of imaginary friends, the imaginative part comes with the other friend, Duke--Jimmy's elder brother. Duke was tall, dark, handsome, and he drove a red convertible. Jimmy wanted Duke to date my sister, but there was one caveat:

Duke was in prison.

I don't know why Duke was in prison, but I do remember actively imploring my sister to date him. I talked Duke up a great deal--about the car, about his impending parole date, his looks, etc. No dice. I guess it all worked out in the end, though.

Duke ended up trying to escape, and he's currently serving 40-60 years in the federal pen.

349 Unplugged

2011-02-13T12:43:00.000-05:00

Month 1- "Good Memories" Day# 17

I am in love with the wilderness, the outdoors, and all things related to nature.

This past summer, I hiked a portion of Isle Royale National Park with my sister-in-law, and one of her friends from work. It was awesome. There is something to be said for unplugging from the hustle and bustle of life, getting back to your roots and embracing simplicity.

I love doing this.

Nothing keeps you grounded quite like having a face-to-face encounter with a mother moose and her calf, clinging to the hope that potable water will appear at your next stop, or being self-sufficient enough to survive in the wilderness on your own. It's an incredible feeling, really.

The memories of that trip are still quite fresh in my mind, and it's rare that I would turn down the chance to have loons lull me to sleep. It's really something to behold, and so often, it's the simple things that bring me the most joy.

Thoreau was on to something when he said: "Our lives are frittered away by detail. Simplify, simplify, simplify!"

Well done, Ma Nature. Well done, indeed.

350- Good Morning?

2011-02-12T17:57:00.000-05:00

Month 1- "Good Memories" Day# 16

At the old school where I used to teach, the principal would stand out in the foyer each morning and greet the students as they arrived to school. It was a genuinely nice thing to do, and the impressive factor here was that the principal addressed each student by name. Although a small school, a couple hundred high schoolers showed up each morning, and he could remember who each student was.

During my first hour class of my first year of teaching, I had a hearing impaired student in class. She was a riot. She taught me some cool ASL "signs" for things that I was interested in--hunting and fishing--and she thought it was hilarious when I "sighted" in the sign for hunting each and every time that I made it. I also became very good friends with her interpreter, and we remain friends today.

Anyway, one day the student comes to class, and I can overhear her discussing something with her interpreter. This discussion was followed by a giant outburst of laughter, and immediately I wanted to know what was going on.

Apparently, each morning for a month or so, the principal was saying what he thought was "good morning" to my hearing impaired student. In fact, the sign that he was making toward her did not say "good morning," but instead he was looking in her direction and signing: "Czechoslovakia!"

Classic.

351- Best Job Ever

2011-02-11T22:47:00.001-05:00

Month 1- "Good Memories" Day# 15

I am in love with Michigan's Upper Peninsula. I don't even try to hide the fact anymore. Truly, if jobs were plentiful in the region, and we wouldn't miss our family so much, we'd live there in a heartbeat.

No. Question. Whatsoever.

Alas, we live in the Lower Peninsula, and plan frequent trips north--mostly to keep me satiated and sane. On our last trip north, I reached an epiphany.

Bear with me here...

My epiphany is that if I ever get to a point in my life where I don't need a well-paying job to function, yet still need something to occupy my time, I know of the perfect job for me. It will keep me interested, busy, and entertained all at the same time. It's ideal.

I will work for the Mackinac Bridge Authority as a toll booth collector.

C'mon, it's perfect. I get to sit ON the Mackinac Bridge for at least 8 hours each day. As a perk, I get to sit at the NORTH end of the bridge. So close to God's country, and yet just far enough away to keep me at a constant level of excitement--knowing that I could be there in less than 5 minutes. The best perk though, comes with the job itself (the money collecting portion of the job is trivial).

If you notice toll booth operators, they do two things. 1. Collect money, and 2. greet the drivers/passengers. This second part is the cream filling to the Twinkie, in that if I were a toll booth collector on the Mighty Mac, I could constantly share my love for the U.P. with everyone that comes or goes my way.

It's simple, really.

Cars travelling north on I-75 to head over the bridge and into the Upper Peninsula (a.k.a. "God's country"), would get the following greeting from me:
(excitedly screaming) " YOU'RE ABOUT TO HEAD INTO THE BEST PLACE ON EARTH! CONGRATULATIONS!!!!"

If by some unfortunate chance I happen to greet cars coming from the U.P. and headed south on I-75 into the Lower Peninsula, I wouldn't hesitate to remind the drivers/passengers of their sheer luck at having visited the best place on earth.
(dejected face) "IT'S ALL DOWNHILL FROM HERE. THINGS JUST AREN'T AS GOOD DOWN THERE. Have a nice day, I guess."

The memory of this epiphany comes back often, and that's really saying something.

Gosh, do I love that place.

352 - Beginner's Luck

2011-02-10T22:12:00.001-05:00

Month 1- "Good Memories" Day# 14

When I was in high school, I worked at a local farm store in my hometown. At that same store, I worked with a lady named Diane who was our shipping and receiving manager. Diane was funny. She worked hard, smoked like a chimney, and loved to visit the casino.

I had recently turned 18, and Diane offered to take me for my "first trip" to the casino. Now don't get me wrong, but I'm not a big gambler. Still, I set aside $20 for the trip, and took her up on her offer. One Saturday afternoon, we met up and drove to the local casino.

Immediately upon walking in the doors, I had my ID checked. While the ID was being scrutinized, I was amazed at how many slot machines and table games existed, and the buzz of mechanical music and change clinking onto metal. I could see how people could get hooked on such an experience.

Diane said that she had to use the restroom, and said I should probably sit down next to a bank of slot machines and wait for her. I did just that, and seated myself at a bank of five machines against the back wall of the casino. A stereotypical 60-ish woman was sitting adjacent to me, and smoking profusely. The whole initial experience was awkward.

Sitting there and waiting seemed pointless unless I was doing something, so I started putting quarters into the machine in front of me. It was a quarter slot machine, and I put three quarters into the slot and pulled the handle. Nothing. I did it again. Nothing. I did it again. It stopped, and the "fix it" light on the top lit up.

I didn't know what to do. I thought that I had broken the machine, until my chain-smoking neighbor glanced over, with eyes opened wide, and said: "You better not move honey, I think you won."

"I don't think I won," I replied "the machine isn't making noise or doing anything."

Still I didn't move. After all, I had only been seated for approximately one minute, and my friend Diane was still in the restroom. I wasn't going to leave the seat.

A worker came over and asked to see my ID. At this point, I started shaking. He said, "I wouldn't be shaking at pulling out my ID, I'd be shaking over how much money I won if I were you." That was just the thing.

I had no idea how much I had won.

The worker checked over the ID, and asked me to follow him. I was hesitant to do so, but seeing as how this was my first trip to the casino, I didn't want to break any of the rules. I followed him into the back room. There, he asked me some questions, and handed me a tax form to sign. I knew in my mind that I only had to sign a tax form if I won over $1200. This informed me that I had won at least that much, but no exact number.

I then followed the worker to the cashier's cage, where the woman behind the counter began counting out hundred dollar bills in neat little rows. It still hadn't set in. She counted out twenty-two of them.

22.

Hundred.

Dollars.

I put the money in my pocket and walked back to the machine where I had won. The third pull had been a charm. While I was gone, Diane had returned from the restroom, and had wondered where I had gone. I told her that I won a bunch of money, and she thought I was joking. I told her I wasn't. I asked to go out to her car. There, I showed her all 22 hundred dollar bills. She went out of her mind. I put the money in her glove compartment, and we went back in for half an hour.

I didn't spend another dime. All in all, I came home with $2217.75. I had only spent $2.25.

Beginner's luck.

353 - A Modest Proposal

2011-02-09T21:39:00.000-05:00

Month 1- "Good Memories" Day# 13

If you know Jay and I, we're pretty no-fuss, no-muss kind of people. We are who we are, we do what we do, and we don't change our ways for any old reason. All in all, it's a pretty fabulous way of going about life.

We started dating on December 31st, 2000 (and that is another story for another day). From the get-go, we had a fun and relaxing relationship. We never had to "try hard" to live up to certain standards, or act fake to meet expectations. It was great.

Heck, it still is great. He's the love of my life, you know?

From day one, we've always liked to have fun. We quote movies, pick up on quirky things or habits, and generally make fun of behaviors that are completely unrelated to what we would consider to be "reality." On July 17th, 2003, we were doing just this. If memory serves me correctly, we were making fun of the lavish lifestyles of the rich and famous, and having a faux-dialogue about said lifestyles. Little did I know that the conversation would go in a whole new direction.

Read on.

J: What would it take to make you happy?
S: *snobbish voice* A chihuahua in a $5,000 purse...
J: and...
S: and a mansion on the bay...
J: and...
S: and Botox, and a boob job, and eyelid liposuction, and hair extensions, and French tips...
J: and...
S: a black BMW Z3 convertible that has baby seal skin hubcaps and a dodo bird hood ornament...
J: and...
S: a butler, and a 24 karat gold toilet, and a crystal bathtub and...
J: and...
S: diamonds, and pearls, and rubies, and emeralds, and the Queen of England's crown, and...
J: and...
S: oh, there's so much more!

J: *extended pause*

S: *dropping the fake rich person attitude and coming back to reality...* So, what would it take to
make YOU happy?

J: *extended pause*
S: seriously, what would it take to make you happy?
J: *extended pause*
S: *extented pause*
J: Only one thing.
S: What?
J: Marry me?
S: Are you serious?
J: Yes.
S: Sure, I could do that.

All in all, I forget the specifics of the "fake conversation" that we were having prior to the extended pause, but it didn't matter.

Everything else that mattered was true, and it happened in a way that was very fitting for the both of us.No muss, no fuss, just short and sweet.

I love that.

354- Celebrity Encounters

2011-02-08T18:41:00.001-05:00

Month 1- "Good Memories" Day # 12

Yesterday, I alluded to my days as an undergraduate columnist at The State News- Michigan State University's daily newspaper. After thinking more about that phase in my life, I came up with another tale from my stint as a student journalist. Looking back, it really fits my personality.

For those of you who know me well, I am extremely conservative. Ridiculously, overwhelmingly conservative. I'm a gun-toting, Mama Grizzly, pro-life, religious zealot.

You get the picture...

Anyway, how I actually was able to become a writer for The State News is beyond me. Seeing as how public universities are hotbeds for liberalism and rampant leftist B.S. behavior, it appeared that the powers that be failed to do the appropriate background checks when it came to my application. The joke was on them, I guess.

Whatever.

Rewind to the fall semester of 2000. It was a Friday in October, to be exact. All of my State News colleagues and I were very busy covering the hot topics of the day-- the 2000 presidential election, MSU's football season (T.J. Duckett and Jeff Smoker, anyone?), the State of Michigan's legislative nightmares, and the East Lansing beat. (If memory serves me correctly, I was working on an article about a female graduate student who had lavishly decorated her student-housing entryway and balcony with a myriad of greenery, flowers, and beautiful things--this also happened to be the only story that I wrote during my stint at The State News that happened to make the front page--a VERY big deal).

I digress.

Now, Fridays were busy times in the newsroom. Writers usually wrote fast and feverishly in the hopes to make the Friday night deadline, and get a head start on the weekend (read: make it to Crunchy's pub for bucket-o-beer Fridays, or the Riv's Burger-Rama). Let's face it, every Mac, cubicle, and mind was preoccupied in that newsroom on that day. Our Editor-In-Chief and was working double time in trying to nail down big names for political debates, and other events related to November's election. While Bush and Gore weren't going to duke it out on national TV at the MSU Auditorium, apparently we were going to connect with another big name of the day--Ralph Nader.

Ralph Nader ran on the 2000 presidential election ticket with Winona LaDuke as a semi-viable Green Party candidate. Knowing the damage that Ross Perot had done with the third-party ticket in the 90's, The State News team had called on Nader for an interview. He graciously accepted, and the buzz around the office stated that he would be on campus within a week or two.

At the time, I knew what I needed to know about Ralph Nader. The Michael Moore-associating, tree-hugging hippy wasn't going to get my vote. Period.

That Friday afternoon, something prompted me to look over my cubicle wall. Looking out into the hallway, I saw our business secretary walk past the newsroom, and down the hall to our photo department. Seeing her, somehow reminded me that the day was Friday.

Payday!

Invigorated by the thought of ninety dollars for two weeks work (note the sarcasm), I sauntered away from my cubicle, and the half-written story of the "plant lady" at Spartan Village, and made my way to the business office. I opened the business office door, and noticed that no one was around. Well, almost no one. For off in the corner, behind the door sat our much awaited visitor.

Ralph Nader.

He smiled at me, and I gave him a polite, (unspokenly conservative) head-nod. We were alone in that business office, and I wondered when the secretary would return. I awkwardly stood at the counter for a moment, and then it felt as if I was going to have to inevitably have a convesation with him. I prayed to God for intervention, and sincerely hoped that Ralph wasn't going to start ranting to me about the unsafe conditions of Corvairs.

He didn't.

Instead, he stuck out his hand, and casually said, "Hi. I'm Ralph Nader."

The secretary returned.

I stuck my hand out in return, shook his, and casually said, "Hi. I'm here to get my paycheck."

The moment had been brief and awkward, but looking back, it was also extremely appropriate.

At least for me...

355- Peanut Shells & The American West

2011-02-07T17:50:00.000-05:00

Month 1- "Good Memories" Day# 11

When I was an undergraduate at Michigan State University, I took a class called, "The History of the American West." It was taught by Dr. David Bailey, who was (and I assume still is--) quite a character.
Not only was Dr. Bailey an extremely knowledgeable and interesting professor--he was also notorious for many one-of-a-kind catchphrases.

Some of my favorite Bailey quotes include:"I see some of your eyes twinkling the rest of you look hopelessly lost" and "when you get the urge to drop off your paper, bring it to my office... I certainly hope you get that urge."

My History of the American West class was in Berkey Hall-- a building Dr. Bailey once said this about: "Berkey was intended to be a representation of a medieval castle-- a very bad representation, apparently." Still, if you know anything about Berkey Hall, you know that it sits adjacent to Grand River Avenue, quite the bustling street in downtown East Lansing.

On Grand River Avenue, sits a well-known East Lansing drinking establishment called The Peanut Barrel. They have pool tables, peanut shells on the floor, beer, an outdoor patio seating area, and decent bar food. I was indoctrinated to "The Barrel" while I was a columnist and staff writer for The State News, the most widely-circulated college newspaper in the nation. "The Barrel" was a popular hangout for S'Newsers, professors, and students alike. During the summer months, it wasn't unheard of to wait for 45 minutes for an outdoor table, but it was an East Lansing tradition, and it was (and still is) worth the visit.

About an hour prior to my History of the American West class one Thursday afternoon, a friend and I hit up "The Barrel" for lunch before we went to class. We sidled past the patio patrons, and opened up the main door, only to see Dr. Bailey and a colleague sitting at the bar. He straightened his tie, brushed the peanut shells off of the counter, looked at me, and said:

"What are you doing here, Ms. E-----? YOU DON'T HAVE THE TIME!" (in reference to the thought that I was there to drink, and not have lunch or shoot pool)

I laughed and said:

"If I don't have the time, Dr. Bailey, YOU don't either!"

He contorted his face into a faux-panic-induced expression, and yelled very loudly throughout the bar:

"GOODNESS! WE DON'T HAVE THE TIME! LET US GET OURSELVES TO CLASS!"

Once in class, he gave me a knowing wink, and never said another word about it.

Good times.

356- Sticky

2011-02-06T20:30:00.000-05:00

Month 1- "Good Memories" Day #10

Christmas stockings are a big deal for my family. A few years ago, we put less focus on purchasing presents for the adults, but we kept up the idea of exchanging stocking stuffers.

All sorts of things make it into stockings: socks, lottery tickets, candy, hand tools, etc. We can get pretty creative.

Usually.

Two years ago, I purchased a variety of products at Bath and Body Works to put into the stockings of my female relatives. I bought an assortment of good-smelling hand soaps and lotions, and deposited them into the stockings of my mom, my sister, and my sister-in-law.

We opened stockings.

Mom decided to use her Bath and Body Works product right away, but no one immediately noticed. She just sat in the corner, watching everyone open the rest of their gifts, and furiously rubbing her hands together.

After a minute or two, she chirped, "girls, will one of you take some of this lotion, I can't rub it all in."

We laughed.

It was hand soap.

357- Alarm Clock Disapproval

2011-02-05T22:19:00.001-05:00

Month 1- "Good Memories" Day # 9-

I love getting quality sleep. 6 hours- OK. 7 hours- pretty good. 8 hours- ideal. Based on the fact that Jay is more of a night owl than I am, I could go to bed most nights at 9:30PM, whereas he could go to bed at midnight, and have no problem waking up at 5:00AM.

Timber is more aligned with my sleep patterns. He's always willing to snuggle for an afternoon nap, and he's the first one to "go to bed" most nights. He's the perfect sleeping buddy. I don't move, he doesn't move, and as a bonus--he's really good at keeping my feet warm during cold winter nights.

Regardless of how much sleep we're getting at our house, we LOVE sleeping. We have a dual-chamber Sleep Number bed, and a down duvet. It's fantastic. Utterly, utterly fantastic. Jay, Timber and I also share a mutual hatred... setting the alarm clock.

Aside from getting "dressed up," and dealing with liberals, there aren't many things that we hate as much as the sound of the alarm clock. It is simply and undeniably horrible. It's not that we dislike waking up, and it's not that we dislike mornings. We simply dislike being wrenched from a good dream, and blissful comfort by the hellish beeping accompanied by a cold, sunless morning.

Usually Jay will hear it first. He'll reach over and make the massacre stop after a few seconds. Sometimes, however, he doesn't hear it, and neither do I. Here's where the "good memory" comes in...
Timber wakes up.

Now, Timber hasn't done this forever, but in the last year or so, he's taken on a new hatred of his own for the alarm clock going off in the morning. If neither Jay or I hear it, and it continues to beep, Timber goes ballistic.

He whines.

He cries.

He yowls... all as if to say to us:
YOU STUPID HUMANS! TURN OFF THAT HORRIBLE RACKET! I'M TRYING TO SLEEP HERE!

Buddy, if you only knew... we feel the exact same way.

358- Picking Out A Friend

2011-02-04T23:58:00.000-05:00

Month 1: "Good Memories" Day# 8

This memory stems from the day that Timber came into my life.

I was working at Gander Mountain, and they had a "Hunting Dog Puppy Saturday" event.

I was doomed from the start.

Breeders came from all over the greater Grand Rapids area. There were German Shorthaired Pointer puppies, English Setter puppies, Golden Retriever puppies, Lab puppies, Beagle puppies, and one special litter of Brittany puppies.

Brittany puppies. The cutest things on earth.

I've always had Brittanies growing up, and they make one heck of a bird dog and family dog. We had always had female dogs, but the checkbook made the decision for me that day. Males were cheaper, and only one pup in the litter looked like all of the other dogs I had ever had.

I picked up an orange and white bundle of fur, with a white stripe that looked like like an arrow nock running between his eyes.

He licked my nose.

I melted.

I bought the smallest collar that Gander sold, wrote a check, and claimed him. I can't say no to Brittany puppies. Especially ones that lick my nose.

Especially those ones...

359- Green Thumbs and Dumb-Dumbs

2011-02-03T18:58:00.001-05:00

Month #1- Good Memories Day# 7

I grew up in a family of canners. We all had gardens at some point or another, and depending on the year, the desire to do so, or the know-how, all of us had some form of vegetable, fruit, or meat put away in Mason, Ball, or Kerr canning jars to grace the dinner table at a future point in time.

I have fond memories of canned pear halves tinged pink via a maraschino cherry or two dropped into the canning liquid, pickled green beans enjoyed at a friend's house, and the much-coveted chocolate-caramel ice cream sauce made up by mom for the holidays.

After Jay and I got married, we put in a garden. It's not huge by any means, but enough to keep us in fresh vegetables for most of the summer, and big enough to get me into a mess of trouble if I neglected to faithfully weed it.

The second year that we had the garden, I started to compost our vegetable scraps, and create nutrient rich compost/humus for our garden. The green thumb bug had gotten slightly serious. That year, I planted onions, zucchini, yellow summer squash, broccoli, green/red/orange peppers, four tomato plants, two varieties of lettuce, snap peas, carrots, and radishes. They all did well, but the tomatoes went bonkers.

Insane tomatoes, I tell you.

I put the plants inside tomato cages, and even so, they were so laden with fruit, that I was picking dozens of tomatoes--daily. It was getting out of hand. To make matters worse, I only "tolerate" tomatoes, Jay was the only big tomato eater in the house, and that summer, he had received his fill of fresh 'maters.

Resorting to my roots, I took up canning. I purchased a hot water bath canner at a discount sale held by our local hardware store, stocked up on canning jars, and borrowed mom's jar tongs. The Ball website and an old canning book prepped me for all I needed to know about canning tomatoes.

Or so I thought.

One afternoon, while Jay was at work, I took on the task of putting up tomatoes for the winter. I was surprised at how many individual tomatoes actually fit in the jars, and if anything, I was slightly disappointed that I had spent such a hot, sticky afternoon canning less than twenty jars.

Anyway, I pulled them out of the hot water bath, and set them onto the counter. Tired of doing the job, I resorted to the living room (and air conditioning) to relax. I must have been on the verge of nodding off into an afternoon nap, when I heard the first horrific noise.

PING!

And another.

PING!

And more...

PING! PING! PING!

I hit the deck like a soldier in war time. I thought the canning had gone horribly awry, and that the jars were exploding in the kitchen. Finally, I mustered up enough courage to inspect the carnage. Expecting one giant, horrific mess to clean up, I poked my head around the corner.

Nothing.

Everything was fine.

I called mom. She laughed. I had forgotten that the "ping" was a good thing--indicating a tight seal.

My green thumb had turned me into a dumb-dumb, but all in all, it's still a good memory.

360- Schutzenfest

2011-02-02T20:11:00.003-05:00

Month 1- "Good Memories" Day# 6:

The day before Jay and I got married, we decided to take our wedding party (Robert and Cindy) to the gun range for a day of fun and excitement. Being the outdoorsy people that we are, we wanted to go out and do something fun together before the stress and hectic excitement of the wedding was upon us.

Some friends that I worked with at Gander Mountain joined the fun, and brought more guns. In my book, more guns = more fun. We brought shotguns and rifles and pistols. Doug brought assault rifles.

We shot trap, and skeet in the rain, did some long-distance shooting with the rifles, and then Doug offered to let us shoot his AK-47 and AR-13.

Oh my.

Don't get me wrong. I like guns. A lot. However, I don't have the need to have an assault rifle. They were awfully fun to shoot that day, though.

Too fun.

After a full afternoon of burning gunpowder, and sharing a lot of laughs, we all went home to prep for the big day that would follow.

I woke up to a GIANT bruise on my right shoulder/arm (shooting arm).

I had a strapless (or near strapless) dress.

I didn't care. Jay didn't care. Everyone that knew me didn't care, and after five years of hindsight, I wouldn't have changed a thing.

White rose/bear grass bridal bouquets, when held a little to the right do wonders in hiding firearm bruises.

Who says I'm not resourceful?

361- "The House That Built Me"

2011-02-01T21:05:00.002-05:00

Month 1: "Good Memories" Day #5:

Coming home from work today, I heard the song, "The House That Built Me" by Miranda Lambert. I've heard it multiple times before, but it really resonated with me today. If you haven't heard it, do yourself a favor, and make a point to do so.

The girl in the song sings about the house in which she grew up, and the memories she had there. She then talks about going to visit the house as an adult, and the memories come flooding back all over again. This one lyric in particular rang especially true for me:

You leave home and you move on and you do the best you can

I got lost in this old world and forgot who I am...

Seeing as how I now live in the house where my grandfather and grandmother once lived, In a roundabout way, the place I call home now is also the "house that built me." After all, it seemed like we (as a family) were in this house just about as often. I have such good memories of this house, and I am truly blessed to be able to live here at this moment in time.

In my mind's eye, I suppose that I'll always see the house for what it is, and what it was:

Solitaire.
Orange Christmas candles.
Vanilla ice cream.
Babe.
Wintergreen Skoal.
Faded gingham curtains.
Lilacs in April.
Green paint.
Folger's coffee.

One blessed family.

362- "Diane Sawyer"

2011-01-31T19:06:00.000-05:00

Month 1: Good Memories- Day# 4:

Approximately twenty years ago, my mother set about on a journey to create the world’s longest-running practical joke that a mother can play upon their own child. Perhaps.

In the mid-1980′s, my mother somehow convinced me that she had been childhood friends with Diane Sawyer–news anchorwoman for the ABC Nightly News. I don’t know what prompted her to do such a thing, but being a naive youngster, I took everything that my mother said to be the absolute Gospel truth.

Silly me.

The 80′s came and went, and the 90′s appeared. Once in middle school, I mentioned to a schoolmate that my mother had once been friends with Diane Sawyer. The friend questioned this, by asking where my mom grew up, and I responded plainly that she had grown up in the tiny rural farm town, ten miles from our present location–in Michigan’s “Thumb.” My friend burst out laughing, and spilled the beans on the “prank.” I went home, furious, and confronted my mother.

She laughed. So. Hard.

Between the late 90′s and now, the joke will casually appear here and there–whenever Diane is on television, or wherever “childhood friends” are innocently mentioned. This usually results in a ridiculously long laughing fit emitting from my mother, and an unappreciative glare cast out by me.

For Christmas this year, my mother casually handed me an already-opened manila envelope. There were cancelled stamps on the front, and it had been sent to my mother’s house. There was no return address. I opened it, and inside, I found a colored 8×10 photo of Diane Sawyer in a classy business suit. It was signed, “For Ann, my favorite "schoolmate,” :) - Diane Sawyer.

Honest to goodness, Diane Sawyer drew a happy face on that damned photo. Even she was in on the joke.

My mother cackled again.

I had to appreciate the joke. She said she had tracked Diane down to her current work location, and had sent her a letter explaining the whole original prank, and a request for the autographed picture.

The joke had finally come full-circle.

Bravo, Mother. Bravo.

363- "Broken Window"

2011-01-30T09:50:00.001-05:00

Month 1- Good Memories--Day# 3:

In grade school, I played summer league softball. It wasn't like the big-time travel leagues that are around now. We only had 6-8 total teams, and we'd play once or twice a week at the ball diamonds at the town's fairgrounds. It was a lot of fun, and minimal pressure from parents and coaches--just the way that kid's sports should be.

The early years involved all of us at various positions in the infield and outfield, with the exception of a pitcher. Usually some sort of adult did the pitching, to ensure that we'd all get some actual hitting done, and to ensure that more than one ball made it through the strike zone in a 24 hour period.

Later on, when we had breached the illustrious age of ten, a few of us were pulled from the roster, and taught how to pitch--fastpitch style. (Apparently, the parents were sick of doing it, and were afraid of what they'd look like standing on the pitching mound in a high school uniform some day.) Some of these newbies dabbled in the art with about as much interest as a teenager would give to homework, and some took on the new skill with sincere desire. This latter type included me.

I tried to pitch ALL of the time. The problem was that I very frequently didn't have a catcher or any sort of a backstop. I also only had three softballs. Armed with the desire to learn how to pitch well, and practice enough to do anything about it, I often wrangled anyone I could into donning a mitt and hanging out in the backyard with me. It was pathetic really. I had no shame. I'd ask aunts, uncles, relatives, or any random person that came over to the house (I'm pretty sure that some of you reading this memory were asked at some point in time, and I'm not sorry!).

Usually, when weather permitted, I wanted to practice pitching on non-game days, and usually from the exact minute I got home from school until it began to get dark outside. Dad was usually home then, as he got home from work just before I got off of the school bus, and occasionally, I'd be able to convince him to put on a glove and play catcher.

I'm thankful that dad did that, but mind you, he was no Yogi Berra, Ivan Rodriguez, or Alex Avila. There were only so many squats left in his knees, and he never seemed to want to waste them on playing a legitimate catching position for me (I wouldn't either). So, my choice was to half-heartedly pitch to an elevated strike zone, or not pitch at all.

I always chose to "make do."

One day, after much badgering, I begged dad to figure out a way to situate himself, so that I could legitimately pitch to an accurate strike zone. His solution? He would sit on the front porch steps.

Genius.

The strike zone was perfect (at least to the imaginary ten-year old batter-girl that I envisioned standing there)--not too high, not too low. Great. Wanting to make the most out of this rare experience, I rocked back on my heels, leaned into my glove, and let the windmill fly.

The release came a second too late.

The ball sailed just over dad's reach, and crashed through the front porch/kitchen window. I stood there in amazement. Such an awesome opportunity had only lasted a minute and then vanished into thin air.

Dad never got up from his seated position, he just looked over his shoulder at the wreckage (which was horrible), and said: "Let's not tell your mother."

364- "Brotherly Love"

2011-01-29T09:34:00.004-05:00

Month 1: Good Memories-- Day #2

Two years ago, when helping mom do some yard work around the house, a memory came back from long, long ago and I remembered just how nice my brother could be.

Piling brush along the back of her yard line to be composted/burned, I came across a 1x4 nailed to a small post. It had fallen over in the weeds, and had a good deal of dirt and weeds covering it. Immediately upon stumbling on it, I remembered what it was.

I'll keep the not-so-good-memory portion of this story brief.

Spring of 1988. I had somehow conned my dad into letting me bring home a puppy. We had gone to the grocery store, and outside of the store, a teenager stood with a box full of squirming, wriggling, Heinz 57-style mutt puppies. I found a black one and brought her home. I named her Maggie.

She stuck around for a few weeks, until one day, I came home to bad news.

Grant and I were home alone that day, for whatever reason. He explained that Maggie had gotten out, and that the mailman had accidentally hit her with his car. She died, but he explained that she wasn't in pain, and that he didn't want me to see her that way, so he buried her in the back corner of the lot. All by himself.

My goodness, was I devastated. I remember sobbing and heaving, and being so sad that day, and for some days afterward.

Looking back, I was thankful that Grant had told me the news. Somehow, his way of explaining things to me made it minutely better.

Twenty-one years later, as I extracted that piece of wood from the weeds, I didn't have to look too hard at the woodburned letters on the plaque. The average person would have thought it was a piece of scrap, but I knew every word (even if some were spelled incorrectly). At that moment in history, I was thankful to have a brother that was willing to do some dirty work to protect his little sister.

The piece of wood read:

To Magie- A GOOD freind.

G.W.E. 4-11-88

That plaque is now long gone, but it doesn't matter. The inscription, and the act behind it are still with me.

Thank you, Grant.

365- "Lobster Fluffing"

2011-01-29T00:56:00.005-05:00

Month 1: Good Memories-- Day #1

I remember hearing the old adage, "a way to a man's heart is through his stomach" at an early age. This memory ties into that well, in that Jay remembers it fondly, and still brings it up from time to time.

So here it is.

I'm allergic to shellfish. Crab, lobster, shrimp... pretty much any crustacean. The quandary? Jay loves shellfish. Loves it. Drools over it. Relishes every bite of it. You get the picture.

Rewind to Valentine's Day, 2004. Tiny galley-style kitchen. Two lobster tails stare back at me from the counter. Armed with the desire to prepare a delicious (and favorite) meal for my beloved, I set about the task of preparing them artfully.

I knew not to over-cook them. That would turn them to rubber. I knew they'd turn red. I knew they should be served with drawn butter, a bib, and some sort of hand tools. Check. I deposited them into a steamer basket inside a stock pot with a small amount of boiling water. I timed them correctly. They turned red. Everything was running as it should have, with the exception of one thing.

The damned things wouldn't "fluff" on the shell.

You know what I'm talking about... that beautiful, artful presentation where the moist lobster meat appears to "burst" out of the edges of the shell in those Red Lobster restaurant-chain commercials. Yes. That. That didn't happen.

I pulled them out of the steamer. Agitated, I thought they needed room to expand, and fluff (seems logical, right?). Armed with my utility kitchen shears, I cut a long slice through the top portion of the shell of each tail from top to bottom.

I made hand motions. "C'mon tails... FLUFF!" *makes magical motions toward the severed crustacean parts*

I became frustrated.

I almost cried. Almost.

Jay walked through my door right about at that time. He was elated to know I was serving him lobster. Intuition, however, also told him that something was amiss.

I explained the situation. I laid out the logical steps I thought I had taken correctly. I apologized for failing.

He sat at the table, pulled a whole tail out of the shell, expertly laid the tail on the shell remnant. "Is that what you wanted it to look like?" he asked.

I told him I had made fluffing hand motions. Fluffing. Hand. Motions.

I told him I almost cried out of frustration.

"You mean it just lays there, on top of the EMPTY shell? THERE'S NO FLUFFING?!!!"

He ate the lobster, said it was delicious, and laughed through the whole thing.

I'm not often referred to by the adjective "cute," but to this day, Jay says this is one of the "cutest" things I've ever done.

So be it, dear. I did it all for you.

Thirtying Toward Thirty.

2011-01-29T00:22:00.003-05:00

I don't know what prompted this really, but I'm going to undertake a new personal challenge--partly to experience some new things, and partly to count down to my thirtieth birthday--exactly 365 days from today.

I'm going to turn thirty into a verb.

I'm thirtying.

What does thirtying mean exactly? Well, in my book (the only one that counts in this situation), this means that I will undertake some new task (thing, experience, practice) for thirty consecutive days. At the end of the thirty days, I will switch the practice to something else. Sort of.

To keep things neat and orderly, I'm going to switch my practices on the 28th of each month. The original thought process was to do one new thing (or eliminate one thing) to my life for 365 days. After mulling that over, I don't know if I could keep it up, stay interested in it long enough, or even want to write about it or share it with the world after a small portion of time. Therefore, I've decided that I'll make the change twelve times, and take up a new practice for approximately 30 days at a stretch--less for February, and longer for longer months.

Hopefully, this will produce enough fodder for blogging and status posts for the next full year. My intent is to post multiple times each week to keep you abreast of what's happening. Hopefully, this will be interesting enough to keep up, and interesting enough to keep my readers engaged. I hope it doesn't become a chore.

I've received plenty of suggestions, and most will be included in my Thirtying Journey. Most aspects of my Thirtying Journey will be shared with you. Some, might not be shared, and you'll have to fill in your own blanks. It is what it is. If you contributed an idea, thanks for the help!

Here's the overall rough themes for the Thirtying Journey:

January 28th-February 28th: Good Memories
February 28th-March 28th: Photography
March 28th-April 28th: Romance
April 28th-May 28th: The Great Purge of Clutter
May 28th-June 28th: Friends and Family Blessings
June 28th-July 28th: Nature
July 28th- August 28th: Storytelling
August 28th- September 28th: New Recipes
September 28th- October 28th: Admiration
October 28th- November 28th: Conservation and Self-Sufficiency
November 28th- December 28th: Films
December 28th- January 28th: Dreams

I hope you come along for the ride.

Homemade Pasta

2010-08-16T23:12:00.001-04:00

Since so many have recently requested the pasta recipe I use with my red Kitchen Aid stand mixer and pasta roller attachments, here you go:

There are two recipes here... one for Basic Egg Pasta and one for Semolina Egg Pasta. Both are pretty easy to make, but the non-semolina one mixes together easier, crumbles less, and runs through the sheeter more smoothly with less kneading.

18 batches came out the mixer today, and are now in the freezer... ready for quick dinner this fall/winter.
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I made two kinds-- one was traditional with semolina flour (and was more difficult to roll out), and the other was basic. We'll see how they both turn out.

Basic Egg Pasta: 4 large eggs, 1 T water, 3 1/2 cups all-purpose flour, 1/2 t salt. Mix all ingredients together at once for 30 seconds with a flat beater, then switch the flat beater for the dough hook and beat for 1-2 min until it forms a ball. Divide dough into 8 sections (mini balls), and let rest (covering with a damp dish towel). After resting, knead each mini ball by hand for 30 seconds, and run through the largest setting on the pasta roller (or roll by hand with rolling pin) twice, folding over any crinkly edges, and re-running until the edges are smooth. You might have to add a sprinkle of water or flour if it's too slick or crumbly. It should be like a thick pie crust.

Run flattened sheets of pasta through a pasta cutter on 4 or 5 setting, and loosely pile noodles into "birds nest like" piles on waxed paper. One mini-ball of pasta dough makes a pretty good one-serving "birds nest." Let air dry for 2-3 hours, bag into freezer bags or Tupperware, and freeze.

When ready to cook- add the "birds nests" to a large pot of boiling salted water for 3-6 min depending on how done you like it.
Same directions as above, but with semolina flour (I used Bob's Red Mill Semolina-- found at VG's, Meijer, or Kroger-- it will make a denser more traditional flavor pasta, but it's trickier to roll out, and needs more moisture added as you're running it through the pasta sheeter before cutting)
Semolina Egg Pasta: 4 large eggs, 2 T water, 1 T oil (veg. or olive), 3 1/2 cups semolina flour, 1/2 t salt. Mix all ingredients at once, repeat same steps listed above for Basic Egg Pasta.
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A Pretty Good Haul...

2010-08-10T14:21:00.000-04:00

Just made a trip out to the garden, and brought back an armload of veggies. Looks like I need to set the sprinkler out there tonight... it sure is dry around here.

13 tomatoes, 2 summer squash, 4 cucumbers, and 4 zucchini... and lots more to be picked!

There are about 2-3 dozen more tomatoes out there that are green, or turning orange. Between two plants, we've had one heck of a year for tomatoes. One bush is so heavy that even with a cage around it, it wants to flop over onto the ground.

Seeing as how I neglected the garden on our two trips up north this summer, it's still doing remarkably well for such a tiny plot (15'x8'), and it's still producing. Tri-color bell peppers, eggplant, tomatoes, squash, corn, zucchini, and cucumbers are all still going strong!

Less produce for us to buy the better, and there is still plenty to share with friends and family!

Isle Royale July 2010 Trail Journal

2010-08-04T13:20:00.001-04:00

Here is the promised trail journal account of my recent backpacking adventure to Isle Royale National Park. Enjoy.

DAY 1: Today, Sue (my sister-in-law) and I headed out about 8:30 AM Central Time to meet up with her friend, Gayle who was going backpacking with us to Isle Royale. We drove to Gayle's house, and then to Houghton where we'd catch the Isle Royale Air Service Seaplane that would take us to the island in under one hour instead of a 4.5 hour boat ride from Copper Harbor on the Isle Royale Queen or a 6.5 hour boat ride from Houghton on the Ranger III.

CMX- Houghton County Airport

We arrived at the airport at about 1pm. Our flight out was scheduled for 2pm. The pilot (Dave) had a black lab with him, and met us at the gate about 1:25. He was going to leave his dog at the terminal, and said we could leave early if we were ready to go. We were.

Gayle and I upon pre-boarding for IR.

It was good to know that we always had canoe paddles at the ready on the plane's pontoons!

We loaded up our gear, and took off from Houghton. It was exceptionally clear that day, and with me seated as co-pilot (see pic below), the pilot showed me that Isle Royale was already barely visible up on the horizon. Very cool.

My "co-pilot" view. Wow.

We took some awesome pics of the island as we were getting nearer to landing in Washington Harbor near Windigo. We even spotted some of the trails and the fire/lookout tower on the Feldtmann Ridge loop.

Overlook of Washington Harbor before we looped around for landing.

We landed at the seaplane dock in Windigo, and hiked up to the ranger station to log our backpacking itinerary and receive our backcountry permit. Since Gayle had taken a Dramanine for the flight in, we planned to stay in Windigo on night #1 at Washington Creek, and start packing the next morning.

Windigo Main Sign at the base of the Ranger Station.

When we arrived, a couple of other boats were docked at the Windigo main dock. The Wenonah had brought in a load of day trip people from Minnesota, and the Voyageur II had brought in another load of people from Rock Harbor (the other end of the island). Shortly after arrival, we also stuck around for Ranger Sean's "Tick Talk" discussion of Moose Ticks and how they were affecting the roughly 500 moose currently on the island.

After this we decided to find where to set camp for the night. Heading out to Washington Creek campground, about 0.3 miles from Windigo, we looked over the available shelters in the area. 3-sided shelters are provided at various locations on I.R. on a first-come, first-served basis. Most also have a picnic table at the shelter site. Sue, Gayle and I had all brought our own shelter-- Gayle and I had backpacking tents, and Sue had a backpacking hammock, yet we had a threat of rain overnight and the next morning, so to avoid packing potentially wet gear on day 2, we stayed at shelter #1 on Washington Creek outside of Windigo.

Exterior of Shelter #1.

Interior of Shelter #1

Sue could put up her hammock outside the shelter (which she did), and Gayle and I set up camp inside--mats and bags (no tents). The inside of most of the shelters available at I.R. are also notorious for their shelter graffiti left behind by other backpackers. Here are a few pics of what was inside shelter #1:

Reads: Mike and Michelle marched the Minong (a ridge on I.R.).
Popped the question at Todd Harbor 8-20-08.
She said yes, so we marched together into our future. Aug 08
P.S. If you thought carrying rocks on the trail was tough... try an engagement ring.

After a couple of hours on the island, seeing these pieces of "artwork," and knowing that I wouldn't be able to call home for a long, long time, I left my own mark:

After dropping our packs, we hiked back into Windigo to check out the offerings there. There were some fishing boats and sail boats out in the harbor, and we spotted a moose far out on the horizon in the creek, an osprey, and some kingfishers on the way. In Windigo, we checked out the store offerings (pretty plentiful for a backcountry establishment), and learned that there was another ranger program that night about previous resorts and clubs that existed on the island near the turn of the century. Since that program was a few hours off, we went and explored a section of the Feldtmann loop trail for a couple of hours.

Beach portion of the Feldtmann Trail.

Moose print on the beach next to a 1 L water bottle.

Hen mallard.

Blueberries were everywhere!

As were thimbleberries (and raspberries, and sugar plums...)

The Feltdmann short hike was a good foretaste of what the days ahead were to be like. Surprisingly enough, it wasn't buggy at all, and the views were pleasant. We looped around on the trail, and headed back to Windigo for the volunteer program on the island resorts of times past. I thought it was minorly interesting at best, and thought about sitting back at camp and listening to, and watching the wildlife.

Back at camp after the program, we had a pretty good view of the creek from the interior of the shelter, and we even hung out at the picnic table that night --drank a little celebratory rum that I packed in, played some cards, and enjoyed being in the wilderness. We hit the sack at dusk, and listened to the loons in the distance as they lulled us to sleep.

DAY 2: We got up and packed up camp about 8am. Sue and I walked into Windigo that morning to deposit trash, etc., and it was sprinkling already. Today was our trek on the Greenstone out to Island Mine, and I wasn't looking forward to backpacking in any form of serious rain. Still, after the short stop in Windigo, and the walk back to camp to get Gayle and our packs, the rain subsided, and we were off. We made a quick stop on the trail for our last potable water that wouldn't have to be filtered, and loaded up with 3 liters apiece. We had been warned that Island Mine Campground may or may not have water available, and at best, it was usually a trickle from a natural spring.

We were on the Greenstone Ridge headed NE by 9am. New trail markers had been carried out to various points on the island by trail crews, and the yellow pine really stuck out --in a good way.

Island Mine/Greenstone trail marker.

Once out of the Windigo loop and onto the Greenstone, the terrain became difficult. This is one of the more difficult legs of the Greenstone, in that it is considered to be sharply elevated, and full of switchbacks, and root-covered trails. Most through hikers (hiking from one end of the island to the other) usually have it as the last leg of their journey, and run it downhill into Windigo--here we were operating backwards, and taking it uphill over Sugar Mountain to Island Mine. It was a tiring journey, but with adequate water breaks, and a mid-way stop for lunch, it was a good hike.

Trail going up the Greenstone toward Island Mine.

Another.

Sue and I on the Greenstone Ridge.

On the way up to Island Mine, we had a minor vista looking northwest, and from here we were able to catch a glimpse of the other main ridge on the island--the Minong. It is only 2 miles from where we were standing, but there was a lot of elevation change between here and there--in addition to bushwhacking if someone wanted to travel "as the crow flies."

Minong Ridge vista from the Greenstone.

Overall, looking back on our days on Isle Royale, I have to add that the bugs were not terrible as I had anticipated, and for which I had prepared. We all added our bug dope in the AM before heading out, and things were pretty tame. A couple of mosquito bites here and there, and virtually no black fly problems that I recall. A nice finding on the island, especially in swampy areas, was jewelweed. If picked, torn up, and applied to insect bites, the itch disappeared instantaneously! What a wonderful thing to learn about and use while there!

Wonderful, wonderful Jewelweed!

On today's trek we encountered the most people in one day that the three of us would see on the trail. We kept passing/catching up to/being passed by,etc. a dozen or so Boy Scouts and their two scout leaders. The ranger at Windigo had told us that they were also headed to Island Mine the same time as us, and we must have hit the trail at about the same time. We also passed a couple headed back into Windigo that informed us of the sketchy water situation out there, but virtually no one at the campsites, and a father and daughter who were headed down to Siskiwit to do volunteer work with the Minnesota Conservation Corps.

About 3pm we hit the trailmarker for Island Mine CG--only 0.4 miles up and down a ravine to set camp!
We settled into a quiet forest spot complete with fire ring (the only site we stayed on IR that allowed fires), and set up camp, gathered downed firewood, and took off our boots!

My tent and Sue's hammock at Island Mine camp.

Sue and Gayle prepping dinner at Island Mine camp.

My Esbit stove and GSI Halulite pot prepping for dinner at Island Mine camp.

After dinner, we went to check out the water situation. Going through the campsite trail headed in the direction of Siskiwit Lake, we shortly came across what appeared to be a dry creek bed. Nothing was actually "flowing" upon initial inspection. There were a few pools, some looking more stagnant than others, yet upstream, in the direction of camp, there was a slight trickle coming from a natural spring, and a few tiny pools below it. From here, we used my Katadyn filter to fill a couple liters of water for the rest of the night and the morning. The pools aren't something spectacular, if you're headed out to IR in the near future, but it is the only source of water at Island Mine. After being filtered though, the water tasted great, was COLD, and was safe to drink. A word to the wise, though--- even with a prefilter, tie some kind of cloth around it-- I have a half-cartridge full of sediment even after pumping from the TOP of the pool in the clearest water available!

Minimal Island Mine water source...

Pools in the Island Mine spring from which we filtered our water.

It was nice to have a fire at camp in Island Mine. There wasn't a whole lot of scenery to look at out there in the middle of the island... no lakeview vistas, only tree panoramas! Still it was a quiet and serene place to rest our heads (and heels) for the night. It was ironic that the couple we met heading back to Windigo said we would probably have the camp all to ourselves. Truth be told, the Boy Scouts were at the group site across the hill, and two other pairs were camped near to us. There was only one site left on the night that we stayed there!

Sue had experimented with Backpacker's Pantry's Mocha Mousse Pudding at Island Mine. Being allergic to chocolate, she shared the dessert with Gayle. I don't know what was in it, but she sure was full of energy and excitement that night! Ha ha. Must have been the chocolate or the sugar? Needless to say, we didn't let the campfire die until well after dark that night... close to 11pm.

DAY #3 My first memory of waking up in Island Mine camp on the day in which we would hike back to Windigo was the sound of Gayle scrambling around outside of my tent, saying, "Good morning, I got the food out of the tree because I'm starving!" Kind of an odd thing to remember, but it is what it is. We had been hanging our food off of a high tree limb all trip--partly out of backpacking habit, and partly out of precaution. IR doesn't have bears (a usual reason people hang their food and garbage), but there are plenty of foxes and red squirrels that are willing to tear into a pack, or eat food or garbage left behind.

We broke camp early on day 3. It was quite bright and sunny that morning, and probably the most "beautiful" Island Mine could look at that point in the year. This particular camp is near Sugar Mountain, the third-highest elevation on the island, and an area chock-full of Sugar Maple trees. It sure would be nice to see that area in the fall and see the color, but I don't know if I would want to be out there in September or October with the moose population in full rut--maybe.

Island Mine trail at daybreak, with the sun coming through the treetops.

I went back and filtered a little more water for the return hike to Windigo. Since we weren't through-hikers going the length of the island to Rock Harbor, we retraced our steps to where we stayed on night #1. We noticed a little more retracing our steps back "to town" this time around--partially because we were going downhill, and didn't get as tired with elevation climbs, and partially because we knew the trail was relatively even all around, and didn't have to worry about tripping on roots or boulders in the path. That is definitely one positive aspect of the Greenstone Ridge--it's pretty level ground with the exception of the elevation changes... not a whole lot of things to trip over in your way.

We got back to Windigo for night #3, and re-claimed shelter #1--not because we didn't feel like setting up our tents again, but more because we liked having the picnic table and the creek view, and knew what to expect. Getting back into Washington Creek camp around 4pm, we all had the luxury of a hot shower (nearly unheard of in the wilderness) and a clean change of clothes--both of which are awesomely underestimated in the real world!

The three of us kind of did our own thing on night #3-- Sue and Gayle decided to go up to another ranger program at the station in Windigo. It was a volunteer-led program on the life of the island moose. I decided to stay back at camp to catch up on my journaling, take some pictures of the area, and enjoy the solitude and relaxation of camp. Here are a few of my findings of the evening:

Purple Asters.

False Solomon's Seal.

Fireweed.

Female Merganser with seven young.

The sun was setting, and I was anticipating the night being "over," so I ended my journal for that day with an assumed bedtime. Sue and Gayle came back about 9:15, saying that on the way back, they passed someone on the trail who had seen a moose with twin young at the creek mouth near our camp from the harbor. Excitedly, we all grabbed our cameras and walked behind the shelter out to the marshy point of Washington harbor. No moose to be seen, only a setting sun, and a few sailboats with bare masts and anchors dropped. Back in camp, we sat around the picnic table watching the mergansers in the creek, the few mallards that appeared, and the kingfishers swooping for the feeding coaster brook trout. Down the creek we noticed a large Great Blue Heron perched upstream, and I attempted to get a few pictures of him from our campsite. With the setting sun, it was difficult getting a good photo, so I told Gayle and Sue that I would go down the trail to try and get a closer photo op of him. I took off down the trail, and less than a minute later, Sue was running after me excitedly whispering, "THE MOOSE ARE COMING! THE MOOSE ARE COMING!"

I ran back down the puncheon boardwalk trail to the campsite, and excitedly witnessed a cow moose with single calf emerge from the marshy brushline across the creek--just about at the the creek mouth as had been expected forty-five minutes prior! It was nearly 10pm at this point, and all three of us were so excited to see moose so close... little did we know that it would get even better.

A (horribly blurry) pic of mother and calf moose across the creek from our camp.

We watched mother and young cautiously saunter through the marsh grass across from us for a few minutes before entering the creek right in front of our camp--no more than 20 feet away! Sue took a pretty good still photo of the event, and I have a shaky video of it too posted here (note, the moose and calf appear about 20 seconds into the video).

Cow and calf moose 30 feet from our campsite.

Cow and calf moose 15 feet from our campsite!

This was a truly awesome experience to witness. We didn't expect to ever have this close of an encounter with moose on IR, but the place is full of surprises to be sure. After crossing Washington Creek in front of our camp, the moose and young came up the bank, and stopped just behind Sue's hammock in the vacant space next to us. Here, we could hear the water dripping off of the mother moose, and we could see the calf come in and nurse! It was unreal! At this point, it was quite dark, and pictures were difficult to capture, but we continued to try!

Cow and calf moose in Washington Creek at dusk--15 feet from camp!

Cow moose in the clearing adjacent to camp--less than 10 feet away! Notice the
rope on the tree to the left--that's the ridgeline to Sue's hammock!

The calf finished nursing, and the cow began to step down the trail TOWARD our shelter. Her ears were back, and one of the first things I remember the ranger telling us upon arriving in Windigo was, "if you see a mother calf with young, and they pin their ears straight back--blend in with your surroundings, and get away!" so---seeing this, I thought it pertinent to get IN the shelter, which we promptly did. From the sound, they appeared to go behind our shelter and down the trail to the marshy end of the point where the harbor met land. All three of us were quite excited, and high on adrenaline at having witnessed such an awesome thing.
It sure was difficult to go to sleep on night #3 after having such a cool event. The good Lord and Mother Nature never fail to put on a great show when out in the wild...

DAY #4: Waking up at Shelter #1 in Washington Creek the second time around was completely different than the first... this particular morning it was COLD. All trip, I had hiked in short sleeves and shorts, and slept in the same. This morning, I busted out the long johns and fleece top! Usually, Gayle was the first in our group to get going in the morning--but on this day, I was up about 6AM. I got a nifty shot of mist rising on Washington Creek to boot:

Morning mist on Washington Creek.

We broke camp, filled water, and headed out about 8:30 to begin our journey of conquering the West portion of the Hugginin Loop on the morning of Day #4. We set out backtracking toward the Greenstone as we had toward Island Mine, but jogged west at the junction outside of the camp trail toward the other main ridge on IR-- the Minong Ridge. Here, we hiked the Minong for less than a mile before it forked toward the Hugginin Loop East and West, or continued on the Minong NW toward North Desor on Desor Lake.

The West portion of the Hugginin Loop was short, but extremely different than our Greenstone, Minong, or Feldtmann treks. Being a less-traveled path in that it is it's own path and not on one of the two thoroughfares of the Greenstone or Minong, it is a closer and more grown-over trail, and very rocky and "rooty" to boot.
Immediately, the West portion of the Hugginin Loop reminded me of a roller coaster. Sharp up and down switchbacks, elevation climbs and drops--vistas, quick changes in scenery, and something new around every turn.

The three of us only encountered one couple on the path to Hugginin. They looked like a pair of married fastpackers that were booking it down the trail to the Minong with ultralight gear and very nice Leki and Klomperdell trek poles each. We stepped aside to let them pass, and they said that Hugginin was secluded, and that site #1 had the best views.

On the way to Hugginin, we passed a gauging station and a bridge crossing where Washington Creek cut into the island.

Gayle at the Washington Creek Gauging Station just off the Minong.

Rocky trail on the West Hugginin Loop.

More rocky trail.

Further up the trail, on the West Loop, we found the remnants of an old surface mining operation--the Wendigo Mine (yes, Wendigo spelled with an "e" instead of an "i"), which ran for only two years before ending production. A few trail crews with pulaskis digging water bars in the trail out there informed us that there was no mine shaft because it was a surface mining endeavor for copper--no pits or deep holes. Still, we found tracks left in the forest floor, and an abandoned cabin. Pretty cool side trip along the way, if you ask me.

Wendigo Mine trail marker.

Rails left behind in the forest floor.

Tailings left behind as remnants from surface mining.

Inside of an abandonded Wendigo mining cabin.

Leaving Wendigo Mine, we headed North on the West Hugginin Loop. At some places in the trail, it appeared as if few had been around, and the trail was growing close together. We saw a strange stand of Aspen trees on the way out... noting that there were some very tall and sparse, and the understory Aspens were short. Sue and Gayle, being "tree people" discussed the reasons for this thoroughly and took pics, I didn't. I think they assumed the discrepancies were due to moose grazing and snow height. I think...

We stopped for lunch at the first vista on the North shore of the island where we could see Lake Superior at last. It sure was a high elevated lookout. Note my boot in the second picture below:

Lake Superior vista--note the color/depth change at the bottom of the treeline.

Downward cliff from the same lake vista above--note my boot...

After lunch, we hiked along the Superior shoreline for a while, until we reached the Hugginin cove. It was beautiful, and it was all ours. No one else was in sight! What a treat of solitude!

West side of Hugginin Cove.

Hugginin Bay.

Hugginin Coastline.

We coasted around the bend and into the cove and scoped out the potential campsite offerings--true to our recommendation previously in the morning by the fastpackers, #1 was the best and most beautiful site there.
Coming down the trail into site #1, we found this magnificent moose shed:

Moose shed at the entrance to campsite #1 at Hugginin Cove.

Further down on the beach, we notice the prints of our camp fox we would see later that night around dusk:

Fox print on Hugginin Cove beach.

Hugginin Cove "camp fox."

We "claimed" campsite #1, and began exploring the area around Hugginin. Out of all of our stops, this one definitely had the best views, by far. Washington Creek was pretty good, Island Mine was OK (at best), but Hugginin was panoramic and beautiful. After setting up our tents and hammock, we explored the beach-- Sue was brave enough to go swimming in the cove (lots of slippery rocks!). Here are a few more pics of the area:

Bumblebee on clover near Hugginin Cove.

View of Thunder Bay, Canada on the horizon across Lake Superior.

Hugginin Cove at dusk.

Hugginin Cove at sunset.

Sunset across Lake Superior.

Hugginin Cove beach grass at sunset.

"camp mouse" at Hugginin Cove.

After dinner, we all sat on the beach watching the sun go down. The camp fox made his appearance around 9:15pm. He came down the trail to site #1 by the moose shed, walked right past us, and went up to scope out the campsite for food. He marked his territory, and moved on, learning that our food had already been hung up for the night, and we didn't leave him any leftovers. A little later, our mouse friend (above) came around to do the same...sorry friends, no wildlife handouts around here!

The sunset was pretty breathtaking. It was by far the most beautiful place that we camped during this trip. Around 10pm we packed in for the night. Tomorrow would be our return trip home, and we had to be at the seaplane dock by 2pm for our flight back to Houghton.

DAY #5: We all awoke roughly around 6:30 am at Hugginin to sounds of raindrops on our tent and hammock flies. This we agreed, was the best motivation to get up and get moving--no one likes breaking camp in a rainstorm, so we hauled tail and broke camp in a hurry to get things put up as dry as possible. After breaking down camp, the clouds broke, and the sun came out. The joke was on us. We had breakfast, relished our last few moments at Hugginin, filtered some water for the Nalgenes, and hit the East Loop of the Hugginin Trail, SW for Windigo.

Gayle and I heading home on day #5 (Sue's photo).

Orange Lichen on some rock outcroppings near Hugginin Cove beach.

Pine growing out of a large rock in Hugginin Cove.

Sweet Peas on Hugginin Cove beach.

We made excellent time getting back into Windigo. The East Loop trail was a breeze! We had left Hugginin by 9am, and before noon we were in Windigo.

Last picture of the pack at the last stop on this year's I.R. trip.

Sue (L) and Gayle (R) at the end of the trail.

The three of us ventured up to the Ranger Station to "shop" for books and maps and things we were waiting to get until the hiking was finished. I bought a National Parks "Passport" and got my IR stamp there... now so many more to visit! I also purchased a USGS map of the island, and a DVD of reflections. While Sue and Gayle were still browsing around, I shared my photos of the Island Mine water situation with Ranger Sean, who said he was interested to see/hear about the water out there should we meet up with him back in Windigo.

After the Ranger Station shopping, we re-weighed our packs. All three of ours were well under 30 lbs. apiece! I think mine ended up being the lightest I've ever remembered--ending at 27 lbs.

Our three packs--finally at rest outside the Windigo Ranger Station.

Leaving our packs at the Ranger Station-- we went up to the store, and did a little shopping there too-- I bought a coffee mug for my desk at school, and the Falcon Guide to Hiking Michigan (more day trips, weekend trips, and extended trips in the plans, now!). Gayle treated us each to a homemade slice of apple pie from the store, and we enjoyed our last bit of down time before going home.

About 1pm, one of the Ranger Station volunteers found us down at the pavilion by the dock, and said our seaplane pilot was in Rock Harbor, and that he'd be on time. While waiting, "our" Boy Scouts from the Island Mine leg were just finishing their trip too--having completed the Feldtmann Loop, and came off the trail toward us in the pavilion. Showers were much needed by all (by us too, I'm sure--but man... a dozen teenage boys sweating for five days... gross)! :) I took a pic of them by the Windigo Main Sign, and they scattered off to Windigo's offerings.

Gayle had prepped with her Dramamine, and we hung out by the seaplane dock for our pilot to arrive:

Gayle relaxing before the pilot arrived.

Sue hanging out on the seaplane dock before going home.

Before long, we heard the buzzing of a prop plane in the distance, and sure enough, it was our pilot coming from Rock Harbor to take us back to Houghton.

He landed! (Sue's photo)

We chatted with the pilot for a minute, loaded up, and headed for Houghton. Our stay on IR had been brief, but memorable.

Gayle (L) and Sue (R) still smiling after all of those miles! :)

As this was my second visit to ISRO, I have to say it was better than the first, in that it was longer, more intensive, and exciting. The brief visits that I have to the wilderness are moments that I can cherish all year long. These are times that I can reflect and appreciate what I have, and relish the memories of being in the wild when I am not able to do so.

Thank you Isle Royale-- you gave me memories of laughing loons, and splashing baby moose, and clear skies over Superior. The smell of hot pine needles on the Minong, and the red clay of the Hugginin Loop will be ingrained in my pack long after I have returned home, and the appreciation for all things wild and free will always be a part of my soul.

A Sunday With Lord Byron

2010-07-18T18:41:00.002-04:00

Dear Nature is the kindest mother still;
Though always changing, in her aspect mild:
From her bare bosom let me take my fill,
Her never-weaned, though not her favoured child.
Oh! she is fairest in her features wild,
Where nothing polished dares pollute her path:
To me by day or night she ever smiled,
Though I have marked her when none other hath,
And sought her more and more, and loved her best in wrath.

Developing the mountains, leaves, and flowers
And shining in the brawling brook, where-by,
Clear as its current, glide the sauntering hours
With a calm languor, which, though to the eye
Idleness it seem, hath its morality,
If from society we learn to live,
'Tis solitude should teach us how to die;
It hath no flatterers; vanity can give
No hollow aid; alone--man with his God must strive:

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,
There is a rapture on the lonely shore,
There is society where none intrudes,
By the deep Sea, and music in its roar:
I love not Man the less, but Nature more,
From these our interviews, in which I steal
From all I may be, or have been before,
To mingle with the Universe, and feel
What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal.

- Three Spenserian stanzas excerpted from "Childe Harold's Pilgrimage" by Lord Byron

Isle Royale Pre-Trip Post

2010-07-17T13:10:00.003-04:00

In five days I will be making my second trip to Isle Royale for a backpacking adventure with my sister-in-law and one of her friends. Isle Royale is an island in the middle of Lake Superior, and is geographically "owned" by Michigan, although it is very near Minnesota and Canada.

Isle Royale is 45 miles long, and 9 miles wide. It is typically accessed via boat from Duluth, Grand Portage or Grand Marais, Minnesota, or Houghton and Copper Harbor, Michigan. The boat transit times range from 3-6+ hours depending on departure location. The island can also be accessed via seaplane/floatplane from Royale Air Service out of Houghton, MI. The transit time via air is less than one hour.

I had visited the northeast end of the island (the Rock Harbor end) in the summer of 2002. A friend and spent a few days on the island there, and day hiked areas such as Daisy Farm, Three Mile, Siskowit, and Lookout Louise. It was more crowded with tourists and the like at that end of the island, and the hiking was more recreational than serious--albeit enjoyable. All in all we hiked no more than 25 miles in three days--not really strenuous as far as hiking is concerned. For this trip, I took the Ranger III ferry service. It was a cost-effective choice, yet a long and somewhat arduous journey across Superior. The greatest of the Great Lakes was quite rough that day if memory serves me correctly, and a few passengers were indeed spending time at the rails, accurately depicting the Ranger's unforgiving moniker, "the barf barge."

For my second trip to I.R., I will be taking the seaplane from Houghton. We will be landing at the southeastern portion of the island at Windigo. One of the members of my party is prone to extreme motion sickness so the plane route was the best and quickest option to get us to the island. Once there, there will be some considerable time needed for the Dramamine effects to wear off for her, so we will be setting camp in Windigo on night #1, and beginning our actual backpacking trek on day #2.

Having never been to the Windigo end of the island before, there are plenty of affordances for day #1 options: sea kayaking, canoeing, fishing for coaster brook trout, hiking the nature loop, and photographing the Washington Creek resident moose population.

Beginning on day #2, we will be heading west by northwest on the Greenstone Ridge trail toward Island Mine. This journey will prove to be the most difficult leg of our itinerary. In distance, no, but in elevation--yes. Beginning in Windigo at around 750 feet above sea level, we will cover day #2's leg of the trip with a nearly 1,000-foot elevation climb over approximately 7 miles. The mileage is perfectly do-able. It's the elevation with a 30lb. pack strapped to your back that will make the trip "unforgettable." :)

Still, I am excitedly and eagerly anticipating my second visit to this island known as the "Jewel of Superior." The haunting laughter of loons, the solitude of Mother Nature, and the absence of all things man-made and civilized are precious resources that I cannot live without.

My soul is happy in the northwoods, and it is where I best find myself at peace.

More to come on this I.R. Adventure...

-------

On The Shores of Gitchee Gumee

2010-05-10T21:33:00.000-04:00

Ye whose hearts are fresh and simple,
Who have faith in God and Nature,
Who believe that in all ages
Every human heart is human,
That in even savage bosoms
There are longings, yearnings, strivings
For the good they comprehend not,
That the feeble hands and helpless,
Groping blindly in the darkness,
Touch God's right hand in that darkness
And are lifted up and strengthened;--

"The Song of Hiawatha"- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Holy Week= Holy Sonnets!

2010-03-30T22:37:00.002-04:00

As I finish wrapping up teaching the poetry unit to my AP English Seniors this week, I think it is fitting to share one of John Donne's Holy Sonnets in reflection of Holy Week. (The kids complained about it, but they usually complain about everything, so don't let that deter you from Donne's message here...)

If you've never read it, take a minute, and hear the plea of a poor, miserable sinner who is begging God to fill him with the grace and goodness to continue on in this wretched world. It's good old-fashioned break-me-down, and build-me-up-because-I'm-a-sinner goodness that we all need to be reminded of during this Holy Week (and always). Enjoy.

Holy Sonnet XIV.

Batter my heart, three-person'd God ; for you
As yet but knock ; breathe, shine, and seek to mend ;
That I may rise, and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend
Your force, to break, blow, burn, and make me new.
I, like an usurp'd town, to another due,
Labour to admit you, but O, to no end.
Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,
But is captived, and proves weak or untrue.
Yet dearly I love you, and would be loved fain,
But am betroth'd unto your enemy ;
Divorce me, untie, or break that knot again,
Take me to you, imprison me, for I,
Except you enthrall me, never shall be free,
Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.
- John Donne

Cleaning Up Our Act

2010-03-28T20:55:00.000-04:00

Jay graciously cleaned up and burned a very large brush pile on Saturday. Just before fall, we cleaned up a lot of overgrowth and neighboring weeds/grapevines that had made their home into our large lilac, and the result was a brush pile about 10'x10'x 3 feet deep. Now that the snow had subsided, and since we are having Easter guests next Sunday, I asked if he would clean up the pile, and he obliged.

I went out a couple of times, and pitched some leftover garden remnants on the fire, but mostly I stayed indoors and finished a long-overdue paper for graduate school. In my garden cleanings, however, I noticed that my onion sets (that I had long since abandoned last summer) ARE STILL GROWING. It appears that I have 5-6" fresh green tops, and bulbs slightly larger than eggs. I pulled one up and it looks great. Does anyone know if these will be OK to harvest later this year if I let them go?

The whole fam will be over for Easter Sunday dinner at our place. Trading the traditional ham dinner (ick) for pulled pork samitches and burgers on the grill. 'Twill be an Easter Barbeque at the Hall household this year! Time for indoor cleaning this week.

Holy Week is upon us once again. Take time this week to thank the Lord for his ultimate sacrifice.

Thank You Norman Maclean

2010-03-25T21:08:00.004-04:00

With four Saturdays left until Michigan's trout opener, and my mind on all things nature (when isn't it?)... I'd like to share today's post with the Montana writer, Norman Maclean. If you've heard of him, you probably immediately think of the 1990's film, A River Runs Through It-- produced by Robert Redford and starring Brad Pitt. If you haven't seen it, and you happen to like the outdoors--especially trout fishing--get your hands on a copy. It will fill that fishing void in your soul--at least until the season opener.

Having said that, here's my favorite excerpt from the story, along with a photo of two nice trout I caught in Dutch John, Utah on the Green River in 2007. Enjoy.

I often do not start fishing until the cool of the evening. Then in the Arctic half-light of the canyon, all existence fades to a being with my soul and memories and the sounds of the Big Blackfoot River and a four-count rhythm and the hope that a fish will rise...

Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it. The river was cut by the world's great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time. On some of the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs.

I am haunted by waters.

The Grass Is Greener...

2010-03-22T19:17:00.000-04:00

Not on the other side, but right here! Although we had a couple of dustings of snow over the weekend, the spring beauties are proving triumphant in their return to the land of the living!

My crocus are alive and well (and blooming!), and it appears as if the grass in the side yard is actually greening up!

I've got the itch to clean out the garden plot and bust out the rototiller already just to get some dirt under my fingernails. I know it's far too early to plant a lot of things, but the locals around here swear by planting their garden pea seeds on Good Friday. (That's next Friday for those of you playing the home game.)

Whaddya think folks? Too cold to get those peas in the ground yet, or should I give it a whirl?

Whirled Peas. Ha. Give Peas a Chance. Double Ha.

Oh, and if you happen to be a foodie, check out my friend Kristen's Food Blog in my sidebar! The pics of her fabulous meals look tasty enough to eat on their own!

Lots To Do

2010-03-21T18:12:00.000-04:00

My Spring Break is twelve days (9 school days) away, and I already have oodles of things on the "to do" list. Goodness... it always seems like this time of year is extraordinarily busy, but it also seems like things creep up and surprise you too...

Easter to plan, papers to write, classes to finish, college-trip visits to make with school colleagues with children, house to spring-clean, yard to de-poo, and lawn to rake, flower beds to weed and prepare, bills to pay...

I guess it never ends, does it?

That's OK... I guess I signed-on for all of it! :)

The Day of Numbers

2010-03-16T14:02:00.001-04:00

3 days left until the weekend (play, comedy show, relaxation)

5 days until it is officially spring outside!

12 days left until Spring Break commences (Easter Celebrations, study time, yard work)

34 days left until Michigan Trout Season begins (I love fishing the AuSable... let's go!)

36 days left until my Spring Turkey license goes into effect (I love sitting in the woods... let's go!)

43 days until my Spring 2010 MSU graduate classes are finished (I better get moving!)

71 days until Jay's birthday (what to do for his 28th...???)

80 days until the last day of school

83days until Grandma has her NINETY-THIRD birthday. Wow.

85 days until I get to go to the U.P. again. (Nothing refreshes the soul like the northwoods.) Everytime I go, I don't want to come home.

But... who's counting?

A little of this, and a lot of that.

2010-03-14T21:54:00.002-04:00

It's been a boring weekend at the homestead.

I've been reading copious amounts of articles/books/~~drivel~~ about literary and educational theorists for my grad school classes, and I'm getting burned out on the stuff.
7 more papers between now and May and that horrible class will be over--hooray!

The weather and the "to-do-lists" were not too favorable anyway, so the other half worked on writing his final exam for the college Disease class that he is currently teaching, and I did homework.

The dog did a whole lot of this ...which was OK, too.

We caught up on some DVR-d TV, made some homemade pizza, and acted like college kids all over again, because in a way, we still are...

It was boring, and uneventful, but academic deadlines are cruel mistresses, now aren't they?

How did you spend your weekend?

Three Hoorays and One Boo.

2010-03-11T17:36:00.000-05:00

Perhaps I was chomping at the bit yesterday in my eagerness of welcoming spring, for today when I went outside, spring indeed had sprung overnight--literally!

Crocus!!

They're teeny, but they're there! :)

Also, saw some budding leaves of either daffodils or super-early tulips. They look like tulip greens, but my brain is telling me 'tis way too early for tulips. Any help as to what these are?

And yes... I know I have grass near these "whatevers" and autumn leaves near the crocus. No lectures, please! The "Garden of Weed-in" will get a good, thorough spring overhaul once it warms up!

Still, I can't wait to plant these...

mostly because the other half and I agree that they mesh so well with my personality!

Impatiens = impatience! :)

So, there are my three hoorays for today. The one boo has to do with the snow being officially gone out of the yard now, and the realization that our dog has left millions of tiny unwanted presents all over the backyard. Who knew that four months without "backyard-shovel-cleanup-duty" would be so unpleasant in the spring?

I chose not to photograph the "gifts" for obvious reasons. Among them, I don't want my neighbors to know me as "that lady that photographs her dog's poo."

Weird.

Boo to that, but hooray to the rest!

Signs of Spring!

2010-03-10T17:27:00.003-05:00

I do believe that old man winter might be seeing that final nail in his coffin soon. Some tell-tale signs of spring are right around the corner, and for some, they couldn't have come at a better time.

Really, it's a no-brainer for me. As long as I'm living and breathing, I don't really care for one specific season over another. I like them all. Perhaps it is because I have always known "four seasons" being a native Michigander and all, perhaps not. Still, I can always find something of beauty on God's green earth--regardless of season.

This week, I saw the tried-and-true tell-tale sign of spring (at least to me)... robins bouncing about outdoors.

Other "springy" things that are rumored to be currently occurring in my neck-of the woods:

- Crocus and Daffodils poking through the flowerbeds (not mine!)

- Maple Sugar/Sap running in the trees ready for collecting

- Inland lake and river ice-melt

- The first real "rain" of the season

- Drooling over the offerings of the 2010 Burpee seed catalog and garden planning

- Countdowns to the Michigan trout opener

- Fine-tuning/cleaning/choke-tube-changing in preparation for spring turkey hunting

Other "springy" things that I have yet to see or hear of occurring nearby:

- Red-wing blackbird sightings

- Baltimore Oriole sightings

- Tree leaves budding

- Earthworms emerging

- The sound of the first lawnmower in the neighborhood starting up

I will be honest, I do love winter. I like the clean, white, purity of watching a silent nighttime snowstorm. I like the cozy feeling of bundling up in a handsewn quilt (thanks Mom!), or sitting by a roaring fire knowing that it is twenty below outside. I like Christmas. I like snow days. Still, all things must come to an end, and in the case of the seasons, the way is paved for new life and new beginnings. It's quite a beautiful transition if I do say so myself. Good work, Lord! You've out-done yourself yet again!!!

When through the woods and forest glades I wander,

I hear the birds sing sweetly in the trees;

When I look down from lofty mountain grandeur,

And hear the brook and feel the gentle breeze;

Then sings my soul, my Savior God, to Thee,

How great Thou art! How great Thou art!

- LSB #801

I'm Back!

2010-03-09T19:02:00.004-05:00

Well, after a hiatus of blogging, I've been meaning to get back on here.

As of recent, not much has changed. Still working. Still married. Still trying to get out of debt. All-in-all, I'm more blessed than I deserve.

Oh, I did make a recent snow-shoe trip north last month. Here are some pics to strike your fancy!

Ohm Nom Nom...

2009-07-11T22:51:00.001-04:00

I have forgotten just how much I enjoy Ranier Cherries.

That is until I found them at the grocery store yesterday. Now I remember.

Summer

2009-07-09T22:14:00.007-04:00

After just roughly one month away from teaching high school, I have found myself being ridiculously busy for the summer. The whole idea that "teachers get the summers off" certainly is not working in my favor this year.

One week after high school let out, Jay and I went up to the Upper Peninsula to go charter fishing and see my brother Grant and his family. It was fun indeed! I would say that charter fishing was a great adventure!

Shelter Bay Charter Success! 9 Lake Trout, 1 King Salmon

Big Lake Trout

Big King!

Lupines looking out on Black River Harbor-Lake Superior--about 15 miles from my brother's house.

Upon returning, I've started teaching two college courses at Baker on Mondays. One remedial English 091, and one Composition 101. Extra money is the benefit, eating away at the summer is the downfall.

Also, upon returning home from our mini-vacation, I started taking two courses towards my Master's Degree at Michigan State. I'm taking Children's Literature and Film Studies (TE 891) and Advanced Methods for Teaching Language Arts (TE 847). Both are semi-interesting. The first one has helped me see the importance of film literacy in our current culture of visually and technologically-minded students. The latter course is working on collaborative literacy in "book club" type settings. It seems as if most of the students in there are elementary teachers. Not many seem to be secondary teachers as I am, and it's a challenge to see how some of these "little kid" techniques will fit in with my Juniors and Seniors.

The garden had exploded upon our return home from vacation. I harvested our first veggies yesterday-- a whole bunch of salad lettuce! I gave a big container of it to mom, and Jay and I have been working our way through a gallon sized bag of it over the course of the past two days. Our zucchini and summer squash have flowered, and we have 2-3" mini squash, which I will have to keep an eye on. Those buggers can be the size of your leg in about a day if you don't watch them. The tomatoes, peppers, onions, peas, radishes, corn, and cukes are growing. We'll have plenty when the time is right.

Also, Jay and I re-upped our gym membership. We signed on for a 2-year plan, and we're only paying about $25 total per month for both of us. We've been going daily after Jay gets home from work. Seems like we're motivation for each other to go work out!

Well, sorry for the delay in posting. Let's hope I find some more time this summer to keep up on my blog!

Up North

2009-04-14T16:35:00.002-04:00

Up North is a certain way the wind feels on your face and the way an old wool shirt feels on your back. It's the peace that comes over you when you sit down to read one of your old trip journals, or the anticipation that bubbles inside when you start sorting through your tackle box in early spring.

Up North is the smell of the Duluth pack hanging in your basement and the sound of pots clinking across the lake. It's a raindrop clinging to a pine needle and the dancing light of a campfire on the faces of friends.

Up North is a lone set of cross-country ski tracks across a wilderness lake and wood smoke rising from a cabin chimney. It's blackberries in June, blueberries in July and wild rice in September.

Each of us has an Up North. It's a time and place far from the here and now. It's a map on the wall, a dream in the making, a tugging at one's soul. For those who feel the tug, who make the dream happen, who put the map in the pack and go, the world is never quite the same again.

We have been Up North. And part of us will always be.

-Sam Cook

Too Warm, But Not Quite Warm Enough

2009-02-17T16:52:00.002-05:00

I know I live in Michigan, and I know the weather here is ridiculous, but seriously. Is it spring? Is it not? What's going on?

This past weekend, we were to go snowmobiling, but the days prior to the trip were 50+ degrees, with an overabundance of rain. This led to a lot of local area rivers, streams, and towns (Vassar) being flooded. Snowmobiling was out.

Today, the sun was gloriously shining. For this, I will not complain. Still, it was 38 degrees outside, and tonight and tomorrow we could get six to eight inches of snow. Really?

Oh, and at the store today, I spent a little too much time perusing the garden seeds and mentally planning what would go in the vegetable garden. I know it is far too early, but I'm mentally "through" with winter. I'm ready for spring.

The crocus are too.
They're poking through.

The house is in need of a thorough deep clean, and I have plenty to keep me busy this week on our "off week" from school. I think I just have a bit of the cabin fever.

Vegetable Gardening.
Blooming Lilacs.
Putting clothes on the line.
Mowing lawn.
Trout Fishing.

These things are definitely on the brain.

We Have Gas! (Again)

2009-02-05T20:48:00.003-05:00

(No, we didn't make chili for dinner.)

Consumer's Energy must have heard our scary threats!

More to come later. For now, we have heat, and I am as busy as a beaver.

Papers to grade tonight after teaching from 8AM to 9PM = not fun.

To keep you amused however, here is a ridiculous elementary-school-age-kids-joke:

Did you hear about the kidnapping?

His parents woke him up.

Below Forty.

2009-02-04T17:28:00.002-05:00

When it's below forty degrees in the house, we officially lose our minds.

Being the ever-resourceful, loving science nerd that he is, Jay has taken the concept of "Hot Pockets" to a literal level.
No. I wouldn't let him actually put them in his pockets.

Oh, and he wanted me to tell you all that he is declaring martial law.

Effective...now.

Breaking News Alert!

2009-02-04T17:00:00.001-05:00

The house is now at a balmy FORTY-TWO degrees.

(Global warming is a crock, by the way.)

Stupid Consumers. (Energy, that is)

2009-02-04T16:41:00.012-05:00

**WARNING: If you do not want to read proof that idiot corporations interfere with us, don't read this post.***

So approximately three weeks ago, we had to report the smell of a gas leak to our energy company. They sent a kind person promptly to address the problem. It seems as if the sub zero temperatures cause our new furnace to go into overdrive, and spew natural gas into the air. This employee told us it was a simple fix, no major leak, and that they would "fix the problem" in the summer when outdoor temps were not an issue, and our heat wouldn't be interrupted.

That's what we were told.

However, upon arriving at home, we were greeted by this on the door:
Nothing more than a friendly note saying our "problem was fixed."

Um... it's winter. Last time I checked, they said summer. From my calculations, this is approximately five to six months off the mark. (I'm sure these folks got at least a D-average in basic elementary calendar-reading 'science'--this of course is the benefit of the doubt)

Looking at the side yard, we saw this:
My poor, poor tulips. They've been murdered from their winter slumber.

Upon closer look, we saw this:
Oh joy, a new meter! Wait... that means our HEAT IS OFF, on a day like today, when it's:
that's right... NINE DEGREES OUTSIDE (for all of you sideways thermometer readers)

But wait... it gets better.

How warm is it in the house, you ask?
Forty-six degrees. AWESOME!

(and yes, I am aware of the fact that the thermostat is telling me to change the furnace filter.)

I feel the fury welling up inside.
Heads may roll if the tech doesn't come turn the gas back on.

Immediately.

In Mourning for the Mourning Dove.

2009-02-02T21:59:00.004-05:00

So this morning, a mourning dove decided it had a deathwish on my way to work.Barrelling toward the highway, going about 55, I briefly saw a puffed-up bird on the road. I told him to move. I made hand motions.

I tried, I really, really, tried.

Instead of flying on an angle, he flew straight up, and head-on with the truck.

(I don't think there is a birdie heaven, but if there is, he and the bird version of St. Peter are now the best of friends.)

At first, I didn't know it was a dove. It hit really, really, hard, and I would have guessed it was a grouse or a huge crow. It really had a good "whump" on impact.

Anyway, I got to work, only to find a gaping hole in the grille of the truck, surrounded by feathers, and the poor critter wedged down by the fog lights.

One call to the insurance people, and a $100 deductible later, it appears as if I need a WHOLE new grille/front end to my truck. It appears to be all one connected piece that needs replacing.

Whomever thought it was a good idea to make a TRUCK out of plastic was mistaken.

On the bright side, the field biology kids got the dove today, and it apparently got them out of a boring lecture. I was thanked many times by many a student.

I'd take the credit, but I didn't break my neck this morning.

And for this, I'm in "mourning."

Myth Becomes Reality.

2009-01-30T22:44:00.003-05:00

There are many enigmas in the world--

Nessie, the Loch Ness monster.
Unicorns.
The Mexican Chupacabra.
Yetis.
Sasquatches.
Leprechauns.
A Republican Congress.

Of all these, there is one thing I have been searching for an answer to for at least the past three years.

I've asked my husband to help me with this enigma, or mystery if you will. He said he would provide.

I waited.

And I waited.

I nagged a little.

I pleaded.

I threatened.

I waited.

I gave up.

Finally, tonight, the mystery has been solved.

JAY DOES KNOW WHAT AN AFGHAN RACK LOOKS LIKE, AND HE GAVE ONE TO ME!!!! (I've only been asking him to build/find me one since we've been married...)

**The heavens rejoice with song...**

(I'll post pictures later. It is beautiful and divine. I must share.)

Apologies Required

2009-01-28T21:12:00.004-05:00

In the previous post, I unabashedly used the term "delish" at the end of paragraph 3.

How completely un-Midwestern of me...

I usually profess to be a down-to-earth outdoorsy, common-type person. This behavior just happed to slip out without warning--making me sound as if I pay attention to the fashion circuits and read Vogue.

Upon proofing the entry, I think I threw up a little. At least mentally.

You have my profound apologies.

I will attempt to choose audience-appropriate diction in my future posts.

The Jewel of Superior

2009-01-22T22:33:00.004-05:00

So I've been thinking more and more about hiking/backpacking Isle Royale this summer. I've been there twice (once with Jay). However, nothing more than day hikes.

It's Michigan's only national park, and it truly is a wilderness wonderland worthy of experiencing once (or a hundred) time(s) in one's lifetime. The treks are moderately difficult--even more so if you are packing all of your equipment with you, travelling the Greenstone ridge portion of the island, and intending on doing the island from one end to the other, or for the slightly more crazy--round tripping it.

From one end to the other is roughly 40 miles in length. That makes approx. 80+ round trip give or take a bit depending on the paths chosen, and factoring in about an average of 10 miles in width at most points of the island.

Truly, it's beautiful, pristine, and bear-free. This time around I'd like to at least get some canoeing/kayaking in, and do a good portion of the island. Jay and I are well-equipped to hike 10-12 miles per day at a good clip. However, to take in all of the sights and surroundings, it would take about a 6-8 mile a day average to take in the sights.

We have the gear, the know-how, and the wherewithal to log an actual hike. Now we just have to mentally prepare for the wolves, cramped sleeping-on-the-ground-bare-bones night quarters, and pack food to digest (literally and metaphorically).

Hmm... lots to think about.
I'll post more if we actually start planning the trip.
Until then, if you'd like to know more about Isle Royale, literally the "jewel of Lake Superior," check out these sites:

http://www.nps.gov/isro
http://www.isle.royale.national-park.com

Beautiful Savior

2009-01-19T20:46:00.005-05:00

So I've been feeling a little under the weather today.
Not sure if it's the 10 + hours I spent in my classroom on a Sunday afternoon, or if I caught a bug of some sort... nevertheless, I've been feeling kinda dumpy all day.

On a brighter note, verse #2 of the following has been in my head all week. Let's face it. It's in my head quite a bit. (I think I even blogged about it last spring..???)

Perhaps I'm yearning for spring? Perhaps the Lord was just reminding me he's Beautiful. Either way, I thought I'd share.

Beautiful Savior, King of Creation,
Son of God and Son of Man! Truly I'd
love Thee, Truly I'd serve Thee,
Light of my soul, my Joy my Crown.

Fair are the meadows, Fair are the
woodlands, Robed in flowers of
blooming spring; Jesus is fairer,
Jesus is purer; He makes our sorrowing
spirit sing.

Fair is the sunshine, Fair is the
moonlight, Bright the sparkling stars
on high; Jesus shines brighter, Jesus
shines purer, Than all the angels in
the sky.

Beautiful Savior, Lord of the nations,
Son of God and Son of Man! Glory and
honor, Praise, adoration, Now and
forevermore be Thine!

- TLH #657
- LSB #537

Frostbite

2009-01-14T19:05:00.002-05:00

It would be an understatement of sorts to say that it is cold in Michigan right now.

It's insanely cold.

So cold your nose hairs freeze the instant you step outside... So cold your lungs tighten and tense the second you take an breath outdoors... So cold you can leave a vehicle running for 30+ minutes with the heater on full blast and the interior windshield is still frosted.

This morning, our town had the record low temperature (not counting the wind chill factor). Seventeen below. Twenty-five plus below with the wind chill factored in.
My good friend who currently lives in Anchorage, Alaska was enjoying twenty-five to thirty degree temperatures ABOVE ZERO today. Do the math on that, and see if your brain isn't twisted into a pretzel...

I sent a student in my first hour to get medical attention because he had all indications and symptoms of having frostbite on his hands.Ironically, the other students were freaking out. I calmly told him he should not continue rubbing his hands together even though that is probably the first thing most people do. It could potentially make it worse. I should know tomorrow how things are for him. Teenagers thinking gloves "aren't cool" befuddle me. I'd choose "uncoolness" over having the use of my hands, anyday.

Am I complaining about this cold? Not a chance. I love it. It makes you feel alive. It makes you feel like a survivor. It makes you feel like a Yooper. A viking. An eskimo. It's awesome.

It's supposed to drop another five to ten degrees tomorrow. I say bring it on. Alberta Clippers and freezing Jet Streams are fine. I love the North.

Now it's time for coffee, slippers and long johns.

Tomorrow I'll get going on that igloo.

The Call

2009-01-09T21:48:00.004-05:00

In Christian belief, there are many calls or vocations that the Lord chooses for you.
As of late, I've been thinking more and more of my various vocations, and what purpose each is to serve in my life.

One of the reasons for leaving my last teaching position (albeit in a parochial setting) was that I felt as if I were being 'pushed' to accept a 'secondary call' through the synod to "officially place me" as a teacher in said setting. I was not, and still am wary of this whole practice. I was not 'ordained' or 'installed' into this vocation, yet the practice that was being pushed upon me seemed all-too similar to the ordination of a pastor to a congregation. This felt inherently wrong to me.

First of all, Christ called me in my first vocation to be a believer in his inerrant word and eternal salvation. I accept that. I love that. It's wonderful to be a Christian.

Secondly, Christ called me in the vocation of a child to God-fearing parents who would bring me up in his Word and teaching. They did/are continuing to do so. It has/is a wonderful gift and I am forever grateful that they chose to do this for me. I accept it.

Thirdly, Christ called me in the vocation to be a wife to a God-fearing Christian man. We continue to live our lives in his Word. I accept this, and am thankful for it.

Fourth on the list, Christ may call me in the vocation to serve as a mother someday to a child or children. This he will do in his time, if it is His will. I accept this also whether it happens or does not happen. It is not necessarily up to me. I accept this too, if it be His will.

However, where the sticking point happened to lay existed with my vocation where I am compensated and earn a living. I believe it was God's Will to give me the talent and desire to learn and educate others. It is a noble and worthy profession that many have followed in their lifetime. He gave me the opportunities and knowledge to complete my education and the time came for me to seek out employment. At the time, the job market for teachers was exceptionally difficult. Regardless of the fact that I could teach two core subjects (History and English), my first job search was extremely stressful. I submitted over 300 resumes and applications to various districts (public and parochial) in over 13 different states in the United States.

I received one interview, to a Lutheran parochial school. In my letter to them, I stated that I hoped my qualifications "fit their vacancy" and that I would hear from them soon. Indeed, when they called me for my initial phone interview, they wondered how I knew about the vacancy since the job was not posted. I said it was a lucky guess, and we both chalked it up to God's Will. I accepted this, as well as the position.

However, as time went on, I became increasingly pressured to "prove my Lutheranism" in various courses geared specifically for Lutheran teachers. This slightly offended me. I had been at this point (and still am) a Lutheran for 25+ years. Shortly after being hired, I was told that I had to complete these courses within 7 years of my hire date to remain employed there. I thought a brush-up wouldn't hurt but probably help my faith, so I accepted this, and completed all of the coursework.

Following the coursework, all students in this program could choose to go and complete an oral interview at the synod and be "officially" rostered with the church, or to simply complete the coursework and be done with it. I chose the latter. I believed that I had been called in my vocation by God to apply to that specific high school. I believed that it wasn't coincidence that my path and the school's path happened to have met. I believed that it was God's Will. However, when I chose to not be "officially rostered", I received a thorough "talking-to" from my principal, and I felt as I was being told I had made a foolish decision to not be "official" within the church. Granted during this time, I was (and still am) a faithful Lutheran who attended church, and taught the word of God in my classroom. Still, I felt that all of this wasn't "good enough" because it wasn't on paper.

The whole practice of "rostering and calling" teachers seemed all-too-close to the practice of "training-calling-and ordaining" pastors. Men are called to be pastors. I accept and believe this. Men are called to be pastors and to preach the word of God. The vocation of minister serves this purpose only. Lutheran teachers are to be 'auxilliary' helpers or branches of the pastoral office. I accept and believe this. However, I do not believe Lutheran teachers must be "officially called" and "installed" to prove their Lutheranism. It is too akin to the office of Holy Ministry, and the practice just doesn't sit well with me.

I don't believe God's vocational plans for us have to be on paper. He will work His will in His way when it is appropriate. Man follows Him. He does not follow Man.

I guess I'm still confused over this. The experience left a bitter taste in my mouth from a synodical perspective. Regardless, I'm still a Christian and will continue to do so. I will continue to live my life for Him, and let Him lead me where I need to be. I will continue to live and work in my various vocations as He has chosen for me, and I will serve as a Christian example to others in whatever workplace I may find myself in.

Sorry for the rant. It's been brewing for a couple of years now.

Winter

2008-12-06T11:41:00.002-05:00

It is officially here, whether the calendar agrees or not.

1. We had our first snow day off from school on Dec. 1st.
2. It's been snowing ever since.
3. Flannel sheets and down comforters are on the bed.
4. I purchased egg nog last night.
5. I'm writing out Christmas cards today.
6. 10 days until the kids are off for Christmas break (thank the LORD.)
7. First Christmas card came in the mail.
8. Jay put up the lights on the porch.
9. He's asking when I'm making Christmas cookies.
10. I'm dreading going out to the cold garage to get the Christmas decorations.

On the bright side, we're singing Advent/Christmas hymns in church, I'm burning Christmassy candles, and there are good shows/movies on TV for a change!

Seven Things (From fellow Blogger BTEG)

2008-12-06T11:23:00.002-05:00

Seven Things I Did Before

1. Walked three miles a day to and from class, and was therefore in better shape.

2. Played billiards much more efficiently.

3. Drove about 15 miles to go to a church that felt like home.

4. Walked up and down three flights of stairs to my apartment, daily.

5. Taught kids about hunting/firearm safety.

6. Shot in an archery league every week.

7. Went on crazy outdoor adventures with friends named Vince, Herb, and Jim.

Seven Things I Do Now

1. Drive less than five blocks to a church that feels like home.

2. Enjoy my job that is a career and not just a job.

3. Shovel snow, mow law, rake leaves, etc.

4. Save money toward a new home.

5. Enjoy that my husband I do not work weekends anymore.

6. Dream more of being outside, doing outdoorsy-type things.

7. Drink more coffee during the week.

Seven Things I Would Like to Do

1. Buy the home with wooded property that we've been looking at.

2. Get out of debt.

3. Finish my Master's degree.

4. Join another league-- archery, or trap/skeet shooting.

5. Go back to Europe.

6. Catch a monster brook trout.

7. Get another dog/have children in a few years.

Seven Things That Attract Me to My Husband

1. Conservative Ethics/Religious Conviction.

2. Uber-intelligence.

3. Calmness that balances my irrationality.

4. Willingness to listen and/or help with anything.

5. Willingness to put up with me.

6. Semi-handy tendencies.

7. Lumberjack beard.

Seven Things I Say Most Often

1. Really?

2. Hmm, that's not optimal.

3. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I'll get to it.

4. HEY! (usually in class)

5. What's up?

6. Eh... Meh... or Ugh... (in that order)

7. Not really.

MSU FB

2008-11-02T22:05:00.001-05:00

Jay and I went to the Michigan State/Wisconsin game in E. Lansing on Saturday.

Oh. My. Gosh. I almost had a coronary.

Brett Swenson kicks a 44 yd. field goal with SEVEN seconds left on the clock to bring the green guys up by ONE point to WIN.

I don't think I've yelled so much EVER.

Nah, I probably have sometime.

Regardless, it was fun all the same.

Oh, and here's a chuckle. We bought two really CUTE sweatshirts at the bookstore. They were NIKE and CLEARANCE for $12.00 apiece. I got them home, and realized only then that they were YOUTH sweatshirts. Whoops.

Priorities.

2008-10-19T23:07:00.002-04:00

We must all get it together.
Now, and how!

1. Spiritually.
2. Physically.
3. Emotionally.
4. Financially.
5. Politically.

Seriously, world. Let's get our priorities in order. The proverbial feces has already hit the proverbial fan. Let's clean up this mess ASAP!