The longer I live the more I become convinced that we humans never outgrow our need for a mother.
Daddies, do not get me wrong, here. You are vitally important, too. That is why God made the requirement that it takes both a man's and a woman's contribution to create life. Fathers' roles cannot be understated nor underestimated, but the role of a mother might be in a slightly different category.
"Where does this undocumented and un-researched observation come from?" you may ask.
Working with larger groups of people and my own experience.
Before you leave me and my train of thought, allow me to explain.
From the perspective of working with groups, I am convinced that both men and women need/enjoy/crave some sort of mothering. Not smothering, not nagging, not hovering - just some "mother-henning", if you will. And, no, most men do not want or need mothering. But as co-ed and single-gender groups go, perhaps nurturing is a better term, although I do believe that nurturing is closely aligned with mothering.
Doesn't almost everyone, from somewhere deep inside our souls and psyches, respond to the warm feeling that arises when we realize that someone else cares for us? The psychology of a group is not immune from needing to feel wanted and appreciated and isn't that one of the traits of mothering? (Fathering, too!) Think about where the term "mother hen" comes from. The instinct of a mother hen, goose, duck, loon, other water fowl, etc. to tuck her young ones under her wings to protect them from danger, the elements, or predators.
From a personal perspective, I am discovering that I am not too old to miss my mother, as evidenced recently after a particularly long string of rough days, when I informed poor Capt. SO that I really wanted my mother and Max, neither of which are available any more for comforting moi. This recent remark was not my first "I-miss-my-mother!" wail nor will it probably be my last but it did make me sit up and take notice of the strong feeling that comes from missing one's mother.
So, what did I just say? That mothering is a naturally occurring human need, regardless of gender, number or age AND that having a dog or a puppy can be a suitable substitute for missing one's mother.
Yes, I just said it and I mean it. I believe I've mentioned this before.
Ancora imparo
Friday, October 19, 2012
Saturday, October 6, 2012
Kansas City, There I Went
"I'm goin' to Kansas City, Kansas City, Here I Come!"
That is what I said on Wednesday morning as I prepared to take a three-day, eleven-hundred mile round-trip journey, with seven other people. Two vehicles of four-each made the trip - safely, I might add thankfully. Our two drivers were skillful, especially so when navigating complicated interstate highway exchanges in larger cities along the way. Even driving in the greater KC metro and suburban areas was non-eventful for these two drivers.
Upon arrival at our hotel, we checked in and checked out our digs for the two-night stay. I was assigned to a room with two other women and it had been years since I shared a room with anyone other than immediate family members. "This,", thought I to myself, "will be quite the adventure!" The rooming adventure turned to be quite the non-event, as we spent very little time in our respective rooms and when we did, my two "room-mates" read with their Nooks and I played with my phone. Never once did we turn on either one of two televisions.
The conference we attended was held at the largest Methodist church in the United States. Quite a distinction and the building(s!) and grounds were impressive, if in nothing else other than the scope of the property. (Over seven-thousand people worship there each week. They have three other campuses.) This congregation holds this leadership conference each year and the level of organization, preparation and execution was impressive, to say the least. It was staffed by maybe hundreds of volunteers, all armed with the necessary information and a genuine smile, to boot! And if I thought the volunteers were helpful and people-oriented, the staff was even more so. Each break-out session I attended was closed by words from the staff member leading it, with something to the effect - "You have my email and phone number. Do not hesitate to call or email me. I can give you more materials if you need them or can explain in more detail if you desire."
I came away with more good ideas than I can ever implement in my lifetime so my challenge will be to filter through what I gleaned and get to the imminently germane ideas that I might want to implement. I left feeling somewhat inadequate after witnessing great skill levels in areas that I will never be skilled in. This feeling was not unexpected as this is the way I have always felt after leaving professional conferences. There is always so much more to learn.
To quote my favorite line from the movie, "Smokey and the Bandit",
"We've got a long way to go and a short time to get there......"
I'd better get started!
Ancora imparo
That is what I said on Wednesday morning as I prepared to take a three-day, eleven-hundred mile round-trip journey, with seven other people. Two vehicles of four-each made the trip - safely, I might add thankfully. Our two drivers were skillful, especially so when navigating complicated interstate highway exchanges in larger cities along the way. Even driving in the greater KC metro and suburban areas was non-eventful for these two drivers.
Upon arrival at our hotel, we checked in and checked out our digs for the two-night stay. I was assigned to a room with two other women and it had been years since I shared a room with anyone other than immediate family members. "This,", thought I to myself, "will be quite the adventure!" The rooming adventure turned to be quite the non-event, as we spent very little time in our respective rooms and when we did, my two "room-mates" read with their Nooks and I played with my phone. Never once did we turn on either one of two televisions.
The conference we attended was held at the largest Methodist church in the United States. Quite a distinction and the building(s!) and grounds were impressive, if in nothing else other than the scope of the property. (Over seven-thousand people worship there each week. They have three other campuses.) This congregation holds this leadership conference each year and the level of organization, preparation and execution was impressive, to say the least. It was staffed by maybe hundreds of volunteers, all armed with the necessary information and a genuine smile, to boot! And if I thought the volunteers were helpful and people-oriented, the staff was even more so. Each break-out session I attended was closed by words from the staff member leading it, with something to the effect - "You have my email and phone number. Do not hesitate to call or email me. I can give you more materials if you need them or can explain in more detail if you desire."
I came away with more good ideas than I can ever implement in my lifetime so my challenge will be to filter through what I gleaned and get to the imminently germane ideas that I might want to implement. I left feeling somewhat inadequate after witnessing great skill levels in areas that I will never be skilled in. This feeling was not unexpected as this is the way I have always felt after leaving professional conferences. There is always so much more to learn.
To quote my favorite line from the movie, "Smokey and the Bandit",
"We've got a long way to go and a short time to get there......"
I'd better get started!
Ancora imparo
Monday, October 1, 2012
Sometimes......
I actually just heard a line on a television show that inspired me. It was something to the effect that we won't have answers so we live with the questions.
Do you ever have questions? I do - daily.
Sometimes I think I question too much. Sometimes I overthink things, situations, dilemmas, problems. Sometimes my questioning morphs into worrying - and that's not good.
Sometimes I wish I could just shut off the crawl line that runs through my brain on an almost constant display. Do this. Do that. Check on this. Check on that. Call this person. Jot this thought down on paper. Don't forget to check this list. Don't forget to check that list. I really appreciate many of the features of my phone but I think I over-use the Note feature. I'm up to 65 notes - most of which I check at least once a week. Two or three of the notes get updated daily.
I think I'm addicted to notes.
I think I dislike unanswered questions so much I spend far too much time trying to come with answers and solutions.
I just read about a local teacher who has been invited to be on a team that re-writes AP tests. I feel like every day I re-write a test - hence, I never get close to the answer because I constantly change the questions.
I wonder what will become of me if I ever achieve "Supreme-answer level"? Will I be satisfied or will I simply compose a new set of questions?
It is no wonder I do not sleep well. Sometimes I feel like my brain competes in cerebral Olympics every night. I wonder why?
Ah..............a new question. I rest my case.
Ancora imparo
Do you ever have questions? I do - daily.
Sometimes I think I question too much. Sometimes I overthink things, situations, dilemmas, problems. Sometimes my questioning morphs into worrying - and that's not good.
Sometimes I wish I could just shut off the crawl line that runs through my brain on an almost constant display. Do this. Do that. Check on this. Check on that. Call this person. Jot this thought down on paper. Don't forget to check this list. Don't forget to check that list. I really appreciate many of the features of my phone but I think I over-use the Note feature. I'm up to 65 notes - most of which I check at least once a week. Two or three of the notes get updated daily.
I think I'm addicted to notes.
I think I dislike unanswered questions so much I spend far too much time trying to come with answers and solutions.
I just read about a local teacher who has been invited to be on a team that re-writes AP tests. I feel like every day I re-write a test - hence, I never get close to the answer because I constantly change the questions.
I wonder what will become of me if I ever achieve "Supreme-answer level"? Will I be satisfied or will I simply compose a new set of questions?
It is no wonder I do not sleep well. Sometimes I feel like my brain competes in cerebral Olympics every night. I wonder why?
Ah..............a new question. I rest my case.
Ancora imparo
Sunday, September 30, 2012
Four Hundred, You Say?
I got involved because I volunteered. My church's pastor gave a sermon that involved a pie chart and the idea was born that, to help illustrate the pie chart, pie should be served to each congregational member.
This idea was floated about in August and, at the time, it seemed like a simple idea, until September 26th arrived and the time was nearing to actually put the idea into action. "How many pieces are needed?" was the question asked. "Four hundred pieces." was the answer given.
Four hundred pieces of pie - now that's a lot of pie. Then the thought wheels began to turn about how to serve four hundred pieces of pie.......then the thought wheels began to turn about how to make four hundred pieces of pie. At even nine slices per pie, the thought of making that many pies was, well, mind-boggling.
Thus, the decision was made by the Baker Herself (not me) that lemon bars would instead be made and cut into tiny, pie-slice-like pieces. The Engineer Himself created a diagram that demonstrated how a 9X13 pan of lemon bars could be cut into the maximum number of tiny, pie-slice-like pieces.
It was a profile in ingenuity - all of those tiny pie-slice-like slices of lemon-bar dessert. The pans of lemon bars were frozen in order to make the slices easier to handle. Napkins were quartered, slices transferred to the napkins and trays were loaded.
Now came the hard part. Keeping the slices from being eaten until AFTER each service. Kids and adults alike were drawn from the farthest corners of the church by some instinct that told them a dessert was lurking somewhere in the building. Even after the trays were tucked away in the corner of a room (with a window in the door), kids would peek around the corner, through the window - perhaps hoping for a lapse in pie-slice guarding - but the pie guardians were not to be distracted from their jobs of keeping the slices safe until after the services.
In the end, the majority of pie-slice-like pieces were served to the congregants of the three services. Any leftover pieces were frozen and will be used on one of the other four, future Sundays that involve a pie chart.
Four times four hundred. That's a lot of tiny, pie-slice-like pieces.
Ancora imparo
This idea was floated about in August and, at the time, it seemed like a simple idea, until September 26th arrived and the time was nearing to actually put the idea into action. "How many pieces are needed?" was the question asked. "Four hundred pieces." was the answer given.
Four hundred pieces of pie - now that's a lot of pie. Then the thought wheels began to turn about how to serve four hundred pieces of pie.......then the thought wheels began to turn about how to make four hundred pieces of pie. At even nine slices per pie, the thought of making that many pies was, well, mind-boggling.
Thus, the decision was made by the Baker Herself (not me) that lemon bars would instead be made and cut into tiny, pie-slice-like pieces. The Engineer Himself created a diagram that demonstrated how a 9X13 pan of lemon bars could be cut into the maximum number of tiny, pie-slice-like pieces.
It was a profile in ingenuity - all of those tiny pie-slice-like slices of lemon-bar dessert. The pans of lemon bars were frozen in order to make the slices easier to handle. Napkins were quartered, slices transferred to the napkins and trays were loaded.
Now came the hard part. Keeping the slices from being eaten until AFTER each service. Kids and adults alike were drawn from the farthest corners of the church by some instinct that told them a dessert was lurking somewhere in the building. Even after the trays were tucked away in the corner of a room (with a window in the door), kids would peek around the corner, through the window - perhaps hoping for a lapse in pie-slice guarding - but the pie guardians were not to be distracted from their jobs of keeping the slices safe until after the services.
In the end, the majority of pie-slice-like pieces were served to the congregants of the three services. Any leftover pieces were frozen and will be used on one of the other four, future Sundays that involve a pie chart.
Four times four hundred. That's a lot of tiny, pie-slice-like pieces.
Ancora imparo
Thursday, September 20, 2012
My Chi Is Off
My Chi. Sounds like a good Chinese dish, doesn't it? I must say that the mere mention of Chinese food makes my mouth water! There are no good Chinese restaurants near where Capt. SO and I float about. Then again, with all of the arsenic/rice warnings abounding right now, perhaps Chinese is not what I should be salivating over.
First Chi Disruption: Rice not good for you? Practically un-American!
Second Chi Disruption: Cooking (heating up, actually) sauerkraut in a small, enclosed space.
I thought I had a great dinner idea to use up some sweet Italian sausage from our Aqua RV freezer. I mean, at home, there would be nothing tastier than bratwurst-type meat simmering in a crockpot with sauerkraut. Yesterday I discovered not-so-much on an Aqua RV. Yes, the concept was appealing but when Capt. SO returned from wherever he'd been, he was feet away from Das Boot when he got this pained look on his face and he said to me, "What's that awful smell?"
First of all, that is not what you should say to your spouse (under any circumstances) when the dinner hour is near.
He proceeded to immediately open the cabin door and place a fan in front of it to try to draw out the sauerkraut "aroma". I took the large pan off the stove, placed the contents in a covered casserole dish and took it to the outside back deck, where we could share the aroma with fellow boaters. Fortunately for them, both slips on either side of us are empty (boats pulled out for the winter), and the people on the boats nearest us are not here. Because I had nothing else planned for dinner, we spooned what we wanted on plates, heated the food up in the cabin's microwave for as little time as necessary, and then rushed the plates up to the upper deck, where the wind was whipping up to near gale-force anyway, easily wafting the aroma of sauerkraut far beyond our Aqua RV.
Final Chi disruption (for now): Accepting the fact that floating season is over.
While this factoid is present each year, it never-the-less comes as a shock just the same. The realization that play-time has eneded is akin to having the recess bell ring at school - signaling the sign that it is time to return to the classroom and hunker down, once again, for learnin', cipherin', and readin'. Our larders are slowly emptying and soon it will be time to begin a serious weight-loss program. Perhaps a daily diet of gruel, sauerkraut, and stone soup will be on the menu for some time. In the meantime, I have pledged to Capt. SO NEVER to cook sauerkraut on Das Boot again.
Darn! It sounded good - on paper!
Ancora imparo
First Chi Disruption: Rice not good for you? Practically un-American!
Second Chi Disruption: Cooking (heating up, actually) sauerkraut in a small, enclosed space.
I thought I had a great dinner idea to use up some sweet Italian sausage from our Aqua RV freezer. I mean, at home, there would be nothing tastier than bratwurst-type meat simmering in a crockpot with sauerkraut. Yesterday I discovered not-so-much on an Aqua RV. Yes, the concept was appealing but when Capt. SO returned from wherever he'd been, he was feet away from Das Boot when he got this pained look on his face and he said to me, "What's that awful smell?"
First of all, that is not what you should say to your spouse (under any circumstances) when the dinner hour is near.
He proceeded to immediately open the cabin door and place a fan in front of it to try to draw out the sauerkraut "aroma". I took the large pan off the stove, placed the contents in a covered casserole dish and took it to the outside back deck, where we could share the aroma with fellow boaters. Fortunately for them, both slips on either side of us are empty (boats pulled out for the winter), and the people on the boats nearest us are not here. Because I had nothing else planned for dinner, we spooned what we wanted on plates, heated the food up in the cabin's microwave for as little time as necessary, and then rushed the plates up to the upper deck, where the wind was whipping up to near gale-force anyway, easily wafting the aroma of sauerkraut far beyond our Aqua RV.
Final Chi disruption (for now): Accepting the fact that floating season is over.
While this factoid is present each year, it never-the-less comes as a shock just the same. The realization that play-time has eneded is akin to having the recess bell ring at school - signaling the sign that it is time to return to the classroom and hunker down, once again, for learnin', cipherin', and readin'. Our larders are slowly emptying and soon it will be time to begin a serious weight-loss program. Perhaps a daily diet of gruel, sauerkraut, and stone soup will be on the menu for some time. In the meantime, I have pledged to Capt. SO NEVER to cook sauerkraut on Das Boot again.
Darn! It sounded good - on paper!
Ancora imparo
Thursday, September 13, 2012
Does Apathy Have Health Benefits?
Over a recent delicious Italian meal of lasagna, veal piccatta, veal parmigiana and pollo (chicken) parmigiana the conversation turned to American politics. Diverse opinions abounded between people of both "right" and "left" persuasions. All remarks, observations and statements were lively yet respectful. Laughter was frequently present and genuine. During the course of the evening's meal, one person commented that she had decided that apathy was the way to survive in our nation's current political and social upheaval. She remarked that she was tired of partisanism (my word) where civil discourse was practically impossible on any subject. Her words somehow hit home and resonated with me throughout the night and into the next day. Three days later, I am still processing the concept of apathy as a method of social survival.
I suspect that some people who espouse apathy are not actually apathetic underneath their proclamations of apathy, but it certainly can serve as an escape mechanism when verbal exchanges become heated and uncivil. Apathy tends to keep one's mouth shut, which definitely protects against the outrage of those who disagree with you, me or us.
It is unfortunate that, for those of us who are committed middle-of-the-roaders and politically independent, many individuals of the outer persuasions cannot nor will not accept any view other than theirs. I have long given up professing most of my opinions publicly on any topics other than sea salt, marching band precision, cat litter, font size, and bathrobe fabrics. These former topics seem to be safe from vitriolic outbursts and hateful statements in response. I'm certain that if I ever revealed my innermost opinions and viewpoints anywhere other than to my perennial hateful kitty (She dislikes everyone so I'm safe.) I'd be blacklisted from everywhere and everyone.
When did it become unsafe to express opinions on education, milk chocolate versus dark chocolate, decaf versus caffeinated coffee, types of car tires, government regulations regarding miles per gallon, the ingestion of meat, and fancy car tires versus "regular" car tires.
Am I apathetic? When it comes to caring about who the recently divorced super-model is dating, what happened yesterday in Honey Boo-boo's life, or whether or not the decidedly beautiful and devastatingly charming Dutchess of Cambridge is with child.............yest I am.
On the subjects about which I care deeply, passionately and opinionatedly..........you'll hear as little as possible. Just have dinner with me.
Ancora imparo
I suspect that some people who espouse apathy are not actually apathetic underneath their proclamations of apathy, but it certainly can serve as an escape mechanism when verbal exchanges become heated and uncivil. Apathy tends to keep one's mouth shut, which definitely protects against the outrage of those who disagree with you, me or us.
It is unfortunate that, for those of us who are committed middle-of-the-roaders and politically independent, many individuals of the outer persuasions cannot nor will not accept any view other than theirs. I have long given up professing most of my opinions publicly on any topics other than sea salt, marching band precision, cat litter, font size, and bathrobe fabrics. These former topics seem to be safe from vitriolic outbursts and hateful statements in response. I'm certain that if I ever revealed my innermost opinions and viewpoints anywhere other than to my perennial hateful kitty (She dislikes everyone so I'm safe.) I'd be blacklisted from everywhere and everyone.
When did it become unsafe to express opinions on education, milk chocolate versus dark chocolate, decaf versus caffeinated coffee, types of car tires, government regulations regarding miles per gallon, the ingestion of meat, and fancy car tires versus "regular" car tires.
Am I apathetic? When it comes to caring about who the recently divorced super-model is dating, what happened yesterday in Honey Boo-boo's life, or whether or not the decidedly beautiful and devastatingly charming Dutchess of Cambridge is with child.............yest I am.
On the subjects about which I care deeply, passionately and opinionatedly..........you'll hear as little as possible. Just have dinner with me.
Ancora imparo
Wednesday, September 12, 2012
One At A Time
In a recent email I wrote about how the promise of fall is in the air. Mother Nature is teasing us midwesterners with the occasional low-humidity, mid-seventies daytime temps and nighttime temps slipping below the sixty-degree mark............occasionally. Then She flexes her meteorological muscles and throws back some upper-eighties along with laser-beam sun and high humidity. But, the winds of change are coming as evidenced by geese gathering, school beginnings, fall-type activities starting up, the ever-shortening number of daylight hours, Friday night football, pumpkin-patch displays and apple cider doughnuts.
One of the ways I mark the passage of fall time is the gradual disappearance of fellow aqua RVs. It is practically unseen how the aqua RV's slip away, sometime within hours. You can be gone for an hour to run errands and when you return yet another boat slip is empty. Walking the docks at the hour of 8:00 p.m. finds total darkness both from the sky and docks. Last night only three slips had lights of any kind.
Yes, fall is right around the corner. Fall means the inevitable hard frost which will end roadside markets teaming with cucumbers, sweet corn, string beans and tomatoes. In their place will be bountiful displays of squash, potatoes, apples and pumpkins. Fall apple varieties are plentiful, juicy, and oh-so delicious. Who can resist the numerous types of squash? Large, small, dry, higher-water content........there is a squash for everyone just as there is an apple for every appetite and pie-maker.
I love the seasons. Each season offers something different to the lovers of seasonal activities. While I am a decidedly winter "unappreciator", I can enjoy the occasional pristine snowfall...........as long as I do not have to drive in it!
One day at a time. Every day brings changes - most of which we have no control over. I await tomorrow.
Ancora imparo
One of the ways I mark the passage of fall time is the gradual disappearance of fellow aqua RVs. It is practically unseen how the aqua RV's slip away, sometime within hours. You can be gone for an hour to run errands and when you return yet another boat slip is empty. Walking the docks at the hour of 8:00 p.m. finds total darkness both from the sky and docks. Last night only three slips had lights of any kind.
Yes, fall is right around the corner. Fall means the inevitable hard frost which will end roadside markets teaming with cucumbers, sweet corn, string beans and tomatoes. In their place will be bountiful displays of squash, potatoes, apples and pumpkins. Fall apple varieties are plentiful, juicy, and oh-so delicious. Who can resist the numerous types of squash? Large, small, dry, higher-water content........there is a squash for everyone just as there is an apple for every appetite and pie-maker.
I love the seasons. Each season offers something different to the lovers of seasonal activities. While I am a decidedly winter "unappreciator", I can enjoy the occasional pristine snowfall...........as long as I do not have to drive in it!
One day at a time. Every day brings changes - most of which we have no control over. I await tomorrow.
Ancora imparo
Saturday, September 1, 2012
Details, Details
As I was sitting with my laptop this morning, attempting to wrangle all the minutiae floating through my brain, I found myself resorting to list-making. For some unknown reason, list-making is highly comforting to me, perhaps because it forces me to compile, sort, and categorize my seemingly random thoughts into cogent patterns that might actually help me remember and accomplish necessary tasks. I rely heavily on lists, although perhaps I keep them in a few too many places - like in my Franklin Planner (yes, I still use paper), on my smart phone (but having both reminder and note spots in which to make lists is not necessarily a good thing), and on random sheets of mini-legal pad paper which then get tucked in to the front flap of my Franklin Planner.
After I compiled my lists and attempted to empty my brain, I thought of the phrase, "The devil is in the details." and I became curious about the origin of the phrase and what it really means. Of course, I resorted to Wikipedia, the font of all knowledge, true and accurate. According to Wikipedia, the phrase may have originated with a German man in the late 1800's AND the phrase may have originally been worded, "GOD is in the detail".
Now, this new wrinkle was very interesting. There is a big difference between God being in the detail and the devil being in the details. I can tell you, from personal experience, that when it comes to details, the devil is surely lurking there because if you miss or misplace one detail, things can definitely come back to bite you in the posterior........usually big time. It is more my experience that if you get the details right, the devil stays out and you can feel the presence of God.
Details do count. Others may make fun of you, chide you for being "anal" (a descriptor for being highly organized that I absolutely hate and despise), and needle you endlessly, but, in the end (pun intended), these are the same people who will run in the opposite direction when something goes amiss. Needlers never have your back, but they will stand behind you and criticize.
I'd rather have one compadre who appreciates detail and will stand with me than one hundred needlers who declare, "I've got your back!"
Details, details. So far, I've got them under control. I'm hoping the devil stays out of my way.
Ancora imparo
After I compiled my lists and attempted to empty my brain, I thought of the phrase, "The devil is in the details." and I became curious about the origin of the phrase and what it really means. Of course, I resorted to Wikipedia, the font of all knowledge, true and accurate. According to Wikipedia, the phrase may have originated with a German man in the late 1800's AND the phrase may have originally been worded, "GOD is in the detail".
Now, this new wrinkle was very interesting. There is a big difference between God being in the detail and the devil being in the details. I can tell you, from personal experience, that when it comes to details, the devil is surely lurking there because if you miss or misplace one detail, things can definitely come back to bite you in the posterior........usually big time. It is more my experience that if you get the details right, the devil stays out and you can feel the presence of God.
Details do count. Others may make fun of you, chide you for being "anal" (a descriptor for being highly organized that I absolutely hate and despise), and needle you endlessly, but, in the end (pun intended), these are the same people who will run in the opposite direction when something goes amiss. Needlers never have your back, but they will stand behind you and criticize.
I'd rather have one compadre who appreciates detail and will stand with me than one hundred needlers who declare, "I've got your back!"
Details, details. So far, I've got them under control. I'm hoping the devil stays out of my way.
Ancora imparo
Thursday, August 30, 2012
This Eerie Is Not A Great Lake
Caveat: I do not believe in ghosts. I do believe, however, that it is possible to feel the spirit of a person or persons who have gone before. I also believe I experienced that feeling a few days ago in a "ghost" town that I visited recently and spent the night in. (No, I did not have any trouble sleeping with the friendly ghosts.)
This ghost town's name is Fayette, located in Michigan's Upper Peninsula on a finger of land between Big Bay DeNoc and Little Bay DeNoc. The location is a Michigan State Park and has been for a number of years. Situated high on bluffs, with great scenic views, life in this mid-nineteenth century town would have been very hard.
Fayette was built by an iron ore company (talk about a company town1) and only actively existed for twenty-four years before the smelting operation closed down and the country began shifting from ore to steel. Smelting was hot, dirty and dangerous work. Existing photographs affirm this with the soot-covered faces staring at the camera. Few smiles can be seen, at least by the workers. They all look filthy and exhausted. A number of the original buildings still exist and have been lovingly restored for public viewing. Many foundations of buildings no longer standing can be seen so it is possible to see the size of the dwellings and imagine what life might have been like inside them.
This was my fifth trip to Fayette and, for some reason - perhaps because I would spend the night and had more time to walk about and mull over, in my mind, daily life for the workers and their families - I could feel the presence of the souls who lived, loved, worked and died in Fayette. Call me fey, weird, crazy - even, but there were times when I could envision activities and tasks. Perhaps it is because the Friends of Fayette have done such a superior job of describing what took place in each building or ruined foundation. It was as if the voices of the past were adding their own words to the placards posted in front of each display or building.
I guess my final thought for this posting is one of irony recognition. The workers, who lived a very rough life and lived in tiny cottages, had the best real estate in Fayette. Unlike today, where beaches, bluffs and views command top-dollar prices, it was the workers cottages that dotted the bluffs in a straight line formation. This may be because the winter winds were too harsh and, therefore, the Company superintendent, doctor, foreman and other professionals were given more protected real estate locations. But in their protection and seclusion they missed the spectacular views that this narrow, little peninsula affords.
Score one for the little guy.
Ancora imparo
This ghost town's name is Fayette, located in Michigan's Upper Peninsula on a finger of land between Big Bay DeNoc and Little Bay DeNoc. The location is a Michigan State Park and has been for a number of years. Situated high on bluffs, with great scenic views, life in this mid-nineteenth century town would have been very hard.
Fayette was built by an iron ore company (talk about a company town1) and only actively existed for twenty-four years before the smelting operation closed down and the country began shifting from ore to steel. Smelting was hot, dirty and dangerous work. Existing photographs affirm this with the soot-covered faces staring at the camera. Few smiles can be seen, at least by the workers. They all look filthy and exhausted. A number of the original buildings still exist and have been lovingly restored for public viewing. Many foundations of buildings no longer standing can be seen so it is possible to see the size of the dwellings and imagine what life might have been like inside them.
This was my fifth trip to Fayette and, for some reason - perhaps because I would spend the night and had more time to walk about and mull over, in my mind, daily life for the workers and their families - I could feel the presence of the souls who lived, loved, worked and died in Fayette. Call me fey, weird, crazy - even, but there were times when I could envision activities and tasks. Perhaps it is because the Friends of Fayette have done such a superior job of describing what took place in each building or ruined foundation. It was as if the voices of the past were adding their own words to the placards posted in front of each display or building.
I guess my final thought for this posting is one of irony recognition. The workers, who lived a very rough life and lived in tiny cottages, had the best real estate in Fayette. Unlike today, where beaches, bluffs and views command top-dollar prices, it was the workers cottages that dotted the bluffs in a straight line formation. This may be because the winter winds were too harsh and, therefore, the Company superintendent, doctor, foreman and other professionals were given more protected real estate locations. But in their protection and seclusion they missed the spectacular views that this narrow, little peninsula affords.
Score one for the little guy.
Ancora imparo
Sunday, August 26, 2012
The "Perplexation" of Parenting
The concept of parenting is enigmatic. Yes, there have been thousands of how-to books written on the topic of parenting, most by people who are actually parents, some by people who purport to know about parenting without having ever parented a single child. (Now tell me - whose book would you prefer to buy?) But the fact remains, I believe, that parenting is a non-exact science that simply cannot be structured as a one-size-fits-all concept. For every child on this earth, there must be a 504 plan for that one child, a plan that cannot nor should not fit another child.
Parenting is so mysterious that parents don't speak too much about it. After all, if parents really told the truth about the act of parenting, the world's pro-creation just might come to a screeching halt. Rather, parents simply nod their heads a lot and smile these little knowing smiles when around people who are not parents. After all, people in the parenting "club" want more people to join the club.
I became a parent with little or no knowledge of what it would be like. I had only my own upbringing upon which to build my parenting skills and my childhood was about as unconventional as they come. I was born to older parents who already had two children - 15+ and 13+ years old when I was born. I was an "oops" baby who was supposed to be a boy but emerged as a girl to join two other sisters. Poor dad. My two siblings admitted that I felt more like a little cousin than a sister. My nieces and nephews were close enough in age to me that they were more like siblings than my two sisters.
When my children were young, I mistakingly thought those were the hardest years, then came the teen years when that idea was shot down. Later the twenties proved that the toddler years were the easiest. All this knowledge comes from the school of experience as a parent.
Now that my children are adults in their thirties, one with children, one would think that parenting-type thoughts would disappear but I've discovered they do not. I still worry about them and their families, I still find the need to pray for them daily, I still wonder what they might be doing at a particular time of day, and I still find myself in a variety of fun situations and say aloud, "I wish _______ could be here!"
I understand that the parenting instinct, once awakened, will last 'til my last breath. I wouldn't want it any other way.
Ancora imparo
Parenting is so mysterious that parents don't speak too much about it. After all, if parents really told the truth about the act of parenting, the world's pro-creation just might come to a screeching halt. Rather, parents simply nod their heads a lot and smile these little knowing smiles when around people who are not parents. After all, people in the parenting "club" want more people to join the club.
I became a parent with little or no knowledge of what it would be like. I had only my own upbringing upon which to build my parenting skills and my childhood was about as unconventional as they come. I was born to older parents who already had two children - 15+ and 13+ years old when I was born. I was an "oops" baby who was supposed to be a boy but emerged as a girl to join two other sisters. Poor dad. My two siblings admitted that I felt more like a little cousin than a sister. My nieces and nephews were close enough in age to me that they were more like siblings than my two sisters.
When my children were young, I mistakingly thought those were the hardest years, then came the teen years when that idea was shot down. Later the twenties proved that the toddler years were the easiest. All this knowledge comes from the school of experience as a parent.
Now that my children are adults in their thirties, one with children, one would think that parenting-type thoughts would disappear but I've discovered they do not. I still worry about them and their families, I still find the need to pray for them daily, I still wonder what they might be doing at a particular time of day, and I still find myself in a variety of fun situations and say aloud, "I wish _______ could be here!"
I understand that the parenting instinct, once awakened, will last 'til my last breath. I wouldn't want it any other way.
Ancora imparo
Friday, August 24, 2012
Whose Fault Is It?
Gosh darn it! The election cycle is ramping up and the attack ads are on the rise. The mute button on my television remote will get a workout, if not outright become disabled from overuse. If "we" are supposed to be the silent majority, then why oh why, cannot the people running for office be silent as well? I'm already jaded against both political parties and the buffoons they place before the electorate to select from. I would rather pick my elected officials by playing musical chairs than the time-honored procedure of voting.
For moi, one of the most disconcerting attributes of most, if not all, of the candidates - regardless of the office striving for - is the inability to accept blame, responsibility, culpability or whatever word you choose to assign to the political animals' penchant to finger point. Finger point in any direction other than at themselves.
Perhaps this inability to accept responsibility comes from the direction of the campaign manager? Most campaign managers or Chiefs of Staff are hard-nosed men or women who seem to specialize in jugular juggernaut. Is there a class that all politicos' handlers take called Opponent Annihilation 101? Or "Take No Prisoners, Levels I, II and III"?
It seems that there are almost daily examples of individuals refusing to accept responsibility for something. Some of these examples are sad, causing John Q. Public to rethink his devotion or adoration to a certain person or group. Today, I cannot help but think about Lance Armstrong and his long-term battle against those who accuse him of doping during his reign as a frequent Tour de France cycling winner. I've done some extensive reading about Armstrong, the charges, and the cycling community's common practices then as compared to now. From my lay perspective, I do not believe this is a cut-and-dried controversy, but rather one with a whole spectrum of gray landscape from which to sketch a decision.
Where does fault lay?
At the end of the day, the person looking in the mirror is in charge of her or his fault. The finger-pointing must end at the end of my index finger.
The fault stops here.
Ancora imparo
For moi, one of the most disconcerting attributes of most, if not all, of the candidates - regardless of the office striving for - is the inability to accept blame, responsibility, culpability or whatever word you choose to assign to the political animals' penchant to finger point. Finger point in any direction other than at themselves.
Perhaps this inability to accept responsibility comes from the direction of the campaign manager? Most campaign managers or Chiefs of Staff are hard-nosed men or women who seem to specialize in jugular juggernaut. Is there a class that all politicos' handlers take called Opponent Annihilation 101? Or "Take No Prisoners, Levels I, II and III"?
It seems that there are almost daily examples of individuals refusing to accept responsibility for something. Some of these examples are sad, causing John Q. Public to rethink his devotion or adoration to a certain person or group. Today, I cannot help but think about Lance Armstrong and his long-term battle against those who accuse him of doping during his reign as a frequent Tour de France cycling winner. I've done some extensive reading about Armstrong, the charges, and the cycling community's common practices then as compared to now. From my lay perspective, I do not believe this is a cut-and-dried controversy, but rather one with a whole spectrum of gray landscape from which to sketch a decision.
Where does fault lay?
At the end of the day, the person looking in the mirror is in charge of her or his fault. The finger-pointing must end at the end of my index finger.
The fault stops here.
Ancora imparo
Wednesday, August 22, 2012
If The Internet Says So.........
Television commercials. You either gotta love 'em or hate 'em. Most of the time I walk away to do a task or push the "mute" button because the majority of commercials are a waste of the human brain. Occasionally, a company will release a memorable commercial where the viewer can remember BOTH the content of the commercial AND the product being advertised. For moi, Farmers Insurance gets high marks - not sure why - but it does.
There is another commercial - not sure what product is being advertised - that portrays a woman speaking to a man about something and he asks her where she got her information from. She replies "from the internet". He replies something to the effect, "and everything you read on the internet is true" and she says, "Yes, because the internet says so.". Then the woman tells the man she has to go because here comes her boyfriend...........whom she met on the internet. This Neanderthal-looking goon walks on camera and the woman tells the man to whom she's been speaking, "He's a French model."
Yes, the internet is full of information, some true and much erroneous. There is current chatter about the next "blue moon" coming on August 31, 2012. Various internet sites do cite the next blue moon's appearance as August 31, 2012, but little accurate information on where it will appear geographically seems available. But.................it must be true. The internet says so.
Do you ever feel as if "The Internet" has taken on a life of its own, complete with a name (The Internet) and a personality? We speak of "The Internet" with almost hushed, reverent tones, as if it is a genius person with a doctoral degree in every discipline known to mankind. Kind of an Einstein, Salk, and Mother Theresa rolled into one.
I admit that I do turn to "The Internet" when I get some body ache or anomaly. For instance, the plantar fascia on my right heel is VERY angry at the moment. So angry, for so long now, that it keeps me awake at night. Last night was no exception so what did I do? I turned to my friend, mentor and teacher, "The Internet" for information and advice. At 1:30 a.m. I was glued to my laptop's screen, with my fingers clicking here and there, desperately trying to find information that would lead me to the conclusion that I already carried in my brain. I only searched the sites that agreed with my preconceived self-diagnosis. Today finds me worn out and exhausted. Maybe I should turn to "The Internet" for help on how to alleviate tiredness?
I do not need "The Internet" to tell me that what I need is a nap. Common sense 101!
Ancora imparo
There is another commercial - not sure what product is being advertised - that portrays a woman speaking to a man about something and he asks her where she got her information from. She replies "from the internet". He replies something to the effect, "and everything you read on the internet is true" and she says, "Yes, because the internet says so.". Then the woman tells the man she has to go because here comes her boyfriend...........whom she met on the internet. This Neanderthal-looking goon walks on camera and the woman tells the man to whom she's been speaking, "He's a French model."
Yes, the internet is full of information, some true and much erroneous. There is current chatter about the next "blue moon" coming on August 31, 2012. Various internet sites do cite the next blue moon's appearance as August 31, 2012, but little accurate information on where it will appear geographically seems available. But.................it must be true. The internet says so.
Do you ever feel as if "The Internet" has taken on a life of its own, complete with a name (The Internet) and a personality? We speak of "The Internet" with almost hushed, reverent tones, as if it is a genius person with a doctoral degree in every discipline known to mankind. Kind of an Einstein, Salk, and Mother Theresa rolled into one.
I admit that I do turn to "The Internet" when I get some body ache or anomaly. For instance, the plantar fascia on my right heel is VERY angry at the moment. So angry, for so long now, that it keeps me awake at night. Last night was no exception so what did I do? I turned to my friend, mentor and teacher, "The Internet" for information and advice. At 1:30 a.m. I was glued to my laptop's screen, with my fingers clicking here and there, desperately trying to find information that would lead me to the conclusion that I already carried in my brain. I only searched the sites that agreed with my preconceived self-diagnosis. Today finds me worn out and exhausted. Maybe I should turn to "The Internet" for help on how to alleviate tiredness?
I do not need "The Internet" to tell me that what I need is a nap. Common sense 101!
Ancora imparo
Sunday, August 19, 2012
Fundamentally Curious About.......
I am a fundamentally intrinsically curious person about all things related to the human condition and a few things related to how things work mechanically. Why we humans do what we do, how we come to choose how we do what we do and how we come to choose who we do with what we do is fascinating.
On a recent road trip, my brain was seized with the question of how did each state come to be named? (I'd really like to know who selected the name of each state.......probably a committee????) I was noting the state license plates of passing cars and was struck with how many state names end with the letter "a". When Capt. SO and I reached our destination, we had some time to kill before our meet-up-with party arrived, so I began making a list of the states and what letter each state name ended with. As I had suspected, long before my list-making began, the letter "a" wins hands down for the most common letter to end with. Understanding that few readers will share my penchant for this kind of trivial knowledge, I publish my findings below with some temerity (but not too much).
Sixty-two percent of state names end in a vowel, with a breakdown as follows:
a: 21
e: 4
o: 4
i: 3 (Hawaii wins for ending with two "i's".)
y: 2 (You know - a,e,i,o,u and sometimes "y")
Thirty eight percent of state names, therefore, end in a consonant, with a breakdown as follows:
n: 4
s: 5
h: 1
k: 1
t: 2
d: 2
g: 1
Two other items that I am fundamentally curious about:
1. Why, if a person says, "Please pass the salt?", do most people pass both the salt and pepper?
2. Why a local radio station doesn't pay more attention to whose voice is being used on back-to-back commercials. A recent ad segment was played, using the same voice, using this sequence: An ad for a funeral home promoting all of its services, followed immediately - with little or no pause - by an ad for a furniture store's scratch, dent, overstock and as-is sale. At first I was stunned to think that the funeral home would advertise in such an insensitive way until I realized that the business promotion had changed.
Change the voice, for heaven's sake, so the listener knows that who-knows-what at the funeral home is not scratched, dented, overstocked, or as-is!
Ancora imparo - still curious
Tuesday, August 7, 2012
Heels and Healing, Herbs and Herb
As readers of Ancora Imparo may know, I am fascinated with words. How foreigners ever learn our language is beyond me. Well, actually......it is not beyond me. I have spoken, over the phone, with plenty of customer service representatives whose origins are elsewhere, that have no clue on how to speak our language.
I'll begin with words that sound the same (heel and heal) but are spelled differently and have different meanings. These two words have been at the forefront of my internal thesaurus as of late because we have way too many good friends who need prayers for healing and I have a tendon in a heel that desperately needs healing. However, a little heel pain is nothing compared to what others are battling in terms of bodies that are fighting health battles. Although my heel speaks to me constantly, sometimes screaming and other times whispering, wearing tape on my arch and massaging my foot with a golf ball twice a day is nothing when compared to constant trips to the hospital and experimental chemotherapy drugs, which when administered, require the nurses to wear full protective gear.
Then there is the matter of words that are spelled the same but have different meanings and are pronounced differently. Let's take herb and Herb. One is a plant sometimes grown in a garden and the other may be your next door neighbor or a former president. "Why", I ask myself not infrequently, "do we leave off the "h" sound when talking about thyme and marjoram (among others), but we pronounce the "h" when we talk about the guy down at the car wash?" Why was was it not "Erbert Oover" or why do we cook with "h"erbs and spices?
As you can see, my mind is all over the place today.
I'd also like to know why female beach volleyball players are required to wear bikinis? It is no wonder it is such a popular spectator sport.
I'd also like to know how gymnasts can perform such great leaps, jumps, and "sticks" while needing to have a foot or ankle taped up.
And so, you have the complete list of thoughts from my brain today. Be thankful there was nothing else of little import to write about.
Ancora imparo
I'll begin with words that sound the same (heel and heal) but are spelled differently and have different meanings. These two words have been at the forefront of my internal thesaurus as of late because we have way too many good friends who need prayers for healing and I have a tendon in a heel that desperately needs healing. However, a little heel pain is nothing compared to what others are battling in terms of bodies that are fighting health battles. Although my heel speaks to me constantly, sometimes screaming and other times whispering, wearing tape on my arch and massaging my foot with a golf ball twice a day is nothing when compared to constant trips to the hospital and experimental chemotherapy drugs, which when administered, require the nurses to wear full protective gear.
Then there is the matter of words that are spelled the same but have different meanings and are pronounced differently. Let's take herb and Herb. One is a plant sometimes grown in a garden and the other may be your next door neighbor or a former president. "Why", I ask myself not infrequently, "do we leave off the "h" sound when talking about thyme and marjoram (among others), but we pronounce the "h" when we talk about the guy down at the car wash?" Why was was it not "Erbert Oover" or why do we cook with "h"erbs and spices?
As you can see, my mind is all over the place today.
I'd also like to know why female beach volleyball players are required to wear bikinis? It is no wonder it is such a popular spectator sport.
I'd also like to know how gymnasts can perform such great leaps, jumps, and "sticks" while needing to have a foot or ankle taped up.
And so, you have the complete list of thoughts from my brain today. Be thankful there was nothing else of little import to write about.
Ancora imparo
Saturday, August 4, 2012
In Love
Love is a funny concept. The Bible says that "love is patient, love is kind......." - we've probably all heard that scripture read many times at weddings.
Love is mostly intangible - the concept, that is. Most humans know what love has felt like, either on the giving or receiving end. "In love" has a certain connotation that most people would understand. "In love" generally means loving another person, although pet owners might have a serious disagreement with that statement. I have known and do know plenty of people who love their pets as they would love another human and, why not? Pets tend to love selflessly in return - expecting nothing but relishing every kind moment or act that comes their way. Pets (most) don't talk back and pets are totally understanding of their humans' bad days.
Some people "love" inanimate objects, concepts, or "things". We probably all know someone who loves a car, house, money, clothes, prestige, power, influence, a position, and, even him or herself, more than a human(s).
And, so, in the spirit of disclosure, I must admit to loving an intangible concept more than I should: This summer, in particular, I love air conditioning, especially air conditioning units in places I inhabit. This brutal heat that is causing people, pets, livestock, and crops to suffer is really taking its toll on my productivity. As long as I have continued access to air condition, I feel ambitious, creative, and fruitful. Take away external cooling, such as AC or a brisk breeze, and I turn into this zombie-like character who resembles a half-dead garden slug. Each week our condo association's grounds are tended by a large group of grounds-keepers and I do not know from whence their motivation comes. True, they get a paycheck and perhaps that is their total motivation. Still, I don't know how they survive the heat.
Now you know my secret. I am in love with air conditioning. I used to live without it years ago but now that I am old and spoiled, I would not care to exist without it for my living quarters. Not only do I not get anything done when I am overheated but my crankiness ratchets up to the red-warning level. Then I behave in a manner that only my beloved dog, Max, would be able to overlook.
Capt. SO.......not so much.
Ancora imparo
Love is mostly intangible - the concept, that is. Most humans know what love has felt like, either on the giving or receiving end. "In love" has a certain connotation that most people would understand. "In love" generally means loving another person, although pet owners might have a serious disagreement with that statement. I have known and do know plenty of people who love their pets as they would love another human and, why not? Pets tend to love selflessly in return - expecting nothing but relishing every kind moment or act that comes their way. Pets (most) don't talk back and pets are totally understanding of their humans' bad days.
Some people "love" inanimate objects, concepts, or "things". We probably all know someone who loves a car, house, money, clothes, prestige, power, influence, a position, and, even him or herself, more than a human(s).
And, so, in the spirit of disclosure, I must admit to loving an intangible concept more than I should: This summer, in particular, I love air conditioning, especially air conditioning units in places I inhabit. This brutal heat that is causing people, pets, livestock, and crops to suffer is really taking its toll on my productivity. As long as I have continued access to air condition, I feel ambitious, creative, and fruitful. Take away external cooling, such as AC or a brisk breeze, and I turn into this zombie-like character who resembles a half-dead garden slug. Each week our condo association's grounds are tended by a large group of grounds-keepers and I do not know from whence their motivation comes. True, they get a paycheck and perhaps that is their total motivation. Still, I don't know how they survive the heat.
Now you know my secret. I am in love with air conditioning. I used to live without it years ago but now that I am old and spoiled, I would not care to exist without it for my living quarters. Not only do I not get anything done when I am overheated but my crankiness ratchets up to the red-warning level. Then I behave in a manner that only my beloved dog, Max, would be able to overlook.
Capt. SO.......not so much.
Ancora imparo
Wednesday, August 1, 2012
Magnet For Unwanted Attention
I'll admit this straight up: I'm not entirely fond of nor comfortable with strangers - at least on a social level. Put strangers in front of me that I need to teach and instruct and I'm fine - in my element - otherwise I prefer to smile, nod, and move along.
This past Monday it seemed as if I had a neon sign over my head (or car, as the case was) that said, "Feel free to weird out this person.", and it happened.
I was driving through the streets of Sturgeon Bay, minding my p's and q's, as usual, and I picked up a tail of a Sturgeon Bay police car, who chose to tail me for the next ten minutes, ultimately following me into a grocery store parking lot. He/she (I do not know the sex of the officer.) never activated the car's roof lights, just simply followed me. Once I turned into the parking lot and selected a parking space, the car moved along and out of the lot, onto the public street nearby.
Weird and highly annoying.
After I completed my grocery-store shopping, I pushed my cart out to my car, which was characteristically parked far out in the lot. As is always my practice, my purse is over my head and not just hanging from one shoulder. I always remove my purse, place it in the front passenger seat, set the locks and proceed to unload my cart. In this case, I had all the doors locked but the rear passenger door open in order to place the bags on the back seat. I had just begun to pick up a bag when I was approached by a man wearing a redish shirt, which is the general color of the store's employee-uniforms. (I never noticed if the shirt actually had the store's name imprinted on it.) He said, "Here, I'll help you unload and I'll take care of your cart." I really didn't want help because I am quite fussy about how my bags are unloaded and where they are placed but I acquiesced. (Upon reflection, I'd politely refuse another time.) He just sort of barged in and start handing me bags - even placing a couple in the car. Then he took my cart and walked off. I was thoroughly annoyed and watched where he walked. He did put the cart in the cart corral, but then got into a pickup very close to the store and drove off.
Weird and discomfortingly annoying.
I got into the car, immediately locking the doors, as is my customary practice and this red pickup parked one stall over. I noticed that the male driver was looking closely at my car. I said to myself, "Oh, for Pete's sake. Stop looking." He and a female passenger got out of the pick-up and the man approached me, signaling me to roll down my window. I thought unprintable thoughts to myself and let the window down just about two inches, low enough to speak through but high enough so as not to let a hand or arm through. He wanted to know what color the car was. I was polite, even though my annoyance had ratcheted up to the red zone. He and his companion then walked off and I was left wondering if there was some sort of neon sign above my head.
Weird, just weird.
I prefer to move through this world under the radar.
Ancora imparo
This past Monday it seemed as if I had a neon sign over my head (or car, as the case was) that said, "Feel free to weird out this person.", and it happened.
I was driving through the streets of Sturgeon Bay, minding my p's and q's, as usual, and I picked up a tail of a Sturgeon Bay police car, who chose to tail me for the next ten minutes, ultimately following me into a grocery store parking lot. He/she (I do not know the sex of the officer.) never activated the car's roof lights, just simply followed me. Once I turned into the parking lot and selected a parking space, the car moved along and out of the lot, onto the public street nearby.
Weird and highly annoying.
After I completed my grocery-store shopping, I pushed my cart out to my car, which was characteristically parked far out in the lot. As is always my practice, my purse is over my head and not just hanging from one shoulder. I always remove my purse, place it in the front passenger seat, set the locks and proceed to unload my cart. In this case, I had all the doors locked but the rear passenger door open in order to place the bags on the back seat. I had just begun to pick up a bag when I was approached by a man wearing a redish shirt, which is the general color of the store's employee-uniforms. (I never noticed if the shirt actually had the store's name imprinted on it.) He said, "Here, I'll help you unload and I'll take care of your cart." I really didn't want help because I am quite fussy about how my bags are unloaded and where they are placed but I acquiesced. (Upon reflection, I'd politely refuse another time.) He just sort of barged in and start handing me bags - even placing a couple in the car. Then he took my cart and walked off. I was thoroughly annoyed and watched where he walked. He did put the cart in the cart corral, but then got into a pickup very close to the store and drove off.
Weird and discomfortingly annoying.
I got into the car, immediately locking the doors, as is my customary practice and this red pickup parked one stall over. I noticed that the male driver was looking closely at my car. I said to myself, "Oh, for Pete's sake. Stop looking." He and a female passenger got out of the pick-up and the man approached me, signaling me to roll down my window. I thought unprintable thoughts to myself and let the window down just about two inches, low enough to speak through but high enough so as not to let a hand or arm through. He wanted to know what color the car was. I was polite, even though my annoyance had ratcheted up to the red zone. He and his companion then walked off and I was left wondering if there was some sort of neon sign above my head.
Weird, just weird.
I prefer to move through this world under the radar.
Ancora imparo
Monday, July 30, 2012
Head-Shakin' Moments
Excellence is an elusive quality that can be hard to attain, but when it is achieved it is remarkable and inspiring, especially when achieved by young (or younger than I) people. The Olympics are an excellent example of achieving excellence. It is so exciting to watch the athletes compete. My excitement ratchets up with them as they excel and my heart breaks with them as fall short of whatever goal they had set for themselves.
Last night's women's gymnastics all-around qualifying competition is a good example of a head-shakin' moment when excellence is over-looked or ignored and mediocrity is rewarded. The new rule from the IOC that only two members of each team can go on to the finals is ridiculous and best and insulting at the worst. When the number-four qualifier is denied the opportunity to move to the finals but the twenty-fourth is allowed to compete because of the two-per-country rule, then the system is broken. Mediocrity should not be rewarded in any way. This reminds me of some of the current thoughts in education that all children must feel good about what they accomplish, regardless of effort, skill, or achievement. Real achievement, effort, skill, and accomplishment must be acknowledged if we desire to raise children, and, therefore, the next generation, to be leaders, goal-setters and goal-achievers. Rewarding mediocrity serves no purpose and serves no one.
Lastly, the Penn State debacle is wrong, no matter how you want to look at it. Those in charge wronged those who trusted them, took advantage in unspeakable ways that is wrong at best and morally reprehensible at worst. However, I totally disagree with the punishment passed down that is affecting the players in the current Penn State program. Players, if possessing no knowledge of the abuse, should not have to suffer the punishment of having future career-possibilities ruined or shattered. Punish the adults, punish those who covered up the abuse, but not those innocents who were in the wrong place at the wrong time. I have never been a fan of punishing a group because of the poor decisions made by one or a few. I do not purport to know what the answer should be.......I'm just shakin' my head.
Ancora imparo
Last night's women's gymnastics all-around qualifying competition is a good example of a head-shakin' moment when excellence is over-looked or ignored and mediocrity is rewarded. The new rule from the IOC that only two members of each team can go on to the finals is ridiculous and best and insulting at the worst. When the number-four qualifier is denied the opportunity to move to the finals but the twenty-fourth is allowed to compete because of the two-per-country rule, then the system is broken. Mediocrity should not be rewarded in any way. This reminds me of some of the current thoughts in education that all children must feel good about what they accomplish, regardless of effort, skill, or achievement. Real achievement, effort, skill, and accomplishment must be acknowledged if we desire to raise children, and, therefore, the next generation, to be leaders, goal-setters and goal-achievers. Rewarding mediocrity serves no purpose and serves no one.
Lastly, the Penn State debacle is wrong, no matter how you want to look at it. Those in charge wronged those who trusted them, took advantage in unspeakable ways that is wrong at best and morally reprehensible at worst. However, I totally disagree with the punishment passed down that is affecting the players in the current Penn State program. Players, if possessing no knowledge of the abuse, should not have to suffer the punishment of having future career-possibilities ruined or shattered. Punish the adults, punish those who covered up the abuse, but not those innocents who were in the wrong place at the wrong time. I have never been a fan of punishing a group because of the poor decisions made by one or a few. I do not purport to know what the answer should be.......I'm just shakin' my head.
Ancora imparo
Thursday, July 26, 2012
Pie and Ice Cream
Pie and ice cream. Who knew it would be such a human attractant? Just a simple idea from someone who said they thought there should be two pie nights instead of the one pie night started three years ago.
It's official. People love pie.
Last night's get together began as a gathering of about eight or nine people - tops we thought. At first, I thought I'd order just two pies - cherry and apple. Then the count grew by four more so I ordered three pies. Cherry, apple and mixed berry. By yesterday morning, we thought we might be up to nineteen people so I called ahead and added yet a fourth pie - one more cherry. By the afternoon, the number of people had grown to twenty nine so I contacted another couple who was headed out and asked them to pick up one more pie.........Pie number five. Messages were sent out to those who were bringing extra stuff - like ice cream, plates, napkins, plastic cutlery, and coffee - to increase the number and amount of whatever they had said they would bring.
It was a fun and easy way for people to gather, with not much muss nor fuss to prepare for or clean up afterwards. And, the Aqua RV had this great aroma with four pies sitting around for seven hours. Living with four pies that close to me was the hardest part of the day. Just knowing those pies "were on the street where I live". (My Fair Lady lyrics) The most entertaining part of "Pie Night" was watching the five children that came with their grandparents. We had plenty of pie, ice cream and Redi Whip and did those children ever enjoy the desserts! The youngest, a six-year old, packed away more pie and ice cream than I thought was humanly possible.
After we had sated ourselves with pie and ice cream, the adults sat around with large coffee mugs and just talked. Conversations went on between people whose paths rarely cross and it was rewarding to see the camaraderie. Everyone left with smiles and too-full bellies, I'm certain.
All because of pie...........and ice cream.
Who knew?
Ancora imparo
It's official. People love pie.
Last night's get together began as a gathering of about eight or nine people - tops we thought. At first, I thought I'd order just two pies - cherry and apple. Then the count grew by four more so I ordered three pies. Cherry, apple and mixed berry. By yesterday morning, we thought we might be up to nineteen people so I called ahead and added yet a fourth pie - one more cherry. By the afternoon, the number of people had grown to twenty nine so I contacted another couple who was headed out and asked them to pick up one more pie.........Pie number five. Messages were sent out to those who were bringing extra stuff - like ice cream, plates, napkins, plastic cutlery, and coffee - to increase the number and amount of whatever they had said they would bring.
It was a fun and easy way for people to gather, with not much muss nor fuss to prepare for or clean up afterwards. And, the Aqua RV had this great aroma with four pies sitting around for seven hours. Living with four pies that close to me was the hardest part of the day. Just knowing those pies "were on the street where I live". (My Fair Lady lyrics) The most entertaining part of "Pie Night" was watching the five children that came with their grandparents. We had plenty of pie, ice cream and Redi Whip and did those children ever enjoy the desserts! The youngest, a six-year old, packed away more pie and ice cream than I thought was humanly possible.
After we had sated ourselves with pie and ice cream, the adults sat around with large coffee mugs and just talked. Conversations went on between people whose paths rarely cross and it was rewarding to see the camaraderie. Everyone left with smiles and too-full bellies, I'm certain.
All because of pie...........and ice cream.
Who knew?
Ancora imparo
Wednesday, July 25, 2012
"What's It Like To Be Back?"
The question, "What's it like to be back?", has been asked of us over and over since returning from our Lake Huron North Channel trip. This is a hard question to answer because, on the one hand it is good to return "home" and on the other hand, it is not so fun to simply leap back into all the familiar routines and expectations. A little longer segue would have been preferable but it was not to be.
Several mornings of very early risings (early, as in 4:30 or 4:45 a.m.) have finally taken their toll, although none of them could have been avoided, nor would I have chosen to get up any later on Sunday, Monday, or Tuesday. Sunday was, of course, our day to cross the Big Pond, so 4:30 a.m. was a given. Monday, back at slip, an early get-up was essential in order to command the marina's two washing machines so the mountain of dirty clothes and towels could be dealt with. Yesterday, Tuesday, was early by choice, as we drove southward for one hour and fifteen minutes, to attend a 6:45 a.m. mass for healing, for our friend who is fighting the battle of his life. Just as the mass was to begin, I spied an old teaching friend walk in the parish doors. She attended the healing mass and CSO and I ate breakfast with her afterwards.
The healing mass was moving and powerful and I do pray that the man for which it was held could feel the power being assigned away from the attendees and to him. I felt as if I was a personal warrior in his army against the ugly aggressor, cancer.
So, what's it like to be back?
Real. That's what. There are people like Bob, who are fighting a war against an unseen enemy. There are people who go to movies, intending to to be entertained for one brief moment in time, and find themselves among unspeakable terror and carnage.
Tonight CSO and I share pie and ice cream with Aqua RV friends. Seems kind of trite, doesn't it?
CSO and I have much to be thankful for.
Ancora imparo
Several mornings of very early risings (early, as in 4:30 or 4:45 a.m.) have finally taken their toll, although none of them could have been avoided, nor would I have chosen to get up any later on Sunday, Monday, or Tuesday. Sunday was, of course, our day to cross the Big Pond, so 4:30 a.m. was a given. Monday, back at slip, an early get-up was essential in order to command the marina's two washing machines so the mountain of dirty clothes and towels could be dealt with. Yesterday, Tuesday, was early by choice, as we drove southward for one hour and fifteen minutes, to attend a 6:45 a.m. mass for healing, for our friend who is fighting the battle of his life. Just as the mass was to begin, I spied an old teaching friend walk in the parish doors. She attended the healing mass and CSO and I ate breakfast with her afterwards.
The healing mass was moving and powerful and I do pray that the man for which it was held could feel the power being assigned away from the attendees and to him. I felt as if I was a personal warrior in his army against the ugly aggressor, cancer.
So, what's it like to be back?
Real. That's what. There are people like Bob, who are fighting a war against an unseen enemy. There are people who go to movies, intending to to be entertained for one brief moment in time, and find themselves among unspeakable terror and carnage.
Tonight CSO and I share pie and ice cream with Aqua RV friends. Seems kind of trite, doesn't it?
CSO and I have much to be thankful for.
Ancora imparo
North Channel Adventure, Day 12, 2012
This is the day that we motored back into U.S. waters and headed for a U.S. Customs check-in point, one of which is located at Drummond Island's (Michigan Upper Peninsula's farthest eastern point) Yacht Haven Marina. (Readers should not get excited at the name "Yacht Haven". The marina has few slips for long boats, has hardly any dredged depth beyond four feet, and is no haven. But, for whatever reason - probably political pull - Yacht Haven has been designated one of the only U.S. Customs check-in points in all of the U.S. part of the North Channel.)
We gassed up the Aqua RV, got the all-important pump-out, and even got a visit from a very nice U.S. Border Patrol Agent early, which was good because the weather radar screen showed we were going to be sandwiched in between two large storm systems as we raced westward toward Mackinaw City's Straits State Harbor Marina. Our three-hour race was a lumpy and bumpy one, which got even lumpier and bumpier as we entered the Straits of Mackinaw where Lake Michigan and Lake Huron's waters mix it up big time. We had rain, four-to-five footers, water splashing over the bow and onto the windshield, lots of little fishing boats out in the poor visibility (they do not show up on radar screens), the kamikaze island ferry boats roaring to and fro, and one very stupid kayaker who is lucky that we (or any other boat, for that matter) HAPPENED to see him paddling off our starboard side.
The current was raging as we entered the Straits State Harbor Marina, as was the wind but CSO got us expertly into our slip, where we spent the night in preparation for our Lake Michigan run the next day.
The next morning's 5:30 a.m. departure delivered zero wind, decent visibility, and calm conditions under which we made our eight-hour run to "home" for Das Boot. We saw nary a ferry boat or a Chicago-Mack Race boater.
We arrived safe and sound back in our slip, with a dinner invitation for that night awaiting us. Yes, it was very hard to come home to "civilization" after having eleven amazing days in the North Channel of Lake Huron. We came home to the high heat and sweltering humidity that we had briefly left behind. Perhaps we should take an extended second North Channel trip yet this year?
Ancora imparo
We gassed up the Aqua RV, got the all-important pump-out, and even got a visit from a very nice U.S. Border Patrol Agent early, which was good because the weather radar screen showed we were going to be sandwiched in between two large storm systems as we raced westward toward Mackinaw City's Straits State Harbor Marina. Our three-hour race was a lumpy and bumpy one, which got even lumpier and bumpier as we entered the Straits of Mackinaw where Lake Michigan and Lake Huron's waters mix it up big time. We had rain, four-to-five footers, water splashing over the bow and onto the windshield, lots of little fishing boats out in the poor visibility (they do not show up on radar screens), the kamikaze island ferry boats roaring to and fro, and one very stupid kayaker who is lucky that we (or any other boat, for that matter) HAPPENED to see him paddling off our starboard side.
The current was raging as we entered the Straits State Harbor Marina, as was the wind but CSO got us expertly into our slip, where we spent the night in preparation for our Lake Michigan run the next day.
The next morning's 5:30 a.m. departure delivered zero wind, decent visibility, and calm conditions under which we made our eight-hour run to "home" for Das Boot. We saw nary a ferry boat or a Chicago-Mack Race boater.
We arrived safe and sound back in our slip, with a dinner invitation for that night awaiting us. Yes, it was very hard to come home to "civilization" after having eleven amazing days in the North Channel of Lake Huron. We came home to the high heat and sweltering humidity that we had briefly left behind. Perhaps we should take an extended second North Channel trip yet this year?
Ancora imparo
North Channel Adventure, Day 11, 2012
Precious jewels, as a rule, are not discovered in the sparkling state that the consumer purchases them in. Often, gems are discovered roughed up, scratched (perhaps), dusty and, even dirty. CSO and I discovered a jewel in Ontario, Canada, called the PepperMill Restaurant in Thessalon, Ontario, southern shore of mainland Canada, northern shore of the North Channel, just north of Michigan's Uppper Peninsula's Drummond Island. Thessalon is purported to have about 2,400 residents, many of whom are First Nation members and their descendents. The town, once housing a bustling sawmill business, is now a shadow of its former self, albeit a recovering town. When CSO and I docked at the Thessalon Town Marina, we struggled with hooking up the proper electrical current, but after changing slips to a 50 amp box, we were set for the night AND the all-vital air-conditioning so we took off on our marina and town look-a-bout to see exactly why the chicken crossed the road.
Earlier in our North Channel trip, we had been advised of the delicious food at Thessalon's PepperMill Restaurant. What better reason to visit a marina? The marina worker graciously made 6 p.m. reservations for us so all we had to do was wait for several hours, in which time we could check out the local shops (CSO's idea - NOT mine!) and shower away the grime that heat leaves stuck all over the body.
At 6 p.m. we were seated at a small table sporting a "reserved" sign and we checked out the interior while we waited for our waitress to come for a beverage order. The restaurant's interior was very much "mom and pop" style, complete with a plywood floor, but the furniture, including tabletops and every other surface was spotless. Even our tableware appeared to have polished to a military "spit shine" gloss. Nary a water spot on a knife, fork, spoon or glass. The service was slow but only because the kitchen was not fast. Nearly every seat was filled......and for good reason. All food items are "scratch" cooked - and to perfection. What a meal.......in little Thessalon, Ontario.
My only "hmmm" moment came when I excused myself to use the restroom. Little did I know (CSO would kindly tell me AFTER I returned to my seat.) that most or all of Canadian restroom light switches are placed outside the room, not inside the room as most American restroom light switches are located. Unfortunately, I was not aware of this detail and closed the door first, even managing to lock it as soon as it closed. At first, my hands calmly patted down common surface areas where I thought the light switch might be - but to no avail. I must admit that the rapidity with which I searched increased exponentially with each passing second, stopping only when I ripped open the door and happened to feel to the left of the door jamb - on the outside. Who knew?
Canada, O Canada, I really like your country, but I do wish you'd redesign where you place your public restroom light switches!
Ancora imparo
Earlier in our North Channel trip, we had been advised of the delicious food at Thessalon's PepperMill Restaurant. What better reason to visit a marina? The marina worker graciously made 6 p.m. reservations for us so all we had to do was wait for several hours, in which time we could check out the local shops (CSO's idea - NOT mine!) and shower away the grime that heat leaves stuck all over the body.
At 6 p.m. we were seated at a small table sporting a "reserved" sign and we checked out the interior while we waited for our waitress to come for a beverage order. The restaurant's interior was very much "mom and pop" style, complete with a plywood floor, but the furniture, including tabletops and every other surface was spotless. Even our tableware appeared to have polished to a military "spit shine" gloss. Nary a water spot on a knife, fork, spoon or glass. The service was slow but only because the kitchen was not fast. Nearly every seat was filled......and for good reason. All food items are "scratch" cooked - and to perfection. What a meal.......in little Thessalon, Ontario.
My only "hmmm" moment came when I excused myself to use the restroom. Little did I know (CSO would kindly tell me AFTER I returned to my seat.) that most or all of Canadian restroom light switches are placed outside the room, not inside the room as most American restroom light switches are located. Unfortunately, I was not aware of this detail and closed the door first, even managing to lock it as soon as it closed. At first, my hands calmly patted down common surface areas where I thought the light switch might be - but to no avail. I must admit that the rapidity with which I searched increased exponentially with each passing second, stopping only when I ripped open the door and happened to feel to the left of the door jamb - on the outside. Who knew?
Canada, O Canada, I really like your country, but I do wish you'd redesign where you place your public restroom light switches!
Ancora imparo
North Channel Adventure, Day 10, 2012
North Channel Great Adventure, Additional Installment
Thursday, July 19, 2012
I had not intended to
compose another posting today, but this idea is staying in my head and the
generator is running so I could fire up my laptop. All conditions are a “go” to type!
I have come to the
conclusion that I am in love with Canadian granite. CSO and I kayaked this afternoon, again in
Beardrop Harbour, Whalesback, North Channel, Lake Huron, Ontario, Canada, where
the granite – as in many North Channel anchorages – can be seen up close and
personal. There is a book that many
boaters use as an anchoring and motoring guide while in the North Channel. It is titled Well-Favored Passage, A Cruising Guide, dedicated to
Marjorie Cahn Brazer and written by Pixie Haughwout and Ralph Folsom. The book writes about most of the possible
anchorages beginning with the western side of Lake Huron at the Mackinac
Bridge, north and westward all the way through the Georgian Bay section of Lake
Huron. Thorough to a “t”, it is one of the
Bibles boaters use to avoid the pratfalls and pitfalls that can befall boaters;
i.e. prop damage, hull damage, or even worse.
The book describes the North Channel, geologically, as being two to
three BILLION years old. “Erosion of pre-Cambrian sedimentary rocks
and Paleozoic limestone were mixed by volcanic action with white quartzite,
granites and rich, rid rocks to create a rainbow geology………….The glaciers,
whose meltwaters filled the North Channel as they retreated, had earlier
scraped the land clean of topsoil in their advance south. To this day, the basement rocks on either
side of the North Channel are clothed in the skimpiest of soil cover. Yet so remarkable are the forces of life that
even this shallow soil supports a great variety of trees, grasses, shrubs, and
flowers. Indeed, both side of the
Channel have been farmed for over a hundred years. On many of the offshore islands, plants and
trees seem to spring directly from bare rock.”
What fascinates me is the
difference in surfaces of the granite.
Many of the rocks, boulders – if you will, are smooth and taper off into
the depth of the water. Other boulders
are sheared on sides with such calculation that it looks as if a mechanical saw
of some sort created the sharp and right angles. As we paddle along the shores of these great,
granite behemoth hills and mountains, the word “awesome” truly comes into
play. The Grand Canyon is awesome – so
is the North Channel. Add the American
Bald Eagle that calls this area home and more awesomeness is evident. The forces of nature are evident everywhere
my eye can roam here in the North Channel.
These majestic rocks, so
stark in nature, yet so beautiful in their starkness, deserve to be seen by the
naked eye, not just descriptions in books or blogs. Words can barely do them justice, so I will
cease to try.
Ancora imparo
North Channel Adventure, Day 9, 2012
North Channel Great Adventure, Day 9 Away From “Home”
Thursday, July 19, 2012
Yesterday’s idyllic anchorage and last
evening’s quiet reflective moments were somewhat scuffed up by last night’s
wind-direction change and the legion of mosquitos that tried to gain access to
the Aqua RV’s cabin.
CSO and I had enjoyed
several American Bald Eagle sightings on the shore’s surrounding our anchorage
in Beardrop Harbour, Whalesback-North Channel, Lake Huron, Ontario,
Canada. Our last sighting was after
showers as we sat on the upper deck, waiting for the inevitable descent of
mosquitos. Heretofore, the nightfall’s
mosquito population had, while annoying, seemed to be scant. Not last night. CSO and I retired to the cabin below, read
for a bit (by headlamps so as not to encourage bugs to congregate on the hatch
screens) and then decided it was time for dreamland. We had just nicely settled our heads upon our
down pillows when the wind changed direction – rather strongly – and CSO began
the anchor-alarm “watch” for the next hour or so. In the meantime, this odd hum – coming from
outside the cabin – began to increase in volume. Upon investigation by CSO, he discovered,
what appeared in the dusky night glow, to be hundreds of mosquitos just looking
for a way to gain egress into the cabin for a little night snack – us. In the meantime, it looked as if CSO might
have to go out to the bow pulpit to do some anchor adjustment, which also meant
MOSQUITOS IN THE CABIN. Fortunately, the
anchor held, even while going through its flip-flop of 180 degree
wind-direction change, the anchor alarm performed as it should, showing the new
track of the boat as it swung in a large arc with the wind, and the mosquitos
MOSTLY disappeared with the upsweep in wind.
I say MOSTLY because CSO decided, about midnight, that our Canadian
courtesy flag, which flies on the bow, was creating too much noise to sleep
with and that he needed to go out on deck to tie it up for the remainder of the
night.
Out into the night he
went and back in he came, moments later, accompanied by a few mosquitos,
unfortunately. After a brief battle with
those courageous mosquitos who gave their lives in search of some human food,
we settled into sleep, secure – MOSTLY – that the anchor would continue to hold
and keep us off the big rock not too far away from Das Boot.
Now that a new dawn has
arrived and our coffee has been drunk, we are off to find some elusive fish that might be
willing to sacrifice themselves in order to become human food.
Ancora imparo
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
North Channel Great Adventure, Day 8, Wednesday, July 18, 2012
Day 8.......has begun early. We leave our slip here in Little Current, Manitoulin Island, North Channel, Ontario, Canada in an hour or so and head out looking for the perfect new anchorage. CSO is up on deck reading and re-reading the charts and books, to see where there might be the fewest boats in a secluded place that protects us from the most wind........but not too much or you set yourself up for bugs, bugs, and more bugs. Little Current has been mostly devoid of bugs, knats, mosquitos, and dragon flies. How we fared with spiders will not be known until I pull in the lines and fenders and see what comes speedily crawling out. (My least-favorite part of being the First-and-Last Mate)
This is my last chance at any meaningful wi-fi until who knows when so I'm making the best of my laptop and time and creating one last posting online. On my other days I'll go back to composing in Word and then later copying and pasting.
Little Current has been a delightful change of pace and I'm certain we'll visit here again on our next God-willing North Channel trip. For the most part, other boaters are very friendly and will readily stop to chat with strangers. Your floating dock then becomes a miniature, albeit temporary "community", with faces that you recognize, can greet, and dogs that you can pet, kind of like "rent-a-dog".
We'll request help getting out of the slip this morning and pray to the water Gods that the current is not beastly and that we have no departure drama.
Until we meet again,
Ancora imparo
This is my last chance at any meaningful wi-fi until who knows when so I'm making the best of my laptop and time and creating one last posting online. On my other days I'll go back to composing in Word and then later copying and pasting.
Little Current has been a delightful change of pace and I'm certain we'll visit here again on our next God-willing North Channel trip. For the most part, other boaters are very friendly and will readily stop to chat with strangers. Your floating dock then becomes a miniature, albeit temporary "community", with faces that you recognize, can greet, and dogs that you can pet, kind of like "rent-a-dog".
We'll request help getting out of the slip this morning and pray to the water Gods that the current is not beastly and that we have no departure drama.
Until we meet again,
Ancora imparo
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
North Channel Great Adventure, Day Five, Sunday, July 15, 2012
North Channel Adventure, Day 5
Sunday, July 15, 2012
Perhaps our last day in
Gore Bay, Manitoulin Island, North Channel, Ontario, Canada. Depending on weather and slip availability,
we may move tomorrow to a town called Little Current, a little farther east in
the North Channel. We haven’t been
visited Little Current since our first trip to the North Channel in 2007.
It is hot and sultry here
in Gore Bay. The humidity is high and,
if you are outside for any length of time, your skin begins to feel like
Velcro, with everything attaching to it,
including your clothing, spiders, spider webs, and tiny flying knats. Sweat comes readily, easily, rapidly, and
profusely. If you are out for a
walk-a-bout and are lucky enough to find the combination of shade and breeze,
then you are in for a treat. Otherwise, you’d
best head for the A/C’s indoor comfort.
CSO and I were oot and
aboot several times today and, to show for it, have a full refrigerator, some
delicious Canadian chocolate, a new (real) Thermos coffee mug for moi, a new
potable-water hose, more Aqua RV toilet
paper, and our last servings of world’s best frozen yogurt.
Since the weather report
has had boaters on alert, the boats have been rolling in today. Many of the boats are Grand Banks, pointed
eventually at the Georgian Bay and a Grand Bank’s rendezvous in Parry Sound,
which is a looooong way east from here.
Most of these beauties run at chug-chug speed so it is not a quick run
from Gore Bay to their final destination.
I suspect that there will be many stops in-between here and Parry Sound.
My interior cleaning is
done. Yesterday I was the exterior teak
cleaner, which meant that I had to get on my hands and knees and wash the teak
floors………twice, they were so dirty. I’m
glad that task was accomplished yesterday when the temps were only slightly
lower.
Now my iced tea and I can
retire to the upper deck – the shade and breeze.
Until tomorrow.
Ancora imparo
North Channel Great Adventure, Day Four, Saturday, July 14, 2012
North Channel Grand Adventure – Day Four
July 14, 2012
Birds. Boats.
Cooking-ban.
We left our idyllic spot
in Beardrop Harbour this morning and headed back to Gore Bay, Manitoulin
Island, Ontario, Canada. Wow, what a
mouthful! CSO looked at Sirius Weather
and determined that the chances of thunderstorms had moved up from thirty to
fifty percent, so we pulled up anchor and chose the safety of a real bay and a
marina’s stable, floating dock. Of
course, as soon as we were tied up, hooked up, and signed up, we headed to the
village’s “downtown” and a serving of the world’s best frozen yogurt. CSO and I both chose peach. We did a walk-a-bout whilst we enjoyed our
frozen treat, then did some necessities shopping – such as a food-basting
brush, batteries, small propane canister, Band-Aids and Moleskin for my
persistent heel blister, a thank-you gift for some friends, and a pair of new
eye-shades for moi. My nieces would be
proud of my new shades!
After lunch, which
consisted of a dehydrated but resurrected Idaho potato, Southwestern style, CSO
is now washing Das Boot and I am waiting for the knock-knock to alert me that
it is time to go help dry off the Aqua RV.
It always seems a little oxymoronic to wipe water spots off a boat, but
– hey – those are the captain’s rules and I have to follow the captain’s rules
(to a point, I’ll have you know) if I want to ride around on the boat.
I just looked at my email
on my fifteen minutes of free marina time, discovered that I had over 200
emails and decided that trying to read any of them was pretty pointless with
just fifteen free minutes on the marina’s hotspot.
I listed birds at the top
of my posting. Seagulls must be the most
annoying-but-protected birds on the face of the earth. They also are the most optimistic and patient
birds I’ve ever observed. One bird will
sit for hours, either on a rock or float on the water, in the event that
something edible will either float by or be tossed overboard by a boater.
Lastly, I listed a
Cooking Ban. I informed CSO that I will
not be cooking onboard tonight, even if it means walking over to the nearby
restaurant with my raincoat on. If he wants
to eat, he can either fix his own meal onboard or walk over in the rain with
me.
His choice.
Ancora imparo
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