Today was the day. The xmas tree is outside, all the decorations are put away, and the Landfill Dungeon utility room is probably cleaner than it has ever been since we moved into this joint. I let Rooooomba loose on it no fewer than three times in the last couple days and this morning I caught the GG in the act of vacuuming around the edges with the shop vac.

This was accomplished by noon, after which we schlepped down to the Griz for beer/whine and a side of mac ‘n’ cheese. I am addicted to mac ‘n’ cheese. I HATED macaroni and cheese throughout my entire childhood and swore I would never feed it to my kids, a promise I backed off on thanks to the grandchildren who lived next door for a while and their “Papa” 💜. Of course, that was that fluorescent orange krapola. Not the same as what they serve at the Griz by a long shot.

I’ve been doing a wee bit of back and forth with another Station Eleven reader today, my own BFF Sam (archaeologist, not dog). As a fellow native of the Great Lake State, we were kibbitzing about the geography, particularly that there is NO Severn City in our fair state and the only airport in the state that “matches” the size the Severn City airport seems to be is our own Detroit Metro, which is on the *east* side of the state. All of the Michigan action takes place on the western shore. I did not let this inconsistency bother me. I *did* like that Petoskey is renamed *New* Petoskey. Petoskey is one one of my fave places in the state (destination of many many Fin Fam day trip boondoggles) and I cannot fathom why this makes me so happy.

And then there is the whole thing about the flutes 🐸. The story line that anchors the book (at least for me) is the troupe of musicians and actors who travel the western side of our lower peninsula playing Shakespeare and classical music in various settlements. These people are friends and allies but they are not above making snarky remarks about the flutes! I know what this is about! I am a classically trained flute player. Yes, we are of a pretentious ilk. Almost snooty at times (not to be confused with Snooty the Manatee). After all, we sit right in the front row or pretty close to it and a lot of us are (blonde) women. Not all flute players are snooty and pretentious but there are enough that are, at least during the intensively competitive formative years, that we fit the stereotype. And then there are the trombones… Totally different stereotype than the flutes and the less said, the better… (Wonder when LSSU will ban the ellipsis. It’s not exactly a word but…) The book did not allude to any trombone stereotypes…

G’night! Porterized at the Quarter Bistro tonight. Our green glasses-wearing waiter was baptized by faaaaar I think but he rose to the occasion with aplomb. What a trouper. Good times!

P. S. That’s Genevieve in the pack there.

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