Today is absolutely positively refusing to be dull. I left to drive over to Maple Village at around 6 PM to pick up a picture frame I had ordered. There was a cop car blocking the north end of the street and I wondered about that but I wasn’t planning on going *north* anyway. I was gonna head south like I usually do when I have to make a left turn out of this neighborhood. But that cop wanted me to go north and she backed up her car so I could get out.

So I went that way and, as I was heading south down N. Maple, I saw all kinds of cop cars at the end of Walter Street. I did my quick little errand and then tried to get back into the neighborhood to, uh, go home. I could get into the neighborhood but cops were blocking the entire area surrounding my house and I encountered a cop that would not let me through to get to my street. I asked, “what’s going on?” She walked all the way over to my car to say that there was a man with a gun and I wasn’t gonna get thru to my house and she didn’t know when the situation would end. I didn’t ask any more questions. I parked my car at Kate’s house and walked home through the schoolyard.

No, Karen, I haven’t started a dog collection, or a trombone collection either, for that matter ;-). But if we hadn’t been able to find Madison’s owner, I’d have lobbied to keep her. She was wandering around in the street in front of our house when Mouse and the GG came home from an errand. She lives about a half a block away and managed to escape a gate that wasn’t securely shut. Less than a year old, part Yorkshire Terrier, part Pomeranian. That green stuff on her face is burrs. We pulled some of them out.

A much needed diversion in the middle of a day that cannot be described.

“Moom, you are just trying to fatten me up so they’ll send me home,” said the Cali Girl (I *know* she’ll hate that pseudonym ;-)) when the ratty old yooper hooligan mom handed her two measly little Hershey’s cherry-filled kisses. They need to get eaten before any little scurry-mouskets find them. Apparently, there is a weight limit out there on the left coast and if you hit 108 pounds, you get kicked out. Somehow, I don’t think she will have a problem. And I doubt they’ll even let me visit! 😉

Grokka grok grok. Whaddami gonna do? grokka. I’ve been wi’ my owner since she was in abou’ fif’ grade. grokka ‘n’ now she’s movin’ to Cali. grokkagrok I kinda wanna stow away w’ ‘er but I’m afraid if I git all th’ way t’ Cali, I’ll never see Green Guy again ‘n’ he’s jus’ abou’ my best frien’ in th’ worl’. grok grokka sniff But if I hafta stay ‘ere on th’ planet, I’ll be stuck w’ th’ ol’ witch! grok snorkle grokka. One time me ‘n’ Squeaky (the cute li’l grey Mouse, not my aunt) somehow got onna train goin’ ou’ t’ Delaware, t’ th’ ocean, ‘n’ we couldn’ figger ou’ how t’ git back, ‘n’ Squeaky almos’ drownded! sniffle snort grokka

Squeak squeak! Hey Frooogy! I’ll still be here on the planet. Or at least the solar system. I’ll take care of you and if that old witch is driving you nuts, I’ll protect you from her. And don’t forget, buoy 22 is in the back yard. If you stay out of the laundry detergent and all those other intoxicating beverages, maybe the old witch will let you fly out to Cali *and* up there to the beach to see Green Guy. And you took good care of me on that trip out to Delaware. Remember? You wrote a letter to the old bag on a napkin and she came and rescued us. Froggy, I love you.

Crash landing.

Jim and Chelsea and Haley and Lizard Breath (sister-in-law, not daughter, aunt, great-aunt, or 1st cousin once removed) are here and Jim has a nice pancake breakfast going, which I am just in time for.

And, back by popular demand, or request by Jim C. at least, is a link to the Houghton Lake section of my site. It’s over there under “my links.” Beware, the links on the Houghton Lake page don’t all work any more. I’ll fix it later.

It’s 62 and raining and I wish I could stay here today like the Twinz of Terror are gonna do. But I’m gonna throw all my ratty old belongings into my vee-hickle and pack up my tangled up emotional state and go dodge severe storms for a few hours. Seeya on the Planet Ann Arbor.

This osprey has built a nest on the Birch Point range light. We have kayaked over there a few times but not with a camera. Thanks to our friends the Porters (A2 and Birch Pt.) for sending this great pic!!! Actually, the Porters didn’t *take* the pic, it was the Pratts, another beach neighbor.

The temperature this morning after I took my walk was 75-point-something. Little bugs are landing on everything including me while I slept last night. The wind is blowing, rather ominously. It looks like there are storms brewing. Today would’ve been The Commander and Jack’s 63rd anniversary. My brother would’ve said, “the ninety-hundredth.” No one is going to Yellow Knife this year. If you can get your hands on some champagne, drink some!

“Do ya wanna go swimmin’?” I asked Bubs as I headed down to the beach on the path between the Old Cabin and ours tonight after dinner. It is frickin’ hot here and she said, “Maybe.” I couldn’t help remembering all the times I prob’ly yelled that at my cousins over in the old cabin when we were beach hooligans and Bubs prob’ly thought something like, “jeez, I hope they aren’t gonna ask me to watch them!”

I headed on down to Radical Betty’s and grokked at her: “Do ya wanna go swimmin’?” She pretty much did but first we got into looking at some photos she had dredged up out of her old hat boxes. As we were looking at those, Bubs came along with her swimsuit on.

We all spent the next half hour or so out past the second sand bar bouncing around in water up to our necks. It was cool. I mean, I think we are just about the coolest people on earth. And I also mean that it was just about the coldest and most comfortable place I could think of to be today.

Me and my dad’s two sisters. Love.

Severe storm warnings this morning that didn’t really pan out here. For a few minutes a strong wind came out of the northeast, an unusual direction. A few big claps of thunder and some rain and it went on its way. A seiche followed, along with a whole bunch of lake freighters and some salties that had apparently holed up until the storm passed. And it’s gonna be a hot one on Gitchee Gumee.

P.S. For those who don’t already know, seiche means that the water in the lake basin is “tipped” toward the other end of the lake making it really low on our beach. Sandbars and little “peninsulas” are exposed everywhere.

I can’t really write about the stuff that’s in my head today, so I’ll harumph about the horrible book I’m reading instead. I won’t name the book. I have no cause to slam the author even though I can’t believe this book got published. It is about a bunch of women, 40-something and up, who travel around the country scattering a friend’s ashes in various places, including Lake Superior. Of all places.

A disclaimer: blahg or no blahg, I am an amateur writer who really doesn’t have any business critiquing somebody else’s book. I have a music degree. Flute to be exact. Yes, I have heard of Jethro Tull but that’s a whole ‘nother rant, filed under “bad pickup lines” maybe. So, I have no writing credentials but, I’m sorry, this is just a bad book.

Editing? Proof-reading? We are told at length about a woman who sits in a special spot every evening after the dinner dishes are done and looks at a tree while reflecting upon life, the universe and everything. You know the drill. Except that two pages later we are told that after one of these sessions with the tree, she goes downstairs to help get dinner ready. Do they eat dinner twice every night?

Bad writing. The women arrive in the New Mexican desert and are totally blown away by the scenery. Yes, you read that right, they are blown away. I don’t know where they are blown to but this is what they say about their dead friend: “The view would have blown her away. She would have dropped to one knee, then to the other, and she would have been breathless for a while.” Hmmm. I can think of a couple of scenic events that might’ve brought me to my knees (or more likely they would’ve knocked me on my butt) and sucked the breath out of me. Had I been there, that is. Mount St. Helen blowing up? Yeah, that could’ve done it. Or maybe when the turret fell off of Miner’s Castle this spring? That would’ve been exciting. Walking out into a desert? I doubt it. Well, unless a rattlesnake was there to meet me.

Generally weird incomprehensible stuff: one of the women says about another that “she wants to run with her naked through a women’s festival and a dozen cities.” Say what??? I won’t bother to divulge the context surrounding this incredible statement because it doesn’t help it make any sense.

Maudlin? The book is heavily laced with tears and grief and elaborate pronouncements about friends and family dying and how you should feel. In a little over a year, I have lost my brother and my dad and a good friend and other people who were close to family members have died. I don’t quite know how to feel. Tears? Yes, sometimes. Detached? Yeah, a lot of the time. Words to describe it all? Usually I do not have any. Get on with life? Of course. What other choice is there? Kee-reist.

Why the heck am I still reading this awful book? grok grok. Yeah you should read Froggy Gets Dressed or The Cat Family Book or Mummies Made In Egypt (grok grok, brains pulled out through nostrils with metal hooks, mmm…) grok grok. Shut up, Froogggy! I am reading it because it is so bad it is funny! That’s why.

With my luck, some Hollywood producer will pick up on it and make the worst (and most successful) chick flick in history.

I dunno. If you do knot not already konw know, you probably do not *want* to know.

grok grok. Good typin’, ya ol’ witch. Grok grok.

This one is for you, Jim, ifyer looking in on the blogosphere from wherever it is you are. Jack too. Maybe there is some kind of a device over there that makes it “safe” for an old coot like Grandroobly to look at the Internet because he sure didn’t want to have anything to do with it here on earth.

Anyway, I put up with having an outboard motor in my living room all winter. Finally, it’s running again and it is attached to Grandroobly’s old Starcraft, which is also properly registered.

The Starcraft, with my green boat in front of it

My brother the engineer was mostly a motor boat kind of guy but he was also known to mess about with other sorts of boats. He found his first boat buried in sand down at the pond. I have no idea how it got there nor do I know why any of us expected anything out of a buried boat. But he dug it out anyway, with the aid of some of the usual beach urchins.

The square-prowed vessel we unearthed did not look seaworthy. In fact, it looked a lot like an extra-long dresser drawer, handles and everything. It was a little leaky but, miraculously, it floated! A nice yellow paint job spruced it up, it was christened The Top Drawer, and it had a lot of good times ferrying Jim and other various beach urchins around the bay.

Jim, leaning against the Top Drawer watching freighters. (from the Sherman archives)

This is a historic picture of some significance beyond Jim and the boat. It includes a bunch of bikini girls in the background to the left. It looks like some Sherman boys are by Grandroobly’s sailboat, the Sacre Bleu, with Don’s old raft up on the bank behind it. And then there’s Radical Betty and Esther and, last but not least, my Grandma, the esteemed Margaret Finlayson.

I actually took a ride in the Starcraft the other evening. Don’t tell anybody at Houghton Lake that I was in a motor boat, they think I am a cranky old witch who only does kayaks. Grok grok. You ARE a cranky old witch! Grok grok. It goes quite a bit faster than my green kayak and I had fun but I still like the kayak best. And sometimes I miss rowing the old yellow Top Drawer out into the bay with my cousins, singing at the top of our lungs. grok grok!

I really have another post for today, but this picture was just too good so I had to post it:

I’ll let y’all guess whose project this was :-).

Dear National City,

Canadian coins do not work in the machines here at the Lockview Laundromat. I would greatly appreciate it if you did not include them in your quarter rolls.

Sincerely yours,
Birch Point Washerwoman

===============================

Dear nice white-haired older lady,

Thank you for alerting me to the fact that my shirt was inside out. I mean the one I was wearing, not one of the ones I was washing. I thought something was a little funny about it when I put it on this morning. Now I know. Thank you for not mentioning my hair, which, in this humidity, must look like it was attacked by a seagull.

Yours Truly,
Birch Point Washerwoman

grok grok. Washerwoman, eh? My frien’ Toady is a better washerwoman than you are! grok! ‘n’ ‘e doesn’ wear ‘is shirt inside out. grok. ‘n’ *he* wears a nice rapern! grokgrok grok

“I saw a note once that said the Delirium Wilderness was a pretty unhospitable place to be.” So said the GG, as we were two-tracking the Indefatigable into the Delirium Wilderness today. I do not know what “note” he was talking about but whoever wrote it was right. We came to a dead end right here:

Folks, that sign says “Foot travel welcome. Closed to all public motor vehicle use.” It looked like the trail hadn’t been used in about a century by feet or any other form of locomotion. I got out of the Indefatigable to take a picture and was immediately swarmed by those lacy-winged biting flies. SWARMED! Hike? No, thank you. At least not today in my tank top, shorts, and teva sandals. Anyway, we were out to explore the western Chippewa County forest roads by Jeep Wrangler, not hike. We got back into the Indefatigable and there were about twelve of those flies hanging around the ceiling. I thought I would have to slap ’em all dead. But as we started to drive, they just started dropping off the ceiling, never to be seen again. Were there some toxic fumes in the Indefatigable or what?

We two-tracked our way outta that place pretty fast. We skirted south of the old abandoned Raco Airfield, where the Courtois girls and some of their cousins and second cousins learned to drive. We went up into the vicinity of Soldier’s Lake, over to Betchler Lakes, then north of M28, over to the Spectacle Lake Overlook and home. Mostly on roads that are uncivicable, that is, in a honda sort of way.

And I am done now for the night. Publish, woman!

So said my cousin Jane when she was up here back in June and we returned from our Pictured Rocks kayak trip. Today was another one of those days. After a quick paddle over into Mosquito Bay, I actually made progress on some constructive projects this morning, a little web work and sweeping the beach out of the cabin — again. This afternoon I hit the beach again and:

• Walked.
• Hung out with the Piedmont/McNaughton women.
• Kayaked around the island (disturbing seagulls) and over to the Birch Pt. range light (osprey nest) and back.
• Found a deadhead, powerboats beware.
• Read a bunch of Reading Lolita in Tehran.
• Hung around with Radical Betty.
• Watched a young McNaughton kid learn to water ski.
• Swam a whole bunch of times.
• Got my 15 minutes a day of sun for about the whole summer.
• Beers to the bears party on Bugs and Horsey’s back deck, too hot on the beach.

That is all. Is that enough? Wish y’all were here.

Beach, 6:30 am or thereabouts:

It is now 7:25 am and the frog is already mostly burned off. That is all. More later? We’ll see… grok grok. Whaddya mean I’m burnin’?

It has been a few years since I have had to do any head counting here on the beach and it didn’t really hit home until I spent about a half hour or so on the beach in front of Jan’s house yesterday.

We have a really nice swimming beach here on Gitchee Gumee and it is actually relatively safe compared to many beaches elsewhere. There is a system of sandbars, usually two, sometimes there is a third. It is usually shallow enough for even the smallest of toddlers to get to the first sandbar. And it’s shallow enough that I don’t have any memories of not being able to walk to the second. After that, the bottom slopes off gradually until it is over your head. No sharp drop-offs here. Also, there is no undertow. Grandroobly theorized that was because there is a big island in the middle of the bay. I don’t know if he was right or not but kids have drowned in places up the shore a way where there is no island to break the action of the water in the big lake. No one has ever drowned on our beach, knock on wood.

So, it is pretty safe here. But. Water is water and kids (and maybe some others ;-)) need some supervision around almost any body of water. Two-year-olds tend to just keep on walking until they get into deep enough water that they tip over. Y’all, you need to be RIGHT THERE TO PULL THEM UP WHEN THEY DO THAT! Sorry ’bout that outburst, I’ve heard the lifeguards at Vet’s Pool complain about inattentive mothers a few too many times.

Anyway, back in the day, I would be down on the beach here and my kids and my brother’s kids and my cousins’ kids would be swimming and all the moms would be constantly counting heads. Who is in the water? Who is on the beach? Where is Mouse? Liz, did she go up to the cabin? Yes, mama. And once, a young Mullin relative was here who dived a lot and it always seemed to me like an eternity before her head would pop up again. Watching kids swim in a lake is not the same thing as being a lifeguard at a pool where you are looking down into clear chlorine-permeated water and you can see people hanging about lifeless under the water. Theoretically, anyway.

I dunno when I actually stopped watching my kids swim. At some point, I realized that they were probably okay doing whatever kind of swimming they were doing which mostly entailed walking out into the water up to their necks, getting wet, *maybe* splashing people who were not already wet and just generally getting cooled off. Yesterday, all eight of Jan’s grandchildren were going in and out of the water in various combinations. Jan and Katie and Kristen were doing the head count. I got caught up in it for a while. Eight heads? Okay, one, two, three, four, five, six, seven. Where is the eighth? Well, whoever it was, Jan or Katie or Kristen accounted for him/her in about a split second, before I had a chance to get freaked about it.

This afternoon, I sat out there on the beach with the GG and Bugs and Horsey and two feisty old octo-women. It was fun. I didn’t have to count heads. I was the *only* person who went swimming. I have no point to make here. Except that I love this place. It is a good place to bring up children, even if they are only here for short periods of time.