Say it with me. I have never been quite sure what all the fuss is about the 666 number but then most of y’all know how religious I am…not. One time I was at the Westgate Kroger back in the day when they didn’t have any uscans and you had to schlep yourself and your groceries and your urchins through a regular checkout line. My bill totaled $66.66 and I swear the cashier jumped back a couple feet! Like ma’am, do you want to add a candy bar or some gum to make it go up just a little so it isn’t all sixes? No. I just thought it was cool that all four numbers were the same. Good poker hand, I thought, not that I have ever played poker for more than penny stakes. That was in junior high on the band bus. With the blessing of the band director, who I think might have even carried a few extra pennies for those in need. Grandroobly always supplied my pennies. Those were the days. I was pretty good too. Too bad that luck didn’t translate to slot machines.

But I’m off on a tangent. I’ve been to Hell and back, in a kayak, no less. But I didn’t go there today. I figured it would be too busy. I didn’t believe the world was gonna end today and it didn’t but, for whatever reason, it sure has been a day of angst here on the Planet and its environs. grok grok. Yeah, me ‘n’ Smokie finally had ta tie th’ ol’ witch down. grok grok. It wasn’t no fun around here taday. Better day tomorrow? Okay? Okay.

So what’s the word for fear of the number 667? Hexakosioihexekontaheptaphobia maybe?

• I used to be surrounded by engineers, now I seem to be surrounded by anthropologists.
• I miss the ratty old cabin but it is nice not to have standing water behind the couch.
• Engineers can be useful when it comes to keeping vee-hickles up to snuff.
• There are way too many garage sales at Houghton Lake on Memorial Day weekend.
• One single water louse kicks up a bigger wake than the Burns Harbor.
• Never trust an unemployed man who drives a Maserati.
• I am still just about the only kayaker around here.
• We have a beautiful new clock, courtesy of Jim, our neighbor.
• If The Beautiful Gay were here, these counters would be clear of flotsam and jetsam and cosmic debris.
• There are too many water lice around here.
• I am not exactly sure what anthropologists can do for me, but I <3 them anyway.
• Hell is trying to navigate a vee-hickle around Houghton Lake on Memorial Day without mowing down a bunch of garage sale patrons.
• The floor would be clean too. If The Beautiful Gay were here, that is.
• Heaven is sitting completely still in a kayak on a sunny day at the end of the canal.
• Yay for 20-zumsing veemen who can replace zeir own veeeendshield vipers.
• I am definitely not going to any of the garage sales this year.
• Ooops, I am wrong. There is a two-person kayak going by right now.
• Renee’s place is probably spotless by now 😉
• The boat guys are hard at work doing I dunno what and I am making barbecue sauce.
• And looking at bead magazines and getting inspired but not taking action :-/
• And blahgging.
• That is not all but it is more than you want to know.

As my life continues to have the consistency of an old, dry, crumbly piece of toast, it is fortunate that there are other blahggers out there. Karen locates a missing person (May 23) and discovers that the way to get to Brimley actually does not involve turning left at the Brimily light (May 24). Sam is either talking about mushrooms or my [step-]grandmother. And Mouse, well, it appears that Mouse’s blahg is going to be a lot more interesting than this bunch of drivel. grok grok Whadidya expect, ya oogly old bag! grokGROK! Just a minute. (Shut up Froggy.) Sorry about that. And yes, Mouse *did* start calling herself Mouse at the age of 1-1/2. Mouse could talk as well as any adult at that age and was perfectly capable of clearly (and loudly) expressing her many opinions, including what she thought of the name I gave her at birth. No, I am not at liberty to tell anyone that name. And neither are you, Frooooogggy! grok grok I’m gonna go get some frog juice. grok grok. Hmmm, he’s off to an early start today.

Lemme see…

• Hiking at Pigeon River Mason Tract. At least 15 miles.
• Plus four miles on Long Point Drive this morning.
• Is it just me or is the guy who wrote The DaVinci Code uh, well, not the best writer? “same exact?” Yeah.
• Pay attention to those No Parking signs. They mean business, especially in Grand Blanc.
• Guess it isn’t just me who thinks that way about the DVC writer. We’re up to three now. Anyone else?
• Doo da doo da doo. Fun with Photoshop. Doo da doo da doo.
• Stay outta the vanilla sugar milk.
• Dum de dum de dum. Css positioning. Dum de dum de dum.
• All girls are Golden Girls.
• Obviously I do not have a whole lot to say today.
• For once, I feel like I have done enough walking.
• I <3 feisty old octogenarians.
• The sun is over the yardarm.
• grok grok grok.

You guys? If you catch me sticking an apostrophe into a word where one doesn’t belong (“it’s” instead of “its” is the main culprit) will you please HIT ME or something?

I consider myself a pretty good grammar nazi. I know I’ve blahgged this before but you cannot grow up with The Commander as a mother without turning into a grammar nazi. If you wanted to say something like “I ain’t got none,” you had better darn well be over in the school yard or the gully or at Aunt Marion’s corner store or the Pingatore house or somewhere. Any place where she couldn’t hear you.

The proper usage of “lay” and “lie” was beaten into my brain at an early age. I still don’t understand exactly when to use “bring” and “take”. I mean, it always seems to me that at some point in the process of schlepping something from point A to point B, “take” morphs into “bring”. Doesn’t it??? Exactly where is that point?

If there was anything that The Commander missed, it was surely drilled into my head in junior high by Pratt & Loye. They were no-nonsense English teachers — sisters, if I remember accurately — who dressed in that old-fashioned style that allowed a woman to place a handkerchief down the front of her dress for (hopefully) convenient retrieval. A classroom with Pratt or Loye at the helm was a tight ship. No fooling around. Once in seventh grade, Loye caught me cheating, i.e., letting someone copy my answers. Never again!

These days, I occasionally encounter words that I don’t know how to spell or can only vaguely define. Like lassitude, for example. But I know how to look them up so I *do* look them up. If I write something like “gonna” instead of “going to”, I do it on purpose. I’m not a trained writer but if I write in sentence fragments or start a sentence with a conjunction or commit any number of other grammar/syntax crimes, I do it more or less consciously. Proper use of commas, I sorta know. Proper use of semicolons, I am darn froggy on. grok grok And I do not even pretend to control Froggy. grokGROK! In the end, this is just a blahg, and it’s my blahg and I can do what I want and y’all can just deal 😛

But when I stick an apostrophe into “its” when I’m using it as a possessive pronoun, not as a contraction for “it is,” it’s not intentional! Substituting “their” for “there” or vice versa is another frequent error. I don’t know why I keep doing this. I guess bats are scrambling my brain! grok grok. Just lemme know if she screws up. grok grok. I’ll schlurrrrp her! grok frookGROK!

You guys? If you catch me sticking an apostrophe into a word where one doesn’t belong (“it’s” instead of “its” is the main culprit) will you please HIT ME or something?

I consider myself a pretty good grammar nazi. I know I’ve blahgged this before but you cannot grow up with The Commander as a mother without turning into a grammar nazi. If you wanted to say something like “I ain’t got none,” you had better darn well be over in the school yard or the gully or at Aunt Marion’s corner store or the Pingatore house or somewhere. Any place where she couldn’t hear you.

The proper usage of “lay” and “lie” was beaten into my brain at an early age. I still don’t understand exactly when to use “bring” and “take”. I mean, it always seems to me that at some point in the process of schlepping something from point A to point B, “take” morphs into “bring”. Doesn’t it??? Exactly where is that point?

If there was anything that The Commander missed, it was surely drilled into my head in junior high by Pratt & Loye. They were no-nonsense English teachers — sisters, if I remember accurately — who dressed in that old-fashioned style that allowed a woman to place a handkerchief down the front of her dress for (hopefully) convenient retrieval. A classroom with Pratt or Loye at the helm was a tight ship. No fooling around. Once in seventh grade, Loye caught me cheating, i.e., letting someone copy my answers. Never again!

These days, I occasionally encounter words that I don’t know how to spell or can only vaguely define. Like lassitude, for example. But I know how to look them up so I *do* look them up. If I write something like “gonna” instead of “going to”, I do it on purpose. I’m not a trained writer but if I write in sentence fragments or start a sentence with a conjunction or commit any number of other grammar/syntax crimes, I do it more or less consciously. Proper use of commas, I sorta know. Proper use of semicolons, I am darn froggy on. grok grok And I do not even pretend to control Froggy. grokGROK! In the end, this is just a blahg, and it’s my blahg and I can do what I want and y’all can just deal 😛

But when I stick an apostrophe into “its” when I’m using it as a possessive pronoun, not as a contraction for “it is,” it’s not intentional! Substituting “their” for “there” or vice versa is another frequent error. I don’t know why I keep doing this. I guess bats are scrambling my brain! grok grok. Just lemme know if she screws up. grok grok. I’ll schlurrrrp her! grok frookGROK!

Okay, multiple choice quiz. Choose the one best answer. This is 100% of your grade.

1. Win the lottery.
2. Turn back time.
3. Five week vacation.
4. Early morning skunk encounter.
5. Hang out with Karen.

And, today is Pooh’s birthday, so she has caught up to me. So, y’all know what to say, right? Other May birthdays that I know of: May 1 Ashlan (my 1st cousin once removed) was 17, Jack (dad) would’ve been 87 on the 9th, his brother Don 90 on the 11th, Bolette (my step-grandmother) would’ve been 104 and Anna Raeburn (my great-aunt) 113 on the 16th, and Charlotte (my aunt) would’ve been 83 on the 28th. Anybody else? Who’d I miss? Courtois family? Anyone in May?

Oh, Mr. Sun, Sun, Mr. Golden Sun
Please shine down on me.
Oh, Mr. Sun, Sun, Mr. Golden Sun
Hiding behind a tree.
These little children are asking you
To please come out so they can play with you
Oh, Mr. Sun, Sun, Mr. Golden Sun
Please shine down on me.

Oooops. I am not supposed to sing that song. I’m sure I’m in trouble now. I promise I won’t do it again. But, you know, it is April and this is Michigan and Mr. Golden Sun has definitely NOT been hiding behind a tree. For more days than I can count, he has been out there shining all over the state, even in the Great White North. This is not how it usually is. I remember one April when we went to the Octohouse and spent Easter afternoon driving up to Whitefish Point and back. It snowed the entire time. And last year, it snowed on Mouse’s birthday, which is coming up again next week. We even had a fire in the fireplace that night. You know, I like the sun. But this is almost getting to be a little too much. It was beautiful hiking around the Eastern UP in the bright sunshine. There were no leaves out and you could see all over the place. But after a few days, it almost started feeling a little arid. And I am just not really used to that, I guess. It isn’t 104 degrees here but other than that it kind of reminds me of the summer of 1988 when Mr. Golden Sun shone relentlessly every day and we had no air conditioning anywhere and the baby Mouse screamed bloody murder every time I put her into her car seat. I felt like screaming too. I am going to do a little rain dance, I think. I have not seen a cloud since sometime last week. We need some humidity here. Moss and mold and mushrooms and a few mosquitos. Rain and snow and black clouds and thunder. C’mon, give us a little gloom and doom here. This is Michigan. What the heck is the deal?

Brrrrrinnnng. I was walking along Long Point Drive on the north shore of Houghton Lake and the number of the caller was a 989 number but it was not the number of the land line at the Luxurious New Courtois Cabin. Hmmmm. “Hello?” I said, a bit tentatively. Like, who *are* you and how did you get my number?

“It’s Liz! I’m calling from a pay phone at Whiteheads! Where are you?” replied the caller. Uh, this was Liz my sister-in-law, not Liz my daughter or Liz my first cousin once removed or Liz my long-dead great aunt or Radical Betty who wouldn’t identify herself as Liz anyway.

Are there really pay phones out there any more? I guess so, since Liz called me from one. I think the last time I used a pay phone was about five years ago. We were in a complicated situation in St. Ignace that I won’t even begin to try to describe and I needed to make a long distance call. I had a cell phone with me but it was one of those old ones and I had never really figured out how to use it except to call local A2 numbers and anyway, it was out of battery. So, we found a pay phone. I had one heckuva time figuring out how to use it. It kept asking me for my calling card number. I could remember the number (I am *good* at remembering numbers) but I couldn’t figure out how or when to punch it in or whatever. Finally, I figured it out and managed to get through, right about the time the situation resolved itself all on its own without any telephones.

Eventually I got a new phone and I learned how to use it to make long distance calls and even receive calls. And then it got old and died, and right after it died, I happened to be driving the POC over to the community college and, hello, the brake light came on. No phone. Hmmm… If the car dies, I can’t call the GG and I can’t let anyone at WCC know why I’m late to class. The car seemed okay so I nervously continued on my way and arrived at WCC without incident. And then I started looking around for a pay phone so I could call the GG and rant at him about the brake light. No pay phone. Anywhere. On a commuter college campus.

After that, I really thought that pay phones were a thing of the past. But if anyone could find one it would be Liz, who has got to be one of the last people on the face of the planet to not have a cell phone. And, although I feel like I couldn’t do without one now, I do have some admiration for anyone who resists having new technology forced upon them. Liz, you go girl!

Brrrrrinnnng. I picked up my phone as I came to a stop at the Packard/Stadium intersection. “Hey, we need your superbrain. Who was the author of Peter Pan?” asked the caller. grok grok. Superbrain? The Old Witch does NOT have a superbrain. Grok. Shut up, Grooggy.

“J. M. Barrie,” said I. “By the way, who the hell is this and what the hell are you doing?” grok grok. My name is NOT “Grooggy.” grokGROOK.

“This is the federal government and we needed help with a crossword puzzle,” the national expert replied. grokgrokgrokGROK! National expert in what? grok grok. Gorky, we’re still trying to figure that out. grokGROK! I am NOT “Gorky”. grok grok

Folks, your tax dollars are hard at work at the EPA today 😉

(Uh, a little disclaimer lest someone decides they want my head.)

“Stadium Blvd. construction begins mid-March,” says the sign just before the turn-off to my favorite uscan at the Westgate Kroger. Actually, I know what they’re gonna do and “excavation” would be a better word but it just proves that not only am I back on the planet Ann Arbor but somehow winter has ended. Or so thinks the city, er, planet, in its infinitely superior wisdom. grok GROK! Hey, if we are on a (grok grok) planet now, (grook grok grok) you will have to take (grok grok) the buoy 22 shuttle (grok) to get to the Dexter Pub. grok grok grok frok frok? Yeah, right, Froog.

I subscribe to magazines. Why can’t I subscribe to socks? I wear polartech socks every day all winter and plenty of times in the spring and fall too. They are great but they do wear out and then I am stuck with bare heels or whatever. I cannot stand wearing holey socks. I always get the same size, medium, so I don’t have to try them on. I don’t even really care what color they are. Heck, I get dressed in the dark, sometimes I end up wearing mismatched ones anyway. So why can’t I just subscribe to them? New socks on my doorstep every month.

I don’t remember!