Awards were passed out, some serious, some more, um, whimsical.
Robert won the "Chick Magnet Award."
His, um, harem, (excuse me, the other members of the clarinet section) immediately hugged in severely.
He smiled.
Friday, November 10, 2006
Why Robert's a musician
The Mount Pleasant High School Marching Band celebrated its best season in years Thursday night at the band banquet.
Awards were passed out, some serious, some more, um, whimsical.
Robert won the "Chick Magnet Award."
His, um, harem, (excuse me, the other members of the clarinet section) immediately hugged in severely.
He smiled.
Awards were passed out, some serious, some more, um, whimsical.
Robert won the "Chick Magnet Award."
His, um, harem, (excuse me, the other members of the clarinet section) immediately hugged in severely.
He smiled.
Thursday, November 9, 2006
The silly season ends
I used to be a complete political junkie.
I would hang on the words of political leaders, trying to parse how they might affect outcomes of elections. It was about power, influence, the game itself was what mattered.
It was fun to write about, too, because it had all the elements of great stories: great characters, great conflict, great drama, great ideas. But all that has changed, and not for the better.
I had a real hard time getting excited about this year's elections. The atmosphere has changed so much since I first got excited about the electoral process 30 years ago.
There was no drama in this year's elections; the results of most legislative and congressional races were largely foregone conclusions, decreed by highly effective redistricting in 2000. Term limits simply means incumbent protection; House seats now are six-year terms with the distraction of a couple of elections in the middle.
Many campaign staffers simply are arrogant SOBs bent on callous manipulation of the Great Unwashed, and what's worse, the manipulation works.
We've tuned out, and this just isn't fun any more.
The ideas of all sides are stale, and they don't seem to reflect reality. All sides have gotten stuck in the 20th century, either bleating watered-down Marxism, which doesn't work, or ranting on the always-bizarre combination of Adam Smith and St. Paul.
Yet we turn out, and we vote, and we hold our noses. Just don't call my house with political pitches any more.
I would hang on the words of political leaders, trying to parse how they might affect outcomes of elections. It was about power, influence, the game itself was what mattered.
It was fun to write about, too, because it had all the elements of great stories: great characters, great conflict, great drama, great ideas. But all that has changed, and not for the better.
I had a real hard time getting excited about this year's elections. The atmosphere has changed so much since I first got excited about the electoral process 30 years ago.
There was no drama in this year's elections; the results of most legislative and congressional races were largely foregone conclusions, decreed by highly effective redistricting in 2000. Term limits simply means incumbent protection; House seats now are six-year terms with the distraction of a couple of elections in the middle.
Many campaign staffers simply are arrogant SOBs bent on callous manipulation of the Great Unwashed, and what's worse, the manipulation works.
We've tuned out, and this just isn't fun any more.
The ideas of all sides are stale, and they don't seem to reflect reality. All sides have gotten stuck in the 20th century, either bleating watered-down Marxism, which doesn't work, or ranting on the always-bizarre combination of Adam Smith and St. Paul.
Yet we turn out, and we vote, and we hold our noses. Just don't call my house with political pitches any more.
Monday, November 6, 2006
Just another Sunday at Wal-Mart
“Did you just hear somebody scream?” I asked.
Andrew and I were Wal-Mart’s photo department Sunday afternoon to get his passport pictures. They’re cheap and the photos meet government specifications.
The portrait studio was pretty busy Sunday. As Andrew and I got in line, I heard someone screaming bloody murder
Andrew heard it too. The woman in front of us didn’t seem very concerned.
“Oh, that was my daughter in the bathroom,” the large, dark-haired woman said. “She screams all the time.”
She went into the ladies room and brought out a girl, about 3, who was, indeed screaming. She did not stop screaming and crying as long as we were there.
It seemed obvious we’d be there a while, and I was able to look into the studio where a family photo shoot was under way. It looked as if Dad were home from the military. He was wearing his U.S. Army fatigues, complete with his E-3 insignia. He looked fairly normal.
The woman he was with – I didn’t see a wedding band, but they clearly had a longstanding relationship – had gotten dressed up for the occasion. Her hair was three colors – auburn at the roots, blonde in the middle, dark at the ends, sort of like Neapolitan ice cream with bad hair dye.
She was wearing a little black dress, or rather, almost wearing it. Her tattooed titties kept coming dangerously close to falling out. They were much larger than appropriate for this little dress, but not as large as her belly. No, I don’t think she was pregnant.
She had a rose tattoo on her shoulder, and I’d swear I’d seen the same tattoo on her upper arm – which was a big as my thigh – on sailors coming back from World War II.
They had three kids with them. The two girls looked OK, except there just wasn’t any light on in their eyes. The boy didn’t look real bright, either, or maybe it was just my perception of an 8-year-old blond kid with wavy hair cut into a Mohawk.
They came out, and the proof photos the photographer on the computer screen were, well, photos of this family. That family looked very proud.
About this time, I started looking at the large, dark-haired woman’s family. The little girl was still screaming. My attention was drawn to her little brother in the shopping cart. I tried to keep from staring at the fact that he was crosseyed as a bat.
I think they were there to get pictures of the oldest girl. I felt so sorry for her. She had an underbite that would do justice to a Neanderthal woman, and her lower cuspid teeth protruded when she closed her mouth.
Yep. She had tusks.
Her little sister kept screaming, and any time she looked at Tusk Girl or Crosseyed Boy, she’d scream louder. Maybe I understand now. The large, dark-haired woman also had a baby in the shopping cart. I don’t know what was wrong with him, but there had to have been something.
I wonder – have the politicians who promise that all our kids are going to grow up and work for Google or become rocket scientists ever been to Wal-Mart?
Presiding over this all was a thin, young, pretty portrait photographer named Amanda. She kept smiling, being helpful, taking photos, selling photos, looking like it was just another day at the office. Screaming children, kids in Mohawks, Mom falling out of her little black dress, and kids with tusks all seemed, to Amanda, to be entirely normal.
Well, maybe it is. This is ’Merica, after all, and it was just another Sunday afternoon at Wal-Mart's.
Andrew and I were Wal-Mart’s photo department Sunday afternoon to get his passport pictures. They’re cheap and the photos meet government specifications.
The portrait studio was pretty busy Sunday. As Andrew and I got in line, I heard someone screaming bloody murder
Andrew heard it too. The woman in front of us didn’t seem very concerned.
“Oh, that was my daughter in the bathroom,” the large, dark-haired woman said. “She screams all the time.”
She went into the ladies room and brought out a girl, about 3, who was, indeed screaming. She did not stop screaming and crying as long as we were there.
It seemed obvious we’d be there a while, and I was able to look into the studio where a family photo shoot was under way. It looked as if Dad were home from the military. He was wearing his U.S. Army fatigues, complete with his E-3 insignia. He looked fairly normal.
The woman he was with – I didn’t see a wedding band, but they clearly had a longstanding relationship – had gotten dressed up for the occasion. Her hair was three colors – auburn at the roots, blonde in the middle, dark at the ends, sort of like Neapolitan ice cream with bad hair dye.
She was wearing a little black dress, or rather, almost wearing it. Her tattooed titties kept coming dangerously close to falling out. They were much larger than appropriate for this little dress, but not as large as her belly. No, I don’t think she was pregnant.
She had a rose tattoo on her shoulder, and I’d swear I’d seen the same tattoo on her upper arm – which was a big as my thigh – on sailors coming back from World War II.
They had three kids with them. The two girls looked OK, except there just wasn’t any light on in their eyes. The boy didn’t look real bright, either, or maybe it was just my perception of an 8-year-old blond kid with wavy hair cut into a Mohawk.
They came out, and the proof photos the photographer on the computer screen were, well, photos of this family. That family looked very proud.
About this time, I started looking at the large, dark-haired woman’s family. The little girl was still screaming. My attention was drawn to her little brother in the shopping cart. I tried to keep from staring at the fact that he was crosseyed as a bat.
I think they were there to get pictures of the oldest girl. I felt so sorry for her. She had an underbite that would do justice to a Neanderthal woman, and her lower cuspid teeth protruded when she closed her mouth.
Yep. She had tusks.
Her little sister kept screaming, and any time she looked at Tusk Girl or Crosseyed Boy, she’d scream louder. Maybe I understand now. The large, dark-haired woman also had a baby in the shopping cart. I don’t know what was wrong with him, but there had to have been something.
I wonder – have the politicians who promise that all our kids are going to grow up and work for Google or become rocket scientists ever been to Wal-Mart?
Presiding over this all was a thin, young, pretty portrait photographer named Amanda. She kept smiling, being helpful, taking photos, selling photos, looking like it was just another day at the office. Screaming children, kids in Mohawks, Mom falling out of her little black dress, and kids with tusks all seemed, to Amanda, to be entirely normal.
Well, maybe it is. This is ’Merica, after all, and it was just another Sunday afternoon at Wal-Mart's.
Friday, November 3, 2006
Counting down the days
There were a few snowflakes in the air yesterday, and that's got Andrew very excited. Tuesday was the coldest day since March 21, and that's got Andrew excited.
He was clunking around the house in his ski boots the other night.
Ski season's not far away, and that's what Andrew lives for.
Last summer, he began working at Wendy's. The reason: he wanted new skis, to help him compete on the Mount Pleasant High School ski team.
I love walking down the hall at MPHS that has photos of all the championship teams over the years. Andrew, as a freshman, was a jv member of the conference champion Mount Pleasant ski team, and his picture is on the group photo on the wall.
He wants to be varsity and get the photo up there again.
In the next few days, we'll try to head up to Cadillac, to one of the best ski shops around, and get those skis and other gear.
With every burger order he's taken (You want that in a combo?), he's been thinking snow.
It's almost time.
Thursday, November 2, 2006
Mirror, Mirror
So, just how evil is this woman?
The Kissy Missy costume on Halloween -- the Wicked Stepmother!
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
Honors choir, again
For the second straight year, Kathy's been selected for the Michigan School Vocal Music Association's State Honors Choir.
Kathy sings alto, a very powerful, moving alto. With the right song, she can make you cry.
Earlier this year, as an eighth-grader, she performed with the honors choir at Devos Hall in Grand Rapids. That was Jan. 21, 2006, and it was a marvelous experience.
Next year's performance is set for Jan. 27, 3 p.m., same venue.
Kathy's smiling a little bit; the honors choir is to perform the gospel "Walk in Jerusalem." It's the same arrangement the Blue Lake choir used last summer on its European tour.
"I know this!" Kathy said when she saw the music.
It's a great song -- and it will be a great performance.
Kathy sings alto, a very powerful, moving alto. With the right song, she can make you cry.
Earlier this year, as an eighth-grader, she performed with the honors choir at Devos Hall in Grand Rapids. That was Jan. 21, 2006, and it was a marvelous experience.
Next year's performance is set for Jan. 27, 3 p.m., same venue.
Kathy's smiling a little bit; the honors choir is to perform the gospel "Walk in Jerusalem." It's the same arrangement the Blue Lake choir used last summer on its European tour.
"I know this!" Kathy said when she saw the music.
It's a great song -- and it will be a great performance.
Sunday, October 29, 2006
Finals night
The Oiler marching band turned in its best performance of the season, and finished sixth in the Michigan Competing Bands Association Flight III finals at Ford Field in Detroit.
Under the shadowless television lights in the world-class football stadium, the 80 kids from mid-Michigan performed tightly, smoothly, confidently. It was the final performance of "Elemental Led: The Music of Led Zeppelin."
The judges' take: 72.35, the highest score the Oilers have received in years.
That beat the earlier score at the West Bloomfield Invitational - where they won - of 72.05. Second-highest during the season was at Durand, 71.525
Just to be there was a major accomplishment. The highly nontraditional show Mount Pleasant presented was just plain fun to watch, and the kids just loved to put it on.
The top shows were traditional, modern marching band shows, heavy on visual effects and challenging modern-composer music. All of the top bands are huge operations with big budgets and large numbers of students. Lakeshore, for example, has 190 kids involved.
Personally, I liked the Lakeshore show better than Ferndale's, but my take doesn't count.
Before heading to Detroit, the Mount Pleasant band put on a final rehearsal/community show at Community Memorial Stadium. The wind was fierce, gusting about 26 mph. The temperature was about 40.
Still, about 500 people came out to see the band and see the show. One older woman made the comment, "I wanted to see the band play music they liked, instead of the funeral dirges they made us play when I was in school."
These guys loved it.
There was a sense of disappointment at where Mount Pleasant finished - after all, they'd gone into the finals ranked No. 4. But this was territory they'd never been in before.
All told, it was a remarkable story. I don't know the back story, but it's clear there is one. Mount Pleasant won the state finals in 2000. The current band director started in 2002, and I remember getting telephone calls at the Herald from parents who seemed relieved the old director was gone.
This band is purely Matt Taton's. There is a handful of seniors who came up as eighth-graders in 2002. These guys are young, and they've seen what it takes.
On the way home, driving through the night on I-96 and U.S. 127, a Lansing classic rock station played a set of "Kashmir," "Good Times, Bad Times," "Communication Breakdown" and "Tangerine."
When the band buses pulled into Mount Pleasant High School at 1:45 a.m. - and the time change had kicked in, so it felt like 2:45 - the kids were wiped out, but pleased.
They'll be back.
Here are the final scores from the Michigan Competing Bands Assocation Flight III Finals at Ford Field, Oct. 28, 2006:
1. Ferndale ..................................81.80
2. Stevensville Lakeshore ........80.80
3. Farmington Hills Harrison..75.80
4. Redford Thurston................. 75.55
5. Allegan.....................................72.8
6. Mount Pleasant......................72.35
7. Trenton....................................71.4
8. Comstock Park.......................68.4
9. Marysville...............................67.0
10. Fruitport................................66.1
One bragging point: The Fruitport football team beat Mount Pleasant Friday night in the first round of the state playoffs. Band members now can say, "Nyah! The band beat Fruitport!"
Saturday, October 28, 2006
Throwing babies
Yeah, it had to be the wind that made my eyes tear up. And the cold, yeah, that was it, that was why I got the sniffles as the band put on its community show at Community Memorial Stadium.
It was about 40 degrees with the winds gusting to 26, rain coming down sideways.
And those guys were tight, together, comfortable with the show even in the awful weather. The wind tried to snatch away the high notes, but it couldn't do it.
About 400 people showed up for the show, despite the terrible weather.
One woman said, "I just wanted to see the kids play music they liked, instead of the funeral dirges they made us play in high school."
The sense was magic. It had the atmosphere of an opening night.
The transition from the opening "Stairway to Heaven" into "Kashmir" still takes my breath away, no matter how many times I see it. The breaks on "Moby Dick" are so tight, they'll get cheers. And there's no way to sit still during "The Immigrant Song."
One of band director Matt Taton's sayings is that you can get so good people will throw babies.
At the end of the community show, somebody threw a doll on the field.
Yeah.
It's all up there tonight, Ford Field, 9:30 p.m.
It was about 40 degrees with the winds gusting to 26, rain coming down sideways.
And those guys were tight, together, comfortable with the show even in the awful weather. The wind tried to snatch away the high notes, but it couldn't do it.
About 400 people showed up for the show, despite the terrible weather.
One woman said, "I just wanted to see the kids play music they liked, instead of the funeral dirges they made us play in high school."
The sense was magic. It had the atmosphere of an opening night.
The transition from the opening "Stairway to Heaven" into "Kashmir" still takes my breath away, no matter how many times I see it. The breaks on "Moby Dick" are so tight, they'll get cheers. And there's no way to sit still during "The Immigrant Song."
One of band director Matt Taton's sayings is that you can get so good people will throw babies.
At the end of the community show, somebody threw a doll on the field.
Yeah.
It's all up there tonight, Ford Field, 9:30 p.m.
St. Louis in five
The Cardinals beat the Tigers three straight games in St. Louis, and St. Louis is the World Series champion.
I can't really say I'm disappointed; no one -- absolutely NO ONE -- expected the Tigers to be anywhere near the World Series this year. It was a great ride.
Today's finals day, the day at Ford Field that's been on the schedule for the Oiler band all year. It's been a long time since the band's played at the finals -- 2000 was the last appearance, and they won that year.
It's 7:40 a.m. in the Ranzenhaus. I'm the only one up. It will be a cold, windy, nasty, blustery day. Winds up around 40 mph, snow mixed with rain, general yuck. But I'm doing my part -- there's 20 pounds of fruit on the kitchen table for the band, and I'm ready to go pack lunches.
But first, the day must begin .....
I can't really say I'm disappointed; no one -- absolutely NO ONE -- expected the Tigers to be anywhere near the World Series this year. It was a great ride.
Today's finals day, the day at Ford Field that's been on the schedule for the Oiler band all year. It's been a long time since the band's played at the finals -- 2000 was the last appearance, and they won that year.
It's 7:40 a.m. in the Ranzenhaus. I'm the only one up. It will be a cold, windy, nasty, blustery day. Winds up around 40 mph, snow mixed with rain, general yuck. But I'm doing my part -- there's 20 pounds of fruit on the kitchen table for the band, and I'm ready to go pack lunches.
But first, the day must begin .....
Friday, October 27, 2006
The price of overacheiving
This has been one of the craziest, longest, most sleepless weeks of my life.
Sunday afternoon, Kissy Missy dragged me to the walk-in clinic. I'd been coughing and hacking, and generally just feeling lousy. Then I got a fever of 101.3. I had a respiratory infection.
A good course of antibiotics got that cleaned up. I took half a day off Monday, then got right back into the saddle. Monday night, city commission. Tuesday, teaching. Wednesday, Union Township. Thursday, a city candidates forum. Friday, I was supposed to go to the "Rocky Horror Picture Show" with Kissy Missy, but that had to be canceled because I spent most of the afternoon in an interview, and didn't get my Sunday and Monday stories done.
They're done. Finally.
Through the middle of this, Kathy's come down with an eye infection. She feels lousy, and naked without her eye makeup.
Saturday: the zoo continues. Kissy Missy will be part of Prof Ed's events as part of Make a Difference Day. Andrew works. Robert has band practice, and heads for Detroit and the state finals.
We won't be far behind.
I'm excited, but right now, I hear a bed calling. As soon as I file my hours, buy a bunch of apples and bananas for the band, and recharge Robert's phone.
Don't ask me to do anything else.
Sunday afternoon, Kissy Missy dragged me to the walk-in clinic. I'd been coughing and hacking, and generally just feeling lousy. Then I got a fever of 101.3. I had a respiratory infection.
A good course of antibiotics got that cleaned up. I took half a day off Monday, then got right back into the saddle. Monday night, city commission. Tuesday, teaching. Wednesday, Union Township. Thursday, a city candidates forum. Friday, I was supposed to go to the "Rocky Horror Picture Show" with Kissy Missy, but that had to be canceled because I spent most of the afternoon in an interview, and didn't get my Sunday and Monday stories done.
They're done. Finally.
Through the middle of this, Kathy's come down with an eye infection. She feels lousy, and naked without her eye makeup.
Saturday: the zoo continues. Kissy Missy will be part of Prof Ed's events as part of Make a Difference Day. Andrew works. Robert has band practice, and heads for Detroit and the state finals.
We won't be far behind.
I'm excited, but right now, I hear a bed calling. As soon as I file my hours, buy a bunch of apples and bananas for the band, and recharge Robert's phone.
Don't ask me to do anything else.
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
Headed to Ford Field
Here are the final standings in the Michigan Competing Band Association Flight III regular season:
1.Stevensville: Lakeshore........75.950
2. Ferndale..............................73.300
3. Redford: Thurston...............72.900
4. Mount Pleasant..................71.525
5. Farmington Hills: Harrison..70.800
6. Trenton................................70.350
7. Allegan.................................70.275
8. Marysville............................69.400
9. Comstock Park ...................66.825
10. Fruitport............................65.950
11. St. Clair Shores: Lakeview 65.300
12. Gibraltar: Carlson..............62.925
13. Linden...............................60.725
14. Hazel Park ........................60.550
15. Dearborn Heights Crestwood 59.700
16. St. Clair Shores: Lake Shore 59.475
17. St. Clair Shores: South Lake 57.575
18. Auburn Hills: Avondale....... 57.150
The top 10 bands compete at 8 p.m. Saturday at Ford Field, Detroit. This year is the first time since 2000 thta Mount Pleasant has made it to the finals. The Oilers are scheduled to play Saturday at 9:45 p.m.
Right across the street: the potential Game Six of the World Series.
1.Stevensville: Lakeshore........75.950
2. Ferndale..............................73.300
3. Redford: Thurston...............72.900
4. Mount Pleasant..................71.525
5. Farmington Hills: Harrison..70.800
6. Trenton................................70.350
7. Allegan.................................70.275
8. Marysville............................69.400
9. Comstock Park ...................66.825
10. Fruitport............................65.950
11. St. Clair Shores: Lakeview 65.300
12. Gibraltar: Carlson..............62.925
13. Linden...............................60.725
14. Hazel Park ........................60.550
15. Dearborn Heights Crestwood 59.700
16. St. Clair Shores: Lake Shore 59.475
17. St. Clair Shores: South Lake 57.575
18. Auburn Hills: Avondale....... 57.150
The top 10 bands compete at 8 p.m. Saturday at Ford Field, Detroit. This year is the first time since 2000 thta Mount Pleasant has made it to the finals. The Oilers are scheduled to play Saturday at 9:45 p.m.
Right across the street: the potential Game Six of the World Series.
Monday, October 16, 2006
Live from Kansas
When people ask when their story will be in the paper, I give them a tentative day, but I caution them that the news business deals with the unexpected. No kidding! Here's a video that proves that point better than anything I could say.
Sunday, September 24, 2006
Monday, September 11, 2006
What kind of grin?
Robert seems to have made many new friends since joining the Mount Pleasant High School Marching Band.
Friday, September 8, 2006
Comfort zone
Maybe it's just me, but doesn't this guy look just a little too comfortable holding a baby?
Tuesday, September 5, 2006
Meet the Ranzenbergers
The original plan was for Fuzzy, Annie and Lexie to come up the Sunday before Labor Day. I'd cook them dinner and we'd all relax in the woods.
But Fuzzy had never met Annie's dad, Bill, and when Bill invited Annie to bring the new guy up to the cottage on White Lake near Whitehall, the kids decided to go there.
And Bill invited us to join them.
It wasn't exactly "Meet the Fokkers," but in the hands of the right storyteller, it will be. (Hee Hee)
Bill's a nice guy. He's a developer and insurance agent, confident, connected. Of course, I'm the egghead and media maven. I think we'll get along fine.
Of course, I did break his boat lift. And Andrew managed to dump him off his WaveRunner a couple of times before Andrew got the hang of balancing the dang thing.
In the end, it worked.
Lexie's almost walking, and you can see the connection between Annie and Fuzzy and Lexie.
So far, so good. Get your degree, Annie, then take on the world. Your dad and I agree on that.
Saturday, September 2, 2006
Fall 2006, Week One
The first week of fall classes always is a little crazy, a little overwhelming. As usual, I have three classes to teach: One section each of JRN 202, Writing for the Mass Media, JRN 430, Magazine and Feature Writing, and JRN 516, Community and Public Affairs Reporting.
I've taught all three classes at least twice before -- I think this is about the 15th time I've taught 202. Yet it never gets old.
I do like the fact that CMU starts before Labor Day. It's a week of classes, then a long weekend, followed by a short week.
The early holiday has an interesting effect. There's always some catchup, some tidying up, some breath-catching that has to happen. Something's always left undone. Labor Day allows the time to do that.
The kids still are off of school; they don't start until the day after Labor Day. They won't get a break.
We've gone off in all directions this holiday. Kissy Missy and Katherine went to the UP to see Kissy Missy's mom and some of her relatives. The van had a flat tire somewhere north of Houghton Lake, and last I heard, they arrived in the UP on the doughnut tire about 11:30, with the trip to Grandma's still ahead.
Robert went down to see his mother; he probably won't have a chance to spend a weekend with her until about November as band moves into high gear.
Andrew's working this weekend, so he's here.
But Annie -- Fuzzy's girlfriend -- invited Andrew and me over to meet her dad on Sunday. He's got a cottage on Lake Michigan near Whitehall, and he reportedly has several watercraft -- Jet Skis?
Andrew's looking forward to that. Kissy Missy loves Jet Skies, but she went to see Uncle Norm and Co., while we're headed to the Jet Skis on Lake Michigan.
I've taught all three classes at least twice before -- I think this is about the 15th time I've taught 202. Yet it never gets old.
I do like the fact that CMU starts before Labor Day. It's a week of classes, then a long weekend, followed by a short week.
The early holiday has an interesting effect. There's always some catchup, some tidying up, some breath-catching that has to happen. Something's always left undone. Labor Day allows the time to do that.
The kids still are off of school; they don't start until the day after Labor Day. They won't get a break.
We've gone off in all directions this holiday. Kissy Missy and Katherine went to the UP to see Kissy Missy's mom and some of her relatives. The van had a flat tire somewhere north of Houghton Lake, and last I heard, they arrived in the UP on the doughnut tire about 11:30, with the trip to Grandma's still ahead.
Robert went down to see his mother; he probably won't have a chance to spend a weekend with her until about November as band moves into high gear.
Andrew's working this weekend, so he's here.
But Annie -- Fuzzy's girlfriend -- invited Andrew and me over to meet her dad on Sunday. He's got a cottage on Lake Michigan near Whitehall, and he reportedly has several watercraft -- Jet Skis?
Andrew's looking forward to that. Kissy Missy loves Jet Skies, but she went to see Uncle Norm and Co., while we're headed to the Jet Skis on Lake Michigan.
Sunday, August 27, 2006
Teen, Teen, Teen
Saturday was Robert's 13th birthday.
Wow.
Everyone was eager to point out that means we now have three teenagers under one roof; Andrew's 16, Kathy's 14 and Robert's now 13.
Actually, I'd already figured out at we'll be the parents of three teenagers for 1,177 days.
One is difficult. Two is impossible. Three is no problem, because we're already doing the impossible.
Robert got some reeds for his clarinet, a pre-paid cell phone and an afternoon at the movies with his best friend Jalen. German chocolate cake, strawberry ice cream and insulting cards made the day.
He's looking over my shoulder as I write this. My baby's growing up! Sniff! Sniff!
He bit me.
Wow.
Everyone was eager to point out that means we now have three teenagers under one roof; Andrew's 16, Kathy's 14 and Robert's now 13.
Actually, I'd already figured out at we'll be the parents of three teenagers for 1,177 days.
One is difficult. Two is impossible. Three is no problem, because we're already doing the impossible.
Robert got some reeds for his clarinet, a pre-paid cell phone and an afternoon at the movies with his best friend Jalen. German chocolate cake, strawberry ice cream and insulting cards made the day.
He's looking over my shoulder as I write this. My baby's growing up! Sniff! Sniff!
He bit me.
One great opener!
The Oiler marching band got to work early Friday night. Twenty-three seconds into the game -- 23 seconds! -- Skyler Swindell blasted 72 yards down the sidelines and scored Mount Pleasant High's first touchdown of the season against the Midland Overachievers, and the Oiler band struck up the Mount Pleasant Fight Song.
They had two other opportunities for that, as the Oilers beat the Chemics 21-10. The Detroit News had had Midland ranked No. 5 in the state in the preseason. Oops. Last year, with Mount Pleasant struggling in the Saginaw Valley League, the Oilers went 4-5, and they've got a new coach. No one expected much.
Hey, a win's a win, especially against Midland.
The band: It's just jelling very, very nice. The Elemental Led show is coming together, with complex, swirling choreography, compelling music and a really tight band.
I think the band got almost as much applause as the team.
And Robert: Let us not forget he still was 12 years old as he played in this first game.
Friday, August 25, 2006
Wow, what a week!
Just finding the time to go online and update this has been a challenge, let alone having the time to put something coherent here. How's this for all-in-the-last-five-days?
MONDAY: Kissy Missy began a new job with CMU. The long drive over to Midland had been extraordinarily tiring, and she was somewhat frustrated with the university there. She's been interviewing occasionally for university jobs closer to home, and bingo! She got one.
This is a good job, working as student services coordinator for the online portions of CMU's off-campus program. She said her job essentially consists of keeping up with students' progress, sending reminder e-mails to them to log on, register and so on.
So in other words, she's an electronic nag?
MONDAY NIGHT: I went before the Mount Pleasant school board to pitch them on creation of a parents' group to support vocal music. Members of the board were smiling; it looks as if we'll be a go.
TUESDAY: Band members launched the first fund-raiser of the fall -- collecting empty returnable cans and bottles door-to-door. I don't know how much money they raised, but I know the back end of our van was full. Wisdom: Want to find lots of empty beer cans? Go to a house that has little trees growing in the eavestrough.
WEDNESDAY: Robert went to eighth-grade orientation at West Intermediate School. That's five years straight I've gone to an orientation session at West; I think I know Mr. Stef's speech by heart. The jolt comes from recognizing that Robert's still in middle school. I've often said he's 12 going on 42.
WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON: Saw the eye doctor, who told me I have the very, very early beginning of cataracts, but there doesn't seem to be anything else wrong with my eyes. Just another reminder that I'm old. He gave me a new prescription; Kissy Missy and I will be picking out new "Dutch architect" glasses this weekend.
WEDNESDAY NIGHT: Ran into a guy at a township meeting whom I knew years ago in Big Rapids. He recognized me, and told me I still was the best disc jockey west Michigan had ever had. I wouldn't give back those years for anything, but when I stopped understanding the music I was playing, I knew it was time to quit.
THURSDAY: Kathy did her orientation at Mount Pleasant High School. She's got Honors English and Honors Math on her schedule, and she claims to be focused and ready.
I spent the afternoon in a faculty meeting, then helped a young man who wants to be a sportwriter sign his journalism major. I have about 16 things to do to follow up on that meeting -- plus write a story for Monday.
TODAY: The first MPHS football game vs. the Midland Overachievers. Halftime -- and Zeppelin!
MONDAY: Kissy Missy began a new job with CMU. The long drive over to Midland had been extraordinarily tiring, and she was somewhat frustrated with the university there. She's been interviewing occasionally for university jobs closer to home, and bingo! She got one.
This is a good job, working as student services coordinator for the online portions of CMU's off-campus program. She said her job essentially consists of keeping up with students' progress, sending reminder e-mails to them to log on, register and so on.
So in other words, she's an electronic nag?
MONDAY NIGHT: I went before the Mount Pleasant school board to pitch them on creation of a parents' group to support vocal music. Members of the board were smiling; it looks as if we'll be a go.
TUESDAY: Band members launched the first fund-raiser of the fall -- collecting empty returnable cans and bottles door-to-door. I don't know how much money they raised, but I know the back end of our van was full. Wisdom: Want to find lots of empty beer cans? Go to a house that has little trees growing in the eavestrough.
WEDNESDAY: Robert went to eighth-grade orientation at West Intermediate School. That's five years straight I've gone to an orientation session at West; I think I know Mr. Stef's speech by heart. The jolt comes from recognizing that Robert's still in middle school. I've often said he's 12 going on 42.
WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON: Saw the eye doctor, who told me I have the very, very early beginning of cataracts, but there doesn't seem to be anything else wrong with my eyes. Just another reminder that I'm old. He gave me a new prescription; Kissy Missy and I will be picking out new "Dutch architect" glasses this weekend.
WEDNESDAY NIGHT: Ran into a guy at a township meeting whom I knew years ago in Big Rapids. He recognized me, and told me I still was the best disc jockey west Michigan had ever had. I wouldn't give back those years for anything, but when I stopped understanding the music I was playing, I knew it was time to quit.
THURSDAY: Kathy did her orientation at Mount Pleasant High School. She's got Honors English and Honors Math on her schedule, and she claims to be focused and ready.
I spent the afternoon in a faculty meeting, then helped a young man who wants to be a sportwriter sign his journalism major. I have about 16 things to do to follow up on that meeting -- plus write a story for Monday.
TODAY: The first MPHS football game vs. the Midland Overachievers. Halftime -- and Zeppelin!
Saturday, August 19, 2006
Performance
Really, all it takes is hard work, dedication, support, self-discipline, focus, desire, teamwork and talent. That's all
The Oiler Marching Band showed it all in its first public performance Saturday night. The show isn't really ready for prime time, yet. The band is learning its show, but after five intense days of band camp, the band is making progress.
The show opens with the opening to "Stairway to Heaven," segues nicely into "Kashmir," then the "Moby Dick" drum solo. Over the next few weeks, the band will add "Living Lovin' Maid," "Black Dog" and "The Immigrant Song." It's an ambitious schedule -- Zeppelin music isn't simple, and it's very well known. But these guys are doing a credible job with it.
I think about Robert, one of the youngest members of the band. He's doing this at 12 years old. Most of my accomplishments at 12 were all in my imagination. This is real.
The first football game is six days away, vs. the Midland Overachievers.
Somehow, it seems fitting.
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
Band Camp, Day Two
The Mount Pleasant Oiler Marching Band focused on drill its first two days, and Robert says he's on his way to learning it.
He's one of only three eighth-graders who are part of the band, and he's keeping up with the intense regimen. The day starts at 7:45 a.m., which means that our day starts even earlier. It takes about 25 minutes to get from Lake Isabella to MPHS.
The day runs until 9 p.m. It's drill. It's marching. It's sectional music. It's intense, and Robert's gotten himself slightly sunburned. But as far as he's concerned, it's the greatest thing he's ever done.
He's been well-accepted by the older kids. He says that it helps that he's the only clarinetist who has a watch. (Most high school kids these days keep track of time with their mobile phones, and, course, mobile phones aren't allowed on the practice field.)
The show is based on the music of Led Zeppelin -- "Stairway to Heaven," "Black Dog," "The Immigrant Song" and "Kashmir." Incredible stuff, a marching band accompanied by a rock combo. The bassist already has the gut-wrenching bass line of "The Immigrant Song" down cold.
Three more days of intense, band-camp stuff, then daily practice until the first performance Aug. 25, when the Oilers host Midland. Then the real work begins.
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
Band camp
It begins today.
Robert's already appeared once with the Mount Pleasant High School Marching Band, but the real work begins today, with the start of the infamous Band Camp.
He and a lot of other eager overachievers will be practicing 11 hours a day for the next five days to get started on this year's shows. We leave for MPHS in a few minutes; Robert seems uncharacteristically calm.
He ate a pasty for breakfast, and is quietly sitting across the counter from me, drinking coffee, smiling knowingly.
Yeah, Dad's more nervous than Robert. That's the way it always is, isn't it?
Robert's already appeared once with the Mount Pleasant High School Marching Band, but the real work begins today, with the start of the infamous Band Camp.
He and a lot of other eager overachievers will be practicing 11 hours a day for the next five days to get started on this year's shows. We leave for MPHS in a few minutes; Robert seems uncharacteristically calm.
He ate a pasty for breakfast, and is quietly sitting across the counter from me, drinking coffee, smiling knowingly.
Yeah, Dad's more nervous than Robert. That's the way it always is, isn't it?
Monday, August 14, 2006
Annie and Lexie
We met Fuzzy's girls Sunday.
That's plural. He's become quite serious about Annie, and Annie has a daughter, Alexis, known as Lexie.
I can see why he fell for both of them.
Fuzzy's known Annie since high school. Apparently she wanted to go out with him then, but he was taken. That relationship has long since evaporated, and a few months ago, quite by accident, Annie and her new daughter moved in across the street from Fuzzy.
Sparks flew, and Fuzzy and Annie became an item.
On Sunday, it was "Meet the Parents" time, or in our case, "Meet the Fokkers."
Actually, it wasn't that weird. Annie is something of a rebel, the black sheep of a very traditional West Michigan family.
She's very focused. I wouldn't describe her as driven, but I certainly would describe her as a strong woman.
And she fit right into this off-the-wall gang.
I cooked stuffed French toast for everyone, followed by pot roast, sweet corn and blueberry pie.
Annie said she wanted to come back again; she didn't run away screaming. She and Lexie certainly are very welcome to be a part of this slightly off-the-wall organization.
That's plural. He's become quite serious about Annie, and Annie has a daughter, Alexis, known as Lexie.
I can see why he fell for both of them.
Fuzzy's known Annie since high school. Apparently she wanted to go out with him then, but he was taken. That relationship has long since evaporated, and a few months ago, quite by accident, Annie and her new daughter moved in across the street from Fuzzy.
Sparks flew, and Fuzzy and Annie became an item.
On Sunday, it was "Meet the Parents" time, or in our case, "Meet the Fokkers."
Actually, it wasn't that weird. Annie is something of a rebel, the black sheep of a very traditional West Michigan family.
She's very focused. I wouldn't describe her as driven, but I certainly would describe her as a strong woman.
And she fit right into this off-the-wall gang.
I cooked stuffed French toast for everyone, followed by pot roast, sweet corn and blueberry pie.
Annie said she wanted to come back again; she didn't run away screaming. She and Lexie certainly are very welcome to be a part of this slightly off-the-wall organization.
Thursday, August 3, 2006
Pretty things
The Michigan.gov Web site is looking for photos of the state to display. I've got a few.
I zapped them this image, of the hay field south of Lake Isabella, and I'll probably send them another couple as time goes on. I think my stuff is at least as pretty as many of the photos, although the Houghton-Hancock bridge image is absolutely awesome!
If nothing else, it's a cheap way for the state to dress up its site. Ego is cheaper than dollars.
I zapped them this image, of the hay field south of Lake Isabella, and I'll probably send them another couple as time goes on. I think my stuff is at least as pretty as many of the photos, although the Houghton-Hancock bridge image is absolutely awesome!
If nothing else, it's a cheap way for the state to dress up its site. Ego is cheaper than dollars.
Monday, July 31, 2006
Sam's funeral
My friend Sam was buried today.
Sam was a good man. He had his demons, as we all do, but for the last decade or so, he seemed to have conquered them.
I first met Sam shortly after we came to Mount Pleasant. He was a short, wiry man in his 50s. He had a lot of energy, a lot of focus.
His main focus was on taking care of his elderly mother. His mom, whom I've never met, apparently was quite demanding; I suspect she has Alzheimer's. He and his mother had been on my prayer list for about three years. He struggled.
I hadn't seen Sam for a while; then I saw his obituary in the paper. He was 61 years old.
Apparently, it's not unusual for an Alzheimer's caregiver to die before the Alzheimer's patient.
His casket was draped in the flag. His toughest battle was not with the enemy without, but the enemy within. His children and friends were there, and our prayers were, and are, with him.
Sam was a good man. He had his demons, as we all do, but for the last decade or so, he seemed to have conquered them.
I first met Sam shortly after we came to Mount Pleasant. He was a short, wiry man in his 50s. He had a lot of energy, a lot of focus.
His main focus was on taking care of his elderly mother. His mom, whom I've never met, apparently was quite demanding; I suspect she has Alzheimer's. He and his mother had been on my prayer list for about three years. He struggled.
I hadn't seen Sam for a while; then I saw his obituary in the paper. He was 61 years old.
Apparently, it's not unusual for an Alzheimer's caregiver to die before the Alzheimer's patient.
His casket was draped in the flag. His toughest battle was not with the enemy without, but the enemy within. His children and friends were there, and our prayers were, and are, with him.
Saturday, July 15, 2006
Fluffy Kitty, 2005(?)-2006
Fluffy Kitty, despite his name, was one tough tomcat.
He was a survivor, battling on his own terms. What he couldn’t battle was feline leukemia, and rather than suffer a harsh, debilitating death, he died peacefully Saturday.
We first became aware of Fluffy Kitty last summer. He seemed to appear out of the forest. He was a long-haired, blond cat, with curious, close-set eyes.
Fluffy Kitty seemed to be an adolescent kitten. My first impression was that he had to belong to somebody.
Cinnamon, the regal Siamese who has been Kissy Missy’s constant companion for more than a decade, was very standoffish about this occasional visitor to the deck. But Kissy Missy had cautioned me that I had “married the Cat Lady,” and as fall grew colder, Kissy Missy put out some food for the blond tomcat.
Her ultimate goal, I think, was to adopt this animal. I still wasn’t convinced he didn’t belong to one of the neighbors.
Winter arrived, and Fluffy started appearing, almost like clockwork, when I got up in the morning and before I went to bed at night. He was eating well, shnarfing down Whiskas cat food two pouches at a time.
One cold morning, he came into the house. Cinnamon was aghast at this intruder. Fluffy wanted to chase around and play; Cinny is elderly, and just doesn’t get along with other cats.
Still, on the coldest nights, Fluffy sometimes stayed inside. He cuddled with me. Cinny didn’t get much sleep those nights, and when dawn broke, Fluffy always wanted back outside.
Fluffy seemed to like Cinny’s food, and when the door opened, would make a beeline to Cinny’s dish. That just wasn’t acceptable, and when the weather warmed up, we went back to feeding Fluffy on the porch.
He’d somehow made it through the winter. I don’t know where he stayed, how he stayed warm, of if anyone else was feeding him. But the outdoors is not a forgiving environment for a cat, and we figured that he needed a home.
As the weather warmed, we found Fluffy just lolling around on the decks, sunning himself. He became much more affectionate, ready for any and all attention. He started leaving food behind in his dish. It looked as if he got into some sort of a tussle with another animal.
Kissy Missy made an appointment for him at the Cat Clinic (that’s the name of the veterinary practice that specializes in cats) and she and Kathy caught him, put him in the cat carrier, and took him to town for a checkup.
The news was not good. Feline leukemia was at the top of the list, but he seemed to be losing his ability to fight off infection. He had several wounds that apparently were well-hidden by that mop of blond hair, and intestinal parasites had taken hold.
This would not be pretty. Fluffy was an outdoor cat, through and through, living in the wild. He had a pretty good food source, so he didn’t have to hunt. Yet he could infect other cats with the virus, and there would be no way he’d survive. Nature is calmly efficient in culling out the weak and the sick, and Fluffy was weakening, and would weaken further.
He loved the Cat Clinic. His last night was spent in the Cat Condo, and Kissy Missy and Kathy played with him Saturday morning. He was happy.
None of us know how Fluffy Kitty got here. Perhaps he was a stray from a family who still misses him. Maybe he was the kitten of a feral mama cat. Maybe somebody dumped him in the forest as a kitten, and against all odds, he made it through as long as he did.
But he was sick, getting sicker, and he even though he was himself a predator, he would have fallen victim eventually.
Fluffy, my friend, my eyes filled with tears when I heard the news, and I’m sorry I didn’t get to cuddle with you one last time. When I make my coffee, I’ll remember your little mews beyond the screen. You were one tough cat.
Rest in peace, little predator.
Thursday, July 13, 2006
The Blue Line
One of the definitions of news is information that affects the reader personally or touches the reader's life. That's why I'll be following the probe into an accident on the Chicago Transit Authority's Blue Line that happened earlier this week.
Kissy Missy and I rode that train in from O'Hare and back on Friday.
Personally, I like the CTA. It's inexpensive, convenient and clean.
But there were some things about our ride that bothered me. The cars swayed, big time. I recall looking at the car ahead of us, and being stunned by how much it swayed, and how out-of-synch the swaying was with our car.
"Should it be this bumpy?" Kissy Missy asked at one point. My reaction was that it was a smoother ride than the Paris Metro, but yeah, it was bumpy.
I want to ride this train again. I don't want my picture in the Sun-Times for being evacuated.
Kissy Missy and I rode that train in from O'Hare and back on Friday.
Personally, I like the CTA. It's inexpensive, convenient and clean.
But there were some things about our ride that bothered me. The cars swayed, big time. I recall looking at the car ahead of us, and being stunned by how much it swayed, and how out-of-synch the swaying was with our car.
"Should it be this bumpy?" Kissy Missy asked at one point. My reaction was that it was a smoother ride than the Paris Metro, but yeah, it was bumpy.
I want to ride this train again. I don't want my picture in the Sun-Times for being evacuated.
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
My little town
The Spartanette just posted a wonderful piece about culture shock. She's a Michigan State University student and a fabulous blogger. I could certainly relate to her reaction to her hometown residents' reaction to a newly expanded chain Mexican restaurant.
I just found it amusing, but then again, I chose to live in a little village where the house is almost in the woods.
This could say something about 'Merica. Down in Holland, Mich., on our way to Chicago, Kissy Missy and I stopped for lunch. Next to each other, sharing a parking lot and road access from U.S. 31, were a Panera Bread and a Culver's restaurant.
Think about this: The prices are roughly equivalent. The access is equal. The calorie count probably is equivalent.
But in the Culver's lot -- a restaurant that features burgers and deep-fried everything -- all but one of the cars was American: Fords, Merkeries, Chivvies, and we count Dodges as 'Merican, even though they ain't. In the Panera lot, about two-thirds of the cars were Toyotas, Hondas and Nissans.
A wise school superintendent once told me that to stay in touch with reality, educators need to sit outside Wal-Mart and watch the people for a while. Those are the people whose children we educate, the real 'Mericans.
I just found it amusing, but then again, I chose to live in a little village where the house is almost in the woods.
This could say something about 'Merica. Down in Holland, Mich., on our way to Chicago, Kissy Missy and I stopped for lunch. Next to each other, sharing a parking lot and road access from U.S. 31, were a Panera Bread and a Culver's restaurant.
Think about this: The prices are roughly equivalent. The access is equal. The calorie count probably is equivalent.
But in the Culver's lot -- a restaurant that features burgers and deep-fried everything -- all but one of the cars was American: Fords, Merkeries, Chivvies, and we count Dodges as 'Merican, even though they ain't. In the Panera lot, about two-thirds of the cars were Toyotas, Hondas and Nissans.
A wise school superintendent once told me that to stay in touch with reality, educators need to sit outside Wal-Mart and watch the people for a while. Those are the people whose children we educate, the real 'Mericans.
Monday, July 10, 2006
Twelve hours between camps
We got home about 5 p.m. Sunday, and Robert and I were up bright and EXCRUTIATINGLY early Monday morning to get him to Boy Scout camp.
Andrew was already there. He convinced his boss at Wendy's to take him off the schedule for this week, so he would have a chance to work on the merit badges he needs to become an Eagle Scout. He stayed with friends Friday and Saturday, and went up to the Tall Pine Council's Camp Tapico Sunday morning.
Robert did his laundry, picked up a tent and mess kit, and we were off to the North Country.
I had never been to Camp Tapico. It's west of Gaylord in the hill country of Kalkaska County. The Michigan Department of Transportation has put up a sign on M-72 pointing to it; I never would have found the place otherwise. It's even more isolated than the Lake Huron Area Council's Paul Bunyan Scout Reservation.
Camp Tapico is billed as 1,200 acres of woodlands and a nice lake. Grass Lake does seem like a nice inland lake, and the camp sites are spread out in the woods around it.
The place, however, seems a little tired and ramshackle. That's sad. What I found somewhat disconcerting was the fact that Tall Pines serves the Flint area, and I don't remember seeing any Scouts of color. I did spot numerous Scouts wearing troop fleeces from suburban units, but admittedly, I was there only a short period.
After checking in, Robert and I went back to the camp site, past the "poison ivy" sign by the trading post (how welcoming!) around the lake.
The site is a 15-minute walk from the main camp, through the swamp (every Scout camp MUST have a swamp) around the lake and back into the woods. I didn't get to see Andrew; I assume he already was working on Environmental Science Merit Badge.
And everybody's home on Saturday.
Andrew was already there. He convinced his boss at Wendy's to take him off the schedule for this week, so he would have a chance to work on the merit badges he needs to become an Eagle Scout. He stayed with friends Friday and Saturday, and went up to the Tall Pine Council's Camp Tapico Sunday morning.
Robert did his laundry, picked up a tent and mess kit, and we were off to the North Country.
I had never been to Camp Tapico. It's west of Gaylord in the hill country of Kalkaska County. The Michigan Department of Transportation has put up a sign on M-72 pointing to it; I never would have found the place otherwise. It's even more isolated than the Lake Huron Area Council's Paul Bunyan Scout Reservation.
Camp Tapico is billed as 1,200 acres of woodlands and a nice lake. Grass Lake does seem like a nice inland lake, and the camp sites are spread out in the woods around it.
The place, however, seems a little tired and ramshackle. That's sad. What I found somewhat disconcerting was the fact that Tall Pines serves the Flint area, and I don't remember seeing any Scouts of color. I did spot numerous Scouts wearing troop fleeces from suburban units, but admittedly, I was there only a short period.
After checking in, Robert and I went back to the camp site, past the "poison ivy" sign by the trading post (how welcoming!) around the lake.
The site is a 15-minute walk from the main camp, through the swamp (every Scout camp MUST have a swamp) around the lake and back into the woods. I didn't get to see Andrew; I assume he already was working on Environmental Science Merit Badge.
And everybody's home on Saturday.
Boys ... and girls
Kathy and Robert had been home for less than two hours late Sunday.
Robert put up his feet and turned into a temporary vegetable, watching old "Star Trek" reruns. Kathy ran for the phone, and her first call was to Ryan, her heartthrob.
He didn't answer the phone, but in a few minutes, he texted her.
The news was not good. He dumped her. In a text message.
How gauche.
Kathy, of course, was utterly devastated. She's had it bad for this guy since she was in the play this spring, and it looked as if this relationship might be going somewhere. Then she left for Europe.
Long separations are relationship killers, particularly for the emotionally immature, like teenagers.
I took her over to her friend Allyssa's house. On the way, she got the Dad talk. Then she got the girl talk she really needed.
I hope that Kathy will take this opportunity to start buying into the idea that she can be a woman who doesn't need a male to define her. She is such a strong personality that it wouldn't work for her to be defined by a male, anyway.
But that comes later. First, the drama must finish.
Robert put up his feet and turned into a temporary vegetable, watching old "Star Trek" reruns. Kathy ran for the phone, and her first call was to Ryan, her heartthrob.
He didn't answer the phone, but in a few minutes, he texted her.
The news was not good. He dumped her. In a text message.
How gauche.
Kathy, of course, was utterly devastated. She's had it bad for this guy since she was in the play this spring, and it looked as if this relationship might be going somewhere. Then she left for Europe.
Long separations are relationship killers, particularly for the emotionally immature, like teenagers.
I took her over to her friend Allyssa's house. On the way, she got the Dad talk. Then she got the girl talk she really needed.
I hope that Kathy will take this opportunity to start buying into the idea that she can be a woman who doesn't need a male to define her. She is such a strong personality that it wouldn't work for her to be defined by a male, anyway.
But that comes later. First, the drama must finish.
Blue Lake
Robert is completely taken with Blue Lake Fine Arts Camp.
Karen, Kathy and I drove up from Chicago on Sunday. He was utterly exhausted, but utterly thrilled to have been a part of the experience. Robert said he couldn't believe how quickly it had gone.
He was part of the Blue Band, a concert band that performed Sunday afternoon at the Stewart Band Shell.
The lake breeze was brisk, and it did a great job of cooling off a scorching day. The girls and I sat under a tree near the back of the seating, relaxing, enjoying the music and the day.
Kathy, of course, saw a lot of her friends from last year and ran off for girl talk. That is. She did see her brother perform -- including in a piece called "Clarinet Hoedown" -- and thought the band was pretty good.
So did I.
And I now am the proud owner of a fleece with a Blue Lake logo.
Karen, Kathy and I drove up from Chicago on Sunday. He was utterly exhausted, but utterly thrilled to have been a part of the experience. Robert said he couldn't believe how quickly it had gone.
He was part of the Blue Band, a concert band that performed Sunday afternoon at the Stewart Band Shell.
The lake breeze was brisk, and it did a great job of cooling off a scorching day. The girls and I sat under a tree near the back of the seating, relaxing, enjoying the music and the day.
Kathy, of course, saw a lot of her friends from last year and ran off for girl talk. That is. She did see her brother perform -- including in a piece called "Clarinet Hoedown" -- and thought the band was pretty good.
So did I.
And I now am the proud owner of a fleece with a Blue Lake logo.
Sunday, July 9, 2006
She's back!
Kathy's back.
I have never seen Kathy so happy.
She arrived back from Europe Saturday afternoon, bubbling, excited, dog-tired and with a made craving for Taco Bell.
Kathy was full of stories.
The bus broke down in the Alps. She loves the Eiffel Tower and Paris (but of course!). She drew the line at trying paté. Her host family in Kellinghüsen sold Amway. She wants to study German. She loves Daimler-Chrysler's Smart car. She wears a size 40, but her shirt size is 172.
"I didn't feel like I was in another country," Kathy said. "German people and French people are just like us."
That's the whole point of the exercise, isn't it?
"Our last performance was, like, the best ever," Kathy said. "It really was. It was really amazing."
And she misses the Alps.
She liked the small towns better than the larger cities.
"It reminded me of home," she said. "Everybody knows everybody."
Kathy missed television.
"I didn't watch TV all the time I was there," she said.
And she wants to go back.
How ya gonna keep her down on the rez, now she's seen Paree?
Saturday, July 8, 2006
Chicago
I almost feel as if this should have a dateline on it:
CHICAGO -- This is the part of O'Hare International Airport that gives it its "international" appeal.
Kissy Missy and I are in the international terminal, waiting for the arrival of Air France Flight 50. She should be on the ground in just a few minutes.
Kissy Missy and I came down yesterday, taking advantage of the opportunity to spend a little time in one of my favorite cities.
Every bad thing you've heard about Chicago traffic is true. Take the boat, take the plane, take the train but the freeway traffic is awful. We were stuck on one short stretch of the Chicago Skyway, "The Fastest Way into the City," (yeah, right) for more than an hour, stuck among three 18-wheelers moving at 3 to 5 mph.
But on the plus side, Kissy Missy used Priceline to get a nice, comfortable place near O'Hare for $45! She's good.
We took the CTA Blue Line to the Loop, went up to the Skydeck at the Sears Tower, and had Giordano's deep-dish Chicago pizza for dinner.
Today, for lunch, she zoomed in on what turned out to be a fabulous Bulgarian cafe in Schiller Park. It's called the Cafe Mirage, and it's real. The food is truly authentic, because it serves an immigrant population. I think we were the only people whose native language was English in the place.
The chicken soup was fabulous, the dish Kissy Missy ordered was fabulous -- sort of a Swiss Steak in chunks over mashed potatoes and rice -- and the Euro hamburger I got -- grilled ground beef on crusty French bread with cucumber -- was great.
Kissy Missy commented that every woman in the place was beautiful. I'd agree.
More later when Flight 50 lands.
Tuesday, July 4, 2006
Wise advice
Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.
Happy Independence Day!
The image is original with me; the ink tank is in Morning Star Publishing's print shop. I've tried to track down who said the quote, but I have not been able to do that. Many sources credit it to Mark Twain, but that doesn't seem to be correct. Simpson's Contemporary Quotations, accessed through Bartleby.com, credits a wonderful version to AFL-CIO President Lane Kirkland, but he said it in 1985, and I'd heard the line long before then.
Call it folk wisdom.
This and other images, most suitable for printing up to 20 by 30, are available from the Kodak Gallery.
Monday, July 3, 2006
Speaking truth to power
In all my dealings with politicians, and there have been many, they keep saying, "Write me a letter" when a constituent feels strongly about something. It matters.
Comparatively few people do. That takes work. That takes thought. Most people, unfortunately, recoil at the challenge of stringing more than five words together. Perhaps they know instinctively that it won't make sense, or perhaps it's just easier to grump and whine in the coffee shop.
Or maybe they're a little afraid of the politicians, these oh-so-powerful Washington or Lansing or courthouse types. There's really no reason for that; the successful -- read: re-electable -- political leaders I've met are approachable, open, willing to listen and generally pretty smart.
The Boy Scouts require Scouts working on the Citizenship in the Community merit badge to write a letter to the editor, or write a letter to a political leader or board commenting on some issue. It's our right as Americans to do that, but precious few of us do. When we don't, that opens the door for organized, special-interest groups to pretend to represent everyone.
Andrew recently finished Citizenship in the Community. He cast around looking for something to write about, and considering he and his family are on the county roads every day, his letter went to the Isabella County Road Commission.
There's a stretch of road west of Mount Pleasant that just simply is awful. He wrote about that, encouraging the road board to find the money to get a new surface on this increasingly busy road.
He spent a lot of time on the iMac composing, revising, brainstorming, got it approved by his merit badge counselor, and got the badge. Citizenship in the Community is required for Eagle, by the way. Knowing how to make your voice heard is a clear requirement for a leader.
Will they jump? Of course not, but knowing it's an issue, and people care, will
keep that near the top of the priority list when it's time to set the budget.
Fuzzy also recently sent letters off to Michigan's U.S. senators, and encouraged his friends to do that same thing.
I talked to a man over the weekend, a Native American, who wants to change the rules the Saginaw Chippewa Indian Tribe regulates fireworks sales on the reservation. He's involved, and even though progress is slow, he's continuing to push his ideas. Ultimately, I think, he'll get results.
Most politicians don't bite. But if we don't show up, write letters, make our voices heard, people like Jack Abramoff will be more than happy to fill that role.
Happy Independence Day. It takes work to keep it.
Comparatively few people do. That takes work. That takes thought. Most people, unfortunately, recoil at the challenge of stringing more than five words together. Perhaps they know instinctively that it won't make sense, or perhaps it's just easier to grump and whine in the coffee shop.
Or maybe they're a little afraid of the politicians, these oh-so-powerful Washington or Lansing or courthouse types. There's really no reason for that; the successful -- read: re-electable -- political leaders I've met are approachable, open, willing to listen and generally pretty smart.
The Boy Scouts require Scouts working on the Citizenship in the Community merit badge to write a letter to the editor, or write a letter to a political leader or board commenting on some issue. It's our right as Americans to do that, but precious few of us do. When we don't, that opens the door for organized, special-interest groups to pretend to represent everyone.
Andrew recently finished Citizenship in the Community. He cast around looking for something to write about, and considering he and his family are on the county roads every day, his letter went to the Isabella County Road Commission.
There's a stretch of road west of Mount Pleasant that just simply is awful. He wrote about that, encouraging the road board to find the money to get a new surface on this increasingly busy road.
He spent a lot of time on the iMac composing, revising, brainstorming, got it approved by his merit badge counselor, and got the badge. Citizenship in the Community is required for Eagle, by the way. Knowing how to make your voice heard is a clear requirement for a leader.
Will they jump? Of course not, but knowing it's an issue, and people care, will
keep that near the top of the priority list when it's time to set the budget.
Fuzzy also recently sent letters off to Michigan's U.S. senators, and encouraged his friends to do that same thing.
I talked to a man over the weekend, a Native American, who wants to change the rules the Saginaw Chippewa Indian Tribe regulates fireworks sales on the reservation. He's involved, and even though progress is slow, he's continuing to push his ideas. Ultimately, I think, he'll get results.
Most politicians don't bite. But if we don't show up, write letters, make our voices heard, people like Jack Abramoff will be more than happy to fill that role.
Happy Independence Day. It takes work to keep it.
Sunday, July 2, 2006
Boomers
Lake Isabella is a small community of only about 1,200 people, but this year, it put on one heck of a good fireworks show.
The setting is very nice. The fireworks are launched over the lake, and usually, hundreds of boaters sail to the north end of the lake to watch the show from the water. This year, a strong south wind turned the lake pretty choppy, and a number of pontoon-boat owners decided to watch this one from the dock. There still were more than 100 boats anchored out on the lake, full of people watching the show.
Tim Wolff, the village manager, worried that with Mount Pleasant cancelling its show, that Lake Isabella might be overwhelmed with people looking for an excellent show. That didn't seem to be the case. The crowd control was very good, with the township marshall, the sheriff's department, the state police, Tribal police and Lake Isabella security all contributing manpower.
The show itself was truly excellent. The sky was cloudy, the air heavy and moist, and the village -- with funding from private donors -- put on a fabulous, 30-minute show.
Many of the most spectacular displays were low, designed to reflect in the lake. That worked to perfection.
And the grand finale was one of the grandest I've seen. It was intense, fast-paced and just an absolute pleasure to watch.
Andrew and I watched it from the east side of the lake, just off the golf course. We couldn't get access to the dam this year -- apparently, there's a serious liability issue, but where we watched was directly across from the launch site. Perfect!
And the breeze kept the bugs down.
Just a thought: Does it say anything about Americans that we celebrate our national holiday by blowing things up?
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