Christmas Confession

I have a confession to make. Last month I wrote about decorating for Christmas and said that I “had” decorated after Thanksgiving. The way that my deadlines work, I actually had to write that column before Thanksgiving, fully intending on decorating the house the weekend after Thanksgiving so that by the time you read my column, everything would be as it should. But it wasn’t. We spontaneously decided to update the flooring in our kitchen and dining room, which began with the weekend of Thanksgiving spent tearing out hardwood flooring. Because of that, the dining room table and china cabinet made their way into the living room, where they stayed for about 3 weeks. As you can probably imagine, there was no room for a Christmas Tree and no motivation for decorating. This flooring project also turned into something like falling dominoes. Once the floor came up, we realized that some drywall needed to be repaired. And since we were going to be repairing drywall, we thought it was time for that huge bank of cabinets to be downsized, which showed a large spot on the ceiling that was cause for ceiling paint. And while we were painting, shouldn’t we change the color in the powder room? Changing the paint in the powder room means that dated wallpaper boarder needed to come down. And once we saw the powder room without a vanity in it, we decided that a pedestal sink would look really cute in there. Which brought us back to the flooring. Why would we put hardwood down again in the bathroom? So we decided to add some tile accents. As all of this took place, my Christmas decorating got pushed further and further into December. After all, besides the misplaced furniture, the house was a dusty mess. In mid-December I had given up on doing any decorating, other than the outdoor lighted stuff. Fortunately, my husband was not going to let us go without at least a Christmas tree. To my surprise and delight, one day he came home with a small potted tree, which we put little decorations on and placed in the living room next to the dining room table. As Christmas approached, things got back to normal as we picked away at the renovation project. Stockings went on the mantle and the table returned to its rightful place in the dining room. But our sweet little tree remained as we celebrated the season with our kids. The best laid plans don’t always come to fruition, especially when it comes to newspaper deadlines, but at least I came clean with you, which makes me feel better. Happy New Year!

When does Christmas Begin?

Here we are at the start of December, staring down the barrel of Christmas, which for me means decorating the house. Which has been met with less and less enthusiasm as the years progress, especially since we don’t have children in the house anymore and very few visitors. So who am I really decorating for, anyway? I was talking with a coworker who, with her young son, put up the Christmas decorations the day after Halloween. “I just love Christmas!” she said “I love the lights, the decorations! I love all of it!” I used to feel that way and I miss her excitement. I personally think that decorating before Thanksgiving might be jumping the gun a bit. I still like the fall oranges, yellows, and reds. I try to leave the cute fall swag that my niece made on the hearth through Thanksgiving so as not to mix holidays. But for me the tradition of decorating for Christmas begins the weekend after Thanksgiving. Call me a traditionalist, or a purist, but I just tend to think chronologically which means that Christmas comes after Thanksgiving, which comes after Halloween. But I understand her logic. If you love Christmas that much, only having the decorations up for 3 weeks really isn’t long enough, especially if you have a lot of decorations. I have a friend who used to even swap out her dishes. And let's face it, there are stores that start putting out Christmas inventory in August. That doesn’t annoy me anymore. Even when my favorite radio station, Mac FM, started playing Christmas music right after Halloween, I simply stopped listening to it and will resume after Thanksgiving. It’s kind of that whole idea of “If you don’t like it, don’t listen,” (or look, whatever). So in keeping with my own tradition, Christmas went up after Thanksgiving. The tree is smaller. There are fewer decorations put out. I minimalized my Christmas collection from 4 totes to two. But one thing remains true. When my kids come home for the holidays, they will have Holiday. There will be a tree, garland around the banister, and front yard lights. Perky the Christmas Penguin will be lit up out front, the giant wreath will be above the front door, and the stockings will be hung by the chimney with care. But it all happens after Thanksgiving and comes down in early January. Except the giant wreath, which usually stays up until the snow is gone and only because we’re lazy. I really do think it’s great that people stretch out the holidays because for me Christmas is so important to my faith life, and who am I to take that joy from someone else? It reminds me of where my spirit is grounded. It brings my family home. And it all takes place after Thanksgiving.

Who Needs Photo Albums? We've got Amazon!

A few weeks ago Tom was asking me about a motorcycle phone holder he once had that he would like to replace. Since neither one of us could remember when or where that particular item had been purchased, I offered to review Amazon. Ah, Amazon. The modern day answer to the brick and mortar stores of yesteryear. Where would our lives be without the ability to purchase literally anything we need with the touch of a yellow button? When I look back on technologies like Facebook or Amazon, I can’t believe how long we have had those conveniences. It seems like we just got them, and yet, when I went back to my Amazon history, I have been using Amazon since 2002. 2002? As in nineteen years? As I searched for that phone holder, my review of 19 years of purchases was literally a trip down memory lane for me. It was like hauling those Creative Memories photo scrapbooks out of the attic and thumbing through them. 2002 and 2003 only referenced that I had made two purchases, but didn’t show what they were. Apparently, I didn’t buy anything from Amazon in 2004, but in 2005 we must have ended our Columbia Records membership, because I bought some cds, probably for the boys, based on the artists. By 2006 I was purchasing Guitar Hero, complete with guitar for a Christmas present. From 2006 to 2008 was mostly books or videos (remember when Amazon only sold media?) and the random cold coffee filtration system. At that time I was still teaching special education and wrestling must have been the main sport for our boys because those were the books I was buying. 2008 went to 2 pages of purchase history and we went from just media, to now adding band t shirts. 2009 continued with books, books, videos, and more books and a Sirius satellite receiver. Remember when we needed those to get music? As I continued on, I could track what I was teaching, what our sons were interested in, and my husband’s hobbies. I can see Christmases, birthdays, and the addition of everything from kitchen supplies, to toiletries, to vitamins. I can even see the waste. How many of those books did not ever get read? How much of that stuff fell victim to minimalization and decluttering? These days it’s a little bit more difficult to track my life via Amazon. The app has been taken off of my phone and I need the 13 character password to log in if I want to buy anything on my laptop. And the phone holder? Never found it. I guess we bought that in a brick and mortar store. Black Friday is coming. Delete that app and shop local!

I'll Know when I'm Old

In my younger days, one of my sayings was, “I’ll know I am old when K-Tel puts out a compilation record of 80’s songs. For those of you too young to know what a K-Tel record is, this was a company that released greatest hit songs for a specific decade. It was usually the decade following the one with the songs on it. So you can probably understand that Ultimate 80’s was released sometime in the early 90’s. I was only in my late 20’s by that time.” Certainly not old. Yet. I didn’t really update my “I will know when I’m old…” saying after that. However, there are some significant events that take place to put you in an upper generational category, whether you like it or not. For instance, your high school car is now eligible for historical plates. Recently, Tom and I wandered in a really cute antique shop in Indian River called Antiques Roadhouse. As we wandered in the door, we saw the usual antique store items from the 30’s and 40’s. Old furniture, housewares, cookware. As we were wandering about, something caught my eye. It was a display of old metal lunchboxes. “Oh wow! I said! I had one of these!” And then I looked down and saw a Barbie doll accessory case. I had once owned one exactly like it. A little further into the shop was an original Atari game, all set up on a TV that looked a lot like the one we had in our living room growing up. There was one thing, after another, after another that stirred up childhood memories. When did those memories cross over from garage sale finds to antique store treasures? Are they antiques? Am I antique, or should I say, “old?” One thing I can say for certain is that I definitely do not feel old or antique by any stretch of the imagination. Even so, the evidence is there. The camper I camped in as a child is now “vintage” and highly sought after. The banana seat bicycle I rode is collectable. The high waisted jeans I wore are in style again. As they say, “Everything old is new again.” Yes, I have creaks and crackles and wrinkles and grey hairs taking over my head. But I don’t make, “I’ll know when I’m old…” statements anymore. That ship has sailed. Fortunately, there is some good in being able to say “I had a Addams Family metal lunchbox just like that!” and “I carried my Barbies around in this same case!” I enjoy those memories because for me, they are happy.

The Minimalist Leap

When I started on this decluttering/minimalist journey, I figured I’d have to put my minimalist money where my mouth was, but I didn’t ever imagine it would mean living in a 25 foot travel trailer for 5 weeks. It all started when my husband, Tom, was talking to a friend in mid-June. That friend was sharing about how he and his wife live on their boat while they rent out their house for the summer. Tom came home and said “Let’s rent out our house!” I told him that that was a great idea and that we could spend the year getting the house ready to rent. There is a lot of wear and tear on a 15 year old family home that can’t be erased in a matter of weeks, or can it? Tom replied with, “No, I mean this summer! It’ll be great! I’ll take the month off and we can live in our camper,” (insert forced-smile emoji here). So what we embarked on was 4 weeks of furiously cleaning, painting, updating, picture-changing, towel and linen-buying adventure, culminating with our cats living with my son and his wife, and us living in our camper with our dog. For. Four. Weeks. Four full weeks. I have to admit that if you want to learn how to live like a minimalist, or if you want to see what tiny house living is really like, try it out in a small travel trailer for an extended period of time. Everything takes thought and planning. Grocery shopping was a very thought-out process because the cupboard and refrigerator space were at a premium. I had to decide what to make and then only buy food for those specific meals. Clothing had to be whatever could fit in a tote small enough to slide under the fold-out couch. We also had to accommodate for somewhat limited internet service and go back to reading old fashioned paper books and play old fashioned card games on the rainy days. What I learned though is that albeit cramped, I was forced to keep up with dishes and stay on top of clutter daily. I spent a lot of time finding ways to maximize space. Luckily for me, Tom likes organizing things and within the second week all of the cabinets were organized with additional shelving and plastic totes. So when it came to shooting my mouth off about all of the decluttering and minimalism, I found out that I really could downsize into an incredibly small space for a longer-than-usual amount of time. Now the question is, will we do it again next summer for two months instead of one? Stay tuned.

When I Write about Riding

In the 11 years that I have been writing this column I know of exactly two people who have read every single one; my mom and my friend, Scott. I know for sure that Scott has read them all because it happened this past winter. He was telling me how surprised he was to learn that I wrote for the paper and that he wanted to read more of my writing. After a quick conversation about all of the ways he could access past pieces online, I offered to let him take my scrapbooks. I have this old-fashioned habit of carefully clipping out my column each time it is published in the paper and then placing it in a scrapbook. I have kept them all. So Scott took Volume 1 of “The Flip Side: Life After 40”, and then two weeks later, Volume 2. He was very complimentary of my writing, but inquired as to why I don’t write more about riding my motorcycle. The answer to that question is simple, yet complicated. I actually do write about riding my motorcycle. Those pieces just never seem to make it to my laptop. One of the most peaceful things I do in my life is ride my motorcycle. And as I ride, I compose. I think about how lucky I am to be able to ride around Northern Michigan anytime I want, all summer long with the beautiful blues of the lakeshores to my right and the stunning views of the rolling hills to my left. I smell the amazing scent of the Lilacs in June and marvel that I can hear the spring peepers above the rumble of my motor. I write and write and write words which will never see print because when I come to a stop and swing my leg back over my bike, what I was sure I’d never forget, gets lost in the lunches with friends, shopping downtown, bike nights, and festivals. What started as a hobby that my husband introduced me to as a passenger soon became my love also as a solo rider. However, as the years go by and I have a few more close calls, get a little more fearful, see yet another driver stopped at an intersection looking down at his phone, I think that maybe it’s time to sell the bike. But selling the bike would not only mean a loss of the enjoyment I get from riding, but it would also mean the many hours of writing that take place without my fingers ever touching the keyboard would end too. So Scott, you may not see many columns about riding, but you can know for certain that they are being written.

Practice Makes Better

I’ve never been much for practicing anything. When I pick up a new hobby I usually just start making stuff. I don’t really put forth the effort to ever get really good at it. And for someone who considers herself to be somewhat of a perfectionist, I don’t get much perfect. I don’t even get better. When I was a kid it was important to my mom that all of her children take piano lessons. She acquired a beautiful second hand upright that was missing a bunch of ivories and wasn’t tunable. Try running your 10 year old hands down a keyboard with no ivories. Not fun. Only one out of 3 of us kids actually put in the practice and got good at music. It wasn’t me. I was always in awe of my piano teacher, Mrs. Dvorak, when she would say, “You didn’t practice, did you.” How in the world did she know? Apparently practicing for 15 minutes before I rode my bike down to her house didn’t do a whole lot. Needless to say, my level 2 rendition of Journey’s “Open Arms'' didn't make the cut for the spring recital. Last year, during the COVID shutdowns our younger son stayed with us. Both of our sons are amazing musicians, but I never realized the amount of practice that it takes to become really good at guitar. He would practice for hours every day, playing these short riffs over and over and over, (not gonna lie, it got on my nerves a little). But the first time I got to see he and Robby play together I couldn’t believe it. They were amazing. This spring a few friends and I are taking tap lessons. You might remember I took tap lessons several years ago but it was mostly for fun. There was no practicing as is customary for me. But this time I was thinking about Sam and his endless practicing and about how much better his guitar playing has gotten. So I decided I’d take on the example he set. I took a video of my tap teacher and set up a little make-shift dance studio in my laundry room. I have been practicing both the dance she is teaching us and what are called “rudiments'' which are short steps practiced over and over and over. I can’t believe how much more confidence I have. I go to class feeling like I can keep up. I know the dance and don’t feel like the awkward 5th grader confessing that she hasn’t been taking it seriously. I may not be ready to audition for Riverdance, but I can say that practice does make better. And I’m getting better.

As I was submitting my column for this month, I was informed that it will no longer appear in the Markeplace publication. I was told that my column would now be appearing in the Petoskey News Review on the first Thursday of the month. While this news was met with some excitement on my part, (am I now entering the “big leagues?”), I realized that suddenly, a large majority of my readership will no longer have free access to my column in print form. I felt that I owed it to you to personally send a farewell message and let you know how much I have enjoyed writing for this particular paper for all these years. Some of you have been with me from the beginning and I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your loyalty, comments, letters, and even chapstick! When I first started writing for what was at that time called, “Saturday,” it was completely by accident. My friend, Renee’ Tanner had mentioned that the News Review was always looking for “stringers.” “What’s a stringer?” was my questions, and after my first submission, The Flip Side, Life After 40 was born. At that time, it was 2010. My sons were middle and high school aged. You were with me through sports, drivers training, a variety of crafts, vacations and stay-cations, and surviving a bee in the car. You learned about my love of shoes and my addiction to chapstick. You were there for me during the saddest year of my life when I lost my brother and mother-in-law, and you were there when the sadness lifted. You have met me in the grocery store checkout lane, in Dunham’s and even up at Johnson Lake in the U.P. Every chance meeting, whether you know it or not, came at a time when I almost quit writing because I just didn’t have anymore ideas. But yet, your one kind comment of, “I love your column!” inspired me to keep on going. Although this is not “goodbye,” I feel like some of you won’t be able to read my writing without some extra effort. I will still be published in the PNR and online. Because my mom insists that I keep my blog current, you can still find me there, although it doesn’t stay updated as regularly as it should be. Every writer writes for an audience, whether it is personal or public. I want to thank you so much for your loyalty and encouragement over the years, and if you continue to follow me, I’ll catch you on the flipside. Notice: This is by no means my final blog post. This is just the one I wrote to say "goodbye" to my readers as my column transitions from one publication to another. I thought I should share because my mom likes to read every one of my posts and will wonder why I haven't posted anything this month. I hope you liked it too. -Dawn

The Case of the Disappearing Footwear

This past year I have been working very hard to practice what I have learned when it comes to my new minimalist lifestyle. I really embrace the theory of minimalism. I truly believe that it isn’t what you have, but how you live that creates a peaceful, happy life. I now agree that more stuff means more chaos. I follow one decluttering guru that has said that your house is more functional when it’s clutter free and organized. I really like coming around the corner into my kitchen and seeing a bare countertop. I used to be that person who would do last night's dishes while I was cooking tonight's dinner. Last week’s clean (wrinkled) laundry got folded as I was washing this week's loads. A different YouTube decluttering mentor said “Always see a job to the end.” So I’m really trying to do that. And it’s worked for the most part. I feel like things are tidier and more organized. The only failure I’d say is that I went a little overboard when it came to getting rid of stuff. Last Christmas I was all ready to make mini loaves of pumpkin bread for my coworkers and went to grab my handy-dandy Pampered Chef 4 loaf mini-baker. It was nowhere to be found and I was frantic. My husband suggested that it fell victim to the Minimalist Challenge, 2019. I was so bummed because it was already seasoned and is pretty pricey to replace. More recently, a friend and I were discussing the need for less shoes. Yes, I said “less shoes.” I came to the conclusion that having fewer shoes that I really like, wear, and are comfortable is more important than sheer quantity of shoes. Unfortunately, my last donation trip to GoodWill included the dress shoes I wore once to my son’s wedding. I kept moving these high heel shoes back and forth between the attic and closet for 2 years and finally convinced myself that I would never wear them again. This also applied to a pair of boots that made it to the donate bin around the same time. After those left my world, I inherited a skirt that would have worked perfectly with the former pair of boots. To make matters worse, a week ago, I was invited to attend a gala event next fall which would require, you guessed it, those wedding heels. So my system isn’t exactly foolproof. I found myself wandering the aisles of Goodwill trying to buy back my donated footwear, to no avail. I didn’t feel peaceful or happy when I left the store empty handed, but I’m still a believer in minimalism and decluttering. I just need to iron out the kinks.

Feeding the Birds

Earlier this month, I was sitting in the lunch room trying to think of something to add to the usual lunch time banter. “Oh check this out! I had some yellow finches at my new feeder!” I excitedly showed the video from my phone of 4 birds happily enjoying the seeds out on my back deck. “So now you’re that person who takes movies of her bird feeder?” my friend jokingly asked. Wow, did I suddenly feel old. I don’t know why taking movies of my bird feeder classified me as the old guy in the room. I have always liked birds. My grandma was an avid bird watcher and had many feeders in her back yard, along with her “Pocket Guide to Birds” book and binoculars next to the window. I’m not that bad yet. But I have fond memories of my grandma telling me about birds and about how blue jays are the “bullies of the backyard feeder.” I always enjoyed watching her yell “Shoo!” at those pretty birds. For the last few years we’ve always had some sort of feeder in our yard. I half-heartedly filled them with whatever bird seed I found in the garage. It was usually the same stuff I threw in the chicken coop. However this year I developed an interest in getting more serious about my bird attracting. I ordered an oriole feeder and then read an article about how to attract them, (with oranges). And what not to feed them, (grape jelly-contrary to popular belief). I had already used a gift certificate to by a cute yellow finch feeder, to replace the thistle seed socks I hung around the yard last winter. I just love yellow finches. They are probably my favorite bird. That feeder is on my deck railing, hanging to the outside of the deck so that my cats won’t mistake it for a lunch buffet. This year I also decided I was going to make an effort to attract not only orioles and finches, but robins. Robins are so quintessential spring in Michigan, that I did some reading about what they like to eat. So our Saturday trip down to Traverse City resulted in a new eco-friendly feeder and some songbird mix, complete with raisins and dried mealworms. My new hobby seems to be paying off. Just tonight there were about 50 little birds that I have never seen before going crazy over my finch feeder. After a quick search on my computer, it turns out they are called common redpolls. I have never even heard of those, but they sure are pretty. So I guess what I am saying is that I’ve turned into my own grandma and if that makes me the old lady in the lunchroom, so be it. Just don’t be surprised if I whip out my phone and show you a video of the orioles when they finally make their way to my feeder.

Those Pesky Passwords

About a week ago, I found myself in a foul mood. Such a foul mood that I stopped at the gas station on my way home for a Little Debbie’s snack cake and some Pringles. When I got home I put my stuff down, played frisbee with my dog, fed the chickens and then went straight to the couch. I laid down under a double-folded weighted blanket, and watched JoJo make the world’s easiest meal, parmesan chicken alfredo, on an episode of Magnolia Table just so I could decompress. I have been doing a pretty good job these days of keeping my stress level in check. I pray, meditate, do yoga, and practice gratitude. So that day, the feeling of tight muscles, clenched teeth, and raw irritability, were something I hadn’t felt since the election. What had me rattled to the point of food soothing and weighted blankets? Passwords. Google Chrome has been on my last nerve lately with the constant updates and re-installing. And if you aren’t having that problem, please tell me how you have avoided the little red circle with the up-arrow, because I see it almost weekly, if not daily (it’s up there now, in fact). And just about every time I re-install it, my passwords go missing. When the whole password thing first started, I could use a password like 1234qwerty. Then I had to get a little more creative like, h4rL3y. And in those days, I could use them on multiple websites. Now that the internet is a virtual wasteland of people and bots trying to steal our information and identity, passwords have gone from easy to remember 6-8 letters and number combinations to 16+ letter, number, symbol combinations that in no possible way can ever be memorized. They look something like this: 7}%7FG^MuG'2u/3f. And forget trying to write them down in your little middle-aged password notebook, you will almost definitely write one character incorrectly and get the dreaded, “Oops! Incorrect username or password. Please try again.” But don’t try more than 3 times or they will lock you out of your account. With some of my accounts, I have stopped trying to figure out a way to remember these god-awful passwords (which shouldn’t even be called “words”). Now I just type in my username (if I can remember which one), and hit “forgot password?” because it is actually easier to go through the 3-step process to just make up a new one with my handy random password generator website and the copy & paste keys, than trying to find the sticky note I wrote the last one on. Where that doesn’t work is on apps like Pinterest where I am signed in on 4 different devices, so every time I change the password, I have to change it on multiple devices. You do not want to catch me on that day! Which was what happened on the day in question and brings me back to the couch, the pringles, and Magnolia Table. So if you happen to find me in a foul mood, it’s probably the passwords.

A 5 Star Year for Betsy

As we wrap up on 2020, I can honestly say that it has probably been the most uncertain, difficult year on record. Until this year, my life has been without a lot of crazy turmoil. So when I saw a coffee cup for sale that had 2020 with one out of 5 stars filled in, I thought, “That pretty well sums it up.” And unless you invested in the plastics industry and made a kazillion dollars this year, 2020 has probably been one of the more difficult years for you too. The other day I was looking at my dog, happily lounging in our living room. I was home because of yet, another covid shut-down, and thought “This really has been The Year of Betsy.” Betsy has been our “problem child.” She came to us as a post-Molly, empty nest solution. She has had behavior problems, allergy problems, and injury problems. She is nicknamed “Miss Barky-pants” and “Woofy Woofersons” because of her barking problems. She is no longer allowed in the front yard without being tied out because of her annoying habit of bolting into the road after neighbors who are simply trying to enjoy their daily dog-walking sessions. In spite of all that, 2020 has been a 5 star year for Betsy. It started out like any other year, with she and I taking morning walks and the rest of her days being spent in the garage while Tom and I went to work. But when Covid hit and the shut downs happened, not only did Tom join us at home and on our walks, but our son (her most favorite human in the world) came home from college to weather out the lockdown. Suddenly, Betsy had it made. She had two parents walking with her daily, and almost 8 consecutive months of company. She got to go on additional 4 mile walks in town several days a week with me and my friends. Sam took her out most evenings to either go play frisbee golf, go to the beach, or be the rock star at the park with her own frisbee. Betsy resumed agility classes and we also worked a little bit on AKC Rally skills in the back yard. If I were to guess, the highlight of her summer was probably the day she got to try out real sheep herding. She had so much supervision that were able to stay on top of her itchy foot licking and catch it before she turned her feet into raw hamburger. When I went back to work in September, Sam’s job allowed him to remain remote. Eventually, he moved out and Betsy returned to the garage for a short time, until we shut down again. This second round of shut downs gave me a little bit of crafting time to make her a new fleece tie blanket and matching snuffle mat. Betsy doesn’t care about Covid-19, the presidential election, or the economy. If she can have the ones she loves close by for the majority of the time, it’s 5 out of 5 stars for her. And if I take a moment to count my blessings, it is for me too.

Once Upon a Skunk

I have often said that I would rather run into a bear than a skunk. Actually, I have come in close contact with a (small) bear and after we both stood there in awe and wonder of each other, we simultaneously realized the danger and quickly went our separate ways. That’s not to say that it could be catastrophically worse the next time (and I hope there won’t be a next time). But for me, I have a strong aversion to skunks bordering on irrational fear. It seems to have gotten worse over the years. There’s actually a name for it. Mephitophobia. I didn’t realize the level of phobia I have regarding skunks, until recently. It started out like any other night. My dog, Betsy, was unusually wound up. I attribute it to the fact that she is getting a lot less exercise than she was when I was home over the spring and summer months. So I suggested that we head out in the backyard to play frisbee. It was dark out, so I flipped on the back light. Now, I usually scan the back yard quickly for any sign of a white stripe, but I was negligent. I didn’t even consider it. I swung open the door and Betsy immediately took a hard left and pounced. At first, I thought it was a cat, until she jumped back and I saw the telltale white tail in the air. It was at this point that I lost my mind. I started yelling and jumping up and down trying to get her to come back inside (mistake #1). But for some reason, she seemed to want to investigate this strange new friend further. By the time I got her into the garage, the damage had been done. We proceeded to hose her down immediately (mistake #2), and donned with rubber gloves, we used what we had, roughly half of a 32 oz. bottle of Dawn dish soap. But it didn’t seem to work at all. Our entire house reeked. I swore I could taste it. The stench seemed to coat my nostrils. The level of anxiety that this particular incident invoked rivaled that of a car accident or natural disaster. I was a wreck. Would I smell like skunk at work the next day? How long would our house stink? This whole incident was a practice in calming down and reminding myself that it could, in fact be worse. I could have gotten mauled by a bear, right? I definitely won’t be as lax the next time I swing open the back door after sunset. The funny thing was, that no one really batted an eyelash. “Oh, that happened to my dog last week,” my friend said casually. And after a few days it really wasn’t that big of a deal. My husband seemed somewhat amused when he said, “We just need to learn to get along with our skunk friends.” That’s fine. As long as they keep their distance.

Those Pesky Left Turns

 I love fall. The days are getting cooler. The leaves are changing. Decorations are adorable. But the real reason I love fall is that I once again can make left turns in my car. I understand that the summer residents and tourists breathe life into our area and I can appreciate that. I really can. I have friends who are business owners and I want nothing more for them than that they have successful summer seasons. But when the summer winds down and the streets begin to empty out, I am ready. 

During the summer months I drive miles out of my way to be able to do simple things that I take for granted in the winter. Like many locals, I know the ways to avoid Charlevoix bridge traffic (for the most part) and drive to the intersections where I will be let in. I also have learned to pre plan my errands so that I can avoid making left turns. I do make the occasional “Michigan Left” (turn right, turn left into a business parking lot, turn right into traffic), but that’s only if I didn’t plan ahead. For example, if I have several errands to make in Petoskey on a given day during the summer, I’ll put them in order so that the only left turns I have to make are at the lights. It has driven my family members crazy on more than one occasion. “Nope. Can’t go to JC Penny yet. We have to go to Dunham’s, Marshall’s, Walmart, Aldi, Hobby Lobby, and then JC Penny. In that order.” “Hungry for Wendy’s? You’ll have to wait until we are on our way home because there is no way in heck I’m turning left into that restaurant and then trying to merge into traffic again.” 

There are other reasons I like the slower pace of the fall and winter months. Horn-honking is rare from September to April. I can flake out at the traffic light and nobody honks at me to get out of the way. I rarely get passed on US-31 and I don’t feel the rush to pass anyone either. From September to April I almost never get caught behind a giant RV towing a 4 door Jeep. I also just like when things slow down in town. Getting a table in a restaurant is much easier, and to my husband’s pleasure, all you can eat fish frys resume after Labor Day. 

As always, I wish the summer residents and tourists adieu for another busy season and bid them well as they return to wherever it is they hibernate for the winter. As it is in every tourist town, when the snow melts, we will welcome back the seasonal residents. Once again, the familiar signs of summer will be that first honking horn, getting caught at the bridge, and the inability to make a left turn.

Camping Girl

 Camping. A summer pastime that I absolutely love. I don’t camp nearly as often as I used to, or would like to. Growing up, camping was our weekend getaway. We had our family camper on a little campground at a place called Shady Rest in Jones, Michigan. I have many fond memories from spending time there. So to me, camping is in my blood.

Our friends recently invited us along on a camping trip up in the U.P. Since they all have campers, they have been suggesting that we get one and questioned why we don’t. We used to have a camper, but when the maintenance became more frequent than the camping itself, we had to let it go. It was around that time that we did some tent camping and found out we liked the ease of it. We found that don’t need to pull a camper behind our truck in order to enjoy the outdoors. We insisted that tent camping is way easier than hauling a trailer. The only problem can be rain. Nobody likes to sit out the rain in a wet tent. However, when it came time to pack for our trip, the list of things we needed to bring quickly got overwhelming. I was starting to think that this wasn’t going to be as simple as I remembered. The top items on the list were the biggies. Tent, air mattress, bedding. And I couldn’t forget the flashlights for those late night trips to the restroom.

And then there was the cooking. We needed to take cooking pans, plates, silverware, napkins, and something to wash dishes in. I also needed to have a place to store food. Since we don’t have a refrigerator, we needed to plan for a cooler and lots of ice refills. I reminded Tom that all of that needed to be secured because of bears.

The list continued to include activities like kayaks, bikes, and motorcycles. Should we bring yard games? Card games? Fishing equipment?

And then were the clothes. The northern UP was calling for weather in the 60’s which isn’t exactly shorts and t-shirt weather. So in addition to those, we packed jeans, sweatshirts, long sleeve t-shirts, and extra pairs of dry socks and shoes. As I thought of more things we needed to bring, my list went from one page to two pages.

I know it seems like most of this stuff would already be in a camper so that we’d only have to grab some clothes and hook on. But no problem. We got this! It turns out that we were right. We don’t need a camper. We can simply fit everything we need for tent camping neatly our haul-behind cargo trailer. And hope it doesn’t rain.

Mystery Solved

I spent 3 days trying to figure out why my forearms, elbows, and right bicep hurt so bad, until it came to me: the cartwheel. It all started when my son posted a picture on Instagram of his wife doing a handstand on one of the piers in Marquette. My husband decided that he wanted to recreate the picture when we traveled there this past weekend, only he’d be the one doing the handstand on the pier. “I don’t even know if I can do a handstand,” he wondered. “This could get real bad, real fast, “ I thought in response. When we got to the pier and discovered how narrow it was, we began to have serious second thoughts. “Do you realize that if you make one wrong move, you’ll end up falling 15 feet into those rocks down there?” Tom said to me. I really didn’t want to see either one of us over-throw our legs while trying to kick up into a handstand on a 3 foot wide pier. I mean, how in the world would the ambulance get out there? Let’s be smart here, people.  “Maybe I can do a cartwheel and you can just take a picture of that,” I suggested.

There are a couple things I need to admit here. I am 52 years old. I haven’t done a cartwheel since 1993. I have never done a cartwheel on a 3 foot wide cement pier.

But that shouldn’t matter should it? I mean, c’mon. It’s a cartwheel. Historically, cartwheels are one of those things that seem to come naturally to girls. Just like riding a bike…isn’t it? What could possibly go wrong? So I took a look at the pier, stretched my arms in the air, and froze. Momentarily. Then I just went for it. My body did nothing that it was supposed to. Apparently my muscle memory had expired. All of those thousands and thousands of cartwheels, one-handed cartwheels, and ariel cartwheels? Gone. Remember watching the boys in middle school gym class attempt cartwheels? That’s what it felt like and according to the 17 pictures Tom took as this ridiculous demonstration took place, is exactly what it looked like. After I deleted all of those pictures, I decided that either I should never attempt a cartwheel again, or I really need to work on my cartwheel executions. Which brings me back to the arm pain 3 days later. Apparently, these arms can no longer hold up my body, even briefly. And remember how I said that it was Tom’s idea to recreate the handstand picture to begin with? Those of you who know him, know he’s not a handstand kind of guy. But thanks to modern camera-phone technology I am happy to report that we successfully staged Tom doing what looked something like a handstand, snapped a picture, and sent it off to the kids. Nobody fell off the pier. And only one of us has the arm pain to show for it.  

Covid Lock Down Thank Yous

As we slowly return to semi-normalcy, to a world with more masks and less handshakes, I feel like I need to acknowledge the things which made my life in quasi-quarantine more bearable. It is time for me to say “Thank you.”

Thank you sweat pants. Your casual ease with which you provided me relaxation in a time of stress was immeasurable. The way you coordinated effortlessly with slippers and a sweater when I was teaching Zoom lessons goes without saying. You became activewear, loungewear, workwear and sleepwear. I will never take you for grated again.

Thank you eyeglasses. You gave the contacts and make-up a well-deserved break. You were introduced to the world of online church, Zoom staff meetings, and Netflix binge watching. Without eyeglasses and Zoom filters, my face would not have remained virtually make-up free for longer than I care to admit.

And to follow up, thank you Netflix for your eerily coincidental drop of Tiger King. That oddly addictive, inappropriate, but undeniably entertaining show provided hours of discussion, meme-sharing, TikTok dances, and uncomfortable moments while introducing us to the bizarre world of Joe Exotic. And don’t forget that now you have us all wondering, Did Carol Baskin really kill her husband? The world may never know.

Another shout out goes to my living room furniture. Without you, I would not know what it was like to read, work-from-home, watch TV, and eat my dinner all for hours at a time from a reclined position. I never knew that one could lay around for so long that the hip joints could actually begin to ache.

It is worth mentioning again that I would also like to recognize and thank you, Pringles. Your crunchy, salty goodness provided immeasurable enjoyment while still allowing me to continue a semi-healthy diet. You sat alongside grilled cheese sandwiches, salads, avocado toast, and Spaghetti-O’s. In a time of uncertainty, I always knew that a quick trip to the gas station could replace that cheerful red paper can in the pantry between the quinoa and Ramen noodles.

Finally, I want to thank Zoom and Google Hangouts, and Facetime. You provided hours of work-from-home capabilities, meetings, virtual church, virtual happy-hours, and phone conversations with friends and family. We were able to connect in ways that only the Jetsons or voyagers on the Starship Enterprise could have experienced in my childhood. We connected when connection shouldn’t have been possible.

Never in my life have I experienced anything like this stay-at-home order, and I may never again. I will never forget this time spent at home. And now I really know what it means to appreciate the little things, like sweatpants and eyeglasses.  

Mask Fashion

I was recently scrolling on Zulily, the online shopping site that has literally everything. And by everything, I mean, if you’re trying to live a minimalist lifestyle, don’t ever, ever go on Zulily. Things are usually priced very well and it is extremely easy to go overboard replacing everything in a standard sized walk in closet in a matter of minutes (don’t ask me how I know this). When I watched The Minimalists movie on Netfilx, I was introduced to “fast fashion,” which is detrimental to someone trying to NOT be a shopaholic. According to Investopedia.com, “Fast fashion is the term used to describe clothing designs that move quickly from the catwalk to stores to meet new trends. The collections are often based on designs presented at Fashion Week events. Fast fashion allows mainstream consumers to purchase trendy clothing at an affordable price,” (https://www.investopedia.com/terms/f/fast-fashion.asp). So as I was scrolling, looking to update my work-at-home sweatpants wardrobe, I came across “fashion masks.” That’s right- masks are not just necessary to avoid spreading Covid-19, they are now a fashion accessory in America. I knew it was going to happen. When I first started making masks back in March using left over fabric, I was thinking “Oh, that would look cute with my blue sweater!” Really. I was way ahead of the fashion masks curve. I started making masks with bandana fabric and thought, “Oh, this is cute!” Cute? I started seeing people wearing masks with prints that most likely reflected their interests such as cats, sports teams, and camouflage. When my educator friends and I started talking about returning to school in the fall (most likely) wearing masks,  I mentioned that we would probably need masks for various holidays and masks to coordinate with our outfits. My friends started placing their orders for Detroit Tigers, MSU, U of M, and Green Bay Packers masks, among others. Our fun sock collections will be complimented by our equally fun mask collections. I really think this kind of mask fashion is only limited to the US, because when I watch clips of other countries like China or Italy, I don’t see anybody wearing Sponge Bob Square Pants masks. If you search for “homemade masks” on Pinterest, you can find masks made out of socks, no-sew bandana masks, masks made from gallon milk jugs (I kid you not) and masks made out of bra cups (again, not kidding). I just hope we don’t see one that says “Fruit of the Loom” across the top. That’s one fast fashion/repurposing trend that I hope to never see on Zulily.

At Least my Jeans Still Fit

Recently we had a Zoom staff meeting, in which we met on the Zoom app in order to discuss the week’s school business remotely. My boss likes to start our meetings with some sort of ice-breaker so he asked us to each share one positive. While my co-workers shared things like “learned how to crochet” and “raising chicks in my basement,” my only share was “I can still fit in my jeans,” and I wasn’t kidding. I am actually shocked every time I,

1.     Actually put on a pair of jeans these days

2.     Realize that they still fit.

Rachel Brougham, (Petoskey News Review) wasn’t kidding when she asked in a recent column if anyone else is eating like a 14 year old boy during this stay-at-home order. I can honestly say, “Yes, Rachel. I too, am eating like a 14 year old boy.” You might be surprised to find out that this “good little cooker” as my husband used to call me, has developed an unusual craving for Pringles. During the days of a normal 8-4 work week, I’m a fairly healthy eater. My lunches used to consist of things like green beans, cashews, and an apple. I usually eat an uber-heathy Larabar for breakfast. Dinners are kind of a toss-up, but almost always void of processed foods. You would think that someone who has been spending a large amount of time in a basement office these days would be rarin’ to come upstairs and cook something healthy and delicious. Not so. There is no more weekly menu. After my virtual school day ends, I scroll through Pinterest, trying to find something to cook last-minute. After all, my college son is quarantined with us, so wouldn’t I want to cook for him? Nope. I’ve learned that if my timing is right, he will heat up a pastie from the freezer or make himself a flat bread pizza. If he and Tom feed themselves, I’m free to eat that can of Spaghetti O’s and you guessed it, Pringles. The first few weeks of stay-at-home, I was baking like crazy. I made homemade Naan bread, loaves of bread, chewy granola bars, and cookies. I was starting to feel like The Pioneer Woman. But since the stay-at-home order was extended, things have steadily gone downhill. Maybe it’s situational. I really do like going to work. I’m meant to be around people and have a schedule. Maybe my healthy habits will return when normalcy does.  I actually have had some spurts of inspiration. Yesterday we ventured out to the grocery store and I bought a bunch of vegetables, and have them roasting in the oven. Maybe I’m turning over a new leaf. As I wait for them to finish, I’ll just finish off this can of Pringles and hope I can still fit into my jeans.

Life at a Social Distance

In the midst of this global pandemic, I found myself sitting in my living room, looking ahead to the next three and a half (or more) weeks, wondering, “What I am going to do with myself?” (other than wash my hands compulsively). When the covid19 virus hysteria initially began I did not for the life of me, believe that I would be sitting here “socially distancing” myself from the rest of the community. I tried to put it into perspective, knowing that this isn’t just a mini-summer break. I still need to be working from home and doing my best to interact with school families. Even doing that, I still have significantly more time on my hands. Before the Stay-at-Home order, I had been out and about, minimally speaking. I went to Walmart, Family Fare, and Grain Train. But those errands have quickly run their courses, so I have had to get more creative with my non-working hours.

You might already know that I am a list-maker. So of course I have compiled a list of things that I need to do and things I can do in order to stay busy and keep my mind occupied. I kind of think of it as a practice run for retirement. I know that when we retire, we won’t be semi-quarantined, but you never know what kind of germophobe I might turn into after this. If you find yourself being told to stay home from work and are running out of ideas, here are a few of the things I plan on doing to ward off cabin fever.

·      Put together the chicken puzzle I got for my birthday a few years ago

·      Have a Bananagrams tournament against myself

·      Finish crocheting the duster-vest I started a year ago.

·      Read the 4 borrowed books that I have been saving and the 3 books I bought

·      Watch some classic movies that I have never seen, like Gone with the Wind

·      Make more soap with the supplies I bought last summer

There are some things that I have resolved to avoid as well. I have decided to watch as little network Corona-reporting as possible. I understand the situation. I am being cautious and heeding warnings. I am not, however bulk-buying toilet paper, peanut butter, or Clorox wipes.  The virus is spreading. That’s a given. So why not dust off the pile of books I’ve been saving, finish some of those unfinished crafts, and understand that this time to just hunker down and relax is a gift. I feel like I should end by saying that I am so very grateful for those who are continuing to work in hospitals, grocery stores, gas stations, etc… Their selflessness has not gone unnoticed.