Spring has Sprung, the Grass is Riz, I Wonders Where the Flowers is...

 March 2011

Greetings, from beautifully wooded, peacefully secluded, sometimes sunny but mostly not Petticoat Lake where the  snow is melting, the hillsides are bare, the river is open and Spring is in the air.  Everybody loves Spring – it is a joyous time of year.  Most of us are happy to have survived another long UP winter and we are ready for more hours of daylight and temperatures above 20 degrees. 

The gardeners among us have spent the past month or two dreaming about their little plots of dirt that will eventually produce an array of delicious, fresh, summer edibles.  These devoted horticulturists have found exquisite delight in their favorite seed catalogues; the countless dog-eared pages are evidence of the hours spent planning and plotting the perfect combinations of leafy greens, climbing beans, burrowing beets and hilled potatoes. These patient souls have been biding their time, watching weather reports and counting the hours until the first day of  March so they could finally order their seeds.

Then there are those of us for whom seed catalogues are not a source of fulfillment.  Our Spring-time inspiration comes from other books – books that are filled with bits of wisdom, humor, fact and fiction.  Books that cause the reader to ponder the meaning of life, to marvel at the stars in the night sky, to question the true nature of humanity, to reflect on the past and to imagine the future.  These bound volumes hold the secrets of the ages between their covers and we devoted readers scrutinize each page, hoping to discover something new and marvelous.   The Old Farmer’s Almanac for 2011, and The Old Farmer’s Almanac Sampler from 1957, never fail to surprise, entertain and educate the avid student on all of life’s matters of great importance.

 I recently opened my 2011 tome of knowledge and discovered that if I send $25.00, cash or money order, to Lucky Ju-Ju, in Augusta Georgia, I can win at everything I do, including lotto, casino jackpots, bingo, dogs, horses, dice, parlays and more, just by ordering a Lucky Ju-Ju Crystal Money Bag.  It will bring me good luck, love, money, health, happiness and success.  If I have any doubts that this Lucky Ju-Ju Money Bag works, Mr. Thomas Willison gives a Miracle Testimony and swears that his Lucky Ju-Ju Money Bag changed his life - he takes it with him everywhere and he won part of a multi-million dollar lottery and a million dollar casino jackpot in Las Vegas. 

This is good information to have.  Before reading my marvelous book, I had no idea that I needed a Lucky Ju-Ju Money Bag, nor did I know I could get one from Augusta, Georgia. 

I also discovered that for a mere $5.00, I could remove any jinx, evil and enemies from me, my home and family if I use the Triple Action Sprinkling Salt and Yard Dressing.  I'm not sure how the Sprinkling Salt and Yard Dressing works, but the instructions are included.  This amazing, almost like magic product is offered through the Church Goods Co. from Glenview, Illinois. 

The Church Goods Co. also sells a Genie Wishing Lamp that grants up to 7 wishes.  You can rub this Genie Wishing Lamp and not only have instant money miracles, good luck, good health, success and chase away evil, but this amazing Genie Wishing Lamp will “help you win court cases and will make law stay away”. This Genie Wishing Lamp has been put to every test and has a 100%  money back guarantee.  Supplies are limited so order yours soon - only $10.95 or 2 for $19.00.

If you like your luck, love or money in liquid form, Church Goods Co., offers 100% Pure Spiritual Oils in 4 different potions to suit your needs.  Oil choices include Fast Money, Love Potion, Sure to Win and Snake.  $6.95 each or 3 for $15.00.  (By the by – this is the only time I have ever seen a company advertise that they really do sell Snake Oil. 

If you never seem to have enough money on hand, Church Goods Company has just the product for you - the Money Grow Wallet.  For the low, low price of $14.95, this Money Grow Wallet will help you increase and hold your money.  It is lucky for gambling and it comes with oil and gift. 

The Old Farmer’s Almanac Sampler from 1957 didn’t have much in the way of magic salts, oils or Genie Wishing Lamps; seems that folks were a bit more serious minded back in the day.  The sampler consists of various bits of useful information from days of yore, and I have included a few here:

I learned that an empty barrel stood upright in the middle of the garden will usually frighten woodchucks, strips of tar paper hung on the fence wire will frighten deer and that number 7 shot is an effective way to let Peter understand no trespassing…

From the Godey’s Lady Book, we are admonished that to be a perfect hostess, the works of male and female authors should be properly separated on the book shelves.  Their proximity should not be tolerated, unless they happen to be married to one another.

A warning from 1815 included in the sampler states that, “Bowling greens have become of late mightily in fashion, to the ruin of many unfortunate young men.  Scarcely a day passes without the rattle of pins in front of landlord Toddy Stick’s house.  Every boy is distracted to get away from his work in order to take his game.  At sun two hour’s high, the day is finished, and away go men and boys to the bowling alley.  Haying, hoeing, plowing, sewing, all must give way to sport and toddy.  Now this is no way for a farmer.  It will do for the city lads to sport and relax in this way, and so there are proper times and seasons for farmers to take pleasure of this sort; for I agree that all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.”

“He that makes himself an ass must not take it ill if men ride him.”  ~  1795 

Advice from 1851
 “If wisdom’s ways you wisely seek,
Five things observe with care:
Of whom you speak, to whom you speak,
And how and when, and where.”

“When a man says, “I lie,” does he lie, or does he speak the truth?  If he lies, he speaks the truth; if he speaks the truth, he lies.”   ~  1865

From 1927 – “Economy is a way of spending money without getting any fun out of it.”

The sampler, of course, had much to say about women.  None of it good.  
Here are a few of my personal favorites.

“She that is born a beauty, is half married.”  ~  1797

“A good wife is the workmanship of a good husband.”  ~ 1806

“The farmer’s wife – how pleasant it is to see her hasten to meet her husband as he returns at night from the field.  Careless of his dust, she takes him by the arm, and with tender concern and smiles of heavenly affection, supports him to his happy cottage.”  ~  1809

 Deliver me from a shabby horse and a sluttish wife.”  ~  1810

~  And from 1796, my favorite  ~  “A good wife should be like a snail, always keep within her own house;
but she should not be like a snail, to carry all she has upon her back.
She should be like an echo, to speak when she is spoken to; but she should not be like an echo, always have the last word.
She should be like a town clock, always keep time and regularity; but should not be like a town clock, to speak out loud that all the town may hear her.”

And that’s all I have to say about that…

Don't Ask, Don't Tell...

 February 2011

Greetings from beautifully wooded, peacefully secluded, sometimes sunny but mostly not Petticoat Lake, where the days are cold, the nights are colder and the North wind continues to bring big snow and chilly February weather from Pickle Lake, Ontario - our favorite neighboring Canadian town. Thanks a lot, Canada!    

It may be cold outside, but February, is the month when the cockels of my heart are warmed just knowing that I have special people to love and that there are people who love me, too.  Although February is traditionally a time for lovers, something about all those hearts, chocolates and home-made valentines make me think of my children and of the fun we had together when they were young.  We still have fun, of course, but it's different now...

It never ends, you know.  Motherhood.   It is forever.

From the moment your child is born you are a Mother.  There is no going back. There will never be anything else in your life that will compare with being a Mother.  Nothing.  Never.  And unless you are a Mother - you will never, ever know how a Mother feels about her child.  Never.  Ever.

Mothers.  We have children, we raise them and eventually we must send them out into the world.  They get jobs and move out of their family homes into crappy little apartments in the city.  Sometimes, Mother lives close by and, if absolutely necessary, she may feel obligated to help her child.  Ideally, though, Mother lives far enough away to not interfere with the budding adult’s independence.  This is an exciting time for the children; they are making the transition from childhood to young adulthood and they are learning about life as young adults.  They learn that money does not grow on trees.  They learn that food comes from grocery stores, not the refrigerator.  They learn that electricity is not magic or free.  And finally, they learn that there is no such thing as a Laundry Fairy.
 
During these transition years, Mother has a new role in her adult child’s life, and it is not the role of Best Friend.  Mother is Mother – not Girl Friend.  Mother’s new role is that of mostly silent parent in the Mother- child relationship; the days of making decisions for her child are over.  Mother must bite her tongue, keep her opinions to herself, and only offer advice when asked and even then, Mother must be very careful not to offend her child because the child expects Mother’s unconditional support. Mother must always remember that she is dealing with an adult.  A very young adult.

Mother wants the child's transition to be a success.  For that to happen, it is best for all parties concerned if Mother is in a state of perpetual ignorance about what the child is up to - the less Mother knows the better.  Incidentally, by the time the child has moved out of the family home, the child should be well versed in the art of telling Mother exactly what Mother wants to hear.  If at this moment, you are saying, “My child tells me everything!” you are in denial - and all Mothers should know that denial ain’t just a river in Egypt. 
Welcome aboard!

When compared with the early years of a child’s life, the years during the child’s transition to adulthood are relatively easy for Mother; she is not changing diapers, wiping runny noses,  chaperoning school dances, baking and decorating heart-shaped cookies for Valentine’s Day parties, shopping for prom dresses, attending track meets, basketball games, band concerts, vocal concerts or any other extra curricular school sponsored event .  This frees up a lot of Mother’s time.  

And guess what Mother does with some of her free time?  That’s right.  Since the children left home, their bedrooms have been converted into guest rooms and an office, and Mother has learned how to use a computer.  Mother also has a facebook account.  Mother is privy to a lot of information through her facebook account and sometimes Mother does not like what she finds out…

We live in world where we have instant access to information.  Sometimes we must search for it, but more often that not, it is right in front of us, we didn’t even ask for it - someone offered it up for no good reason other than someone could.  This is troubling for Mother.  If Mother has access to information about her child through facebook, it is a safe bet that other people with facebook accounts have access to that same information.  Although Mother may not like it, her adult child has elected to go public with personal information, so if Mother ever had concerns about her child's privacy, that concern is no longer an issue.  Furthermore, anyone with access to the adult child's information on facebook can comment on that information in any manner they choose, and even if Mother does not like the comments, there really isn’t much to be done about it.

This situation creates a quandary for Mother.  If Mother's child plans to do something and posts that information on facebook, is it appropriate for Mother to comment on it?  

Or will her comments cause an uncomfortable rift between herself and her child?

Should Mother remain silent, using denial as an excuse to not express an opinion which may offend her child? 

If Mother remains silent, is she condemned to anchor her barge, built of hopes and dreams for her child, in the murky depths of denial's acquiescence, deceit and disappointment?  

When dealing with adult children, I have found that experience is the best teacher, and in my experience, the answers to these difficult questions are: No. Yes. Yes. And Yes.     

And that's all I have to say about that....

May Day, May Day...

May 2010

Greetings from beautifully wooded, peacefully secluded, sometimes sunny, but mostly not, Petticoat Lake where the sky is blue, the grass is green and one would be hard pressed to believe that just two short days ago, we had several inches of snow on the ground.  I like to think of May as The Clothing Transition Month and if you have limited closet space, the clothing transition can be difficult. We can't pack away the winter attire nor can we unpack the summer attire because one day it is warm enough for mosquito netting, sandals and shorts and the next day we need chooks, boots and parkas.  Ahhh, May…

May is a month full of things to celebrate - like Mother's Day - the one day of the year when we make extra special efforts to pamper the woman who suffered through hours of excruciating pain to deliver us into this world. There are so many ways to show your mother how much you appreciate her labor pains; the traditional breakfast in bed, flowers, cake, dinner at a nice restaurant, etc, etc, etc...  Those ideas are nice, but how about a gift that will make Mom say, "Wow - that's really... something!"?  I have done some research and perhaps you will consider these gift ideas when you want something truly special for your Mom.

If your Mom is a Marine Life lover, she may appreciate a session with Dolphin Channeler, Megan Wise Leupold. Megan is a modern day mystic and Dolphin Ambassador who had a sacred initiation orchestrated by 3 wild dolphins, Unumi, Baroni and Inini, in the Kealakekua Bay, on the Kona Coast of Hawaii.  Since that time, Megan's mission has been to speak for the dolphins and share their messages of love and hope.  And, indeed she has - according to Megan's website, www.dolphinlight.org, the dolphins have expressed a desire to write a book, talk on a radio show and conduct workshops.  So, if you think your Mom would like to raise her vibrations and become more like a dolphin, contact Megan, at a unique metaphysical community in the Poconos of PA, to schedule a Dolphin Consciousness Connection.
  
Perhaps Mom is a fan of Astrology.  If so, hook her up with a Fun and Enlightening Angelic Astrology Oracle Session with Angel Jan Carter, the Angelic Astrologer.  Angel Jan is a Professional Counseling Angelic Astrologer, a certified professional Medical Technologist (ASCP), and, at one time, Jan was a professional model (you can see old photos of Jan modeling on her website.)  Jan was also part of the "Rising Star Astrodrama Group" and created the astro-poem, "Pluto's Message."  According to the website, www.awakening-healing.com/JanCarter.htm,  Jan has a deep past life and soul connection with Nostradamus...  Angel Jan uses a unique mix of ancient wisdom and myths with her Heart of Gold and Soropianic inner intuitive knowing to give your mother a soul level view of her life.  In her angelic spontaneous style, Jan also uses the latest computer and software technologies to assist her in getting an accurate life view for your Mom.  For only $90.00 per hour, your Mom can get a unique personal recorded astrology reading with natal charts; audio file or cassette tape of the reading is included.  If Mom needs a Divine Tune-Up, one can be included. The astrology reading and tune up are just $155.00.  Jan accepts payment by credit card - just click on the "MAKE A DONATION" button and Angel Jan will be waiting for a call from your Mom.
(A note on Soropianic - I could not find a definition of this word.  I did try several spellings with no results.  The root - soro - may be from the Latin soror - meaning sister, thus I have concluded that Soropainic Inner Intuitive Knowing is Women's Intuition).

Let's face it, being a Mom is hard work.  Every now and then Mom could use some quiet time so give Mom a gift certificate (prices vary - you must make a donation for services rendered) for a meditation session with Transcendental Meditation Mediator and Advanced Light Body Activator, Keth Luke.  Keth, or Keth of Kether, known as Terry Luke in earlier life, is a Master of Light and an Activation Wizard.  Keth received his training from the Radiant and Illumined Ones, the Angelic Ones and other spiritual planes mentors and guides he consciously works with.  (See a photo of Keth with Yoda on Keth's website at awaking-healing.com).  Keth is also an Etheric surgeon affiliated with the Ashtar Command/Galactic Federation.  Keth is from the Central Sun and has had many lives elsewhere including Sirius, Pleiadian, Arcturian, Anunnaki and Nubirian.  A meditation session with Keth of Kether may bring awareness to your Mom about her past lives…  What greater gift could you give your Mom than personal awareness?

Maybe Mom wants a little balance and harmony in her life - if so, here's a sweet deal for her.  Ahana Enterprises now offers the ‘Isis Channeling and Feng Shui Deluxe Kit’ for just $39.95, plus shipping and handling.  You can give your Mom the opportunity to have conscious interactions with her Higher Soul Self, Angels and Guides, all without the trouble of falling into a trance.  The kit includes a sturdy 7" reversible board with Channeling Letter Wheel and Feng Shui Ba-Gua, a Natural Rose Quartz Crystal Pendulum, a compass, a quick start card, a 22 page guide book and a custom carrying case.   Finally, Mom can channel the Astute Entities and get answers to life's most pressing questions like, "Who am I?", and "Why am I here?" , and “Where did I put my glasses?”.  And with this deluxe kit, Mom can solve those pesky energy placement problems with the Feng Shui Ba-Gua. Best of all, Mom can take the portable kit with her and Feng Shui and Channel everywhere she goes.  Give Mom some well-deserved balance and harmony with this easy to use deluxe Isis Channeling and Feng Shui kit.  Ahhh, serenity now…

Those are just a few gift suggestions, and you can thank me later.

So, to all the Mom’s out there, I wish you all a very happy Mother’s Day.

And that’s all I have to say about that…

So Many Leaves, So Little Time...

 April 2010


Greetings, from beautifully wooded, peacefully secluded, sometimes sunny, but mostly not, Petticoat Lake where the sky is blue, the temperature is high and the wind is howling at a steady 20 miles per hour with 30 - 40 mph gusts.  Wind gusts of 30 - 40 mph could blow the hair clean off your head - if it was a toupee, or maybe hair plugs, or maybe even the Magic Spray Spray - On Hair that is like Silly String for your head.   

Near gale force winds notwithstanding, Spring has arrived.  Huzzah!  At 7:00 a.m. Friday morning it 52 degrees here on Petticoat Lake, and at 5:00 p.m., the temperature was 72.   I’m sure the Upper Peninsula is setting records for high temperatures in April.  It’s about time, too.  I sure get tired of hearing about and living in a region that has record low temps, above average snowfalls and generally nasty weather until July.  I don’t know about anyone else, but I’m loving 72 degrees.  And, I don’t even care that it’s windy - it’s 72 degrees! 
 
Now that Spring is here, thoughts turn to spring-like things, like gardening.  And yard work.  There is a reason that yard work is called Yard Work.   Despite the fact that raking looks easy, to the casual observer who is sitting on the deck sipping a margarita, it is hard work.  Way harder than doing laundry, which I usually don’t do either.  But, the weather was nice, and I wanted to spend time outdoors soaking up Vitamin D, so I agreed to help with the Yard Work.   Which translated to, “Raking Last Year’s Leaves”. 

Anybody who has ever raked leaves knows that before you even begin Spring raking, you have to choose the correct rake for the task at hand.  There are about a billion styles of rakes available, but in the end you will probably use only two types; the Bow Rake, or the Leaf Rake.  The bow rake is constructed of steel which makes it heavy, and the tines of a bow rake get caught on just about everything except very small rocks.  The Leaf Rake is a better choice for raking dry leaves because the tines are usually made of light weight metal, bamboo or plastic and they have some flexibility so they don’t get caught on everything in the yard. 

My favorite rake is the Shrubbery Rake - it is a miniature version of the leaf rake; small and light and great for getting the leaves out of nooks and crannies and from between rocks.  I would not, however, recommend raking an entire yard with a shrubbery rake; to do so would be akin to sweeping a floor with a broom designed for children - you know what I’m talking about, the cute little broom with the pink handle that you bought for your daughters when they were little in the hopes that you could trick them into helping with the housework.  Yea, it didn’t work for me, either.  

Anyway, back to raking, which, oddly enough, is a lot like sweeping except that sweeping requires less effort.  The physical component in raking requires that you thrust the rake of choice forward into a pile of whatever it is that you want to move, then use the rake to pull a portion of the pile of stuff back toward you.  Then, you repeat the process again, and again and again until the entire pile of stuff has been moved from point A to point Z.  (Points B thru Y represent the many times you have moved the entire pile of stuff on the way to successfully reaching point Z). 

There are several shortcuts one could use when raking;  one could have a large lawn and leaf bag close by and one could gather the leaves into the bag instead of raking the leaves across the entire yard.  One could have a garden cart close by and gather the leaves into the cart.  As a last resort shortcut, one could haul out the leaf blower and blow the leaves across the yard and onto the street and let someone else rake your leaves for you.  I choose to not use any shortcuts when raking because they eliminate any chance of receiving praise for a job well done .  By praise, I mean having my every need tended to.  Furthermore, shortcuts cast doubt on my excuse for not doing any yard work in the future.   “I would love to help in the yard, but you know, my muscles are still kind of sore from that one entire day I spent raking all those wet, heavy leaves…”

So, on Thursday afternoon we spent a few hours doing yard work and it was worth the effort.  The lawn looked nice and the flowerbeds were ready for planting; it felt good to get a jump on the season.  Then on Friday, the temperature soared to 72 degrees and the winds were steady at 20 mph with gusts between 30-40 miles per hour.  

Have you ever seen what happens to a pile of leaves when it is hit by a 30 mile per hour wind gust ?

And that’s all I have to say about that...

Look What the Wind Blew In....

Greetings, from beautifully wooded, peacefully secluded, sometimes sunny, but mostly not, Petticoat Lake where the days are cool, the nights are cooler and any day now Spring will be a reality in our area. Really. I promise.

March came in like a lion but I'm hard pressed to believe that it will go out like a lamb. During this month we have had snow, sleet, sneet, rain and hail. We have had several days when the temperatures were below zero and days when the temperature was not below zero. There were some foggy days and some sunny days and some days when there was a little bit of everything. The most noteworthy weather characteristic this month, however, has been the wind. It seems like the wind has been blowing non-stop since the first day of March. Perhaps it seems that way because during the first 25 days of March there were 17 days during which the wind speed was 20 miles per hour or more; during 7 of those 17 days the wind speed was 30 miles per hour or more and on March 11, the wind speed was recorded at 46 miles per hour.

Wind speeds of 46 miles per hour are, according to the Beaufort Scale, classified as Strong Gales. If one is on the water during a Strong Gale, one would see 18 to 20 foot waves and feel the spray from the waves as the boat scuds in the tempest. The sound of one's screams and prayers would be obliterated by the thundering crash of waves beating against the sides of the boat before the cold, frothy water spills over the sides of the boat and soaks everyone and everything aboard. Even though the "Old Spice" Guy looks well rested, refreshed and relaxed when disembarking from his journey at sea, I wouldn't care to be on the water when the waves are 18 feet high and I don't want to feel the spray on my face from the 18 foot high waves.

If one is on land during a Strong Gale, one would see flags on flagpoles unfurled and snapping in the wind, brown clouds of sand whirling and swirling across parking lots and roads, and trees swaying violently, acquiescing to the harsh forces of nature. During a Strong Gale, your empty trash can will tip over and roll along the street, perhaps coming to rest in a neighboring yard. The lid from the trash can, however, will be carried off by a gust of wind and it is unlikely that you will ever see the lid again. But if you do see the lid again, it will probably be atop someone else's trash can, and you will know it is your lid because it is blue and the neighbor's trash can is black. In 46 mph winds, your important mail will be carried away; Federal and State Tax Returns, Social Security checks, your AARP newsletter , your driver's license renewal notice and the, "You could be a Million Dollars Richer" notice from Publisher's Clearing House will be snatched from your hand and scattered with the winds. The 46 mph wind will not, however, carry away your electric bill, phone bill or auto insurance premium notice. You get to keep the bills.

During a Strong Gale, umbrellas are utterly useless and should be left at home in the umbrella stand lest they get loose and injure unsuspecting pedestrians. (There have been reported incidents of unsuspecting pedestrians suffering grievous injuries sustained from airborne umbrellas).

If one is driving a vehicle in 46mph winds, the car or truck will veer suddenly to the right or left, depending on the wind direction, and if one has the opportunity to see the face of the driver in the vehicle in the oncoming traffic lane, one will see an expression of surprise and perhaps one may even have the opportunity to do a bit of lip-reading and see the surprised driver exclaim, "Cripo!"

During a Strong Gale, walking is difficult, a hat will be blown from your head and airborne birds will appear to be in a state of suspended animation. 45 mph winds will tear slate from roofs, and cause tall trees to break and land on roofs that just had the slate replaced. It is also possible that the tall trees will break and land on newly replaced railings around the deck, the newly installed satellite dish or on your new car. Or truck. The falling trees will also take out every power line and phone line that is connected to your house where you will be left without electricity or phone service.

On the other hand, if one has a fondness for the fresh scent of clothes and sheets that have been dried outdoors, hanging them out in a 46 mph wind will certainly give the clothes and sheets a fresh scent and probably in record time. And as a bonus, while you are outside hanging clothes and sheets in 46 mph winds, there are no mosquitoes or bugs of any kind that can get close enough to bite you.

And that's all I have to say about that...

I Went to a Fight and a Hockey Game Broke Out...

Greetings, from beautifully wooded, peacefully secluded, sometimes sunny, but mostly not, Petticoat Lake where the nights are cold, the days are tolerable, and we are a mere 6 days away from Ground Hog Day. Of course, that means 6 more weeks of Winter, but hopefully, the worst is over?

A while back, I did something I had never done before - I attended a hockey game. Hockey - now there's a sport. Why anyone would participate, or encourage a child to participate, in such an activity is beyond me.

Let's begin with where hockey is played. Hockey is played in a building that is necessarily cold. And that smells like socks. By, "smells like socks," I don't mean the sweet, clean fragrance that one associates with freshly laundered socks that have been tumbled in a dryer with a lightly scented dryer sheet. The, "smells like socks," I'm referring to is the fetor that only comes from wearing the same socks, many times, inside leather skates which do not allow the wearer's feet to breath. The wearer eventually stores the damp socks in a small locker where they ferment until the hockey player's mom asks – "Where are all your hockey socks?", which prompts the owner of the fermenting socks to open the locker door to remove said hockey socks so they can be stuffed into a duffel bag where they will stay until hockey mom removes them. While the locker door is open, the fermenting sock odor is released into the cold atmosphere where it cannot evaporate; it is carried out of the locker room on cool air currents and permeates the entire building, except the concession area, which, thankfully, smells like hot chocolate. FYI - if you ever find yourself in a very cold building where the air smells like socks, you are at a hockey game.

The game of hockey is quite simple and easy to understand; players from opposing teams hit a puck - a 1" thick, 3" diameter disk of vulcanized rubber that is kept frozen until used in the game - across the ice into the opposing team's net, thereby scoring a goal for their team. The team with the most goals after 3 periods is the winner.
A hockey team consists of several young men who are fit, fast and apparently oblivious to pain. They wear an assortment of protective gear; mouth guards, helmets, pads, gloves and something or other to protect the delicate reproductive area. Their feet are clad in skates, which are made from some type of indestructible material, and that have big, sharp, metal blades attached to the bottom. The players are also armed with sticks; long, L-shaped sticks that have been wrapped in tape which will hold the sticks together after a couple of frenzied rounds of, "Hit one of those players real hard with your taped up stick."

Each team usually has 6 players on the ice at one time - two defensemen, two wings, a center and a goaltender. The Coach frequently substitutes one player for another so they can each play, then rest, then play, then rest - like that.  Except the goaltender. He stays out on the ice for extended periods of time. 

There are two goaltenders, or goalies - one on each end of the ice and they each stand in front of a large, u-shaped net. The goaltender's job is to stop the puck from getting into his net, thereby preventing the opposing team from scoring a goal. Despite the fact that the goaltenders are padded up and look like a masked Mr. Mattress, goaltenders are necessarily flexible - they can do the splits and bend their bodies in ways that would make the most devout yoga practitioner envious. Goaltenders are necessarily brave - at any given time, one of them may be charged by a group of young men on skates wielding sticks. Goaltenders have necessarily amazing reflexes - at any given time, one of them may be charged by a group of young men on skates who are flailing their sticks around, attempting to slam the puck, as hard as possible, into his net. Goaltenders are necessarily crazy.

In addition to the 12 men on the ice, there are two linesmen and one referee. They are the Officials. The linesmen do not call penalties, but the referee does. But not very often. In this particular game, there were only three penalties called, and they were questionable, at best. I can't imagine why, but I assumed that the referee would at least attempt to stop the players from pounding the pulp out of one another. I assumed incorrectly. After watching the officials at work the other night, I have concluded that in order to earn a living as a high school hockey official, one must be partially or completely blind, one must be totally apathetic about one's employment as a high school hockey referee and one must have very, very short legs.

The game begins when the centers from each team skate to the middle of the ice and wait until a referee drops a frozen puck on the ice. When the puck hits the ice, the armed men on sharp blades flail their sticks around, sometimes on the ice, trying to hit the puck. This first skirmish is called a Face-Off and despite the unsavory title, it is the least violent aspect of the game. Once the puck hits the ice, it is in play and the 10 armed men on skates charge after it at breakneck speed. They do this for 1 period of 15 minutes - without stopping.

After the face-off, the players skate as fast as they can while in possession of or in pursuit of the puck. While they skate, they are swinging their sticks at the puck, attempting to get it away from the player who currently controls it. The player in control of the puck is always in imminent peril because the players from the opposing team will stop at nothing to gain control of the puck. By stopping at nothing I mean that there is a very good chance that the player in possession of the puck will be subjected to boarding, charging, cross-checking, elbowing, high-sticking, holding, hooking, slashing, spearing and tripping. And those are just the infractions which may incur a penalty for the perpetrators. This does not include other types of "thuggery" (a technical term - thank you, Karen) which may occur on the ice when the officials are not looking. Or, even if the officials are looking. Most of the time, anything goes. Except blood. The game is stopped when there is blood. No blood allowed.

Hockey, like most other sports, has rules that must be followed. There's like, three, and they refer to the most devastating infractions that a hockey player can commit: Offsides, Offside Pass and Oh My God, NO - Iceing. It is a good thing that these three rules are in place and strictly enforced because without these three rules, hockey could easily be misconstrued as a game during which a bunch of yahoos on skates, armed with sticks, willfully and with malice, beat hell out of one another. And without rules, hockey could not be called an "organized sport".
A note about penalties. A penalty occurs whenever an official says so. A player who is penalized must sit in the sin-bin, or penalty box, for a pre-determined amount of time, which, of course, depends on the seriousness of the infraction, i.e., Unsportsmanlike Conduct. Unsportsmanlike Conduct is frowned upon in hockey and the perpetrator may receive a two minute penalty for this infraction. During the two minutes in the penalty box, the player spits, readjusts his protective equipment and cheers for his team that is now one player short. He also gets to rest and catch his breath.

The high school hockey game that I attended went something like this: The players take the ice and the puck is tossed onto the ice by the blind, apathetic, short legged official. The players thrash around and make lots of noise as their sticks hit the ice. Click, click, clank, whap, and they're off to the other end of the ice. Click, click, clack slam, bang; the player is slammed into the boards while the other players attempt to get the puck. Click, clack, slam; into the boards again and the player shakes it off and is in hot pursuit. The music from the loud speaker begins to blare throughout the building; "Just a small town girl, living in a lonely world, she took the midnight train going annnnyyyywwwhhheeeerreee." I was expecting something more organy, like "Da da da da, da da da da, da da da da da da! Charge!" But no – we got a few lines from a song by Journey. Click, clack, click, swish, whoosh (skaters passing the stands), click, clack, slam – into the boards again. The player shakes it off and is in hot pursuit. More music blares throughout the arena – "Hit the road Jack, and don't cha come back no more, no more, no more, no more, hit the road, Jack, and don't cha come back no more. WHAT CHU SAY? Hit the road, Jack, and don't cha come back no mooorrre." Clack, click, click, slam, click, click, click, clack, bang – that had to hurt - click, click, clack, whoosh. Clack, clack, click, AAARRRGGHH - the puck sails into the stands, nearly hitting a spectator. A puck is tossed back onto the ice by a blind, apathetic official with very short legs, click, click, clack, whoosh. The period ends when the scorekeeper hits a buzzer that sends out an ear splitting blast that frightens the bejeesus out of the fans, who jump out of their seats and clutch their chests. Meanwhile, the players head for the locker room where they spend twenty minutes doing something - perhaps changing socks and stuffing them into their lockers.

Then out comes the Zamboni to resurface the ice. The Zamboni is quite a machine, but after about 2 minutes of watching it go around in circles, the novelty wore off and I found myself wondering why they didn't use 2 Zambonis to speed up the resurfacing process.

During the remaining 18 of the 20 minute intermission, I had the opportunity to talk to "real" hockey moms and I discovered several things about these women. They were funny, smart and articulate. None of them resembled Rottweilers, and not one of them ever considered naming any of their children, "Zamboni".

The game begins again - the players thrash around on the ice; click, click, clack, whoosh, bang - he's on the boards, but he shakes it off and skates toward the center of the ice for an attempted steal. The hockey sticks are on the ice, they're off the ice, they're back on the ice and the players skate, furiously, toward the goalie who is ready to take a hit. The puck sails across the ice toward the goalie, but he does the splits and deflects the puck. "Hurrrrrraaaay", the crowd goes wild and the players scramble to take possession of the puck. Click, click, click, slam, he's on the boards, he's down, he's on the ice, he's shaking his head, but he gets back up and the crowd goes wild! The music begins to blare from the speakers, "Un sah, un sah, un sah, who's your daddy now, huh?, who's your daddy now, un sah, un sah, un sah." The music stops - the crowd goes wild - they hated that song. The players skate to the left, they skate to the right, they skate down the middle towards the goaltender; he's ready for it, he watches the puck, the player takes a shot and he scores! The fans cheer, the scorekeeper blasts the horn three times; three long, loud blasts which causes noses to bleed, ears to ring, babies to cry and fans, once again, to clutch their chests.

The period ends and the Zamboni reconditions the ice, again. The fans use the time to stretch, go to the concession stand for a warm drink or do a few jumping jacks to get the blood circulating again. The building is cold, the seats are cold and the floors are cold. If you don't like to be cold, don't go to a hockey game.

The skaters return to the ice for the final period. The score is 1-2, and both teams want to win. This is the final game of the season for these two teams, and things are about to get ugly - which really means, play will continue as before, but with more intensity. The players line up for the face-off and they're off - one player controls the puck halfway down the ice, skate, skate, whoosh, click, click, clack, a player from the opposing teams steals the puck and skates toward the opponent's goaltender. The player slams the puck into the goal post and the sound of frozen, vulcanized rubber hitting the metal post reverberates through the building. Half of the crowd cheers, the other half boos, and the play resumes. Once again, music blasts from the sound system, "Where are those happy days, they seem so hard to find. I tried to reach for you, but you have closed your mind. Whatever happened to our love, I wish I understood..." It's ABBA! Someone is playing ABBA at a hockey game? Unbelievable and so very, very wrong. Songs by ABBA are not appropriate for hockey games. Neither are songs by Journey, Ray Charles, or the Un sah, Un sahs. I may not know jack about hockey, but I know what hockey music is and what hockey music isn't. I watched a program during which the interviewer spoke to an organist who performs exclusively at hockey games. He didn't play songs by Journey, ABBA, Ray Charles or the Un sah, Un sahs, no siree, he played real hockey music - "Roll Out the Barrel", "Sweet Georgia Brown", "Hava Nagilah" and "Don't Cry for Me, Argentina" – good songs, good times. That's what I'm talking about – real hockey music.

Thankfully, the music stops and the players skate furiously across the ice. They skate around the goaltender; he is alert and prepared. Bang, against the boards, click, click, clack, bang and the swish of the puck as it is batted across the ice toward the goaltender. At one point during the final period, the official blows the whistle, "Tweeeeetttt", goes the whistle, "2 minutes for nothing", yells the official. The player skates to the penalty box and I am confused. "Two minutes for nothing? Really" "Can they do that?" Laughter all around me – "Ha, ha, ha – that's a good one, 2 minutes for nothing, ha, ha, ha." Tor-Tor says, "Not nothing, roughing, he got two minutes for roughing." More laughter, "Ha, ha, ha." Oh, Really? The official must be joking – yea, that's it – he's just kidding. From where I was sitting, with my butt frozen to a cold, plastic seat, the entire game of hockey looks like a free for all and the official calls a penalty for roughing. I guess experienced hockey officials are better able to see the subtle differences between roughing and regular play, but they sure looked like the same thing to me.

At last the game was over. I was cold, tired and my ears were ringing. I also had a headache but I can't say for sure what caused it – maybe just the excitement of the game...

On the way home, I thought about the expectations we have for our children. We want them to excel in sports and academics. We push them to be the best, and we teach them to expect nothing but the best of themselves. The kids today know that in order to make it in the real world, they must be strong, determined and prepared to overcome hardships. Given that these students are willing to work hard to become productive members of society, and that their parents, family members, friends, coaches, school administrators and fans encourage them to be tough, strong and determined to be the best, isn't it ironic that despite everything these children have going for them, the powers that be won't let them attend school when it's 20 below zero?

And that's all I have to say about that...

Cruisin'.......

January 2010


Greetings, from beautifully wooded, peacefully secluded, sometimes sunny, but mostly not, Petticoat Lake where the temperatures are warm, the sun is shining and as I write this, the highways are bare.   Really, the highways are bare.  In January.  In the UP.  How amazing is that?  It isn't often that we have bare roads in January, so last week  I made the most of the good driving conditions and hit the open road.  Oh yea, I set the cruise control at 55ish, cranked up the volume on the radio and drove for 2 and 1/2 hours without seeing a single snowplow, salt-truck, sand-truck or wrecker.   It was quite a ride.

Driving on bare roads using the cruise control may seem insignificant, but it sure was a nice break from the typical white-knuckle, winter weather drive in the UP; 45 mph on snow-packed, slushy and/or slippery highways, gusts of wind that rock the car from side to side as the snow swirls and whirls, creating endless, billowing white-outs that make one feel dizzy and disoriented and completely vulnerable to other vehicles operated by drivers who may also be dizzy and disoriented.  (There are drivers that don't feel vulnerable in zero visibility situations - one can easily spot them - they are usually talking on a cell phone while standing next to their car, which is either upside down on a snow bank or halfway down an embankment.)

During the next few days, the normal January winter weather will return to the UP and the current pleasant driving conditions will deteriorate.  Once again, we will face all the driving hazards that are typical for this time of year.  By Monday morning, the drive on bare roads will be a pleasant memory and it will be March, April or even May before I have the opportunity to use the cruise control again.  So, to all the Yoopers who will be driving in the UP for the next few months - drive safely.   And to all the Yoopers who will spend the next few months driving in warmer climates - gas in the UP is down to $1.49 per gallon.

And that’s all I have to say about that...

School Was Closed WHY????

January 2010

Greetings from beautifully wooded, peacefully secluded, sometimes sunny, but mostly not, Petticoat Lake where the days are short, the nights are long, and we are currently experiencing a cold snap here in the beautiful Upper Peninsula. In fact - most schools across the U.P were closed Thursday and Friday due to the cold temperatures. Schools closed because of cold weather? What's that about? It wasn't even that cold. Sure, some places had temps that dipped to 20 below zero, and the wind chill made it feel like 40 below, but seriously, schools closed in the U.P. because it was cold? Have we gone completely namby-pamby?


I tried to recall the times throughout my childhood when the Michigamme School was closed because of cold weather, and guess what?   It never happened.  Not one time.  Zip, zero, nada, neen, nyet!   It didn't matter that the temperature was 20 degrees below zero because if it was only 20 below, we considered it to be a pretty nice day.  And we were lucky to have it.  And wind chill?  Forget about it.  The wind chill was a non-issue.  If anyone even bothered to calculate the wind chill back then, the results were kept pretty hush-hush.  The kids never knew what the wind chill factor was because the parents didn't want the kids thinking it was too cold to go to school.  Back in the day, it didn't matter how cold it was, or what the wind chill factor was, if school was in session we were in attendance.

And we walked to school. All of us.  From all over the town.  There were no buses, cars or minivans filled with happy, toasty warm children who had doting mothers who warmed the car or minivan for 15 minutes before departing the garage, who then drove around the neighborhood, collecting children who would be dropped at the curb in front of the school. No siree. We walked. And we had better not be late, either. We walked to school.  And for some of us, it was uphill all the way. Really.

The topography of the region is such that the town of Michigamme was built on a hill. And for reasons that I cannot begin to fathom, the town planners decided that the highest point in town would be an excellent location for the local school building. I must surmise that the school was built during the summer months because it is obvious that there was no thought given to the inevitable difficulties a young child might encounter when trying to climb the hill to the highest point in town during the winter. 

Let’s say that a typical 5 year old’s fine motor skills are such that he can hold a pencil and perhaps use safety scissors without doing permanent damage to himself.  Gross motor skills, however, still need some work. When 5 year old children run, jump, skip, hop and walk on ice, they are still kinda clumsy and they fall down. They fall down a lot. Now let's dress a clumsy 5 year old in several layers of bulky cloths, then stick a pair of clunky boots on his clumsy feet and send him off to school.  Keep in mind that it is 40 degrees below zero, with a wind chill factor of 60 below,

and the streets are covered with a thick, slippery layer of hard packed snow.  Arriving safely at the school,  located on the highest point in town, was a huge accomplishment for a small, over-dressed, clumsy child of 5.

From where I lived on Main Street, the school was uphill.  There were several routes to choose from; up Main Street then 2 blocks up Barnum Street (known back then as Danielson's Hill). Or I could cross to Lake Street then up Danielson's Hill or take the "shortcut" across the skating rink, go up the alley and then take Danielson's Hill. The shortcut across the skating rink was always risky; wet and sloppy in the Spring, and almost impossible to exit in the Winter because of the huge snowbank on the South end.

When I was a kid we had lots of snow and the snowbanks were enormous. And we were lucky to have them. Not like the wimpy little snowbanks of the past few years.  We used to dig tunnels in the banks and hollow out caves, where we would take up semi-permanent residence until Spring. The snowbank at the South end of the skating rink was a monster of a snowbank and only the bravest of the brave would attempt to scale its summit. It was a struggle to get to the top of the snowbank and it was a struggle to get down the other side. By the time I reached the top, my boots were packed with snow, which would eventually melt and leave my feet wet and cold, my mittens were wet and my hands were nearly numb. And I was sweating from the exertion of the climb and I knew that I was going to be late for school. Eventually I realized that it was not worth the extra time and effort it took to climb the bank; it was faster and easier to just take Main Street to Danielson's Hill and arrive at school almost on time with dry feet and warm hands.

And, back when they never closed schools because it was 60 degrees below zero, schools had dress codes for students. Girls wore dresses or skirts and it didn't matter how cold it was. Girls were, however, allowed to wear long pants or snow pants under their dresses for the walk to school, but when we got into the school building, the warm pants came off and we were bare-legged throughout the day.  Michigamme School was a drafty old building that was heated with a coal fed furnace. That old furnace produced some of the finest clinkers you ever saw and every once in a while, as a special treat, we were allowed to collect clinkers for a class project.  And we were lucky to get them.  Despite the fact that we spent the days in that drafty old school, we were sent outside for recess, even if it was cold.

And after lunch, we went outside again. And we played - in the cold - and sometimes the girls wouldn't bother with the stupid snow pants, we just went outside bare legged.  And we played - in the cold.  When school was out for the day, we walked home. We didn't call our parents to come and pick us up; we put on our warm clothes and hit the snow-packed pavement. Sure, it was down hill all the way home, but, I had to walk into the wind.  Back in the day, the wind was always in my face. That's how the wind was back then.  If it was below zero - and it always was- you could be sure that the wind would be in your face.

Most days, even though the wind was in our faces and it was cold, we played as we made our way home. We had snowball fights and we made snow angels. Some of the kids rode steel-runner sleds down the middle of the streets, and some of us skated across the skating rink in our boots. When we got home, we changed out of our wet school clothes, put on dry play clothes, if we were lucky enough to have them, ate supper, and went outside to play - in the cold - and we stayed outside until we were so cold we had to go home.

Back in the day, it was cold.  Really cold.  And we had lots of snow.  And we never had days off from school because Mother Nature was unkind.  In some ways, we     had it a lot tougher than kids have it these days.  And learning life lessons the hard way isn’t all bad.  One life lesson is that the real world does not stop because it's cold outside.  If it's cold outside, dress warm.   If it’s too cold to walk home at lunch time, pack a lunch and if the snow bank is too big to climb over, walk around.

And that’s all I have to say about that…

Happy Freaking New Year...

Greetings, from beautifully wooded, peacefully secluded, sometimes sunny, but mostly not, Petticoat Lake where the days are cold, the nights are colder and a rare lunar occurrence of a Blue Moon ushered in the New Year. A Blue Moon on New Year's Eve - how fabulous!  Ordinarily, I don't bother with resolutions for the new year - either I do something or I don't - and if I don't do it, I don't want to spend a year feeling guilty about not having done what I said I would do. On December 31, 2009, however, I made my New Year's resolutions, and I kept them and now I'm done with that until the next time there is a Blue Moon on New Year's Eve - which will occur in 2028.

Although I only make resolutions once in a Blue Moon, millions of people around the world make resolutions every New Year's Eve. Unfortunately millions of people all around the world will not keep many or any of the resolutions they made for 2010. Why do you suppose that is? I believe that people fail to keep their resolutions for one of two reasons - the resolutions were too stupid to adhere to or there was alcohol involved. I'll write only about the second reason because the first reason is self-explanatory.

Many people often make new year's resolutions at New Year's Eve parties after having spent several hours consuming copious amounts of assorted alcoholic beverages and engaging in intellectual conversations that often include topics like, 'How to Achieve World Peace in a Hate Filled World ', 'Those Sonuvabitching Politicians' and 'How to Live an Introspective Life Without Boring Everyone to Death With Your Introspective Drivel.' Toss in a sprinkle of 'World Religions and Why They Hate Us', and a couple of shots of tequila and the inspiration for your new year's resolutions may go something like this: You are at a New Year's Eve party and it has been in full swing for quite some time. There are several people in the middle of the living room making tipsy attempts at dancing to the loud, raucous music that is thundering from the CD player, which is in constant danger of being knocked from its shelf because the room is not large enough to accommodate drunk dancers and staggering party goers. Occasionally, a dancer gets bumped by someone staggering toward the keg of beer and the dancer's drink splashes out of the cup and onto the dancer's partner, or the CD player or the carpeting, but usually all three. At some point in the evening, usually too late, you decide that you should probably eat and as you make your way to the kitchen, one of the jitterbugging dancers is sent spinning out of control and slams into your back. You pitch forward, bounce off the refrigerator and spill your nearly full drink down the front of your brand new Christmas sweater. You grab the only towel in sight and wipe the front of your brand new Christmas sweater and discover that the towel had already been used and now the front of your brand new Christmas sweater is smeared with what appears to be BBQ sauce. Or ketchup. Still hungry, you peruse the buffet table but the good stuff is gone. What's left of the cole-slaw has what appears to be a jell-o shot melting in the bottom of the bowl so the only food choices available are deviled eggs, taco dip and tuna puffs. Despite your hunger there is no way you will eat deviled eggs, taco dip or tuna puffs so you grab a handful of chips and make your way back to the living room, careful to avoid the dancers who are now attempting to remain standing while performing the tango from hell.
As midnight approaches, the host weaves his way to the CD player and turns the music off and loudly announces that, "It's almost time!", and he turns the telly on so the crowd can watch the ball drop in Times Square. At exactly one second after midnight, to celebrate the start of the new year, the crowd begins the annual bellowing of, "Old Lang Syne." The bottle of Brut Champagne is uncorked and poured into waiting, empty glasses as the crowd continues to hum, or make up words to the second and third verses of, "Old Lang Syne", which even under perfect circumstances is a tear jerker. The atmosphere of the party has quickly changed from light-hearted and spirited to serious and maudlin and it is at that moment, surrounded by good friends and neighbors, who are muttering nonsensical words to, "Auld Lang Syne", that you resolve to be a better person, a better friend and a better neighbor. And to prove to everyone that you are serious about your resolution, you volunteer to babysit their babies, dog sit their dogs, cat sit their cats and be at your good friends and neighbors beck and call whenever they need you, for any reason, no matter what, you swear to God. And then you hand out your cell phone number like Santa Claus hands out candy canes.

So, you made a resolution to be a better person and because you have some twisted notion about what exactly a 'better person' is, you told friends and neighbors that you would be available to help them at any time, for any reason, no matter what. Although your resolution fits both aforementioned categories - stupid and alcohol induced, it is a resolution just the same and for the entire year you have only two choices - do what you said you would do, or don't.
On the one hand, a real friend would not take your resolution seriously and would only call upon you for help in an emergency. On the other hand, you may be called upon by someone who did take you at your word and you may be asked to babysit, dog sit or cat sit, and when they call, you try to find an excuse to not keep your word because their kids are brats, you hate their dog or you are allergic to cats. So, you must do what you said you would do, or you will spend the entire year dodging phone calls and not returning messages from friends or neighbors who need you to babysit, dog sit or cat sit. Eventually you have your cell phone number changed, and you even contemplate moving to a new town. Each day you are aware of your failure as a good friend or neighbor and you ask yourself over and over, "What was I thinking?"

One day while you are hiding out at home, surfing the internet, not answering calls or returning messages from friends and neighbors in need, you find a website that lists quotes from famous people. You read page after page of quotes and, there it is - the one quote which you resolve to keep for the rest of you life, you swear to God. The quote is from Ernest Hemingway, who spent his entire adult life cultivating his love affair with Absinthe, Daiquiris, Martinis, Mojitos and Papa Dobles. Hemingway probably had much to say about many things, but this is the one thing he said that you will remember forever: "Always do sober what you said you'd do drunk. That will teach you keep your mouth shut."

And that's all I have to say about that.