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Category: Places

Photo Friday: Anderson Japanese Garden

This week, after visiting Duckie’s doctor, we visited Anderson Japanese Garden. Soooo much fun. And sooo nice to get a break from the 90 degree heat. One set of grandchildren (5) and my other daughter, Beanie, joined Loved-One and me. We fed the koi, and the baby duckies. We walked the shady paths and “meditated” in the zen gardens. The kids’ favorite: the Fairy Butts. Mine: listening to children banter with each other, and Love-One making like Pinnochio. The pictures are quite dappled and shadowy. Shade can do that.

Stay-cation 2013

Every summer, for as long as I can remember, I go camping.  For the past 10 years or more, that means a trip to Van Buren State Park on Lake Michigan.  See the background to this post?  That’s last year’s Lake Surf.  (Well, it will be until I change the background in September. )  I love the Lake. Grandchildren, children, Love-one and I camp for about a week straddling a weekend in July. Mom and my sisters and brothers and their families join us for the weekend.  Not this July.  Because of Duckie’s osteomyelitis, and the danger of her breaking…

NaBloPoMo: Sisterhood of the Magpies

I need a little quiet time. I grew up with three of these sister. Two more; plus three brothers. No wonder Grandpa dubbed us the Magpies. Non-stop talking, and tons of laughing. In there somewhere, I’m learning a lot about myself. My mind needs some time to wander. A little time to put together sentences that become paragraphs helps the pictures come into focus.


NaBloPoMo: Mother and Four Sisters Journey East (Day 1)

Most of my family lives in Michigan. Three’s just me and Frank that live in another state. (Frankie, if your read my Once A Little Girl Blog. Yes, Frankie is one of the Little Kids, the one I put the diaper on. Frankie or Frank-the-Prank, or Frankfurter, or Frank by any other name; He is my Pal.) It’s probably no accident that the two of us live the furthest from our origin. We are the most independent, the most rebellious, the most adventurous. Anyways, that’s how I choose to see it.

I had a bright idea: take Amtrak to the small town near Mom’s. I can rest, write, read. The time is a about the same, 5-6 hours, depending on whether we get waylaid by a freight train, but I’ll arrive at just about the same cost, and no travel fatigue. That is, if I don’t count getting to the train station.

First, I get to attend Duckie teaching acrylic painting to the general public.
“I hate you for talking me into doing this!”
“I love painting. Did I spell anything wrong in my instruction?”
“I can’t wait.”
“I hate you.”

20130610-070140.jpgDuckie is wonderful. She takes over the crowd with her smile and her detailed instructions. From the small piece I get to see. I had to leave for the train 15 minutes in. I could have left at 2:08 on Metra, got to the station at 3:30 and ran for the 4:00.



Things I want to say, but would never: NaPoWriMo #12

“The challenge:  write a poem consisting entirely of things you’d like to say, but never would… ”  Now that’s pretty tough, because I’m committed to honesty, which includes saying what I want to say.  Maybe I’ll make some things up, and you can guess who I’m saying them to: Who said that? Stupid. I can take uniformed, ignorant, or incapable. Bandwagon-jumper. Get off.  Find your own transportation. Highfaluting. Dismount that high-horse of yours. Nose-looker-downer. Watch out for rain, you just might drown. I love you just the way you are? Almost. Good Lord!  I just scared myself.  I do believe…

BlogHer, a Neti Pot, and Me

A cold caught me.  It’s had me for over two weeks.  Not a down-in-bed kind of illness; just the persistent, oh-you-wanted-to-sleep-sorry-I’m-gonna-make-you-cough sort of sickness.  Three days ago I got the Netti Pot out. Now the Neti Pot is loved and recommended by many, including Mom, Number One Grandson, and Love-One.  That said, Neti Pot seems like some sort of twisted torture to me.  You want me to pour a teapot full of water up my nose?  I don’t think so.  It hardly matters that I actually feel better after my sinuses are purged with saline.  Who the heck thought this…

The Silversmith, The Infernal Comedy, and an Anniversary

Twenty-three years ago Loved One and I met at the Northlight Theatre, “Mississippi Delta.”  The only thing I remember about the play is it featured a woman who could pick up a cigarette with her ziggy and blow smoke rings.  I wonder if anyone can really do that.  Anyways, in “Mississippi Delta,” she was a hit at striptease because of this trick.

I was not looking for love in any place, let alone a play on Super Bowl Sunday, but there he was, confident in his blue jeans.  I was late.  He saw me slip in.

We bumped into each other at the concession stand.  Literally.  I turned left with a hot cider and he turned right with a cup of cocoa.  We started talking, and it was as if we knew each other all our lives.  He says I picked him up.  I know better.  He thought I was a safe bet when I gave him my business card identifying me as a “Sanitarian/Microbiogist.”  I thought he was worth considering, probably not into sports at all, since he was at the Northlight during the Super Bowl.  The truth:  although I hate to clean, I do love clean; he is a sports fanatic, but has little patience for a bad Super Bowl game; we still stumble over each other, go in opposite directions, and cannot fold a sheet together without some redirection.

We celebrate Super Bowl Sunday as our anniversary; often with dinner and a play on Saturday, so we can watch the Super Bowl, too, just in case it’s a good game.  This year is no exception.

I got this postcard in the mail:The Infernal Comedy

I scribble on the back of the card:

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