Christmas Tradition

When my children were very young my wife and I and two kids left Racine, WI and traveled to Shingleton, MI to have Christmas with Bonnie's parents. It was always a joyous time. The grandparents were properly doting. Tom and I usually got to do some fishing. Glady ran the general store they owned and was quite busy, however in the evening we played with the kids and then played cards.

However, after one or two years of that we decided to stay home in Racine. Like many young married people we wanted to establish our own family traditions. Traveling at Christmas time just didn't lay down any roots. We lived in a small, three bedroom "starter" home in Sturtevant, WI. We would decorate the tree. Bonnie and the kids would bake Christmas cookies together which always led to the usual sister competitions and a sprinkle of candy color on the table, the floors and other locations of the kitchen.

Christmas eve meant church and coming home about 8:30 PM. We would sit up, watch the tree lights, play carols, and play with the kids. Then off to bed for the youngsters. I usually had some kind of a put together toy that Santa left. I always used to wish that Santa had written better instructions. The gifts got together though. I never did enjoy the taste of milk and cookies after scotch on the rocks, but there had to be proof of Santa's visit.

Christmas eve was a good time at our house. The kid's eyes shown with excitement and that excitement carried over to the adults. Their enthusiasm for the season was heartwarming and made you love them all the more.

So this time of year brings back many memories. They are all good.

Toot

My grandmother's name was Nettie Viola Firman Floria. I knew her as Toot. Others knew her a Fuzzy, but Toot was the name I called her. She was a strong woman. She was born in 1876 near Remus, MI and married my Grandfather Burt Floria around the turn of the century. She was 68 years old when I was born and lived another 16 years.

When I was a young boy my parents were gone quite often during the week. They might be at a mixed bowling league, some community activity, or other social engagement. As a result Toot babysat for me. Even when I went to the movies by myself I would walk back to Toot's apartment and spend the evening with her until my folks came by to pick me up and take me home.

Toot was a spry old lady. She was positive in her believe in Jesus and God and secure in the knowledge that she had done as good as she could and God would make a place for her. I am sure he did. I have no idea about the level of education she attained, but I wouldn't be surprised it was limited. She often told me that her father was an itinerant preacher who had an extensive library at home. She sometimes bemoaned the loss of that library in a house fire. Nonetheless Toot was an inquisitive soul who loved geography. When I was in elementary school at Lincoln in Munising the school would dispose of old textbooks at the end of the school year. Many times they sold these books for a couple of cents or a nickel. I would buy as many geography books as I could lay my hands on and take them to Toot.

Many an evening she I and would sit on an overstuffed couch made of a rough materials that was OK to sit on, but rough to the skin if you laid on the couch. She would drag out those worn geography books and we would sit and look at the pictures and speculate on how those folks lived, what they ate, how they survived? She had a lot of questions and would read and try to understand other people's circumstances around the world.

From time to time a traveling missionary would visit the local church and talk about the work being done in far off lands. Toot would attend those meetings and listen to the reports then speculate on how people got along in remote regions of our planet.

I believe my sense of curiosity was born in this old lady's apartment. As a young lad I enjoyed sitting and looking at those books with her.

She also had an old radio that had a shortwave feature. Many an evening we would turn that radio on to short wave and turn the dial. We would pick up radio broadcasts from various parts of the world and speculate on what language we were hearing. Perhaps we heard Spanish, Porteguese, or Russian. We had no idea. However, Toot wanted to know and would speculate about what was being said.

I think it is difficult to be in contact with that kind of curiosity and not have it rub off. I will always be grateful to that old lady of my blood. My good and gracious Grandmother, Toot.

Past Thanksgivings

It is hard to remember past Thanksgivings now. I have just completed my 64th. I have general impressions of family members being present, of the smell of the turkey roasting and the chatter of conversation that surrounds such events. I recall going to Midland, MI one year to spend the holiday with my brother Dean and his family. I recall several trips to Boulder Hill, IL to spend the day with my sister, her husband and wonderful family. I think through our adult years we, meaning wife and children went to some other relatives home for Thanksgiving.

For a number of years Thanksgiving morning meant a pheasant hunt in SE Wisconsin. The hunt ended with the dogs lying wearily in the grass by the side of the road. The hunters enjoying a glass of port, a beer and some sausage, cheese and crackers. It made for some memorable moments.

Thanksgiving in Munising when I was a kid were great. Sometimes we had snow and it seemed to lend a magical feeling to the time. Before I was 16 Toot, my grandmother Floria, would come for Thanksgiving. I can recall Toot working in the kitchen with my mother and Dad and I in the living room watching the Packers and the Lions play. Football, turkey, dressing and gravy all made for those moments we wish we could recreate but never seem to be quite the same.

Still I've had many memories and hope to generate many more. It is fun to take the day and cook some new foods and try something new yet tradition pretty much dictates that turkey be the mainstay. I do love the period. It doesn't seem as intense as Christmas, and a more relaxed time. I do love Thanksgiving.

A new outdoor friend?

My second Dad, Tom Dolaskie, was as good a friend and mentor as a man could get. I learned a lot about the out of doors from him. I also learned a lot about how to act in life, how to live your life without being arrogant, and taking an observers view of the passing of time rather than worrying about it.

His son, Tommy Jr. is not an out door person, but is a good guy. As good as they get. He also seems to exhibit a lot of his father's style.

Now comes Tommy's son, Tommy Dolaskie the IV. I think I'll call him Tommy Quad, for fourth. I knew him as a little kid. I met him once as and adult. However I have observed him on Facebook and have come to admire and like his style. I believe he probably is a little more glitzy than his Dad and his Grandfather, but he seems to have a good heart. I have proposed a remembrance fishing trip next summer up in Munising. He seems to be for it. Perhaps I will have a new out door partner that treads lightly on my consciousness the way his Grandfather did. By that I mean we talked about trying new ways of hunting or fishing, but it was done as equals and neither of us felt dependent or beholden to the other to be in the field. We always walked as equals, but we weren't he was always the better man.

Here's to the future. Perhaps I will have the opportunity to return the favor and be an example for my 2nd Dad's grandson.

Why I didn't go

My 2nd Father died a few years ago. I did not go to the funeral. I live 800 miles away. I would've had to make the drive by myself. I did not have enough time. That's all bullshit.

Tom was as much my Dad as my Dad was. My father (real) provided me with food, shelter, love and encouragement. I was not a mistreated son, I was much loved and loved in return. However my 2nd Father was also a son's dream. A true outdoors-man. A skilled hunter, a skilled fisher, and a person who lived off the land for much of their food. There was much to learn, much to experience and too much to tell in this tale.

He died quietly as he lived. He died in his pickup truck getting ready to drive up to the road to get the mail. He passed quickly, peacefully, and with his wife of over 60 years nearby. He had just come off the ice of the inland lake he lived on after spending the last few hours of his life fishing.

I didn't go to his funeral. I cried at his passing. I cried in thanks for all of the wonderful memories he allowed me to participate in. I grieved because I missed him so much.

His oldest daughter and I were married. We were high school sweethearts. I had been fishing with Tom since I was 16 years old. I hunted partridge with him. We picked mushrooms, wild leeks, cranberries, blueberries, we cut trees and roofed garages and snowmobiled on Lake Superior. I was truly his son.

I was not close with the rest of the family. His wife Glady and I talked and I loved her in a fashion but there were issues and I probably more tolerated her than felt the love of a parent. My wife's sister Kathy, I loved her. I would not call us very close, but she was a nice person and I enjoyed visiting with her. Tom's son Tom and I were friendly. We did not do too much together, but I was around when he was a little kid. When he got older and married I didn't see him too often, but he was family. The last daughter, Lou I was not close with at all. I tolerated her because she was family but I didn't care too much for her. The oldest daughter, Bonnie. We were married 23 years. I loved her, what happened to that marriage would be speculation. I am sure I bear the bulk of the blame because of my alcoholism, but there are always two stories.

When Bonnie and I divorced I am sure I broke Tom's heart. He never said. He still called me his son-in-law, but I'm sure I hurt him deeply. His son didn't hunt with him, didn't like fishing, and was not much of an outdoor person. I was, and we were together constantly.

So when Tom died I did not go to his funeral. I couldn't face the hurt I had inflicted on him and thusly the family. The kids and I were not particularly close, but they all knew how Tom felt about me and how I felt about him. Bonnie and I spent hours playing cards, visiting, putting up with Glady's incessant meddling. We both loved Tom dearly. Me, I couldn't face the family.

My daughters encouraged me to come, after all I knew a lot of the stories. Brother Tom told others that I would show up, but I didn't. I couldn't face the consequences of my actions.

A few years before Tom died I made a trek back to the U.P. to go deer hunting with him. It cost me over $100 for the deer license for three hours of being in the woods with him again. We walked in an area that had deer sign but no deer. I knew we wouldn't see any, and I think he did too. It was an exercise in being together in the woods one last time. I came out the next morning to see if he wanted to go again, he couldn't his legs would not support him and he was in a lot of pain. But he pushed himself the day before so we could be together in the snowstorm lurking about in the woods. It was the last time in the woods for he and I. I will always treasure it.

The night before the point of no return I lay awake in the middle of the night debating with myself whether or not I should get up in the morning and leave for the funeral. I tossed and turned, fretted and worried. I was a coward. All of a sudden as I lay in the bed a soft warmth crept through my body. A sense of well being and comfort came over me and I knew it would be all right if I didn't go. Call it what you may but I think Tom's love understood my dilemma and told me it was OK. A parting gift from a man I dearly loved.

Tough background

In the face of all of the hard luck stories you read about and where someone drags themselves out of economic tough times I have decided my family also has its history. I do not know a lot of facts because my Grandmother and Dad were of that generation where you just accepted your lot in life and played the best hand you could with the cards you were dealt.

My Grandmother Nettie, or Toot as we knew her, was born in 1876. She married a man named Burton Floria, my grandfather. Burt was a millwright by trade and they moved from the Remus, MI area to Manistique in the Upper Peninsula. Burt worked in the logging industry and Toot kept house. My Father was born in Manistique, MI and as a small baby the family moved to Grand Marais, MI probably around 1903. My Dad's brothers were born in Grand Marais, I believe. Burt built a home for his family which still stands to this day. My Dad told me there are boards in that home that are 36" wide, cut from the White Pine that dominated the forests at that time.

Burt apparently left the family sometime around 1909 - 10. I don't know the year, but I believe they spent a few years in Grand Marais before moving to Munising in 1913. Times were tough. There was no government program to aid destitute families and I've got to believe that mine was one of them. One of the stories Dad told me concerned an incident where he picked some small tin pails of strawberries along the lake shore and was headed home with them. A neighbor lady stopped him and asked him how much he wanted for the berries, he said a quarter. She gave him a quarter. He promptly went to a local store and bought a big container of oats which is what they ate much of the week for food.

Dad also described that Toot would bake six loaves of bread on Thursdays and the weekend. So obviously bread was a staple in their diet. In addition Toot would take the kids in the summer out berry picking. Toot and another lady would rent a team driven by a man and they would go out into the surrounding forests to pick raspberries, and other types of berries as they came into season. These she canned, made jam and sold, or some how derived some income from. In addition she took in laundry for the teachers that were located in Grand Marais to bring some money into the home.

I assume as with many families at the time the home she lived in was paid for. So at least they had a roof over their heads and that couldn't be taken from her. Other than that from things my Dad said over the years life was tough. There were times that Dad would recall some event from his childhood and just shake his head and mutter that it was tough, real tough and he had a great love and respect for his mother.

My Father always talked about the love and humor that Toot had and the antics of his brothers. Having seen my father and his brothers interact over the years I can tell there was a lot of good old fun had in there younger years. Dad always talked about his brother Earl and Cecil as being the source of the humor, but listening to them talk about early days I have a feeling the "Old Man" was right in the thick of things.

My Dad always kept a connection with Grand Marais through the years. When he ran his insurance business in Munising he had customers in Grand Marais and knew many of the people in the community. After he moved to Milwaukee he, his brothers, and my brother Dean and I made a trek back to Grand Marais to find the old homestead and to visit the community. I can tell you from participating in the trip that it was one raucous time and hardly a time when by without laughter.

So, the roots of my immediate past were founded in tough times. I have a feeling that were those circumstances recreated today Toot and her boys would've been far below the poverty level and eligible for government subsistence. Whether they would've taken assistance is another question, but they had no choice at the time. Perhaps that is where some of the metal was forged that made our family what it is today.

Childhood Illness

My daughters, Kristi & Jenny were pretty healthy kids when they were little. We did end up with some hospital time for both. Bronchitis seemed to be a particular problem. I actually don't remember Kristi with the problem as much as Jenny.

I recall when we lived in some side by side apartments in Racine about 1974 Jenny was a little over two. She became ill with bronchitis and was hospitalized. Her mother, Bonnie and I would go visit her and she was in an oxygen tent. The tent was intimidating. The little person had and IV in her arm, there were hoses and tubes running around and she was all alone in there. I recall one time during a visit she wanted a hug. I couldn't get at her to hug her, the tent was in the way, the hoses and tubes. I told her that I couldn't hug her as the apparatus would not allow me to get close enough. I felt so bad. I wondered if I shouldn't have just unzipped the tent and found a way to get close to her for just a little bit. She was a bit of a Daddy's girl.

Kristi on the other hand had a Plantar's Wart. We still lived in Racine, only now we were actually in Sturtevant just out side of Racine. Kris, Bonnie and I talked about what to do and the options and I told her that I had a similar wart removed years ago and the Dr. burned it off. We had some discussion about the procedure. I told her they had to numb the area so she wouldn't feel any pain. Both Kris and Jen had an aversion to shots. Kristi sucked up her courage and told me she wanted to have the wart removed. At the time we went to the Racine clinic and the Surgeon's name was Don Gore, what a name for a Surgeon. We made the appointment and I took her to the clinic. It seemed that when shots or things like that were required I was the person that had to take the kids. I guess Mom's soft heart wouldn't stand the emotional stress.

Kristi and I went there and on the drive you could see she was totally focused on what was going to be inflicted on her and wanted it over. We didn't talk, I couldn't get her to be her usual self. The Surgeon took one look at the wart and asked Kris if it hurt or it affected her walking or running. Kristi said no. Don look at the two of us and said then he did not recommend having the wart removed surgically as it was a virus and would eventually go away. We left the office, when Kristi got to the car she broke down and sobbed almost uncontrollably from relief of not having to have the shot in the foot. This would've been around 1978 or so. Kristi would've been 9 or 10.

Jenny would get so upset over having a shot that I had to take her because I literally had to hold her still. She would get so upset, then when it was over, she was back to normal. I recall one time she had to get some type of a shot and became almost hysterical. In fact, her little arm was so tense the nurse bent the needle on the syringe when she gave her the shot. Tough little shit.

God they are nice kids.

Walking the dogs

No, not a yo yo trick, but a real life exercise. Almost every morning I take the dogs for a 30 to 40 minute walk. We've been doing this for about four months now and it has become part of the daily routine. Sometimes I don't want to get up and walk them, but as day breaks they start a pattern of yipping like they are telling me to com'on, get up, lets get the day on the road.

Their behavior has become very interesting to observe as we begin our walk. When I open the kennel door we have to have a celebration of jumping and twisting around my legs as they are happy to begin the day and happy to see me. Then they have to tussle a little, finally they stop and pee. As we begin the walk they walk down the driveway and go potty off to the side, away from the house, away from most everything except they are along the drive. If they have the chance they seem to go off away, our out in the woods to potty. Good for them.

The next turn is by the neighbor's yard where the neighbors have three dogs in a very large enclosure. So up to the fence, touch noses, and greet each other by running back and forth, sitting and looking, and I suppose making sure everyone is accounted for.

The first round is spent mostly snooping, smelling what has come by in the night, lunging into grassy hummocks to investigate a scent or sound. They will run under the trees back into the field where deer typically have bed down at night. So the first lap is checking out the territory.

After that they become somewhat bored on subsequent laps and start wrestling, biting, chasing and otherwise aggravating one another. So the next few laps are spent with dogs blocking your path, rolling into your feet, and otherwise making a smooth easy walk into a hop, skip and jump walk. But we all get our exercise, the dogs are pretty well worked out and the morning begins quietly.

One thing I've noticed is at this time of year our humidity is very high and the dew is heavy on the grass. Needless to say my feet are soaked by the time I get home and the dogs are wet from top to bottom. The dew is so heavy on most days that they lap water from the grass in the lawn areas. Then up on the porch they start to clean, lick and dry themselves. At the same time they pull off any seed capsules they've picked up and are clinging to their coat. They lick my legs, I guess they must get some salty taste from the perspiration. So we all get a bit of a cleaning.

Time for breakfast and then they lay down for a snooze. There begins most days at the Floria home.

A Mother's Love

My wife is not a demonstrative person. You are never sure of how she feels about something until it boils over, then she may say more than she intended to say. Regardless, she is a very loving person and extremely loyal. These are characteristics that not everyone possess. In the late 90's our son Geoff joined the Navy, and after basic left for an assignment in Japan. He was to spend his entire tour in Japan and saw some sea duty on the Carrier Independence and Kitty Hawk. This story isn't about Geoff however, it is about his mother's love.

One day not long after Geoff was stationed in Japan Terry and I were frequenting some flea markets in town. This is one of our hobbies, a little shopping where there may be old stuff that causes us to reminisce about time gone by. As we were walking down an aisle she spotted a small globe of the world. It was a bank. One of those banks from the 50's or 60's with a little slot in the top and a lithograph of the world on the body. It was made of stamped metal. You could pick out countries and some large cities were even named. The globe was perhaps 6" in diameter. I think it was $.50 or some such price. Terry bought it. It still sits on a log shelf under the eaves of our home in our bedroom. In fact, I now look at it every morning when I wake up and it reminds me of this story.

You see, the reason Terry bought the globe was she could look at it, examine it and see where Japan was in relation to the United States. When Geoff's fleet was send to the middle east about the time of the first gulf war Terry could see where Dubai was, or Saudi Arabia. It kept her in touch with where her son was in the world while he was away from home. Terry believes in prayer, and I'm sure when she looked at that globe and found where Geoff was in this old world of ours she also murmured a prayer of safe return. A mother's love has many methods of expression.

Remembering Eats

My mother made a dish one time called Chicken Divan. It had broccoli in it, yech, broccoli! It was a casserole and was actually quite good. Even the broccoli tasted pretty good. I do not remember much about the dish but have seen the recipe advertised several times over the years. However, being a family who made fun with words Chicken Divan became Chicken on a Couch. So from time to time when she made that dish we all talked about having Chicken on the Couch which thoroughly confused some who were unfamiliar with the family name game tradition.

I loved bacon and eggs, still do. I call them "something different." So my wife gets a little smile on her face when I say I think I'll have "something different" for breakfast. My first wife and I called them "baswan and oggoose." How the hell we came up with that name is beyond me. I like "something different."

Chicken on a stick was actually a pork dish or veal. You could buy some type of ground pork or veal that was formed around an actual piece of wood and lightly breaded. It was quite tasty. We had it when I was a kid, then later on in my first marriage my wife and I found the same meat from time to time. It did seem to disappear and for the life of me I do not know what it is really called. Our name was Chicken on a Stick. It had a drumstick appearance.

Milk Toast was a favorite of my Dad's and I also. It was just toast, buttered. You poured milk over the toast until it was saturated, then salted the toast and dug in. I could eat a lot of that when I was a kid. It did not take long to go through a loaf of bread at our home.

Chicken Noonie soup was a great favorite. I always ate the broth first as I loved slurping up the noodles with a saltine cracker in my mouth. There was something comforting and warming about Campbell's Chicken Noonie soup.

My Dad loved Oyster stew and he passed that love on to me. Now I make my own from scratch. Have for many years. However Campbell's came out with a frozen Oyster Stew, with few oysters, that my Dad would buy from time to time and have my mother prepare. He loved to get an oyster, but made sure we all got one or two. When I began making Oyster stew I made sure there were a lot of oysters in the stew and that you could get a lot. That is another dish that speaks to me of the Christmas Holidays, New Year's Day and the taste of a good batch of Oyster stew and friends. Even today I made that stew several times during the holiday. I have begun to experiment with it, adding onion, mabe a little bacon bits. It is all good.

Vollwerth's Meats located in the U.P. used to come out with a hot dog that still was in a casing. It had some fine seasoning to it that was excellent. I've purchased those kinds of hot dogs for years when I travel back home. I freeze them and we enjoy them throughout the year in Arkansas. However, they don't taste the same as a hot dog cooked on a stick over a bed of coals. Perhaps the fresh air of camp, the natural fire, and the situation we found ourselves in added to the seasoning, or maybe they changed their recipe. I don't know, but I do enjoy hot dogs still in a natural casing.

My Mom's ham loaf. I have the recipe and from time to time Terry and I grind our own meat and make the dish. It is excellent. It was my traditional birthday meal when I was a child. It still tastes as good today as it did then, provided you get a tasty ham. Ham loaf, baked potato, and some vegetable side dish and you got a good evening. It is even good cold on a slab of bread. I always put some ketchup on it though as that makes it a little better.

Then I end with pasties. A Danish dish carried into the mines by scandanavian miners back in the late 1800's still can be found in most communities in the U.P. You run out of pasty places the further south you go, but in the U.P. the pasty is a staple of a good meal. A meat pie with potato, some type of beef, rutabega, and onion all finely chopped, or ground together as I do, encased in a pie dough shell. Baked with some lumps of butter to provide moisture and the crust painted with a mild or egg wash to give the crust that pretty brown appearance and you've got a meal you will not forget. The next day, cold left over pasty, a salt shaker, some ketchup and a cold beer to wash it down and you will not have a bad day. I make pasties, not too often as they can seem like a lot of work, but they are to die for.

That eats from my youth. Good days, good people, family and fun. You cannot ask for more.

My Father's Version

I was taught this saying by my Dad. It is a common little poem known by most fisherman, but sometimes the versions vary. This is the way it was taught to me by my father:

When the wind is from the West that's when fish bite the best.
When the wind is from the South, it blows the hook in the fish's mouth.
When the wind is from the East that is when the fish bite least.
When the wind is from the North, the fisherman doth not venture forth.

A lot of truth in the old sayings.

Dog Oberservations

The dogs are a pair of Labradors. They are mostly white in color with a little yellow cast at the shoulders and down the back. The noses are pink. Their names are Molly and Lily. At this writing they are about 5 months old. They were strays picked up by Terry's mother, kept for a while, when the owners could not be located we adopted them.

This morning it was cool, about 74, low humidity and very comfortable outside. I took my last cup of coffee and went out on the porch to enjoy the morning air. The dogs behavior has been easier to control so I let them out so they could enjoy the day also. Molly went down on the ground and lay just in front of the porch, Lily lay on the porch near my chair. Within a short period of time Molly decided she might like a little romp so she picked up an old face towel we have outside for them to play with. Lily immediately sat up, ears alert, eyes focused on Molly. The invitation was made, but not accepted at this point. Molly then spied a clump of weeds and root ball and jumped on that beginning to tear it apart. That was too much for Lily who came off the porch and wanted a piece of the action. So now we had a little game of keep away going on. Abruptly Lily broke off the game and grabbed another nearby towel, bunched it up in her mouth and began seducing Molly to play. Lily positioned her head in front of Molly's to entice her to grab the towel, when that did not work she began to swipe the towel on the top of Molly's head. Finally after some coaxing Molly took the bait and grabbed the towel. Lily let go and Molly, towel in mouth rolled away from Lily to keep the towel away from Lily. That was just what Lily wanted, she immediately jumped on the wad of weeds and took off with the intended prize all along. Molly followed and we had a tug of war over the weeds. Finally the weed ball broke apart sufficiently so it lost their focus of their interest.

Exploring the yard Molly came upon one of our apple trees. Finding an apple on the ground intrigued her and she began to bat it around. After a few minutes she decided it was worthy of sport so picking it up she pranced toward Lily who was exploring the base of one of our Pecan trees. Lily decided that they should have a rollicking game of "Apple, Apple, who's got the Apple." The dog without the apple would place her muzzle along side the dog with the apple, then cocking her head so her muzzle went under the head of the dog with the apple the head would twist up forcing the dog on top to raise its head and open its mouth. Then a little further twist would bring the canines into play and sometimes the apple would pop out and the other dog would have it. Then the wrestling would continue. Back and forth Molly and Lily went, one dog had the apple then the other. If one held the apple to long she would drop the apple on purpose to motivate the other dog to go after it. It appeared to be away of extending the game. It was kind of like as long as each dog got a turn at having the apple the other was willing to play.

Finally Molly decided she wanted to eat the apple. Perhaps it had nutritional value as the body of the apple got softened in the play and the juice didn't taste too bad. So Molly became very possessive and ate the apple. Lily wanted some, but Molly growled and protected her prize. They would end up barking at each other as though one were scolding the dog with the apple and Molly who was intent on eating the apple told Lily in no uncertain terms it was mine. Lily finally strolled off and got her own apple. Seeing the I cannot find any remnants I believe they each ate their apple.

So ends this observation. Very interesting.

How Late We Learn

I am 64. I have always been very introspective. In fact, in my work life I consider it one of my strongest traits that I have tried to cut through the personal BS and really assess my motives and needs when managing organizations.

Recently though I became aware of a facet I really was ignorant of. I hate structure in my life. I dislike any structure. The more unfettered and freedom I have the better I am. Now for some this may seem logical, doesn't everyone like freedom and unfettered actions. No, not at all. A great number of people like to have structure, rules, procedures, methods and routines. It allows them to have a sense of a pattern in their life and a means to live life in some semblance of rationality.

I am not a rock climber, bungee jumper, daredevil. In fact, I enjoy puttering around the house. I enjoy repairing things and making things work. I have always been an initiator, a driver, but I am not a workaholic. But I do not want anyone providing direction. I'll ask for direction, I'll follow advice, I always have, but I do not want it imposed.

The job I have right now is wonderful. I am able to take my morning exercise, I can arrange a day with my wife to enjoy her company, go shopping or mow the grass. I do have responsibilities, but they are scheduled by me. The few times I have an externally imposed deadline I hate the activity and will fight it even if it only takes a few moments to complete.

Retirement is a puzzlement for me. What will I do with day upon day of choice. Will I make good choices, will I accomplish things, will I be productive and useful in my golden years. Yes, I will. However I will march to my drummer and I do follow that road less traveled. Thank God!

A Personal Memorial

Through the years I have had the privilege of working with some talented, good people. I have learned from all of them. These I talk of are dead. Many times I spin their names through my mind as a means to keeping their memories alive. On this morning I remember many. Jim Downey, Chief Inspector for Fabrication - J. I. Case; Sarge Salerno, Manufacturing Manager- J. I. Case; Fred Slezarenko Heat Treat foreman - J. I. Case; Dick Henningfeld Machining Foreman - J. I. Case; Kelly Swanson Tractor Repair Foreman - J. I. Case; Maury Overberg Master Scheduling Manager - J. I. Case; Ray Dulek Manufacturing Engineering Manager - J. I. Case; Bill Regan Marketing Manager - Arkla Outdoor Products; Don Miller Tool Coordinator/Press Room - J. I. Case; Dick Witt Welding Foreman - J. I. Case; Al Burdick Machining Foreman - J. I. Case; Butch Roth Chief Inspector Receiving - J. I. Case

There others whose age would be well into their 80's ir 90's if they are still alive. Cliff Quinn, Eddie Roeder, Harold Block, Jim Bliss, Frank McNamara, Bob Cantrell, Rich Heidner, Mel Both, Lenny Peterson, Kenny Matson, Larry Tilbury, and Phil Wenzel.

There there are the characters who added color to the tapestry: Blackie the Assembler, Little Nick, Al Rowley, Vic Mead, Ted Miller, Donnie the Assembler, Mary the Drill lady, Ben Davis, Dennis Schneider, Barb Pocaro, Stoney, Al Principe, Big Jim, Don the Bullard Man, Tony "Helpa Me I'ma Behind" Ammendola, Ceasar Tenuta, Henry the Set Up Man, Nick Kadamian, and a host of others whose names drift in and out of my memory.

These people make up part of the tapestry of my past. They contributed to my knowledge, counted on my leadership or helped steer my path. They are an integral part of my skill as a manager and wisdom as a human. They all made a contribution.

Breaking out the bowls

Over the weekend two utensils were brought out, cleaned and put back into use after several years of storage. One is a large stainless steel bowl that my first dog Captain ate out of. I do not know exactly when we purchased that bowl, but Captain was born in 1976 and I associate that bowl with that period of time. I would not be surprised if we bought that bowl at Fleet/Farm a wonderful farm store located near Sturtevant, WI where we lived with we got Captain. The bowl is large was used when we had our other pair of dogs, Mattie and Blondie. The bowl was put up as our last dog, Cilla, could've slept in it. Now the bowl sits on the front porch and is the water bowl for our newest additions, Molly and Lily, two Yellow Labs we picked up from Terry's mom.

The second utensil is an old, beat up aluminum measuring cup. It is the cup I used when I measured out Captain's food. It also go put up after Mattie and Blondie passed. Now I use it to measure out the food for Lily and Molly. The cup was probably purchased at some flea market in Racine. The aluminum handle is broken off and only the rivets remain. As I said, it is dented, showing years of good service. Now it shall be put into service again, and I hope it lasts for another 30 years.

A Recent Memory

My daughter Jenny and Granddaughter Lindsey visited this past weekend. (4/9 to 4/13/2009) It was great. Lindsey is 5, is unsure of her status and constantly seeks to establish her place. All kids do. She is moody, yet thoroughly engaging, as most kids are. She shows logic and wisdom that has always amazed me that little folks so young can possess such ideas. She shows great promise at problem solving and coming up with new solutions when presented questions or constraints to her progress. My daughter is amazing. Patience that I never had. Understanding of a child's needs and challenges beyond my capability to grasp. Where did this young women get such knowledge, certainly from her mother, because it sure isn't in my realm of conscious thought.

We enjoyed the visit. It was short. They always are. The weather was not very cooperative although we did have one nice day. Lindsey caught on to the bird feeding and took that task quite seriously although she wanted to get down and chase Al (the cat) between feeding station fillings. The first full night here she helped my carry the deer corn down to the ground feeding area. We were rewarded with two deer coming in and feeding on the corn we had just put out. It was a great moment and she was utterly enthralled by the creatures. She also enjoyed the birds visiting the bird feeders.

Jenny and I only got one evening to sit and visit. It was the last night of the visit. We talked for perhaps 3 - 4 hours. Where did this young, self-assured, capable woman come from. It is remarkable. She calls me Dad, what a privilege to be called Dad. She only has one. She may have some other father figures, but only one Dad and its me! We talked of her work. She is aggressive, opinionated, and enthusiastic about her job. What a treat that is. She even asked my opinion of things about her work, and has for a number of years. I wonder how many Dad's have their daughters asking for advice about the intricacies of her work, promotion strategy, and office politics. It certainly makes me proud to think she values my thoughts and advice.

I do not live close to my children. I am not in constant contact as some parents I know. A lady who works for me has a daughter in North Carolina, married to an enlisted man. They talk every day, perhaps several times a day. That would get in the way for me, and I think for Jenny. In the way of what I'm not sure, but I'm and independent cuss, and so is she. That is how she was raised, and that is best for her, I think. We often don't get to talk for a long time. When the phone rings at her home it is a signal for her kids to ask her questions and beg her attention. That will change. I'll be patient.

I love her deeply. She has become a self-sufficient, independent, woman of the world, a loving and patient mom and a loving caring wife. What greater accomplishments could a person wish for?

Graham's at Topinabee

Believe it or not there is a Village in Michigan called Topinabee. It is just outside of Indian River. Over 50 years ago when I traveled with my Mom & Dad down to my brother's home in Midland, MI we used to stop at this small restaurant called Graham's at Topinabee. It was a small family restaurant and we usually were there close to lunch time. The first time we stopped my Mother induced me into trying a cold chicken breast sandwich. It was wonderful, with slices of chicken breast, mayonnaise, lettuce on a nice white bread. I believe it came with chips, and I had a pop. For some reason it stuck in my head and I associate it with traveling to Midland, being with my Mom & Dad and visiting these small communities in somewhat out of the way places. It is perhaps what got me in the habit of looking for local "joints" to have a meal in. Usually they are nice, family run, and good folks trying to make a living without "working for the man." Graham's was special and I remember it fondly as a place that has warm memories of my folks and I traveling.

The Little Engine that Could

Back in the mid-50's I used to spend quite a bit of time riding my bicycle out to Grand Island landing. This site was located at the narrows of the West Channel that allowed Lake Superior to come into Munising Bay between the mainland and Grand Island. The landing was a place where a barge was kept that took loggers over to the island in the summer to log timber. It also had a dock for people who lived on the island to moor when they ran errands or just visited the mainland. It was a great place to fish for the famous Lake Superior Yellow Perch. I fished there a lot.

One day while fishing from the barge pier I could hear this motor running at a very high rate of speed. I couldn't imagine what it was, but I'd been around boats quite a bit and new it sounded like and outboard rev'd up to its highest limit. I also saw just north of me in the channel what appeared to be a 24' + cabin cruiser with fishing outriggers down. It appeared to be tolling in the channel probably hoping to land a Lake Trout or two. The noise came from this fairly large boat. As the boat swung by me I saw false transom suspended off the back of the boat. Attached to that transom was a Mighty Mite engine just going for all it was worth pushing that big boat. The Mighty Mite was an engine used for trolling on inland lakes and was rated at only 1 1/2 to 2 horsepower. It could run at 4000 rpm, but make a noise like a runaway Sunbeam egg beater. I couldn't help but laugh at the spectacle of this very large boat being pushed slowly up and down the channel by this crazed motor. It still makes me chuckle to this day as I recall the scene.

Some people will try anything.

A Love Story

My Uncle Cecil was a true character. Smart, quick witted, and friendly were his trade marks. He married a lady named Lucille Buckley or "Buck" as we knew her. Cec worked for the paper mill in my home town and he and Buck were living in an apartment on Elm Ave. in downtown. In the early 50's Cec and Buck left town and moved to Florida where they lived until Buck's passing in the late 70's. Cec worked at an airbase and retired from that government job. While Buck was still alive my father began traveling to Florida to visit Cec and they had a time. After Aunt Buck passed Cec began coming to Racine and eventually made his way up to our hometown to renew old friendships and look over the land that he loved.

It turns out that Cec had another love. There was a woman there who he had known from the 5o's. They had an affair and Buck found out about it. Buck told Cec they had to move or she would seek a divorce and that would kill Toot, Cec's mother, my grandmother. Whether it would've killed Toot or not is another question, Toot herself was a divorcee. Cec did not want to offend his precious mother so off they went to Florida. Cec never returned to Munsing until about 30 years later. To my knowledge he never corresponded with anyone in Munising and had broken all contact.

When Cec returned he finally sold his condo in Tampa and moved back to Munising. It wasn't too long before Cec remarried to Marilyn his old flame. Marilyn had married after Cec left Munsing and had several children. Her husband left her and she was a single woman when Cec returned some 30 years later. They reconnected and married. Cec lived for several more years passing away in the early 90's. His final years were marked by heart problems, but he and Marilyn had a good life together as short as it was. I saw Marilyn last summer and she hugged me and started to cry that she missed Cec very much. They didn't get much time together, but it was quality.

My sister Carol dislikes Marilyn because of the previous affair. Carol has some rigid ideas of right and wrong and feels like the affair was wrong. I agree, but it happened. I can't fault Marilyn, or Cec after all I am the last to judge that situation as it happened to me. But I find the reconnection touching and I don't mind Marilyn. I don't have much to do with her, but I live many miles away and I did not see Cec much when he returned to the Midwest as I moved to Arkansas in the late 80's. It is a broken love story, one that I find no fault with. I am glad that Cec had some happiness and companionship in his final years. It must be tough to be alone and old. I hope I don't find out.

Harlequin Romance Books Rule

Recently on Facebook I made friends with Yvette Rousseau. She was a niece by marriage, although I still consider her a niece even though her Aunt and I are no longer married. That's not what this is about anyway. In the 70's & 80's we (our family) vacationed each summer in Northern Michigan at Dana Lake. It was the cabin of my wife's parents. It was a neat place, no resorts nearby, no neighbors to speak of, but plenty of fresh air, sunshine, and woods to walk in.

On a number of occasions we were treated to visits by my sister-in-law Kathy and her children Yvette, Yvonne and Josette. Yvette and Yvonne were conceived in France. Yvette and Yvonne were my oldest daughter's age, and Josette and my daughter Jenny were about the same age. So my kids had ready made pals.

As my oldest daughter, Kristi, entered those pre-teen years when a girls thoughts begin to think of romance Harlequin Romance books entered the scene. She devoured them. I have no idea how many she had but it seemed like hundreds. The favorite pastime of Kristi, Yvette and Yvonne when they were together at Dana was to read novels. From time to time I would sneak up on them and grab one of the books and holding high in the air I would proceed to read aloud the reverent passages. "Lance looked at Sophie with that deep soulful look of undying love. The wind blew softly through the pines, and made Sophie's hair swirl like a cloud about her rich full lips." This shit really meant something. Anyway, the girls would jump all over me trying to get the book back and I would hold it high our of reach. At first it was quite a scene and the girls would be embarrassed to have these deep thoughts blurted out, especially by their Dad/Uncle.

As with many things I over did it one time and reduced my daughter to tears of frustration. But for a while it was fun and the shrieking and laughter carried across the lake I am sure. Probably into the well turned ears of Sophie who turned her heart shaped faced and listened with those lush red, full lips pursed in concern.

Whenever I see Kristi, Yvette and Yvonne we end up talking about those times. They aren't nearly as funny now as they were then, but the bond was made and their Uncle/Dad was a scoundrel, a cad of the first measure. I miss those days.

Snow storm in Arkansas 2/28/09

A month ago we got hit with a very vicious ice storm. The damage to trees and the electric grid in a wide area of the MidSouth was horrendous. We usually get some snow in Arkansas, not much but enough to brighten my spirits when it occurs. This time we got nailed, the forecast said we should expect 1 - 2 inches of accumulation, perhaps a dusting in some areas. Instead we got a good old fashion Yankee snow storm. I've heard reports that we received 9 to 11 inches. It is hard for me to measure snow fall depth because it varies so much depending on where you measure it. If you measure it on flat ground, the accuracy is not reliable because wind can move snow so easily. If you measure it in the woods you have drifting and hummocks. So I have to take the weather reports as accurate. Regardless I have attached two videos I shot. One is at the beginning of the snow storm on Saturday 2/28/09 in the afternoon. The second is from Sunday morning, 3/1/09 at sunrise.

Enjoy, I did

A Squirrel Comes Calling

Terry was sitting at her make up vanity overlooking the side yard one morning. We knew we had a squirrel living in the house again. You could hear it moving at times and scratching. It is isolated from the living area, but is up under the eaves in a inaccessible part of a small attic we have. It was a cold day but sunny. Obviously the squirrel decided to come out and sun itself. Terry looked down as she heard a little movement and there it lay, spread out on the window sill catching some rays. It could flatten it's body to reduce exposure from below and increase the area being warmed by the sun. It was a lazy day and it dozed off and on for some time. I got a camera and snapped several pictures. How long it was on the window sill I don't know, I gave up and went back to doing whatever I was doing. It was just an neat scene.

We are remarkable beings

My daughter Jenny posted a brief article about her daughters' weekend morning routine. Accompanying the article are pictures. In one, Marissa the youngest is sitting at an old school desk enjoying her morning breakfast of cereal while watching cartoons. In the other, Lindsey, the oldest, is playing on a computer with a game designed for children that is loosely modeled on Worlds of War.

I believe the desk is from their Grandma Dolaskie's elementary school in VanMeer, MI. I do not exactly remember, Jenny's mother and I may have purchased those desks years ago when the school was being dismantled. Or, her Grandmother may have purchased them for the grandchildren. I do not recall. I also believe there were two purchased, one for my oldest daughter Kristi and one for Jenny. Regardless the desk in question is still put to good use and perhaps one day will be Marissa's and perhaps one of her children will sit at that desk eating cereal and enjoying what ever will be the entertainment of the day.

As for the memories. I remember Jenny sitting at that desk, not just for Saturday morning cartoons, but playing school, drawing, or just doodling. It was not a central piece of her life, but it was used and enjoyed. That is what should be done with antiques. Using them provides us with a link or a path to our history and roots. We do not know if that desk was one sat at by her Grandma some eighty years ago, but it was from a small country school in a small village in a remote part of the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. Today it resides in the large city of Minneapolis, yet it speaks of a time when things were tough and days were spent learning our ABC's at small desks in small schools taught by teachers willing to devote the time to learning. These are our roots, there were no government programs to support us, there was no TV to entertain us, there were no good roads to take us places, in many cases there was no electricity or phone service. I did not grow up in that era, but my mother and dad did.

I think it is those links that help ground us and keep things in perspective. We are not owed a good life, we have the earn it by learning, by working, and by being diligent in our efforts to take care of ourselves. To take the easy way is to go down the direction we now find ourselves. Mired in a shrinking economy, to much focus on materials goods, and consumption of resources life may be changing in a way we never wanted for our children. They may grow up having less than their parents. Perhaps if everyone sat at a small desk from a remote region of the country watching Saturday morning caroons we wouldn't get so carried away with bling.

Weird Al

Al, our cat, is making adjustments to her life since our little dog Cilla passed away. As long as we've had Al, some twelve years now, she has shared our home with dogs. Al has withstood their influence, disregarded their attempts at intimidation, or just fled the scene when it became uncomfortable. In retrospect Al seemed to take the road of least resistance in her dealing with her brethren.

Now it has been a month since Cilla died. Our household, still feeling the effects of that small dog's disappearance is nonetheless getting on with life. Al is altering her behavior. Al has never been much of a social creature. When Terry and I are in one of our easy chairs Al may come and sit on the arm of the chair, or lie on our lap. Terry seems to draw the most attention. When Cilla was alive both Al and Cilla would end up on Terry's lap when she sat in her recliner. I think Terry enticed them to her lap so I would have to wait on her in the evening rather than disturb "the kids."

Al now will often be found sitting next to me. I may be working on the computer and I get the sense that something is nearby. Looking around Al may be sitting on the floor just a foot or so from my chair. She doesn't want to come up on my lap, if I pet her she just sits taking the stroking in stride. But she wants to be close. If you are outside she will run up to you and walk along with you wherever you are going. At night she always starts out on the bed with us. For the first few weeks since Cilla's passing she would spend the night on the foot of the bed. Now however she has discovered the sofa table in front of the picture window. In the past she would sometimes sit on the table looking at the outdoors. Lately she has taken to spending a lot of time on the table. Terry has put a folded bath mat on the table as a cushion. We've even washed Cilla's little snuggy bed and put that up on the table, but Al seems to ignore that. Now however, Al will get up in the middle of the night and come downstairs and lie on that table facing the picture window. When I go to work in the morning, and no one is home, Al will be on the table in the window. Perhaps she vicariously experiences being outside without having to put up with the cold weather.

Al has gotten weird.

A Friend's Mom

I read in the Mining Journal yesterday that Elaine Hase passed away. Elaine Hase, Mrs. Hase to me, was the mother of one of my childhood friends, Joe Hase. Joe is an only child. His father "Misty" passed away many years ago and to support herself Mrs. Hase had to learn to drive at age 65 so she could get back and forth to work. It doesn't sound like much, but that is quite an accomplishment.

I did not know Joe's mom well even though he and I grew up together. Mr. & Mrs. Hase and Joe lived, when they were in Munising, with Mr. Hase's mother in a small house two doors down from where I lived. Included in that family mix was Misty's brother Billy Hase, an arch nemesis of Joey and I during our childhood days. Billy was a bully, a drinker and dimwitted. I used to tease him to the point that if he ever got his hands on my I'm sure I would've taken quite a beating. Joey used to ask me not to piss him off as he had to go home to him.

I didn't know Mrs. Hase very well. She was a petite blonde, pretty that I remember. She worked for years at the Paris Hotel, a men's hotel in downtown Munising. Mrs. Hase always seemed to have those menial jobs that people take to get along. Mr. Hase worked construction that I recall and of course was not employed all of the time. In their early years Joe would be around in the summer, then Mr. & Mrs. Hase would move to Detroit where Joe's dad would find employment to carry through the winter. Around the 7th grade the Hase family moved back to Munising to take up residence with Grandma Hase (Blanche) until Joe and I graduated from high school. I think they lived there until Grandma Hase passed away, Billy passed away, and then I don't know where Elaine and Misty lived.

Mrs. Hase always was friendly to me. She always spoke but we never carried on much of a conversation. I was never in the Hase home, the living conditions were probably crowded and with Billy around most of the time that would never work out. I remember when Joe and I were in the 8th grade we were going to lift weights to build ourselves up for football. He found some weights and a bar and we lifted weights in the basement of Grandma Hase's home. It was a dirt floor and I was tall enough that when I did an overhead lift I hit the floor joists above my head. That cause Grandma Hase to rush out the back door to see what was making such a racket. I don't remember being yelled at, just told to take care.

My Dad used to tell me that Joe's grandpa was the town clerk, or some such position years ago in Munising. I don't remember the exact title, but he had passed and for all the years Joey and I lived near each other he was gone.

It was a difficult life for my friend Joe. His family was not ambitious by the usual definition. Misty was content to be a laborer, I do not even know if Joe's mom and dad graduated high school. Billy was a bum, he might've taken odd jobs but I don't know what he did. Grandma Hase was a good woman, but she had a daughter that was a real hellion. I don't remember her name right now, but she was a town slut, drinking and partying. She might have married one time, but I don't think it lasted. Every once and a while she would show up at the Hase home and I seem to recall upset and yelling, I suppose as Mother Hase would chastise her daughter's behavior.

Joe made something of himself. He was the first Hase of that family to go to college. He ended up teaching in Munising for years and retired a couple of years ago. His wife Barb is the Superintendent of the Munising Public Schools and will be retiring in a few years. Joe was a neighborhood leader, he was always organizing the neighborhood kids into basketball teams, football teams, or baseball teams. He and I concocted all kinds of tournaments, leagues, and provided the only form of organized sports in our area. Joe went on to be a coach in several sports at Munising, last being the golf coach. Joe is a truly good man, from a background that I simply do not know much about, but I believe to be pretty dismal.

However, Joe loved his parents. He and Misty always had a fishing/camping trip every summer. It was in the Munising area, but it was a time the two of them spent in the woods fishing and being together. He provided care for Mrs. Hase in her declining years and it cost him money he could use in retirement, but other than talk about it he did his duty to his folks.

Joe now has no living parents. This is a strange period of time. My folks have been gone now for 13 years. My mother 38, my dad 13. When they are living you can pick up the phone and talk to them. It is as though they are a buffer between you and growing old. As long as they are alive, there is someone you are close to still living, so you will still be living. When they are gone, it is like an anchor or core disappeared. Now you are really on your own. There is no more buffer in the aging process, you now go it alone. Well not really, your wife is around, but this is blood, this is famiy. I love my wife dearly, she is my family along with my children, but she isn't blood. There is a different feeling about life when you finally have no Aunts, Uncles or parents. It isn't sad, it is just different.

Snowshoe softball

Circa 1954: When I was quite young, living in Munising, MI winter could be a long period cooped up indoors. Yet quite honestly I remember it as a time I spent a lot of time out of doors. One event that no longer exists is the Snowshoe softball game played annually between the local Lion's Club and the Conservation Club. The Conservation Club had a clubhouse East of town off of M-28. I think it was mostly a social club although they did have a shooting range nearby.

In the dead of winter when the snow was deep and days could be pleasant a game would be held usually on a Sunday afternoon. It was truly a social gathering. The club house would be plowed out, the heaters fired up, and men from both clubs would gather to play softball on snowshoes. My Dad was the catcher for the Lions. I believe there would be some form of libation at first base for those ball players that got a hit and made it to first. You know, something to tide them over until they got to second. I do not recall if it was a keg of beer, but you sure didn't have to ice the beer down, just stuff the keg in a snow drift and you had ice cold tap, yum!

My Dad was in his late 50's and played in that game every year. It was a rollicking joyful event filled with good natured ribbing and hilarity. I don't recall how many innings were play, probably six. Men ran, fell, got snow down there back, strained muscles that would be sore for days after, but they had fun and made a bleak winter lively.

The wives were also along. Many came out and watched the game, many snow shoed off through the woods enjoying the winter scenery. Some played cards in the club house, and others prepared food. There was a mutual dinner afterward that was mostly potluck. I think that each club threw money in a pot to buy a meat dish. It seems I can remember grilled hamburgers and hot dogs. There was always a bar and as the afternoon wore on the talk grew lively and the goodwill was evident even though many of these men did not socialize on a regular basis.

Someone had a camp northeast of the Conservation Club, I do not remember now whose it was. The name that pops into my head is Hemmingway. My folks were friends with them and often while the game was played some of the ladies would snowshoe into the camp, open it up and enjoy a few nips enjoying the woodsy scene.

I mostly remember the spirit of the occasion. It seemed like a lively pastime to organize and make a fun event out of a long cold winter. The warmth of human spirit can overcome so much.

Charlie's Tenderloin Sandwiches

Charlie Everett and his wife Almeda were long time residents of Munising, MI. They were business people and owned a series of restaurants and nightclubs in their day. Back in the 50's there was a hotel on Grand Island, Charlie ran that. I do not know if he owned it, but he and Almeda ran the place. That is a different story for a different day. He also owned the Beach Inn located on the shore of the bay in Munising and was a local restaurant and eatery that burned in 1950. Around 1958 Charlie and Almeda built and opened the Red Cedar Restaurant now known as Sydney's on M-28 at the bottom of the hill as you head east out of Munising.

My mother was hired as the Salad Lady. This meant that she prepared salads and desserts. Now, my mother was a wonderful cook. Her rhubarb pie was to die for. However this little story is not even about that.

Charlie made a tenderloin sandwich. It was grilled and served on a hard roll. It was absolutely delicious. It was butter tender, with a horseradish mustard it was and elegant lunch. The sandwich was only served during lunch. Once an a while there would be some meat left and my mother would bring home a few sandwiches that we would eat for dinner.

To this day I enjoy taking left over steak, saute` it in butter and serve it on a big sesame seed bun. Horseradish mustard and a cold beer (NA) and you have a wonderful lunch. Every time I have that type of lunch I think of Charlie and Almeda, the Red Cedar Restaurant and Charlie's Tenderloin Sandwich.