An Old Time Elixer

I think that I have written about this before, but it comes to mind this morning some thoughts about coffee. Years ago in Munising, MI we had an IGA store. IGA stood for Independent Grocers Association, I really know nothing of its roots although I take it to mean that each store was locally owned and joined a group of grocers who through their collective size could buy in quantities that would give them some price breaks. The IGA was on Elm Street in Munising and was actually quite small compared to the Red Owl store. Like the Red Owl it had its own coffee grinding machine. A device where patrons could purchase whole bean roast coffee and grind it to a setting they desired for their own pleasure.

I loved the smell of ground coffee. To this day when I get a whiff of the aroma of freshly ground coffee it takes me to small homes, older couples arising and brewing coffee to be sipped as they listened to radios, read a paper, or just shook off the effects of sleep and prepared to transition into the activity of day.

For some reason I associate fresh ground coffee with older folks. I do not remember any young people grinding coffee at these commercial grinders although I am sure they did. Perhaps as we grow older we learn to be a little more patient and take some time to savor the odors of the morning, or the tastes of the day. I conjure up fantasies of an older woman brewing coffee in some ancient pot, or some old home style that requires time and steeping to bring out the full flavor of the bean. I feel like there are old people who sit around their small breakfast table, a hot cup of coffee to warm their bones and small conversation over what chores, events, or scenes will play out on that day. It feels good to have these thoughts, I have a pot of fresh ground coffee brewing as I write this, and now shall end the writing to begin the day.

Lake Superior Hockey

When I was a kid living in Munising, MI Lake Superior was part of our playground. In the winter the city crews used to come around town and flood a few vacant fields in various part of the city for a skating rink. However, the big skating rink lay a quarter mile north, it was approximately 2.5 miles by 2.5 miles. Much of the time Munising Bay was covered with ice that had a snow cover on it. I lived on what was known as the West End of Munising and we had easy access to the woods on the west end and the bay to the north of us. So we kids would take a couple of shovels and our skates and head down to the bay and the ice. Shoveling an area we could get down to the ice layer, then if we chopped a hole in the ice water would come up the hole and flood the area giving us a nice rink. We would play hockey out on the bay day after day until the next snow storm then we'd be back to shoveling.

One year we encountered a cold snap with strong northwesterly winds. The wind was so strong it scoured the ice until the snow layer was gone and we were left with miles of clear ice. The "Westenders" had never seen such a thing. Down to the bay, on with the skates and we could skate anyplace we wanted to. It didn't take too long to figure out that if you got a bed sheet you could fashion your own personal sail and use the wind to propel yourself for long distances. I got a sheet and sailed from out by Brown's Addition to the city dock, that is a distance of over a mile. It was tough skating back into the wind, but the ride was worth it.

One problem I ran into at that age was weak ankles. I had hockey skates but I couldn't stand on the edges. My ankles would flop down like a drugged pigeon's wings. I actually started wearing out the leather sides of the skates from scrapping the edges on the ice. It was a problem I was never able to overcome as a young man. Of course you don't play hockey in figure skates which probably would've provided me with sufficient support for my ankles. Oh well, Gordy Howe I'm not.

So those days were in the 1950's and it was a great place to play winter sports. Nature provided us with spectacular amphitheaters. We were not limited by artificial structures, but often could ski or skate with complete abandon. What a way to grow up.

The In's are Ahead of the Out's.

I think of my Dad quite often. He grew up in an era two generations removed from me, he was 43 years of age when I was born. Children and people amused each other instead of being amused by things like TV and the radio. It seems to me that wit, and creative humor are slowly disappearing from our human scene. With the advent of indoor/outdoor thermometers the game of Ins vs Outs was born. Ins being the temperature of the dwelling, Outs being the ambient temperature outside. So, Dad would solemnly announce to those about that the Ins were ahead of the Outs during the winter, and of course in the summer the reverse was often true where the Outs were ahead of the Ins.

It was a simple play on words. I am sure to many today it would be "corny." I have decided that "corny" is also a definition for something silly, for a thought process that exists outside of the box. It seems to me we don't have enough silliness in our lives today. I like talking with my sisters, they have a sharp wit and a highly creative imagination. In the wake of yet another killing spree on a college campus it seems to me that perhaps we should take a little refuge from time to time in whether or not the Ins or the Outs are ahead.

Once upon a fishing trip!

Years ago, I don't know how many now, but many, perhaps 30+ years. My first wife, Bonnie, and I took a fishing trip with her Mother (Glady) and her Father (Tom) on the Forest Lake Reservoir south of Munising, MI. It was one of those beautiful summer days, we had two boats, Bonnie and I in one and Glady and Tom in the other.

We fished the weed beds, the shallow, the old river bed. We cast, we drift fished, we fished with worms, minnows, and artificial lures. I don't even remember if we caught many fish, but we must've caught some.

We saw numerous Sandhill Cranes. Sandhill Cranes were an endangered species at the time and it was magnificent to see so many. They are a huge bird with a six or eight foot wingspan. When excited they make some God awful noise. We saw them wading in the shallows as we fished the shore, we saw them take off and land flying with long slow wing strokes moving quietly on the summer air.

We had a shore lunch and walked the small sand island we landed on looking at empty clam shells gathered on the shoreline. We watched large long-range SAC bombers flying out of Sawyer Air Force Base near Gwinn, MI. The takeoff and landing routes often took these large aircraft over the dense woods of the central Upper Peninsula, much to the consternation of the wildlife.

It was a grand day to be alive in the native out doors of my home land. I was with people I cared deeply about, and found comfort and assurance in there presence. Nothing was wrong with the world, and everything was right. It was a glorious day.

Marching Through Time

For our family the end of an era occurred recently. My Uncle Hollis passed away. He died in a manner I guess we all wish for, he laid down to take a nap and slipped away. He was in his early 90's. He had lived an active work filled life. He owned and managed rental property around Traverse City, MI, ran paper routes, worked as a handyman, just about anything to provide for his family.

Hollis was my mother's brother-in-law, and as much a part of the larger family as anyone. He was quite a bit younger than my parents, but lived in there generation as a young boy. He knew both my parents when he was a little boy and could tell us stories of the early history of my parents.

Now, there are no more of that generation. My parents are dead, their brothers and sisters are dead, and their extended spouses are dead. There is no one left of the original generation. A new line of older family members take that senior place. Of that number, I believe there are 15 offspring from the first generation, about 11 are left. The oldest members are in my direct family, then the age drops off somewhat. But it seems to me it is like a line of soldiers marching through life, as we grow older we take our places in the front line and eventually are eliminated. Then the next group and so on. Kind of chilling, but that's life. Life is a terminal condition, we will not survive it. So, I resolve to make good use of the time I have left. I resolve to stay in contact with my family members, to share the joys of our time together, to listen to their fears, and to reassure that in the good graces of life we number well.

The end of 2007

Today an old twinge hit my tummy. I recall when I was a little kid that when the new year began I would get a little twinge in my stomach when I realized that Christmas and the holiday season were finally gone. It was a twinge of loss and sadness that the joy, the color, the music and of course the gifts were over. I have always gotten sentimental over the holidays, even when there was not much to get sappy over. A year ago at this time I was facing serious abdominal surgery that resulted in the removal of a cancerous polyp from my colon. Even then it was a good holiday. Today I was going back to work. The holiday was OK. Yet there it was, that old twinge that signifies the end of a oft repeated season. It was kind of like an old friend's brief visit regardless of the emotion. As a child I remember having to put my toys away and get ready for school. I never liked school. I thought no better job existed in the world than being a kid and exploring the neighborhood, the hills around our neighborhood, the lake shore, anything out doors was better than school. Oh well, I still kind of enjoy that twinge even though it tends to be a little melancholy. Welcome 2008.

Christmas 2007 Memories

Well, Christmas has passed. We are into the football bowl season, however I still have nuts in the nut bowls and cheese in the frig to work my way through before the holiday season officially closes. I end up reflecting each year on what has transpired in recent weeks. Presents have arrived via UPS, USPS, FedEx, or personal delivery. We have accumulated empty boxes that I always end up looking at thinking that perhaps I should save some so next year we don’t grow through the frustration we always do of not having the right size box to ship something in. I thought of that today as I burned the boxes in the burn barrel, too late.

Christmas is a time for children, thank goodness the difference between men and boys is the price of their toys. I had a nice Christmas, got some nice toys to play with. I have a digital stop watch so I can measure the elapsed time of my daily walks. I have some nice sports gloves to keep my hands warm on the cool morning constitutionals. I have a new pair of binoculars to examine our feathered friends at the feeders. I have a nice long sleeve red and black plaid shirt that brings back memories from my youth when I was so enamored with the look of the deer hunters that prowled Munising in the red and black plaid hunting outfits. Yes, that was before the advent of “hunter orange.”

This was the year I rediscovered our Christmas tree. Several years ago Terry talked me into an artificial tree. Seeing that we have a small cabin with a vaulted ceiling we found a tree that is ten feet tall but only three feet in diameter at the bottom. It doesn’t take up much room but extends upward. This is its fourth year and I vowed to be the last, it was just starting to look a little tawdry to me. However this year I put it up while Terry was at work and got piddling around with it. I found that a lot of the branches had been bent from repeated storage, so I worked my way around the tree slowly straightening the branches and rearranging them into the more traditional shape. It looked so good I decided that we shall continue the use of that tree for at least another season or two.

Christmas Day brought daughters Tracy and Jessi to our home for dinner. With them came their new boyfriends. Some grandchildren showed up, and even Geoff, our son came and enjoyed the festivities. The brisket turned out well, the scalloped potatoes were nice and cheesy and good. The conversation was filled with hunting stories, kids antics, discussion of clothes styles, trying on footwear, modeling new robes, and mugging it up for the camera. A success!

I have actually grown to enjoy the day after better than Christmas Day. Everyone is gone, the house is quiet, I can explore the gifts, clean up some dishes that had to soak, and still listen to some Christmas music with the tree lights on. There was even a bowl game on in the evening with Central Michigan playing Purdue. It made me think of the trip Carol, Phyl and I took several years ago through the Lower Peninsula. We stayed in Mt. Pleasant one night and ate at a nice restaurant. After dinner we drove around the campus of Central Michigan and enjoyed the college scene. That was the trip we stopped in Kalamazoo and saw Aunt Gertrude, and spent a night in Traverse City and went out to dinner with Aunt Ann and Uncle Hollis. The trip was four days and three nights, but we piled up some memories and are grateful for the opportunity to have seen Aunt Ann even though she passed away several weeks later. At least we got to laugh at some old memories and enjoy some time together. The same is true for Aunt Gertrude, we pushed her in a wheel chair to the local ice cream place and had a treat and talked of old times.

So this Christmas memories are a mixture of old and new. But isn’t that the way it is?