On Sunday mornings Ed's Cafe, known locally as "the truck stop," serves freshly baked, melt-in-your-mouth, big, honkin' cinnamon rolls. One can either order caramel pecan or vanilla frosted---if there are any left to be had.
My husband frequents this establishment during the week for lunch, coffee, or an afternoon piece of homemade pie so he has a familiarity with the place and the regulars. Yes, this group of men, and a few women, relish in the ongoing BSing sessions.
The food and the comraderie are the draws of the Truck Stop; it certainly isn't the ambiance. The ceiling is falling down; the tile floor is cracked in places and worn off in others; the stools are the same kind Fonzie sat on 40 years ago and were installed in the same "Happy Days" era, but the lack of design and upkeep doesn't daunt the locals.
You'll find them gathered at the big table to the left as you walk in the east entrance. I don't know all their names, but you've seen 'em around: the gray whiskered guy with the quick laugh; the young man in a uniformed shirt who shaves his head; the white-haired retired farmer whose posture is a bit stooped; the gray, curly-haired, retired city council woman, etc. These characters are much the same as those who meet for morning coffee to gossip and tease each other in every other town across the country.
It's always interesting accompanying my husband on Sunday mornings, for those seated at the greeting table on the left obligingly tease my husband about being so well behaved: "You ought to come with him more often," they tell me. "It would make it a lot more bearable for us."
One morning we walked in, and one of them said, "I see you brought your daughter out for breakfast this morning." I know I'm dense, but at first I wondered what they were talking about. Our daughter wasn't with us.
Then it occurred to me. Hah! Real funny. Gee, I'm glad I put on make-up this morning and fixed my hair. I know they're joshin', but I feel it was somewhat of a compliment, at my husband's expense, of course. Should I tell him he looks good for his age? But, I decide to bask in the attention and shut up, for he doesn't seem upset by it.
We sit down at a table and Sue brings the usual: coffee for him and tea for me. We order our rolls, savoring each bite and trading parts of the paper as we finish them.
I look up and an old couple comes in. The woman is smiling and stooped with gray hair, and the man is red-faced and happy looking, and one of the greeting committee pipes up, "Hey, Frank. Nice of you to treat your daughter to breakfast this morning."
Monday, August 23, 2010
Friday, August 20, 2010
Shoo!
For a few days the humidity cleared and we slept with the windows and patio doors open. We were serenaded by the frogs croaking rhythmically in the trees, while the cicadas sang the lullaby. An easy breeze played with the curtains, and it was almost like camping, maybe too much so.
At 2:00 a.m. I was awakened by a noise out on the deck. I listened, still as could be, and sure enough there it was again. Last summer there were a number of break-ins by someone who entered homes in the early morning in search of purses, cameras and easy-to-carry valuables lying around. Some friends of ours awakened in time to frighten her away and warned us to be vigilant and keep doors locked.
I got up, and by that time the dog was barking wildly and trying to jump through the screen door. I flipped the outside light on. And, there they were, the little rascals: one on my lounge chair, one tightrope walking on the rail of the deck, and the other inspecting the gas grill.
There was a party on our deck, and the baby raccoons were having a good 'ol time.
I watched as they gathered at the grill, for they smelled food, or what was left of it. One crawled on top and was trying to open the lid, while the others inspected the bottom and licked the grease from the deck, the bottom of the grill, as well as the propane tank.
Okay, they were cute, but enough fun for one night; it's time to go back to bed. I grabbed the broom and shooed them. They sat there and looked at me until I began to wave the broom about. They slowly walked away and then turned to watch me like I was their entertainment, so I put the broom down and slid it across the deck at their feet, and they took off running down the steps.
Hmpf. Got rid of you, you little stinkers!
I went back to bed, but not two minutes later I heard a tapping sound, over and over. What were they up to now? I flipped the light on again, and there they were playing with the broom, hitting it with their paws and watching it rock back and forth as it hung off the edge of the deck. Then, they went back to the grill to try to figure out how to get inside to scavenge the bits of food they knew were hidden in there.
Yes, they were adorable, waddling around, chattering at each other, like cartoon characters or something: Huey, Dewey, and Louie, or Moe, Larry and Curly or the Three Musketeers. But, enough is enough. I've got to get some sleep.
How do I get rid of the scamps, though? They didn't really seem to afraid of me or my broom, and I didn't want to sic the dogs on them for fear of an all out battle of bites and scratches. I didn't have a BB-gun and probably wouldn't use it if I did.
I went to the sink and filled a big cup with water and ventured onto the deck. All three of them sat by the grill and looked up at me with shining mischievious eyes, like, "What ya gonna do now, sucka?" I was about six feet away, and I threw the water over them and they high-tailed it outta there and never came back.
My husband and daughter slept through the whole thing. When I told them about our early morning visitors, they thought I'd been dreaming---until I showed them the evidence. All the little pawprints had dried on the deck and left a trail from the grill and down the steps.
At 2:00 a.m. I was awakened by a noise out on the deck. I listened, still as could be, and sure enough there it was again. Last summer there were a number of break-ins by someone who entered homes in the early morning in search of purses, cameras and easy-to-carry valuables lying around. Some friends of ours awakened in time to frighten her away and warned us to be vigilant and keep doors locked.
I got up, and by that time the dog was barking wildly and trying to jump through the screen door. I flipped the outside light on. And, there they were, the little rascals: one on my lounge chair, one tightrope walking on the rail of the deck, and the other inspecting the gas grill.
There was a party on our deck, and the baby raccoons were having a good 'ol time.
I watched as they gathered at the grill, for they smelled food, or what was left of it. One crawled on top and was trying to open the lid, while the others inspected the bottom and licked the grease from the deck, the bottom of the grill, as well as the propane tank.
Okay, they were cute, but enough fun for one night; it's time to go back to bed. I grabbed the broom and shooed them. They sat there and looked at me until I began to wave the broom about. They slowly walked away and then turned to watch me like I was their entertainment, so I put the broom down and slid it across the deck at their feet, and they took off running down the steps.
Hmpf. Got rid of you, you little stinkers!
I went back to bed, but not two minutes later I heard a tapping sound, over and over. What were they up to now? I flipped the light on again, and there they were playing with the broom, hitting it with their paws and watching it rock back and forth as it hung off the edge of the deck. Then, they went back to the grill to try to figure out how to get inside to scavenge the bits of food they knew were hidden in there.
Yes, they were adorable, waddling around, chattering at each other, like cartoon characters or something: Huey, Dewey, and Louie, or Moe, Larry and Curly or the Three Musketeers. But, enough is enough. I've got to get some sleep.
How do I get rid of the scamps, though? They didn't really seem to afraid of me or my broom, and I didn't want to sic the dogs on them for fear of an all out battle of bites and scratches. I didn't have a BB-gun and probably wouldn't use it if I did.
I went to the sink and filled a big cup with water and ventured onto the deck. All three of them sat by the grill and looked up at me with shining mischievious eyes, like, "What ya gonna do now, sucka?" I was about six feet away, and I threw the water over them and they high-tailed it outta there and never came back.
My husband and daughter slept through the whole thing. When I told them about our early morning visitors, they thought I'd been dreaming---until I showed them the evidence. All the little pawprints had dried on the deck and left a trail from the grill and down the steps.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Auntie Mae
You've probably heard of the Broadway musical about eccentric, bizarre, and borderline crazy Auntie Mame who could "coax the blues right out of the horn." She may have been something, but I have an Auntie Mae, who is the antithesis of Mame, and I'm right glad she is. She's as down to earth and non-eccentric as pork 'n beans. My Auntie Mae has been a dependable staple in my life, providing me with kisses, hugs, smiles, and birthday cards for as long as I can remember.
When I was little, Auntie Mae, whose real name is Marian, called me "Lulu" after the girl in the comic strip who enjoyed getting into mischief. "Uh, oh, Lulu's here. Now there'll be action," she'd say, laughing.
And, she was right. None of that dull sitting-around stuff for me. When we went to visit her house, I found the much-needed fuel for fun in her four kids, for I lived alone with my parents. Greg was older, and a cool teenager, so he brooded in his room much of the time, but the others were always game for tag, bicycle riding, red-light/green-light, or whatever. I'm sure my high energy hi-jinx drove her crazy, but she never let on---too much.
In a day and age when good men are hard to find, Auntie Mae lucked out and nabbed two fine husbands in her life time. Virgil, the first one and the father of her kids, was a noisy, kind-hearted, fun-loving sort who was into nature and camping and architecture. He created a fish pond in his back yard, and once, just for kicks and under the influence of the deceased, he and my dad had a funeral and buried an empty whiskey jug near our campsite in Yellowstone Park. Such hymns they sang! I remember riding in the back seat of Auntie Mae and Virgil's station wagon and going to get milk from the store, all of us kids singing and joking, and for a little while I wasn't an only child; I was part of a big family.
At far too young of an age, a brain tumor took Virgil's life, and after awhile Auntie Mae became reacquainted with and married Bob, a guy she had known growing up. Bob enjoyed fishing, gardening and outdoor activities, and he and Auntie Mae had much fun relaxing and having a few "berrs" (beers) together at the end of the day. She often bragged about Bob's cooking, but "Oh, that man's messy," she'd say. (Auntie Mae, my mother, and their sister Doris [Dottie] were raised by their mother to be the patron saints of cleanliness---and they were.)
Auntie Mae loved simple things: a good laugh, good friends, good food. She steered clear of conflict, and I never heard her say anything bad about anyone else. Though she had endured the horrific pain of losing a child and did not feel well much of the time in her later years, she didn't make a habit of complaining.
In all the family pictures, she and my mother have their arms around each other; Mom was the girly girl who cooked and polished the stove, and Marian the tomboy just back from milking the cows. They exchanged letters on a weekly basis back in the day, but switched to calling as their arthritis made writing difficult. Auntie Mae could write the best letters. Kind of like "Seinfeld," they were about nothing, really, but her personality was revealed in them. She liked to write something funny and then put "Ha!" after it. Her letters always made me feel like I was a special part of her life because she shared it so honestly.
Mom passed away in March, and I began calling Auntie Mae about once a week to sort of fill the gap, but I think maybe I filled in for my mother for her, too. Now, Auntie Mae, age 80, is gone as well. There were three sisters raised on that farm in Squirrel Hollow in Glen Haven, and all have passed away.
I will miss you Auntie Mae.
When I was little, Auntie Mae, whose real name is Marian, called me "Lulu" after the girl in the comic strip who enjoyed getting into mischief. "Uh, oh, Lulu's here. Now there'll be action," she'd say, laughing.
And, she was right. None of that dull sitting-around stuff for me. When we went to visit her house, I found the much-needed fuel for fun in her four kids, for I lived alone with my parents. Greg was older, and a cool teenager, so he brooded in his room much of the time, but the others were always game for tag, bicycle riding, red-light/green-light, or whatever. I'm sure my high energy hi-jinx drove her crazy, but she never let on---too much.
In a day and age when good men are hard to find, Auntie Mae lucked out and nabbed two fine husbands in her life time. Virgil, the first one and the father of her kids, was a noisy, kind-hearted, fun-loving sort who was into nature and camping and architecture. He created a fish pond in his back yard, and once, just for kicks and under the influence of the deceased, he and my dad had a funeral and buried an empty whiskey jug near our campsite in Yellowstone Park. Such hymns they sang! I remember riding in the back seat of Auntie Mae and Virgil's station wagon and going to get milk from the store, all of us kids singing and joking, and for a little while I wasn't an only child; I was part of a big family.
At far too young of an age, a brain tumor took Virgil's life, and after awhile Auntie Mae became reacquainted with and married Bob, a guy she had known growing up. Bob enjoyed fishing, gardening and outdoor activities, and he and Auntie Mae had much fun relaxing and having a few "berrs" (beers) together at the end of the day. She often bragged about Bob's cooking, but "Oh, that man's messy," she'd say. (Auntie Mae, my mother, and their sister Doris [Dottie] were raised by their mother to be the patron saints of cleanliness---and they were.)
Auntie Mae loved simple things: a good laugh, good friends, good food. She steered clear of conflict, and I never heard her say anything bad about anyone else. Though she had endured the horrific pain of losing a child and did not feel well much of the time in her later years, she didn't make a habit of complaining.
In all the family pictures, she and my mother have their arms around each other; Mom was the girly girl who cooked and polished the stove, and Marian the tomboy just back from milking the cows. They exchanged letters on a weekly basis back in the day, but switched to calling as their arthritis made writing difficult. Auntie Mae could write the best letters. Kind of like "Seinfeld," they were about nothing, really, but her personality was revealed in them. She liked to write something funny and then put "Ha!" after it. Her letters always made me feel like I was a special part of her life because she shared it so honestly.
Mom passed away in March, and I began calling Auntie Mae about once a week to sort of fill the gap, but I think maybe I filled in for my mother for her, too. Now, Auntie Mae, age 80, is gone as well. There were three sisters raised on that farm in Squirrel Hollow in Glen Haven, and all have passed away.
I will miss you Auntie Mae.
Thursday, August 5, 2010
No Reservations Vacation
The ferry ride that totes cars and people from one side of Lake Michigan to the other rocks. It's a four-hour mini trip that will get you in shape for a longer ocean cruise. And, it's a heck of a lot simpler and faster than driving around the lake through Chicago if you're headed from Wisconsin to Michigan or vice-versa.
We purchased our tickets online for the S.S. Badger and boarded in Manitowoc, Wisconsin for the trip to Ludington, Michigan, arriving forty-five minutes ahead of time for the 2:00 departure time, but we didn't do any departing until 2:45. Oh, well. We explored the ship and relaxed in lounge chairs watching sea gulls and people, so it wasn't too bad---until the air horn behind us sounded our departure, knocking our ears off and blasting our blood into high gear again.
The ferry has two decks and offers much to occupy time when you reach mid-lake and see aqua blue every which way you gaze. Bingo, movies, TV, video games, two restaurants, a lounge deck and cabins to rent are the fare. The ferry does a run at night too, so I suppose some passengers want to get some shut-eye "or something."
Older kids ran around investigating the nooks and crannies, while younger ones napped in strollers. Many passengers were reading actual books. I was impressed. Beware, though, the food and drink is expensive, like anyplace where they know you can't really go anywhere else. They've got you, and they know it.
When you get to the ferry, you leave your keys in your car and they park it on the boat, while a drug/bomb-sniffing dog inspects your vehicle for safety purposes. The poor dog barked almost the whole trip; I don't know if he was seasick, scared or mad, but I felt sorry for him nonetheless.
When we docked in Ludington, we stood on the second deck and watched the "runners" as they drove the vehicles from the ferry. They whisked it off, parked it, and ran back for another one, a process that took about 45 minutes, total. The boat was full, and apparently there were about 400 passengers that day. Many of them rode bicycles and took off immediately when we docked.
I wanted to make reservations for a hotel, but my husband said, "Oh, there're always hotel rooms. Let's go see what there is instead of booking ahead." He's just not a reservation type of guy.
Right.
After seeing a bevvy of no vacancy signs posted, we stopped anyway, and the innkeeper said there was not a room to be had from Ludington up to Traverse City. Hmm. So, we thought, we're sleeping in the car tonight. Well, we drove a few miles up the coast and stopped to get a pizza. Apparently, there was a big casino up the road; one would think they would have ample rooms to keep their clientelle captive and satisfied.
Wrong.
Yes, I was disgusted, but I held my tongue, pretty much. The lady at the casino desk said she'd call an out-of-the-way resort outside of Onekama, about twenty minutes away. She did, and lo and behold they had one "doll house" left. (A doll house is a cabin with a bed and bath and a front porch.)
"We'll take it," I said. Ha. It's only right my husband get to sleep in a doll house tonight.
Portage Point, it was called, and it was pretty cool, I must say. There was a lake, a lodge with a restaurant and bar, hiking trails, shuffleboard, a dance hall, boat and jet ski rentals, and all the amenities a summer vacationer would want. It reminded me of the resort in the movie Dirty Dancing. And, we never would have found it had we made reservations. I guess it pays off---sometimes.
We had a relaxing breakfast and spent the rest of the morning sunning ourselves on a sandy beach of Lake Michigan a few miles away. It was a perfect day: sunshine, gentle breeze, and, we had it pretty much to ourselves. Awesome!
The next night we spent in Traverse City at a time-share hotel. We went to the beach and then had a meal at a Mexican restaurant across the way. Very relaxing.
The next day we bought fresh Michigan cherries and peaches at a roadside stand. (Delicious!) And, we stopped for a piece of pie at a little diner in a small town, and my husband and I agreed it was one of the best, if not THE best, we'd ever had. (Not counting mine, of course. But, it came pretty close.) He sampled the blueberry, and I, the raspberry. Yum!
We spent the last night in Green Bay, and I took a dip in the hotel pool in the morning, and we headed off for home. All in all, a delightful four-day get-away, with no reservations!
We purchased our tickets online for the S.S. Badger and boarded in Manitowoc, Wisconsin for the trip to Ludington, Michigan, arriving forty-five minutes ahead of time for the 2:00 departure time, but we didn't do any departing until 2:45. Oh, well. We explored the ship and relaxed in lounge chairs watching sea gulls and people, so it wasn't too bad---until the air horn behind us sounded our departure, knocking our ears off and blasting our blood into high gear again.
The ferry has two decks and offers much to occupy time when you reach mid-lake and see aqua blue every which way you gaze. Bingo, movies, TV, video games, two restaurants, a lounge deck and cabins to rent are the fare. The ferry does a run at night too, so I suppose some passengers want to get some shut-eye "or something."
Older kids ran around investigating the nooks and crannies, while younger ones napped in strollers. Many passengers were reading actual books. I was impressed. Beware, though, the food and drink is expensive, like anyplace where they know you can't really go anywhere else. They've got you, and they know it.
When you get to the ferry, you leave your keys in your car and they park it on the boat, while a drug/bomb-sniffing dog inspects your vehicle for safety purposes. The poor dog barked almost the whole trip; I don't know if he was seasick, scared or mad, but I felt sorry for him nonetheless.
When we docked in Ludington, we stood on the second deck and watched the "runners" as they drove the vehicles from the ferry. They whisked it off, parked it, and ran back for another one, a process that took about 45 minutes, total. The boat was full, and apparently there were about 400 passengers that day. Many of them rode bicycles and took off immediately when we docked.
I wanted to make reservations for a hotel, but my husband said, "Oh, there're always hotel rooms. Let's go see what there is instead of booking ahead." He's just not a reservation type of guy.
Right.
After seeing a bevvy of no vacancy signs posted, we stopped anyway, and the innkeeper said there was not a room to be had from Ludington up to Traverse City. Hmm. So, we thought, we're sleeping in the car tonight. Well, we drove a few miles up the coast and stopped to get a pizza. Apparently, there was a big casino up the road; one would think they would have ample rooms to keep their clientelle captive and satisfied.
Wrong.
Yes, I was disgusted, but I held my tongue, pretty much. The lady at the casino desk said she'd call an out-of-the-way resort outside of Onekama, about twenty minutes away. She did, and lo and behold they had one "doll house" left. (A doll house is a cabin with a bed and bath and a front porch.)
"We'll take it," I said. Ha. It's only right my husband get to sleep in a doll house tonight.
Portage Point, it was called, and it was pretty cool, I must say. There was a lake, a lodge with a restaurant and bar, hiking trails, shuffleboard, a dance hall, boat and jet ski rentals, and all the amenities a summer vacationer would want. It reminded me of the resort in the movie Dirty Dancing. And, we never would have found it had we made reservations. I guess it pays off---sometimes.
We had a relaxing breakfast and spent the rest of the morning sunning ourselves on a sandy beach of Lake Michigan a few miles away. It was a perfect day: sunshine, gentle breeze, and, we had it pretty much to ourselves. Awesome!
The next night we spent in Traverse City at a time-share hotel. We went to the beach and then had a meal at a Mexican restaurant across the way. Very relaxing.
The next day we bought fresh Michigan cherries and peaches at a roadside stand. (Delicious!) And, we stopped for a piece of pie at a little diner in a small town, and my husband and I agreed it was one of the best, if not THE best, we'd ever had. (Not counting mine, of course. But, it came pretty close.) He sampled the blueberry, and I, the raspberry. Yum!
We spent the last night in Green Bay, and I took a dip in the hotel pool in the morning, and we headed off for home. All in all, a delightful four-day get-away, with no reservations!
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