Blinded By The Awful

 

 

I saw things this past summer.

Horrible, awful, and disgusting things….(insert scary banjo music).

I saw things this past summer that no human being should ever have to endure. Things so vial that by purpose or incident challenged my eyes, brain, logic, and senses. As I have nothing better to do today, I will make you a list of these so-called revulsions and I will distribute them to the masses. (Well, okay, my mom and maybe my brother, whom I pay, to read this blog). The following is a sampling of what I saw…

• I saw a dog vomit at least two gallons of liquid down the kitchen floor vent, only to be thrown outside, come back in and do it again in the exact same spot.
• I saw a four-hundred pound man in a Wal-Mart electric chair take unfair advantage of the buy-one-get-one-free-Cheetoh deal leaving an innocent bystander with only one bag left of the good kind of Cheetohs. (The crunchy ones of course).
• I saw an innocent and good family badminton game turn into an ugly, neo-competitive, bloody extravaganza that sent an innocent seventy-year-old woman to the emergency room.
• I saw a pre-licensed teenager attempt a left-hand turn on a busy two lane highway, while systematically attempting to adjust his sunglasses, change the radio station, and pick his nose all in unison. (Still get chills from this one)
• I saw single co-workers hit on by a strange man named Pablo who had severe family issues and falsely claimed that he knew how to “boogie”.
• I saw politicians who attempted to persuade my vote by trying to convince me that I would actually have social security funds in the bank to be concerned about in 2025.
• I saw a two-liter bottle of root beer explode so thoroughly and so expansively throughout a refrigerator that it took over three hours to wipe clean every surface and jar of relish in the place. (Yes, we have multiple bottles of relish, because every time we have a hot dog my husband buys another jar thinking we may not have one at home and it would basically be the apocalypse to have a hot dog without relish.)
• I saw an estrogen-depleted middle-aged female scream at the top of her lungs and bawl like a baby when confronted with newly discovered knowledge of grey hairs now outnumbering the phony blonde hairs. (Oh yeah, that was me in the mirror).
• I saw that I have absolutely no gifts at all when it comes to the care and cooling of swine (who by the way, do NOT sweat) on a hot summer day. The phrase, ‘sweats like a pig’, is a colossal lie.
• I saw women in public wearing Lycra bathing suits that had no business being in public in Lycra bathing suits. (Oh yeah, that was me too!)

Well, I am sure you are all the better for having read these enlightening tid-bits. I hereby ascertain  (insert sarcasm)that  your life is officially slightly improved.

Let us move into Fall shall we???

Fabulous Fools Of Summer

No, this article is not about our politicians...

School starts next week and summer is over. I have mere hours to accomplish the remaining multitude of vacation undertakings that were elements of a colossal summer extravaganza I had meticulously plotted over the Memorial Day weekend. Based on the opinion of teachers, post-school information retention is very low. Kids need to keep learning fresh in order to prevent dim-witting themselves with too much fun in the sun, too much sleeping in, and eating too much BBQ.  Apparently these evil activities, not kept in check, can turn students into certifiable fools by the summer’s end.

Great ambitions and expectations were birthed in our house when school was dismissed last June. All children in the house would be home- schooled intensively every day and read books so advanced that all three of them would be able to skip a grade upon the arrival of autumn.  In actuality, the only words those kids read all summer were the appetizer selections at multiple restaurant establishments across the Upper Peninsula and Northern Michigan.

 My thirteen year old was able to jump start his Spanish as Friday nights at the Railside Bar and Grill were in fact, ‘Fiesta Fridays’ and there were many cultural offerings such as ‘jalapeño poppers’, ‘chicken burritos’, and ‘mini-tacos’ to read on the menu… I am confident he is dressed to impress his Spanish instructor come the start of that class.

In addition to linguistic triumph, mathematics was to become integrated deep within my young sons’ grey matter. After their intense learning, the boys would become known about town for their ‘Einstein-like’ abilities…whipping off of random algebraic expressions, solving quadratic equations for strangers on the street, and memorizing the first fifty-seven places of pi. Yesterday, the high school kid asked me “what the heck is four times seven?” …mission fail.

Speaking of pi, my youngest and I had planned to prepare gourmet meals every single day with seasonal fare purchased at the local farm market…We made brownies…from the box… just one time. It was not my fault, the farm market scares me.

Our mental growth was to be outshined only by the intensification of our athletic abilities. Being inspired by the Olympics, we were going to run faster, jump higher, and lift weights to become stronger…Well, we ran pretty fast when we thought we heard a bear near the U.P. camp while we were eating butter potatoes. We jumped higher only because we bought a trampoline for the backyard. Jumping, as women my age should never do sober, I severely injured my coccyx (yes, which is a real body part!). And the weights? The only ‘weights’ I have had this summer were for a table at the Railside Bar and Grill. Lifting that fork, up and down, down and up was the extent of our exercise.

Maybe it is not too late, maybe in these waning hours, I can introduce some vital knowledge to ensure that the too-fun summer was not awash in complete ignorance….

Who am I kidding? Currently, one kid is in the kitchen heating up a tray of frozen pizza rolls while another is drooling all over himself while napping on the couch.  The last genius of the family is trying to entice the dog to eat Cheetos out of the kid’s nose.

Me? I am parked here in the squishy chair writing this blog…it is simply too late for us all…

So happy we have great teachers in my town! Good luck with my certifiable kids of summer!

Cougar Snacks

There are cougars in Michigan.

I am not talking about the Botox-injected women my age that are still wearing tube tops and leopard skin high heels. (No judgment there, I keep my tube top for sentimental value, I am just not wearing it to the Wal-mart).

I write of the real life Mountain-lion-like cougar cats. Big, burly, sharp-teeth, swooping tail, not- eating meow mix from the can type of mountain-lion-like cougar cats. They are roaming about the Upper Peninsula using the shores of Lake Superior as a giant litter box. A recent picture from a gentleman hunting near the Keweenaw is the first with a digital camera. That photo is one of dozens caught on trail cameras from Baraga County to Chippewa County. In each of these pictures, they all have one thing in common to me; the cats look hungry.

Now, for those of us that do not live in the western part of the country that deal with the big cats on a day to day basis, this is a huge deal. There are very few creatures that live in Michigan that would like to consume you for an afternoon snack. In fact, I live in Michigan for the sole purpose of existing among creatures that do not wish to have me for dinner. Sure, we have some big ol beautiful black bear, but those guys would rather eat a box of Krispy Kream doughnuts than come after my scraggly butt for sustenance.

Most of time, I would only worry about this when we would visit our camp in the U.P.  According to the Department of Natural Resources (DNR) and my husband, there are no cougars living in the Lower Peninsula. My husband defended this position pretty strongly, reverently denying the possibility of the cats swimming across the straits of Mackinaw, or strolling south over the ice. A position he held, that is, until he came face to face with one on our hunting property smack dab in the middle of the Lower Peninsula.

He says that it may as well been a zebra or a kangaroo that appeared on the path ahead of him two hunting seasons ago. His brain would not even process that the giant cat was laying there, stretching at least five feet across. His first thought was that a severely deformed deer, possibly hit by a car, with a smashed in face like a Schnauzer dog. Then the kitty stood up and took notice of my husband taking notice of the kitty. The swooping tail with a black tip was the first attribute that finally hollered,“Mountain Lion!” in my husband’s brain.  Immediately his woodsman training attempted to scare the cat back into the forest.  He raised his arms into the sky and tried to look “large” as is recommended in such situations to deter a predator. Kitty thought that was fun and not so scary…my husband stated, “It crouched down and locked eyes with me and stared…and that was when I decided to leave…backing away very slowly.”

He climbed into an elevated hunting blind and did what every forty-year-old man scared to death in the woods would do…he called his Daddy to come get him. Personally, you would have found me frozen to the spot, on the ground in the fetal position weeping, thus becoming a cougar snack, or at best, a kitty mouse toy. The trail camera did not capture the image of a cougar that day, but it did take a now-infamous picture of my husband, ultimately walking out of the woods down the same path the “Schnauzer face deer” had just occupied, pistol in one hand, and phone in the other. We never did see that underwear return from camp…no mystery around that.

The DNR still claim that no cougars are present in southern Michigan, they deny because if they admit that knowledge, funding would have to be spent around conservation. I mean really, why inform the public about some nice little kitties strolling about our forests? Let's keep it a surprise!

In our house, we know differently. We think of the woods in another way now, understanding the majestic creatures are sharing our personal space.

A little scary, a lot of cool, I just want them to keep the chipmunks as their cougar snacks.

King Harry and the Naked Olympians

England rocks!!

Well, it has been a glorious two weeks. I am a huge fan of the London Olympics and all that have arrived with them, save the ridiculous commercials of Olympics athletes chugging or consuming foods that we all KNOW they cannot possibly eat and still succeed in sport. I can wage that the gals from the U.S. soccer team do not drink a coke, stop off at McDonalds and then huff a bag of pretzel M&M’s on the way to practice.

Reports on the Olympics state that over six billion dollars will be returned on the initial investment put forth by Great Britain. Also, crime was down in London over five percent since the announcement of the Olympics arriving in the city. Detroit 2020 anyone? Flint 2024? Just a thought.

I had learned much in the first week of the games, but there are endless observations one can gather when the world crams onto one tiny island for the celebration of people doing exhausting physical activities for the pleasure of the folks back home sitting on the couch.

This leads to things I have learned or ponder about the Olympics, Part Two.

·         Legs or no legs, dudes from South Africa are nice-looking young men.

·         Is it too late to start training my kids to be Olympic athletes? Is sitting on your brothers’ head and passing gas an Olympic sport? Can it be? I want those kids on a Wheaties box even though I mostly purchase Cap 'n' Crunch.

·         To become the all-around Gold Medal winner for gymnastics, you must be outlandishly cute. Not cute, no medal.

·         The United States has a gold medal diver that looks like Jim Carey’s little brother.

·         After watching the opening and closing ceremonies, I am convinced the English are all on drugs.

·         Evidence that the English are on drugs is exemplified by the fact that they placed George Michael out there as a national treasure.

·         Monty Python is hard to explain to kids.

·         I miss Monty Python.

·         Based on the diminishing outfits, I predict that we will see naked running, diving, and beach volleyball at the Rio Olympics in 2016.

·         How did Jamaicans become so freakishly fast running in circles on that little island?

·         More evidence that the English are on drugs is supported by the giant octopus lit up during the closing ceremony. I often relate the English with the Octopi…..when??

·         Prince Harry should be King. Just cause. I mean, how cute is he???

·         I really want to go play on the mountain bike course.

·         I would really hurt myself on the mountain bike course.

Well onto Rio in 2016…I am hoping that by then they will add a new summer Olympic sport to the line-up…

 Napping. I could medal in napping.

Mommas Got Her Yooper On!

Sometimes it is hard to think funny thoughts.

The world these past few weeks has been a hard pill to swallow. Sometimes just being me makes it hard to feel funny.

I am from the generation of women that were told you are’ free to be you and me’, but only if you file in behind Gloria Steinem (not wearing the Playboy Bunny outfit thank goodness), march your way into corporate America like Diane Keaton, smash  through the glass ceilings (all the while wearing pre-burnt brassieres), raise children who can read and play Mozart by the time they are two years old, be able to accomplish all this with or without a good man in our life (actually if you like the man you lose two points), and by golly, bring home that bacon, don’t eat it, and head to the gym so that you can look like Christie Brinkley. (For those of you too young for this reference, think Heidi Klum’s mother) Oh and by the way, if you do not volunteer at church or make cool treats that look like eyeballs for the Halloween party; don’t bother to show your face about town.

The pressure can stress a body every once in a while.

So, I did what my 1-800 dial therapy therapists recommended that I do on the verge of a depressed state, and I headed to the back woods of the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. Over the bridge and through the towering pines to a little cabin tucked back in the Hiawatha National Forest. (Hiawatha was actually a spiritual leader that lived in the 16^th century and was from New York…I guess we had to steal a famous Native American from another state because we could not think of one of our own.)

I immediately donned my favorite camouflage shirt with pink buttons. My husband announced to the children “Watch out boys, Momma’s got her redneck on!” I did, redneck relief was on its way.

My first task was to shoot stuff with a .22 caliber Ruger revolver. I tried to pretend I was Olympic gold medalist Kim Rhode. Let’s just say it was a blast shooting cans and skeet with my oldest son, but the only things quivering in my presence were nearby squirrels who took note of my poor aim.

Moving on, I partook in the ancient stress aid known as the Finnish Sauna. (No, that is not how you pronounce it, say S-O-W-N-A-H.) I had a friend in there with me, a little mouse I named Ralph. I was guessing that I spent too much time at an exceedingly high temperature in the hot box when Ralph stood up, threw off his miniature towel, straddled his tiny, red motorcycle and zoomed away. You really are not supposed to drink in those things…just sayin.

The next step in attitude repair required that I consume every type of deep fried food available from Brimley to Rudyard. Onion rings, wing dings, whitefish, and mushrooms were the health food of the week. My favorite snack was the Lumberjack Bleu Balls, on sale, four bucks a basket. (I swear, they were the special that day, you can’t make this stuff up). The inevitable trips to the outhouse were made especially adventurous by the presence of a three hundred pound black bear just outside the neighbors’ back door.  Nothing reduces job stress like replacing it with the stress of an especially expedient dash to the outhouse in a pitch black forest after you have just cooked venison, potatoes and onions in four pounds of butter over the outdoor fire pit. Bears, venison, outhouse, nothing can go wrong there.

My redneck in full force, sadly, it was time to venture home. It is amazing how time with family, nature, and fried food can rekindle a spirit and remind you who you really are deep down inside your heart.  A mom and wife, doing the best I can. Just free to be me.

So stuff it Gloria.