Sundays Not Quite with Mom

I went and saw a West Michigan Whitecaps baseball game with an old friend yesterday. As he lived roughly halfway between Detroit and Grand Rapids, I went as far as his place and we rode together from there. Naturally, then, I rode home on my own after we had returned to his house.

Almost as soon as I started back I saw a sign which told that the next right took you to Hell. That's right, there's a Hell, Michigan in Livingston County. There's also a Paradise, in Chippewa County in the glorious Upper Peninsula. Yes, you can go from Hell to Paradise without leaving my home state, which pretty well sums up Michigan.

I took the side trip. Although I've been there before, I had not driven through Hell since I took Mom there on a Sunday ride a few years ago. My Mother's been through Hell with me. 

With that, I'm opening up the floor. Give it your best shot, readers.

Silly Yet Rather Cool

Do you see me son Charlie in this picture:

That's him standing outside his car. The view is from the traffic cam in Cedarville, Michigan. I keep that particular camera open on my desktop all year simply so that I always have a view of the Hessel/Cedarville area at hand. While he was up there, I texted, asking him to drive over and see if we could capture his image. We managed it. Silliness, yes. But neat silliness.

He's waving back at you, you know.

Room to Breathe

In the summer after they graduated from high school, me Pops and his cousin Jim took a celebratory trip out west. They borrowed a station wagon from me Grandpa Joe and off they went.

The trip took about three weeks and they simply explored. I believe they had a basic plan of where to go and what to see but didn't mind it too closely.

Pops said that one day they found themselves out in west Texas, far away from everything. At a lonely intersection there was a gas station with a small general store at one corner. From the store, you might have been able to spot one or two buildings far in the distance, ranch houses perhaps, out near the horizon. Seeing as the gas station appeared to be the only place for provisions for miles, the cousins figured it a good idea to gas up and grab a few snacks and supplies. 

The guys running the store, Dad said they appeared to be an elderly father and a middle aged son, were quite friendly and likable. They readily engaged me Pops and Jim in conversation. At one point the older gentleman remarked, "It used to be a man had room to move around out here. Now it's getting so crowded you can't hardly breathe."

Dad thought about how they were at a desolate intersection deep in western Texas, and that all he could  see other than the gas station were the two buildings miles off in the distance. The elderly man actually pointed towards them and continued sadly, "They're building right on top of us these days."

Pops let it go. They were after all just passing through, and why interrupt the reverie? If the locals felt put upon, well, what could you say anyway?

High and Low

I can't find a blog that I'm sure I wrote. I've used my search words: Joe Cosgriff, me Grandpa Joe, the Shop, the old barn, indeed every tag I can think of which might lead me to the article in question. Nothing comes up. But now you have a vague idea of the basic topic.

It's frustrating, though. I won't lie to you, campers, I was going to copy and paste it this morning as if it were new. It's the sort of thing a writer does when nothing comes to mind. And now nothing else will do. 

There's no doubt in my mind that it was the greatest, most perfect blog I've ever, ah, penned. A good story which would make you laugh. Or go eek and cringe as it were.

I suppose I could try rewriting it. Yet that doesn't satisfy either. I want it from the first time through. I will keep searching until I stumble upon those wonderful words which describe the tale. In the meantime, I hope this make you want to know what it is too. I promise I will just break down and rewrite the story tomorrow if I can't find the original later today.

I Don't Get It Either

Ah, September. I do love you, and October afterward. Fall is my favorite season. Only I'm not really sure why.

The energized colors on the trees as they change are exhilarating. Crisp fall air is a delight. Hot coffee is tastier, hot cider and hot chocolate wonderful warmers. Pumpkins and harvest feelings, things coming of age, are hints of maturity and grace. Yes, I like all that.

Yet Autumn also means winter is peeking over the shoulder, and I do not like winter at all anymore. Well, fresh snow is pretty, and cleansing of all it covers. Then it becomes dirty and brown and murky and uglier than what it hid. And cold, cold, cold. It all comes after fall, so I should look upon autumn with a fair dread.

I don't. I love it. It helps that I'm not really a fan of summer. Take away baseball and golf and summer would mean nothing to me at all. That means, rather oddly I'll admit, that I find in Spring (other than the beauty of things growing) greater dread. Spring heralds hot and sticky discomfort, and I profoundly dislike heat more than cold. I prefer neither, but that's not an option.

So here it is, my favorite time of the year. Even though I'm not entirely sure why.

Labor Day 2024

I would like to take a moment to offer a shout out to all Mothers on this Labor Day 2021. Without their sacrifices none of us would be here today. Without their willingness to deal with the pains of childbirth, we could not be around to celebrate the holiday.

So, Happy Labor Day Moms!

Oh, wait, that's not what's meant by Labor Day?  It seems that I've misconstrued the situation.

The Quiet

People say that big cities are noisy. They say that because they are. As I sit typing this out on my Kindle I hear all sorts of constant, background noise. Aircraft; cars driving by the house; the low hum of machinery somewhere. Even the freeway which is about a half mile north of me is obvious. And this is only Detroit. New York City, Boston, Chicago, Toronto; they're all worse. The D is rather tame by comparison.

It's what you get used to I suppose, but it really makes me like the quiet of the Upper Peninsula all the more. When it's quiet in Hessel, it's quiet, so much so that a car simply passing can startle. 

Even where there's noise, the noise is different. On our way back from the UP State Fair in Escanaba, close to three hours from Hessel, me son Charlie and I stopped at a rest area around 1:30 AM. It was silent but for the waters of Lake Michigan lapping at the sand and rocks beyond the parking lot. Yet those waves, while a little rough, made a soothing sound, almost a rhythm, which enchanted rather than distracted. The sound of the occasional car headed down Forest Avenue next to my house does not compare.

Perhaps it's merely psychological, but I believe that it's only in the quiet that we can touch the ethereal, the numinous, the that which is not us. The quiet isolates; it causes focus, so that we appreciate what connection we have to the unseen which we nevertheless feel. Quiet refines the senses, so that we may find God alongside.