Memoirous

Two Steps Forward, One Step Back dedicated to Keith Wasserman and Lynda Moody, two old college friends Is still going forward; I’m still moving. So there is bare ground starting to show outside. The temps have warmed up, a bit. I rode my bike 3x in one week. I ran twice. This is progress. The sun comes up earlier and sets later—after 6 these days. *Yet, last week I locked my keys in the car (one step back) but Chad from Okemos Marathon came in a jiffy and got things straight (one step forward). *I was cleaning my water reservoir and got too vigorous and broke a piece. No biggy—until a few days later I discovered a lake flooding my countertop. (One step back!) Yesterday I ordered a slim 27-cup Brita from Walmart and the online option said delivery was same-day and free. Altogether, it was much less than I thought it would be to replace. I went out and met the drivers in my driveway, a couple out on a nice day in their KIA making stops. I asked is this a side gig and they said, yeah. G...

Here is a Throwback to a post from 2013. I've been thinking of Suicide Hill lately--all the snow and cold this season. It was a place I'd go to on "Snow Days." ** I was reminded in a recent conversation about a sledding hill I always went to growing up near Kettering, Ohio. It was famously named Suicide Hill. This was a real sled eater. Approaching the climb there were barrel fires fed by broken wooden sleds sacrificed to Suicide Hill. The hill was deceptive. Trees lined the descent so that any veering brought the sledder into contact with them. As a kid I was always bailing, letting gravity take the sled into it’s gentle good night, the tight fist of death. I cannot count how many sleds my brothers, sister, and I ruined. The back of Suicide Hill was just as dangerous as the front—though perhaps not as many trees. A ride this direction was longer and not as fast, but full of moguls or bumps that sent me flying. The community golf course where the hill was located was ...

Some say Scandinavians—people from Sweden, Norway, Finland are humorless. I haven’t found that to be the case. Except— When I stayed at the huts on the Kungsleden. The southern terminus of the trail is in Hemavan, about a 12 hour train/bus trip north of Stockholm near the Arctic Circle. So yeah, up there. The stereotype of the frozen stolid Swede didn’t exactly align. There was a lot of animated conversation, joking around, and playfulness with the various groups and visitors. Just not with me. I couldn’t figure it out. So I asked my recent Tiny House guest her opinion. You see, she’s originally from Norway. I’ve met her family. They’re all warm and friendly; they speak English and love to converse. Why the stand-offness in the huts with me? Was it because I’m an American and presumably want to take over Greenland? She acknowledged the stereotype, saying that yes, the art of small talk isn’t part of the culture. Okay? But, then I remembered. There was a couple whose itinera...

Last week I had a guest come stay at the Tiny House (in which case I move into my daughter’s basement just next door). It was a perfect cozy snowy time. I like to offer the Tiny House as a retreat for my friends out from the city. They usually take the train up and I meet them at the East Lansing station (in this case: 1 a.m. darn Amtrak! Late!). Back at the House I have homemade soup and rolls waiting and a bit of warm grog. My friend is a late riser so it was perfect as I needed to catch up on sleep after such a late night. Freezing with temps near ZERO. She enjoyed sitting and having coffee watching snow fall. It was like a calendar picture outside. We eventually got going on a robust walk in the woods followed by more soup and hot tea. That evening we had a roast with root veggies and a homemade streusel with French vanilla ice cream. On what was to be our last day there was a visit to Playmakers for shoes, a coffee shop break, and another walk in the snowy woods where when t...