I Will Always Love Betty

I think it’s Monday. When I first woke up, for a moment I forgot that we drove to our cottage last night. I love that feeling! Over-50-year-old-me also appreciates the chilly nights, even in June. Mike made a fire in the wood burner while I enjoyed some chardonnay. My brother had been here last weekend and he left a thank you gift on the kitchen counter. The Balvenie, Two James and Valentine White Blossom should certainly last us for the few weeks we plan to unwind here.

There’s a saying in Michigan that if you don’t like the weather “stick around for a half an hour or so- it’ll change.” It’s been a crazy year for weather. Ice fishing shanties were still out on the lake in April. Typically mushroom season, snow banks were still trying to melt in May. We harvested one puny morel. Now June, it’s as hot as the 4^th of July. This morning I sat down with my coffee and made a to-do list. Repairing the kitchen window screen, cleaning the toilets and raking the path did not sound fun for me. Instead, I decided to take Betty out for a spin.

Betty is a vintage Central Park model Ross bicycle. She is the color of a meyer lemon with black trim and a diamond pleated seat. When my neighbor died, her adult kids offered the bike to me. Although I have told them, I don’t think they realize how much I cherish Betty’s bike. I ordered a personalized bicycle plate. My “Betty” plate is gold and black, just like the California license plates in the 60’s where I grew up.   Betty now lives at our cottage.

I love technology. Not only can you order just about anything like my Betty Bicycle Plate, you can pay bills and bank remotely. Although not clear on what day it was, I got a notification on my phone that my American Express bill was due. Being away from home, thankfully I was able to pay the bill while sipping coffee at the cottage. Whew! In the nick of time I avoided a late fee and an increased interest rate.  I figured I earned that bike ride. I took a basket and pair of scissors hoping to snip a wildflower bouquet.

Apparently, this June is an excellent year for mosquitoes and a miserable year for wild flowers. I started to convince myself that the gold dandelions would be an adequate compliment in the basket hanging on Betty’s handlebars. I didn’t bother to stop to pick any, but decided to just enjoy my ride around the lake’s gravel road. As I passed Buck’s house his springer spaniel barked “hello.” A blonde grade schooler passed by in a golf cart. Her grin said, “Look at me. I’m driving all by myself.” A young couple walked past with their German shepherd. The woman could only nod hello because she was talking on her cell phone. I hate technology.  Somehow it takes us out of the moment when we are doing something we like. We are always doing “something else.”

I did pass on one tiny orange hawk weed. Without any other flowers to make up a significant bouquet, I decided to let her grow a little more. Slighted by the flora, the fauna Gods thanked me by sending a monarch. He flapped his wings right in front of my path.  I was also greeted by two white tail deer happily crunching sticks on the side of the road, completely unafraid of Betty and me passing by. Just when I thought I’d been pretty much skunked on my wildflower hunt, I happened upon a small patch of daisies. Being my favorite, I selfishly snipped all nine. Betty and I took them home and filled their Mason jar with water.

With a beautiful breeze blowing and the sun shining, I decided to crack open one of my brother’s thank you gifts. I am relatively sure it is in fact Monday. I have no idea what time. Thankfully, at our lake house the clock is always conveniently stuck on cocktail:30. Cheers.

Folk Art at the Lake

     It’s that time of year, once again. We are up north buttoning up our cottage at summer’s end. Many other lake neighbors have already tarped their boats, rolled in their docks and returned to the Detroit suburbs in preparation for the new school year.

I am a bit melancholy, as my son is here, but tomorrow he will continue alone on a six hour journey to his university dorm for year two of college.

     Sometimes I wish I had thicker blood and enjoyed winter sports such as snowmobiling and Nordic skiing. Being a California Native, if I can’t ski in a t-shirt and tan at the same time, I’m out. Maybe this winter as an empty nester I could come up here and write by our wood burning fireplace. I wouldn’t HAVE to go outside.

     When I’ve had a spell of writer’s block in the past, I’ve come to the realization that when I am up north my head is clear and writing is effortless. Ideas come looking for me. They often poke me in the face when I am not paying attention.

     I took a stroll around the lake to clip a wild flower bouquet. I am forever amazed at how Mother Nature knows how to schedule perfect complimentary colors. Late summer flowers are mostly purple, yellow and white. My bouquet consisted of thistle, chicory, golden rod and Queen Anne’s Lace. I grabbed a big green fern and shoved it in behind the blooms as a backdrop. 

     With bouquet in hand, I walked around the gravel road and decided to peek in on our neighbors and see if they were still up. Like most cottages, theirs looked put to bed for the season. As I turned away from the cottage to walk back to mine, I couldn’t help but notice a tree to the right of their drive. Staring me straight in the face was a gigantic scar on a white pine tree.

     My somber mood did an immediate 180. I laughed out loud. Luckily I had my iphone to snap a quick picture. The tree scar was painted pink. Nailed above it was a pouf of black mesh netting. Our lake neighbors must have a family member or friend who’s a folk artist, because their “welcome to our cottage” tree clearly sported a 3 foot vagina.

     She was begging to let visitors in, but needed a voice. A sign reading “come on in” or “our piece of heaven” could work. “No trespassing” or “private property” would be amusing, but that wouldn’t reflect the sentiments of our lake community.

     Should lightning strike alongside the gravel drive to our cottage, I will be prepared to adorn the tree’s scar. I have always loved red heads, and my sign will read, “come hither. relax,” because at our lake, that’s pretty much how we go down.

Jack & Jesus

     Carved into a steep, rocky hill overlooking the Portage Canal sits a ramshackle mining house that my daughter called home during the school months. It barely looks stable enough to withstand the area’s couple hundred inch yearly snowfall. The windows stay open with the help of scrap two-by-fours propped in the jambs. The red tar paper shingles are missing some gravel. To say it is a little run down is an understatement.

     Inside, the 70’s rust velvet loveseat is a decade shy of the mauve sofa. The combination is nauseating. It is home to four girls and a gathering place to the rest of their sisters scattered about the tiny college town.  I am no snob, but I cannot imagine walking around in a nightgown and bare feet in that place. Knock out a few windows and replace the expensive whiskey with bottom shelf and it could easily be mistaken for a crack house instead of a sorority.

     My daughter got permission from the landlord to bring along her ginger tabby, Finn. She tweeted  a picture of him #trumpyourcat. The only other males allowed are Jack Daniels and Jesus Christ. Believe me when I tell you they are both very present in each and every room. Every horizontal surface is lined with Jack Daniels bottles. Some are bejazzled and some are not. The only thing they share in common is that not one has a single drop of whiskey left, not one. Am I too optimistic to assume that the girls are done drinking?

     Hanging on the living room wall was a glossy plaque of Jesus knocking on a cottagey door. It looked more like it belonged in Nonna & Papa’s house. One sister, not a nun, taped a bubble message on the plaque that has Jesus saying, “Hey girls, can I party with you?” I found it way too funny. Jesus also had two round circles taped on top of his robe. My daughter said it was a Jesus bust, which at first I didn’t understand.

     A Jesus statue sat on a shelf in the billiard room, aka the dining room. My husband suggested she start a new viral craze #trumpyourjesus. After she refused a few times I said, “You will put a bust on him but you won’t Trump him?” She explained that the taped bust was temporary until they found a new Jesus “bust statue."  They had one, but apparently he had too much Jack one night and fell down the stairs and broke his neck. The girls had been scouring the local thrift stores for a new one. I didn’t know people got rid of their Jesus chatchkis. Apparently they do. It’s not like he goes in and out and back in style like a macramé owl on a driftwood pole. I’m not making this up. I recently saw a macramé owl in a magazine that I purchased called “Boho Chic” or something.  Anyhoo, I will be keeping my eye out for Jesus statues to add to their collection. I think Jack and Jesus at least should be equally represented in the sorority house, if not a little heavier on the Jesus.

     After visiting Lynchburg, Tennessee I had an idea for their sorority fundraiser: a Jack Daniels cookbook! I started collecting recipes that called for whiskey. I would name the Perfect Manhattan on the Rocks with a Twist “The Auntie Evelyn” for obvious reasons in our family. I even found a recipe for chocolate cupcakes with Jack Daniels frosting. I thought the sorority girls could make those and sell them at a bake sale (with a disclaimer & ID check of course). I don’t know if I will ever get around to the project or not, but I figured it would serve as a valid explanation as to why I have a bottle of booze in my baking cupboard.

Do What You Love

I recently heard the game show host, Steve Harvey, address his audience off camera. He said, “Your gift will make room for you.” He talked about being the best at whatever it is you do. I have been trying to embrace that idea and make room for my gift. I know it will happen. I dive into my dreams head first. I never know where they are going. My ADD/OCD brain takes me places that I do not always plan.

My recent passion is essential oils. I shouldn’t say “recent.” I have been using essential oils for over 20 years. I was recently introduced to Young Living Oils. I believe the company is the best on the market. Dr. Gary Young has years of experience and research to back his company. This is a potential business opportunity for me. I am not a “salesy” business woman, but I share information in hopes that friends will also be interested, and they seem to be.

People care about the environment. They care about their health. They are interested in holistic healing. They are disillusioned with the pharmaceutical industry. I am too.

Today, my gifts blended. It is Saturday and I am working. I didn’t even realize it, because it doesn’t feel like work. My hobbies of writing, photography and essential oils came together. My gifts are making room for me.

In my blog, I share ideas that I care about. In an attempt to expand my essential oil business through Young Living Oils, I decided to create a voluntary mailing list to my social contacts to share recipes and information. I wanted my mailings to be pretty, so friends would look forward to my monthly postcards. I planned to include recipes for environmentally friendly recipes for household cleaning products or body care items. I am practicing what I preach, as I am quickly replacing every commercial product in my house with a homemade one.

My first post card has a “spring cleaning” theme. I took a picture of the products I made and use. The label for the Soft Scrub reads “cause cleaning shouldn’t hurt.” The Disinfecting Wipes label says, “kill germs, not the environment.” I hope Clorox, Johnson & Johnson and Monsanto will hate me, OR hire me to revamp their toxic companies.  The picture of my cleaning products includes my cute rubber gloves and a stack of colorful bandana rags. Don’t be fooled, they do not make cleaning fun. I hate cleaning. I’m sure you do too. I just want to rinse less chemicals down the drain.

I found it challenging to include all of the information I wanted onto a little postcard, so this is why I am sharing all of this on my blog as well. I have not yet mailed my first postcard. Below I have included recipes and a picture of my (rarely used) cleaning products. If you would like to be added to my mailing list, message me.

I am doing what I love. I love our environment, I love writing. I love photography. I don’t know if I am gifted at any of it, but if you would like me to share with you, send me your address and I will send you a postcard.  My gifts will make room for you too.

Soft Scrub:

¾ c baking soda

¼ c castile soap

1 tablespoon water

10 drops essential oil (I use tea tree or thieves)

Mix into a paste. Store in a glass jar. Use as you would soft scrub to clean sinks, tubs and showers.

Disinfecting Wipes:

2 c water

2T castile soap

8 drops tea tree oil

4 drops lemon oil

Mix and store in a glass jar. Dip a cloth rag in the jar and wring out. Use as you would a commercial disposable disinfecting wipe on hard surfaces. 

Island Time

I had the opportunity to tag along with my husband on a business trip to the Miami Boat Show. I love Art Deco and Spanish Architecture. We opted to stay in SOBE's Art Deco District. I would have gone about anywhere to get out of Michigan's single digit temperatures in the month of February. 

The perfectly manicured sugar sand, Miami skyline and colorfully painted lifeguard stands are truly a sight! Ocean Boulevard's restaurants, umbrellas and Latin music are  a destination for American snowbirds, Canadians, and Europeans alike. 

Three nights of clubs and restaurants were plenty for we middle aged dorks. That, and the sirens, early morning garbage trucks and hotel neighbors coming in at 5 am made for some sleepless nights. Yes, bars are open until 5 am! Our last night we got a 3 am wake up call to a pounding on our door due to the front desk getting a disturbance call to a room number transposed. As we headed to our rental car at 6 am in the parking garage we passed characters who were either closing a club or finishing a work shift. Whether working or partying, most were clothed in fishnets and exposed butt cheeks: a look I could neither pull off nor be comfortable in. 

We were on our way to the relaxing part of our journey. My husband was able to tack on a week of vacation, so he booked a condo for us in the Bahamas. We needed it! The plane from Ft. Lauderdale to Freeport was a 32 seater that sounded like an old fighter plane from WWII. Although only 20 minutes, the ride was an anxietous adventure. 

We landed at 10 am Island Time. A band playing Bahamian music welcomed us near the immigration check-in. Sea life murals were painted on the walls. It was a beautiful welcome center and a wonderful first impression. 

On the curb, a taxi driver offered us a ride. We followed him to his van. It was sun faded and duct taped. Carpet scraps covered the tattered upholstered seats. We rode through desolate neighborhoods that had not yet been repaired from the hurricane of 2004.  I was scared. My husband apologized. He had used our vacation club points to book a vacation after his work in Miami and basically threw a dart. 

24 hours previous I confirmed our reservation and was assured we could check in upon arrival. Turnetta, the Queen Bee of the resort lobby, said unapologetically, " Your room not ready. Go to the beach. I find you." A few hours later she said, " Come back in 30 minutes." She repeated to us and several other guests about 5 times, " Maybe your room ready in 30 minutes. Go to the beach. I find you."

The website indicated that check in was 4 pm. As long as no one cared if the room had towels or a made bed, that was pretty accurate. Funny thing, though, no one was bitching. All the guests were chatting and laughing as much as the resort staff. We made it. We were on Island Time and our toes were in the sand. Turnetta finally hooked us up. Our condo had two balconies, terra cotta floors, a fully equipped kitchen, and views of the Carribean Sea, courtyard pools and rock wall fountains. Paradise found!

A guy named Adriene had the job of raking the beach in the morning and putting out the chaise lounge chairs for the guests to sit down. He promised that "for a little gas money" he would show us around town and take us to a liquor store. Resort cocktails are pricey! Grand Bahama is 180 degrees from Miami Beach, and I do not mean in temperature! I wasn't yet sure where I was more scared. We made a joke with other guests that if the couple in condo 3014 doesn't return, tell the front desk that we were last seen with the beach attendant. 

Adreine's car had an empty dashboard and a muffler hanging on a shoestring. After driving out of the resort he must have tooted his horn every 100 yards, waving out of his open window and yelling, "Hey, Mon" or "Where you Goin?" He knew everyone. He gave us a tour and a history lesson of the Island of the Grand Bahama. The largest resort and International Bazaar Market  closed years ago after the large cruise ships discontinued Freeport as a stop due to a political issue.  Locals do not buy local art. Jobs in the resort industry dwindled. We passed by building after closed building. Three foot weeds grew in parking lots. A group of old men were playing dominoes at a picnic table at a desolate park. Adriene said they were there every day just to pass the time. He added, "Iz ok mon, we gettin by."

We finally arrived at the liquor store. Iron bars surrounded all 4 sides. When the owner saw Adriene, she buzzed us in. While we shopped, other locals were buzzed in, chatted, and bought one beer to go. As I tried to hand the owner my visa card, she put her hand up and said, "Wait juz a minute, I still ringing." She was right. I had not yet adjusted to Island Time. I was a little embarrassed that I appeared in a bit of a fucking hurry. 

On the way back to the resort, Adriene cracked a beer. He said, "Iz ok, Mon, you can drink and drive here." I guess it was ok, he was on his lunch hour. 

It took us a good 24 hours to understand Island Time, but we did it. We learned we shouldn't wait 'til we are starving to go to dinner, not to expect the wifi to work, and basically not to expect anything on time. There IS no time on Island Time. 

We tipped Adreine much more than "a little gas money." He said,"I have a son. I will buy him alot of Burger King. He like that."

I want to bring the Island hospitality back home with me. I will ask, "How you doin?" and really want to know. I will be happy when the sun is shining. I will be happy to be gettin' by. I will be happy to make someone else happy, just like Adriene, even if it is just to give someone a ride to a store or set up a chair for someone to sit down. 

Take One for the Team

I have a Pinterest Board entitled “Inspirations and Funnies” I collect sayings and quotes that speak to me. Some are displayed on my chalk boards around my house. They often inspire a blog topic like this one:

“Without the rain there would be no rainbow.”

Years ago Jodie Foster played a struggling mom in a movie. Her friend said, “When life gives you lemons, make lemonade.”

Foster’s character’s response: “This isn’t lemons. This is dog shit.”

This is how I feel about cancer. It killed both of my parents. It disrupted my brother’s life before he turned 50. Cancer took many other relatives and friends. In recent years, it almost jeopardized my weekend getaways with my “sisters.”

I’ve seen sayings like, “cancer sucks.”

I just saw one that read, “Do not keep calm and carry on…bitch slap cancer.”  I thought that one was funny.

Without cancer there would be no….what?

When life gives you cancer, make….what?

There is no lemonade. There is no rainbow.

When cancer happens, people  desperately need a diversion. It’s the taking control over something we have no control over. Last weekend I hosted a get together. I was going to call it “Crafting for Cancer,” but I figured I would get a much better turn out if I called it “Crafting with Cocktails.” My friend who is being treated for ovarian cancer enlisted me to assume the role of Chief Costume Designer. Team “Z” is made up of over 25 friends who registered to walk in a 5K next weekend. The event is called “Turn the Village Teal,” to raise awareness for ovarian cancer.

I created a few ideas, and with my friends’ input we settled on floral headbands for the women and bowties for the men. I made a sample of each, and last weekend a small group of us got busy assembling the costumes. My friends joked that they were happy to help but not really crafty. I promised a “skill appropriate” task for everyone. Luckily, there was much cutting to do. They all proclaimed to be proficient with scissors.  Aside from them renaming my garage “B’s Sweat Shop” they were good sports about following directions. After hours of cutting out circles of tule, lace & chiffon, I instructed them in how to assemble the flowers. One friend said, “Wait, we are MAKING those flowers?” Hours later the sarcasm started. “I hate Brenda….I hate teal…..I hate these flowers.” I promised them it would be worth it and our design would get us on television.

As usual, when this group convenes, we laugh, eat, drink and make good memories. I knew I went a little overboard on the design. It was a little ambitious for the skill level of the crafters. I thanked them and told them we were in good shape. I could finish the costumes during the week. They insisted on coming back on Sunday. I love those girls! No matter what we are doing and why we are doing it, we have fun.

I like writing because I can think about it, edit and rewrite if I need to. I have a chance to consider if my sarcastic sense of humor will offend anyone. When our team leader “Queen  Z”  humbly asked if her costume could in some way stand out a little from the rest of the team, I accused her of being an attention whore. When she suggested deleting peacock feathers from the design because of cost concerns I said,” Quit making this about you. I want the damn feathers.” When you get a group text from a cancer patient that says not only just “LOL”, but “I’m crying I’m laughing so hard,” you know you have done your job as a friend.

This project of creating matching costumes was a diversion, something to think about other than cancer. When it happens, people don’t always know what to do or say. Suggest anything and people will happily spring into action as our friends did. Queen Z is so loved that her friends are making a mountain out of a mole hill.  A little 5K walk is now a 3 day weekend. Go big or go home. We will probably have a meeting this week to discuss our restaurant choices and activity plans in the area. Ironically, a cancer walk has become another reason for a weekend getaway, laughing and making memories.  I have never attended one of these events. If we get there and the costume competition is stiff, the men in our group will be taking one for the team. I promised Queen Z that we would be making a television appearance. My last minute plan is for the guys to streak in the 5K wearing nothing but a teal colored bowtie.  So, if you are a Metro Detroiter, tune into the local news Saturday morning, just in case.

 

Lake Neighbors

Four hours north of Detroit, in an undisclosed location, is a small, private lake hidden in the woods. I never saw the movie “Deliverance,” nor do I want to, but after first time guests ask us how we found the place they can’t resist but to make a crack about hearing banjos. It is in the middle of “Michigan’s Up North Nowhere.” Many of the cottage owners are second and third generation.

We built our cottage from scratch, however, we tried hard to make it look like one of the originals. I like all things vintage and this lake neighborhood deserves to be preserved. I do second guess once in a while when, on one of the few vacant lots remaining, a new modular is plopped down in a couple of hours. We have been at this for 18 years and it won’t be perfect any time soon.

This morning I enjoyed my “thinking” walk on the gravel road that leads to and from our cottage. A lake neighbor drove by and yelled to me out of his window. In Detroit, depending upon what time of the month it was, I might have yelled, “Buzz off, perv!” Up here, he made me laugh. It was an inside joke from the 4th of July, that due to no shenanigans of my own,  won’t die anytime soon.

Most of the time my walk is on cement and very noisy. I can drown out the noise when I’m in the zone, but up north I don’t have to. Often times I take a pair of scissors and cut a wildflower bouquet of Queen Anne’s lace, chickory, & thistle. The locals probably see weeds. They probably are. I don’t care. I’d add a dandelion if I needed some yellow. To me, it is a little piece of nature and it isn’t growing through the cracks of the city sidewalk. It is an extra special treat when I see the twin fawns, still wearing their spots. I stop. I watch them, and they watch me.  It’s a stand-off to see who will move first. I usually win.

Like boats, many of the cottages have names. One is called “Casa Colibri” after the abundance of the ruby throat hummingbirds in the area.  One cottage sat empty for a few years after the older lady moved out. This year we have new neighbors. They can name their cottage whatever they want, but to me, it will always be known as “Fluff’s Hilton.” Now at Fluff’s, there is “No Vacancy.”

One neighbor bought a boat second-hand, so it already had a name on the back. It was a gold glittery speed boat that looked like it had been in a James Bond movie. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get the name off the back. The outline was still visible. That neighbor will be forever nicknamed “Uncle Winky”

We have another “uncle” on the lake. He could be described by most as “tall, dark and handsome.” He never ceases to amuse us with his decorative board shorts. How can I describe them? The best way to put it would be “adult” board shorts. This holiday weekend he did not leave anything to the imagination. The graphics were large….and graphic. A few years ago he had a pair with a small grey and black print. The mothers of the younger kids preferred that pair. You had to stare at his junk for a really long time to see that the tiny print was actually naked women.

Most holiday weekends a rafting party convenes somewhere on the lake. Neighbors we’ve never met raft up too. It is not exclusively for the cool people like the table in the school cafeteria, but we do tend to make a few snide remarks about “porta potty guy” or the people who choose chores over floating in the lake. Don’t get me wrong, there is always something that needs doing when you own two houses, but schedule a day off already.

The rafting party, no matter what holiday, is named Lake Palooza. On 4^th of July a neighbor brings a plank leading to a keg floating on its own raft. Neighbors have tshirts from previous Palooza events that read “I walked the plank at the lake.” If you are unable to successfully walk the plank, you are required to wear water wings that are normally made for toddlers.

One boat is especially equipped with a generator for making frozen drinks. This year a creative neighbor made a “tip ski.” It is a water ski with 4 shot glasses attached. I would suggest finding 3 friends who are about your height. Being about 5 foot nothing I am at an extreme disadvantage. If the other 3 are taller than you, you can bet that tiny daiquiri will not get in your mouth, but will go right down your cleavage. Live and learn.

One neighbor, I’m assuming a male, brought some cocoanut bras just for fun. After a wardrobe malfunction this past 4^th, one female neighbor was awarded at the next gathering, a necklace with two “exhibitor” ribbons strategically placed. We hope the fun will just never end.

I’m always a bit depressed on going home day. This morning I went out for a walk before packing it up. I was thinking about all of our lake neighbors. We have all made sacrifices. We probably could have gone to Europe every summer with the money we’ve spent on owning and maintaining a lake house. I wouldn’t have it any other way. I think we could all admit that we don’t actually know everyone’s names. I can honestly say I don’t know what everyone does for a living. It doesn’t matter. What we have in common is that we come to Lake Palooza. Yes, we get a little silly, but we get away from it all for just a few days.  I’m thankful for our lake neighbors. And just when I thought I had nothing to write about today, a lake neighbor drove by and yelled “nice cocoanuts.” Thanks, neighbor, for all the fun and memories, and for throwing a blog topic right out of your window.