Change Is Hard

…but change is certain.

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Lost in the music

Tonight was my first concert in a very long time.  The first time in years that I was sitting in the band rather than out in the audience.  It’s heaven.  I wish everyone could have the experience of being in the music; to hear the sounds as they’re being created before the notes head out over the heads of the audience.

This was our “Spooktacular” concert filled with scary music about snakes and magic and phantoms.  In fact we had our very own phantom, a tenor with a beautifully powerful voice, who sang music from Phantom of the Opera while we accompanied him.  He was singing about 18 inches from where I sat, and on a couple of occasions during the long piece of music I actually stopped playing, mesmerized by the power of his voice.

I didn’t want that piece of music to end, because when again will I be surrounded by sounds so exquisite, be so close to a voice like that?  I was treasuring it while it was happening, enjoying the full-up feeling of being totally happy, glad to be in the moment.

I said before that if everyone could play music, either alone, or with large groups, if everyone could get that special high from making something beautiful, if everyone in the world could create something, something so elusive, so transparent, so temporary, but so solid and powerful, if everyone could make music the world would be better.  I still believe that.

Wishing each of you days filled with wonder, music and art.  It can’t hurt.


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Forever peaceful

A last bit of story from our trip up north.  As we were leaving Grindstone City, way back on a dirt road we passed this:

It was a beautiful little hill with a family plot, all fenced in with obvious care.

We climbed the hill and quietly explored.  It was beautiful.  Maple trees were in full color, there was no sound except for birds and chipmunks.

We wandered about, reading the headstones, piecing together the family histories.  One stone caught my attention; a small unassuming stone of a little boy who was born and died the year I was born.  Next to him were his parents, who died many years later.

I stopped a moment and thought back to all the things I’ve done in my life.  While I was walking to kindergarten in my “milk money” dress, the one with pockets to carry the nickle for the week’s milk, this little boy was resting here.  When I graduated from high school, learned to drive a car,  went off to college, he was still here…when I bought my first house, got married, changed jobs, traveled…well…he was up on this beautiful little knoll.

For whatever reason I connected with this little boy who missed out on so much.  He should be about ready to retire now, he should have stories to tell his grandchildren.  He should be peacefully sitting on a porch somewhere, listening to the birds and chipmunks.

When things get hectic and crazy and when I’m overwhelmed and tired all I have to think about is a little boy forever peaceful up there on that knoll, and I’ll know that I’m the lucky one.

Peaceful or not, I’m the lucky one.


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Katie and the weave poles

I think some of you need a Katie fix.  Just because you haven’t seen her in a week doesn’t mean she hasn’t been doing her homework.

We’re working on weaves out in the backyard.

She’s got the general idea, the weaving in and out.

It’s just those darn entries that are difficult.  So hard to remember where to start Mom!

I’m using her frisbee as the “treat” at the end of the weaves.  Sometimes she gets so excited getting ready to run that she pops out one weave too early.

We’re working on it.


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Grindstone City

I bet you all know that Michigan is shaped like a mitten, but did you know there is a grindstone cemetery of sorts at the tip of the thumb?  Grindstone City was named in 1870 for the large grindstones that were mined and shaped there, then shipped throughout the country.  You can read more about the city in this short historical essay. (The picture above was borrowed from this website)

As a youngster I stood with my Dad along the shore of Lake Huron at the tip of Michigan’s thumb among huge grindstones that had been dumped there years and years ago.  I’ve held this vague memory for decades, and last weekend I stood in the same place again, feeling Dad with me, as my husband and I explored  the shoreline until we found the grindstones.

It amazed me that the grindstones were still resting on the shore much the way I remembered.  To think they’ve been there all these years…that I didn’t know exactly where we’d been more than 40 years ago and yet here I was again feeling the same sense of history and wonder I’d had as a kid.

I walked among the grindstones, touching the rough surfaces, the square holes in the centers, thinking about the people who had made these stones, and wondering about the reasons these particular stones had ended up as defects on the shores of the big lake.

The sun was warm on our shoulders, the water lapped peacefully near our feet, the stones offered up their stories silently.  I could easily have sat on the warm stones imagining history and remembering that trip with my Dad all afternoon.

Just another place that holds a piece of my heart.


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And the answer is…

You’ve all been very patiently waiting to find out what that metal thing was.  I know you’re sitting around at home just aching to find out.  Really you are.

We began our weekend trip in Port Huron, a town on the Eastern coast of Michigan across the river from Canada.  The Blue Water bridge connects the two countries.

Port Huron is also the boyhood home of Thomas Jefferson, something they are very proud of. You can read all about his exploits as a boy in the museum at the train depot under the bridge.

And the thing I found most interesting in the park below the bridge was a lighthouse boat.

The boat was built in 1921 and went out on the Great Lakes to help ships in trouble.  It had a lighthouse on board and the beam could be seen for miles.  It’s a museum now, though we didn’t get to board because it wasn’t open when we were there.

What fascinated me was that there was a small, outboard motor boat sitting on the deck, the little boat so similar in size and shape to the first family boat we had years ago.  I tried to imagine a boat that small out on the big lake, and I just couldn’t imagine it.

So now you know the rest of the story…at least about Port Huron.  There’s much more to show you from our trip last weekend.  And here it’s almost the weekend again!

Stay tuned.


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Memorizing sound

This weekend husband and I explored the coast of Lake Huron.  While I have been in love with Lake Michigan my whole life, I have never spent much time near the big lake on the eastern side of our state.  After two short days in and around the vicinity I can see how easy it would be to cheat on my first love.

As we were driving along on assorted “Lakeshore Drives” up the coast I was looking at the homes – some little cabins, some monster estates – and wondering if these people who are so lucky as to wake up to that huge beautiful lake ever take it for granted.  Or if they, like I believe I would, wake up each day in awe and wonder and thankfulness just to be there.

One of my favorite stops this weekend was Tawas State Park, which we walked on the beach for what seemed miles.  There were little spits of sand sticking out into the water, and at the end of one of them, Sunday early afternoon I stood with my eyes shut and memorized the sound of the soft waves lapping at my toes, gurgling around the sand, sliding away.

Today, when I find myself back in my cubicle working on files and making decisions, when the hours grow long and my neck is tired, when my head aches and I’ve adjusted my glasses for the thousandth time, I’ll think of that moment standing on the sand with water all around me.

And in my heart I’ll smile.


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The race not run

I spent last weekend in a small town a couple of hours away at the home of a friend.  Once upon a time I would have called her one of my running buddies…but I haven’t been running in two years so I guess now we’re just regular friends.  Friends who happen to get together for running events.

A year ago she did a half marathon that sounded like a lot of fun and I vowed that by this year I’d be in shape to do it with her.  And I was moving along toward that goal, up to six miles, when I messed up my knee.  So though I was registered to participate in the event this year, after spending most of August and September sitting around with ice on my knee I was in no shape to run.

But I didn’t miss out entirely!  Three of our little band of four actually DID run the half marathon on Sunday.  I went with them to the spaghetti dinner the night before, spent the night at our “runners slumber party” and got up early to see them off the next morning.  Then the husband of one of the runners and I went out to eat breakfast while they ran the race.

Doesn’t seem a bad thing does it!  And it wasn’t.  It was great to see everyone, to talk about old races we had done, to plan some races for the future (because FOR SURE by next year I’ll be back on track!) and generally support each other in our attempts to foil the aging process as we keep active.

The race itself was small, but beautiful. It ran through the streets of a quaint, Norman Rockwell type town for a mile…

…then most of the rest of it was along a rails to trails path that ran past ponds and colorful trees, farms and open fields.

I got to walk some of it, and kept myself busy taking photographs of the beautiful scenery, including the current header picture, as I waited for the front runners to come back by on their out and back race.

So this old runner had a good time, even though I didn’t get to run the race.  Running can be a solitary sport.  Or it can be a sport that brings solitary people together in celebration of good health and friendship.

Great job ladies!  You’re all my heroes!


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Training Challenge # 9

For our challenge this week Katie and I went on a photo shoot.  Our tiny little town is having what they call Heritage Days this weekend.  For a couple of weeks now I’ve noticed scarecrows, each wearing a different outfit being placed along the road heading out of town.  First one, then another.  Then last night I was at the library and saw a picture of “their” scarecrow, dressed as a woman reading a book.  Turns out local groups and businesses dressed scarecrows, complete with pumpkin heads and entered them in a contest.  They are all numbered and you get to vote for your favorite.

During the weekend there were tours of a local historic barn, houses and other historical sights.  Early Saturday morning the downtown was getting ready for the tourists, setting out sidewalk sale stuff, sweeping the walk, watering the planters.  Everyone was very busy as Katie and I strolled by.

Katie and I went early that morning, because I love taking pictures in the early morning sun…and because Katie was already awake;  she’d been barking at the sound of duck hunters on a nearby lake since 7 a.m.

The challenge for Katie was to sit quietly while all sorts of activity was going on around her.  Lots of cars and trucks driving by, up close and personal.  Many of them had extra noisy trailers hooked up behind, hauling trackers, antique and new, up to the big barn at the top of the hill.

Those trailers were the worst for Katie to sit through; they make so much noise!  And a few times she just couldn’t handle it and would lunge and bark.  But for the most part she sat when I asked her to, though her head was swiveling around keeping track of all the people and traffic.

I took pictures of her sitting near some of the scarecrows or in front of pretty displays.  She got to sit next to her very own tractor.  It took a bit of persuasion for her to sit so near that tractor tire!

You can almost see the scarecrow sitting on the tractor seat.  The sun was just moving over the top of a building and the light kind of obliterates his head…anyway Katie is prettier and a better focus.

Here’s the library staff’s contribution to the contest…

…and the one in front of our local yoga and meditation studio…

…and Lady Harriet Heritage herself!

…where Katie says “GEE MOM!!!  How many more of these do I have to sit for?  And can I have another piece of CHEESE?”

All done now sweetie….wait…how about one more!  In front of the historic Candle Factory!  This will be my FAVORITE!

All in all, though she wasn’t perfect, she did sit when I asked her, most of the time, and only lunged at two trucks.  Well, maybe three.  She isn’t as good at heeling when we’re around all this interesting stuff and lots of people, so we need more practice there.  And of course we always need practice not barking and lunging at cars.  So we’ll be doing more of this.

Meanwhile, I hope you all enjoyed a beautiful weekend!  Katie sends kisses.


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Evidence for keeping a camera in your pocket at all times.

Last week my husband and I met for supper after work.  Following him home I noticed the sky was turning orange and pink, and that the clouds were all ringed in brilliant gold.  But I didn’t have my camera.

By the time I made it home, raced into the house, found the camera and made it out to the park the sky looked like this:

Then a couple of days ago I noticed the trees in the backyard glowing in the late evening light.  I went outside to investigate.  Looking east was like looking into a classical Renaissance landscape.  Well…except for the paved road:

And toward the west the sky was turning into this:

The thing I’ve learned about photography and light is that you can never outrun the sun.  That perfect photo that you catch a glimpse of will be lost while you’re looking for the camera and it can never be recaptured.

Sometimes perfect remains in your mind…and good enough is what you get.


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Lessons at the grocery store

Generally I try to stay away from the grocery store on weekends; it’s too crowded, there’s nowhere to park, and there are almost always kids selling stuff at the door.  You know, the girl scout cookies, the grade school wrapping paper, collections for this band trip or that new playground equipment.  I feel so bad when I say no to those little faces, but I don’t want any of their stuff and I can’t afford to buy from them all.  So I don’t buy from any.

This past weekend I had to go to the store for something.  And sure enough there were cub scouts all set up just inside the front door with their table full of stuff to sell.  On the way out a little boy asked me if I wanted to buy some popcorn to help send them to camp.  I said “Not this time,” and headed out the door.  Just as I was clearing the front door I heard a man standing around nearby make a crack; “Guess you’ve lost your appeal, Luke.” and then I saw the little boy’s face fall.  As I passed through the door I registered that the man speaking was in a cub scout uniform himself, and I got mad.

All the way out to the car I got angrier and angrier.  What kind of leader of young men would make a comment like that, in public, and unwarranted?  It’s hard enough as a kid to spend your weekend dressed up in uniform asking strangers to buy stuff, but the kid was doing his job.  The leader, who was a smart-alack noisy, jerky kind of obnoxious guy was just standing around doing nothing more helpful than cutting his own guy down.  Instead of being encouraging, supportive or inspiring he was sarcastic and degrading.

I unloaded my grocery cart at the car, walked the cart back to the cart corral and kept on walking, back to the store.  Just inside the door I planted myself in front of the cub scout leader and announced quite loudly that I wanted to buy something from Luke, to prove he had not, in fact, lost his appeal.  I stared into the cub scout leader’s eyes and waited for his response.  He turned red.  “You heard me say that?” he asked.  Yes, I confirmed, I did.  And I wondered aloud if he had in fact seen the face of Luke at that moment.  The leader mumbled something unintelligible about “just kidding him” and I turned my back on him to confer with Luke as to what his favorite flavor of popcorn was, which I bought.

One of the mothers manning the table said thank you very much for coming back to buy something.  But buying something wasn’t the point.  The point was that people in leadership positions dealing with children should never ever belittle the kids.  Especially in public.  And that if they do, they need to be called on it.

Now I’m stuck with the stupidly expensive box of popcorn I didn’t want.  But maybe Luke feels better.  And maybe an arrogant, thoughtless cub scout leader will rethink his words in the future.

Hope so.