Welcome Home Day

If things had gone as planned, today would have been your 13th birthday; instead, we celebrate this as your coming home day. You’ve sailed past all the issues that come with being a micro-preemie, but every once in a while, we get those reminders that in life we dance on a fine, precarious line. And yet, here you are taking it in stride. 

Every year, we thank the NICU team at St Mary’s, in particular, Dr. Winslow and Nancy Oelerich; without their expertise, this 1 lb, 15oz. screamer wouldn’t be the incredible 138-pound, straight-A catcher with a penchant for hard rock he is today. NICU people are the best people.

Yeah, I’m bragging, he has given us every reason for the last 13 years, 85 days. Welcome home son.

A New Chapter: While My Guitar Gently Weeps

Is this the new door that opens?

Dave has been taking Will to his trumpet practice the last few months but encouraged me to take him last night. I'm just so amazed at his growth and his love for his instrument. 

While I was listening to him, I was also listening to the guitar teacher instructing a student while sitting on the couch outside his room. Lots of Beatles and Bob Seger. I contemplated my own guitar playing. When the instructor exited his office, I offhandedly said "I supposed I should tell you I'm a little too scared to talk to you about lessons for myself." He responded he was there when I was ready. I replied that my problem is I haven't had regular lessons in 40 years and I have small hands. He said he can work with that and wished me a good night. 

So I checked out his website and that is EXACTLY what he does. 

On the way home, Will encouraged me to explore taking lessons at his space. I was avoiding that so I wasn't cramping his style, this is his space, not mine. But he doesn't mind sharing. We passed a runner on the bridge, and I said something about retiring from participating in racing. His response was that it left more time for me to play guitar. 

When we got home, I cut my nails and then played Beatles songs for about an hour. A half-hour a week would cost $100 a month, which is considerably less than what the School of Rock would charge, but that's still $100 I would have to find in the budget. 

New challenges without competition, but what about goals? So many of my goals have been with performance in mind - an A in a class, a perfect grade on a paper, a medal, and a new personal best. What are we even talking about with guitar? 

Things to think about. 

Playlist: My Fab 4

Fabs refabbed from Legos.

There’s a feature on Sirius/XM’s Beatles channel (the new obsession, in case you haven’t noticed) where regular schmoes like me can submit their Fab Four playlist, and play DJ for 15 minutes.

Well, I could play that gig.

But what would I submit? 

I think the theme I must respect at this time is obsession: what four songs have I obsessed over during my Beatle fandom, which started in 1973? And what’s the story? Suprisingly, I have one for each Beatle.

I think readers (crickets) may find some repeat stories. I’ll go in chronological order. 

Norwegian Wood - love affair with the Beatles started with the cartoons that were in WKBD TV-50 after school. I thought this song was so pretty. I was six, so John’s innuendo was completely lost on me. I thought it was a date that didn’t go right (correct) so he built a fire in the fireplace and was sad (wrong). Oy, this is John at the height of his douchebaggery, but I love it so. 

For No One - I was a typical teenage girl, and if you broke my heart, I was going to latch onto a tune and for 1988, wear the tape thin in my cassette. I played Revolver every day for 30 days straight after a breakup, and the mournful bassoon created the perfect foil for my melancholy. 

Day Tripper - my husband likes gadgets, electronics, and stereo equipment. I never got the tech snobbery until he bought me a good pair of earbuds for running. Oh. My. God. I became obsessed with Ringo’s drumming on almost every track, starting with this one. What he could do to shape a song: come in, go out, bring a tambourine back with him, rattle some shit for the fun of it. Damn, rock on Ritchie one more time for me.

Long, Long, Long - the CD remaster of The White Album in the 80s did a great disservice to this song, it’s barely a whisper. Then comes the 2009 remix, then the re-digitized version in the 50th anniversary set. It’s moody, sexy, otherworldly as George whispers and drags the lyrics in mysterious fashion, then Ringo rushes in. Paul spookily counters with a few notes on an organ and rattles some bottles. Yes, I've choreographed a skating routine to it in my head. 

Some honorable mentions that almost made the list? You've Got to Hide Your Love Away. While My Guitar Gently Weeps. Two of Us. If I Needed Someone. A Day in the Life. Love Me Do is downright moody when the melody is played on guitar - Dave attributes it to Paul being a bassist. 

Running and Skating Rehab: Still Overthinking It

So just skate if I want, if it doesn't hurt. I have to remember the goal of skating is joy and expression, and not medal grubbing. And I'm a true skater; yesterday while cleaning vegetables and listening to The Beatles Channel, I choreographed a routine in my head to Savoy Truffle: "Cream Tangerine! Montelemar!" 

And I'll run if I want to, no one cares if I'm first, 10th, or 2,348th. But maybe it's time to devote attention to things I enjoy more, like kayaking or playing guitar. I've given running 10 years, and if I want to participate, I can be a volunteer too. Or walk, WTF cares. 

RBR - How Many More Times?

Look how optimistic we were.

Pride goeth before the yogurt.

We tried to be cheerful, but we were hot and irritated.

So I did my 10th River Bank Run, many past races have been chronicled here. This one was the worst. I will first ‘fess up to a lack of training, thinking my elliptical work and skating would see me through.

I thought wrong.

It was the hottest RBR on record, with crazy humidity to boot. And because of covid, my first in-person race in over two years. My last one was the combined in Detroit in 2019. I forgot how hard the pavement is. 

I’ve been also dealing with a clicky knee and a weird issue with my big toe. What the hell this time? Nothing new, it ended up being an internally rotated hip, again. 

I’m dealing with a certain level of dispiritedness. How many times do I have to work on this chronic hip issue? It’s affecting skating, running, and my general level of activity.

The chiropractor shrugged and said he could adjust me, but maybe it’s time for another bout of physical therapy. 

So here I am, again, wondering if I’m making excuses, or just too stupidly determined to see a version of myself that doesn’t exist as I drag myself by my one good leg, pretty close to last place, across the finish line. I don’t see that as healthy either. 

Kind of a bummer post, I’ll try to make it more cheerful if I can. I’m astonished at the number of people being kind and encouraging as I pouted through my “I sucked!” posts on social media. First or last, nobody seemed to care, just applaud that I did it. 

At the expo, organizers were handing out the unclaimed 2020 medals for free. Lady recognized me, gave me the set, and told me to earn them virtually. Since I had already earned the 5k virtually in 2020, I passed that one on. I earned the 25k medal in spin class to get back in the saddle, and wrote the date and time on the back with a sharpie. 10k to go…

There’s a Story There, The Apricots

There’s an app called Flashfood where you can buy boxes of produce, meat, and more for pennies on the dollar. Think t-bones for two bucks, that kind of bargain.

So I’m in Big Rapids, buying gas at Meijer and was curious to see what I could get. Boxes of onions, sweet potatoes, kale, and basil for $3.

I’m at the fridge buying the boxes, and there’s a case full of apricots. I’m in heaven, I love apricots. There has to be at least $20 worth in this box. 

But it’s not listed.

Refresh.

Nothing.

I’m so tempted to grab it and play dumb. Can’t do it. Do the rest of my shopping and check again.

Drove by, checked again - nothing.

Spent entirely too much on a tiny bag of apricots as a result. Look how pretty it is.

I’m obsessed with a case of apricots. 

There’s a Story There, Stella's Brick Wall

I occasionally take photos of things I find curious, and wonder if there’s a story behind it. Without a clue, I create my own.  

Graffiti on the walls at Stella’s. Emo insisted on escorting Meg home on her 21st, chivalry intermingling with potential for romance. She ordered her grilled cheese without onions, anticipating this very moment. 

LHOTR - Too Pretty to Eat

When it’s too hot to cook, you make a cold plate. Alas, no cheese.

My girl Laura had a gift for describing food in glorious detail. Historians attribute this in part to the poverty she endured and the lack of nutrition while Pa made a go of it on the prairie. I need to reread the books again, it’s been a while, but for this blog entry, I’m remembering the peppermint heart she received from the shopkeeper in the Big Woods and the white flour sugar cake in her Christmas stocking, both of which she described as “too pretty to eat,” but it didn’t take her long to give into the temptation and eagerly enjoy them. 

We have it much easier in modern times, and I had the luxury of looking at the stove on a very hot day to say “maybe just some hard boiled eggs,” and decided on a cold plate dinner. Will, eager to help or eager to eat, assisted in preparation by arranging the meat tray while I cut and cleaned vegetables. 

When we were ready to eat, we both took a minute to look at a cool feast and enjoy the spread which was, as Laura would say, too pretty to eat. That lasted about a heartbeat, as the juicy orange slices and crisp apples were too tempting to pass up. The fresh vegetables had a satisfying crunch, and we dipped liberally into the hummus and dill dip for added flavor. Mini sandwiches were made with crackers and meat. We had our fill and pleased to know there were plenty of leftovers for Sunday’s lunch. 

One Step Away

Our player Dane from 2018 took the next step towards the majors and became a Mud Hen last week. 

So mom and I took a road trip to Toledo to cheer him on. 

Name in lights!

Big scoreboards are so extra. 

Mallory came and sat with us. Love her!

How much? We congratulated her and Dane on their engagement on the big scoreboard. Mom got a HMD shout out too. 

Mom got a foul ball! 

Who's up? This guy!

Broke up the no hitter in the 7th with a bloop double, and drove in the first run of the game. 

VIP is always better. Hugs and pics on the field after the game. 

Can't wait for this wedding. We're family, after all. 

Brit Floyd show Pictorial

Assassins!

Apparently, part of senior class fun is playing Assassins. Each player buys into the game for $5, they shoot their targets with Nerf guns, and the last man standing wins the pot.

Our assistance as host parents has been to run around Comstock Park with the boys laughing in the back seat; Dave as decoy with Oscar pretending to be Felix, and me with Felix driving around in broad daylight.

It’s now day 5, and we are all a little paranoid going out and about. We now look both ways and sniff out unknown cars for a potential ambush. 

Oscar is nursing a sprained ankle from playing soccer on Saturday, which has lent some excitement to the game. And a bit of daring. The boys went out last night in an attempt to hunt other players, and chaos ensued. As far as I know, the boys are still in.