Day 266
I still have nothing. I'm just tired. Trying to stay awake until 10 pm or I'll be awake at 2 am. Tomorrow I have to take mom to get her nails done and blah, blah, blah. Just keepin' it goin'.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
Sunday, July 31, 2016
Saturday, July 30, 2016
Whatever Happened to Radagast the Brown?
Day 265
Woo-hoo...Only 100 days to go.
Whatever happened to Radagast the Brown? For fans of J.R.R Tolkien we know Radagast was one of
three wizards in Middle Earth. Radagast was primarily a naturalist, prefering the company of animals and plants rather than men, dwarves or elves. Because of this he was vilified by Saruman the White, the leader of order of the wizards. Of course it was Saruman's belief in his superiority that led to his downfall.
It was Radagast who first discovered, through his animal friends, of the growing evil in Dol Guldur. And first does battle with the Witch King of Angmar. And yet, after the Hobbit, Tolkien seems to have forgotten about Radagast. He simply disappears from the Lord of the Rings trilogy.
It has been many years since I read the Hobbit and the Lord of the Rings, so maybe I have forgotten. Did something him happen to Radagast? Why was he left out of the LOTR?
Outside of the white substance running down the side of his head, which I can't help but think of as bird droppings, I find him to be a most interesting character. I believe he should have had a story of his own. Probably due to my love of animals, I feel him to be a kindred spirit.
But such is true of all interesting characters to their fans. Each of us has a favorite that we believe hasn't been treated fairly. This is a sign of an exceptionally good story.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
Woo-hoo...Only 100 days to go.
Whatever happened to Radagast the Brown? For fans of J.R.R Tolkien we know Radagast was one of
 |
| Old Toby...Finest weed in the South Shire |
It was Radagast who first discovered, through his animal friends, of the growing evil in Dol Guldur. And first does battle with the Witch King of Angmar. And yet, after the Hobbit, Tolkien seems to have forgotten about Radagast. He simply disappears from the Lord of the Rings trilogy.
It has been many years since I read the Hobbit and the Lord of the Rings, so maybe I have forgotten. Did something him happen to Radagast? Why was he left out of the LOTR?
Outside of the white substance running down the side of his head, which I can't help but think of as bird droppings, I find him to be a most interesting character. I believe he should have had a story of his own. Probably due to my love of animals, I feel him to be a kindred spirit.
But such is true of all interesting characters to their fans. Each of us has a favorite that we believe hasn't been treated fairly. This is a sign of an exceptionally good story.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
Friday, July 29, 2016
Day 264
Day 264
Nothing special tonight, just playing cards with family. It's always nice to get away from the house visit. It's getting late so...
Until tomorrow,
Ken
Nothing special tonight, just playing cards with family. It's always nice to get away from the house visit. It's getting late so...
Until tomorrow,
Ken
Thursday, July 28, 2016
Day 263
Day 263
I'm taking the night off from writing anything substantial. I wrote the five part story over this past week so I think I deserve a break for one night.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
I'm taking the night off from writing anything substantial. I wrote the five part story over this past week so I think I deserve a break for one night.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
Wednesday, July 27, 2016
Romance and the Mt. Holly Snapping Turtle Finale
Day 262
It was Sunday morning and we had to check out at the ranger station by 11 am. The weather had finally cleared up, the sky was blue, there was a gentle breeze. The sun was warming the air and the day held promise of what I had hoped for when we had arrived on Friday. By 10 am the electricity came back on, marked by the lone light bulb giving off a brilliant light. We turned everything off as we were instructed to do when leaving and I was taking the trash to the garbage can out by the pond.
There in the water was the tree branch bobbing up and down, only the surface of the water was still. As I placed the trash with our leftovers in the receptacle, I saw the branch move around so the red spot was facing me. Strange. Then the branch briefly ducked under the surface, only to rise in another spot closer to land and me.
The branch silently moved closer to the edge of the pond. A moment later I realized, what I had mistaken for a tree branch was actually the head of a turtle. An enormous turtle. As I said before the head was a good 5 inches across, and the two spots, one red and one milky blue, were it's eyes. As it rose out of the water and walked up on the land, I could see the full breadth of the thing. It looked to be the size of a sea tortoise, the kind that live a hundred years and children ride at zoos.
I have already told you his eyes were hideous. There were deep gouges in the shell, from what I can only surmise, was the propeller of some pleasure craft driving over him. Quite possibly more than once. He looked me full in the face with his milky blue eye, and the hair on my neck stood at attention. At first I assumed the eye to be blind, or at least diminished to some extent, but his sight was as sharp as any turtle, maybe more so. For when I moved, he moved right along with me and there was no escape from that eye.
As I stared helplessly, into the depth of the dead eye, I began to swoon, as if hypnotized. I found myself frozen to the spot as the beastie moved closer to me. If Irene had not chosen that exact moment to emerge from the cabin complaining of the cold, I shudder still to this day, to think of what might have happened to me. The snapper, for it was a snapping turtle, turned it's attention on Irene. I tried to call to her to run and lock herself in the cabin, but I could not speak, still recovering from the mesmerizing spell cast by the evil eye. The eye was now cast upon Irene.
I thought I must stop this vile creature from harming my lady fair. Well, not that fair, it was first thing in the morning and we had been camping without a shower and I'm sure I wasn't smelling my best either. Anyway, the scent of unwashed bodies was probably what attracted the turtle in the first place. But I digress.
Irene, without batting an eye, picked up a log and threw it. The wood fell short but did cause the beast to hiss and take several steps back toward the pond.
We quickly grabbed our things from the cabin and fired up the car. I didn't even bother turning around as I backed down the path to the road, and away from danger. When we stopped at the gate, we had a good laugh about the turtle. I asked Irene for the key to the gate lock. The look on her face told me she had left the keys in the cabin. One of us had to go back.
I reminded her it was her turn to unlock the gate and she would need the key to do so. With another look from Irene, I quickly realized I would be going back, I'd rather face the turtle. When I returned to the cabin, the turtle was nowhere in sight. I grabbed the keys and the white box of stale doughnuts we had forgotten to throw in the trash and returned to the car. When I stepped out the door, the turtle was there and moving toward me. It is amazing how fast one of these things can move. I dropped the doughnuts and started to run. To hell with the clean up deposit, I wasn't going back to pick up doughnuts.
We made it to the ranger station and returned the keys, confessing I had dropped a box of doughnuts when I left. The ranger said that that was OK. Being of a chatty nature, as some rangers are, he told us about a snapping turtle named Ol' Henry. Seems the old fellow likes to swim up to the cabin looking for food. Some folks go to the Cidar Mill and by the old, stale doughnuts in the white box and feed them to Ol' Henry. Sense of smell is all he has left, blind in one eye and can't see out the other. So he follows his nose to the campers and begs for doughnuts. Irene and I thought it was a funny story.
We never went camping at Mt. Holly again.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
It was Sunday morning and we had to check out at the ranger station by 11 am. The weather had finally cleared up, the sky was blue, there was a gentle breeze. The sun was warming the air and the day held promise of what I had hoped for when we had arrived on Friday. By 10 am the electricity came back on, marked by the lone light bulb giving off a brilliant light. We turned everything off as we were instructed to do when leaving and I was taking the trash to the garbage can out by the pond.
There in the water was the tree branch bobbing up and down, only the surface of the water was still. As I placed the trash with our leftovers in the receptacle, I saw the branch move around so the red spot was facing me. Strange. Then the branch briefly ducked under the surface, only to rise in another spot closer to land and me.
The branch silently moved closer to the edge of the pond. A moment later I realized, what I had mistaken for a tree branch was actually the head of a turtle. An enormous turtle. As I said before the head was a good 5 inches across, and the two spots, one red and one milky blue, were it's eyes. As it rose out of the water and walked up on the land, I could see the full breadth of the thing. It looked to be the size of a sea tortoise, the kind that live a hundred years and children ride at zoos.
I have already told you his eyes were hideous. There were deep gouges in the shell, from what I can only surmise, was the propeller of some pleasure craft driving over him. Quite possibly more than once. He looked me full in the face with his milky blue eye, and the hair on my neck stood at attention. At first I assumed the eye to be blind, or at least diminished to some extent, but his sight was as sharp as any turtle, maybe more so. For when I moved, he moved right along with me and there was no escape from that eye.
As I stared helplessly, into the depth of the dead eye, I began to swoon, as if hypnotized. I found myself frozen to the spot as the beastie moved closer to me. If Irene had not chosen that exact moment to emerge from the cabin complaining of the cold, I shudder still to this day, to think of what might have happened to me. The snapper, for it was a snapping turtle, turned it's attention on Irene. I tried to call to her to run and lock herself in the cabin, but I could not speak, still recovering from the mesmerizing spell cast by the evil eye. The eye was now cast upon Irene.
I thought I must stop this vile creature from harming my lady fair. Well, not that fair, it was first thing in the morning and we had been camping without a shower and I'm sure I wasn't smelling my best either. Anyway, the scent of unwashed bodies was probably what attracted the turtle in the first place. But I digress.
Irene, without batting an eye, picked up a log and threw it. The wood fell short but did cause the beast to hiss and take several steps back toward the pond.
We quickly grabbed our things from the cabin and fired up the car. I didn't even bother turning around as I backed down the path to the road, and away from danger. When we stopped at the gate, we had a good laugh about the turtle. I asked Irene for the key to the gate lock. The look on her face told me she had left the keys in the cabin. One of us had to go back.
I reminded her it was her turn to unlock the gate and she would need the key to do so. With another look from Irene, I quickly realized I would be going back, I'd rather face the turtle. When I returned to the cabin, the turtle was nowhere in sight. I grabbed the keys and the white box of stale doughnuts we had forgotten to throw in the trash and returned to the car. When I stepped out the door, the turtle was there and moving toward me. It is amazing how fast one of these things can move. I dropped the doughnuts and started to run. To hell with the clean up deposit, I wasn't going back to pick up doughnuts.
We made it to the ranger station and returned the keys, confessing I had dropped a box of doughnuts when I left. The ranger said that that was OK. Being of a chatty nature, as some rangers are, he told us about a snapping turtle named Ol' Henry. Seems the old fellow likes to swim up to the cabin looking for food. Some folks go to the Cidar Mill and by the old, stale doughnuts in the white box and feed them to Ol' Henry. Sense of smell is all he has left, blind in one eye and can't see out the other. So he follows his nose to the campers and begs for doughnuts. Irene and I thought it was a funny story.
We never went camping at Mt. Holly again.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
Tuesday, July 26, 2016
Romance and the Mt. Holly Snapping Turtle Part 4
Day 261
Irene sat in the corner huddled in her sleeping bag for warmth, giving me the hairy eyeball. I had filled the old cast iron heater with wood and opened the flue, but try as I might I couldn't get it to catch fire. The fact was the wood was wet. Before we left for The Cidar Mill, Irene had asked me to bring in a supply of wood and fill the heater. That way we could start a warm fire as soon as we returned and warm the cabin.
I had explained to Irene before we had left, that I could tell by the wind and sky that it wouldn't rain, sighting my superior camping and weather prognostication skills. After using up almost all of the newspaper I had brought for fire starter, I was able to get a weak fire going which in turn dried the wood at the top. It didn't take long before the cabin was a sauna again and Irene could she her sleeping bag.
I went out in the rain and stocked up on firewood hoping it would dry before it was needed. As I came back to the cabin, my arms loaded with firewood, I glanced over to the pond which seemed to have risen higher in just the past hour. The tree branch I had seen earlier was gone, sank beneath the surface. I forgot about the pond and tree branches.
The cabin was warm and toasty and all had been forgiven, if not forgotten. It was getting late and we had had no dinner, the electricity was still out. I remembered the cider and doughnuts. So by the light from the glow of the heater I opened the doughnuts as Irene found two plastic cups for the cider.
One bite and I knew, those doughnuts were older than I was. I followed the doughnut with a large swallow of the cider before I noticed it wasn't quite right. Checking the plastic jug we found the expiration date had been rubbed off.
The well was outside, and since I had no intention of going out in the rain again, I decided the cider wasn't so bad after all. As a matter of fact, the more I drank, the more I drank (just like the Blake Sheldon song).
Irene had opened the wine as she was not brave enough (or stupid enough as she put it) to drink something that from that fruit stand. Soon we were laughing at all that had happened to us on this camping trip. There was another peal of thunder and the ground shook, Irene nestled up close to me. This was more like it. My plans for romance were blossoming.
Irene asked me to come up to the loft and give her a massage. I thought, "This is it."
Until she said, "I have cramps."
How often had a man's fire of love been doused by those three little words. At least this explained why she got so mad about the firewood.
I rubbed my hands together to warm them up before my fingers worked their magic. I pride myself on my back rubs. As I worked Irene's cramps out, I started to feel some cramps of my own, deep down in my stomach. I made it down the ladder from the loft and out the door before depositing the cider and doughnuts, I had just ingested an hour before, next to the car.
It had stopped raining and the full moon was shining bright. There in the pond was the tree branch again floating just out of the water, the milky blue spot shining in the moonlight. Then, I swear, the blue spot winked at me, as the branch sank beneath the surface once more.
When I went back inside, Irene was asleep. I lay on my cot thinking of that milky blue spot and how it had seemed to wink at me. A trick of the light and the hard cider, I thought. That night I had a dream of a tree branch with a mouth and a milky blue eye, dragging a car tire into the pond. I also imagined I had heard something outside the door. In the morning, I decided both the dream and the noise were caused by the cider.
I stood in the doorway, taking a deep breath of the crisp morning air. I didn't notice the scratches in the fresh paint on the door.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
Irene sat in the corner huddled in her sleeping bag for warmth, giving me the hairy eyeball. I had filled the old cast iron heater with wood and opened the flue, but try as I might I couldn't get it to catch fire. The fact was the wood was wet. Before we left for The Cidar Mill, Irene had asked me to bring in a supply of wood and fill the heater. That way we could start a warm fire as soon as we returned and warm the cabin.
I had explained to Irene before we had left, that I could tell by the wind and sky that it wouldn't rain, sighting my superior camping and weather prognostication skills. After using up almost all of the newspaper I had brought for fire starter, I was able to get a weak fire going which in turn dried the wood at the top. It didn't take long before the cabin was a sauna again and Irene could she her sleeping bag.
I went out in the rain and stocked up on firewood hoping it would dry before it was needed. As I came back to the cabin, my arms loaded with firewood, I glanced over to the pond which seemed to have risen higher in just the past hour. The tree branch I had seen earlier was gone, sank beneath the surface. I forgot about the pond and tree branches.
The cabin was warm and toasty and all had been forgiven, if not forgotten. It was getting late and we had had no dinner, the electricity was still out. I remembered the cider and doughnuts. So by the light from the glow of the heater I opened the doughnuts as Irene found two plastic cups for the cider.
One bite and I knew, those doughnuts were older than I was. I followed the doughnut with a large swallow of the cider before I noticed it wasn't quite right. Checking the plastic jug we found the expiration date had been rubbed off.
The well was outside, and since I had no intention of going out in the rain again, I decided the cider wasn't so bad after all. As a matter of fact, the more I drank, the more I drank (just like the Blake Sheldon song).
Irene had opened the wine as she was not brave enough (or stupid enough as she put it) to drink something that from that fruit stand. Soon we were laughing at all that had happened to us on this camping trip. There was another peal of thunder and the ground shook, Irene nestled up close to me. This was more like it. My plans for romance were blossoming.
Irene asked me to come up to the loft and give her a massage. I thought, "This is it."
Until she said, "I have cramps."
How often had a man's fire of love been doused by those three little words. At least this explained why she got so mad about the firewood.
I rubbed my hands together to warm them up before my fingers worked their magic. I pride myself on my back rubs. As I worked Irene's cramps out, I started to feel some cramps of my own, deep down in my stomach. I made it down the ladder from the loft and out the door before depositing the cider and doughnuts, I had just ingested an hour before, next to the car.
It had stopped raining and the full moon was shining bright. There in the pond was the tree branch again floating just out of the water, the milky blue spot shining in the moonlight. Then, I swear, the blue spot winked at me, as the branch sank beneath the surface once more.
When I went back inside, Irene was asleep. I lay on my cot thinking of that milky blue spot and how it had seemed to wink at me. A trick of the light and the hard cider, I thought. That night I had a dream of a tree branch with a mouth and a milky blue eye, dragging a car tire into the pond. I also imagined I had heard something outside the door. In the morning, I decided both the dream and the noise were caused by the cider.
I stood in the doorway, taking a deep breath of the crisp morning air. I didn't notice the scratches in the fresh paint on the door.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
Monday, July 25, 2016
Romance and the Mt. Holly Snapping Turtle Part 3
Day 260
Irene and I woke Saturday to a soggy morning with the same gray, overcast skies. After all, it was autumn and what did I expect? We would just have to make the best of it. So we went in search of adventure in the form of a cider mill. Nothing says fall in Michigan like fresh apple cider and hot doughnuts.
We drove down the path, I got out and unlocked the gate, drove through and then locked the gate again. As we were driving along, following the directions we had been given at the ranger station, I had visions of an old weathered mill with a large water driven wheel slowly turning the apple press and churning out that sweet/tart nectar. The air filled with the scent of crushed apples, and fresh, hot doughnuts still crispy from the hot grease.
Dark red candied apples and nut covered caramel apples. Cotton candy and homemade fruit pies baked to a golden brown. And maybe some apple wines or hard ciders. My stomach started rumbling after the sparse breakfast we had had that morning at the cabin.
When we arrived at the "cider mill" it was far less than I had expected. In fact it was little more than a shed by the road with a hand painted sign that read The Cidar Mill. There was a few bags of apples, an over priced pie, doughnuts in a plain white box and apple cider in plastic jugs with a sticker from Yates Cider Mill. To say we were disappointed was a gross understatement.
We would have just left but we were so hungry, we bought a half dozen doughnuts and a half gallon of cider and drove back to the cabin.
By now the rain had started coming down heavy. When we pulled up to the gate, Irene flat refused to get out and unlock it, even though it was her turn. I tried to appeal to her feminist side telling her that she didn't want a man doing something so chivalrous as laying his coat down across a water puddle for a woman to keep her from getting wet. She decided when it came to one of us getting soaked in the rain chivalry was fine by her.
My rain poncho was in the back seat and I worked it over my head and shoulders before stepping out of the car. Irene slid into the drivers seat and when I had opened the gate she drove the car through. After closing and locking the gate I turned back around to find that Irene had pulled the car all the way up to the cabin, leaving me to walk in the rain. Payment for my "feminist" remark.
I ran up the drive as best I could, slipping on the muddy drive. As I was rounding the curve leading to the cabin there was a bright flash and loud booming crash that shook the ground. I had been momentarily blinded by the lightning and when my sight returned I looked in the direction of the crash knowing the strike had been very close by. I saw the pond was rising from the torrential down pour, then I noticed something that had not been there before.
I saw what I had thought to be the end of a large branch sticking up out of the water. The branch had to be almost five inches across and at least that much above the water surface, with an angry red spot on one side and a milky blue spot on the other side. I assumed the wind or the lightning had broken it loose from a nearby tree overhanging the pond.
Another flash roused me from my curiosity; I dashed into the cabin closing the door behind me. The cabin was dark so I flipped the light switch. Nothing happened. I flipped the switch down and back up again, still no light. I flicked the switch several times with the same result. The electricity was out.
Perfect.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
Irene and I woke Saturday to a soggy morning with the same gray, overcast skies. After all, it was autumn and what did I expect? We would just have to make the best of it. So we went in search of adventure in the form of a cider mill. Nothing says fall in Michigan like fresh apple cider and hot doughnuts.
We drove down the path, I got out and unlocked the gate, drove through and then locked the gate again. As we were driving along, following the directions we had been given at the ranger station, I had visions of an old weathered mill with a large water driven wheel slowly turning the apple press and churning out that sweet/tart nectar. The air filled with the scent of crushed apples, and fresh, hot doughnuts still crispy from the hot grease.
Dark red candied apples and nut covered caramel apples. Cotton candy and homemade fruit pies baked to a golden brown. And maybe some apple wines or hard ciders. My stomach started rumbling after the sparse breakfast we had had that morning at the cabin.
When we arrived at the "cider mill" it was far less than I had expected. In fact it was little more than a shed by the road with a hand painted sign that read The Cidar Mill. There was a few bags of apples, an over priced pie, doughnuts in a plain white box and apple cider in plastic jugs with a sticker from Yates Cider Mill. To say we were disappointed was a gross understatement.
We would have just left but we were so hungry, we bought a half dozen doughnuts and a half gallon of cider and drove back to the cabin.
By now the rain had started coming down heavy. When we pulled up to the gate, Irene flat refused to get out and unlock it, even though it was her turn. I tried to appeal to her feminist side telling her that she didn't want a man doing something so chivalrous as laying his coat down across a water puddle for a woman to keep her from getting wet. She decided when it came to one of us getting soaked in the rain chivalry was fine by her.
My rain poncho was in the back seat and I worked it over my head and shoulders before stepping out of the car. Irene slid into the drivers seat and when I had opened the gate she drove the car through. After closing and locking the gate I turned back around to find that Irene had pulled the car all the way up to the cabin, leaving me to walk in the rain. Payment for my "feminist" remark.
I ran up the drive as best I could, slipping on the muddy drive. As I was rounding the curve leading to the cabin there was a bright flash and loud booming crash that shook the ground. I had been momentarily blinded by the lightning and when my sight returned I looked in the direction of the crash knowing the strike had been very close by. I saw the pond was rising from the torrential down pour, then I noticed something that had not been there before.
I saw what I had thought to be the end of a large branch sticking up out of the water. The branch had to be almost five inches across and at least that much above the water surface, with an angry red spot on one side and a milky blue spot on the other side. I assumed the wind or the lightning had broken it loose from a nearby tree overhanging the pond.
Another flash roused me from my curiosity; I dashed into the cabin closing the door behind me. The cabin was dark so I flipped the light switch. Nothing happened. I flipped the switch down and back up again, still no light. I flicked the switch several times with the same result. The electricity was out.
Perfect.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
Sunday, July 24, 2016
Busy Summer in Houghton Lake
Day 259
The weather here has been warm and dry. The lakes and rivers are down. And the recent heat wave of high 80's to 90 are causing the waters to get lower and the vegetation is getting plenty of sunlight and "growing like a weed" if you'll pardon the pun.
The fine weather and low gas prices has brought many people to the Houghton Lake area. The DNR boat launches are full each weekend and the lake is covered with jet ski's and pleasure boats pulling water skiers and tubers.
It doesn't seem to be affecting the fishing but it can be annoying when pleasure boats come zipping around your boat as if you are a water marker on a race course. Making your boat rock as if on high seas.
When I go fishing I like to relax, not hanging on to keep from being pitched overboard. Ah well, just a few more weeks and Bud Bash will be over. Bud Bash marks the down slide of the summer tourists. Travelers tend to stay home in August to get their children ready for back to school.
I haven't been fishing much this year for different reasons. But there's plenty of season left.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
The weather here has been warm and dry. The lakes and rivers are down. And the recent heat wave of high 80's to 90 are causing the waters to get lower and the vegetation is getting plenty of sunlight and "growing like a weed" if you'll pardon the pun.
The fine weather and low gas prices has brought many people to the Houghton Lake area. The DNR boat launches are full each weekend and the lake is covered with jet ski's and pleasure boats pulling water skiers and tubers.
It doesn't seem to be affecting the fishing but it can be annoying when pleasure boats come zipping around your boat as if you are a water marker on a race course. Making your boat rock as if on high seas.
When I go fishing I like to relax, not hanging on to keep from being pitched overboard. Ah well, just a few more weeks and Bud Bash will be over. Bud Bash marks the down slide of the summer tourists. Travelers tend to stay home in August to get their children ready for back to school.
I haven't been fishing much this year for different reasons. But there's plenty of season left.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
Saturday, July 23, 2016
Romance and the Mt. Holly Snapping Turtle Part 2
Day 258
I've had never had any experience with a cast iron, wood burning heater before, I figured it wouldn't generate much heat, so I did what any young male would do, I filled it to the top with wood and threw in a match. Then I went outside to get the rest of our things. When I came back in the cabin was filling with smoke.
It took about thirty minutes, after I opened the flue, for the smoke to clear and we could go back inside.
After a quick dinner we settled down with a glass of wine. By this time the heater was glowing cherry red and the heat was coming off of it in waves. We moved back, as far from it as we could, still the cabin felt like a sauna in summertime. Irene thought it was cozy and took off her blanket. I was sweating profusely and stripped down to my shorts.
Up until now, I still had hope of sharing one of the bunk beds on the main floor with Irene (I was much thinner back then). But Irene thought we should sleep in the loft since there was more room. She went up the ladder first, stifling a yawn as she reached the top.
I soon followed, and once I reached the top I found myself breathless. The air was so hot and thick in the loft I couldn't breathe. Of course, I thought, hot air rises. This would be intolerable. I was about to suggest we sleep on the main floor. Looking over I saw Irene was already wrapped up in her sleeping bag, and with a quick goodnight she rolled over and went to sleep.
I went back down the ladder, found the bunk furthest from the heater and pushed it to the furthest corner away from the red eyed dragon. For a moment, I even considered sleeping outside, but I didn't want Irene to wake up alone.
Whoever had built this cabin had done a great job of insulating it, the heat never dissipated until early morning. Until then I just tossed and turned before finally falling asleep. The temperature had finally reached tolerable levels at around 5 am. I remember thinking, "Today is going to be different, today is going to be a good day,"
I was wrong.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
I've had never had any experience with a cast iron, wood burning heater before, I figured it wouldn't generate much heat, so I did what any young male would do, I filled it to the top with wood and threw in a match. Then I went outside to get the rest of our things. When I came back in the cabin was filling with smoke.
It took about thirty minutes, after I opened the flue, for the smoke to clear and we could go back inside.
After a quick dinner we settled down with a glass of wine. By this time the heater was glowing cherry red and the heat was coming off of it in waves. We moved back, as far from it as we could, still the cabin felt like a sauna in summertime. Irene thought it was cozy and took off her blanket. I was sweating profusely and stripped down to my shorts.
Up until now, I still had hope of sharing one of the bunk beds on the main floor with Irene (I was much thinner back then). But Irene thought we should sleep in the loft since there was more room. She went up the ladder first, stifling a yawn as she reached the top.
I soon followed, and once I reached the top I found myself breathless. The air was so hot and thick in the loft I couldn't breathe. Of course, I thought, hot air rises. This would be intolerable. I was about to suggest we sleep on the main floor. Looking over I saw Irene was already wrapped up in her sleeping bag, and with a quick goodnight she rolled over and went to sleep.
I went back down the ladder, found the bunk furthest from the heater and pushed it to the furthest corner away from the red eyed dragon. For a moment, I even considered sleeping outside, but I didn't want Irene to wake up alone.
Whoever had built this cabin had done a great job of insulating it, the heat never dissipated until early morning. Until then I just tossed and turned before finally falling asleep. The temperature had finally reached tolerable levels at around 5 am. I remember thinking, "Today is going to be different, today is going to be a good day,"
I was wrong.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
Friday, July 22, 2016
Day 257
Day 257
It's late again and I don't have time to write my usual witty, inspirational and insightful blog post. I'll be glad when I reach 365. I want to post quality content and stories but it's difficult to do everyday.
I will finish the story of the Mt. Holly snapping turtle soon. Thanks for being patient.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
It's late again and I don't have time to write my usual witty, inspirational and insightful blog post. I'll be glad when I reach 365. I want to post quality content and stories but it's difficult to do everyday.
I will finish the story of the Mt. Holly snapping turtle soon. Thanks for being patient.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
Thursday, July 21, 2016
Writers Discipline
Day 256
I begin to understand now what it takes to be a writer. To get up each and everyday and write. The successful writers set a goal for each day either number of pages to be written each day, or the number of hours to write each day. Plus they write at the same time each day. Treating it like a job.
I do none of these. I write each day but with no minimums, and I write when I feel like it, instead of at a certain time. I need to show more discipline or I'll never publish.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
I begin to understand now what it takes to be a writer. To get up each and everyday and write. The successful writers set a goal for each day either number of pages to be written each day, or the number of hours to write each day. Plus they write at the same time each day. Treating it like a job.
I do none of these. I write each day but with no minimums, and I write when I feel like it, instead of at a certain time. I need to show more discipline or I'll never publish.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
Wednesday, July 20, 2016
Some Beach in Houghton Lake
Day 255
A great song I found surfing YouTube last night. I haven't heard this in years. Great song.
Yes. I'm mailing it in tonight. I had a busy day and it's getting late. I'll try to finish the snapping turtle story tomorrow.
A great song I found surfing YouTube last night. I haven't heard this in years. Great song.
Yes. I'm mailing it in tonight. I had a busy day and it's getting late. I'll try to finish the snapping turtle story tomorrow.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
Tuesday, July 19, 2016
Romance and the Mt. Holly Snapping Turtle
Day 254
I had a pet turtle when I was growing up. His name was Twurtle. Twurtle was a 4" painted turtle I had found at Stony Creek. I kept him in an aquarium with a rock, small branch and some lettuce. In the corner was a small bowl of water. I didn't keep him long, he looked so sad, and I quickly lost interest in caring for Twurtle, so I released him at a small pond near our house. This was my only experience with a turtle until some years later.
At the Mt. Holly State Park and Campground, there's an old log cabin near the entrance to the state park. The cabin was donated, along with ten acres of land, to the park on provision that the land not be developed except in the maintenance of the cabin. The cabin had four bunk beds and a loft with room for four more and could be rented for $35 a night during the summer and only $30 during the off season. Being frugal I opted for the off season expecting the autumn colors to make up for the cool days and cold nights. I also hoped to rekindle a relationship that recently had gone from hot to "just friends".
When we picked up the keys to the cabin at the DNR office, the officer on duty warned us to keep the entrance gate locked as sometimes people would take the cabin access drive, thinking it was a way to sneak into the park without paying.
We closed the gate and locked it after us, then drove about fifty yards to the cabin advertised as nestled among green trees and wild flowers. What we got was bare trees and skunk weed. As for the fall colors, we had had an early cold snap and the leaves had already past the reds, golds and yellows stage and were skittering across the ground. The few sparse leaves still in the trees were dried up and a uniform brown.
When we opened the door we were greeted with the pungent odor of fresh paint. Stepping inside with our bags, we examined the walls but they were varnished half log. Halfway across the room we realized it was the floor that had been painted. We went back outside, leaving the door and several windows open to speed the drying.
There was a nice breeze blowing but due to temperatures in the low sixties, it took several hours for the floor to dry. We sat in the car to stay warm, looking at the bare trees and the gray overcast skies.
Strike one.
Later the park ranger would tell us they had forgotten we were coming that weekend (no one ever rents the cabin at that time of year), so the maintenance guys decided it would be a good time to paint the floor.
Part of the charm of this cabin was a wood burning fireplace to "keep you toasty warm". My plan was a couple of glasses of wine, huddled together with a blanket in front of the fireplace. Hoping this would lead to soft looks and warm kisses.
I loaded up my arms with split logs, supplied by the park, and went inside to start a fire in the fireplace. Nothing warms the heart like the scent of pine boughs burning, it stirs subconscious thoughts of holidays and Christmas cheer.
I would get a blazing fire going and warm the cabin for my lady fair. As I turned toward the fireplace I dropped the wood, the largest piece landing on my foot. The hearth stones fireplace were black with soot and in the opening was a rusted, cast iron wood burning heater. Permanently mounted. Also blackened with soot. No romantic fire.
Strike two.
Again the park ranger had explained to us; a previous group of young renters had placed a four foot log partly in the fireplace and mostly out on the floor, assuming they would burn the first half then just push the remainder into the fireplace; saving them from having to haul wood and giving them more time to drink beer. After they almost set the cabin on fire, it was decided to install the cast iron heater in the fireplace.
Any illusions I had of a romantic weekend were fading fast...
It's getting late, I'll finish this tomorrow or the next day.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
I had a pet turtle when I was growing up. His name was Twurtle. Twurtle was a 4" painted turtle I had found at Stony Creek. I kept him in an aquarium with a rock, small branch and some lettuce. In the corner was a small bowl of water. I didn't keep him long, he looked so sad, and I quickly lost interest in caring for Twurtle, so I released him at a small pond near our house. This was my only experience with a turtle until some years later.
At the Mt. Holly State Park and Campground, there's an old log cabin near the entrance to the state park. The cabin was donated, along with ten acres of land, to the park on provision that the land not be developed except in the maintenance of the cabin. The cabin had four bunk beds and a loft with room for four more and could be rented for $35 a night during the summer and only $30 during the off season. Being frugal I opted for the off season expecting the autumn colors to make up for the cool days and cold nights. I also hoped to rekindle a relationship that recently had gone from hot to "just friends".
When we picked up the keys to the cabin at the DNR office, the officer on duty warned us to keep the entrance gate locked as sometimes people would take the cabin access drive, thinking it was a way to sneak into the park without paying.
We closed the gate and locked it after us, then drove about fifty yards to the cabin advertised as nestled among green trees and wild flowers. What we got was bare trees and skunk weed. As for the fall colors, we had had an early cold snap and the leaves had already past the reds, golds and yellows stage and were skittering across the ground. The few sparse leaves still in the trees were dried up and a uniform brown.
When we opened the door we were greeted with the pungent odor of fresh paint. Stepping inside with our bags, we examined the walls but they were varnished half log. Halfway across the room we realized it was the floor that had been painted. We went back outside, leaving the door and several windows open to speed the drying.
There was a nice breeze blowing but due to temperatures in the low sixties, it took several hours for the floor to dry. We sat in the car to stay warm, looking at the bare trees and the gray overcast skies.
Strike one.
Later the park ranger would tell us they had forgotten we were coming that weekend (no one ever rents the cabin at that time of year), so the maintenance guys decided it would be a good time to paint the floor.
Part of the charm of this cabin was a wood burning fireplace to "keep you toasty warm". My plan was a couple of glasses of wine, huddled together with a blanket in front of the fireplace. Hoping this would lead to soft looks and warm kisses.
I loaded up my arms with split logs, supplied by the park, and went inside to start a fire in the fireplace. Nothing warms the heart like the scent of pine boughs burning, it stirs subconscious thoughts of holidays and Christmas cheer.
I would get a blazing fire going and warm the cabin for my lady fair. As I turned toward the fireplace I dropped the wood, the largest piece landing on my foot. The hearth stones fireplace were black with soot and in the opening was a rusted, cast iron wood burning heater. Permanently mounted. Also blackened with soot. No romantic fire.
Strike two.
Again the park ranger had explained to us; a previous group of young renters had placed a four foot log partly in the fireplace and mostly out on the floor, assuming they would burn the first half then just push the remainder into the fireplace; saving them from having to haul wood and giving them more time to drink beer. After they almost set the cabin on fire, it was decided to install the cast iron heater in the fireplace.
Any illusions I had of a romantic weekend were fading fast...
It's getting late, I'll finish this tomorrow or the next day.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
Monday, July 18, 2016
Sunday, July 17, 2016
Day 252
Day 252
One of those days when I could just sleep all day. So I didn't get anything done, including a good blog post. So for today just mailing it in.
Hope tomorrow is better so I can get something done.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
One of those days when I could just sleep all day. So I didn't get anything done, including a good blog post. So for today just mailing it in.
Hope tomorrow is better so I can get something done.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
Saturday, July 16, 2016
My Cat Calls Me To Bed
Day 251
I have had a number of cats over the years. One of my longest relationships was with a cat named Sassafras. She was originally owned by a little old woman, hence the name Sassafras. She was eight years old when she came to live with me and we were together for 14 years.
She was about twelve years old when she acquired the habit of calling me to bed at night.
She would walk off toward the bedroom (she slept in my bed) around 9:00 pm. After a few minutes she would walk back to the living room and sit and stare at me. Then she would get up and walk back down the hallway to the bedroom. She would do this three times, each time her actions would escalate. The second time she came to get me she would walk in a circle then sit for a minute, then get up and return to the bedroom. Finally, she would come out, turn three times and sit, meow and go back to the bedroom.
She developed a time schedule of 10 minutes between callings. After the third time she would stay in the bedroom and let out three loud meows. The first time I had heard this I thought she had hurt herself so I went to check on her. After that it became the final act in her little drama of trying to get me to come to bed.
Normally she would only do this when we were alone. If anyone came to visit she would just hide until they left. One friend though came often enough that Sassafras was used to her being there. So one night when Irene stayed late, Sassafras went into her act.
She came out, sat down and stared at me. I told her it wasn't time yet plus I had company. She got up and went to the bedroom. Then she came back, turned a circle and sat down. I said, "Not yet. It's early." Sassafras went to the bedroom. Soon she returned.
She spun around several times, sat down and looked me in the eye. A soft meow issued from her.
I decided to ham it up this time. "Aw, Sass...just ten more minutes and I promise to come to bed."
She stood and slowly walked back down the hallway.
Ten minutes later came three loud shrieks from the bedroom. Irene looked at me and asked, "What was that?"
"She's just mad at me for not coming to bed."
"You'd better go, or you'll be sleeping on the couch."
The next day I called Irene and explained my cats little idiosyncrasies. She laughed and told me we acted just like a cute, old couple. In some ways...I guess we were.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
I have had a number of cats over the years. One of my longest relationships was with a cat named Sassafras. She was originally owned by a little old woman, hence the name Sassafras. She was eight years old when she came to live with me and we were together for 14 years.
She was about twelve years old when she acquired the habit of calling me to bed at night.
She would walk off toward the bedroom (she slept in my bed) around 9:00 pm. After a few minutes she would walk back to the living room and sit and stare at me. Then she would get up and walk back down the hallway to the bedroom. She would do this three times, each time her actions would escalate. The second time she came to get me she would walk in a circle then sit for a minute, then get up and return to the bedroom. Finally, she would come out, turn three times and sit, meow and go back to the bedroom.
She developed a time schedule of 10 minutes between callings. After the third time she would stay in the bedroom and let out three loud meows. The first time I had heard this I thought she had hurt herself so I went to check on her. After that it became the final act in her little drama of trying to get me to come to bed.
Normally she would only do this when we were alone. If anyone came to visit she would just hide until they left. One friend though came often enough that Sassafras was used to her being there. So one night when Irene stayed late, Sassafras went into her act.
She came out, sat down and stared at me. I told her it wasn't time yet plus I had company. She got up and went to the bedroom. Then she came back, turned a circle and sat down. I said, "Not yet. It's early." Sassafras went to the bedroom. Soon she returned.
She spun around several times, sat down and looked me in the eye. A soft meow issued from her.
I decided to ham it up this time. "Aw, Sass...just ten more minutes and I promise to come to bed."
She stood and slowly walked back down the hallway.
Ten minutes later came three loud shrieks from the bedroom. Irene looked at me and asked, "What was that?"
"She's just mad at me for not coming to bed."
"You'd better go, or you'll be sleeping on the couch."
The next day I called Irene and explained my cats little idiosyncrasies. She laughed and told me we acted just like a cute, old couple. In some ways...I guess we were.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
Friday, July 15, 2016
"It's hot, brown and plenty of it."
Day 250
Why do my cats go outside to eat grass, then wait to come inside to vomit the offending plant along with the other contents of their stomach, onto my carpeting?
I am especially grateful if I let them out in the evening, to save me emptying the litter box, only to step in the offending offal when I get up to use the toilet during the night.
Here's what I have been told. Cats will eat grass when their stomachs are upset (usually from hair) to cause them to regurgitate and relive their stomachs of the indigestible matter.
Lately I have taken to brushing both of my cats with a wire pet brush. It is amazing the amount of hair that come from them, especially the tomcat. I suspect that this is due not only because he is much bigger, but he also spends more time outside. During the winter his fur gets thicker. Especially the last few winters which have been colder than normal.
Over the last few weeks, I have brushed and brushed and still I pull gobs of hair from him after just a few strokes. Although I assumed I was making headway.
Then this morning, as I am just waking and putting on my slippers, I notice something wet and cold through my sock. I take a breath and pull the slipper back off to examine the bottom of my foot. I already knew what I would find there. A single blade of grass, sticking out of a brown hairball.
Looking at it from the glass is half full point of view.
I have heard of cat owners finding something cold, slimy and resembling cat food in their shoe...only it came out of the other end of the cat. Punishment it would seem, for a perceived wrong committed by the owner.
I am such a lucky man.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
Why do my cats go outside to eat grass, then wait to come inside to vomit the offending plant along with the other contents of their stomach, onto my carpeting?
I am especially grateful if I let them out in the evening, to save me emptying the litter box, only to step in the offending offal when I get up to use the toilet during the night.
Here's what I have been told. Cats will eat grass when their stomachs are upset (usually from hair) to cause them to regurgitate and relive their stomachs of the indigestible matter.
Lately I have taken to brushing both of my cats with a wire pet brush. It is amazing the amount of hair that come from them, especially the tomcat. I suspect that this is due not only because he is much bigger, but he also spends more time outside. During the winter his fur gets thicker. Especially the last few winters which have been colder than normal.
Over the last few weeks, I have brushed and brushed and still I pull gobs of hair from him after just a few strokes. Although I assumed I was making headway.
Looking at it from the glass is half full point of view.
I have heard of cat owners finding something cold, slimy and resembling cat food in their shoe...only it came out of the other end of the cat. Punishment it would seem, for a perceived wrong committed by the owner.
I am such a lucky man.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
Thursday, July 14, 2016
St. Helen Bluegill Festival 2016 Starts Today
Day 249
St. Helen Bluegill Festival starts today.
For info click here St. Helen Bluegill Festival.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
St. Helen Bluegill Festival starts today.
"The first Bluegill Festival in St. Helen took place in 1949. Consisting of archery contests, fishing contests, coon dog field trials, a ball game, banquet, and grand parade followed by the crowning of a Bluegill Queen the event has lived on for over 6 decades.The festival takes place each year in July. It begins with an opening ceremony on and kid’s parade on Thursday evening as vendors set-up for the action packed weekend. The beverage pavilion also opens up for business and the carnival rides are up and running.Friday and Saturday is full of excitement. In addition to the amusement park rides provided by Schmidt Amusements the festival includes crafter demonstrations, live music and entertainment, vendors, kids games, a medallion hunt, and great food. Sunday wraps up with the Grand Parade and Awards Ceremony.St. Helen is the place to be in July. There is something for everyone and tons of fun for you at Exit 222." -St Helen Bluegill Festival Website-
Until tomorrow,
Ken
Wednesday, July 13, 2016
Day 248
Day 248
I have been so lazy lately. I haven't written anything. Neither on the blog or otherwise. I must motivate through this lull in my creativity.
I will say one thing though. I think Fruit of the Loom should call their new breathable mens underwear "Breezy Fo'Sheezy"
I like it.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
I have been so lazy lately. I haven't written anything. Neither on the blog or otherwise. I must motivate through this lull in my creativity.
I will say one thing though. I think Fruit of the Loom should call their new breathable mens underwear "Breezy Fo'Sheezy"
I like it.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
Tuesday, July 12, 2016
Day 247
Day 247
The AC is working good. Maybe too good. The air in my home is dry and the perfect temperature...for sleeping. I'm having a very hard time getting anything done. Not that I was getting a lot done before but now I'm sleepy.
If it isn't one thing, it's another. This is boosting my procrastination levels.
Just don't feel like writing today.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
The AC is working good. Maybe too good. The air in my home is dry and the perfect temperature...for sleeping. I'm having a very hard time getting anything done. Not that I was getting a lot done before but now I'm sleepy.
If it isn't one thing, it's another. This is boosting my procrastination levels.
Just don't feel like writing today.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
Monday, July 11, 2016
AC Working
Day 246
The new (used) AC unit is a big success so far. Today we hit 80 degrees and the house stayed cool on the low fan setting. Tomorrow is the true test. Forecast for tomorrow is 90 degrees. Nothing else to write for tonight.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
The new (used) AC unit is a big success so far. Today we hit 80 degrees and the house stayed cool on the low fan setting. Tomorrow is the true test. Forecast for tomorrow is 90 degrees. Nothing else to write for tonight.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
Sunday, July 10, 2016
Oh, That's Cold...
Day 245
So far it's been the hottest summer since I moved up here eleven years ago. High 80's all through June and so far in July much of the same.
My window air conditioner in my living room stopped working last year. It was old when I moved in so I can't complain about how long it lasted. When I was living in a mobile home downstate, I bought an air conditioner because it gets so hot in a metal box.
Fortunately I brought that unit with me when I came north. Back then it was only a couple of years old and I didn't expect the one already here to last a season if it worked at all.
Now that I am in the worst shape of my life, I have spent the day lifting and carrying the new/used air conditioner to install in the window. What should have taken no more than twenty minutes, took me two hours.
You may be wondering if the unit still cools air after eleven years in exile. I must say I too was not sure if it still worked or even had Freon in it. I ran an extension cord out to the shed to test it first. It worked. For how long I don't know but I guess I'll find out. If it lasts a season I'll be happy.
As I write this my little AC is blowing icy cold air into my hot and muggy living room. I am hoping it will cool most of the air in the house before bedtime, as the bedroom is the hottest room in the place. It's hard to get any sleep in the bedroom.
Next year I am going to get a futon for my living room and sleep across from the AC.
It's been a long hard day so...
Until tomorrow,
Ken
So far it's been the hottest summer since I moved up here eleven years ago. High 80's all through June and so far in July much of the same.
My window air conditioner in my living room stopped working last year. It was old when I moved in so I can't complain about how long it lasted. When I was living in a mobile home downstate, I bought an air conditioner because it gets so hot in a metal box.
Fortunately I brought that unit with me when I came north. Back then it was only a couple of years old and I didn't expect the one already here to last a season if it worked at all.
Now that I am in the worst shape of my life, I have spent the day lifting and carrying the new/used air conditioner to install in the window. What should have taken no more than twenty minutes, took me two hours.
You may be wondering if the unit still cools air after eleven years in exile. I must say I too was not sure if it still worked or even had Freon in it. I ran an extension cord out to the shed to test it first. It worked. For how long I don't know but I guess I'll find out. If it lasts a season I'll be happy.
As I write this my little AC is blowing icy cold air into my hot and muggy living room. I am hoping it will cool most of the air in the house before bedtime, as the bedroom is the hottest room in the place. It's hard to get any sleep in the bedroom.
Next year I am going to get a futon for my living room and sleep across from the AC.
It's been a long hard day so...
Until tomorrow,
Ken
Saturday, July 9, 2016
But I Have to Go-Go
Day 244
My power went out yesterday, along with a number of other people. I waited an hour and it didn't come back on, so I went to my brothers. We live about ten miles apart and it's seldom we both lose power at the same time.
I drove to his house to find the power was off there also. My brother was out, but my niece and her friends, who were visiting, were at the house. When I went in things were a little crazy. Seems the basement toilet was overflowing.
Let me explain something about the basement toilet. The basement was unfinished when they moved in and it was decided not to put a bathroom in the basement. Later the basement was finished and there was two bedrooms and a closet added.
My nephew and his wife and children use the basement whenever they come to Houghton Lake to visit. After several years of complaining about coming up the stairs at night to use the toilet, one was added to the basement.
The main waste line going out of the house is in the basement ceiling, so the toilet and sink water have to be pumped UP to the main drain piping. There is a special toilet for this purpose that uses an electric system to pump the waste water up to the main waste pipe.
The water supply is free flowing and if the electricity is off, the valve has to be shut to prevent the toilet from overflowing. That wasn't done right away hence the mess on the floor. They had just discovered this when I walked in. My niece was frantically searching for a bucket and a mop and explaining about the water in the basement.
I calmly sat down and asked if they had turned off the supply water valve. She said they had. I suggested they look in the garage for a bucket and not use the food bowls for collecting toilet water. Soon they went to work.
Suddenly there was a shriek and lots of muttering. My niece came back and told me the toilet was still overflowing. Just then my brother walked in and I explained the situation him. He asked did they shutoff the water. I answered in the affirmative. Another shriek from the basement. With a deep sigh he went down to see what the damage was, and why the toilet was still overflowing.
A few minutes later he returned from the basement and explained that they indeed had turned off the water supply as I had suggested. The problem was when the bucket was full from mopping up the water, they were emptying the bucket into the sink, which is tied into the same drain system. So the water was flowing from the sink into the waste tank (that wasn't being emptied) and then backing out of the toilet bowl.
I decided that was enough excitement for me for one day. I went home, checked my toilet, fired up my kindle reader and read until I fell asleep.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
My power went out yesterday, along with a number of other people. I waited an hour and it didn't come back on, so I went to my brothers. We live about ten miles apart and it's seldom we both lose power at the same time.
I drove to his house to find the power was off there also. My brother was out, but my niece and her friends, who were visiting, were at the house. When I went in things were a little crazy. Seems the basement toilet was overflowing.
Let me explain something about the basement toilet. The basement was unfinished when they moved in and it was decided not to put a bathroom in the basement. Later the basement was finished and there was two bedrooms and a closet added.
My nephew and his wife and children use the basement whenever they come to Houghton Lake to visit. After several years of complaining about coming up the stairs at night to use the toilet, one was added to the basement.
The main waste line going out of the house is in the basement ceiling, so the toilet and sink water have to be pumped UP to the main drain piping. There is a special toilet for this purpose that uses an electric system to pump the waste water up to the main waste pipe.
The water supply is free flowing and if the electricity is off, the valve has to be shut to prevent the toilet from overflowing. That wasn't done right away hence the mess on the floor. They had just discovered this when I walked in. My niece was frantically searching for a bucket and a mop and explaining about the water in the basement.
I calmly sat down and asked if they had turned off the supply water valve. She said they had. I suggested they look in the garage for a bucket and not use the food bowls for collecting toilet water. Soon they went to work.
Suddenly there was a shriek and lots of muttering. My niece came back and told me the toilet was still overflowing. Just then my brother walked in and I explained the situation him. He asked did they shutoff the water. I answered in the affirmative. Another shriek from the basement. With a deep sigh he went down to see what the damage was, and why the toilet was still overflowing.
A few minutes later he returned from the basement and explained that they indeed had turned off the water supply as I had suggested. The problem was when the bucket was full from mopping up the water, they were emptying the bucket into the sink, which is tied into the same drain system. So the water was flowing from the sink into the waste tank (that wasn't being emptied) and then backing out of the toilet bowl.
I decided that was enough excitement for me for one day. I went home, checked my toilet, fired up my kindle reader and read until I fell asleep.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
Friday, July 8, 2016
Day 243
Day 243
Power has been out all day. Just came back on. More tomorrow as it is late.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
Power has been out all day. Just came back on. More tomorrow as it is late.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
Thursday, July 7, 2016
Day 242
Day 242
I'm going to write a quick post tonight as we are in the middle of a thunderstorm and my power went out for a few minutes. Right now I'm waiting for the internet to come back on. I don't want to break my record over an equipment failure.
Internet is back on so I'll wait until 8 pm and post this for tonight.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
I'm going to write a quick post tonight as we are in the middle of a thunderstorm and my power went out for a few minutes. Right now I'm waiting for the internet to come back on. I don't want to break my record over an equipment failure.
Internet is back on so I'll wait until 8 pm and post this for tonight.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
Wednesday, July 6, 2016
Rubber Neck
Day 241
I was out of bed early and on my way to pick up my mother by 7:00 am. We were taking a day trip down state. Normally it was a 3 hour trip going down and a 2 1/2 hour return. I drive a bit faster when I'm coming home. The traffic around Metro Detroit makes me cringe.
The mood was somber and quiet during the ride down. We were attending a funeral. We made very little small talk and when we did it was about the lack of traffic going south. It was the beginning of the Fourth of July weekend and most traffic would be headed north. With a little luck, the majority of weekenders would be well on their way before we made the return trip.
The funeral was simple but nicely done. There were many in attendance. Mostly young people as the deceased was only 22 years old. At times like this I believe God tests us to measure our quality and to teach us to survive heartbreak.
Soon, I would tested to the extreme.
Traffic was worse than I remembered and I was ready to head home soon after we arrived. We didn't stay for the luncheon, my mother was worn out and I wasn't feeling sociable.
I thought the drive up Woodward Avenue to the Square Lake Rd crossover to I-75 would be filled with driving excitement. In reality, the traffic moved very well all the way out of the Metro area. It wasn't until we were halfway home that we came to a stop. Road construction. I cursed the idiot at the DOT and his inability to plan for the Fourth of July weekend.
Suddenly my mother became animated. She had gotten her second wind. And now she was gassing away about my driving. That lane was moving better than this lane. I should be in that lane. Why don't I move over into that lane? Every lane is moving better than this one.
I could feel my hairline receding as my mother hounded me to change lanes. My once jet black hair has turned white in an instant. My fingerprints were permanently pressed into the steering wheel. I noticed a nervous tick at the corner of my eye that had never been there before. I swear if they had tested my blood pressure they would have had me attached to a defibrillator, assuming my heart would stop any second.
Just when I thought I couldn't take it anymore an opening presented itself in the lane next to mine. I quickly changed lanes and drove another twenty yards. Then we came to a stop. Soon the cars in the lane I had just vacated began to wiz bye.
My mother didn't miss a beat.
"You should be in that lane. Why did you move to this lane? It isn't moving. You should never have changed lanes. Your problem is you have no patience. You never did."
At this point I was thought I could put the car in park, get out and start walking. What would be the worst that could happen?
I get hit by a car?
I'd die from the heat exhaustion?
A heart attack from the exertion?
Finally we passed the road construction and my mother ran out of gas. I was doing eighty as we crossed the Zilwaukee bridge. Eighty five as we sailed past the Bay City/US 10 exit. Traffic was still heavy but moving right along. I chose to stay on I-75 rather than take US 10 west to US 127.
The I-75 route was a few miles shorter.
We were moving fast. My mother was chattering away about the other cars but at least she wasn't criticizing my driving.
Then we hit the second slowdown/stop. Rubber-necks. A state cop had pulled someone over.
It took over four hours to get back to Houghton Lake We stopped at my mom's favorite restaurant as we hadn't eaten all day. I had to repeat my order twice. I kept giggling hysterically.
That was five days ago. I haven't left the house since. I wonder if I have enough food to last until October?
Until tomorrow,
Ken
I was out of bed early and on my way to pick up my mother by 7:00 am. We were taking a day trip down state. Normally it was a 3 hour trip going down and a 2 1/2 hour return. I drive a bit faster when I'm coming home. The traffic around Metro Detroit makes me cringe.
The mood was somber and quiet during the ride down. We were attending a funeral. We made very little small talk and when we did it was about the lack of traffic going south. It was the beginning of the Fourth of July weekend and most traffic would be headed north. With a little luck, the majority of weekenders would be well on their way before we made the return trip.
The funeral was simple but nicely done. There were many in attendance. Mostly young people as the deceased was only 22 years old. At times like this I believe God tests us to measure our quality and to teach us to survive heartbreak.
Soon, I would tested to the extreme.
Traffic was worse than I remembered and I was ready to head home soon after we arrived. We didn't stay for the luncheon, my mother was worn out and I wasn't feeling sociable.
I thought the drive up Woodward Avenue to the Square Lake Rd crossover to I-75 would be filled with driving excitement. In reality, the traffic moved very well all the way out of the Metro area. It wasn't until we were halfway home that we came to a stop. Road construction. I cursed the idiot at the DOT and his inability to plan for the Fourth of July weekend.
Suddenly my mother became animated. She had gotten her second wind. And now she was gassing away about my driving. That lane was moving better than this lane. I should be in that lane. Why don't I move over into that lane? Every lane is moving better than this one.
I could feel my hairline receding as my mother hounded me to change lanes. My once jet black hair has turned white in an instant. My fingerprints were permanently pressed into the steering wheel. I noticed a nervous tick at the corner of my eye that had never been there before. I swear if they had tested my blood pressure they would have had me attached to a defibrillator, assuming my heart would stop any second.
Just when I thought I couldn't take it anymore an opening presented itself in the lane next to mine. I quickly changed lanes and drove another twenty yards. Then we came to a stop. Soon the cars in the lane I had just vacated began to wiz bye.
My mother didn't miss a beat.
"You should be in that lane. Why did you move to this lane? It isn't moving. You should never have changed lanes. Your problem is you have no patience. You never did."
At this point I was thought I could put the car in park, get out and start walking. What would be the worst that could happen?
I get hit by a car?
I'd die from the heat exhaustion?
A heart attack from the exertion?
Finally we passed the road construction and my mother ran out of gas. I was doing eighty as we crossed the Zilwaukee bridge. Eighty five as we sailed past the Bay City/US 10 exit. Traffic was still heavy but moving right along. I chose to stay on I-75 rather than take US 10 west to US 127.
The I-75 route was a few miles shorter.
We were moving fast. My mother was chattering away about the other cars but at least she wasn't criticizing my driving.
Then we hit the second slowdown/stop. Rubber-necks. A state cop had pulled someone over.
It took over four hours to get back to Houghton Lake We stopped at my mom's favorite restaurant as we hadn't eaten all day. I had to repeat my order twice. I kept giggling hysterically.
That was five days ago. I haven't left the house since. I wonder if I have enough food to last until October?
Until tomorrow,
Ken
Tuesday, July 5, 2016
Day 240
Day 240
Wow. Never thought I would get this far. Even though I may have cheated on a couple of my posts, I've still made it 240 straight days of blogging. There have been a few times when I was going to give up. Stop this madness. Post when and if I wanted to. And when day 365 finally gets here that is exactly what I'm going to do.
But until then I will "endeavor to persevere" (heard that in a movie). I will "keep on keepin' on". I'll "keep truckin'" so forth and so on.
But for tonight, this is it.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
Wow. Never thought I would get this far. Even though I may have cheated on a couple of my posts, I've still made it 240 straight days of blogging. There have been a few times when I was going to give up. Stop this madness. Post when and if I wanted to. And when day 365 finally gets here that is exactly what I'm going to do.
But until then I will "endeavor to persevere" (heard that in a movie). I will "keep on keepin' on". I'll "keep truckin'" so forth and so on.
But for tonight, this is it.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
Monday, July 4, 2016
Summer Is Here...I Can't Wait for Autumn
Day 239
The weather was very cooperative this weekend and the lakes were full of boaters and jet skiers. The Blodgett Airport here in Houghton Lake had at least a dozen planes parked there. A large number except when there is a fly-in.
When I passed Higgins Lake yesterday the DNR public access parking was overflowing onto Old 27, trucks with trailers parked along both sides of the two lane blacktop road.
For the most part I stayed well clear of town but I did drive out to Roscommon to the grocery store for some essentials.
It should be busy here for the rest of the month. Families are on vacation. In August the crowds will thin out some as families prepare for children returning to school.
We'll have a wild weekend with Bud Bash, the first saturday in August. Then slow down until Labor day weekend for one last hurrah of summer. For the rest of September, vacation home owners will be closing up their cottages until next year.
Some romantics will come for the autumn colors. And some hardcore fisherman will be searching for that last "big one" before the weather gets too cold for boating. Other sportsman will switch to hunting.
Soon enough another year will be at an end. And we'll be wishing for summer again.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
The weather was very cooperative this weekend and the lakes were full of boaters and jet skiers. The Blodgett Airport here in Houghton Lake had at least a dozen planes parked there. A large number except when there is a fly-in.
When I passed Higgins Lake yesterday the DNR public access parking was overflowing onto Old 27, trucks with trailers parked along both sides of the two lane blacktop road.
For the most part I stayed well clear of town but I did drive out to Roscommon to the grocery store for some essentials.
It should be busy here for the rest of the month. Families are on vacation. In August the crowds will thin out some as families prepare for children returning to school.
We'll have a wild weekend with Bud Bash, the first saturday in August. Then slow down until Labor day weekend for one last hurrah of summer. For the rest of September, vacation home owners will be closing up their cottages until next year.
Some romantics will come for the autumn colors. And some hardcore fisherman will be searching for that last "big one" before the weather gets too cold for boating. Other sportsman will switch to hunting.
Soon enough another year will be at an end. And we'll be wishing for summer again.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
Sunday, July 3, 2016
Social Media Weeping...A Poem
Day 238
For the past six days,
My social page has filled
With remembrances and condolences
Yesterday we said our hello's
And goodbyes, a gathering
Of quietly weeping souls.
Young and old, family and friends
Sharing of dull sorrow
Praises tear filled eulogies.
Gathering after, to tell tales
Over drinks, of deeds
And happenings undeniable.
Leaves unanswered the
Question of why, alone
In the roaring silence.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
Social Media Weeping
by
Kenneth A. Stephenson
For the past six days,
My social page has filled
With remembrances and condolences
Yesterday we said our hello's
And goodbyes, a gathering
Of quietly weeping souls.
Young and old, family and friends
Sharing of dull sorrow
Praises tear filled eulogies.
Gathering after, to tell tales
Over drinks, of deeds
And happenings undeniable.
Leaves unanswered the
Question of why, alone
In the roaring silence.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
Saturday, July 2, 2016
Boys of Summer
Day 237
It was 1968, and on summer evenings, after a hot day of weeding, cutting the lawn and edging around the driveway and sidewalk, we would listen to the boys of summer play baseball on the electronic wonder called a portable transistor radio.
Grandpa would bring his favorite lawn chair out of the garage and set it up under the young oak tree. He would turn the AM radio dial, searching for the sweet Texas drawl of Ernie Harwell, the golden voiced play by play man of the Detroit Tigers.
He would tell us aiming the antennae at Tigers Stadium was how he achieved the best reception. The radio station was less than a mile away, any direction would have worked, but we didn't know.
If we worked especially hard during the day, grandma would send us to the Pop's the corner store to purchase a pint of vanilla ice cream. Most people bought their ice cream by the half gallon but my grandparents were frugal and doled out the ice cream rewards only when well deserved.
My brother and I would run from the store to the house, fearing the frozen treat would melt before we could return, Grandma would scoop some out and put it into a glass then fill it with A&W Root Beer. The sweet cream would float to the top covered in foam from the carbonation in the pop. The summer time favorite called a Root Beer Float.
The sun went down and Denny McLain was one game closer to his record 31 win season. The Tigers would go on to win the World Series. And a baseball team would help a race riot torn city to begin healing.
As we watched the fireflies, their soft green light hypnotically flashing, we would start to doze off. But first grandma would scoop us up, drop us into the bath tub and scrub us clean with Ivory (99 44/100% Pure) soap. She would dress us in hand-me-down pajamas and put us to bed.
I would dream of hitting home runs and fabulous throws from center field to home plate, just in time to tag the runner out and win the game.
It was 100% Pure...summer magic.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
It was 1968, and on summer evenings, after a hot day of weeding, cutting the lawn and edging around the driveway and sidewalk, we would listen to the boys of summer play baseball on the electronic wonder called a portable transistor radio.
Grandpa would bring his favorite lawn chair out of the garage and set it up under the young oak tree. He would turn the AM radio dial, searching for the sweet Texas drawl of Ernie Harwell, the golden voiced play by play man of the Detroit Tigers.
He would tell us aiming the antennae at Tigers Stadium was how he achieved the best reception. The radio station was less than a mile away, any direction would have worked, but we didn't know.
If we worked especially hard during the day, grandma would send us to the Pop's the corner store to purchase a pint of vanilla ice cream. Most people bought their ice cream by the half gallon but my grandparents were frugal and doled out the ice cream rewards only when well deserved.
My brother and I would run from the store to the house, fearing the frozen treat would melt before we could return, Grandma would scoop some out and put it into a glass then fill it with A&W Root Beer. The sweet cream would float to the top covered in foam from the carbonation in the pop. The summer time favorite called a Root Beer Float.
As we watched the fireflies, their soft green light hypnotically flashing, we would start to doze off. But first grandma would scoop us up, drop us into the bath tub and scrub us clean with Ivory (99 44/100% Pure) soap. She would dress us in hand-me-down pajamas and put us to bed.
I would dream of hitting home runs and fabulous throws from center field to home plate, just in time to tag the runner out and win the game.
It was 100% Pure...summer magic.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
Friday, July 1, 2016
Day 236
Day 236
Still no inspiration. But many ideas rattling around in my head. I'll be back on the writing carousel again soon. I've just been distracted by recent events.
New stories soon.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
Still no inspiration. But many ideas rattling around in my head. I'll be back on the writing carousel again soon. I've just been distracted by recent events.
New stories soon.
Until tomorrow,
Ken
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