Garrett and Sunny playing fetch at the Russell Canoe Livery dock.
Once again I find myself trying to get back into blogging. Last month I’d hoped to write daily about my roots. It just didn’t work. Don’t be surprised if I do finally get around to exploring every nook and cranny of that topic in the near future. Working at my parents’ canoe livery, Russell Canoes, this summer, organizing old family photos and memorabilia, and living in my Dad’s childhood home have all conspired to bring back wonderful childhood memories. Did I mention that I love working at the canoe livery? We truly do have the best customers and employees, past and present.
Here are a few vintage Russell Canoe Livery pictures I recently shared on our Facebook page. I took the pictures above the other day. I love getting to work with my little brother! We had fun playing fetch with our parents’ gold retriever Sunny as we waited to take out canoers and tubers. Happy July!
Grandpa Owen summer 1973. Love this pic! It shows our main location in Omer prior to any store.
Company tubing trip circa 1985. My Dad is in the driver’s seat. Loved his old truck! Also includes a couple of our first buses – Buses B and D. Grandpa Owen back by the tailgate.
Another view of the tubing crew. My Mom is in the passenger seat. Circa 1985.
Last night as I was thinking about how I want to revive and update this blog, I realized just how much I miss my blogger friends. One of the nicest is Adela from The Black Tortoise and Once A Little Girl. As it just so happens, I read her new post today about the BlogHer Challenge. Now I am signing up myself. I’m disappointed that I didn’t participate in the April A to Z Blogging Challenge after having so much fun with it last year.
So, here it goes. Watch for a new post every day this June. The theme is perfect for me and my blog: Roots. So check out Adela’s first entry – BlogHer Challenge | The Black Tortoise – which is very sweet, as always, and stay tuned for mine!
As of late I’ve come across some great material that got me thinking about why I write in the first place. The article above from The Collaborative Writer gets it exactly right. I admit it: I am my own worst enemy. I tend to over-think everything and spend too much time planning what I’d like to do when I really should be writing. I. Just. Need. To. Write. Why is that so difficult in practice?
The thing is that I truly believe everyone has a story. No one has a perfect life. Everyone is struggling with something and conflict is the heart of any great story. Not only does that simple premise – everyone has a story – get to the heart of why I write, it is also the reason why I love to read. I am drawn to biographies and autobiographies or any good plot driven by realistic conflicts dealt with by well-rounded characters.
Again, I keep going back to asking myself why it has to be so hard. I love to create. I know what I like to write. I always feel more myself when I write. Why don’t I write more? I think we all need to ditch the excuses.
The video included below I came across as part of training for my position as a clerk. I love the message of the video. It is all too easy to forget that everyone is struggling with something.
A week ago yesterday, I picked up my new car, a 2013 red Chevy Malibu. Sad to say, it just seems like an end of an era in my life. In the 16 years I’ve had my driver’s license, I’ve owned and driven two Pontiacs – a 1989 red Grand Prix and a silver 2002 Grand Prix. That’s it. I tend to hang on to cars. I don’t think I exaggerate when I say that I believe my 1989 Grand Prix saved my life.
July 24, 2002 I was in a bad car accident in Austin, Texas. I was driving on highway 290 on my way to work at Applied Materials. I was almost to work when a big white moving truck made a left-hand turn in front of me; I had the green light and was traveling 55 MPH. The other driver did not see me. I slammed on the brakes so hard I broke my big toe and fractured the metatarsal. I was lucky. Most of the front end of my car ended up under the side of the truck. I hate to think of the possible fate of any front-seat passenger I may have had. Fortunately the only other injuries I had from the crash was a bad cut behind my ear from the molding on my driver’s side door and a small cut on my knee. Despite not having airbags, I did not get bombarded with glass from the windshield. Fortunately the safety glass held. At 5 ft. 0, airbags might have made things worse prior to smart airbag technology.
Ironically I originally planned to sell that car after the end of my co-op with Applied Materials. Instead I found myself car shopping for a new Grand Prix in Austin, Texas with my Mom. There are so many memories of that 1989 Grand Prix though, I was very sad to see it go, despite its quirks. My parents purchased the red 1989 Grand Prix new in 1989; I was 8 – and excited for a new family car. Prior to that car, my Mom drove full-size vans that doubled as canoe livery vehicles throughout the summer. Suffice to say my Mom was very happy to have a car again! I was just as excited to go car shopping with my parents. It was a 2-door, red, and sexy for its time. Of course it was love at first sight.
One snowy Christmas Eve a year or so after my parents purchased the car, my parents, my sister, and I found ourselves helping a young woman who ended up in the ditch. As we drove home from festivities at my grandparents’ home in Standish, we were nearly home when my parents saw a set of headlights in the ditch. My Dad backed up the car and helped the driver, a young woman on her way to her parents’ home for Christmas. My Mom, in her gorgeous fox coat, which my Dad had trapped for her, climbed into the backseat with me and my sister. As the driver wasn’t badly hurt and didn’t want medical attention, we drove her to her parents’ home. It is one of my favorite childhood memories. When you are just newly 9 years-old, I suppose it passes for adventure.
I think the intention always was to hang onto that car until I was old enough to drive. In the 1995 model year, Pontiac came out with an entirely redesigned Grand Prix, the wide track. At the time my parents were friends with a couple who owned the local GM dealership. Mr. W knew what he was doing and drove one of the new Grand Prixes over to my parents’ house. All of us fell in love with that car. Hook, line, sinker. My Mom ended up with the car and the 1989 Grand Prix was put in the pole barn until I could drive. At the time, there weren’t many 1995 Grand Prixes on the road yet, and my Mom got plenty of looks in her new car (of course it was red too). At 14, I have to admit I was envious.
Now I had a car of my own! I had nearly a year to play around with what would become my car, drive it in the campground, and set it up exactly as I wanted it. I couldn’t wait to drive, even if it meant driving my little sister everywhere too. A few months after I got my license, I ended up in my first fender-bender in that car one icy February morning on my way to school. It was the first car crash my sister and I had ever been in. We both just absolutely burst into tears – and then drove on to school and called Mom.
In many ways, it was E’s car too. It seemed as though each school day my sister and I would fight over control of the radio and tape deck. There were certain single tapes I had in the car that she insisted on playing over and over again; it drove me crazy. I hate to admit this, but I used to make E pump my gas. It was a while before I did it myself. On cold winter nights, I picked her up from 4-H ski club, along with her skis, which we would have to put through the trunk into the backseat. She even drove my car throughout my freshman year at Michigan State and had her 5 CD changer installed in the trunk. Eventually, though, she ended up with my Dad’s old Jeep, which is an entire post on its own.
After my sophomore year at MSU I ended up with an internship at IBM out in Rochester, Minnesota. There was only one problem: I still wasn’t comfortable behind the wheel. On my first day of driver’s education, back in June 1995, my cousin A, who is only 10 months older than me, ended up being hit head on by a drunk driver. Fortunately A survived; the other driver did not. A owned a white 1988 Grand Prix, and it too probably saved her life.
As one can imagine, her crash left an impression on me as a new driver, especially since we grew up together and went to the same schools. I simply didn’t trust other drivers. Things were better by my sophomore year at MSU, but the idea of driving out to Minnesota for the summer was daunting. My Grandma ended up riding out to Rochester with me and then flew home. By the end of the summer, I looked forward to the drive home by myself.
My drive home from Minnesota is one of my favorite memories of my 1989 Grand Prix. I loaded up my sister’s 5 CD changer with my favorites and drove through Minnesota, Wisconsin, and the UP of Michigan. It happened to be a gorgeous August day, and I was anxious to start getting ready for my year of adventures in Ecuador and Spain. After all those years, I finally started to feel comfortable behind the wheel.
If I learned how to drive in my 1989 Grand Prix, I learned to love to drive in my 2002 Grand Prix. That poor car: I put it through a lot! It has a few trips from Michigan to Texas and back again on it, and almost exactly 183,000 miles when I turned it in last week.
The thing is: It was not the original car I wanted. My Mom talked me into it. Sure, I wanted another Grand Prix, but I wanted a sexy gold 2001 with leather seats and a sun roof. The cars happened to be about the same price. My Mom talked me out of the gold 2-door though. She brought up the fact that I’d probably be moving at least once after college and the 4-door gray would be infinitely more practical. She couldn’t have been more right. I moved several times with the help of that car.
The funny thing is that the 2002 I owned echoed some of the styling of the Grand Prixes of the 1970s. As a child, the Mom of one of my best friends owned a chocolate brown late 1970s Grand Prix – a boat of a car. I remember thinking how deep the backseats were back then. The same goes for the 2002. In fact, three of my little cousins, all siblings, ended up getting carsick riding in the backseat of my car. I doubt any of the three could see out the side windows at the time.
Oddly, I can’t say I have any memories of dating in either of my cars. I didn’t date in high school, and when I finally did date in college, we always ended up either not driving or taking my date’s car. I do have very fond memories of my boyfriend Brian’s old Pontiac 6000 though. It wasn’t particularly sexy or great looking, but Brian more than made up for that. It was just a great car with even better memories. Originally owned by Brian’s Grandma Menja (Marie), Brian drove the 6000 throughout high school and college. Brian totaled the car in 2001 only to have it fixed up and continue driving it until after we graduated from college in 2004.
In fact, most of our first date – the worst blind date I’ve ever been on – took place in that car. It happened to be a rainy, freezing late February night in 2000, and since we couldn’t decide what to do next on our date, we spent a good share of the evening just driving around Bay City, trying to get warm and dry after getting caught in a freezing rain walking along the riverfront. After we finally got together in 2004, we always seemed to find ourselves driving around in that car. We drove all over Lansing, East Lansing, and Michigan State. I loved that car too and was sad to see it go.
One of the best memories I have of that car is coming home to my apartment in East Lansing on graduation day to see him sitting on the trunk of his Pontiac looking like the best graduation gift ever. My family couldn’t come to the graduation ceremony for my Spanish degree from the College of Arts and Letters, they were coming the following day for my graduation from business school, so Brian decided to come. Memories of that last semester of college and that spring are some of the best of my life, thanks largely to Brian.
Yeah, you could say that I liked Pontiacs. I will never understand GM’s decision to kill the brand. If they ever bring it back, I will definitely take a look at what they have to offer. Since Pontiac’s demise in 2009, I’ve heard time and time again that the Aztec was to blame. I have to admit, it is quite possibly the ugliest car I’ve ever seen, although I don’t think it was the sole reason why GM decided to kill Pontiac. Unfortunately, Pontiac’s untimely demise left a huge hole in downtown Bay City. Dunlap Pontiac closed its doors in downtown Bay City after 85 years in business.
I love cars, and I’m not sure if I could truly call myself a Michigander if I didn’t. Last week I not only said goodbye to a car I owned for over 10 years, I said goodbye to a brand I loved. I’m just glad my Mom still owns her 2007 Pontiac Solstice. I loved my Pontiacs. I love my new Chevy Malibu too. What I really love is the freedom a car represents. I think it is time for a road trip. Feel free to share your car memories in the comments.
I turned 32 yesterday. While I’m not exactly where I thought I’d be at this age, I am where I need to be. There is a reason why I haven’t blogged much over the last couple of months. I recently moved back to my hometown in order to care for my Grandma, who will be 88 in January. In the midst of the move, I also changed jobs. I still work for the same company, but I now work part-time. Instead of managing a convenience store, I am now working once again as a cashier. I also moved stores in order to make it all work. So far, so good.
And since everyone who knows me has asked: Yes, Brian and I are still together. That’s the hardest part of it all. Brian and I are still very much in love; it is just that much harder to spend any time with him. We lived together for eight years, and I thought we’d be married for several years by now. I also thought that I’d own a home, have my career at least on the right track, and even possibly have the adoption process started.
So where did I go wrong? I’ve asked myself that very question several times over the last few years, and I still have no answers. All I can say is this: Everything happens for a reason. Right now I have a fresh start. And I have to admit, I am closer to achieving some of my dreams than I have been in a very long time.
There are various reasons why I took an extended break from blogging. I want to share the details very shortly, but here’s the issue: There is just so much to say. While personally my life is heading in the right direction, and there is great potential for me to achieve some of the most important goals I’ve set for my life, every day I’m surrounded by a society that appears to be coming apart at the seams. I’d love to put my sense of loss – and concern for my country – into words. I’m simply not there yet.
Ok. For some reason “Sweet Child O’ Mine” has been in my head lately. It would actually make a perfect theme song for this blog. Of course, as soon as I start stalking YouTube to listen in and maybe even find the original music video, so many other great Guns ‘N’ Roses songs came up. “November Rain” and “Welcome to the Jungle” in particular, both of which will always remind me some of the best times in college.
For some reason I’ve been thinking about all of the songs I loved back in college, or more precisely, 2000-2004. Here are just a few of my favorites. I could listen to Morcheeba, Macy Gray, and Bob Schneider all day. Don’t even get me started on Nelly Furtado. “Whoa Nelly!” was practically the soundtrack to my entire semester in Ecuador. Still love Macy Gray’s and Nelly Furtado’s voices. Dido‘s “Thank You” was everywhere to the point where I hated the song. After not hearing it for over ten years, it still holds up.
I debated whether or not to write at all about 9/11. There just doesn’t seem to be anything left to say. I then decided to finally write about Extremely Loud And Incredibly Close by Jonathan Safran Foer, the plot of which hinges on the events of 9/11. Unfortunately real events made it impossible to not write about 9/11.
I woke up this morning to learn that the US Ambassador to Libya, Christopher Stevens, was murdered, along with three others. That attack, along with major protests outside the American Embassy in Egypt, makes it clear we are still at war. All sparked by a rumor. The thing is that no matter how hard we all try in the United States to pretend we aren’t still at war, that 9/11 didn’t change everything, there are still terrorist attacks.
Back in 2000 I studied abroad in London for a month during the summer. Every day I used the Russell Square tube station to get around the city. It happened to be merely blocks away from Commonwealth Hall, where we were all staying that July. It is precisely the same tube station attacked in 2005 after it was announced London would host the 2012 Olympics.
In 2002 I spent a semester studying Spanish in Caceres, Spain, once again through Michigan State University. Throughout that semester I made several trips via train to Madrid. Time and time again I’d find myself in Atocha Station. I can’t even begin to tell you how heartbroken I was when I learned it too was a target for terrorists in 2004. I can tell you precisely where I was when I heard the news.
While I haven’t experienced the day to day anxiety of say New Yorkers in the days and weeks following the September 11th attacks or the residents of Washington, D.C. a year later during the beltway sniper shootings, terrorism did color many aspects of my college days. To this day 9/11 seems surreal to me. At the time I was studying abroad in Ecuador (again, Spanish). It took weeks before some sort of normalcy returned to our routines as foreign exchange students. We all kept expecting additional attacks back home. I remember pleading with my Mom to tell me exactly what was going at home the evening of 9/11. We heard so many rumors I suppose I needed some reassurance that life at home as I knew it did go on.
In Extremely Loud And Incredibly Close, the young protagonist of the story, Oskar Schell, uses the term “heavy boots” to describe any sadness or unpleasant emotion relating to losing his father Thomas Schell on 9/11. The term just seemed so fitting for the events of that day and everything that followed. I suppose that is the precise term for what I’m feeling today: heavy boots. It saddens me deeply to think of how many people across the globe have lost their lives as a result of terrorism since 1979. Believe what you wish, but we are still very much at war.
I really didn’t want to get political, but sometimes I just can’t help myself. In a week that saw a democratic national convention that essentially sent the message that we owe our very existence to government, this song has played in my head all week. I had to share.
Since when did the Constitution and the Bill of Rights become void? I’ll be damned if I am ever forced to subscribe to the idea that Americans can’t succeed on their own, without government intrusion, or the notion that women must indeed be Democrats on the basis of reproductive rights. There is a reason why I haven’t written about my beliefs on reproductive rights: It hits way too close to home and I am too angry.
I will never be told what to think or do. Never. It is insulting to insinuate that all women must necessarily think alike. I’ve come across that assumption time and time again on the Left, shared by people who dare to call themselves “liberal” and “progressive.” I think they are in desperate need of a vocabulary lesson – and a dose of humanity.
Ramblings of a Misguided Blonde 