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.
Over the last seven months, I’ve thought a lot about the meaning of home. November 2, 2012, at nearly age 32, I moved back to my hometown to take care of my Grandma. After a very rough winter and spring, she now resides in a local skilled nursing facility. Fortunately she now appears to be healthy and at least content. We are fortunate she is still with us. Even though I visit her nearly every day, I miss her. I think of all of our outings to her favorite restaurants, all of her little quirks, not to mention all of the fun we had when I was a kid. Then add in the fact that I am currently living in her home. I am reminded daily of French toast and bacon breakfasts, mouthwatering ice creams sundaes with fresh berries, and countless family gatherings, whether Easter, hunting season, Thanksgiving, or Christmas. She’s always been an important part of my life and the lives of everyone in my immediate family. It’s difficult to watch her world constrict, watch her lose interest is things she used to love, watch her slowly forget. No, this year has not been an easy one thus far. So many little things surprised me when I first moved back to Omer. After managing a convenience store in another small Michigan town, I came to realize just how friendly people can be in my hometown. They may not be more sophisticated, articulate, or educated, but they are much friendlier. Working in a convenience store built by my Grandpa brought about mixed emotions. I wish he was here. Things you never thought would change change, and yet so many things remain the same. Growing up, all the boys into skateboarding congregated in the large parking lot behind the convenience store. Well, during an unusually warm January day, I had to smile as I stepped out back to see a group of skater boys trying to impress one another. Same story, different kids. I saw more former childhood classmates while working at the convenience store than I’ve seen in the last 14 years. Since when did we become adults? Now we are discussing who moved back to town and who moved away, marriage and kids, not scheming and dreaming to be anywhere but here. In mid-May I quit my part-time job at the convenience to work for my parents at Russell Canoe Livery for the summer. My brother and I eventually plan to purchase the business from our parents. Already there are so many names I recognize from my childhood, customers who have been with us for over 25 years. Yet, so many things have changed. I miss my grandparents being there day-in, day-out. We no longer run out of canoes on prime weekends, we rent more tubes. You no longer need an adapter to get into our electricity. Somehow I missed that one. I love the business and hope we can expand for years to come. All of the little things I mentioned above mean “home” to me. For better or worse, I do belong here, and I intend to make the most of it. Now for the hard part: I have to somehow make this all work. Somewhere along the way I lost sight of what is possible. I need to regain the drive and vision I had in college. I need to once again ignore all those who say “I can’t.”
It isn’t every day that I come across a book that inspires me on several levels. The Return Of Catesbyby Bob O’Connor did just that. The rest of my review will explain how and why. If you enjoy historical fiction, I can’t recommend The Return Of Catesby enough.
Over the last few days I’ve spent some time thinking about howThe Return Of Catesby inspired me. First, I have to admit the style in which the book is written is one of my favorites. I love journals and believe this technique is particularly suited for this type of historical fiction. As a reader, I am always looking for my next book. After learning a little about Bob O’Connor’s work, I knew I wanted to read more. The Return Of Catesby serves well as a sequel to Catesby: Eyewitness To Civil War, as well as a stand-alone read. While I don’t feel the need to read Catesby: Eyewitness To Civil War to fully appreciate The Return Of Catesby, I am now compelled to read the first book due to Catesby’s experiences discussed in the sequel. All other content aside, the topic, genre, and organization of the book would’ve been enough to draw me in. But there is so much more. I simply don’t remember the last time I read a work of historical fiction with such heart.
WhyThe Return Of Catesbyinspires me is an easy question to answer. There is, of course, the character of Catesby himself, a fictionalized version of a real blacksmith who lived during the Civil War era. In the book, he comes across as the most authentic, inspiring teacher imaginable, despite having never stepped foot in a classroom prior to his first day of teaching. His wife, Marcia, truly comes into her own at the end of the book and is Catesby’s constant helpmate in every sense of the word. Perhaps most inspiring of all is the insatiable appetite for learning exhibited by some of Catesby’s students. They simply couldn’t get enough, despite the fact that the town of Harpers Ferry wasn’t exactly welcoming. I envy the community created around the school. They truly cared for one another and even sought to learn the history of the tension between the community of Harpers Ferry and the school.
Harper’s Ferry, West Virginia
The Return Of Catesbyby Bob O’Connor will stay with me for some time. I am honored to have hosted an interview with him and to have had the opportunity to review the book today. If you have any interest in historical fiction at all, I highly recommend The Return Of Catesby. Do not be surprised if I review more of Bob O’Connor’s work in the future.
My writing career officially started in 7th grade when an article I wrote got published in the Illinois Historical Society’s student magazine.
If you could describe yourself in five words, what would they be? Focused, determined, believable, creative, imaginative.
Do you prefer fiction or non-fiction to read? To write?
I read both. I write both. But I prefer to write historical fiction because I can be much more creative.
How do you build your character world?
I keep a notebook. I observe people in the grocery store, in church, etc, and try to pick up interesting behaviors I can incorporate into a character.
Tell us about your favorite character you have written and why.
Catesby is by far my favorite character and is the subject of two of my books. He is a fighter, having overcome so many troubles to find freedom. I admire his courage and “stick-to-it” spirit, his observations and his “never give up” attitude.
Do you think that the future is ebook or print?
Obviously the trend is e-books. But the industry encourages us “little guys” to give away our e-books in hope that people will buy or next one. I am not convinced that is a good idea. I actually think people who give away thousands of e-books will find that the person reading them will seek someone else’s free e-book the next day. It is also discouraging that although we (authors) make 70 percent on e-book sales, the price of e-books keeps going downward. I hope they never figure out how authors can autograph e-books. I am a HUGE fan of books that are printed and hope they never go away.
Where have you had the most success in selling your work?
It is always easier to sell books when I have given a talk. But I am also successful anywhere there are large crowds of people including at fairs, festivals, Civil War reenactments and the like.
Tell us about your book.
My book is the continuing story of Catesby – a real colored blacksmith who lived originally in Charlestown, VA as a slave to Colonel Lewis Washington, a descendant of George Washington. In the first book Catesby struggles to find his freedom. He runs away from the operation of a blacksmith shop under a cruel owner who permanently cripples him. He flees on the Underground Railroad to Pennsylvania.
This book follows Catesby’s new adventures leading up to his teaching position at Storer College, a new school to teach newly freed blacks to become teachers. Ironically, the students’ first day in the classroom was Catesby’s first day too, because he had been taught at home by his mother. Catesby’s vast experience is helpful in encouraging his students and helping them believe that if Catesby, a man with a bad leg who had been a slave could accomplish greatness, they could too.
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’ve been promising a series of posts focusing on Paul McCartney for some time now. I suppose I’ll start with the obvious question: Why am I such a huge fan? It is all about creativity. I don’t think anyone or anything has inspired me as much as the Beatles, Paul McCartney in particular. As I have no musical talent whatsoever, and have no desire to pursue music, you may ask how that is possible. It is all in the lyrics. Please tell me how a writer wouldn’t be inspired by the man who largely wrote the lyrics below. I dare you. Supposedly Paul McCartney wrote this for his one-time fiancée Jane Asher. The song, of course, is only one of hundreds, with the Beatles, Wings, and solo.
I’m looking through you Where did you go? I thought I knew you What did I know?
You don’t look different But you have changed I’m looking through you You’re not the same
Your lips are moving I cannot hear Your voice is soothing But the words aren’t clear
You don’t sound different I’ve learned the game I’m looking through you You’re not the same
Why, tell me why Did you not treat me right? Love has a nasty habit Of disappearing overnight
You’re thinking of me The same old way You were above me But not today
The only difference Is you’re down there I’m looking through you And you’re nowhere
Why, tell me why Did you not treat me right? Love has a nasty habit Of disappearing overnight
I’m looking through you Where did you go? I thought I knew you What did I know?
You don’t look different But you have changed I’m looking through you You’re not the same
Yeah, oh, baby you’ve changed Aah, I’m a-looking through you Yeah, I’m looking through you You’ve changed, you’ve changed You’ve changed, you’ve changed
Below is the video if you are in the mood for some vintage Beatles or just a great song.
Now that you know where my interest in Paul McCartney’s work comes from, it is time to learn how it all began well over 50 years ago. It is well-known that John Lennon met Paul McCartney at the Wooten Village fete in July of 1957. What many might not know is what actually got Paul into the band. It was a nearly perfect performance of “Twenty Flight Rock” by Eddie Cochran. He knew all of the words.
The rest, of course, is history. Since the entire history of the Beatles is well-covered ground, and I had my fair share of fun dredging it all up again this past April, I won’t go there. What happened to Paul McCartney after the Beatles is almost as interesting as anything that came before.
I’ve said this before, and I’ll say it again, whatever possessed Paul’s wife Linda to agree to be in a band with her famous husband, I’ll never know. I’m just glad she did. Wings weren’t the Beatles, but that seems to be the point. It just started out as Paul, Linda, their kids, and their dogs. I’ve included the first few parts of Wingspan. It is fascinating. The videos speak for themselves. For those who don’t know, the interviewer for Wingspan is Paul and Linda’s oldest daughter Mary.
More than anything I admire Paul McCartney’s, and the Beatles’, dogged determination to get it right. They weren’t content to leave things as they were; they continued to innovate. Many people don’t know this, but Paul McCartney has also tried his hand at classical music (quite successfully), pursued abstract painting, and worked to save his and George’s school from demolition. It is now the Liverpool Institute for the Performing Arts, or LIPA. Oh, and he isn’t done… yet.
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’m fortunate to have talented members of my extended family. Below is a series of photos taken by my cousin Jake Suszko, an air force ROTC student at Bowling Green University. Enjoy! Thank you Jake for allowing me to share your photography with my readers. All photos Copyright Jacob Suszko 2012.
Harper’s Ferry, West Virginia
Harper’s Ferry, West Virginia
Harper’s Ferry, West Virginia
Harper’s Ferry, West Virginia
Harper’s Ferry, West Virginia
Antietam National Battlefield
Antietam National Battlefield
Virginia State Capitol
Holland, Michigan
Holland, Michigan
Holland, Michigan
Thank you again Jake!
Bowling Green State University (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
Sometimes fragments and germs of ideas are bounced around in several different ways before they truly come together. When they do finally come together, it can be downright magical. It all started with the simple notion that I am a writer and I love genealogy. Once those two things became known, a cousin suggested I write about the history of the family business on my Mom’s side of the family. That idea has been kicking around for a while, I am far from ready to go there for a whole host of reasons, but it was something important, an idea. By the way, if you are reading this L., I haven’t completely given up on that idea.
Fast forward a couple of years and all of a sudden my parents and siblings are aware of my blog. Not only are they aware of my writing, they actually think I am a good writer. No bias there, right? Here’s the thing: I think the biggest praise was from my Dad. He is not the type to give praise for just anything, whether or not you are his child. The fact that he is even aware of my writing is huge. But I digress.
So, as my Mom is boosting my ego by telling me my entire nuclear family is at least somewhat impressed by my writing, she completes the idea. She thinks I should write the history of our family business, the history of Russell Canoe Livery. I like to think of it as The Story of Us. The thing is that Russell Canoe Livery is such a family oriented business, and I hope it always will be, that it will be impossible to write about the livery without writing extensively about the history of my Dad’s family, as well as our own. The entire idea gets at the very heart of our family, the reason I decided to study business in the first place, and even who I am as a person. I want to make this clear: I can’t imagine my family not owning the canoe livery. I can’t imagine growing up not working for my parents. It will always be very near and dear to my heart.
Aside from all of that, it is a compelling story. It is a story of entrepreneurship. It is the story of a mother and son working together to keep a business running under less than ideal circumstances. It is the story of two baby-boomers raising a family of three kids. It is also the story of the love between grandparents and grandkids. It is also the story of an extremely small town that likes to keep to itself. It is also the story of friendly competition and a changing society.
I have to do this. If nothing else I have to do this for my nephew and any future nieces and nephews. They all deserve to know the story.
Oh, and not to get political, but: Yes, my family did build this. We did it DESPITE government actions.
By the way, if you’ve never had the pleasure of watching America The Story of Us on The History Channel, it is wonderful, even if long. It is a unique look at what makes the US what we are today.
Ramblings of a Misguided Blonde 