Timing Is Everything: Porcupine Mountains Wilderness State Park

A long time ago, my husband told me that all of life's happiness is due to timing.  When you do the right thing at the right time, good things happen.  After 6 months of planning a winter trip in the Porcupine Mountains, in Michigan's western U.P.,  it turns out my timing was all wrong.  Then again, my timing couldn't have been better.

This pretty much sums up the entire experience of snowshoeing through the Porkies and staying overnight in Yurts during the winter:  Extremes.

It turns out, a winter Yurt only has two temperatures; hot and off.  

Winter in the Porkies means you are either surrounded by dense forest, or in the middle of a vast emptiness.  

The terrain is either up, or down.  Snow is thigh deep and fluffy, while ice is flat and hard.  A gale force wind blows all night, then the sunrise brings an eerie calm.  Everything is extreme.

Another extreme is the level of difficulty I experienced, though this is not true for everyone, including the two young couples I met who bounced over the trails in their snowshoes while I labored with each step.  They carried everything they needed in packs that I know were heavy, but seemed not to burden them, while I huffed and puffed and fell down pulling my sled full of so many things I didn't need.  Perhaps experience is still the greatest teacher, but youth is the greatest student.

Maybe I wouldn't have struggled so much had my timing been better, but several things were at play.  A week before my scheduled trip, my dad had an accident which put him in the hospital where he received frustratingly substandard care.  It quickly became obvious to my mom and me that we would be responsible for his care, not the hospital staff.  Between making sure Dad was never left alone at the hospital, and running Mom to oncology appointments, and checking in on my 95 year old Grandmother, while trying to keep up with things at home and see my husband and daughter each day, I was exhausted.  It was an emotional week as well, and by the time everyone convinced me to go ahead with my trip, which I was ready to cancel, I couldn't think straight or see straight.  I was so worn out and tired.

Then, the day I was scheduled to leave, we got an ice storm.  I stayed up late the night before packing my sled and backpack, then started out the next morning.  I made it 10 miles out of town on the highway before turning back.  The roads were pure ice, and I just couldn't handle the drive on top of everything else.  I came home upset, discouraged, and thinking that there were an awful lot of signs that this trip was not meant to be.  My husband said to just wait one day, then try again.  My dad begged me to go.  My sister promised she would take care of things in my absence.  So I tried again the next day.

The next morning, school was cancelled.  So how do I leave my young daughter home alone all day?  A friend called and invited her over.  For every sign that said "Don't Go", a solution appeared.  I left.

After 8 1/2 hours of driving on icy back roads because the highway was closed, I had made it to Gaylord, about 58 miles south of the Mackinac Bridge.  In normal circumstances, I would have reached Gaylord in 3 1/2 hours, but there was nothing normal or even reasonable about that drive.  I found a hotel and hunkered down for the night to wait out a blizzard the likes of which I have never experienced.  My second day of driving wasn't any better, but I forged ahead and reached the Porcupine Mountains Headquarters with an hour of daylight left.

Once I had checked in with the Ranger and parked my vehicle at the trail head, all I really wanted to do was curl up in the back seat and sleep for a week.  What was I thinking, believing I could handle this winter excursion?  I gathered what little strength I had left and pulled it around me in a shroud, and set off on the groomed trail.  In about an hour, it would be fully dark, and Bob Wild, Park Naturalist, was busy on the trail filling lanterns with oil and lighting them for the Saturday night lamplit ski.  I took great comfort knowing he was close by, because I will admit to being uneasy about pulling my sled alone through the woods.  Bob pointed out the ungroomed trail to the Yurt, which I would have missed, and I left the safety of Bob's domain to break a new path, alone, to the Yurt.

It was very cold.  I was dressed properly and working hard to pull the sled and navigate the deep snow in my snowshoes, so I stayed warm, but my fingers and toes were cold.  It didn't take long to reach the Yurt, and God bless the previous occupants who had left me plenty of split wood for the stove.  Inside, I made fire my first priority, as it was just as cold inside the Yurt as it was outside, 8 degrees below zero Fahrenheit.  Without removing any layers of winter wear, I unpacked my sled and pack, gathered snow to melt on the stove for water, then stoked the fire up and left to join the lamplit ski tour.

It was dark inside the Yurt, and really dark outside the Yurt.  Again asking myself why I was here, I turned on my headlamp and started back the way I came, terrified at every sound until I realized that most of what I was hearing was other people.  Other people meant safety.

Every Saturday night in February, Bob Wild lights the lanterns and people come from all over to ski or snowshoe the lamplit trail to the warming shelter, an outdoor bonfire, and hot chocolate.  Some of the people are staying in various shelters throughout the park, while many others come from nearby.  I met some amazing people, people who didn't think I was crazy or particularly adventurous to be there alone.  They were people like me, who believe that snowshoeing through the Porkies in the winter and staying in a Yurt is just something to do, no big deal.  I felt like I belonged.  I actually did belong.

I returned to my Yurt about 10:00pm, this time feeling overwhelmed by the peacefulness of hiking alone down a barely marked trail after dark.  I almost went right past the Yurt, I couldn't see it, but I could see millions of stars winking at me, whispering a calm encouragement.

Remember those extremes of which I spoke?  Opening the door to the Yurt, I was hit with a forceful blast of heat.  Ten minutes later, I was stripped down to my underwear and standing in the open doorway trying to cool off.  It was a sauna in there!

I thought that if I kept the fire low in the wood stove, I could reach a comfortable temperature, but that first night I discovered that the Yurt was either stifling hot, or as cold as the outdoors.  There simply was no in-between.  Reading the Yurt journal, I was pleased to see that all previous hikers complained of the same problem, so at least I wasn't stupid.

I lay there that first night, thinking my timing was all wrong.  My parents needed me, I had driven
through one of the worst blizzards in 20 years, I was exhausted.  Many of the tasks required of me called for energy and strength and I struggled to collect firewood that was buried under 4' of snow, carry out my garbage to the bear-proof container, cook outside in subzero temperatures, and snowshoe through the mountains.  I did it all, but my limbs were tired and none of it came easy.

Then again, I was in the Porcupine Mountains in the middle of one of the coldest, snowiest winters ever recorded.  You might think this is another item for the "bad timing" list, but this is what actually turned out to be the best timing possible.

How many people can say they walked on Lake Superior two miles from shore?  How many people can climb on top of a 6' wave and stand there, only to slide down the back side?  How many people will willingly hike for days with the temperature below zero and the 45 mph winds creating a feel of -30 F?  It is unusual for Lake Superior to be 90% frozen, and I picked the best winter to experience her in a way few people ever will.

An awe crept into my days.  Awe for Mother Nature, the weather, snow,wind, and bitter cold.  Awe for the mountains, blanketed in deep snow, and then Lake Superior, frozen and suddenly reigned in from her fury.  There was awe for the fresh kill site in the deer yard, wolf tracks telling the story of life and death.  A curious pack of coyotes who came too close to the Yurt inspired me to be brave and trust that these wild animals had no real interest in me.  Mostly, though, I had awe of myself.  Little ole' me, who has always taken the safe route and lived such a normal life, was here, in a Yurt in the middle of the mountains during a brutal winter, surrounded by coyotes, and unafraid.

My husband was wrong.  The best things don't come from good timing, they come from believing.  

With elderly parents, kids, and a husband, it's not the right time for me to be an outdoor adventurer.  Yet, I believe the wilderness is pulling me to her, I believe there is a purpose for me that I don't quite understand, and I believe in myself.  I can be stronger, smarter, and a better example.  I can walk with wolves, stand on a tundra, climb mountains, and use these experiences for something good.

There is nothing special about me.  I am just like you.  But if you think you could never snowshoe in the Porcupine Mountains in winter and stay in a Yurt, or if you think you'd never even want to, you are wrong.  If I can do it, stumbling and frightened the whole way, you can too, and you should do it at least once, to believe in the balance of our natural world, believe in the role of every human, tree, wild animal, and body of water.  Most important, do it to believe in yourself.  But don't pull a sled.  You really don't need all that stuff!

For more information about winter hiking in the Porcupine Mountains, please visit the Porcupine Mountains Wilderness State Park web page.  There you can find information for camping and activities in any season, and some great tips for a winter experience.  For a list of what you need to pack, check out REI's Winter Camping Essentials.

Fixing the Christmas Lights

It's a tradition.  Every Thanksgiving weekend since I was a child, the house was decorated for the Christmas season.  Long before Black Friday, we had Twinkle Friday, a magical day when all the clear mini lights suddenly adorn the trees, fireplace, and wreaths.  I love decorating my house for Christmas on Twinkle Friday.

This year as I pulled all the boxes and totes out from the basement, I realized it has been quite some time since we bought any new decorations.  While I decorated, it occurred to me that it really is time to get some new decorations.  Only this time, my husband is banned from Christmas decoration shopping.

A few years ago, I asked my husband to build me a manger for the nativity set.  He took an old rose trellis, broke it in half, and stapled burlap to it.  The burlap does not fare well outdoors.

Then there's the tote in the basement full of strings of lights that no longer work.  It's been sitting there since November 1998, when my husband told me not to buy any new lights, because he could fix those.  Every year I have fewer and fewer lights outside.  Still waiting…

A couple of years ago Scuba bought a really cute light-up snowman for my courtyard.  After one year, the lights no longer worked.  So I pulled them all off, and tried to re-string the snowman with new lights.  By day, he's a cheery friend by the bonfire, but by night, he's a big blue blob of light.

Ten years ago, we bought a whole bunch of red bows at the Dollar Store to brighten up the fence.  We are still using them, though the mice have apparently been using them as well.

I was delighted a few years ago when Scuba brought home a beautiful indoor nativity scene for the living room.  But then my daughter dropped one of the Wise Men, and his hand fell off.  Every year when I set the nativity up, I glue his hand back on, and every year, it falls off the next day.  Nowhere in the Bible does it reference a handicapped Wise Man, but we have one.

Likewise with the ceramic Elf's feet.  I have a very old and beautiful set of four ceramic elves that I inherited from my late grandmother.  When my son was young, he was playing with them and dropped the standing elf.  The footless Elf has to lean against the hearth now.

Last year I bought new table decorations, which include little sparkly styrofoam balls.  The cat never even noticed them last year, but this year, she won't leave them alone.  I find styrofoam balls with little teeth marks in them under the table, in the living room, the sunroom, and unless our cat lays golden eggs, I'm pretty sure I scooped one out of the litter box this morning.

These are all things I can live with (though I'm not sure the cat can).  The minor marks on decorations that have been used and enjoyed by my family for years just make them that much more endearing.  However, I have to draw the line with Ralph and Stella.

Google Images

Remember The Elf on the Shelf?  I sent Scuba out to buy the beloved elf with the storybook.  Even though our kids are not little anymore, I thought it would be fun to hide the little elf each day and watch them look for him.  But Scuba didn't buy The Elf on the Shelf.  He came home with Ralph and Stella instead.

Maybe my husband is conducting an experiment to see if he can
introduce an unreasonable fear of Christmas in our children.  If so, it's working.  Hiding Ralph and Stella is not as easy as a tiny little elf.  Add to that the fact that Ralph and Stella are just plain creepy and you have the perfect scenario to induce nightmares and cold sweats every time "Jingle Bells" is heard.

I fear that Ralph and Stella may meet with an unfortunate accident in the near future.  Their days are numbered, folks.

I think next year, on Twinkle Friday, the kids and I are going to Bronners to buy a few new decorations.  Scuba can stay home and fix the lights.

Dear Mother Nature: You Win

Last Sunday I prepared for the deadly storms that raced across the Midwest.  When it was over, I touched base with my family members, making sure all were safe and suffered no ill-effects from the storm.  Everything was fine, and I had a little haha moment for being smarter than Mother Nature.  But she wasn't done with me yet.

Late Sunday night, my mom called and said their power had gone out.  After the storm, the winds picked up and blew trees down on power lines all over our county.  By Monday morning, still without power, my parents' house was getting cold, which is not pleasant for my 95 year old grandmother.  In a rare moment of selflessness, I offered to pick Gran up and bring her to my house for the day.  I wanted her warm and taken care of, and also thought it would be fun to spend a day with Gran.  She's a pretty fun lady.

That one moment, the quick decision to do something nice, led to a series of events that would throw me so far off schedule I won't be caught up until next week.

I brought Gran to my house Monday morning, thinking I would set her up in our big Lazy Boy in front of the TV, since she has a regular schedule of shows she watches everyday.  I wrapped a blanket around her, poured her a glass of Pepsi, and turned the TV on.  First she asked me to turn the volume up.  A little more.  A little more.  Just a bit more.  By the time I reached volume level 70, Gran said, "that's good."  It was really, really loud.  Then she asked me if I could turn the heat up a bit.  Certainly. I cranked the thermostat to 70 degrees.

The loud TV bothered me; I like a quiet house.  No big deal, though.  Gran is 95, I'm sure her hearing isn't as sharp as it used to be.  I can handle one day of a loud TV.  Then she called to me and asked if the heat could be turned up a little more.  No problem.

This went on all morning, so that by lunch time, the thermostat was set at 78 degrees, I was wearing shorts and a tank top, and covering Gran with another blanket.  All the while Andy Griffith was yelling at me from the TV. Ok, I can handle this.  No big deal.

Late in the afternoon, my parents still didn't have power.  I asked my husband if we could take them and Gran to a cottage on a nearby lake for the night, since we don't have an extra bed.  He made the arrangements, and my mom called from work saying they would be here soon to pick Gran up.

Looking back, I can say coulda shoulda woulda all I want, but the fact is, I dropped the ball here.  I gave my parents instructions for getting into the lake cottage, put Gran in the car, and sent them on their way.  They were going to stop at their house to pack a few things, then head to the lake.

As soon as they left, I turned the TV off and forbid my husband and daughter from watching TV or talking loudly.  I turned the thermostat off, put away the blankets Gran had wrapped up in, and served dinner.  Ten minutes after my parents and Gran had left, the phone rang, and my mom was shouting on the other end of the line "Call 911!  We all fell in the driveway!!!!"  Scuba jumped in the car and took off for my parents' house, I called 911.

Both my parents and Gran ended up in the ER.  I spent 6 hours there while they were bandaged up, cat scanned, x-rayed, and tended to.  Gran had tripped when they got of the car, and as she fell she took mom and dad down with her.  They were pretty banged up, with Gran taking the worst of it.  I felt terrible.  I never should have let them go their house alone.  With no power, it was very dark outside.  What a mess!

It was the wee hours of Tuesday morning before I was able to take them to the lake and get them tucked in for the night.  When we stepped through the cottage door, I was surprised by how warm it felt and to see a fire burning brightly in the fireplace.  Scuba and my daughter had driven to the cottage while we were in the ER and made up the beds, started the fire, and left the lights on for us.  I could have cried at the sweetness of it.

My parents have since gotten their power back.  I cleaned up the cottage, helped them get settled back at home, and brought Gran over to my house and helped her shower.  She said she felt dirty from being in the ER, and I did, too, so I understood her need for a long, hot shower.

I have pretty much lost three work days this week.  I'm not complaining; I am happy to take care of Gran and help my parents out.  But had I been more on top of things, much of this could have been avoided.  I made the mistake of thinking once the storm had passed, I didn't have to be prepared.  If only I hadn't forgotten how dark it would be outside my parents' house with no power, I could have prevented Gran's bruises and cracked rib; I could have kept my dad from tearing his hand up, and kept my mom from injuring her hip.

Life happens, and I roll with it.  But when stuff happens because I didn't think a situation through, I only have myself to blame.  And Mother Nature.

This week has been a good reminder for me.  When out in the woods and the mountains and the wilderness, Mother Nature is unpredictable and unforgiving of those who are ill prepared.  I won't forget that any time soon.  Prepare for the worst of Mother Nature and enjoy the best of her.  And never, ever, assume she is done with you.

Can I Have A Moment, Please?

Lake Superior at Crisp Point

Sometimes, I just need a moment.  Maybe I need that moment to take a deep breath before I say something I shouldn't, or a moment to have a hissy fit wile I rant and rage and let out my frustration.  Most times, though, I need a moment to just be silent.  This usually involves sitting on a high bluff at the edge of the woods overlooking Lake Superior, which is where I plan to someday build my stone cottage and live out my days sitting on my bluff overlooking Lake Superior. And chopping firewood.

A couple of years ago, when I was going through a rough time, I started this blog as a catharsis of sorts, where I shared my moments of peace found while traveling in a vintage Airstream.  My tin can let me go places I had dreamed of my whole life.  I enjoyed sharing my stories so much, that I want to do more.  But life still intervenes and keeps me from traveling often enough to write about it full time.  I spent a considerable amount of time this summer thinking about how I could develop my blog when I only travel a few times a year.  I also spent a considerable amount of time this summer not writing, because the two dogs, two cats, husband, kids, and all their friends were a constant energy in the house that prevented me from writing.

I may have spent the first month of summer feeling frustrated and wishing more than anything that I could have just one hour to write, except I had nothing but my frustration to write about, and who wants to read that?  I may have let that feeling go on, except that I really enjoy being a positive person more than a negative one.  My good friend, Debbie, who shares so many of my adventures, reminded me, "it is what it is".  It was summer, and everyone was home.  I gave up trying to write (which also goes against my nature)  and started looking for the positive.  I found it.

Gotcha, Suzy!

In each day, somewhere in the chaos and noise and demands, I had a moment.  Suzy the Cat began a habit of climbing up the ladder to my daughter's bunk bed and stealing her stuffed frog animal.  I would find that frog in the oddest places, pick it up and return it to the bed, only to find it again in a new place the next day.  It became a game with me and my daughters.
Where would Suzy put the frog today?

There was a moment each morning, when my youngest daughter, The Wise One, would walk into the kitchen while I was having my second pot of coffee and sleepily murmur, "Good morning, Mom" followed by a hug.  It's always good to start your day with a fond greeting and a warm hug.  We would then proceed to place our bets for what item my older daughter, Birdie, would announce she needed to get from Target that day.  Birdie went to Target almost every day.  It's a disease, as is spending her paycheck before she gets another one.  We're working on that.

The couch is NOT for you, Rooney!

I had other moments, as well.  I rarely left the house this summer.  Why would I, when Birdie would be going to Target anyway and could pick up what I needed?  But a few times we met up with friends for an evening, giving me moments of laughter and companionship.  I watched my son, Fun Boy, growing into a fine young man this summer, who worked hard at his job all day and cheerfully helped out around the house.  I had many moments with Rooney the Newfoundland, but those are best left
unmentioned in my efforts to remain positive.  I settled in this summer, and while I admit I still had day after day of being frustrated with no peace, no time, and no privacy, I embraced that moment each day when my heart would warm with delight over my family and friends.

The Tin Can at Muskallonge Lake

This new-found emphasis on finding the good each day, taking the moments that were given to me and holding them, gave me some ideas on the direction my blog might take once school started and I had time again to write.  I have stories from a few trips I took this summer, but I need more.  Perhaps, instead of only writing periodically about my adventures in the tin can, I could fill my time with sharing the moments I find each and every day that give me peace beyond of the tin can.

Stop spinning, Rooney!

I already had one of those moments this morning.  In preparing for my upcoming escape to the mountains, I have been brushing Rooney's thick and unruly fur every morning, trying to loosen as much hair as possible before we go so my tin can doesn't accumulate an entirely new floor covering.  Rooney is pretty tolerant of being groomed, usually standing still until I tell him he can go.  However, this morning, I wanted to focus on his enormous tail, and he didn't like that so much.  I had to hold him by the collar with one hand and try to brush his tail with the other, while he kept spinning away from me.  He would spin, I would follow, he would spin again, I would follow again.  Long before I even made a dent in the massive amounts of hair on his tail, I became dizzy until I finally fell down and gave up.  See?  I told you moments with Rooney detract from my personal goal of being positive.  But at least these days, my house is quieter and I am finding time to think, write, and dream.

My son has returned to the University and is contemplating changing his major during his 3rd year.  I'm sure several moments will result from that.  The Wise One has entered Middle School and taken up running, following in the footsteps of her older sister.  Cross Country Meets are a great place for peaceful moments.  Birdie has moved to the big city to begin her Freshman year of nursing school, and gave me a really nice moment last week.  She called home and asked me if I had ever taken a Philosophy course in college.  I told her not only had I taken several, I taught Philosophy for many years at the college level.  She was surprised and duly impressed.  It's not often I can impress my children.  It was a really good moment.

Starting today, I plan to write often about my moments, good and bad, at home and in the tin can.  My goal is to connect with readers on a most basic level.  There are good days and bad days, ups and downs, and within each day is a moment to remember.  Sharing my moments with you will hopefully touch you so that you know you are not alone.  We can all love those peaceful moments together, and learn to laugh at ourselves during those not-so-peaceful moments.  Never forget, Rooney will be laughing at all of us during every moment.  He's good at that.

Have a spectacular day, and thanks for reading my blog!  

I'm Baaaacccckkkk! Well, Almost

I have not gone missing.   My hands were not chopped off in a horrible accident that prevents me from writing.  I did not lose interest in writing this blog, or become creativity challenged, or get another job.  The fact is, I haven't been writing, because I still put my family first.

It has been a very busy summer.  Even if I wasn't the kind of mom to be involved with my kids every day, there is still quite a bit of commotion at my house, which makes it difficult to write, and I did not want to spend most of my summer away when two of my three kids are going off to college next week.    But I have managed to get to the U.P of Michigan a couple of times this summer, and as always, I have many adventures to write about.  Just not quite yet.

I also had an idea in the back of my mind all summer, and I've let it grow in its own time, to the point where I am ready to take this idea and run with it.  I love to explore Michigan, and usually will pick a State campground I've not yet visited, to expand my knowledge and experience of this beautiful state.  Since I have been to so many different State Parks, I have an itch to start cataloging my experiences at each location, and compile a collection of useful information for readers who would like to try a new place for exploring or camping.  The collection will include real photos of State campgrounds, not just the pretty ones on the DNR website, so campers will have an idea ahead of time what to expect.  Also will be my recommendations for places to go in the area, with descriptions, and stories of the colorful characters I seem to meet wherever I go.

I have long needed a focus for my blog, and while I have been writing for the last two years about the places I go, I want to organize my words into a format that would be easy for readers to find information about places they are interested in visiting.  Of course, this also means I have to make a serious commitment to spending at least a couple of nights in every State Park, even the ones in which I have no interest.  The fact is, no matter where I go in Michigan, I always find some unexpected wonderful thing, so I would be broadening my own horizons as well.

Lake Michigan, Manisitque, Michigan

But before I can begin to put all my thoughts together and figure out how I will approach this project, I have to get my kids off to school, which will happen in the next couple of weeks.  As I am packing up to head home from Indian Lake, I have two very busy weeks ahead of me at home, and I am looking forward to helping my kids prepare for new phases in their own lives.  But once September comes (isn't that a line from a song?) I will be ready to start a new phase of my own, and I hope you will keep checking back to see how it's coming along.  I love Michigan, I am always amazed at what it has to offer, and I would love to find a way to inspire others to get out and explore!

So bye for now, I will see you in September.

Lines, Lines, Everywhere Lines

I started this blog when I was removed from a job that I loved very much.  The blog was a way to fill the time and replace the ugly thoughts in my head with something more positive.  As I learned more and more about blogging, I even thought I could do this full time and make some money in the process.  Problems solved.

Or so I thought.  I can't make money with my blog, at least not yet.  As much as I appreciate those of you who keep reading, the 50 or so "hits" I get a day do not attract advertisers or sponsors.  A successful blogger needs to get about 50,000 "hits" a day.  I am not sure that many people will ever want to read what I write!  Unless I am willing to take a frightening financial leap with lots of risk, and completely change my life, and possibly negatively affect my family, I cannot write full time.

Last summer when the loss of my job was still fresh, my husband allowed me to indulge in my two passions; camping and writing.  I had this exciting, grand idea that I could travel around often in my tin can, meet people, hear their wonderful stories and share them with an audience who would be as captivated as I about people and nature.

But this year, my husband wants to see a return on my indulgence.  He is having a hard time supporting me investing in a future that is seriously unsure, and on an intellectual level, I agree with him.  So I am struggling to keep writing while getting on with the responsibilities of life.  Aside from the fact that I don't have much opportunity to write at home, I have no material with which to work.  Said simply, what in the hell can I write about?  I never go anywhere or do much, and my life is a bit dull these days.

As usual, my family comes through for me.  This morning I was driving in the car with my youngest daughter, The Wise One, and I expressed my frustration to her.  She gave me a rather demeaning eye-roll and said,

"Mom, you're making this too hard.  You can write about anything, look around.  Write about lines.  There are lines on the road, lines overhead, lines in the sky and lines in the car.  Every day, we stay in the lines, we go over the lines, under them, around them.  Write about that."

Okay.  I can do that.

Lines really are everywhere.  There are the lines on our faces and lines in the mirror.  There are parallel lines and lines that intersect.  Sometimes we put one line against another to form an angle to our own advantage.  There are lines we cross, and lines we blur.  Some lines are drawn for us, like the yellow line in the middle of the road.  It keeps us on a narrow path, telling us how to get where we are going.  If we cross that line at the wrong time, we could be in serious trouble.  I like those clear-cut lines, I follow them.  If I am driving on a rainy night and those lines are blurred, I get uneasy.  I do not like blurry lines, I like them defined and easy to see. (That's the OCD talking).

Then there are the lines we draw for ourselves.  For these, we use rulers and sharpies, at least I do, because I have OCD, and these lines are permanent and straight.  We do not cross them, that would be messy.

I have spent the better part of my life walking a line.  I balance responsibility with dreams, staying on the fine line between being what I need to be for others, and what I need to be for myself.  I have taken the safe route, the one that's been drawn for me, because it's easier.  But in all this time of walking that line, I always saw, in my peripheral vision, the wide open spaces on either side of the line.  I think the time is coming when I step off the line, take a turn, and wander into the wide open spaces with no direction, no boundaries, and endless possibilities.

It took an off-hand comment from a twelve-year-old child to make me realize that I am tired of the lines in front of me.  I have stayed in the lines, waited in lines, gone under the lines, and followed the lines for too long, without ever really crossing them.  I soon may find myself drawing my own line, with a straight edge and a colorful sharpie, and hoping others will follow it.

When I started writing this post, I had no idea where I was going with it.  The Wise One tossed me the topic, I thought it had possibilities, so I just started writing.  I never thought it would lead me to this conclusion;  I can write my own lines, I can change my story.  (My OCD just kicked into overdrive).  I don't have to have everything planned, my life doesn't have to keep following the same line.  I can change my course (hyperventilating now) and see where it goes.

I know that the day I can step off the line and take those first few steps away from the hurt and anger over losing my job, the day I can turn away from the people who don't believe I'm worth something more, will be the day I become something more.

I can keep writing.  I haven't even begun to take it seriously, but maybe if I do, I can learn to be a better writer and let my blog take a new direction, not be limited to stories from the tin can.  In the words of The Wise One, I can write about anything.

I mean, c'mon, I just wrote an entire post about lines.  I'd say it's a good start.

A Happy Child's St. Patrick's Day!

My youngest child, Nina, came into our lives a little later than expected.  My other children were already in school when my doctor announced I was - quite shockingly - pregnant.  We knew from the beginning that she would be the piece we never knew was missing from our family, that Nina would bring a special joy to us to complete our clan.

She has.  But because she came along later in our lives, she has grown up surrounded by adults, which has made her more mature than other girls her age.  She is adored by our grown up friends for her ability to converse intelligently with them on a wide range of topics, and don't even get her started on politics unless you want an earful of insightful and passionate opinions.  Sometimes, Nina seems so grown up, it is easy to forget that she is still, at heart, just a little kid.

Yesterday, as Nina's daddy settled in his Lazy Boy for an afternoon of Big 10 Basketball viewing, and I finished up the laundry, Nina announced she had a surprise for St. Patrick's Day.  She hid out in the art room, and later insisted her father get off his butt and take her to the craft store.  She worked very hard all day to give us an Irish celebration this morning.

First, she colored Shamrocks on paper, putting silver glitter glue around the edges.  Once the glue dried, she cut the shapes out and put them up all over the kitchen.

Then she decorated with garland…

…and made a poster…

…and created a centerpiece for the table.

Viola!  A St. Patrick's Day feast awaits!

Nina went to bed early, then rose this morning very early to get ready for Mass before completing her surprise.  I walked into the kitchen for my morning coffee, and Chef Nina was already busy.

She had the griddle on, and was making green pancakes!

 
Topped off with Lucky Charms!

Nina even decorated the syrup ladle…

Then she called us all to breakfast, and Chef Nina presented our meal.

We sat down to a lovely St. Patrick's Day breakfast, courtesy of Nina…

…and we all agreed it was very, very good!

Happy St. Patrick's Day, and no matter how old you are, you are never too old, or too young, for the magic and tradition of the wearing o' the green!

"It Wasn't My Line"

I came across An Inspirational Video by Sebastien Montaz-Rosset the other day, called "Revelation: A Visual Poem"  In a rare moment of quiet in my home, I was able to sit back and really take it in, the words and images which are so inspiring.  My favorite line came early in the clip, "I towed the line, it wasn't my line".

It wasn't my line.

Ah, how many times have I felt that way?  How many times have you?  As a wife and mother, I have always felt that my family is perfect just the way it is.  We each have our separate personalities which I have made a point to glorify.  I have spent my entire adult life supporting and promoting the dreams of my husband and my children because, without even being conscious of this desire, it is very much my desire to help them become who they are; not someone else's idea of who they are.

Somewhere in all of that, though, I got lost.  There are only so many hours in a day, and most moms devote so much of their time to the family (as it should be) that little time is left for anything else.  At times, I think to myself, rather selfishly, "Who will I be, when the kids are grown up?"

Once I get over myself and think rationally again, it occurs to me that the choices I have made were mine.  I do not regret them.  Now that the kids are growing older and need less of me, I am faced with the question of who I will be when they go away.  I will always be their mom.  I just won't always devote all of my time to their needs because they will be doing what I have raised them to do; making their own choices and being responsible for their own lives.

What will be my line?

Gathering strength from the deep philosophical views on Pinterest, I've been thinking about my future.

I just like this one!

Yada, yada, yada.  Where does my heart lead me?  What is fun for me?  What do I dream about with passion?  Whatever the question, the answer is always the same.  I must be in my beloved woods.  How do I turn my walks in the woods into a career?  Therein lies the problem.  But then I receive inspiration from a random video, and with it comes the hope that someday, a long time from now, I can tow my own line.

When I envision who I will be, it falls under the category of part-time semi-adventurer.

It most certainly will not include yoga on a tightrope between mountain peaks.  It won't include running through the woods; I walk briskly, at best.  It won't include mountain climbing or off-road cycling or jumping off a cliff with a parachute.  But I think that maybe, just maybe, the line I tow might include inspiration.  Possibly, I can experience the outdoors with less adventure and inspire others to do the same.  I don't know if I can make a career out of it, but according to Pinterest, I can.

I spend what amounts to too much time, according to my family, alone in the woods.  From my perspective, I don't go there often enough.  We're working on finding that balance.  In the meantime, I take what I can get with the family's support, using each experience as a lesson for the future.

People have asked me why I want to leave my family to go off alone in the middle of nowhere.  My answer is simple.  From time to time, I briefly leave my family, but my family never leaves me.

Last February when I was walking Drummond Island alone, at the sight of a massive 14pt Buck I instinctively pointed it out to my son, only to remember he wasn't at my side.  Hiking the woods near the Two Hearted River by myself, I exclaimed over a pretty wildflower that my little Bean would love, had she been walking with me.  Out in the middle of nowhere, I think of all the things I want to tell my daughter who is soon to leave for college.  I walk alone, but I feel my kids and my husband in my heart, I silently speak to them, and I take lots of pictures to share with them later.

I travel alone because it is only in solitude that I can open myself up to being nothing.  I don't need to be in a role in the wilderness.  I belong to no one but God.  It is this time alone, a time of being nothing, that allows me to come home and be everything my family needs.  I go alone and empty myself so I can come home and be filled up again by the people I love most.  Put that on Pinterest!

I don't know yet what my line is.  I'm okay with it.  There is time yet for me, the right time is just ahead.  And the woods will be there waiting for me, while the mountains call to the real adventurers.  For now, I will focus on my family, taking a few days here and there to self impose a time-out while I live in a tin can, push myself to my physical unpotential, search for my elusive wolf, and walk alone in the woods.  The time alone is my line reconnecting me to the rest of my heart.  If I walk that line very carefully, keep it delicately balanced between home and the wilderness, it will never break.