Tag Archives: MIchigan

Labour Day Weekend: Mackinac Island

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I usually work through the Labor Day Weekend, but this year I am a tourist on Mackinac Island. It seemed like a good idea at the time until I walked down Main Street and wanted to bypass my own anti gun laws and shoot myself in the face. Stuck behind a family of three who seemed to take up the side-walk, half the road, and walk incredibly slow and stopping suddenly every three feet, I looked to the sky and envisioned a .45 and the feeling of sweet relief.

 I don’t know what it is about Mackinac. I know it’s beautiful albeit smelly, but it has a way of changing people. Throngs of tourists get off the boat and cannot walk at a normal pace anymore and forget what footpaths are, waitresses spend the season waiting for long weekends so their tables are full of potential tips only to complain about the people when they arrive – they either tip poorly and or it’s not as busy as they thought. Dads and Grandfathers instantly become professors of history and architecture, mothers spend their entire weekend buying souvenirs for every person under 12 they know, even if they haven’t been born or thought of yet, only to return home with no memories of the vacation because they spent the time trapped inside Nephew’s. Kids, well they don’t give a shit as long as they get ice cream, fudge and some type of souvenir at some point.

I spent the weekend on the island, lazing around on a chair in front of Mission Point trying to make some decisions. I fell asleep on my first attempt, got side tracked by frozen yogurt on my second, by a bulldog on my third, but on my fourth I decided what I want – to some extent. I decided upon a bunch of things I didn’t set out to – I want a French style home by the water with large white wooden chairs on the porch, a boat docked on the marina, a big backyard with a vegetable and/or herb garden and fruit trees, a Golden Retriever to walk through the tree-lined streets and to spend afternoons sitting on the porch watching the sun go down with imported red wine from Bordeaux. Then I want a kid whom I can take overseas every summer and have him learn foreign languages and practice it with the locals and soak up the local cuisine and history. I’d have a husband who is my best friend and makes me laugh until I am 80 years old and then refuse too due to lack of bladder control – unless it’s a joke about Depends. This is all very domestic and homey from someone who has spent 12 years living from a suitcase! But now that I know what I want, where is this place? As my friend said, “find the guy and you’ll have the answers.” Hmmm…that sounds suspiciously easy.

How did you spend your Labour Day Weekend? Whats your dream for the future? I am leaving Mackinac Island for Mackinaw City tomorrow for 2 nights before I fly out to London* – do you want anything specific info on Mack City?

*Although I have not brought my ticket to Chicago yet and I leave in 2 two days…I am usually hyper organised. I haven’t arranged accommodation in London either..

A Free Sociology Lesson On Sheplers Ferry

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Sheplers Children Ride Free Labour Day Weekend is a nightmare. Kids love Sheplers (and wear the stickers like Purple Hearts) without riding for free but this weekend it was even worse. Not only were the kids kicking back rent free pondering all the shit they are going to beg and cry for in the coming hours, the parents were unusually happy because they didn’t have to pay. Lovers kissed, wives who forgot which husband they brought were blowing kisses to every second male, mistresses were admiring the boats, boyfriends were posing for selfies with their girlfriend. What this means for me – travelling solo back and forth 6 times in 3 days – is that I’m unusually educated about things I normally don’t care for. I am not sure if what I learnt from the advice-wheeling grandfathers was true and I question how grandfathers know something about everything but now I have a PhD in quantum physics and bridge architecture for the price of a Sheplers return.

Sitting on the top deck of Sheplers approaching the bridge you can see on every male face the same look and you can tell they are thinking 1 of 2 things – If I built that, I would have done this and this, trimmed that, spun that around, shortened that.

 No you wouldn’t have, sit back and relax.

The other guy is just thinking nice job. And while the Frank Llyod Wright wanna be wants to impart his knowledge on everyone around him, his wife (unfortunately) tuned him out years ago and the kids he is with just want the fudge he is saving for the ride home. The second guy is sitting there hoping for some peace and then his kids sense it, and start asking a tonne of questions– which is when I sit back and watch the show.

 Kid: Dad, why is the bridge so long?

Dad: Because that’s how long they wanted it son

Kid: But it looks kinda bent. It’s not straight. Why is the freaking bridge not straight?

Dad: It’s straight. (Faces wife) Honey, we need to get Jack’s eyes tested

Sheplers Captain on speaker: …the bridge bends naturally and was designed this way…

Dad: (Embarrassed and pretends not to hear)

Kid: See, my eyes are fine, the driver just said it’s bent. Maybe we need to check your hearing

Dad: Did the Sheplers Captain build the bridge? He is like 25, how does he know it bends?

Kid: History books

Dad: Here, have some fudge

Wife: (Peers over her iPhone without making eye contact) We were saving that

Dad: (Leans over and whispers) Honey, shut the hell up. We will talk about this when we get home

Kid: If we make it home, maybe the roads are bent out here too

Dad: (Rolls eyes) They aren’t

Kid: How do you know, you thought the bridge was straight. I’m asking the Captain

Dad: (Pissed off) So every question you have in life you’re going to call a Sheplers Captain?

Kid: Maybe, you don’t seem to know the answers

I was afraid at this point some domestic violence was going to take place. That, I didn’t pay for. As I got off the ferry on the Island side, there are three types of people. The ones who work here and want everyone to part like the Red Sea out of their way, the people asking everyone else how they get to the Grand who themselves are looking at maps, and then those who walk out and say, “Holy shit, this place stinks.” As I walk across the road, I can smell it, I can see it, I can hear people complaining about it and then a little potty mouth runs after me…”Ma’am, watch out for the shit. It’s everywhere!” If only he knew.

Did you ride Sheplers this Labor Day Weekend? What did you overhear?

Under The Bridge

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It is so my luck that I find a peaceful place lakeside to sit and think about life’s heaviest issues – love, moving on, marriage – only to realise I am sitting next to someone’s shitty knickers. Either some girl decided to pee herself and leave her knickers on the sand or I was sitting where people were shagging at all hours last night. Either way, I realised I was sitting on someone’s bodily fluids and minding their shitty knickers as I pondered the rest of my life. How ironic. Much like the time I bought a good luck doll that was decapitated within minutes by someones super sized ass.

 I decided to avoid the Labor Day Weekend crowds hustling like gangsters to buy copious amounts of fudge and shirts that read things like: My Anger Management Therapist Pisses Me Off. There is no better place to contemplate life than with the fresh crisp cool breeze touching your face, the sound of seagulls, the feel of sand between your toes, the warm sun on your skin and the smell of caramel popcorn shifting through the air. I sat thinking that maybe it’s time for me to hang up these travelling boots, maybe to set down roots somewhere but I have always been a huge believer in fate. For instance, no matter how hard I try to avoid PA I end up there. Knowing my luck, if I was flying to Vietnam from Moscow the pilot would make an emergency detour to Lake Erie just to piss me off. I explain my life story to people and their reaction is always the same – to laugh and put it down to fate. Even people who don’t believe in fate, believe in fate when they talk to me. But lately I have questioned it and most things I believed in.

Under the Mackinaw Bridge, my feet buried in the sand and smelling of sunscreen; I asked myself some questions I guess we all have to ask at some point that decides a significant proportion of the rest of our life. Where do I want to end up? What do I want to do? When do you know it’s time to walk away – from a person, from a life on the road?  How do you know where to settle down – is it where the universe keeps leading you, or just somewhere you randomly pick? This Labor Day weekend, I am not working for the first time in years so I am devoting the entire weekend to moving on and figuring out the answers to these questions. How do you do this? According to my friend, “stop using your head and follow your heart.” A hard task when you never stay put long enough to listen to it. But as I sat down in my hotel room, I turned on the TV to have the only episode of The Office play which gets me every time. (Jim telling Pam he loves her but she is marrying someone else) I then walked down the street to buy some ice cream only to have a young man start singing as I approached..”and someday it will lead me back to you.” Seriously. This shit happens to me all the time. Random coincidences aside, its time to make a choice but it would be a lot easier to make if I knew what the other person was thinking.

What have you been worrying about lately?

On The Street Where I Live: Michigan Edition

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The last street I lived on was in the Upper Peninsula, Michigan. It was a charming, romantic, leafy and historic road full of trade, medical discoveries, a shooting, and a murder. It reminds me of a particular song by Nat King Cole. I especially love when a place can capture not only your imagination but an entire emotion. And I do love an older tune.

The building I lived in was 120 years old and was previously a hotel. It has been converted into modern accommodation and offices. Two doors to my left are two large buildings that saw the trade of over $2 million dollars worth of fur in the 1880′s – when fur cost 10c each.

Metres away in a hotel that still stands today, a murder took place that has never been solved. A woman staying at the hotel was sexually assaulted and strangled with her own lingerie. Further down the street is the site where a man was accidentally shot in the 1870′s and his bullet wound refused to heal correctly. This wound was then observed by a physician into a portion of what we know today about the human digestive system. At one end of the street is a large park overlooking docking yachts and a bustling downtown. The other end, is a blissful Great Lake, where days are spent watching ferries move back and forth across the straits.

 I fall asleep to the sounds of horse shoes hitting the pavement, as the only form of transportation other than walking or riding a bike. The sun seems to always shine on this street and I often sat by my window and watched it go by. I always find something fascinating about the street where I live.

The street where you live is often the place in the world you spend most of your time but know little about. What has happened on the street where you live?