How I spent my summer vacation
If I were a really good blogger, I would have faithfully placed an entry in here every day while Bruce and I were in Michigan and Wisconsin. I would have mentioned staying in a motel in York Nebraska and drinking my first of many Leinenkugel beers of the trip (a Wisconsin favorite), and maybe mentioned how boring it was driving across Nebraska and how I felt at home once we got to Minnesota. But a lack of wireless Internet connection in my mom's small town and maybe a lack of motivation kept me from revealing all of the details, so here are some of the highlights for anyone who cares to see what it is like to spend a week in the wilds of northern Michigan and another week somewhere in mid Wisconsin.
Michigan was our first stop. We slept on the most uncomfortable hide-a-bed, that was a hand me down from my Dad's sister Helen. Why do they always have a bar right across your back?
We went to the casino and I won nothing but my mom had fun. I had my traditional bloody Mary that is almost a meal in itself - celery, pickles, mushrooms, olives, watercress sandwiches (well not really a meal).
My mom gained 18 pounds and is doing well. She drinks one crabby (whisky and Pepsi) each night. Maybe she throws in a beer now and then. But maybe not. There's a lot about my mom I don't know and probably never will but that is OK.
We took my father's ashes off my mom's dresser and finally buried them in the little cemetery. Bruce dug the hole and we ceremoniously threw dirt on top of the box containing his ashes. At least I tried to make it a ceremony. No fancy urn for him, he wasn't that kind of guy. Maybe some of us "put in a good word" for him. Maybe it is illegal to dig your own father's grave (even if it is a small one) but this is a small town and my sister knows the caretaker. It's a beautiful cemetery and I know more folks there than I know in the town. I felt closure after we buried him, for some reason. Looking at my grandmother's grave, I realize she would have been over 100 years old and there is no way we can keep our family forever even though we mourn their deaths. Just like there is no way I will see live to see my future grand kids grow up into middle age and have grown up kids. I decided to be cremated but I want a headstone in this cemetery in this small town - something to show that at least I once existed. And maybe my kids will want to visit it someday.
I met a few high school friends and we ran together three mornings in a row in the quiet. We ended up at the cemetery and saw a deer each morning. We talked about our childhood and as it turned out, we each had misconceptions about how great each other's childhood actually was. We agreed, despite everything (their angry dad and rather high strung mom and my alcoholic dad who cheated on my mother) that we grew up in the best of times.
I spent a lot of time with my sister and Siggie and her dogs Poo Poo and fat Willy. Willy loved going for walks with me and wasn't very good at chasing the deer out of my sister's garden. Willy howls at the beginning of every Chicago Cubs game when the Star Spangled Banner is sung.
My brother yelled at me for putting dishes away and blamed me for his girlfriend problems. Did I mention he is an alcoholic and the beer he has for breakfast is so good that he has one for every meal and eats several meals a day? He thinks life is a movie but I think he should fire his director. He is a good guy but for some reason he has so much pain that he has been dulling it with alcohol since he was 13. Like most alcoholics, he tries to hurt those who love him the most. But I love my brother no matter what movie is playing at his theater. I just don't understand his pain.
I helped my mom shower and she didn't complain about my technique or lack thereof this time. We watched too many lifetime movies with her. We took her for a drive to see her sister. We sat outside and were eaten by mosquitoes. We left with thimble berry jam made by my sister and a Filia starter (Filia is a yogurt like substance that Finnish people like). My soul stays back in that little town. I always buy clothes at the St. Vinnie's store while I am there, and keep them in a dresser drawer at my mom's house. She likes it because then she knows I will be back.
Onward to Wisconsin. Bruce's dad is 92 and forgetting some things, like his medicine. However he loves to go out to the supper clubs and everyone knows him. As soon as he shows up, they bring him an Old fashioned. Bruce's mom has Alzheimer's. The first day we visited us, she said "Get out of here and leave me alone". Her eyes are empty...she sees us but doesn't know us. I see how this hurts Bruce but I can't do anything. There is no hope for this disease. But the next day we visit, when we ask "how are you Jean?", she says "Better than yesterday". After that though, her conversation is just a bunch of words that maybe make sense to her. Bruce's dad is a wonderful example of devotion and commitment. He sees his wife every day, even if she shows no recognition. He sits by her side and is escorted to his car by one of the pretty young nurses who works in the nursing home.
In Wisconsin I ran along woody trails that used to be railroad tracks. It smells so good and it is like running in a warm shower. People say "hi" all of the time or wave at me. Then I would go back, shower and we would walk downtown and get something to eat while Bruce's dad waited for his meals on wheels. We would then go see him mom. Our routine didn't vary much but I enjoyed not having to go to work or worry about anything. I was far enough away that work became something that couldn't touch me.
Our daughter came to visit for a few days and I know her grandpa was glad. It was great to be around family and see her interact with cousins that she never got to know well enough because we did not live close. We started talking about visiting at Christmas. We have never been with extended family at Christmas and it is time. Now we spend time with Bruce's brother's and sister and their families. We drink beer and one night we go to a bar where I have Hendricks Gin and a cucumber mix.
We have to leave and get back to reality even though it is hard. I really long for a small town life. I am not a city girl. Maybe I just want to be able to visit for as long as I want. We extend the drive home and take the scenic route, stopping in Luverne Minnesota one night, and another night in Worland, Wyoming. We go through Sturgis and wander the streets and watch them prepare for the motorcycle rally. We stop in Cody, Wyoming and go to the Sierra trading post outlet. I swipe a mug from a restaurant in Jackson Hole and then feel very guilty. I will probably send them $7.00 anonymously. We drive through Star Valley Wyoming and I can see why so many people like that area - it is beautiful.
Finally, when we are about 5 miles away from home, Bruce rehangs my parking tag on the mirror of the car. Vacation is about over and we must get on with our own lives. I still have one day before going back to work.
Back to work, there are people waiting to talk to me to jar me back into reality and away from my two weeks of peace. Most of them have no idea how I have spent my vacation for the past few years and most probably don't care. Funny but I can't really think of where else I would rather go.
Michigan was our first stop. We slept on the most uncomfortable hide-a-bed, that was a hand me down from my Dad's sister Helen. Why do they always have a bar right across your back?
We went to the casino and I won nothing but my mom had fun. I had my traditional bloody Mary that is almost a meal in itself - celery, pickles, mushrooms, olives, watercress sandwiches (well not really a meal).
My mom gained 18 pounds and is doing well. She drinks one crabby (whisky and Pepsi) each night. Maybe she throws in a beer now and then. But maybe not. There's a lot about my mom I don't know and probably never will but that is OK.
We took my father's ashes off my mom's dresser and finally buried them in the little cemetery. Bruce dug the hole and we ceremoniously threw dirt on top of the box containing his ashes. At least I tried to make it a ceremony. No fancy urn for him, he wasn't that kind of guy. Maybe some of us "put in a good word" for him. Maybe it is illegal to dig your own father's grave (even if it is a small one) but this is a small town and my sister knows the caretaker. It's a beautiful cemetery and I know more folks there than I know in the town. I felt closure after we buried him, for some reason. Looking at my grandmother's grave, I realize she would have been over 100 years old and there is no way we can keep our family forever even though we mourn their deaths. Just like there is no way I will see live to see my future grand kids grow up into middle age and have grown up kids. I decided to be cremated but I want a headstone in this cemetery in this small town - something to show that at least I once existed. And maybe my kids will want to visit it someday.
I met a few high school friends and we ran together three mornings in a row in the quiet. We ended up at the cemetery and saw a deer each morning. We talked about our childhood and as it turned out, we each had misconceptions about how great each other's childhood actually was. We agreed, despite everything (their angry dad and rather high strung mom and my alcoholic dad who cheated on my mother) that we grew up in the best of times.
I spent a lot of time with my sister and Siggie and her dogs Poo Poo and fat Willy. Willy loved going for walks with me and wasn't very good at chasing the deer out of my sister's garden. Willy howls at the beginning of every Chicago Cubs game when the Star Spangled Banner is sung.
My brother yelled at me for putting dishes away and blamed me for his girlfriend problems. Did I mention he is an alcoholic and the beer he has for breakfast is so good that he has one for every meal and eats several meals a day? He thinks life is a movie but I think he should fire his director. He is a good guy but for some reason he has so much pain that he has been dulling it with alcohol since he was 13. Like most alcoholics, he tries to hurt those who love him the most. But I love my brother no matter what movie is playing at his theater. I just don't understand his pain.
I helped my mom shower and she didn't complain about my technique or lack thereof this time. We watched too many lifetime movies with her. We took her for a drive to see her sister. We sat outside and were eaten by mosquitoes. We left with thimble berry jam made by my sister and a Filia starter (Filia is a yogurt like substance that Finnish people like). My soul stays back in that little town. I always buy clothes at the St. Vinnie's store while I am there, and keep them in a dresser drawer at my mom's house. She likes it because then she knows I will be back.
Onward to Wisconsin. Bruce's dad is 92 and forgetting some things, like his medicine. However he loves to go out to the supper clubs and everyone knows him. As soon as he shows up, they bring him an Old fashioned. Bruce's mom has Alzheimer's. The first day we visited us, she said "Get out of here and leave me alone". Her eyes are empty...she sees us but doesn't know us. I see how this hurts Bruce but I can't do anything. There is no hope for this disease. But the next day we visit, when we ask "how are you Jean?", she says "Better than yesterday". After that though, her conversation is just a bunch of words that maybe make sense to her. Bruce's dad is a wonderful example of devotion and commitment. He sees his wife every day, even if she shows no recognition. He sits by her side and is escorted to his car by one of the pretty young nurses who works in the nursing home.
In Wisconsin I ran along woody trails that used to be railroad tracks. It smells so good and it is like running in a warm shower. People say "hi" all of the time or wave at me. Then I would go back, shower and we would walk downtown and get something to eat while Bruce's dad waited for his meals on wheels. We would then go see him mom. Our routine didn't vary much but I enjoyed not having to go to work or worry about anything. I was far enough away that work became something that couldn't touch me.
Our daughter came to visit for a few days and I know her grandpa was glad. It was great to be around family and see her interact with cousins that she never got to know well enough because we did not live close. We started talking about visiting at Christmas. We have never been with extended family at Christmas and it is time. Now we spend time with Bruce's brother's and sister and their families. We drink beer and one night we go to a bar where I have Hendricks Gin and a cucumber mix.
We have to leave and get back to reality even though it is hard. I really long for a small town life. I am not a city girl. Maybe I just want to be able to visit for as long as I want. We extend the drive home and take the scenic route, stopping in Luverne Minnesota one night, and another night in Worland, Wyoming. We go through Sturgis and wander the streets and watch them prepare for the motorcycle rally. We stop in Cody, Wyoming and go to the Sierra trading post outlet. I swipe a mug from a restaurant in Jackson Hole and then feel very guilty. I will probably send them $7.00 anonymously. We drive through Star Valley Wyoming and I can see why so many people like that area - it is beautiful.
Finally, when we are about 5 miles away from home, Bruce rehangs my parking tag on the mirror of the car. Vacation is about over and we must get on with our own lives. I still have one day before going back to work.
Back to work, there are people waiting to talk to me to jar me back into reality and away from my two weeks of peace. Most of them have no idea how I have spent my vacation for the past few years and most probably don't care. Funny but I can't really think of where else I would rather go.
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