You Can Go Home Again: July 2013

With Michigan in the rear view mirror, Nancy, the Malibu, and I set our course for ol' New England. I was so taken by the beauty of the Charlevoix-Petoskey-Harbor Springs area, I vowed to return next summer, hopefully for a month's rental in July. We'll need another couple to join us to make it affordable. Any takers?

Now I was eager to show Nancy the simple pleasures of a rocky coastline, a rocky meadow, and Ben and Jerry's Rocky Road.

As a matter of fact, I think I've got the perfect slogan for New England:

"Need rocks? We got 'em!"

We started our exploration of New England in Vermont, as we cut across the state on our way to Grantham, NH. We had a fine barbeque lunch at a funky market in Bromley and made our way along venerable Rt. 11 to I 91 and Claremont whose once proud mills now tell a story of decay and despair. Newport sang a similar sad song as we headed into Grantham, NH and Eastman. This was home for 10 years. I will never forget the many kindnesses extended to Ada and me during our time there. More of the same were offered to Nancy and me by our wonderful hosts, Brad and Carol. I managed to get nine holes of golf in with Brad while Nancy and Carol had a nice walk. It's almost impossible to have anything but a nice walk in Eastman. I developed my golf game, such as it is, at the Eastman Golf Links. I believe that anyone who learns how to play golf at Eastman has a leg up on golfers who learn elsewhere . There isn't a flat lie on the whole course and the woods are lovely, dark, deep, and right next to every fairway. If I'm a decent golfer today (depends on whom you ask),  Eastman deserves the credit.

From Eastman we made the two-hour drive to Boston. Prior to checking into our swanky digs at the Westin Copley Place, we stopped in Lexington to help my brother Marvin and his wife Sharon celebrate niece Emily's engagement to Jon. It was a lovely family gathering made all the more special by the presence of Josh, Cindy, and the twins. Josh is finishing up his final round of chemo and has many days when he feels lousy. This was one of them, but he bravely stuck it out and added another measure of inspiration to an already impressive catalogue. Cindy has been a rock throughout and Sam 'n Sara are still the undefeated and untied grandkid champions of the world. Come to grips with this, and all you envious grandparents out there will feel better.

Speaking of feeling better, Josh is hoping to start feeling better after his final chemo infusion this week. It has been exactly a year from his initial diagnosis of serious stomach cancer to his final infusion. In the course of that year he has had innumerable rounds of debilitating chemo, radiation, and surgery to remove his stomach and spleen. He has endured countless sleepless nights, nausea and stomach distress, lack of strength and energy, to say nothing of the stress of being unable to work. The bravery and grace that Josh, Cindy, Sam 'n Sara have shown during this trying year are enough to bring this lame blogger to his knees. Now Josh is at a point where he may actually start the process of feeling like himself, little by little, day by day, meal by meal. I gave Josh a watch when his ordeal began. It was just a cheap watch, nothing special, but I liked the symbolic value of that particular gift. He wears that watch proudly. It's keeping perfect time.

The next day, Nancy was "presented" to a number of friends and family at The Cheesecake Factory Restaurant in Braintree. To no one's surprise, she handled that pressure-packed situation gracefully and with aplomb. (Actually, I'm not positive about the aplomb; I just always wanted to use that word in a sentence and this seemed like a good time.) It was wonderful reconnecting. Even more wonderful was the cheesecake.

Then it was a couple of days exploring the beautiful city of Boston. When you see Boston through a newcomer's eyes, it is a dazzling city. From our base in Copley Square, we could walk to the Charles and view the sailboats, saunter down Newbury Street and pretend to buy stuff, head down Boylston to the Public Garden with its swan boats, ducklings, and tulips, cross over to the Common where a free music festival was in full force, proceed to City Hall and Quincy Market to see bricks and eat food, and finally cross over to the harbor to understand Boston's unique place in the universe. What a walk! What a city!

We arranged for a Duck Tour the next day. The driver-tour guide was excellent. The information he imparted was just detailed enough. These guys really have it down to a science. The "cruise" in the Charles basin on a perfect summer day was wonderful. It's a tour worth taking even if you're familiar with Boston's glorious and colorful history.

We ate enough to feed all of Nebraska and half of Iowa. And those folks know how to eat. After we had cleaned out most of the restaurants and convenience stores, we bid Boston adieu and headed for Old Cape Cod.

I've always felt that visiting Cape Cod in the summer is one of the crueler jokes one can play on oneself. You head down Rt. 3, thinking your experience is going to be all quaint and Patti Page-ish, and the next thing you know you're in bumper to bumper traffic trying to snag a parking space at a beach that's so crowded you can't unfold your beach chair for fear of putting someone's eye out, so you head off to an overpriced, understaffed restaurant where your Lobster Newburg has nary a trace of either lobster or newburg, so you visit a gift shoppe and can't decide which unique gift to buy so you visit the gift shoppe next door which has the same selection of unique gifts so you buy a candle that smells like cranberries and try to get back over the bridge before the nuclear plant goes all Homer Simpson on your ass.

Unless of course you're visiting the Razins or the Millers. I would subject myself to any of the Cape's particular tortures for a chance to hang with these two families. We have been good friends since before they built the Cape Cod Canal. The Razins visit the Cape each year. They wanted to find a vacation spot that reminded them of their beloved New Jersey. The Millers live on the Cape which definitely isn't the same as visiting there. It was wonderful to see these folks, catch up on all of their grandchildren's escapades, introduce them to Nancy, and laugh at all of our Aardvark misadventures from so many years ago. The trip to the Cape also gave Nancy a chance to visit with old friends from Michigan. A grand reunion tour.

With traffic.

And candles.

When you leave The Cape, there is only one place where you can duplicate that kind of traffic neurosis. That's right, people. Nancy and I were going to push the envelope on this 4,000 mile relationship buster: we were headed for The Big Apple.

The reason for this detour to Manhattan was to visit old friend Vin and his wife Pam. Vin and I went to Boston Latin together; however our friendship was formed when we were both working at the Quincy Patriot Ledger newspaper. Vin was an award-winning photographer and I was a reporter who wouldn't know a lead if it walked up and bought me a drink. The four of us had a great visit in Vin and Pam's Lower Eastside apartment. Wine was consumed and, somehow, my stories got funnier.

Funnier than Vin's at least!

The trip to Manhattan also gave me a chance to test one of my pet theories. I have always thought that the shortest time measurement known to man is the amount of time it takes a New Yorker to blow his or her horn after a light turns green. I call this amount of time a "nano-beep". The quaint, bucolic streets of the little town we call New York City echo with the welcoming sounds of millions of nano-beeps.

How charming!

From Manhattan we fired up the GPS and let Roada direct us to the Squirrel Hill neighborhood of Pittsburgh, the home of Nancy's brother Danny and his wife Rosanne.What a fabulous city neighborhood. The homes in this largely Jewish part of town are stately, old, and proud. What they may lack in modern amenities, they more than make up for with a sense of history, These homes have seen it all. Meeting Danny and Rosanne was a real pleasure. They love Pittsburgh and are eager to share their city and especially their neighborhood with visitors, even arrogant Bostonians. Hopefully Nancy and I will be able to reciprocate. This visit completed the "Nancy Sibling" portion of the journey. It's been a pleasure meeting them all.

I couldn't believe how charming I was.

Danny and Rosanne provided us with a magnificent, ecumenical breakfast of bagels, lox, cream cheese and wonderful, strong coffee which was more than enough to fuel our next segment: Asheville and son Matt. Matt was flying solo for a few days; his wonderful fiancee Audrey was away visiting family. He invited us to his home in West Asheville where he had prepared his signature dish: Chicken Francaise. This great meal was punctuated by fabulous displays of affection from Farley von Fartzelheimer, Matt and Audrey's spectacular pooch, part Chocolate Lab part Bunsen Burner part Ibis.

The visit only got better as Nancy and I made our way to the French Broad Chocolate Lounge to hear Matt and his Dizzy Chicken Trio perform. It doesn't get much better than listening to a bass-guitar-tenor sax trio playing jazz standards like Jobim's Desafinado while eating world class artisan chocolate desserts.

It's even better when your son is making the music.

We left Asheville for the final leg of this journey, a visit with Nancy's daughter and son-in-law, Dana and Ted, and grandchildren Gavin and Marae.  Before we arrived at their suburban Atlanta home, we stopped off in Landrum, South Carolina to spend a lovely day with Peggy and Dave, old friends of Nancy. A harrowing four-hour drive through torrential thunderstorms later and we pulled into Ted and Dana's driveway.

Thank you, Malibu.

Ain't life grand?
J







 

    

Rt. 66 (continued): July 2013

After leaving the East Lansing area, our road trip continued with a three night stay in Petoskey, on the shores of Lake Michigan. Petoskey is normally a three hour drive from Lansing; I managed to make it in five, thanks to Nancy's jealous and petty GPS unit, Roada, who is obviously trying to sabotage our relationship.

On the way to Petoskey, we stopped at world famous Sleeping Bear Dunes National Park.
Sleeping Bear Dunes is Michigan's answer to Disney World. Thousands and thousands of Michiganders flock to Empire, Michigan every summer to visit the park. Instead of high tech rides and cute cartoon characters, Sleeping Bear Dunes offers the visitors dirt. Lots and lots of dirt.

The following picture barely scratches the surface with regards to how much dirt there is at Sleeping Bear Dunes National Park:

And what do the visitors do surrounded by all this dirt? They like to roll in it and walk up and down it. That's basically what they do.

Evidently it doesn't take much to capture the imagination of a Michigander.

Now Petoskey is another matter altogether. What Petoskey lacks in dirt it makes up for in beautiful lakeside property. It is one of those fairy tale kinds of towns where everyone's front lawn is perfect, the summer season is naturally air conditioned by cool breezes off Lake Michigan, and the stately Victorian homes transport you back in time to an earlier, gentler version of America.

Pre-Glenn Beck.

Of course the major attraction in this area of Michigan is the quaint, fudge-filled Mackinac (pronounced Mackinaw) Island. Mackinac lies within the confines of angry ol' Lake Huron, very close to where Huron and Michigan intersect. There are two ways to get to the island. You can take a 16-minute ferry from Mackinac City or you can cross the majestic Mackinac Bridge over to Michigan's Upper Peninsula and take a shorter ferry ride. We opted for the longer ride. Angry skies, wild winds, and a whole lot of spray prevented anyone from sitting on the outside upper deck on our voyage out to the island. Cars are not permitted on the island. Pedestrians, bicycles, and horse-drawn carriages dominate the streets. Mackinac is evidently the draught horse capital of the world. Watching those majestic equines pull wagonloads of fudge-filled tourists up Mackinac's considerable hills made me feel glad I wasn't born a horse.

On the island one of America's legendary hotels, The Grand Hotel, sits high atop a bluff overlooking the lake. The Grand Hotel is so grand, they charge $10 if you just want to have a look inside the lobby. People, you won't find any Comfort Inns pulling that kind of crapola.

The weather had improved considerably by lunchtime, so Nancy, Margie, and I dined al fresco. Then we put our clothes on and had lunch outside. If we had closed our eyes, it wouldn't have been hard to imagine that we were three wealthy 19th century vacationers from Grosse Pointe, friends of the Fords, who had taken the train and steamship to the island and were enjoying a lovely repast as our bags were being off loaded from the boat and brought up to the Grand by horse and carriage.

Unfortunately, we ate with our eyes open. It was one guy from Dorchester, two Stead girls, and an overworked credit card.

Still a nice lunch though.

You may have noticed I mentioned fudge several times. This is because Mackinac is famous for its fudge. Several companies have been churning the stuff out since the 1880's. Margie was nice enough to spring for a pound and a half of the velvety smooth treat and we certainly ate our fill. I personally smashed my own fudge eating record by consuming what can only be called a frightening amount of fudge in a very short time. It's ok though. I managed to find a diet that includes fudge, so we're good.

The boat ride back to Mackinac City was thrilling. The sea (lake) was angry that day, my friends. I suggested that we brave the winds and waves and sit outside on the top deck. What was I thinking? As I have told Nancy many times, I am something of an idiot, and she should never listen to anything I ever say. She's slowly coming around to that reality. Everyone sitting on the right side of the boat was drenched and freezing by the time we got to our destination. Luckily, we sat on the left, so we were just freezing.

I think I now understand why they wrote a song about the Edmund Fitzgerald.

On our last day in Petoskey, Nancy and Margie headed off to shop. I took advantage of the opportunity and booked a round of golf at the Belvedere Golf Club in nearby Charlevoix. What an absolute gem! Belvedere has been the host course for the past 37 Michigan Men's Amateur Championships. Tom Watson has been a member there since he was a kid. Sam Snead and Walter Hagen played there. Luckily I was paired up with Bob and his wife Marissa, course veterans. It's not the kind of place you would want to play "blind." What was great about this 1925 masterpiece, aside from its pristine condition, was its traditional feel and look. I felt as if I should be using my niblick and mashie. There were no housing developments surrounding the course; the cart paths were only present at the beginnings and ends of holes. Each tee box was right next to the preceding green. Giant trees seemed to be located in exactly the right locations to cause difficulty approaching the perfect, undulating greens. If Mackinac Island is floating in a time warp, so is Belvedere Golf Club. I hope I can return to this part of the state again, to have another go at this beautiful, devilish gem.

With that the sun set over our memorable adventure in Pure Michigan. Now it's on to impure New England.

 

Ain't life grand?

J

Route 66: July 2013

Well, Route 66 this ain't! I mean first of all those guys (George Maharis and Martin Millner) drove a Corvette. Nancy and I are driving a Corvette's sleepy, overweight, palsied grandfather, a Malibu.

Second, they actually traveled the USA along the now forgotten, highly romanticized Rt. 66, one of America's original east-west highways.You'll see Amarillo...Gallup, New Mexico, as the great Nat King Cole/Bobby Troupe song goes. We're doing most of our journey on Interstate 65, which heads north-south from Alabama to Chicago. The only vaguely romantic thing about I 65 is that it goes through Louisville, Kentucky.

Given enough bourbon, I suppose romance is possible.

Finally, every Friday night from about 1960 until 1964, those two guys found some kind of adventure or intrigue right there on good ol' Route 66. Never a dull moment for Maharis, Millner, or the Corvette.

At the first sign of adventure or intrigue along I 65, Nancy and I are turning back.

What follows are the high and low lites of the first portion of our 4,000 mile journey from Miramar Beach Florida to Michigan, New England, Asheville, and back again. Not that it matters but some of what you are about to read is true.

Day One-Ten Hours in the Confederacy

This will have been the longest driving day of the trip. We headed north from Miramar Beach at 5 am and called it a day at 3 pm in a Best Western in Elizabethtown, Kentucky. Along the way we drove through a Civil Rights era all-star roster of famous and infamous locales: Montgomery, Selma, and Birmingham, Alabama. The recent decision on voting rights by our sad Supreme Court will probably put these places on the map again, and not in a good way. We drove past Nashville and stopped just short of Louisville. Elizabethtown is of course famous for being named after a woman named Town. Our motel was nicely situated just off the highway, surrounded by a smorgasbord of American corporate eateries: Ruby Tuesday, Texas Roadhouse, Cracker Barrel, Waffle House, etc. etc. etc.We made a bad restaurant choice ethically, financially, and especially calorically. I'll leave it at that.

Just a brief word about our room at the Best Western. There was a deep dish whirlpool tub in the bathroom. Nice touch, and my back was in need of such amenities after a day of driving. The real noteworthy aspect of all this is that there was no wall separating the bedroom from the bathroom. There was half a wall with a huge open window with only a flimsy curtain as a separation.

Awkward, right? And I am left with the following impression: There is a lot more going on in Elizabethtown, Kentucky than meets the eye!

Days Two through Six-Pure Michigan

An uneventful day's drive brought us from Kentucky to Michigan via Indiana. During the course of this pleasant journey, Nancy and I decided we would knock off one of our bucket list items by attempting to scale Indiana's highest mountain. We rented gear from a local mountaineering establishment just outside of Ft. Wayne, carefully checked our oxygen tanks, and sought out the services of a local Sherpa. This grizzled veteran of many a successful expedition was incredibly knowledgeable. He cleverly pointed out the proper trail system we should use to assail the 32 foot peak just outside a rest stop along Interstate 69 and 38 seconds later Nancy and I triumphantly stood atop Mt. Hoosier. The glorious view we enjoyed atop that majestic peak will stay with both of us for a long time. The photo below does not do it justice.

The next six days were spent in the company of Nancy's sister, Margie, and brother-in-law, Terry. They have lived in E. Lansing for many years in a beautiful craftsman-style home whose walls are decorated with many loving family memories. A beautiful American home. One of the finer features of this visit was the screened-in front porch. There was magic on that porch. Anyone who sits on that porch on a lovely summer's evening, plied with Terry's special popcorn and an adult beverage or two, will instantly become some kind of modern version of Mark Twain, spinning yarns, telling tales, watching the fireflies do their dance, reminiscing about youthful transgressions...such a special porch. Margie and Terry should charge admission.

I attended a lovely 4th of July barbeque where I met Sue and Bob, two more of Nancy's 72 siblings. We filled the following days with short trips to destinations in that region of Michigan such as Ann Arbor and Saugatuck.  Our day trip to Saugatuck was lovely. Saugatuck is one of those scenic, old, artsy, Kilwins-filled towns, similar to Ogunquit in Maine or Woodstock in Vermont. On the day we visited a local craft fair was in progress. You might not believe this, but I swear every legal citizen of Michigan, including the Upper Peninsula, was in Saugatuck on that day. The narrow, quaint, Norman Rockwell streets were lined with parked cars on both sides. Parking was at such a premium, we were forced to leave the Malibu in Wisconsin and take two ferries and a wagon train to get back to the gift shops and, most importantly, the Kilwins.

The next day was spent about an hour away in Ann Arbor, where Nancy's nephew Philip Stead and his wife Erin reside. Some of you may know this pair since they are award winning children's book authors and illustrators. I'm talking Caldecott Medal people, which Erin won for her incredible illustrations in Philip's wonderful story A Sick Day for Amos McGee. Check them out on Amazon and you will be delighted with their work. What a thrill it was to meet these two young geniuses and share a lunch with them at Zingerman's, Ann Arbor's answer to New York's Stage Deli. One memorable corned beef on rye with coleslaw and Russian dressing and a pickle to die for, and I was transported back to Blue Hill Avenue or Coolidge Corner or Beacon Street. Most of the great delicatessens are gone now sad to say, but Zingerman's of Ann Arbor, Michigan, lives on.

Oh, there was a pretty big university in town also.

As memorable and wonderful as anything I did during this part of the trip was a long-awaited reunion with an old Temple University chum, Joel Weiss. Joel has lived in Lansing for many years. We hadn't seen each other since 1974, life getting in the way and all that. We re-connected a few years ago on Facebook and have been trying to figure out a way to get together since then. Breakfast at FlapJacks provided the perfect setting for our reunion. I won't go into much of what we talked about. A lot of it was deeply personal, each of us having lost a spouse to a devastating illness, so we had that going for us. To see someone who was such an important part of my life when I was figuring out who I was, someone who made me laugh every day, someone who (very predictably) devoted his life and career to helping other people as Joel did, was as refreshing and uplifting as...sorry, but this is exactly where I wish I were an actual writer because all I can think of is a tall glass of cold lemonade and I just instinctively know that doesn't work at all! I hope you can fill in the simile with an appropriate image. I'll leave it at this: seeing Joel again after all these years was something I will treasure. We will see each other again soon. There are many more memories to plumb.

More on this journey to follow in the coming days.

Ain't life grand?
J