A Very Blue Halloween

Kaitlyn pulled into her friend, Emily's house and expertly parked her blue Prius off to the side of the driveway.  Her car was filled with everything from fake blood to curling irons to a very realistic looking baseball bat, and she was excited.  It was Halloween and she and Emily had been planning their matching costumes for quite some time.  With just an hour before their departure time, there was much to be done.

The girls closed themselves into Emily's bedroom and proceeded to curl their hair, paint their nails, perfect their makeup and get into their costumes.  Finally, they were ready, and they looked spectacular.  

The plan was to ride with Emily's parents, along with her four siblings to Flushing to trick-or-treat at Emily's grandparents' house.  A couple friends from school would be joining them there, too.

After two hours of running through the neighborhood in the chilly fall air, the group of kids was tired and cold.  They retreated to Emily's grandparents' house to sort candy and drink hot cider.  When all candy trades had been made, and everyone was warm once again, it was time to head home.  

There were stops on the way back to Davison to drop off a boy in Flint, and another boy closer to home. Finally, they arrived back at Emily's house.  It was nearly 10:00pm, the witching hour for new teen drivers, but Kaitlyn's phone was dead.  She didn't feel comfortable driving in the dark with a dead cell phone, so she tried to charge it a little before heading home.  Kaitlyn's parents were getting worried that she would be driving past curfew and urged her to get on her way.  Kaitlyn said her goodbyes to Emily and left.

Within just a couple of minutes, Emily's phone rang.  Kaitlyn had driven into a ditch.  Emily's mom wanted to know where and rushed to help.  Her mom didn't have to go far, as Kaitlyn had gone into the ditch right at the end of Emily's driveway!

There was nothing too dreadful about this ditch, but because of all of the recent rain, there was quite a bit of water flowing, making it impossible to just drive that little blue Prius out of it.  Emily's dad, who was just settling in for the evening, threw on some clothes and went to help Kaitlyn.

As Kaitlyn sat in her car, hoping for a quick tow, the rear end of her car sunk lower and lower into the ditch water.  The gurgling sound was quite ominous in the dark of the night.

Emily's dad had lots of experience getting various stuck things un-stuck, so he was confident he could pull this little blue car to safety.  He crawled under the front end of the car, trying to find a safe place to attach a tow rope.  Finally, he was able to get the rope attached.  He instructed Kaitlyn to put the car  in neutral and then he slowly backed up.  The little blue car began to move.  It was working!  And then, the truck's tires started spinning.  Emily's dad quickly stopped pulling and got out to assess the situation.  Unfortunately, the driveway culvert was now firmly wedged between the rear door of the car and the tire.  

The simple tow job turned out to be not so simple.  Emily's parents felt so badly for Kaitlyn because they knew their driveway was a little tricky to navigate, especially in the dark and this accident could've happened to anyone.  There were reflective driveway markers at one point, but apparently they were missing now.  Kaitlyn's dad drove across town to pick her up.  As imagined, he was angry and frustrated and quickly picked up Kaitlyn and decided to leave the car until the next day.  

By morning, the shock of the incident had worn off a bit, and in the light of day things looked bad but not terrible.

By mid-morning, several neighbors had stopped by or called to offer to help get the blue Prius out of the ditch.  Kaitlyn's parents wanted to wait for a tow truck, though, so the car stayed put.  In the early afternoon, Kaitlyn's stepmom and grandpa came by to see if they could tow it out.  After finding a place to attach the tow strap and spinning ruts into the driveway with their truck, the little blue car stayed where it was.  

The problem was the culvert.  The only way to safely get the car out of the ditch without causing significant damage would be to somehow move the car not forward or backward, but to the right, away from the metal culvert.  Emily's parents again offered to try and pull it sideways with strategically placed trucks and tow straps, but Kaitlyn's family wanted to wait for the expertise of the tow truck.

Finally, around 4:30pm, the tow truck arrived.  The driver got out and assessed the situation.  It quickly became apparent that this tow job wasn't as easy as it appeared.  He decided to call his boss and have him come and check out the precariously positioned Prius.  

Soon, Emily's dad arrived home from work, Kaitlyn's stepmom and grandpa arrived, and the second tow truck was on the scene.  This was turning into quite the spectacle! Of course it was that time of day when all the neighbors were coming home from work and the road was a constant flow of traffic ogling at that car in the ditch.

Together, the men came up with a plan.  They'd use a tree across the ditch to attach a tow strap to, which was attached to the car on one end and the tow truck on the other.  

Slowly, the tow strap tightened.  And slowly, the car was pulled safely away from the metal culvert.  

They kept pulling that little blue car until they had a clear line to pull it out of the ditch from the front. And then, there it was: the reflective driveway marker popped out from under the car.  Kaitlyn had backed directly over it!  At this point, all anyone could do was chuckle a little at that.

The tow strap was then connected to the front tire and, as Kaitlyn's stepmom steered, the truck towed that blue Prius up and out of the ditch.

Miraculously, the only damage to the car was a popped rear tire.  The tow truck driver offered to change it for an additional $125.  Luckily, Emily's dad had all the tools necessary to change the damaged tire.  Within just a couple of minutes, the little blue car was sporting its spare tire.  

After a rough 24 hours, the blue Prius was back on the road.  Thankfully, no one was hurt and I'm sure the time will come when this memory will become a little funny for Kaitlyn's family.  Her stepmom was taking a lot of photos with the promise of displaying them on graduation day.  

I've said it before and I'll say it again, raising teenagers is no easy feat.  Mistakes will be made by the children and by the parents.  It's tough giving kids freedom and letting them figure things out.  I'm sure lessons were learned on this Halloween night, and I know that photo of the blue photo circulated on Snapchat, but hopefully amidst the laughter at this little mistake, those kids also realized how quickly something can happen when you're behind the wheel of a car.  

This is the end of this Halloween story, however I am sure it won't be the end of the excitement at our house here as we navigate the teen years with our children and their friends.  

(Names have been changed to protect those involved.)

Unforgettable

 There is a little bit of a joke between my mom and me regarding my memory.  On occasion, she will bring up a memory and I'll have no idea what she is talking about.  I don't usually deny that it actually happened, but it's just not part of MY memory.  And no, it's not dementia.  

My mom is 70 years old today.  She was born in 1951-back in the middle of the last century.  Do you know her?  How long have you known her?  Whether you've met her briefly or have known her for years, I am sure your memories of her are quite different than mine. 

I don't remember that day in May when she married my dad.  I don't remember when she turned 25 and was able to feel those first tiny kicks of life inside of her.  I don't remember that November day when I entered her life, lumpy head and all, and she held me in her arms.  I don't remember when my sister was born, or when my brother was born and we became a family of five.  

I think my earliest memory of my mom was sitting in the sun in our driveway, at our old house in Clio.  She, of course, was in a lounge chair, and I was in a regular folding chair.  I was small enough then for our black lab, Sam, to climb right up onto my lap and curl up.  I must've been only four years old, but I was big enough to not need a nap while my brother and sister slept that afternoon.  I also remember our dog, Chip, who would disappear for hours, just to return with random pieces of animals he had caught, much to my horror.  

I wouldn't say my mom is crafty, per se, but when my sister and I were little, she'd make us matching outfits.  One year for Easter, I remember my mom made us blue sundresses with red cherries on them.  They tied at the shoulders and were perfectly pleated and I thought there was nothing better!

I remember when we moved to Muskegon and my mom had the unpleasant task of cleaning out the rotting food in the refrigerator the day we arrived.  I felt awful that we had just arrived at our new home and this was the first thing she had to do.  In no time, though, she had that whole place spic and span.  We lived right on Lake Michigan and on stormy nights I remember running through the dark to their room where all five of us would huddle together under the covers. 

We only lived in Muskegon for less than a year, but I remember so much about living there.  I was in first grade, and I would often hide among the trees on my long walk down our driveway to the bus stop.  I'd miss the bus on purpose, hoping I wouldn't have to go to school at all that day. But mom would find me, pack up the other kids, and haul me off to school.  I also brought home the chicken pox that year, and I know we had mom at her limits, as she tried to keep us all from picking and scratching at the red bumps.  That winter, our bird, Theo, died, too.  We buried him on the property and put a little wooden cross over the site, and I just thought it was the saddest thing ever.  

And then, after a short time back in Clio, we were on the move again.  This time, the move would be permanent.  Flushing greeted us with open arms, and while my siblings and I were off at school, mom would lounge in the sun with her neighbor, Tammy.  Even on not-so-warm days, those two could be found on the side of the house, where the wind was blocked, soaking up any available sun.  Okay, so maybe she did a little more than lounge in the sun all day.  I remember that the house was always clean, the laundry was always folded and put away, and dinner was on the table every night.  Well, almost every night.  Sometimes, if we were lucky, mom and I could convince my dad to take us all to Chi-Chi's on Friday night for dinner.  

On Sunday mornings, after much chaos, we'd somehow all make it into the car and on our way to church.  Mom would always tell my sister and I to pinch our cheeks to put some color into them.  <sigh>  After church, we'd head to my grandparents' house.  My grandma made a feast to feed the masses every Sunday afternoon, and my mom would show up and just start cleaning.  She could turn an explosion of a kitchen into something much more manageable in no time flat. Those Sundays were the best.  My grandpa would grill chicken and sneak puffs on his pipe, while we played frisbee in the backyard.  Neighbors and friends were always stopping over on those afternoons, and they'd stay for dinner or bring dessert and everyone was welcome.

And then there was the time my mom became a dog midwife for a day.  She found herself home alone as our dog, Meg, started to give birth.  Dogs know what to do, right?  Not this dog.  When the first puppy came out, still fully encased in its sack, Meg gave that thing a sniff, covered it with newspaper and walked away.  Thankfully my mom had educated herself, and she stepped right in to tear open that sack and rub the puppy until it began breathing.  The next puppy?  Same thing.  Eek!  Finally, by the third puppy's arrival, Meg knew what to do and my mom's duties were over.  Meg went on to have a total of nine puppies, but the outcome would've been much different if my mom hadn't known what to do!

By the late 1980's, my siblings and I were into sports and instruments and youth group at church.  Dinnertime became a bit more challenging.  Wednesdays, I remember, were particularly hectic, when I had to be picked up from basketball practice with just enough time to get to catechism class.  Mom would always have a grilled cheese wrapped in tinfoil for me to eat on the way.  Did it taste like metal?  Yes it did.  Did I eat it?  Every time.  

I think maybe she knew those sandwiches wrapped in tinfoil left a little to be desired, but she made up for it.  She's been known to make my sister and me pancakes after 10pm at the cabin, after rousing games of Rack-O or Bananagrams, or Rummy Tile.  If you haven't had pancakes after a long day at the lake, you're missing out. 

As we grew, our "extra-curricular activities" expanded a bit further, and my mom was game, on occasion, to actually drive my friends and me to TP houses late at night.  I think she might have taken us the next morning a couple of times to clean up said TP when we got caught...

Speaking of extra-curricular activities, my mom never missed them.  She was a regular in the stands for basketball, volleyball, softball, baseball, track, Taekwondo, musicals, plays, and concerts.  If you ask her about her most memorable moments, ranking near the top would be two events.  The first event was parents' night for volleyball.  On this night, parents walk their players out to center court and are introduced to the crowd.  My sister, the jokester that she is, submitted my parents' names as Gwen and Peter.  Let it be known that a vast number of spectators knew my parents, but somehow the announcer did not.  As my parents and sister made their way onto the court and the announcer introduced Melissa, daughter of Gwen and Peter, the crowd erupted in laughter.  The second event happened at one of my basketball games.  There had been a discussion circulating among the parents about tattoos and who had them.  This was was the early 1990's, before tattoos were as commonplace as they are now.  My mom had told people that she had a butterfly tattoo on her behind.  Most of us knew this was a joke, but a few weren't quite sure if it was true or not.  One night, a man walked up to her in the stands and asked if she was my mom.  Her reply?  "Yes, did you want to see my butterfly tattoo?"  Then the man introduced himself as a college basketball scout.  To say my mom wanted to go through the floor and disappear forever would be an understatement. 

My mom went back to work when I was in high school, too.  On top of juggling three active teenagers, she managed the office at King Par, too.  In retrospect, she was kind of like a mom to a lot of people there.  She took care of everything and kept the whole operation running smoothly.  Even then, dinner was on the table every night. 

In college my mom and my dad rarely missed a game of mine.  First, they followed me all over the state of Michigan, from Detroit to Alpena.  Then, they followed me all over the east coast.  From southern West Virginia to New York State, my parents were there in the stands.  And when they weren't visiting me, they were in Ohio visiting my brother or in the UP visiting my sister.  Even when she couldn't visit, she was always sending care packages or putting $10 in my bank account.  I knew, no matter what, I could count on her. 

And then, in a blink, half a century was over.  The year she turned 50, I got married.  A couple years later, Melissa got married.  And my brother, Geoff, was finishing college and finding his own path, too.  Her kids were grown.  What now?  I'll tell you what: GRANDKIDS.  It went like this: Owen: 2003, Emerson: 2005, Avery and Reid entered the scene upon Melissa's marriage to Thom in 2007, Greyson: 2007, Braden: 2008, Alayna, Adyson, & Julia: 2009, Nash: 2012. In nine years, Melissa and I birthed eight babies.  My mom was there for all of it.  She was standing just outside the door when I was in labor, and saw my doctor come running down the hall and into my room, making it just in time for Owen's arrival.  She was there, literally watching, as I pushed out my black-haired girl, Emerson.  She was there, for so long, as I struggled to push out Greyson, and celebrated the surprise of "It's a BOY!"  She was there, in the hall as Melissa loudly labored for Braden's birth.  She was there, as once again my doctor came running down the hall and made it just in time to catch my sweet bald-headed Alayna.  She was there, holding my two week old girl as we waited for Melissa's twins-TWINS!-to be be delivered via cesarean section, and peered into their tiny crib at those sweet faces as they were wheeled past us in the hospital hallway.  She was there when my Nash came in such a hurry that I almost didn't make it into a hospital bed.  

She is still there.  She is there for all of the big things: baseball games and cheerleading and basketball games and dance recitals and choir concerts and robotics competitions, birthday parties and awards nights.  But you know what?  She is there for so many little things, too.  She gets tough stains out of our clothes, she can put the drawstring back in a hoodie, she cleans the inside of my trash can when I'm not looking, she pulls random weeds in my yard, she takes my grandma grocery shopping and to doctor appointments, she shows up with homemade raspberry jam, she always has my kids' favorite treats when they visit, she keeps a running log of every single thing that happens at the cabin-from upkeep to visitors, she lets my dad come to our house for days and days to help out with our endless projects.  And even when there's nothing left to do, she wonders what else she can do.  

These days, when she laughs at the things I don't remember, I just smile.  I smile because I know that I remember the important things.  I remember her on her happiest, carefree days, and I remember her on the days she didn't know how she would even make it through.  I remember the worst nights-the nights she's stayed awake, worrying about a sick child or grandchild or parent or family member or friend.  I remember the funny times, like when she'd hold one of my babies and eat El Charrito's and inevitably spill a bit of food between her plate and her mouth and have to wipe it off of their face!  I remember the best times, like when we stand on the dock, using every last worm to catch fish-any fish-and how she'll often sing to them in hopes that'll persuade them to take a bite. Or even better, when she agrees to do things she's not sure she can do.  How many people do you know that would even attempt to climb a mountain at age 69?  It might have taken everything she had in her, but my mom climbed that mountain and I was there for every step of it.  

My mom is 70 years old today. I've had the privilege of having her in my life for nearly 45 years now.  My memories may fade, and some things I will never recollect, but my mom?  She is unforgettable.

Ride

 The bedside clock reads 6:37 am. The sun won't rise this time of year for more than an hour, but I unwrap myself from my cozy bed and shuffle to the kitchen for coffee. The rest of the cabin is still and quiet, but in the distance, I can already hear them.  The snowmobiles.  The distant revving of snow machines headed out to the trails so early on this frigid zero degree morning. 

Our family has been coming to this lake here in Gaylord since the 1930's.  I know this place.  But prior to 1999, I had only known half of it.  Our family cabin on the lake was only open from May to October.  I had heard stories of this place in the winter, with snow as deep as a grown man.  Stories of drifts so high a person could sled from the roof of the cabin right out onto the lake.  But to me, this was a summer getaway, and I was not interested in a colder, snowier winter than what we already experienced at home.

Then I met this guy.  And while he had, like me, grown up swimming and skiing in the warm, northern Michigan lakes every summer, he had also grown up snowmobiling on snowy trails in the Upper Peninsula every winter. That guy, of course, was Jason.  Every year, his family and friends set aside the week after Christmas to snowmobile up north.  Soon enough, I was added into this mix.  

That first year, I rode on the back of Jason's snowmobile.  This was not ideal because: 1. His snowmobile was made for one person, and 2. He likes to go really fast.  But he took one for the team that year, and I learned how to lean into the curves and how to hang on for dear life.  It's something special to be within a long line of snowmobiles, all enjoying the trails and the scenery and stopping every few hours to warm up before heading back out into the cold for more.

That first year didn't go off without a hitch, though. The night before our final day of riding, I somehow ended up playing pool and doing shots of Black Velvet at the bar, long into the night.  The next morning I was not a pretty picture. I told Jason there was no way I could ride that day and to just go without me.  While everyone had breakfast and were gearing up to ride, I sprinted to the bathroom and puked my guts out until there was literally nothing left inside me.  Jason came back to the room and had told the rest of the group to go without him.  I promptly said I was feeling much better and I thought I could ride.  In a mad rush, I pulled myself together and hopped on the back of his sled. We had to catch up with the group!  If I thought Jason had driven fast before, this was next-level.  We were flying.  And then, on a sharp curve, I was literally flying-right off the sled!  I landed and skidded through the snow in such a way that my entire helmet filled up with icy snow.  Of course, I was livid and he was chuckling.  Deep breaths.  After some curse words and threats of death directed at him, Jason agreed to take it a little easier on me.  We made it to Trout Lake just as the others were ordering, and Jason was oh-so-happy to have made it in time, as this place served the best Pasties in the UP.  What the heck is a Pastie?  I had so much to learn.

The next year, we visited Tahquamenon Falls.  I had been there in the summer before, but had never imagined seeing it in the winter.  The free-flowing water and lush greenery was replaced with snow and ice and the falls seemed to have frozen mid-fall.  It was amazing.

I just had no idea that so many people came to northern Michigan and the Upper Peninsula in the winter.  The summery beach towns transformed into warming spots for weary riders and launch pads for trailers full of snowmobilers to unload. Gas stations were filled with not cars, but snowmobilers.  Hotels and restaurants had built-in places to hang helmets and winter gear.  Why had I never noticed all the tiny stop signs and directional signs at road and trail crossings?  And everywhere, the sound of the sleds.  

Some years, the trip didn't go as planned.  Once, we arrived at our hotel to find there was no snow.  Our caravan moved west.  And further west.  And all the way west to Lake Gogebic.  And when we finally found the snow, there was soooo much of it.  We rode all night that first night.  At one point, I looked over to find a startled deer running along side me, unsure of where it should go to get away from all of this chaos!  And even when the snow was perfect for riding, there always seemed to be a sled that needed work.  On some occasions, a local would offer a warm garage so the men could take a snowmobile apart and miraculously find parts and get things fixed up for the next day's ride.  On other occasions, we'd have to leave a snowmobile beyond repair to be picked up by trailer, and we would double up on another's sled.  

And some years, the snow was amazing.  So amazing that Jason would not be able to resist taking little side trails that were untouched, or even making his own trails through the woods.  This is called "boondocking".  I learned the hard way several times that following him on these little adventures almost always resulted in me burying my sled in waist-deep snow, and waiting for him to come back and dig me out.

When Greyson was a baby, my parents bought a little cabin around the corner from our cabin on the lake.  This new cabin was built to withstand Michigan weather year-round.  As the grandkids grew in number, so did the need for more space.  A few years ago, my dad added a second story onto that little cabin and doubled the living space.  We now have a great place to enjoy our lake town in both summer and winter. Our kids have grown up snowmobiling here.  When the snow flies, we are northbound.

Greyson fell in love with it pretty much as soon as he could walk...

Alayna followed suit, and will be legal to drive her own snowmobile next year...

Emerson loves riding, and lounging, but I think she's really in it for the hot chocolate...

And Nash?  The hum of those machines just puts that boy to sleep!

Of course, there are also sled rides around the cabin, too.

And Grey has now taken my place, following Jason on his boondocking adventures.

This year has been strange for a couple of reasons.  First of all, there has been minimal snow, even in northern Michigan.  And second, we are in the middle of a pandemic.  Northern Michigan and the Upper Peninsula have had their fair share of COVID-19 cases, despite restaurants and bars and other public places being closed.  How would snowmobile season happen if there was nowhere to warm up and eat throughout the days?  Well, people got creative.  Heated tents were put up.  Single group "bubbles" were erected.  Huge bonfires were built with outdoor seating.  And hey, if you build it, they will come, right?  

With just enough snow to make the trails passable, snowmobile riders have flocked to the trails this year.  Gaylord, which usually has an abundance of snow and more arriving nearly daily all winter, has just ten inches on the ground.  And with hundreds of sleds passing over the same spots every day, there is not much the groomers can do. Snirt, a snow/dirt mix, is the norm this year.  But the kids were itching to ride, and we did.  

Saturday arrived, cold and clear, and everyone was up and out the door by 10:00 am.  Seven of us rode, and the others planned to meet us for outdoor lunch and dinner throughout the day.  

We headed north on the Iron Belle Trail.  This trail will eventually connect Belle Isle near Detroit to Ironwood in the Upper Peninsula.  A couple times this year, I have run from our cabin north on this trail, and this Saturday, with its zero degree temperature and winter wonderland display, was a far cry from the heat and black flies of July.  

Our first stop of the day was just north of Wolverine, at the Thirsty Sturgeon, where we had a great lunch around a bonfire.  

And what trip would be complete without a stop at Larry's in Elmira?  If you know, you know.

Our last stop of the day was at Settings in Lakes of the North, where the tent was cold and the bonfire was crowded.  We opted to just stay for a few minutes before the ride home.  The sun was going down and I was having a hard time staying warm.

We rode a hundred miles on Saturday.  Greyson and Emerson drove their own sleds, and led the way all day with Grandpa.  I hung out at the back of the pack, as I often do while running.  I like to stop and take pictures along the way, before catching back up to the group.  By the time we made it back to the cabin, the trails were toast.  Two days later my back is still sore from the endless bumps on the too-little-snow trail.  But we did it.  We battled a pandemic and we battled the under-producing weather, and we all now have another year of snowmobile stories to tell.