The True North

I'm from Michigan. For anyone whose US geography is a little shaky, -- I'm looking at you, Kentucky -- Michigan is the one in the north that's surrounded by all the water. From where I live now, driving to Windsor is faster than driving to Toledo. Given the option, I'd rather drive to Canada than to Ohio anyway. I have more friends there and I know the area better. This unique border-state position of being closer to a foreign country than to a neighboring state makes for some interesting blending of cultures.

For starters, I have a deeply rooted affection for Canada. Sort of the way I imagine I'd feel if I had a younger brother who had out-grown me. He's bigger than me, and if I really pushed him, he'd probably be able to kick my ass, but he would never do that because at the end of the day, he's still just my sweet little kid brother. And I'd never claim that Ontario was exactly like Michigan any more than I'd claim my brother was a little clone of me. But we can't deny we grew up on a lot of the same culture -- euchre, "The Red Green Show," fantastic winter storms, no shortage of corn fields, and of course, the Lakes.


Ontarigan -- Between the two of us, we pretty much own all the cool beaches.

Ohio's like my stepbrother. We live in the same house. Other people seem to think we have things in common, but... I don't really know him. I'm told they play euchre there, but sometimes they use sixes and fours to keep score instead of fives. And while Michigan has nearly 3300 miles of shoreline on four of the Great Lakes, Ohio borders Lake Erie for just over 300. I can't begin to relate to that.



When I returned home from Seattle, I took a little look-see at my calendar and realized I had two empty weeks before our annual family romp on Lake Huron. I wanted to get out of the house, but after so much traveling, I knew I needed to head for somewhere relaxing. I immediately composed an email message to send to a handful of my Strong & Free friends. It began: "Dear Canada, are you busy next week?"

Several emails, a few pricey phone calls, and one exemplary set of directions later, I set out on the eight-hour haul to central Ontario.



Despite having several friends in Toronto, I decided to spend the majority of my week a couple hours east of there in a quiet, rural area close to the shore of Lake Ontario. Going to another major urban center just didn't appeal to me. So instead, I went to see my buddy Brice -- an old work mate from Japan who, like me, has since returned to his hometown. This made Brice the fourth ex-NOVA friend I got to see this summer. Well done, me! And as with Dave and Jenny in Dublin, I hadn't seen Brice in over two years, so it was a deeply gratifying reunion.



In the first fifteen seconds after I pulled into Brice's, I got three things: a bear hug, a brief introduction to the fam, and a cold beer. That set a pretty good tone for the whole visit.

Despite Brice's assurances that there was absolutely nothing to do in his town, we kept pretty busy. We went to a bonfire and a baseball game; we grilled out every night; we played ferociously competitive euchre (the only kind, really); and we sat outside at their mom's listening to the coyotes. Brice and I went swimming in a rock quarry one afternoon, which is an experience everyone should have at least once. His brother's girlfriend and I got to laugh and roll our eyes while the menfolk attempted to force open a safe they had found, using an electric drill, hammers, chisels, and sheer tenacity. Naturally, we spent a day on a Lake Ontario beach with a bit of frisbee, a bit of sunburn, and a respectable cooler of beer. And at night when I crawled in bed at the family farm, it was pitch black and perfectly silent. I haven't slept that well in quite a while.

I even changed my plans for the rest of the week so that I could stay longer. I guess I just couldn’t think of anywhere worth running off to. :-)

Summer Film Review

While everyone's going batty over "The Dark Knight," make sure you don't miss "Mamma Mia!" Meryl Streep is a diva! She dominates the screen throughout and delivers a particularly heart-rending performance of "The Winner Takes It All." The adorable Amanda Seyfried sparkles as Sophie, bringing a fresh face and powerful voice to the hopelessly starry-eyed role. Packed with humor, charm, and a fantastic score, this film is so wonderfully well-done, you won't even mind that Pierce Brosnon was cast for his ability to act the aging heart-throb and not for his singing voice. ★★★★★

Hello, Seattle!

I’m currently in Seattle for a "work thing." A conference, that is. I'm here with several coworkers who are twice my age and have been calling me "kiddo" all week. Still, it's not half bad.



Seattle's a fantastic city -- quite the jewel of the American Northwest. It has that young and fit West Coast vibe, not unlike much of California, but with a down-to-business edge. I always imagined Seattle as sort of a yuppie city, and I wasn't far off. The downtown is very clean and very green, cycling is wildly popular in spite of the roller-coaster hills, and you are literally in sight of at least one coffee shop on any block of any street. The directions our concierge gave us to the conference center were: "Go out this door. Take a right at Starbucks. Go 'til you see Seattle's Best. Take another right there. Go past the next Starbucks and you'll see the conference center straight in front of you."



Cool Things to Do in Seattle:

Cruise on Puget Sound: Specifically, we went on a Booze Cruise. Booze Cruises always frighten me a bit because I see them as little more than a floating club. That may sound hip and groovy but consider this -- no matter what happens, you have to stay in the club until closing time. If you do decide to brave it, the view of the city from the water is priceless.

People-Watch: Something I do everywhere (because it is free and I am nosy) but especially enjoyed in Seattle. The locals love the fresh air, so the downtown streets are hopping with activity. In my favorite Seattle moment, I spotted a fellow begging into a Starbucks cup. Only in Seattle are the bums scrounging pennies for lattes.

SubSeattle Tour: Seattle's Underground -- that is, the old district of the downtown that was buried when they raised the street level to avoid flooding and its associated unpleasantries. The old sidewalks and buildings have become the city's musty basement, and many are the secrets and scandals that lurk in its shadows. Extra bonus points for uniqueness and kick-ass tour guides.

Pike Place: Yes, yes, you've heard about how awesome this market is. The rumors are all true. Go check it out.

You Just Never Know...

Last week, in a rare moment of repose, I was sitting at home thinking "Yeesh, another Saturday night in Nowhereville," when I got an instant message from a friend inviting me to a wine tasting party. That's a little chic for this hick town, and for a second I expected him to say "No, just kidding. It's actually a barn-raisin'! Yehaw!" But no, he was serious about the wine.

So of course, I went.

Now I have known this guy for ages, but I know him because I used to babysit him. Yeah, he's a little younger than I am. And naturally, so are his friends. In fact, they're all three or four years younger than I am. I can't decide if hanging out with the college crowd makes me feel cutting edge or lame beyond redemption.

I gravitated towards the only other "grown-up" in the house, who happened to be a pretty smokin' hot guy. We got into a conversation about who he is and how he spends his time, and guess what? He races sled dogs.

wtf?!?

Yeah, he's an Alaskan tundra conquering, fur-trimmed coat sporting, frostbitten appendage losing, Call-of-the-Wild answering sled dog racer.


You never really know who you're going to meet next, do you?


Rock on, sled dog guy. Rock on.

The Writing Class & The Pipe Dream

I returned from England Sunday evening and actually fell asleep with my head still a couple inches above the pillow. Luckily, forward-thinker that I am, I had already set the alarm on my phone. Monday morning, it went off at 6 a.m. I rolled out of bed, stumbled blindly to the shower, and managed to drive across town for the first day of my summer writing class.

The class is aimed at teachers, and most of us have been involved with it for about two years now, but for some reason they change the location every six months. This phase was on the south side, and since I always get lost on the south side of town, I got to class about five minutes late. They’d already started going around the circle doing introductions and “This summer I’m...” stories. When my turn came, I apologized for coming in late and said that this summer, I’m doing a bit of traveling. Of course, they asked where, so I gave the brief overview – London, Dublin, work conference in Seattle, family week on Lake Huron, then off to Hawaii.



O Reader, if you could have seen the shock and indignation! You’d have thought I said I was flying to the moon in a diamond-studded space pod. While drinking champagne. And making out with Jude Law.

Then a woman on the other side of the room spoke up and articulated everybody’s sentiment in one huffy little retort: “Well, that’s because you don’t have kids.”

The rest of the week was great – I got lots of writing done, was very happy with the feedback I received, and just generally enjoyed bonding with the other students – but the whole time there was an undercurrent of tension. Half of the women there seemed bent on convincing me that I’d soon tire of gallivanting around the globe, realize how empty and meaningless my life is, and find some sensible boy with whom I could settle down and raise a little brood of ankle-biters. They kept writing pieces about how happy motherhood has made them and giving me significant looks. The other half was just blatantly bitter and jealous of my freedom. You know, like the terrorists.



I, frankly, can’t imagine any more rewarding way to spend a summer than traveling, nor can I figure why, at twenty-five, I should be worried about anything other than enjoying myself. As long as I’m happy and the bills get paid, I don’t think my priorities need reevaluating.

Eventually though, I may get a little lonely, but wouldn’t it be more fun to find a boy who isn’t very sensible? Then, instead of “settling down”, we could just pack our ankle-biters up and take them gallivanting with us.

This is my pipe dream.