Signs I am getting old, part 2

Yes, I need a pedicure, among other things.  But now my middle toe is purple and swollen.

I am old.  My bones are brittle.  Do not wear crocs to walk on wet rocks.

I'm still on vacation. 

Enuff said.

Preaching the virtues of the Upper Peninsula (2nd annual edition)

If you have never been to Michigan’s Upper Peninsula then I highly recommend you add it to your list of places to see. There really is nothing like it.

While many of the amenities of the future are arriving up here, it’s still like stepping back in time the minute you cross the mighty Mackinaw Bridge.

Things are simpler here. Yes, you can find the treasured big box stores, but they’re mainly in the larger college towns on the outskirts of the peninsula. You find that if you are in a place where there isn’t a Starbucks or a Target to satisfy your every whim then you are much more likely to just stay put.

Maybe today you stay put at camp and play Scrabble with some friends. Maybe tomorrow you stay put in town and visit a craft show at the local elementary school- which houses about 6 grades in one building. Maybe tomorrow you sit outside your camper and type on your laptop (regardless of the lack of Wi-Fi) while others play tunes, others toss a football, and kids create forts of duct tape in the woods. It’s a crazy life, but one most can handle, and should.

There are a variety of beaches to visit. Some sandy, some rocky, some made of fossilized ledges that every year we predict how many ledges the water will cover. It’s a wonderful life.

Every night we prepare crazy feasts over an open fire (I try to help, broken arm and all) and we eat and drink until we’re miserable in the best possible way. Then we sit around that same fire and stare at the stars, act silly, and laugh until our cheeks hurt. Boring. I know.

It’s one of the few places I am at ease, and that says a lot, about the U.P. and me. So I suggest you take a visit. Yeah, the Caribbean is nice, but it’s not nearly as quiet. It’s not nearly as unpopulated, and it’s not nearly as blissful. Ahh, bliss.

A funny thing happened at the roller rink

I broke my damn arm!!!  How's that for a story?

It seems that rollerskating with your children, while earning you cool points with your kids, can be hazardous to your bones.

It’s interesting the range of emotions you feel when you break something. The still-hiding-inside little girl thinks it’s kind of cool and starts wondering what color of a cast you may pick out. The damsel in distress thinks how great it will be to have your husband care for your every whim while you are laid up unable to do anything for yourself. The practical mom screams out loud “How in the hell am I going to get anything done?”

Then your doctor mentions the possibility of surgery, and the chicken shit in all of us loses her lunch. Figuratively of course, not literally.

I was lucky; I didn’t need surgery on my fractured radius. In fact, much to the little girls chagrin I didn’t even get a bright purple cast. I was instructed to start moving it as soon as possible, do a few simple movement exercises every day and start physical therapy after my vacation. Yippy.

In the meantime I have to remind the practical mom that it’s broken because when instincts and reflexes take over you tend to you use your arm. Your dominant arm. In my case my right arm. And it hurts when you use it let me tell you.

So we’re off to Drummond Island for our annual vacation in the Upper Peninsula, broken radius be damned. Of course “curling” is very therapeutic. As in, curling-your-arm-to-bring-that drink-to-your-mouth, which is a very treasured activity on this vacation. We shall see how much flexibility it can restore.