Cottage Chronicles, 2020 Edition

 People as me what I do up here at the cottage.  Well here is today’s project:

I am double netting our bed.  Mosquitos are gone, but we did have one bat sighting, so I’m being very careful.  

If anyone remembers last year:

We’ve slept in the guest room for weeks now, so risking it again tonight.  I am literally the only one that can spot a bat in my family.  

Do I think the bats are gone because I don’t see them?  No way.

Canadian Chronicles: Happy Holidays 2014!

II was texting a friend about the old days at the cottage in the winter.  You know the below zero kind of days where the power goes out and we were all huddled around the wood stove for warmth.  Candles were a premium then and provided much needed light to supplement the nearly dead flashlight batteries.  My grandmother's brass candelabra was a god send on those evenings--filling the room with warm wonderful light.

The outhouse was a popular place at that time.  The inside toilets couldn't be used, so all of a sudden, a place mostly avoided with dread got the appreciation and respect that it deserved.  It was a long and chilly walk, but it sure did make you think about the wonders of modern day plumbing and central heat.

That was the winter we decided to go "out" for dinner to the local restaurant.  This eatery is only 20 minutes away on a good day, but a great deal farther in the ice and snow.  Our dining experience started in a well-lit place with heat and power.  15 minutes into our visit, the power went out there, too.  We were served whatever was warm in the kitchen by the cook and waitstaff in their head lamps.

I wonder what the memories will be of this winter that endure.  The skating on the lake when it finally froze over?  Playing indoor "bags" where the rule was that you had to have a drink in one hand while you threw with the other hand?  Eating raclette and fondue and watching fireworks that almost blew up the boat house?

Which does remind me of the year that Birk set her mitten on fire with a sparkler as we watched terrified through the window.  Yes, old parents inside, young kids outside with fire AND unattended. Thankfully, we've come a long way there, too.

This winter I was on full mouse alert, and oh, bat alert, too.  I kept a wary eye out for any vermin. Miraculously, this winter was the first time I did not see a creature stirring out of the corner of my eye.  The Cot-Taj felt almost like a real house.  We had cloth napkins, lights, toilets, showers and the mice laid low.  We are happily and sadly civilized.

We also had no lack of warm food, cold drinks and holiday cheer.  Surrounded by family and friends, we really were nestled in the woods.  Sending you all warmest wishes--whether from the fireplace, wood stove, space heater or furnace-- for a jolly 2015 full of love, peace, adventure and friendship!

Nana grabbing some shut eye in the shade of the tree.

Roxy grabbing some shut eye by the warmth of the fire.

Pretzel making for German Night.

Stove covered with foil to protect is from the LYE?

Lye.  Yes, lye.  Note skull and crossbones.

Finished product.

A double batch--eaten in a few days.

Pretzel making is a family tradition.

A strange visit from captain and crew of the Enterprise.

Happiness is skating on the lake.

Ringing in the New Year 2015!

More fun on the lake--sharing the good times with friends!

Skating on the lake--a new adventure for some.

Quiet time.

Hockey games and frolic and the beautiful first days of January 2015.

Out With The Old & In With The New

For any folks who are wondering about the little cottage...

The Canadian Chronicles: Women's Studies Classes and Pre Christmas Hoopla 2012

This holiday post begins with a little un-related holiday back story.  When I was studying for my undergrad degree at the University of Michigan, I met with my college counselor.  I only met with a counselor once in my whole undergrad history.  He was a basic, old, overweight white guy.  He looked at my transcript and questioned the number of Women's Studies courses that I was taking.

I told him that I intended to double major in Communications and Women's Studies.  There was nothing more interesting to me in all of the classes at Michigan that I was taking as a fired up discussion in one of my Women's Studies classes.  Everyone in the class was super smart, passionate and involved.  I learned all kinds of things.  My horizons were broadening.

He shook his head and stared at my transcript.  He looked up over his reading glasses, his tired eyes met mine and he said, "You definitely should not major in Women's Studies.  Anyone seeing that as your major will assume that you're a lesbian and then they will not hire you."

I left our meeting confused.  What did he mean by people thinking I was a lesbian?  Was that bad?  I went to my next class, Women in Art, and looked around at my awesome classmates.  It's true, there were a lot of comfortable shoes.  I guess I knew a couple of them to be lesbians, but were they all lesbians?  And, so what if they were?  I didn't care.  I just like the class and its content.

In the late 80's, his remarks did give me pause.  I did want to get a job, so even though I took a hefty load of Women's Studies Department classes, I never declared it as my major.  It's amazing how one little comment, can shade your thinking.  I didn't even care if someone did think I was a lesbian, but I did need that post grad job.

Flash forward to a ride in the car with my 14 year old daughter.  We were talking about education and opportunities.  She was questioning why I chose to be a stay at home mom.  I mean, if I was preaching quality education and equating it to choice, why didn't I have some super high powered career?  Why had I failed my own mantra?  How can I even begin to give advice on women's choice?

Well, baby, I made the "mother" of choices.  I was a junior high teacher and a preschool teacher...I believe in education so much that I've been a crusader for the excellent private programs that we sacrifice much financially to send our kids to.  I always thought I would live in a trailer park, and I was fine with that.  I really didn't need much.  I didn't have dreams of wealth and riches.  It's not what I'm about--there's a lot about that here where I live, but that's not my story.

We are making our way to a remote cottage in the woods for Christmas.  It is hours away from actual stores that you could buy presents from.  I am bringing Christmas with me in duffel bags.  As I work on orchestrating what we need for the holiday, I realize I am challenged.  I realize there are people that depend on me.  I realize that I teach every single day in all kinds of different ways.  I love being a stay at home mom.  I am lucky to be doing the job that I chose!

I also totally support the women who work outside of the home.  Sometimes it's a choice, sometimes it is not.  Life is a funny path, and you sometimes end up somewhere you didn't even know you were going.  I consider myself very fortunate to be somewhere that I like being, and if I didn't like it, I would try to be doing something else.

I do believe education can give you choice in your life.  I also want to wish holiday peace to the old white guy if he's still out there.  Mister Counselor, how many things in your life didn't you do because of what somebody said or what you were afraid of someone thinking?  I am going to make it my mission to make sure my kids know, lesbian or not, go for it, don't be afraid.  If they don't want to hire you because of something like that, keep looking!

Now, time to pack more stuff into the duffel bags.  We are off to a Canadian adventure, and I'm going to take you all with me!  Stay tuned!

Blog: Canadian Chronicles: The Turn

Every summer there is a turning point. There is a day, and suddenly, I look up from my gazillionth load of summer laundry and I’ve just had it.

I’ve had it with laundry and figuring out where the next meal is coming from out of the jumble of food in the pantry. I’ve had it with scrubbing the toilets. I’ve had it with picking wrappers up from the floor.

I’ve had it with searching for batteries that work and flashlights and towels and socks. I’ve had it with making beds and unmaking beds. I’ve had it with trying to be polite and remembering my gracious hostess (oops typed hostile) manners.

I’ve had it with trying to make brilliant conversation with strangers and smiling blankly at passers by, when I just want to lock myself in my room.

And the kids…
The kids start saying how much they miss their pets and their favorite pizza place. They are kind of done.

It’s like being on a crazy road trip, and sometimes it’s time to turn that car around and head home.

Canadian Chronicles: Where The Heck Is The (Fill In The Blank)?

We are almost to the two week mark in the Canadian wilds. What was I up to today? Matching sets of sheets.

Can someone please tell me why I have the bottoms to some sets and the tops to others. One matching pillowcase here, no matching pillowcase there, and no quilt to match any of the shams? WTH?

Thank goodness for my fancy college education. Thank goodness I never went for my masters degree. How could I explain to myself that I am matching sheet sets with my years of sweat and tears of study.

Yes, I was having a worse time finding matching sheets than I ever have with socks.

Well, what is the big deal you may ask. The big deal is that we go through this stupid exercise every year and every year we come up with some big, new, wondrous idea of how to organize this linen disaster so that it never happens again.

Well, it happens again every year.

Every year, I wonder what the sheet fairies do with my icky, leftover sheets.

What the heck do they do with them? Where do they go?

If you’re coming to the Taj this summer, please bring a hostess gift of a set of Shabby Chic Sheets from Target. This kind dries the best in the dryer in this humid environment. Then you know for sure you’ll have a matching set of sheets, just like at a normal hotel.

Canadian Chronicles: Eyes Ahead: What Is Coming Down the Pike? Goofy adages and the Y2K Teen.

My son recently returned from a trip to China. He cursed me about my little “sayings.” He said, when he uses them, no one knows what he is talking about.

Hmmmm? Cooking on the back burner? Doing something like a house on fire? A month of Sundays?

Well, today, as I changed and washed sheets after our first round of guests, I was thinking about the next jump.

The next jump you may ask? Yes, when I was riding and jumping on a course, you always kept your eyes ahead and looked where you were going next. Look where you want to go…

I have a gazillion sayings that come just from me and my own experience. I suppose they are not written down anywhere and no one else in their right mind uses them, but they are a kind of short hand scrawl in my family.

My kids certainly know what “putting a bounty” on an item means. If we have to “fly like an eagle” they had better hurry up and get out the door or we’ll for sure be late.

Someone asked how I felt when all of the guests leave and I’m alone. My mind is always on the path to the next item, I’m never in the moment of the leaving, I’m approaching the next jump in my mind.

Canadian Chronicles: Family Feud Garbage and Recycling Style

Garbage is monitored in a police type state in this sector of cottage country. The local dump is filling up, and it is all about policing our own garbage and recycling if we want to keep it open.

This is garbage up close and personal. In the city, we fill our garbage cans and roll them out to the corner. The very nice garbage men come along in their truck and presto change-o, gone-o.

Two months a year, I really think my money that is paid to Marin Sanitary is quite a bargain—ever with the new rate hikes. There is a sterility and detachment that is akin to buying bologna in the supermarket.

Sometimes we think about where our garbage goes, but there is nothing like seeing a mama bear eating it with her babies. When that big momma is eating your leftovers, how can you not contemplate what your leftovers are.

On the abyss of the pit, there is very little that is poetic. Pieces of trash and more trash co-mingle in a tangle of stinky, smelly mess. Where do old toasters go to die? Just look in the hole of the garbage dump.

Maybe if were all confronted with actually putting our own garbage bags in our cars and driving them to the dump and then adding them to a cesspool of crap, we would all be recycling more vigilantly.

My son is pretty good about being in charge of the trash and recycling. That was, until some fellow Americans visited us, and 2 weeks later, when we were getting ready to take the recycling and the garbage to the dump, or a dump run as we call it, we realized, that our relatives are not very good recyclers.

Yes, old moldy orange peels, diapers and meat wrappers co-habitated with the cans, paper, plastic and glass.

Somebody had to sort it, posthumously, so to say. As the main working mama at the B&B we call the TAJ, I was stepping back from that one. All of the kids tried to pass that one on, but my eldest daughter was the worst. She was adamant that SHE was NOT sorting stinky, rotting garbage.

I told her we all have to do jobs that we’d rather not do and that is it is part of life. Not very impressed with my little speech, she resisted royally or princessly. Let the feud begin.

Canadian Chronicles: Arts and Crafts and Kayaks, Grown Up Style

As I sit on the floor of my bedroom, ripping through packing tape and sorting small parts, I think about being old and less crafty. Gasp, can that be true?

There was a time, when I did needlepoint, crocheting, sewing, rug hooking—you know the kinds of stuff that were considered hobbies. At one point, I got a new hobby, the granddaddy mac of all hobbies, I call it children.

Part of the children hobby, is assemblage. Instead of the gentler crafts, my grown up arts and crafts session feature things like today’s project: assembling a fan.

I am reading pictogram directions, twisting and turning L keys, and looking for small bolts that somehow, seem to be always missing. I know full well, if I screw this one up, the plastic fan blade could hurl across the room and kill me quicker than I can say, “read all of the directions.”

Yes, these days, I am putting together furniture, children’s toys and small household appliances as my crafts.

This makes me think of a funny story. One time my friend, Deborah, and I decided that we could pick up the two-man kayak from the local wilderness outfitter’s store by ourselves. If we DID NOT wait for the husbands to do the job, we could be enjoying the kayak that evening.

Deborah is not one to shy away from any task. She is the type of Girl Scout that you want right by your side when the zombie’s attack. We are always doing things I am sure that I would never be confident enough to do on my own. Things like fixing showers, toilets and making cement.

Anyway, we got to the kayak store, and needed help getting the giant sized kayak on top of her van. A nice man offered to help us out. Just as he was hoisting it to the top of the van, a storm cloud broke out over us Addams family style.

Half under the car, tying the rope to the frame (his bottom half was quite dry, but his top half was dripping drenched), he looked up at us and said, “Where are your husbands?”

The answer to that, my friends, is the story of my life.

However, I am sitting here with my new fan blowing on me in all its windy glory.

Bless us crafty gals. We kayak faster and get cooler quicker.

Canadian Chronicles: My Wicked Groundhog Kind of Wednesday

The cot-TAJ (from here forward, just TAJ will be used) comes complete with a sweet little guest cottage. This is a cottage in all the usual, regular sense of a Canadian description of cottage. The furniture is shabby, not even shabby chic and there is that telltale cottage smell.

You might not be familiar with the cottage smell in regular real life. It smells musty, a little moldy, stuffy and cabin in the woodsy. When you smell that smell, you know that you have arrived at a bona fide cottage.

Right now, a ground hog is living under this little piece of Canadiana. If you’ve explored some of this blog, you might know that Birk is an animal lover to extreme limits. She was mauled by a wild cat and still insisted that we adopt it, for just one example.

Sooooooo, I found the girls cornering this little ball of wild fur in the garage. They were discussing names and how they could transport him back to California.

As if.

The 2011 Canadian Chronicles: What Did You Do On Friday?

Here is my Friday blow by blow:
1. Wake up at 5:30.
2. Ruth asks what that terrible sound is. Turns out our bazillion year old beer fridge (which actually holds more meat than beer) is making a sound loud enough for the neighbors to hear. This sound can only be described as a pre-EXPLOSION sound.
3. Transfer all food and drinks out of unplugged beer fridge and squeeze everything into our kitchen fridge.
4. Round up donations for the Salvation Army, four bags of garbage, luggage for three, dog food and road trip breakfast snacks. Put all of that stuff in the car.
5. Drive two hours to Ottawa. Almost run over a bunny somewhere in the middle of nowhere.
6. Stop for gas.
7. Scope out random locations to put garbage in different garbage bins. One at Quiznos. One at Harveys.
8. Make a u turn for a donation drop box. Darn, it only took clothing! Still driving around with 4 boxes of books.
9. Stop and visit an ATM.
10. Battle construction and arrive at the dog groomers early.
11. Hit a greasy spoon, find two hairs in our food.
12. Walk around neighborhood, decide to drive to a store.
13. Drive 15 minutes & get call from groomer...dog ready!
14. Maneuver second u turn of the day.
15. Drive all of the way back.
16. Can't find parking, give girls $60 to run in and get dog.
17. Dog's bath actually costs $63, but the guy was feeling nice???
18. Drive to parking structure.
19. Check in early (thank you Westin!)
20. Go for walk with dog, eat lunch at Memories.
21. Pass out at 1:30
22. Freshen up, make a dinner reservation and out to dinner.
23. Get to dinner, no reservations to be found?
24. Watch the Lion King at the NAC.
25. Walk dog.
26. Fell into bed.

Canadian Chronicles 2009: Hearing (Alien) Voices

Look carefully at this picture. Please note two things:

1. This picture is taken at the end of the season. During our Augusts in Canada, you would NEVER find this many flashlights in the actual flashlight spot. You are actually guaranteed NEVER to find a flashlight when you need one.
2. The Green Alien Voice Changing Device.

In the picture, it's fairly easy to spot. In real life, you can't miss it. Thank you Godmomma Wendy. This was a birthday gift for John when he was quite young. If you want to give the gift that keeps on giving, give the Alien Voice Changer.

Every one of our children and our friend's children, our friends, their friends and probably the dog has used the Alien Voice Changer. It's been annoying the crap out of everyone for at least eight years.

Three more things to know:

1. It's been designated an "OUTSIDE ONLY" device. This, of course, initially means nothing, you just have to keep on yelling that phrase to get it to go away.
2. It's been forgotten and discovered so many times and used in so many different creative ways, that we have to make new rules for it ALL of the time.
3. It is excellent to awaken teenage boys by younger sisters. Expect bruising and blood.

I don't know where the GM (godmother) found this delightful instrument of torture, but I think I need to find out and send her family one of it's own.

The real reason for the cottage is that you can send all of the obnoxious stuff people give you there--then, you can forget it for the better part of the year. However, then you only use it for one month of the year, and then, kids, well, it lasts almost forever.

Lots Of Bloodsucking, And It Wasn't Just The Twilight Series

Need I say more? Although this is just a cool moth, those skeetos were at least this big!

Due to the wet, humid weather, the mosquitos were out in numbers never seen before. Decades from now, we will tell stories to our grandkids about the summer of '09 and it's monster-sized, insatiable bloodsucking mossies.

I will never smell the odor of citronella and not think of this summer. We coated ourselves in the organic, most natural defense system that we could buy. It cost $15,99 a bottle, and somewhere in the onslaught, I was wishing for good old "Off" with all of its toxicity--and some heavy duty DEET.

Weeks later, I still look like I'm recovering from the chicken pox. It's funny that we all read the whole series of Twilight and watched season one of True Blood whilst being sucked dry in real life. You could say I'm scared for life, due to my inability to not itch myself raw.

My most vivid memory is of Paula, in her bed, target spritzing individual mosquitos.

Ever heard the term "so bad it's hilariously funny?" Two days in and that's exactly where we were...

Why You May Want To Remove The Bubble Wrap

When you go on trips, sometimes you forget things. Sometimes it's your toothbrush, sometimes it's your underwear, sometimes it's your contact lens cleaner. Paula and I forgot that when you go on vacation without your husbands, YOU have to do all of the work. By yourself.

Arriving at the cottage in the pouring rain, it quickly became apparent that it was going to be a vacation powered by mom-power. Who was going to unload the bursting SUV? We were. Who was going to unstrap and haul the bubble-wrapped kayak off the top? We were.

The saddest part is that the list grew infinitely before our eyes:

1. Unpack? Moms, check!

2. Make the beds? Moms, check!

3. Put the melting groceries away? Moms, check!

4. Cooking

5. Cleaning

6. Laundry

7. Entertainment

8. Referee

9. Tuck in.

10. Doctor

11. Wake up

12. Watch over

13. Damage control

14. Fix it crew

15. Emergency clean up crew

16. Driver

17. Menu planner

18. Disciplinarian

19. Bed time story reader

20. Cleansliness moniter

I could go on and on. You, sadly, can probably get the picture. We had no one to shirk our duties to, unless it was each other.

By the time we had unloaded, sorted and made some food for the kids and various other things on the above list...we were too tired for wine, scrabble or anything else. Our first day of our big Girl's Trip and we were asleep. 9 pm EST. I think the little girls were still awake and running around.

Canadian Chronicles 2009: Are We There Yet?

We shuffled the girls through the rotation of sharing the hard as a rock, not-enough-room-for-a-little-butt-cheek, middle seat. By the time we hit a few grocery stores, the wine store (essential), and the sports store for a kayak, we had already been sitting in the darn car for hours.

And the rain rain rain came down down down.

Everywhere we went, the people were complaining about how it was the worst summer ever. We of course, hoped that we had brought bright, sunny weather from California. We refused to buy into the foreshadowing of gloom and doom.

Alas, we loaded our purchases into the car, tried to keep a stiff upper lip, and braved the torrential downpour.

At the sport's store, the nice man lashed the new kayak on top of the car, ignoring the pelting drops. He was Canadian, and he was making the best of it with smiles and sarcasm.

We drove slowly and carefully away from civilization. I squinted through the glass, trying to keep a steady eye on the road through the water-soaked windshield. The words 'Cabin Fever' kept slipping into my mind. As we twisted and turned out of civilization, I had flashes from "The Shining."

Canadian Chronicles 2009: One Good Idea Is All It Takes

It all began, like so many things do, over a glass of wine. My good friend, Paula, and I were wanting for a little adventure in our stay-at-home-mom lives. We only had one glass of wine. If we had two glasses, we might have come to the realization that a girls trip should not include "girls" under the age of 10.

But, as far as we knew, we were planning the getaway of a lifetime. We decided to hit the family Canadian cottage early, before all of the summer guests arrived. We plotted quiet nights, lazy mornings and lots of girl time. Kayaking, frolicking in the water and delicious food danced like visions of sugar plums in our heads.

Reality hit hard and fast. The bickering began on the plane. You might have guessed it, the quarrel was over the window seat.

The window seat has long lost its appeal for me. I now prefer the quick and easy exit of the aisle seat. I love not having to lope over strangers two or three times in a flight to stretch my legs and make a run for the bathroom. This should be why a person might take yoga, so they can bend themselves like a pretzel over the legs, bags, reclined seats and trays between themselves and freedom.

However, when you are seven, the window seat holds the magic of the fluffy clouds and the people and places as tiny as ants. The world looks nice and tidy when you are gliding over the geometry that bisects and trisects the landscape. The most mighty of reasons the window seat rules you may ask? When you have it, no one else does.

This theme popped again and again throughout the trip. Possession is 9/10ths of the law, and when someone else has something, that makes it all the more important that you have it, too. When you don't have it, and you are a girl under a certain age, the whining can turn an 8 hour trip into at least 16 hours.

When we got off the plane and got the rental car, the girls started to fight about who had to sit in the middle seat. Paula and I looked at the mountain of bags--we were going to have to work a small miracle to fit them in the car. Our eyes sagged with fatigue, and the whining, the whining, the whining, kept right on going.

We still had a two hour drive and the task of picking up a kayak and strapping it to the roof. Girls getaway? Are we there yet?