The Purge

It's time. Actually, it's begun. Before it's over all spaces will fall victim regardless of size (from furnace room to wallet), nature (from pantry to deck storage box) or status (Grosse Pointe man cave to Greenbush shed). Nor will our three current vehicles escape scrutiny. After all, I've been planning The Purge for a very long time.

Of course, I'm not referring to the simple tidying up of storage areas by doing a little straightening, dusting and perhaps bagging up the odd item for Purple Heart. That's for wimps. I'm talking about the systematic location, examination, and disposition of every item in every storage space over which I reign. A tsunami of reorganization. There are demons lurking in the shadows of most storage areas (or bins, as we professionals refer to them), and they require serious measures.  I'm referring to old memories, unfinished projects, perfectly good items that you have recently repurchased because you forgot you had one, and other things you swear you've never seen before in your entire life.

So to paraphrase Dire Straits, why risk running these red lights on Memory Lane? I have to. It's either that or look for a bigger house. For 26 years now, all manner of things have been coming in through the front and back doors of my home. They have entered brazenly, brought in by large men with hand trucks. They have slipped in clandestinely, in a backpack or seemingly innocuous shopping bag. But they have kept coming, relentlessly, and all demanding - space.

The addition of Wiser times to the family holdings did appear for a time as the solution to the problem.  Indeed, many of you may have been caught up in the "woosh" when the contents of our Grosse Pointe garage and basement roared up I-75 to Greenbush on Friday of Memorial Day weekend in 2005. But the relief was only temporary, as Wiser Times turned out to also have doors that constantly suck in new possessions from local merchants. So The Purge was only postponed.

Those of you who have visited either of our homes have no doubt concluded that I have more than a pedestrian understanding of the art of shelving and fitting a lot into any given space, whether it be furniture, old movies, electronic components or toys from the previous generation (known in family circles as The Museum). So the problem of having enough space for my stuff is not because I haven't tried. My abodes have simply reached the point where if something comes in, something has to depart. My hope was that I could last through temporary measures until retirement blessed me with the time to conduct The Purge, and put the problem of storage behind me for many years. My ship has come in.

On the surface all this may appear to be about the space, but as hinted above, it's not. Space is just the medium within which the struggle unfolds. The Purge is really about the stuff occupying the space. And for each item it's a matter of life or death (or more accurately, life or curb). Will a lost treasure be rediscovered and placed back into service, repurposed for yet another period of utility in the light of day? Will a beloved heirloom without current relevance be saved for possible future use (or a future generation) because it is too dear to be parted with (or your Bride has instructed you accordingly)? Or will the hammer finally fall on a relic for which no current or future job can be conceived, resulting in a trip down The Concrete Mile to - The Curb? (Well, maybe not quite a mile. More like 100 feet.)

Digging in the past is not for the faint of heart. But my methods are precise (surgical, some might say), thorough (I told you about OCD in an earlier post, right?) and I'm pumped. So the party has begun. I'll keep you posted on interesting finds and developments as the adventure continues. And if you're curious, and in need, I do hire out.  I work for food and Bud Lite.

Up North

"Up North" are two words that have always gotten my attention. In my life, Up North means fun. For most Michiganders, it means that area beginning north of Bay City (two hours out of Detroit). It's made up of vast forests, hundreds of miles of Great Lakes shore line and thousands of small inland lakes and rivers. It's where we go to "get away from it all", enjoy the great outdoors, and recharge.

It must be noted that Up North is as much a state of mind as it is a place. As the natural beauty of Michigan can be found throughout both of its peninsulas, one can actually find that Up North spirit by going in any direction. But for me, it's straight up I-75.

My first Up North experience was going to Boy Scout camp in my pre-teen years. The camp was located at Bear Lake (the one west of Grayling, four hours north of Detroit. An interesting truth of having over 11,000 lakes in Michigan is that we ran out of names. So we have just reused many of them, leading to the need for more information if you actually want to meet people at a particular one.)

Boy Scout camp put this fabulous place called Up North in my blood, and it's been there ever since. I learned to swim in a lake (after fairly mediocre success in school pools). I learned what it's like to sleep in a tent in the rain (and the occasional thunder storm), how to make a campfire, how to handle a canoe and what plants to avoid. It was great, and nothing like my everyday life as a city kid. Don't get me wrong. I had a wonderful childhood with loving parents, friends that I know to this day, and a great variety of experiences. But Up North was different, and special.

In my teens and twenties Up North meant camping in a dozen or so of Michigan's state parks in a variety of shelters, the last of which was the big blue tent now stored about twenty feet from where I am sitting (the big blue tent, refurbished and sporting new sleeping gear, is in its 42nd year and still ready for action). I remember the camping phase of my Up North life with fondness. There were many multiple-family outings, kids of all ages, s'mores, beach fires, card games by Coleman lantern, and even the occasional puppy. There was also sleeping on the ground, rainstorms (as well as one vividly-remembered tornado), much equipment to lug-set up-take down-dry out-repack, surprise visits by unwelcome critters and getting dressed in the middle of the night to walk down to the john. But over time the brain has worked its magic, brightening the fun times and fading the inconveniences into obscurity.

As an adult Up North matured into trips to vacation homes and comfy motels with family and friends. Much time was spent in the Petoskey-Indian River area with side trips to the Traverse City wine country, the historic grandeur of Mackinaw Island and the mesmerizing sights of ocean-size vessels passing through the locks of Sault Saint Marie (known to Michiganders as "The Soo") from Lake Superior to Lake Huron. Many a brew was quaffed at the Ojibwa, The Soo's most famous watering hole which overlooks the locks. But the primary activities through this period remained swimming, boating, walking in the woods and on the beaches, and renewing memories with old and new friends.

And now in the last several years (and hopefully for many more) most of my Up North life is playing out at Wiser Times, our family cottage. Having our own cottage has allowed me to continue all of those great outdoor activities from the past, but with greater ease and a little more comfort. Hey, I've been going Up North for over 50 years. I'm entitled. And Wiser Times has enabled Nancy and I to do one of our favorite things - share good times with our closest friends.

There will be much more from this blog in the coming months on the world of Wiser Times and its activities, but I first wanted to share a little history and the legacy Wiser Times is continuing. In every way, it has become my Up North. (And for those of you who have yet to make a visit to Wiser Times, my blog graphic above is a shot of our beach here, taken by my dear friend Unmitigated Me.)


I know many of you have your own Up North sentiments and stories.  I would love hearing them.

  

Music Night - An Intro

As I've followed the marathon broadcasts of Olympic events the last week or so (something we retirees can do with ease), I've been taking note of the Olympian events in my own life. None of them involve sports, of course.

Let me clarify. I'm not referring to the competitive and superlative dimensions of the Olympics. Those are fun but fleeting, and most participants lose. So there has to be more.

Rather, I'm referring to the sense of constancy and perspective the Olympics can provide. At least in my lifetime, the regular occurrence of the Summer and Winter Olympics has signaled normalcy, a chance to reboot on basic values, and a sense that the ups and downs of recent history are less important in the long run than they may seem today. In short, I just feel good when I'm watching them. I feel the same way on Music Night.

So what is Music Night?  A little background. In June of 1991 a small group of friends gathered at our house to share music. We had pre-identified the theme of Teamwork for that first gathering. The idea was that we would all bring and share music we liked that was related to that theme. The start was just that simple. What we discovered was not only were our musical horizons broadened, it felt good.

My own experience has been that musical preferences are very personal. Note the percentage of music in today's world that is listened to through earphones. Our little group's sharing of musical preferences - and general acceptance and appreciation of the preferences of others - brought us together in a way I never expected. The proof of that is in the numbers.

This past weekend we held our 97th such get-together. Yes, 97 from June of 1991 to now - that's 4.6 times a year. I still have a hard time getting my head around the fact that the same group of individuals could entertain each other so well so frequently and for such a long time - now over 20 years. And based on last Saturday's conviviality (the theme was Gratitude), there appears to be no end in sight.

The membership has evolved over time, from an original six to an average of 20 per night in recent years. There have been nearly 70 people in all who have attended at least once. We're multi-generational, too. Parents of the adult members have made numerous appearances with several offspring joining the fray as their interests in music have taken root. As a result, it has not been uncommon to hear the strains of John Lennon, Frank Sinatra, Weezer and Lady Gaga within the span of time it takes to down a stiff Manhattan (the official cocktail of Music Night).

I think it's a rare thing for a gaggle of teenagers and twenty-somethings to willingly join in with the baby-boomer crowd (and the occasional grandparent) on anything, let alone an evening of eclectic music.  It's one of the things about Music Night that I (and I'm sure others) appreciate the most as we all search for ways to stay connected to the generation that will eventually determine the nature and quality of our long-term care facilities.

There is of course much more to say about this phenomenon. There's the long and interesting list of topics that have served as themes (everything from Paradise to Hard Times); the evolution from vinyl to tape to digital media (a couple of songs were actually pulled out of the "cloud" during a recent get together); the phantom infrastructure that keeps the pilot light lit (arranging venues, keeping track of past themes, pre-mixing the Manhattans, that sort of thing); and of course the food (never underestimate the power of food to assemble a crowd) to name a few. But these are perhaps fodder for later commentary. My main thought today is the value of recurring activities and how they help us keep our centers and bring a little harmony to the adventure that is everyday life.

Like watching the Olympics, the frequent opportunity to spend time with a group of friends that know my musical tastes, and are willing to forgive them and share their own, just makes me feel good.