Notes from the Lab - RDate 166.2

 I've been so deep into my family's past with my Memory Lane posts that I've been ignoring the present. Well, maybe not ignoring but certainly paying only minimal attention. So here are a few updates on past topics. 

Chores (7/29/12, Last Update 4/23/25): In my last few updates I reveled in how clever I've been in peeling away household duties since my retirement. Somewhat by switching to low-maintenance choices wherever possible (concrete patio, composite yard furniture, extended appliance warranties) but mostly by hiring out as much as I can (yard work, routine house cleaning, even minor plumbing and electrical repairs). 

But recently I've had a feeling that I never expected. Is it possible that I'm no longer doing my part? Am I less of a "man of the house" than I was when I was raking and mowing, sanding and varnishing, or hanging off a ladder breaking up ice jams in our eave troughing? I hope not. I have to admit that there were times during peak chore seasons of the past (see earlier post Hell Month), when I was looking forward to aging out of the more onerous of homeowner duties. But now that it's pretty much happened, I'm conflicted.

To assuage this uneasy feeling I stay on the lookout for compensating opportunities. Those annoying little fix-it tasks that permeate homelife have become good friends. Chances to, as Faramir of Gondor would say, "show my quality". So if you need a lightbulb changed, a battery swapped out, a cupboard door hinge tightened, or even a bundle of napkins fetched from the Costco shelf - I'm your guy.

Up North (8/15/12, Last Updated 2/1/24): In my last update on our cottage life I reported on new acquisitions. Most of them were from what I refer to as "the great amalgamation", wherein we imported to Wiser Times a large number of items from my mother's former Florida home and from our former cottage in Canada. Everything from furniture to yard equipment to kayaks.  Here's a reminder pic of my garage at home before we schlepped everything up I-75 to the cottage.

The majority of these new friends are doing nicely, having fit in smoothly with the rest of our Wiser Times possessions, no doubt due to their common hand-me-down ancestries. However, there have been other developments at the cottage since my last report that have not been so smooth. The most noteworthy was "the midnight truck incident".

It started with a bump in the night, or so Nancy tells me. One night last summer about 2:00 am I awoke at Nancy's behest. She told me someone was knocking at the door and that she had heard a loud thump a few moments ago. Somewhat startled I grabbed my robe and shuffled to the back (roadside) door. Sure enough there was a fella knocking. He had tripped the yard light on the garage so I got a good look at him. He looked distraught. We exchanged inquiries through the door. 

It turned out the guy was a semi driver. He explained that a wayward pickup had crossed over the median on US23 and had side swiped the backend of his rig. The semi was fine, but the driver of the pickup had lost control, careened off the highway, crossed our gravel driveway and smashed head-on into one of my neighbor's oak trees.  As we peeked out the door to our left we could see the remains of what used to be a white Chevy pickup, wrapped around the tree. Our door knocker had roused us in search of help for the crash victim.

Fortunately, the semi driver had already called 911. Before we could get our heads around what had just happened, help arrived. First, a police car. Then another police car. Soon an ambulance and various other types of vehicles arrived, all with flashing red, blue or yellow lights. Within 15 minutes it looked like the Las Vegas strip. Nancy and I pulled chairs up to the back window and watched the show. 

It was slowly coming back to me, how things are done Up North. Other than the sheriff and a full-time deputy or two, most public safety services are staffed by volunteers. When the call goes out, they come a-runnin'. Especially in the middle of the night when nothing else is likely going on. And they all have flashing lights on their vehicles.

The action went on for over two hours. The semi driver was sent on his way after verifying his side of the story through his dash cam. The pickup driver had to be cut out of his crushed cab and taken to the hospital in Tawas. No longer having front wheels, what was left of the pickup had to be dragged across the ground like a beached whale to a flat-bed truck, leaving pretty deep ruts in my poor driveway and the neighbor's lawn. 

After the flat-bed truck left, the assembly of emergency vehicles began to dissipate. A handful of (I assume) volunteers hung around for the after-glow, catching up and squeezing the most out of the night's excitement. Nancy and I finally abandoned our spectator post and went back to bed about 4:30. 

The following day we talked to a trooper (our source for some of the details above) who was back inspecting the accident scene. He told us the driver was not seriously hurt but was in "a heap o' trouble". The destruction at the crash site was stunning. The neighbors' roadside yard is 100' wide and about 50' deep. There wasn't a square foot of the yard that didn't have a piece of debris in it. The front half of the pickup had been pulverized. The tree was stripped of bark and heavily gashed where it was struck, but standing tall. Tree 1, Truck 0.

Another event that occurred up north last summer was "the big burn". Some background. In our now 20 years at Wiser Times we have had pretty regular issues with trees. Not uncommon in pine forests. The trees grow quickly, relatively speaking, and those by the water are rooted in sand and vulnerable to storms off the lake. But even before our pine tree battles, an oak tree got our attention. 

When we acquired Wiser Times in 2005 there was a dead oak tree stump next to the house. It was a stump, technically, as the bulk of the tree had been cut down several years prior. The problem was the trunk was 20' tall. It had been preserved to support a yard light mounted at its top. Nice light, but dead and rotting "pole". It wasn't too long before we had the tree taken down and, thinking we could burn the wood, had it cut into two-foot long logs. That was the beginning of our wood problem. 

Over the next few years, as other pine trees fell to high winds or in a couple of cases new construction, my pile of intended firewood grew, stacked on top of the old oak logs. And contrary to my dreams of evening campfires on the beach, we hardly ever had one. Daylight savings time kept the sun up until about 10:00 each night, while our young children and grandchildren over the years were going to bed by then. And after tending to them all day, we were too tired to start a two-to-three hour fire at 10:00. Yes, we were wimps.

So by last summer I had this large, ugly pile of pine and ancient oak logs stacked by the house. Even more aggravating the old oak on the bottom was so dried out that it would crumble to the touch. I was desperate to get rid of it. It was so shabby looking that I apparently never took a picture of it.

Enter two good friends that saw the situation more clearly than I. Their brilliant idea - just burn it all. In one continuous fire. Why couldn't I think of that. So we did. Here's a shot of the Wiser Times maintenance crew (also known as house guests) at the ready.

Initial victims gathered and stacked. Starter fire built in the pit. Crew in their traditional safety gear of sneakers and tee shirts. Gentlemen, start your Bics.

A couple hours into the burn things were going well. The fire had morphed into the classic teepee formation, and there had been no reportable incidents. But - as you can see the stacks weren't disappearing as fast as we had hoped. This was going to take awhile.

At the 5:00 pm mark the crew was visited by management, who were checking to see if the project was going to intrude into the customary cocktail hour.

After brief consideration it was agreed that the fire could tend itself for an hour or two while Wiser Times' oldest tradition was honored. For you Game of Thrones fans, it was sort of a tale of fire and ice.

The fire did fine on its own while we were communing, churning away at the seemingly endless supply of fuel. As darkness threatened we stopped for the night, believing that the fire would burn down and out, and that in the morning we would need another match to finish the job. The grand finale for the day was putting this old wooden bird feeder (that no bird would come to) out of its misery. It was its finest hour.

To our surprise, the fire survived the night. After breakfast the crew dropped a couple of logs into the still smoldering pit, and it flamed anew. The project continued through the morning as the final inhabitants of the old woodpile took their turns "walking the green mile" (grass, in this case). At the end, my trusty steel wood rack was empty for the first time in nearly 20 years.

The burn had taken 26 hours, from 2:00 pm one day to 4:00 pm the next. A couple of weeks later I started over with a new face cord of seasoned hardwoods. I wonder how long this rack will last. 

Art of the Dawdle (11/7/12, Last Update 4/23/25): In my update on dawdling a year ago I was touting my upgraded facilities. I have had a good year down in the lab, using those facilities to dawdle around on my pet movie, music and family history projects. But with the abundance of planning freedom I now afford myself, a strange thing has been happening. I'm getting dangerously close to completing several projects. That wasn't expected.

Of course I'm not talking about the monster projects like digitizing the family slide collection, blogging on our family history, or adding deserving tracks from my extensive vinyl inventory to my iTunes library. All relaxing and enjoyable time burners, but I've only made dents in those endeavors. 

I'm referring to more narrow-scoped undertakings like converting my cassette tape collection to CDs, or procuring low-cost DVD replacements for my VHS tapes and LaserDiscs. Projects I thought would run for years, but will be completed soon. And it's not just about media. I'm practically out of rooms and closets and drawers at home and at the cottage that need organizing and purging. So, here's my dilemma. If you are accomplishing things, is it really dawdling? Heavy.

A couple more observations. I've learned there are links between health and dawdling. Poor vision can detract from the experience. Sometimes it's hard to make out just who's sitting next to grandpa in that old black and white snapshot, or to read the fine print on those faded vinyl record labels. Poor hearing on the other hand can be a benefit. You can't be distracted by who what you can't hear. 

Finally, two words - team dawdling. Seemingly, an oxymoron in light of my previous arguments for quiet, out-of-the-way solitary venues. But, I've learned that under the right circumstances like-minded individuals can form a nearly impenetrable bubble anywhere, within which they can achieve a state of dawdling nirvana. They on the inside reinforcing each other's OCD gifts, with the rest of the universe on the outside going about its business. We know it works in thrift stores. Further testing is planned.

Memory Lane - Slipping Into the '90s (October 1989 to March 1990)

The Burk family exited the '80s moving smoothly through our well-established groove. The holidays, which in our family begins informally with Nancy's birthday, came off according to plan. We had cake and cocktails at Nancy's parents' home, brother Dave here doing the honors.

Halloween came next with the usual witches and cheerleaders.

November began with the departure of an old friend - my faithful 1983 Chevy S-10 pickup.

This little mud-brown baby had a 4-banger engine with a floor shift and a club cab with fold-down rear seats. It was fun to drive and would run all month on a tank of gas. It had 80,000 miles and the original tires when I sold it. 

It was in pristine condition, but not really suitable for the extended family travel we were planning. We needed something bigger and had purchased the full-sized van conversion I referenced in my last post. So, the S-10 had to go.

I soothed my grief over losing my beloved ride by burying myself in the holiday vibe, doing my best to move on. I took solace in the little things, like a floor-puzzle date with the girls.

Some refrigerator wordplay with my budding life coach.

And a gathering of a few friends who helped me over the hump with some thoughtful dialog.

And a little rock and roll.

Even my Bride was caught up in the moment.

The high lasted for several days, I'm told. I don't remember much from that time except that I felt renewed. By the time I came out of it, this had happened.

I dove into the spirit of the day and never looked back. What truck? I had a deluxe full-sized conversion van. Who needs a truck? That's how I exited the '80s.

There's not much to say about the first few weeks of 1990, other than we were in our usual deep-winter work and school routine. Occasionally, we remembered that we had a camera and caught a memorable moment on film. Like this shot of me demonstrating proper food-prep attire for Cathy.

It's not easy coordinating a shirt, tie and an apron.

Or this shot of the girls cleaning up after....something. I don't remember what and I'm hesitant to guess. But they seem to be petty amped up.

I also found this shot of me cranking up the old Scandalli for a mid-winter serenade.

Apparently overwhelmed by my performance, a member of the audience, Linda C, wanted to try her hand.

Though more accustomed to an 88-key piano, she seemed to handle her inaugural 41-key accordion experience quite well. She did find the 120 buttons on the bass side a little tricky. But she got extra points for getting the instrument on right-side up the very first time.

1990 finally started to wake up and get going in March with a family trip to Florida, which sort of set the tone for the rest of the decade. We had visited Florida in the past a few times, including that first trip in 1982 when Christine was only seven months (that story was shared in my earlier post We Discover Florida). The other trips we had taken were short and usually to visit my grandmother and my parents during their snowbird period. This time it was different.

First, we had kids who walked and talked and every once in a while complained. Second, we had the big van which meant if I played my cards right I could put a healthy distance between me and needy passengers. Having a TV and VCR was another good move. So we packed up and headed out for an 18-hour car ride. 

As it was our first attempt at such a long distance with the kids we broke it into two fairly even days. The trip took a little longer than planned because I failed to factor in the number of stops we would be making to satisfy the kids requests for snacks and drinks. They were in control and they knew it. Nancy and I were willing to make the stops to keep attitudes upbeat and mostly whine-free. (We did learn from the experience. On future trips we packed enough snacks and cold drinks in the van to open a roadside stand.)  

Another memory I have is that the kids were at that age where as soon as they finished watching their favorite movie, they wanted to watch it again. The movie I remember most was Homeward Bound. Three pets (two dogs and a cat) through circumstances too elaborate to explain here found themselves lost far away from home. The movie is about their journey back. As the kids watched and rewatched the story on the van TV, I could hear it but not see it (sort of an early audiobook experience). The irony is that having heard the story maybe a couple of dozen times over the years, I've still not seen the movie. 

Overall, the time on the road was enjoyable. The kids entertained themselves, Nancy and I chatted and listened to music, and nothing really troublesome happened on the road. We were honing our road trip shtick and we liked it. Our mantra became "the party begins where the driveway ends", and it stuck.

But we were happy when we finally pulled into The Meadows, the Sarasota resort where Nancy's parents Rae and Marge were spending the month along with her Aunt Evelyn and Uncle Ken. To boot, Nancy's cousin Lynne and her family were visiting Ken and Evelyn at the same time. We were back with the Canadians. It was like "Ipperwash South". Some pics. 

The Meadows had a beautiful common area including a huge swimming pool. Not quite Lake Huron but of course much warmer. It was too inviting to resist. All three generations spent a lot of time in it.

Here's Christine in what I would call an aquatic Zen state, just letting the healing waters flow over her.

Cathy on the other hand, not yet fully certified in the swimming department, liked to stick close to the steps and practice her frog kick.

In this shot Ted and cousin Andrew are modeling the latest in fashionable pool eyewear.

The senior generation got into the act as well. This is a rare shot of the sisters, Marge and Evelyn, enjoying a dip escorted by the ever-dapper Rae. Both he and Marge are sporting their own choice of pool eyewear. Stylin'.

This last pool shot is a fam-favorite - Uncle Ken showing the younger ladies just how this Florida vacation thing really works. That's Christine, Heather and Cathy from left to right.

When we weren't pruning up in the pool we were usually gathered in one of the seniors' condos for a social hour. Pretty much just like Canadian cottage life but with a tougher dress code. Here's a nice shot of the second cousins, all-spiffed up for their Shirley Temples.

From left to right cousin Heather, daughters Christine and Cathy, son Ted and cousin Andrew.

Below is classic shot of the seniors, equally spiffy in their Florida finest. That's Rae, Marge and sister Evelyn, and Uncle Ken left to right.  

I couldn't find any pictures of the "sandwich" generation from these few days. I guess we were more interested in keeping our kids from annoying our parents. Four grandparents and five grandchildren in close proximity for a week is a risky proposition. These pics bring a favorite Burk family story to mind. I may have shared this story in an earlier post, but it's worth repeating. 

One day during this visit Nancy told Cathy to go inside and put on a pair of shorts. I speculate that this was after a dip in the pool. Cathy, being the adventuresome spirit that she is, went in and put a fancy dress on, ignoring her mother's wishes. 

A bit later Marge went into the condo and discovered Cathy walking around admiring herself in the dress. Having overheard the exchange between mother and daughter, Grandma reminded Cathy of her mother's instructions about the shorts. Whereupon, as Marge later shared, Cathy replied, "My mother loves me even when I'm bad." Thus one of our favorite happy hour stories was born.

After a few days of fun in the sun, the Burks took a day trip to visit Busch Gardens where my parents joined us for the day. I like spending time at Busch to visit old friends from past visits, like these amiable fellows. 

And this talented couple 

Here my Dad Wendell is catching up with one of his old acquaintances. They usually talk about beer.

The girls had their own idea of fun in the park. First there was spinning.

Then out for a spin of another kind.

Finally, a little acrobatic flying. From the looks on the girls' faces, this might have been Cathy's idea.

Meanwhile Ted was off on his own adventure. I wasn't able to catch the ride he went on but from the look of his shirt and shorts, it involved water. Lots of it.

The next day was our last at the Sarasota resort. The kids took a last walk down the Siesta Key beach with cousin Tom.

From left to right are Christine, Heather, Tom, Cathy and Ted. It was a beautiful spot (if you could find a place to park - always crowded in March).

The kids were also allowed to take one last dip in the big beautiful pool before facing the rigors of packing up. Here's a shot of them as they ambled back to the condo for the last happy hour, showing a little style of their own. Life was good. 

The next morning we loaded up and headed north up I-75. We stopped in for lunch at my Grandma Katy's home in Tampa. We were getting into our road mode, so we didn't stay long. Just enough time to eat and squeeze in this four generation shot (all except for the top of my head).

And this departing pic (which includes the top of my head). 

Note - if you think you've seen this last pic before, you have. I incorrectly included it in a previous post covering the spring of 1989, due to a misfiling in my slide carousels I believe. That post has been corrected and the picture included here where it belongs. The vagaries of working with pre-digital technology.

We arrived home on the second day of the return voyage quite pleased with ourselves for executing the trip itinerary as planned. We learned some dos and don'ts for managing future trips, and discovered that our kids were top-flight, long-distance travelers - as long as there were plenty of snacks on board and the rear-cabin headphones were working. It really is the little things in life. 

Grosse Pointe Charles

Memory Lane - From I-75 to "I 75!" (August to October 1989)

As the summer of '89 wound down, we were looking forward to a couple of fall special events. But before then there was a little unfinished business to tend to. 

First, we made the familiar trip up I-75 to Linwood for an end-of-summer Burk family get-together. It was fairly well attended, all were there but my sister Wendy's arm of the family. Here's a shot of the cousins that did attend, expressing their familial joy.

That would be from left to right daughters Cathy and Christine, Dee Dee (my niece) and son Ted. Little darlings all.

Here's a shot of the full entourage, taking time out from the fun to document the gathering. 

From left to right is yours truly, Christine, Nancy, Dee Dee (in front), sister Cindy behind Ted with Cathy on his lap, mom Dolores (with dog BB on her lap) next to dad Wendell, with sister-in-law Sue and brother Jeff in front. 

There were the usual multigenerational cribbage games, Mom's home cooking, Dad's homemade wine, and everyone's attempts to correct everyone else's memories about past family doings. It would be our last get-together for awhile as most of us were about to return to the fall crush of jobs and school. I disagree with the old adage that you can't go home again. You can, you just can't stay that long. 

The second end-of-summer ritual was Christine's birthday. Her eighth. The thought I had looking at the pictures from the party was how expressive her face was as she cycled through her repertoire of moods. She was into it. She started with what appears to be, "What, this again?"

Which quickly morphed into, "If we have to, let's get on with it."

But after presentation of the red-velvet cake with pink icing she shifted to, "Wow, great! And are those presents over there?"

The gifting portion of the ceremony had its usual affect. That would be a cresting of excitement followed by a slow descent into contentment. 

And finally, the revelation. "I'm eight now. What does it all mean?" For Christine, always an important question.

The birthday party was a smallish gathering. There were only two non-adult guests. The first you can probably guess. Old what's-her-name. Complete with party dress and funny hat.

The second was a big surprise, even to Nancy and me. It was my niece Dee Dee (short for Dolores) shown here during the cake presentation. Again, party dress and funny hat.

My brother and his family arrived a day or so before the party for an unannounced visit. I should note that I hardly go anywhere without an itinerary and reservations, but just showing up somewhere unexpectedly has a long history in my family. 

My grandparents would occasionally just show up at our house in Bay City, sometimes towing a mobile home, and stay for a couple of weeks. My grandfather worked in power plant construction all over the country. And when traveling between projects he and my grandmother would "just happened to be in the neighborhood". They seemed to enjoy surprising us. It was great fun for me and my siblings as my grandparents were kindly and interesting. But I'm sure my parents would have preferred a little notice. 

My brother and his family, who live in the Gaylord area, have through the years demonstrated the same habit. Occasional visits to our home or our cottage, usually but not always on their way to another destination, and hardly ever with any notice. We always enjoyed the visits, but would have enjoyed them more with a little planning. But, I guess we each are who we are.

I would say that our kids also liked this surprise visit for the same reason I and my siblings loved seeing my grandparents. Nancy and I were a little off our game, adjusting meals and sleeping arrangements to fit the moment. But we did manage to capture this pic of Uncle Jeff winning the day for a couple of happy cousins.

Then came September and some travel for us. First was a trip to the Toronto area to attend the 40th wedding anniversary celebration of Nancy's Uncle Ken and Aunt Evelyn. I've told the story more than once of our close relationships with the Canadian branch of the family. We made the trip with Nancy's Parents Rae and Marge and our girls.

It was a well-attended event as Ken and Evelyn had a very large social circle. In looking through the family album I found a few pics worth noting. The first is of Rae, Marge and Nancy's brother Dave enjoying the moment in their sartorial best. 

This candid shot caught Nancy's cousins Lynne (on the left) and Ann with sister-in-law Barb (on the right) in the kitchen, preparing (or perhaps sampling?) the hors d'oeuvre. 

Finally I found this pic of second cousins Christine, Cathy and Lynne's son Andrew representing the next generation of our multinational family. 

Back from Toronto we packed up and headed west to visit our very good friends Kathi and Tom in the Chicago area, Winnetka to be precise. 

Kathi and Nancy have been friends since elementary school and roomed together in college. They have kept their friendship alive through the years, as have Kathi's husband Tom and I since meeting in the very early '80s. The four of us have much in common, including "surviving" the ins and outs of raising a pair of daughters. Also joining us on this trip was Linda C., another close friend from high school and former college roommate.

Through our continuing visits the four second-generation girls have developed their own strong friendships including Laura, Kathi and Tom's elder daughter, and our Cathy repeating history by becoming college roommates. But this 1989 visit was early in the game. The girls' relationships were just getting started. A few pics from the visit. First the players.

From left to right yours truly, Nancy with daughter Christine on her lap, Linda behind our daughter Cathy, Kathi with daughter Laura on her lap, and Tom with daughter Karen on his lap. 

On one outing during the visit we took the girls to see the Lake Michigan shore just off Winnetka. Here's a shot of four happy campers sharing the back seat of our brand-spanking-new Tiara conversion van.

The little girls took to the lakeshore cautiously. Not everyone was that impressed. 

But they soon hit their stride, becoming one with beach each in her own way.

The moms were doing pretty well, too, reminiscing perhaps on their glory days in Ann Arbor. 

As it turned out this short but sweet visit was an indicator of things to come, as you will see as my journey down Memory Lane continues.

With the arrival of October we entered the oft-mentioned LeRoy family birthday festival. First up was the dual birthdays of mother Marge and brother Dave. Dave escaped the Burk camera this time somehow, but I have this shot of Marge flanked by her attending granddaughters one of whom was now in uniform.

A few days later father Rae celebrated his 75th. We held a party for him at our house. It was well attended by the family and several of Rae's closest friends. A few pics. This first one is of Rae's brother Bill and his family. 

Flanking Uncle Bill and Aunt Jeanne are their daughter Wilma and son Johnny. As at that time most of the LeRoy extended family gatherings were hosted by the senior generation, I believe this was the only time we had all four members of Uncle Bill's family at our house at the same time. 

The next picture is of the party boy and his bride having just received the cake. From Rae's expression I would guess that the meaning of the big 75 on top of the cake is finally sinking in. 

Though it's of poor quality, I'm still including this picture as it does a much better job of capturing Rae's mood.

Rae had a very dry sense of humor and was an incorrigible punster. Upon blowing out the candles and receiving our congratulations, he grinned and announced "I 75". I'm guessing he'd been waiting to say that for quite a while. He was quite pleased with himself. (For any readers not familiar with Detroit, one can hardly go anywhere in or around the area without taking or at least crossing Interstate 75). 

The I-75 joke is so fondly remembered in our family, that when I reached that milestone a few years ago Nancy gifted me with this beauty.

Just one more pic to share. After the party was over and the guests were gone, I caught this candid shot of the chief and assistant hostesses catching their breath with a little floor time. Job well done.  

Next time we'll stick a fork in 1989, and start out on a new decade.

Grosse Pointe Charles