Can you imagine five native Detroiters with a combined total of living 300 years in Michigan who have yet to set foot in the Motown Museum? Holy, Hitsville USA! In late September, the five of us sought to redeem our sorry souls of that musical sacrilege by touring the museum, a small, two-story brick house in the middle of a residential section on Detroit’s West Grand Boulevard. Honestly, this place is a shrine to a magical time in pop history. For good measure, we threw in a Detroit Tigers ballgame as penance to assuage our guilt. (OK, that was gratuitous and mean, even for me.) Sadly, they lost, 7-5. We…
-
-
Skywatching
I have been wanting to blog about this for quite sometime. Better late than never. Several weeks ago, a spectacular light show appeared over parts of the United States and Canada. The northern lights – or “aurora borealis” – are beautiful, colorful waves from above that captivate those lucky enough to see them. One account I had read called this atmospheric phenomenon “the Holy Grail of skywatching.” Indeed. Think of the darkest night sky you’ve ever seen. Add bursts of yellow and green staining the horizon. Maybe dollops of red and purple blotches that paint pillars and curtains. Imagine a geomagnetic storm of epic proportions. Right over your head. Science…
-
Feeling the heat
Driving topless on a crisp fall afternoon with the wind in my hair and the blasting heat at my feet, I’m struck by how something so simple can make me smile so wide. Is it the sun peering behind a puffy cloud warming the autumn air? Maybe. Or the purr of this nearly 60-year-old vehicle being driven by a 60-plus woman with nothing but time on her hands out on the open road? OK, it’s Adams Road in Rochester. More suburban and hilly than open, I ‘spose. Could be. Or the fact that the convertible top is dropped (not mine!) and this classic 1965 Ford has hit her stride —…
-
Barbies (and Ken)
It’s a rainy Saturday in August, so I asked Rebecca if she’d like to go see an afternoon matinee instead of cleaning out the garage. Her: Sure. What did you have in mind? Me: How about the “Barbie” movie? Her: Um, no, thanks. I’ll be in the garage. Point taken. As a feminist, I really should have no intention of ever seeing “Barbie.” From what I’ve heard and read, the Greta Gerwig film, which hit theaters in July, is an outright insult to women at a time when our rights (reproductive and otherwise) are under attack. But how bad can it be if the moral of the story is that both fake plastic…
-
Floating badgers and rooftop goats
Honestly, I’m not ashamed to say I still know every word to “Thank You for Being a Friend,” the theme song from NBC’s 1985 sitcom “The Golden Girls.” You know how it goes: “Thank you for being a friend Traveled down a road and back again Your heart is true, you’re a pal and a confidant I’m not ashamed to say I hope it always will stay this way My hat is off, won’t you stand up and take a bow“ I’ll spare you the rest, but if you’d like to hear more, there’s a YouTube video out there somewhere of singer/songwriter Andrew Gold performing his classic 1970’s hit song.…
-
Aunt Mary
For more times than I care to count in the past six months, my beloved Aunt Mary was knocking at heaven’s door. But she refused to enter because she never lost hope that somehow, some way, she would get better. It wasn’t just wishful thinking. Mary expected to rally. That’s who she was. Her unwavering strength of mind, body and soul was one for the books. She was the embodiment of that rare person who never gives up – no matter what. Even after falling last year, struggling through painful physical therapy and so many unrelated complications, she fought to win. Last Sunday, Aunt Mary entered hospice care near her home…
-
This blows
About a year ago, we bought a cordless leaf blower. A Ryobi 40V Jet Fan model, to be exact. No more extension cords to trip over. No gas. It was the best thing since sliced bread. Until it wasn’t. I loved that Ryobi like a sister from another mister. So much so, that my beloved partner, Rebecca, often felt I spent more quality time with that machine than her, the dog or Mustang Sal. (So not true.) “It’s like she’s become your new BFF,” I’d hear whenever “Ry” and I hung out. OK, people, I named my leaf blower, which I am not proud of. (It rhymes with he, but…
-
Use a straw
Daunting isn’t a word I have ever equated with cleansing my bowels. It is now. After weeks of anxiety, days of pre-prep prep, and eliminating anything red, purple or blue from my diet — God bless the USA! — the “day before your procedure” has arrived at last. And by procedure, I mean the dreaded colonoscopy. Up until this day, I’ve avoided high-fiber foods, stopped eating raw vegetables (or any with seeds), corn, popcorn, nuts and anything else remotely resembling a seed. Sunday’s menu? NO SOLID FOOD. (They love to use ALL CAPS in the instructions. As if “no solid food” is somehow less disheartening.) Clear liquids. As in, black…
-
If this dog could talk
Eat. Play. Love. The three most important dog words in the English language. And maybe these: Car. Cookie. Potty. Walk. If you don’t believe me, trying walking into our house and saying one of them, and see if you aren’t immediately put upon to perform a trick. Every dog has its day, and today is Madison’s: She is 15 years old. The little stinkpot has outlived both of her canine siblings, Uncle Chico and her mother, Annie. Fifteen. Wow. For a 10-pound dog like Maddie, that’s about 76 in human years, according to Mr. Googly. (Please disregard the “one dog year equals seven human years” malarkey. It’s a myth, along…
-
Rainy-day play
“Rain, rain, go away … Come again some other day.” ~ Old nursery rhyme Greetings from South Florida, where it has been raining for 40 days and 40 nights. OK, since Easter. If I were feeling hyperbolic, which I am, I’d say it is rainfall of biblical proportions. I mean, we’re building an ark by the hotel pool in case our plane can’t take off next week. As I recall from working in Miami in the early 1980s, South Florida’s rainy season usually runs from late May through June. It peaks in July until early September. Correct me if I’m wrong, but it’s still April, people. The “cruelest month,” per…
