Family

So, last week Friday through Sunday my family and I headed up north - say ya to da U.P eh? - to visit relatives. Both of my parents are from Upper Michigan, but I myself was born in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. We all stayed at my Grandparent's house but visited my Aunt and Uncle and cousins on my Mom's side.

While staying at my Grandparent's my Mom and I planted tons of flowers in the beds and window boxes my Grandpa had put up. For a person who was in no way born with a green thumb - but ironically with a perpetual love for flowers - it was a challenge at best. But the end result and the look on my Grandma's face when she saw them was well worth it. It was also enjoyable to pick out the flowers. Albeit I was inevitably drawn to all the red ones. :)

I was hoping we could've stayed for more than just three days. The last time we had all gone up there was last July during the 4th. Between that time and our last visit my Grandmother had developed Alzheimer's disease. It was a blow to my family, especially my Dad because she's his mother. But in turn it wasn't all that unexpected, she's 80. Last year in October my Dad's brother had passed away after a brief fight with cancer. In a hospital in Upper Michigan my Grandparents, my family and my Dad's sister had all gathered around and watched him fade away, holding on for much longer than we had previously thought. My Uncle had always been effortlessly humorous and so much different than my Dad I marveled at how they were related. He also had a peculiar way of talking that I know I'll never run into again.

During that same year in January my Mom's sister passed away after a longer battle with cancer. She too was the humorous one in the family, always ready with a joke. Sometimes I still can't believe both of them are gone. It was one of those things where you thought you'd never lose them, then you wake up one day and they are. Leaving you with unwritten pages, unspoken words and a million questions to scribble into those blank pages.

Despite the nostalgic and sometimes burdening task of clearing out my Uncle's house of my Aunt's things with my Mom while up there, I found buried amongst the pain and lingering hurt were the sweet memories and hidden pleasures like forgotten candy at the bottom of a purse. My Mom ended up dividing the belongings in my Aunt's old bedroom between herself and her remaining sister who lives just down the street.

Which brings me to another point. After coming back later on in the night for the basket of my Aunt's things my Mom had collected we all went over to my other Aunt's house, where my Mom visited with her sister and I caught up with my cousins. Even if I didn't really converse with any of them, I still enjoyed their company and finally seeing them again. I hadn't realized how much I missed all of them until I was there, talking and laughing until time crept by and it was time to leave. There are a lot of 'talkers' in my family, on both sides. I can truthfully say that I in no way inherited that 'talking' gene. Except on my blogs and in my stories! :)

Before we had left my Aunt's house one of my cousins called and asked if my family and I would like to come to her apartment. She and a few of my other cousins were there as well. My family and I stayed until midnight, talking with cousins I hadn't seen in literally years. It was refreshing to catch up news and get to know them all over again.

If there is a 'talker' streak throughout my family, there is also a 'humor' streak as well. I have an Uncle, my Mom's brother, who has a tendency to flare up in anger and yell at people. While at the apartment, one my cousins imitated him. It was spot on and had us all rolling in laughter. There is also an Aunt and Uncle on my Mom's side that he imitated as well. Those too were spot on. Soon everyone was swapping stories and sharing laughs. Some of them happened before I was born. Other's involved my Mom's father, who died a year before I born. Some involved stupidity, some involved tricks and gullibilty, still other's involved that of my Aunt who had passed away and the endless humor she supplied us all with. Listening to these stories I realized how each family has their own set of 'stories'. That one relative that was stranger than the rest - like my Uncle, and those that were remembered for certain things and those that carry that legacy. There's the humorous cousin, the quirky Grandma, the cantankerous Uncle, the fussy Aunt...and everyone in between.

Being from Upper Michigan my relatives are invariably populated with 'yoopers'. That in itself is something that sets them all apart from my relatives in Sheboygan! While visiting with my cousins in the small apartment, sitting with them at my Aunt's house, laughing with my Grandparents and walking with my Grandma I realized that my family and I have something no one else has. Family stories, routines of life, relationships and experiences. Each of these things is different for each family, and they are undoubtedly treasured differently as well. I keep drawing back to my time with my four cousins at their apartment because I hadn't seen all of them in a while and I realized just how 'special' per se, our stories and laughter was. It was something that belonged only to us, something only we could find true humor and meaning in. If a stranger had walked in on us they would have been lost or flabbergasted, unable to understand what we were saying or laughing about. The same would go for any family. What makes complete sense to us, could be a total blank sheet of paper to someone else. And that's what makes family special, the unseen bonds and stories that are like a one-way mirror. Only understood from the inside, from those who experienced it or had it passed down to them.

That night when I had finally fell into bed the time spent with my cousins, both at the apartment and at my Aunt's house spun through my mind like another track added to the tape which I could slide into the deck marked 'family' and replay anytime I wanted to. Turning the dial back to yet another moment spent in laughter, reminiscing and nostalgia.

The days spent with my Grandparent's were memorable as well. I got to walk with my Grandma and help plant flowers for her to enjoy. I also visited my Uncle's grave where my Grandpa explained the burial site and pointed out pre-destined plots for Grandma and himself. Also in all simplicity, I also got to enjoy Ispheming and Negaunee, where my relatives live and realize just how deeply rooted and broadly embedded my parent's lives are in Upper Michigan.

Albeit I wished the bulk of my relatives weren't a state away, I realize that the U.P helps define not only who they are, but their way of life as well. Anticipating what awaits me at the end of the five hour journey from Sheboygan to Ispheming is enough to break up the monotony of thick pines, seemingly endless two-lane highways and unpopulated stretches of flat, barren land.
If you're ever traveling to Upper Michigan, just remember...say ya to da U.P eh?

Young Love...According to Music

It's been around for decades hasn't it? Centuries even. It's a classical story that is written is so many ways, spoken in a labyrinth of different words, told with varying degrees of passion, bitterness and nostalgia. It's transcended many historic American novels, and helped some of them rise to the top of scholar's library's. No matter how many times the story is told, no matter how young or old the person is that is telling the story one thing remains the same...young love has become a vital vein in America's literature, poems and as my blog post title suggests, also in music. Perhaps mainly in music.

What is the palpable allure of young love anyway? What is young love? Well, let me throw out a few song lyrics that speak for themselves. There's a new country group called Gloriana that has a new song out called Wild At Heart. In the song there's a lyric that says..."the night is telling us we're way to young. That's all right, I've got forever on the tip of my tongue." Regardless of the song's meaningless, light and fluffy lyrics, the song is based on "a couple of kids running loose and wild." Is there something almost iconic about young love? Is there something poetic, or mystical?

There's also another country song, and it's one of my favorites. Strawberry Wine by Deana Carter. In the song there's a lyric that goes: "I was caught somewhere between a woman and a child, when one restless summer we found love growin' wild."This opens up a whole other blog post about love and it's inevitable link to summertime. Just listen to the new song Summer Nights by Rascal Flatts and you'll get what I mean.

Anyway, back to Deana Carter. With that lyric it brings up the question of young love defining the separation between childhood and adulthood. Is it a way to forever close that door on our youth? A way to cross the threshold into our first tastes of something different? Is it a way to grab hold of the unknown, to have someone to plummet into the unseen depths with?

Before I get too abstract, let me throw another song at you. I could probably quote every Taylor Swift there ever was for this blog post because they all basically deal with young love. Whether it be lovelorn or angst, it always seems to be the bottom line with her. Take her song Love Story for example. There's a lyric that goes "we were both young when I first saw you." And then the song goes on to explain how they worked around obstacles to keep their love alive and later on looked back on it all. Taylor's songs bring me back to my point in the beginning of love being poetic and a fantastical story filled with many blind corners and wild sultry nights. But what makes the allure of young love so palpable for songwriters? Why are so many songs out there focused on it? It's no secret that most songs out there are about relationships, but a good chunk of them are about young love specifically.

Whatever the reason, I'm sure the whole idea will continue to mystify thousands of writers out there in the world. Whether they be authors, songwriters, playwrights, poets....or anyone else. The only question is, does the kind of young love mentioned in the songs above exist in the real world, our world? Or is just that, a lyrical and poetic story to spin around thousands of voices crooning over our radios?

Our Minds: An Internal Camera

I know for English, technically we aren't required to write blog posts anymore but what I've found is that every Wednesday it's almost customary for me to sit down and write one. So therefore, regardless of whether anyone else continues to do so, I will continue to write blog posts.

Last night following the feedback I received from my group in English class concerning my paper I decided to include a personal experience I've had with severe weather. It was more of a brush, but nonetheless an experience at that! So my Mom and I delved into box after box of pictures stacked between the dry sink and old 50's organ in our living room, searching one elusive photograph that my Mom had snapped of the encroaching storm. It was nowhere to be found.

But the story goes like this: roughly three to four years ago my family and I were driving down to Appleton to the Fox River Mall - which is incredibly better than any mall in Sheboygan - when the sky to the right of the highway grew ominously dark with an approaching thunderstorm. Without warning a cloudburst came upon us and thick, pulsing sheets of rain came down onto the road, forcing my Dad - who was driving - to pull to the highway's shoulder and wait it out. From the one mental picture that I have I can see the rain coming down almost like clear curtains, folding around the car, obscuring the view ahead to an undulating array of lights. It passed quickly, just like any other cloudburst and we continued on our way. This was when my Mom snapped the picture from her position in the passenger's seat. Only later upon arriving at Fox River did we learn that there had been a tornado warning and a tornado and briefly touched down not far from where we were on the highway. That time was the closest I had come to a tornado.

So what, you might ask, was the reason for that story? Well, going all the way back to my Mom and I searching for that photo, I knew she had taken it but at the same time my mind offered up a clear snapshot of that exact photo. I could see the view out the windshield from where I had been sitting, watching the thick torrents of rain. I could see the ominous sky churning with darkened clouds. Why did my mind take those photos, per se? Was the event so heartening? Was it the beginning of my mild obsession with severe weather?

Referring to this blog post's title, I'm sure that each of us have photos from certain times, places, events and memories in our minds. Perhaps some are stored in dusty boxes, stuffed into the far corners of our minds shrouded in cobwebs because they are too painful to open. Others are at the forefront of everything, bursting at the seams with pictures we cherish deeply, whether they are of passed loved ones, a friend who has moved far away or any other number of things.

As misplaced as this may seem in any of my short stories I have always compared the human mind to the attic in a house. Now it's probably obvious to you all that this comparison stems from my palpable obsession with old houses. But that is always how I've viewed it. An attic is where we place belongings that have nowhere else to go. It's a place where forgotten things often spring upon us as we crack open the wooden door for spring cleaning. It's a place where musty smells and stale memories sometimes leak through the floorboards we've tried so hard to seal, separating our hearts from painful memories we can't dispel, but can push under the eves as far as possible.

One of those insistent memories for me, as my Mom and I continued to sift through the photographs, were those of my late Aunt Lily - my mother's sister. She had passed away from a long battle with lung cancer in January of late year, shortly after her fifty-first birthday. Each picture I found of her was a stab to the heart, but a ray of sunshine at the same time. With each one I found I felt like stuffing it underneath the eves, not willing to revisit those precious times I had with her. But yet now that they were in the light, I found I couldn't look away Despite the pain, I found joy in those photographs, remembering how humorous and caring my Aunt was. I knew such photographs were inevitable, they were mixed in with the others, as if that attic where we had so carefully divided memories in separated corners had mixed them all together. Each memory, painful or not, was there to see and experience.

Whether this blog makes no sense, or somehow relays something to somebody, this is how I write my short stories. With a sometimes abstract, often metaphorical flare. I am very fond of metaphors.

One Man's Trash...

It's that time of year where people start to do spring cleaning. Air out the house, clean every surface, dig up spring and summer clothes, pack away winter clothes, make sure the lawnmower, edger and weed whacker are working, try on last year's summer clothes with slightest trepidation to see if they still fit, clean out your house's basement and sell some of the stuff in a garage sale.

Spring cleaning is all of this and more. But the main aspect of it I'll be focusing on, and what I truly believe in a sign of the approaching summer...is garage sales. As the title of this blog post suggests, with garage sales, one man's trash really is another man's treasure.

I can't tell you how much stuff in my house is from garage sales. The jewelry box I keep all of my earrings and necklaces in is from a garage sale. Some of the horse figurines in my room are from garage sales. And recently I've bought nine books from numerous garage sales that I've stocked up for the summer. Albeit they are all older books, they are still well worth the read, and the price too. Most of them are under a dollar. Even some of the furniture in my house is from garage sales. Also I recently bought five rubber stamps from a garage sale that I use in my crafts, significantly less expensive than Michael's or Hobby Lobby.

So is the low price tag and never-knowing-what-you'll-find aspect of garage sales the main allure of them? I know at some garage sales I've found special items that I hadn't expected, or my parents snagged a good deal. Or maybe it's the fact that each garage sale is an elusive glimpse into the lives of complete strangers. To some degree you can tell how each family lived by the stuff in their garage sale. You can pick out their lifestyle, their interests, their hobbies, their personality and their habits. Now maybe I'm reading too much into it, but to some degree it's true. You can tell so much about the people that hold a garage sale you visit, just by looking at the stuff they have there. For example, if they're selling outdated furniture and old appliances you might be inclined to think that such things were in their basement for a long time, or they're finally updating everything. Or if they have a lot of collection type things like baseball cards or old records and such you might be inclined to think they were once childhood treasures that have lost their purpose. No matter what each garage sale says about the people who run it, they are perhaps inadvertently placing their lives on display for a short time, allowing people to make assumptions and observations about their life. After all, each piece in a garage sale had to mean something to someone somewhere along the line, and has either lost it's value or has been replaced by something better. Now maybe all this analyzing is coming from the writer in me, but as I've said before, each blog post comes from my observations of the world.

This summer my parents are planning to host a garage sale to de-clutter our basement. Our house is very small at only 1,200 square feet so you can imagine how clutter plays a huge factor. About a month ago all of us sorted through Rubbermaid boxes and placed everything destined for the garage sale in cardboard boxes. There were boxes for each of us, my mom, my dad, my brother and me. Like I've said before with items in a garage sale losing their purpose I found the same thing to be true with me. For instance there were Cd's of groups I once loved, but now found I outgrew them, or books I no longer wished to read. There was an entire box filled with horse figurines from my childhood that I sorted through, keeping some only for sentimentally. This ties into my mentioning about each item meaning something at one time, but over the years losing that purpose and now that item waits to mean something to someone else. And it's not that the items my family and I have destined for the garage sale are no longer useful, it's simply that we no longer have any use for them, but no some other family will.

I am exited to host our first garage sale. I know a lady in Reedsville who runs a horse rescue farm and she is crazy for garage sales just like me and promised to stop by. Perhaps there is a sort of cleansing aspect to garage sales. A way of getting rid of the clutter that had once meant so much to us a time long ago in our lives. Perhaps such notions put a perspective on all of our childhoods, how the most trivial and small things meant so much to us, but now that we're older we find how truly small they were, and how simplistic our pleasures were.

With that said :), I hope my view on garage sales wasn't completely abstract and indiscernible, but that I simply provided my sometimes off-kilter view on the world around me. If you love garage sales, drop me a note! Perhaps while perusing the classifieds and running around Sheboygan and the like I'll see some of you.