Northern Michigan Arts & Culture

When my first marriage was seven years old and my daughter four, I started feeling restless and discontent.  Looking around for something to blame, I decided that our house was too small and the neighborhood too noisy.

Yes, it's March 21st. And yes, we're still skiing. But this will be the last ski report of the year since the season is winding down. The warm temperatures during the day and the cold temperatures during the night mean a lot of trails are icy. So be careful on the sharp turns and downhills.

Every Sunday afternoon when I was a kid, my father went to visit his father—a widower who lived alone.  Sometimes our whole family went to see Grandpa Anderson, but often it was just my dad.  The two men weren’t close and I don’t know what they found to talk about.

Today's rain means we'll have to stay off the trails until tomorrow. But don't worry, it looks like colder temperatures and fresh snow will have us back on the skis for the weekend.

When my daughter was young, I used to embarrass her when we went to restaurants because I asked for the table I wanted.  Someone was going to get that nice table by the window; why not us?  Anyway, it couldn’t hurt to ask, politely.  And, most of the time, we sat by the window—no objections made.

If you were skiing earlier this week, you might still be warming up! The conditions were frosty and slow... But the good news is that you can break out the warmer glide wax and peel off a few layers because this week's warmer weather will make conditions fast all over northern Michigan.

Ours is the only car in the parking lot on this Sunday afternoon. My husband and I walk north along the Lake Michigan shore, pulling on gloves and putting up hoods. It might be twenty degrees on the thermometer but it feels like zero.  

Last week's blizzard conditions have created some of the best ski conditions of the year. The heavy amounts of freezing rain of early winter have left behind a firm base. With the snowfall on top of that icy base, we might have quality skiing for weeks to come.

I am looking through my button box and pick up a small cloth-covered button. “Turquoise silk,” I murmur, remembering the dress it came from, a dress I wore only once.

I am leaving a store when I notice the woman in front of me. There is something familiar in her walk and then I know who she is—a friend from long ago.

When I die, I will leave the people I love which makes me sad.  But what really bothers me—and I confess this with a certain embarrassment—is leaving my house.  As a house, it’s not that special—an old, two-story, needs-work place—but as a source of shelter and security, it has never let me down.  I can’t say that about people.