Monthly Archives: March 2012

Orphan, clock keeper, thief…

Hey kids!

Do I have a book for you to read during Easter break.

Don’t tell me you don’t have time to read.

In between swinging on trees in the woods, and maybe building a fort behind the house, and leading each other blind-folded through the ravine, I’m sure a rainy day will find you complaining there’s “nothing to do”.

We can read when you come inside, kids!

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“Goodbye fish! HAVE A NICE DAY!”

I love you guys!

Dear Blog Family,

Wow.  Double wow.  Triple WOW!  I am speechless at your response to yesterday’s second blog about Mean-hearted comments.  Now I know where to turn when I’m having a bad day.  You guys are the best!

Don’t you ever forget that.

And if you’re having a bad day, please stop by and I will listen with my whole heart and try to ease your stormy weather.

Had to blog early this morning to tell you:  I woke up with a light heart, happy smile and almost no memory of why I was soooo sad yesterday.

Aren’t emotions strange things?  One minute you can be sniffling in your coffee or weeping in your tea (some of us feel things so intensely, don’t we?) and twenty-four hours later the sun shines (OK, it’s too early to tell if the sun will shine here today, although, yes, perhaps, maybe, it’s looking quite hopeful) and we’re laughing and joyful, yesterday’s gloom already forgotten.

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Mean-hearted comments


I have such trouble figuring out people who can make mean comments.

People who write or speak from their anger, their frustration, their fighting spirit.

People who use their tongue or pen to maim, injure, destroy.

I usual react the opposite, knowing how fragile our spirits can be.  The human being often needs careful loving, gentle handling.  Some people call that “coddling the ego”, but I think kindness goes further to reconcile us than knives and guns and negative tongues.

We’re all perfect the way we are–AND we need to change a little.  That’s one of the paradoxes of life.  We are magnificent personalities exploring this existence on a blue and green spinning planet–and we are also egos attempting to create something new, something different.  We’re both embracing life and pushing it away.

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Granola with Apple Juice Concentrate

Rolled oats

Good morning.  Here’s a different kind of blog today, don’t you think?

In January Tammy over at Agrigirl’s Blog offered a fabulous recipe for making Granola with Apple Juice Concentrate.  (Please read Starting Fresh to enjoy the recipe she shared.)

Perhaps you have always enjoyed this healthy cereal, but shuddered to realize how much fat and sugar often constitutes some varieties.

Here is the recipe that I have tweaked a little bit, mostly because I am not a fan of wheat germ and sunflower seeds, and wanted to experiment with lowering the fat a little.

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What you can and can’t do when your power goes off in the woods.

This is probably what happened somewhere--a tree fell on a power line.

When your electricity flickers and goes off in the woods about 8 or 9 a.m. here is what you can’t do:

1. You can’t work on your treasurer’s reports for Thursday’s annual township meeting, because all reporting material exists solely on the computer.  You imagine power remaining out until Thursday.  You imagine the worst-case scenario in which you will arrive, report-less, to the board meeting, hanging your head in shame, embarrassed for the first time in 28 years that you could not submit the budget report.

2.  You cannot check your email or blog comments.

3.  You cannot check blog hits as they excitingly scurry toward that Magic Number.  You figure this is a good thing.  There are more important things to Do in life.

4.  You cannot vacuum, even though the vacuum cleaner sits ready looking very cheerful in its upright posture.  Darn.

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200,000 hits? Arms wide open…

Zig zag

You may have noticed a flurry of blogging here on Lake Superior Spirit lately.  (You haven’t?  You thought it was just ordinary blogging?)

I am here bright & early before work on a Monday morning to tell you–it’s been a flurry. 

Flurry, flurry, blogging flurry.

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MOOSE! See the MOOSE? Do you see it? DO you?

Isn't it beautiful? Isn't it wonderful when you can spot a moose beside the road?

All joking aside, our most famous local celebrity is–a Moose.

It can be seen munching swamp-grass on the Skanee Road, to the great delight of community members driving between L’Anse and Skanee or Aura.

This same moose–or a distant relative–lounged in the same swamp last spring, entertaining drivers and camera buffs alike.  Usually it appeared at dusk, resulting in an entourage of cars pulled over on the side of the road.

Often photographers dash out of their cars running toward the moose who watches the antics of humans with cool detachment.

(Some of us mutter that one of these days the moose will decide to charge some of us crazy people, and then the Michigan Department of Natural Resources might have to shoot the noble creature for acting as a public nuisance…although we pray that will never happen.)

We know not the sex of this particular moose, because sex can only be determined (at long-distant sightings particularly) by a large rack of antlers.  Since it’s not yet antler-season, the bulls and cows look the same.

You may want to read this link about Moose Facts.  It says that moose are not usually aggressive, except when hungry, tired or harassed by people, dogs and traffic.

You may also want to stop by this blog Two moose sightings in one week written last spring in which my friend, Lori, took some fairly close-up photos of roadside moose.  It explains a little about the history of moose in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula.  Or click this Michigan DNR Moose Project Fact page.

But let’s return to our exciting moose spotting yesterday.

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You can quit worrying now

Local moment of "fame"

I know you’ve been biting your nails all week, wondering how I was dealing with becoming a local celebrity.  You’ve been nervous, haven’t you?  You’ve been fussing with heart palpitations and cold sweats about how Kathy was surviving the indignity–yes, the indignity!  the humiliation!–of becoming a local weekly newspaper columnist discussing the Drue loos in public.

I am here to alleviate your worries, to help you re-gain equilibrium after your days of empathetic compassionate concern.  To release the nervousness of such an auspicious event.

It’s OK, dear concerned reader, it’s really OK.  We’ve survived it.  We’re not even a smidge humiliated.  Release it all!  Life is good.

Let’s, as usual, back up (and we don’t mean the septic system).  For those of you shaking your heads and rolling your eyes–”Toilet?  Famous blog?  What’s she babbling about NOW?” please carefully click this link:  A spiritual tale of two toilets.  If you’re reluctant to click the link, I totally understand.  You can continue to read this post instead.  No hand-washing required.

My loving witty husband snatched my toilet blog for his column in the L’Anse Sentinel this week.  (He must have been desperate for material.  After writing columns for thirty-four years, it must become slightly challenging at times, don’t you think?)

He said, and I quote almost verbatim, after reading the aforementioned toilet blog:  “You have just succeeded in beating me as a smart a**.”

I took a deep bow.

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Dear flower


In what ways are you opening this spring?

In what ways are you blooming?

Bloom, dear flower, bloom into the fullest being you can be.

Dear Secret Diary

You listened so well, dear diary

Dear, dearest diary,

I am sorry I have not written in your lined paper pages for such a long time.  I am so sorry to have deserted you for this new-fangled writing instrument called a “blog”.  (I know you are raising your papered eyebrows.  The word “diary”  is so much more flowery and expressive than that harsh syllable “blog”.)

Just wanted to tell you, dear, dear, secret diary that a blog is really something different for me.  It’s not a place to tell all.  OK, it’s a place to tell some.  It has a ready-made audience unlike your secret and hidden pages.  I pretend that a blog is column, an essay, something to inspire or entertain.  It doesn’t contain all the whining and tears I once poured out in ink, the eternal fretting, “Who am I?  What is wrong with me?  How to fix this being named Kathy so she can fit into this unfittable world?”

Ahhh, yes, that theme peppered through your pages for way too many years, the endless self-searching, the endless angst.  Trying to understand how a life that seemed so good on the exterior actually felt like something-is-missing on the interior.

And then the endless pages of joy and elation, the thrill of being alive, the new experiences, the amazement of life and creativity and delight!

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