Tag Archives: Book Club

Hi ho, hi ho, it’s off to work I go (after a quick blog)

At my place of work

At my place of work

This morning, awake at 5:45 a.m., after stoking the wood stove, igniting the gas beneath the tea kettle, pouring a pink glass of grapefruit juice, I turned on the Kindle Fire to check email.

There, sitting so innocently in the in-box, appeared a note from John.  He misses me in the Internet world, he says.  You and your prose are missed.  I sigh from my heart and would have wiped away a stray tear–except it’s still too early.  I’m missed.

The part of self that always longs for acknowledgment wants to jump up and down beside a snowbank in delight.  Someone misses my writing.  Someone loves me.  Hallelujah!

The part of self that doesn’t care about acknowledgment raises its eyebrows at the inner child but doesn’t chastise her.  I’ve been learning so much in the last five to six years about honoring all parts of the self.  Until then, it’s hard to honor all parts of the other person.

But, jeeezsh, John, it’s only been a week since I wrote here at Lake Superior Spirit.  That’s not long, is it?

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These lazy hazy crazy days of summer…

When visitors come...

When visitors come…

In mid-summer the Main Street in our little town buzzes with cars and visitors. People from other locales sometimes drive hundreds of miles north to splash in Lake Superior, to camp in the Baraga State Park, to tour the Copper Country. Our quiet little world turns into a beehive of activity.

I swear there’s never a dull moment in July and August.

Might you be bored?  You can pick strawberries, blueberries, raspberries, thimbleberries.  You can kayak, fish, swim, canoe, float or sun-bathe.  You can plant a garden, or how about drive to the county fair this upcoming weekend?  I suppose you’ve already attended the Native American Pow Wow, the 4th of July parades, the Aura Jamboree, and, of course, the Fireman’s Tournament last weekend.

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Dust bunnies begone, gasping over curry soup & a wildlife announcement.

Back when our Book Club once went snowshoeing...

Back when our Book Club once went snowshoeing…

Last night I hosted Book Club at our house.

(One only need do this once a year.  Our little club meets every other month and there are about ten women, max, so one need only clean dust bunnies every year, unless someone else comes to visit in-between.  Remember when Ms. Heather and Mr. Tony came to visit last month?  Dust bunnies were cleaned then.  However, as a book club member pointed out:  it gets dark here  in the Northwoods early.  No one can see dust bunnies anyway!  A quick dust, vacuum, la de da, and pour the wine for the gals!  No one looks around twice with appraising eyebrows.)

I served (ha ha, the poor things didn’t know) Detox food!  They ate curried sweet potato soup and broccoli-garbanzo salad except I didn’t have broccoli and substituted Napa cabbage instead.

Unfortunately, the first book club member who tasted the soup yelped. I kid not.  She gasped, “What is in this?” “Curry,” I replied patiently.  “I can’t eat anything this hot!” she panted.  I dutifully gave her water.  The other eight members of book club seemed to like it.  Darn, why can’t we ever have a consensus about anything?

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Our annual Christmas fight

Every Christmas season it’s the same.  The hard-scrabbling fight for presents, the intense gleam in greedy eyes as we steal the gaily wrapped packages, the glint of green and red holiday lights on the dice as they clatter against metal.

Lights dim low in Nancy’s living room as we eight women sit cross-legged on the floor, like children, except for one of us who leans low from her chair to throw the dice.

We’re looking for sixes or ones to land face up.  If we throw the magic numbers, we get to choose a package.  We already know what lies wrapped beneath the gold and green paper, inside that elf stocking, under those dangling bright purple balls.  We know books lie within the package, for we’re at Book Club, our annual Christmas book exchange.

Tis the season...

Tis the season…

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In which Gulliver gets tied up and we eat green bean casserole

Ready, set, open your book!

Tonight six or seven or maybe eight of us will sit around living room chairs at Mary’s house to discuss our latest Book Club selection.

You want to know the exciting name of our selection?

Gulliver’s Travels.

Which yours truly did not read.

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Do squirrels eat wild mushrooms & do you like questions more than answers?

Do red squirrels eat wild mushrooms?

You’re wondering if red squirrels eat wild mushrooms, aren’t you?  You’re wondering if I really saw a red squirrel fiercely chomp into a wild mushroom, leap five inches into the air, grab the wild mushroom between its jaws and run wildly up into a nearby tree before releasing the mushroom and scampering back down, wildly scolding the dinner-spoiling photographer, aren’t you?

Are the leaves still beautiful up north?

You’re also wondering–like 99.99% of all tourists visiting our fair north woods–if the colors still gleam beautiful red, yellow, orange?  If the leaves still wave in exquisite colors on the trees?  You’re wondering if half the leaves have fallen on to the ground, aren’t you?  You’re wondering if we now have to fire up the lawn mower and chomp the leaves into tiny bits to allow better mulching for the soil, aren’t you?

Seen many deer lately?

You’re beginning to wonder–aren’t you?–are there any answers in this blog?  Do only questions exist?  Where are the answers?  Can a blog of only questions provide any satisfaction?  Can you find the answers to the questions hidden within the questions?  Can you comment with only questions–while providing answers hidden in your questions, of course?

Seen any good reflections lately?

Did Kathy enjoy the Book Club she hosted at her house last night?  Did the seven women like the potato kale soup which contained the hidden ingredient of fennel?  Did the book club members enjoy the James Oliver Curwood books they read during the last two months?  Did their mouths drop open with awe and amazement as they watched a DVD called “Bear” inspired by our home-town author, James Oliver?  Did we all know that James Oliver Curwood wrote his books from our fair Arvon Township back in the 1920′s?  Did we know that the books–while easy reading–are actually intriguing and fun and filled with twists and turns? 

(Did Kathy finish washing her dishes yet?  Finish her meditation?  Or is she lost in Blog World once again feeling energized by creativity?)

How 'bout gray squirrels?

Has Kathy bought her new camera lens yet?  Is she procrastinating?  Does she have any time to take pictures these days?  Must she take pictures this weekend because she doesn’t have anymore in the current folder? 

How 'bout deer curled up in a ball on your lawn? Seen any of them lately?

Do you love the photo of this deer?  Don’t you think she’s sweet?  Do you care that the photo is soft and fuzzy and unfocused?  Do you like how she blends into the background, how she relaxes fully in plain sight? 

Do you have lots of questions?  Aren’t questions more fun than answers? Do you insist upon answers or can you live with the questions themselves?