Now comes the moment to share with you about our trip to Marquette on Friday and Saturday. My friend, Bertha, and I arranged to meet at an Irish Pub on Washington Street at 4:30 p.m. It’s called the Wild Rover.
I have never been there before. She promised good food and great atmosphere. We were so so so looking forward to an overnight stay in the “big city”.
Ladies, I recommend you find yourself a good friend and book a motel in your nearest big city next weekend. (OK, if you live in a big city…turn it around…book your motel out in the woods and bring your snowshoes or skis or walking boots.)
It’s time for a Ladies Winter Weekend Away. You guys can do this, as well. But for now I’m advocating for the ladies. Call your buddy on the phone and make arrangements. You will not regret it.
I am not a Shopper. You know, one of those women who loves to paw through the sales racks, finding bargains. Oh how I sometimes wish I liked to shop! But no. I am a Terrible Shopper. One of those shoppers who walks in the stores, looks around in dismay, and slinks back out the front door after about five minutes of confusion and dismay.
This trip I visited Goodwill, just to see if anything charming popped off the racks and into my waiting arms. Nothing did. So I cheerfully headed off to do the Big City adventures I adore.
1) Sipping java in a coffee shop while writing poems, prose, blogs or emails. YES!! You’d think I had died and gone to heaven. (Maybe it’s the caffeine…)
2) Walking along Lake Superior or city sidewalk streets, admiring the new sights. Admiring that it’s a different place, a new place, an exciting place. Feeling the rush of freedom. Grinning.
3) Reading at the library. How many people go to the Big City to find a stuffed chair at the local library? Cruise the bookshelves and discover the Most Amazing Novel about, say–Mozart’s Sister–and settle down to read in a cozy corner of the Peter White Library. It’s heaven.
4) Eating out. Oh yes, eating out. The #1 joy of visiting the city. This time Bertha picked our evening restaurant. Since I had never visited the Wild Rover, it was a treat to experience some place new.
I arrived at 4:30 pm. Well, maybe 4:35 p.m. Where was Bertha? Nowhere in sight. My eyes skimmed the restaurant. Hmmm…what to do? I walked toward the bar, attempting to decide whether to secure a table. Suddenly I recognized a fellow at the bar. It was a friend I knew through Bertha named Ed.
“Hi, Ed!” I said, “Amazing to see you! I’m waiting for Bertha.”
“I’m waiting for Bertha, too,” said Ed.
Turned out he was joining us for drinks and dinner. We found a table and ordered a glass of Chardonnay (me) and beer (him) while we waited for our buddy.
Bertha arrived within five minutes and soon we scanned the menu, searching for the Best Dinner. I chose salmon & champ. How many of you know what champ is? I suppose you all do, having carefully examined the photo. Apparently champ = Irish Potatoes with green onions. Yum. Very good. Do order some next time you’re visiting an Irish Pub.
Next stop: the motel. Do you like the keyhole photo?
We walked across the road in the biting wind and watched the movie “Dear John”. You needed a Kleenex. It was a tear-jerker. Definitely a “chick flick” as they call ’em.
Later, after 10 p.m., we discovered the pool and whirlpool completely empty. All the dozens of eight year old hockey players were in bed! (The pool was completely wall-to-wall with hockey babes earlier in the afternoon.) We settled into the whirlpool and allowed the spa to soak away all our mid-winter blues. Gone. Gone.
Next morning, while Bertha slept in a little, I tiptoed out of the motel room and settled into Starbucks with Ms. Ellie, my trust laptop. I wrote an Ode to Java on the baby blog. Click here for caffeinated words.
Then Bertha and I checked out of the motel and dined on the arame spud plate (to die for, I tell you!) at Sweetwater Cafe. We said our goodbyes. We promised to do this again some time.
Doesn’t this sound like fun, ladies?
Remember what I told you. Call your friend now. Reserve your motel room. You will beat those Cabin Fever blues. I swear it.