Half the fun…

“Getting there is half the fun!”

I’ve always put lots of credence in this old adage of travelers from ages past, and our recent journey from Sarasota to Ormond Beach proved just how true it remains.

Our wonderful couple of weeks at Sun Outdoors Resort in Sarasota had ended, and we were off to the last leg of our Florida winter vacation: The Cove on Ormond Beach, over on the Atlantic Coast, right up next to famous Daytona Beach. And as is our preference, we wanted to avoid any and all major highways and/or Interstates (I-75 & I-4) in getting over and up to Ormond. Besides, there were so many roads and towns and countryside we’d never passed by or through on previous trips, so what better reason than to wend our way through those places on this trip?

And so on this sun-splashed February Florida morning, we set out on a drive that Maps indicated would take about 4 hours. Not bad, since we couldn’t check in before the late afternoon, anyway. 

Soon, we were northbound on nearby Lakewood Ranch Road, through one of the newer developments in the Sarasota/Bradenton area. So much of the previous cattle and horse country has been swallowed up into residential communities, and this is just one of the major ones. 

Before long, we were on U.S. Highway 301 and continuing on past Ellenton, Sun City Center, and Riverview. A quick stop for coffee and a light breakfast “to go” and we were headed on toward the outskirts of Tampa, where we’d split off northeasterly toward Zephyrhills and hook up with Highway-471 north through country that I call “Old Florida.” 

Clicking off the miles, we entered an unexpectedly delightful—arrow straight—stretch of road that took us through Colt Creek State Park and not far from Green Swamp Wilderness Preserve. Traffic was light, and all was right on this day! 

Our drive up to a small town named Bevilles Corner passed quickly. There, we worked our way eastward on Route-27 to Leesburg and enjoyed the many lakes of all sizes. No wonder this part of Florida is such a popular area for sporting folks!

About 11 miles out of Leesburg, we connected with Highway-19 and rolled on through Umatilla and Altoona and joined State Highway-40 near the town of Astor a short time later. This, we soon figured out, was the “homestretch” of today’s trek.

We reached our destination within the hour, and The Cove on Ormond Beach was an easy find, after we crossed over the bridge on Granada Avenue with a welcoming view of the blue Atlantic beyond.

Our studio apartment on the 7^th floor was perfect for the two of us, and our week sailed right on past, to say the least. Walking the beach, sitting by the pool, and eating at some wonderful restaurants were definitely highlights. One day we kept our Florida tradition alive by spending it up in St. Augustine, just an hour away.

Like every other part of our Florida vacation, time went way too quickly, yet we were both “ready” to get back home to Illinois, taking our wonderful moments and memories along to remember forever!

Sitting here on a cold and rainy and dreary afternoon in May, I realize that all of the places where we stayed and spent time on this trip were all terrific, but the getting there was still half the fun! 

See you on the road…

Catching the magic at the Field of Dreams…again!

For the last two summers right about this same time, we have done something special with our two grandsons, kind of a last-of-summer vacation thing.

Last year it was a day trip over to Dearborn, Michigan, to visit the Henry Ford Museum and adjoining Greenfield Village. The four of us enjoyed every minute of that day, and we still often mention that we’d like to return and see all the other things that we didn’t have time to get to. And I’m sure that we will do so sometime down the road.

This year, since we’re both home from the cottage for a few days, we thought it would be neat to take the three-hour drive over to Dyersville, Iowa, home of the Field of Dreams–the farm where the movie was filmed in 1988.

Playing catch with the grandsons as I did with their dad years ago.

What would make this trip all the more special is that we had taken the boys’ dad—our son—there back in the early 90s when he wasn’t much older than they are now. Playing catch on that magical field with my son all those years ago was, indeed, special, and to do the same with my grandsons seemed like a pretty good thing to do!

As always, we had kept an eye on the weather forecast because it would be rather pointless to set off all that way if rain was imminent. But fortune smiled on us and the day dawned overcast, promising to be in the high 80s by afternoon. Leaving by 7:30 would allow us to reach the place out in the Iowa cornfields by late morning, before the heat became too stifling.

And so, with the wheelie cooler chock full of bottles of water and snacks, we hit the road and enjoyed the countryside, with the flatness of home giving way to the rolling terrain of northwest Illinois, our journey taking us over US-20 past Rockford, Freeport, Stockton, Galena, and over the Mississippi River at Dubuque, Iowa. Dyersville and the Field of Dreams is just a short drive onward from there, and we had no trouble locating the charming place once more, even after so many years.

Jackson and Matthew spent most of the trip there watching the movie on a laptop. For Jackson it was the first time he’d seen it, and we all agreed that it was a good thing he had so the site would mean more to him.

If you build it, he will come…

Of course, I’ve seen the movie countless times over the years, and never fail to get caught up in the story and its homage to baseball and the role it plays in so many lives, generation after generation. I would think that even non-baseball fans would find something intriguing in the tale that starred Kevin Costner and James Earl Jones.

The movie was based on the book Shoeless Joe by W.P. Kinsella. Interestingly, I read this book for the first time this summer, and knowing we were going to be visiting the movie site, I wanted to compare the original story with the film’s treatment of it.

To say that it had many diversions and changes would be a vast understatement. Although I usually prefer the original work, in this case I tend to lean toward the Hollywood version—grudgingly, of course! Not sure about some of the “additional” characters the author included in the original, and I think the story worked fine without most of them. But that’s merely my opinion, mind you.

Go the distance…

“Lefty” Jackson hurls a strike from the Field of Dreams mound.

The hour or so we were there, playing catch, batting with other kids and adults there for perhaps the same reasons, was just enough and well timed. After a brief snack break on a picnic table under some beautiful tall pines near the old farmhouse, the heat had begun to rise, the boys were sweaty and dusty, and Carolyn and I were hot and ready to get back into the air-conditioned comfort of the Equinox.

“Slugger” Matthew knocks one to center!

A quick visit to the gift shack to check things out, and then we were ready to pull out of the place and begin our trip back home to Illinois. And, of course, it was about that time when we were all ready for some lunch. Our plan was to stop for a nice sit-down meal (no drive-thru, fast-food adventures this trip!) and enjoy the cool atmosphere and some good food somewhere around Galena.

As it turned out, we continued through the Galena area and on to the small town of Stockton about an hour away. To our delight, right there on our route in the small town was an attractive log building named JJ & Freddie’s. The service was friendly and attentive, the food was good,

Matthew and Grandma relaxing in the cool comfort of the restaurant on our way home.

the draft beer I enjoyed was quite refreshing, and the air conditioning was superb! Each of us was fully contented at this point.

Re-fueled and refreshed now, we were back on the road to home and I even managed a nice nap as Carolyn got us home in good shape around 4:30. The hot afternoon couldn’t diminish the wonderful morning’s fun and smiles we’d all shared on our little trek over to the magical Field of Dreams.

About to enter the corn after a good workout on the Field of Dreams.

Catching up: Busy days and friendship through the years….

 

It’s been a few weeks—nearly a month—since my last post, and I must confess that I really have no good reason to have avoided writing something in that span of time. Suffice it to say, however, that it has been a busy month with appointments, grandsons’ basketball games, getting the Thanksgiving together and the Christmas lights up and working. (Still can’t figure out those light timers!)

A splendid sunrise over the first snowstorm in late November

On top of that, we’ve had weather to contend with. About a week ago, we were hit by one of those early snowfalls that dumped nearly a half a foot of snow in most of northern Illinois.

Of course it would come in at the exact moment that my son and I were setting out for a five-hour drive to southern Illinois for our annual pheasant hunt with my good friend and his son.

Driving was slow-going for the first few hours, but the farther south we got, the snow dwindled, replaced by rain. By the time we got to my friend’s house, it was just cold, damp, and clear of any snow. We had a great couple of days there (we always do!) and the return trip home wasn’t bad at all.

About that friend…

Steve and I became long-lasting friends a long time ago, in late-summer 1973, when we both happened to be walking in the door of a small, rural school in south central Illinois at the same time, to begin our first days of teaching careers. Although we had never met before, there seemed to be a sort of instant bonding, since we were both in the same boat and were strangers in new and unfamiliar territory.

Steve was from way down in southern Illinois, a product of Southern Illinois University; I was from the western suburbs of Chicago and a recent graduate of Kent State out in Ohio. To say that it was good to meet someone in the same situation as I right off the bat, would be an understatement. And from that first “walking-in-the-door” meet up, we both tended to do things together, as we wound our way through those first hours, days, weeks, and months as teachers and coaches.

I soon discovered that Steve was an avid hunter and fisherman, two things I had never really done much of, other than a few forays out into the woods with my dad when I was too young to tote a gun. But I was soon invited to join Steve and a few other teachers for opening day of dove season.

That experience is one of those that gets etched in one’s memory! The recently harvested corn fields were drenched in golden sunshine, and the friendly chat among our little group did something that erased all the doubt I’d had about taking a job so far from familiar things. Perhaps for the first time, I really felt included (although I wasn’t a very good shot!), and the day turned out to be much, much more than killing birds. To this day, I cherish that late-afternoon we tramped through those shorn fields, waiting for the doves to come in, getting to know those other guys, and sharing things about my life with them.

My friend Steve

Being single, Steve and I were pretty free to march to our own drummers. He and I would hunt and fish many times in the years that followed, and summers would find us playing fast pitch softball for a country tavern out in the boonies.

When I finally got married a couple of years later, things obviously changed–except for the friendship! That has remained. When an opportunity to move north came about a couple of years after I married, Carolyn and I took a chance on it, especially since she was from there. Although I spent most of my career there as a result, I really never forgot my beginnings down there in the small town or that very first dove hunt.

Since then, every November’s been a regular routine to travel on down for a day of pheasant hunting with my good friend Steve. We sometimes kid each other about what would have happened had we not been nervously walking into the school, at the same time, all those years ago. I suppose it was just one of those timely strokes of good fortune that we did.

My Favorite Holiday Stories…

Every year about this time, I like to dig out and re-read my favorite stories with holiday themes. I never tire of going back to them, and they, more than anything else, provide the impetus to move me into the spirit of the seasons. Today’s post will mention a few of my favorites.

Of course, anyone who knows me would say that all things Dickens is at the top of my list. A Christmas Carol and its theme of human kindness and redemption is what makes it a true classic, and one I look forward to reading in the days leading up to the big day.

But there are others as well, if not as well-known. For instance, O. Henry’s “Gift of the Magi” has always been a good Christmas story with it’s ironic twist of Jim and Della each giving up something that was truly precious to each in order to purchase a gift for the other. I’ve always liked O. Henry’s characters and the hardships of which they try to cope, and this short story is a rather excellent example of unselfish love and what true giving is all about.

Another O. Henry favorite is “The Cop and the Anthem,” although not specifically a Christmas tale. It is, however, set in the heart of New York City, with the chill and unforgiving winds of winter arriving. A homeless soul named Soapy prepares for his annual winter trip to the Island—Riker’s Island—where he can be taken care of at the expense of the taxpayer—warm meals, warm beds, and a roof over his head. Of course, every attempt to get arrested results in just the opposite, frustrating Soapy immensely. Finally, hearing the beautiful strains of a church choir singing inside the church, Soapy thinks of his mother and has an epiphany and decides to turn his life around before it’s too late. Before he can do anything more, though, he is collared by a policeman for loitering and dragged off for sentencing! Love those O. Henry trademark twists!

I remember reading Lincoln Steffens’s “A Miserable Merry Christmas,” in fifth or sixth grade as a pre-Christmas assignment. The little tale runs the gamut of the young boy’s emotions from complete despondency, when he discovers an empty stocking and no pony—the only present he wanted—on Christmas morning, to total rapture when the delivery person shows up—hours late—riding the aforementioned pony. For whatever reason, I somehow was able to relate to the boy, although I never received a pony for Christmas.

There are others, of course, and I look forward to enjoying them late at night, after the writing is finished and the rush of the day is over. There will be a fire in the fireplace to add a festive holiday flavor to the occasions. The winds and swirling rain, sleet, or snow will be up to no good on the outside, while I’m comfortably ensconced within our cozy living room.

What favorite Christmas stories do you have?

Thanksgiving Leftovers…

Thanksgiving has always been my favorite holiday, a time to take a step back from all of the busy minutes in my life and to give thanks for all that I have. I have usually been surrounded by family, who have travelled some distance to share in our once-a-year gathering. Laughter and smiles have been as plentiful as the food and other goodies that tempt beyond imagination!

Our hosting the Thanksgiving festivities began many, many years ago when all of our kids were young and before they were grown with kids of their own! The fun always began on Wednesday—Thanksgiving Eve—when my tradition of cooking one turkey on the Weber charcoal kettle began. It would be blasphemous for me to even think about using the oven to cook them! I come up short in many departments, but I must pat myself on the back that my holiday turkeys always are delicious and perfectly done “to a turn” (a kind relative’s words once).

Of course, I can’t let it go with just one turkey. I arise early on Thanksgiving morning and do the same thing all over again. Thus, two turkeys for our menu, allowing for plenty of delicious meat for the dinner and those crucial sandwiches later on for the next couple of days. Now that’s the beauty of the Thanksgiving feast, I think.

This Thanksgiving gathering is also the time when our garage becomes “Thanksgiving Central.” You know, the place where we can be found with the football and hockey on the TV up in the corner and the keg of beer chilling away down below, next to the the table laden with snacks and leftovers—not to mention pies and other tempting delicious desserts.

If the weather is cold (it usually is), our son has his propane heater that quickly heats things up and we don’t even need coats or jackets. On those few occasions when the weather has been unseasonably warm and pleasant, that’s an added bonus to add to our list of things for which we are thankful.

I can’t really remember exactly when this whole family ritual began, or why it seemed to catch on year after year. Like all traditions, it began once and we did it again the next year, and the next, and right on to the next, family and friends showing up and making it a very good time.

This year’s gathering was much smaller, many of the nephews not being able to make it because of their own “grown up” family traditions and responsibilities. And some day, we will no longer host the event, but with so many memories, we will always have much for which we are thankful!

Was your Thanksgiving a good one? What Thanksgiving traditions do you have?

Photographs & Memories–a trip to Mom’s…

Ah, October! Seems as though I was just writing about an early autumn not so long ago, but it’s no longer early, and it’s officially autumn now—my favorite time of the year.

I had the pleasure of seeing autumn’s beauty on Sunday as I drove from our home in northern Illinois to Port Clinton, Ohio, to spend a couple of days with my 85-year-old mother.

Traveling along the Indiana and Ohio Turnpikes that were lined with the magnificent colors of the leaves of the oaks, maples, sumac, ash, and sycamores, I once again came to realize the true miracle that is nature in all of the faces of its changing seasons. Fall is really a spectacular face!

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I try to make the six-hour drive out to see my mom at least once every couple of months, as she lives alone and does very well for herself. But there are always little “jobs” she needs tended to, such as getting the storage containers of many of her fall and winter clothes down from her closet shelf. And I’ve become quite adept at hanging her bedroom curtain rod with freshly washed curtains! Helping her clean out and rearrange her outside storage closet, getting it ready for the chill of fall and the onslaught of winter, is a pretty regular duty as well.

This time, however, there was another task that we had talked about and avoided jumping into for a couple of years. In a recent phone conversation, Mom dropped not-so-subtle hints that she would actually enjoy having the long and awkward plastic container—stashed away under her bed—emptied and something done with its contents. Inside that container were picture frames of all shapes and sizes, with photos still inside each.

The container was cumbersome and impossible for Mom to lift, but I slid and prodded and nudged it out from under the bed, and we spent a good hour removing the photos from the frames and then placing the empty frames in a box that we’d take to the second-hand store the next day. That was merely the first step in dealing with the sorting and placing of her vast collection of family photos into large manila envelopes.

I suppose most families can boast of having photos that go way back to when we were kids—younger and skinnier—and even those of grandparents and great-grandparents that have somehow been passed down from generation to generation. Well, Mom’s collection, which has been stored in old envelopes and small containers forever, is no exception. It was my goal to get the collection organized and into those clearly labeled envelopes.

After a quick trip to the second-hand store on Monday morning where Mom’s box of frames was welcomed with smiles and open arms, we set about playing the sorting game. I would grab one of the full envelopes and spread the contents out on the little coffee table where Mom would identify the “main” person or family in each photo, and I would place each photo inside the new envelope with the updated label.

Of course, this procedure was time consuming, and I had to return home the next morning, but we did manage to work through several of the random envelopes, leaving the rest for her to work on during the weeks ahead. The empty container that had previously housed those annoying frames was now the perfect place for her new and improved photo envelopes! She could easily get to them when the spirit moved her, and they were no longer lying about willy-nilly. With the weather promising rain and cold down the road, it will be a good activity for her to work on at her leisure.

I kiddingly told her that I expect them to be all placed into the appropriate envelopes when I next return in mid-November. She assured me that they would be. I’m not so certain of that, but at least we’ve made that first step, and those old picture frames are no longer bugging her!

English: Road and Autumn Trees (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

As I drove back home, surrounded by fall’s beauty once more, I felt pretty good about the way our little project had gone ….CortlandWriter

 

In touch with the past…

Meadville, Pennsylvania (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I’m writing from just outside the place of my birth, Meadville, Pennsylvania, following our annual “cousin reunion” in Canton, Ohio, earlier today. This is the third straight year the Anderson cousins and their spouses have gathered for an afternoon of wonderful food, conversation, and rehashing of so many memories from our younger days.

Today’s event had all of that, plus an extra touch of our family heritage, thanks to my wife’s efforts in locating details about great-grandparents, great-great-grandparents, etc., through her genealogy searching this past week and Ancestry.com.

In fact, just in the last few days, I’ve learned about ancestors I’d never heard of before, and neither had most of the others in attendance today. It kind of makes me realize how I fit into the big picture of my family tree and how it continues with my own kids and grandkids. I find that pretty cool!

The plan for tomorrow is to meet up with another cousin and his wife in the little town of

Map of Crawford County: Cambridge Springs. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Cambridge Springs, just a bit north of here, and spend a few hours going back to places where our great-grandparents, grandparents, and various aunts and uncles lived. We will roam the cemeteries where so many of them are buried, and we’ll pay tribute to their having lived and helped make things possible for us to exist as we do.

It has been many years since I’ve been back here, and I have a feeling that visiting these old places will help keep the memories of those wonderful relatives of mine alive and the past not so distant. There’s a story to write about all of this down the road….CortlandWriter

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Take some time…write a Letter!

Yesterday, with the break in the weather–the milder temperatures and melting snow–I set out to unplug our outdoor Christmas lights on the back deck and those out on the tall evergreen in the far corner of the yard.

Since the dwindling snow made it rather easy to get out and about, it was pretty simple to roll up each of the orange extension cords and get them dried out in the garage until it will be time to return them to their designated Rubber Maid storage container for another year. The lights themselves will come down soon, but now they rest out there, dark and lonely.

POTD – heavy duty extension cord (basement photo so it must be a Sunday) (Photo credit: amyvdh)

It didn’t take me long, that little task, but it got me to thinking about how quickly our holiday celebrations come and go, passing into memory almost before we realize it. And I then began to recall the past few weeks and the wonderful gifts of having our kids and grandkids around, if but for a very short time to help us celebrate the season.

And so the “dismantling” of Christmas has begun and besides all of the taking down and putting away, there remains one other major ritual: Writing post-Christmas letters, thanking one and all for the thoughtful gifts, spending time with us, and sharing their holiday spirit in doing so.

For as long as I can remember, I have been an avid letter writer, and I’ve always felt that there is no better time than after the Christmas holiday to write and send letters from the heart–the old-fashioned way! No, I don’t mean handwritten by pen (my penmanship is frightful!) but typed out, printed, sealed in an envelope, postage stamp attached, and dropped in the post office to be sent on their merry way.

In this age of instant messaging, texting, and e-mail, most people fail to see much value in old-fashioned letter writing any more. But I’m not one of them. Receiving a written letter in the mail from a friend or relative has always been one of life’s greatest joys for me.

I must admit that I love all of the modern technology that has made texting, e-mail, cell phones, and other forms of social networking so readily available in our lives. Yet, all of this, I’m pretty sure, has pretty much rendered the practice of letter writing a forgotten art form. Perhaps one of the most disturbing things that speaks to the current state of communication is that many people with Facebook, Twitter, texting, and all other forms of social media don’t even e-mail anymore! To say the least, it makes me wonder where we’re going in our ways of communicating.

Still, I often write letters to friends and relatives for their birthdays, anniversaries, or to wish them congratulations for some achievement, get well wishes, or simply to send along family updates. And I know the chances of receiving any kind of reply or acknowledgement that my letter was received are pretty slim. Yet, I take great satisfaction in the simple act of taking the time to write and mail the letter.

And so I must ask: Readers, what are your feelings about the art of letter writing? Is there a place for it in our world of human communication? Or am I just romanticizing about a lost art from a lost time?

Letter Carrier Delivering Mail (Photo credit: Smithsonian Institution)

In some small way, I’ll do my very best to keep the practice of letter writing alive. If anyone reading feels as I do, and would like to correspond via the “old-fashioned” way, mention so in the comments section, and we can get the ball rolling.

This idea kind of brings back memories from long-ago school days when we’d have Pen Pals. Now, as back then, it would be a fun, learning experience. Regardless, if nothing else, take some time and write a letter to someone soon. It’s a good feeling–for sender and receiver! :-)….CortlandWriter

*Note: On my “Must Read” list is a new book by Simon Garfield titled To the Letter: A Celebration of the Lost Art of Letter Writing (Gotham Books)

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A Thanksgiving Come & Gone…

Sketch of Thanksgiving in camp (of General Louis Blenker) during the US Civil War on Thursday November 28th 1861. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Well, now…Thanksgiving weekend has come and gone, and family I see once or twice a year have returned to their homes in Ohio, Nebraska, Michigan, Indiana, and Illinois. Our little spot here in northern Illinois was virtually bursting with life—young, old, and in between—beginning Wednesday afternoon.

All of the preparations and planning seem to have whisked right on by at light speed, with excellent results. The two twenty-pound turkeys and dressing I cooked on Wednesday and Thursday turned out perfect, along with the all of the other culinary delights that Carolyn put together for our traditional Thursday meal.

As we all were gathered together, each of us sharing wonderful conversation, many laughs and smiles, and thoughts of what all was going on in our lives, I realized just how much I have to be thankful for. And I have made it a goal to write more often about those many things and no longer take them for granted.

Carolyn and I have been hosting this “gathering” every year for longer than we can recall (at least 25 years, at last guess), and we look forward to it every year. And every year, family from near and far makes the trip to our humble abode, resulting in a few days of silliness, snacks, cold drinks, delicious meals, conversation, and college football and Blackhawks hockey on TV.

Today—Sunday—like all Sundays at the end of Thanksgiving weekend, seems empty and much too quiet. The leftovers populate the fridge, and the washer seems to be in overdrive, catching up on bath and dish towels, almost as soon as the last traveler is packed up and headed out of our driveway for their return journey to home.

Just the two of us, alone in our quiet house once more, we go about the tasks of getting things put back together. I spend a good amount of the morning getting all the card table chairs, tables, and plastic cups and plates back in the Thanksgiving box to haul to the shelf in the basement, where it will rest until next year at the same time. Then I help my son, who has come up from his home, load up his truck with the remaining things we had borrowed from him. He and my two grandsons eat some leftover pizza from last night but can’t stay long as there are things that they need to get done down at their house.

Through it all, there’s a sense of relief that the weekend was a success and that everything “worked” as we’d planned. Yet, at the same time, there is a feeling of melancholy that it’s over much too soon. Watching the Bears’ game doesn’t make it any better, either, as they squander opportunities to win, eventually losing late in overtime.

Carolyn has busied herself with handling the wash and bringing me the clean things to help fold. We even get all of the autumn decorations—outside and inside—taken down and stored away, making room for the Christmas things very soon. Eventually, Carolyn and I take some time away from our cleaning up duties and heat up what remains of the leftovers and watch Criminal Minds, which was DVR’d from last Wednesday.

Late in the afternoon, I finally come into my office, which for the past several days has been where my daughter and her husband have had their Aero bed, suitcases, and their kid’s suitcases. I hurriedly look back over things on my desk from when I was last seated in front of my MacBook and realize that I’m a bit behind in my blog posts. But I did manage to reach my goal of over 50,000 words for NaNoWriMo these past weeks, and I’m thankful for pushing hard during the first weeks of the month to get that word count up and climbing every day. This makes me smile and kind of brightens the day once again.

Now with the busy-ness of November behind me, I can get squared away for the month of December and get back to some sense of a daily writing routine. And there is still much to write. But for now, I’m simply focusing on those many things of which I’m thankful. I hope everyone else has plenty to be thankful for, as well….CortlandWriter

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“Race Weekend” and a special Fathers Day…

Time to catch up…

 

Shot by “The Daredevil” at Daytona during Speedweeks 2008 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

Every Father’s Day weekend for the past several years, our cottage here on Magician Lake has become “ground zero” for a NASCAR “Race Weekend,” culminating with the Sprint Cup race on Sunday at Michigan International Speedway.

 

This annual event begins with the arrival of my older sister and her husband on Thursday morning, followed by my son and grandson and a couple other “regulars” from home on Friday. When the weather is nice—which it was early on—most of the time is spent down on the pier, in the water, or on the pontoon boat. A few of the group play golf on Saturday morning, while “gramps” stays at the cottage and has fun with grandson, Jack, and tends the coals in the Weber where a pork butt smokes gently away, preparing to end up as pulled pork for the post-race sandwiches at M.I.S. on Sunday.

 

My son and my sister carry out a necessary task early Saturday morning—an annual tradition—of shopping for food and other goodies needed for the Saturday night meal and the next day’s food supplies over at the speedway. Don’t even ask to go along with them as they visit the Meijer store; it’s their own domain and one which requires no “outside” tampering or tweaking!

 

Of course from Thursday on, there is plenty of cold beer and other refreshments available for all tastes. It’s a well-behaved gathering, full of many laughs, jokes, and various other forms of goofiness. And since we hit the road for the two-and-a-half hour drive over to M.I.S. In Brooklyn, located in the Irish Hills, by 5:00 a.m., it’s usually a pretty early night on Saturday.

 

This year, most of us Chicago Blackhawks’ fans stayed up to listen to the game vs. Boston. Since no TV was available, we were gathered on the porch, around the little portable radio, late into the night. Alas, the outcome was not good for us. Losing in overtime, the team gave none of us reason to stay up to listen to any post-game chatter, so radios were clicked off as soon as Boston scored its winning overtime goal.

 

Disappointed? Yes, but all was forgotten once we rolled out onto I-94, eastbound for a day of fun and more refreshments and good memories. Arriving before 8:00 a.m., we ended up with a decent parking spot in Lot 3A, our regular area, and breakfast was soon in the offing before the morning got too far along. Eggs, bacon, hash browns, biscuits, and gravy were tasty and well received.

 

And so we all settled back and enjoyed the morning, before heading into the track and our seats for the start of the race. The “iffy” weather cleared out, and it was a sunshine-filled afternoon—perfect for the race!

 

Sitting beside my seven-year-old grandson and my son was special on this Fathers’ Day. We are fans of Roush Racing (Greg Biffle and Carl Edwards) and both had very good races, particularly Biffle who was the winner when it was all said and done.

 

Afterwards, it was back to the tailgate area for the pulled pork sandwiches and various “sides” and more cold refreshments. Wife Carolyn was one of the designated drivers, and friend Ed was the other one, so we had that arranged ahead of time. It was good to relax in the shade of the pop-up tent and to enjoy the delicious food. I always enjoy that part of the day before we have to break things down, pack the Ford 150s, and drive back to the cottage. The food is always wonderful, but perhaps it was even more so this year since my driver won the race!

 

Writing this from the peace and quiet of the cottage porch, where just a couple of days previous there was lots of talk, laughter, and good times, I realize that it was another terrific “Race Weekend” and anticipate next year’s already. Now, I need to get back to work on my writing and revising my novel. Stay tuned…CortlandWriter

 

Michigan International Speedway (2008) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)