I don’t understand. I adore writing, and I have no shortage of material. In fact, I came across my blogging notebook today. Page after page full of great ideas I have not yet written. I also came across another binder of writing projects, as well as my writing portfolio from one of my favorite writing classes, a class I took at Delta College nearly a decade ago. What to do with it all? It is time to bring it all together. Why is it so difficult for me to write consistently for long stretches of time? Why did I abandon poetry again? I came across some wonderful pieces. Pieces that need a home.
Then there are the larger projects. Mom and I need to finish her series of children’s board books, abandoned nearly nine years ago. I still love them. Over the last several years, I’ve toyed around with the idea of writing a book about the canoe livery. It is time to put in the research. I need to interview my parents and former employees before it is too late. I do not want those stories to be lost, even if they are never published. There are simply too many good ones.
So, what is getting in the way? Quite simply, life. Accepting a position as a 10th grade English teacher at Michigan Virtual Charter Academy (MVCA) back in August, I’ve been busy. While I subbed at MCVA most of last school year, I am now a full-fledged faculty member who hadn’t yet experienced the start of the school year – and all that brings (I started in early October last year). In other words, I’m now getting back to finding time to write. Just because you have prepared for a new school year in a brick and mortar school does not mean that you know the ins and outs of preparing for a new school year at a virtual school.
One highlight of the school year is creating an official high school creative writing club. I am passionate about it. So far, I’ve been able to create a safe online space for students interested in creative writing. As a club, there are no academic expectations. We are writing for the sheer creative power of it. By the way, MVCA offers a creative writing course as well. This … this is something different, something special.
Thus far, I’ve curated websites that might help budding high school creative writers. I’ve also shared my favorite quotes and books on writing. There is space for students to share their work amongst themselves. I can’t imagine what I would’ve done with those resources, all online and free, and such a nurturing community. The best part is the enthusiasm of my students. I’ve watched them form fast friendships over favorite music, video games, books, movies, and more. They are so supportive of one another. I can’t wait to see all that we will accomplish this year. That includes getting back to my own writing.
At times, the ending of a TV series works, and at others, it doesn’t (I’m looking at you Seinfeld!). When Cheers aired its final episode in May 1993, I watched. I remember Shelley Long (Diane) returning and the cast partying as it aired (infamously so), but I do not remember it being so poignant. The final scenes with Sam and Norm, and later, Sam alone in the bar, are now among my favorite TV series endings of all time.
Growing up, I adored Cheers. I watched it with my parents every week. As an adult, I rewatched the series. The characters still hold up. It wasn’t just the main characters – Sam, Diane, Coach, Carla, Woody, and Rebecca – that drew us back every week, but an entire complimentary cast of characters capable of anything – Norm and Cliff, not to mention Frasier and Lillith. The episode in which we met Lillith remains one of the funniest. Throughout the rest of the series, Dr. Lilith Sternin-Crane developed into one of the funniest and quirkiest female characters on TV. She is still one of my favorite TV characters after all these decades.
Who can forget Lilith? Enough said.
Aside from all of the laughs and hijinks throughout the series, the humanity of all of the characters (every last one deeply flawed) shined through. Yet, the last scenes of the final episode hit me right in the gut. It isn’t every day that a TV show can make you deeply and profoundly appreciate what you have.
It starts innocently enough. Norm stays after everyone else heads out after welcoming Sam back to the bar after escaping marriage to Daine yet again. He didn’t want anyone else to hear what he has to say, and he’s up for one last beer, of course. He tells Sam that love is the true meaning of life. He continues to state that people are always faithful to their one true love, that he’d be unable to be unfaithful to her. When Sam asks whom that would be, Norm simply states “Think about it, Sam,” smiles, and leaves, setting up the final shots of Sam in the bar alone.
Alone in his bar, Sam slowly realizes that it is his bar that is the love of his life. He recognizes just how much it, and all those in it, mean to him. He even straightens Coach’s framed portrait of Geronimo before closing up. In a clever twist, the final shot of Sam closing up and heading towards the back entrance of the bar mirrors the opening of the series in which Sam makes his way to the front of the bar as he is opening up for the day.
Nearly 30 years ago … Working with Grandma Reid at the canoe livery.
All I can say is this: As someone who has spent her entire life watching her parents and grandparents build a family business – and as someone who will one day fully take over said business with her brother – I get it. Boy, do I ever get it. I can’t imagine my life without the canoe livery. I hope that I never have to do so. It is the people – employees (current and former) and customers – that make the business, along with the river and the land itself. I’m lucky, indeed.
I say it often, but we have the best customers. I estimate that 99% of our customers are great. The remaining 1% make for great stories. We are currently winding down for the year, but when spring comes once again, I will be ready to start it all over again.
Dr. Fraiser Crane in one of the longest-running TV characters in history. The reboot of Fraiser will soon start its second season.
July 1984 – Tawas, Michigan – Hamming it up with my Schneider and McTaggart cousins at Aunt Tara and Uncle Bill’s wedding. Thank you Aunt Amy for helping me locate this picture!
Sometimes, a picture can bring up a wide-range of emotions: joy, sadness, nostalgia, and everything else. Earlier this summer, I sent my aunts on a search for the picture above. It had been on my mind for some time. I consider it one of the definitive photos of my childhood; one that has always stood out. First, Grandma Buttrick had it framed in one of the back bedrooms of her house for many years. I always enjoyed coming across it during visits. For that reason alone, the picture remains a favorite.
While I was too young to remember having the picture taken at my Aunt Tara’s wedding to Uncle Bill in July of 1984, I grew up hearing all about it. I can’t tell you how many times I heard the story of how I, at three years old, took the instruction to smile at everyone as a flower girl walking down the aisle much too literally. I stopped at every pew. At the end of the ceremony, I cried and ran after my mom as she left the church in the processional as a bridesmaid. I didn’t understand that I just needed to follow my older cousins. My only memory from that day is a hazy notion of playing at the beach on the animal-shaped play equipment at the Tawas City park during the reception.
July 1984 – Smiling for the camera right after the ceremony … Thank you to Aunt Tara for locating this gem.
In the picture, I see myself as a little girl full of personality and character. There is no doubt that I was a ham like my mom, an extrovert. When I look at this picture, I see “before.” Before self-doubt, before losing self-confidence, before I realized that my body is, and always has been, all wrong; in other words, before kindergarten. Prior to kindergarten, no one – not my parents, grandparents, cousins, other adults, other children, or preschool classmates – made me feel inferior in any way. No one asked me to be something that I wasn’t, no one called me fat or ugly. I could be myself.
Don’t get me wrong, I loved school. I would not be a teacher today if that wasn’t the case. I loved learning, I had some great teachers, and most of my classmates were great. Yet, I dreaded gym and recess all throughout elementary school. In gym, always picked last for any game, I just wanted to be good enough. During recess, other students started picking up on just how different my body is and was. When you hear that you are fat and ugly on a daily basis at that young of age, you start to believe it. It becomes a part of you.
1985 – Playing @ The Cottage on Sage Lake with McTaggart and Schneider cousins.
Oddly, things improved a bit during junior high. I cared about my grades, others didn’t. Suddenly, I didn’t care so much about peer pressure. I began to see it for what it was, even though I would have given anything to be what was then considered “normal.” Keep in mind that this included the era of grunge, emo, and heroin chic. Any “normal” adolescent felt inadequate when faced with the popular culture of the time. While I finally did come into my own in high school and college, this picture makes me wonder what I missed all those years in-between. What if I hadn’t had to work so hard for self-confidence? What if I could have kept that early childhood enthusiasm and creativity? What if I hadn’t turned inward in the face of constant bullying in elementary school? What could I have accomplished? What if? That is what this picture represents: possibility. Unadultered possibility.
John and I at my sister Erica’s wedding to Fred @ Crystal Creek Campground – June 8th, 2024
I don’t often get too personal here, unless it involves the past, so here it goes. I’ve been dating John Burke for nearly four years now. We’ve had so many wonderful times together so far, and I just want him to publicly know how much he means to me! Here’s to many more years of concerts and other plans!
Love you,
Lindsey
PS – Who knew that online dating during a worldwide pandemic over 40 could work?
Hanging out @ Michigan State Fall 2021Waiting for the Blue October/Goo Goo Dolls concert to start! August 2022June 2023 Tubing Trip! State Rd.
I thought that I would share the latest version of our Russell Canoe Livery promo video. Put together by Garrett Russell, much, if not all, of the footage was created by him as well. I’d love for him to create more! Due to copyright and music editing issues, it is best to watch the video without sound.
Ah. Camp! Such a loaded small word. First and foremost, there is camping with family and friends. Even though my parents owned and operated two campgrounds and a canoe livery, I didn’t grow up camping much in the traditional sense. Even if we didn’t camp much, the overnight canoe trips we took with Dad (Mom was one and done!) were legendary. I think about the planning that went into our trips and how we broke the “rules” and threw a tube in with our gear – Erica and I taking turns tubing for a bit; Dad pretending to leave me in the dust when it was my turn, waiting for me around the next bend. Mrs. Taylor would be waiting for us at Cedar Springs with ice cream cones.
Over the years, I attended the National Turner Syndrome Camp, memorized Bible verses at church camp, spent endless hours playing with cousins at deer camp(s) (there were deer camps on each side of my family), helped run 4-H day camps for elementary students, and ended up with my picture in the paper participating in a local Vacation Bible School day camp. I also attended Camp Oak Hills as a Brownie, my first time away from home aside from spending the night at my grandparents’ house, and the Broad Business Student Camp (BBSC) at Michigan State, which led to my decision to attend the Eli Broad College of Business (hence the name) at Michigan State University to study supply chain management. Quite simply, much of my life as a child and young adult – indeed, some of my best memories – involved camp in some way, shape, or form. I would not be the same person without it.
Each August, Grandma and Grandpa Buttrick would take us grandkids to Kenton in the Upper Peninsula (almost to Watersmeet) for a week, the site of a hunting camp passed down on Grandpa’s side for generations, the land originally homesteaded by my Forward ancestors. We spent the week visiting waterfalls, riding the hills around camp, swimming in and hiking around Tippy Lake, traveling into the tiny village of Kenton itself to visit the grocery store/library/post office, and holding target practice with Grandpa using a pellet gun. At night, there were hot games of Uno and Spoons around the living room table. As a kid, there is nothing better than sharing a bunk room with your siblings and cousins!
So many camp memories stand out. As a child attending church camp at Bayshore Camp in Michigan’s Thumb, I first experienced tipping over in a canoe. As a tween, I paired up with a boy I didn’t know well. In spite of explaining that I had years of canoeing experience as my parents’ owned a campground and canoe livery, he insisted on steering. Inevitably, we ended up in the lake, the coolness of the lake hopefully camouflaging my rising anger. I have never forgotten.
My friend Brenna and I outside of King Mountain Ranch in Estes Park, Colorado. The 2nd Annual National Turner Syndrome Camp 1996.
Years later, as a teen, I attended the National Turner Syndrome Camp at King Mountain Ranch in Estes Park, Colorado. I met other teen girls who faced the same physical, emotional, and social challenges as me for the first time. Words fail me other than to say that those experiences at King Mountain Ranch filled me with a confidence that I would not have had otherwise. One of my favorite memories is of how my friends and I scared ourselves silly watching The Shining after learning that the movie was filmed nearby. It is still my favorite horror movie and my favorite Stephen King novel. Those two years attending the National Turner Syndrome Camp still mean so much decades later. Most of all, I hope children of all ages have the opportunity to experience camp in all its forms. Those varied experiences not only added to my education in invaluable ways, but they shaped the person I am today in countless ways.
I’ve been thinking about the delicate balance between reading and writing lately. As a writer, I love to create. At the same time, I am continually inspired by what I read. I am still trying to find a balance. When you add in teaching and my love of technology, it becomes easier to see why I should be both writing and reading more.
Over the last several years, I’ve dabbled in other forms of storytelling. As I earned my writing certificate through Delta College, I had the opportunity to take a screenwriting course. While I have no plans to write screenplays, it opened me up to the storytelling potential of even short videos. I’ve never looked at movies the same since. During the pandemic, I dabbled with learning how to podcast. I found it fun, but unlike here at Ramblings of a Misguided Blonde, I would like to dedicate a podcast to a single topic. I haven’t found the right topic … yet.
As a teacher, I took a short digital storytelling class a few summers ago. I learned so much, and as I pursue teaching online, I am sure that I will have the opportunity to create several videos for my classes. Today, I thought I’d share the video that I created a few summers ago. Just another fun form to explore!
The post was originally published on an earlier version of my blog. I’ve slightly updated and modified the post. Anything in bold I added to the original post. Tigers’ opening day is April 5th at Comerica Park! GO Tigers!
I’ve tried writing this post several times over the last several years. Sometimes there is so much to say, no mere words can do the subject justice. Somewhere along the line, somewhere between childhood and adulthood, I forgot what baseball once meant to me. I also forgot just how intertwined baseball is with some of my favorite childhood memories.
Back in 2012, it all started with me getting the crazy idea that my baseball obsessed ex-boyfriend Brian and I should watch the Ken Burns’ documentary Baseball – all almost 20 hours of it. I checked it out from the library sometime early in September 2012. Brian and I then spent the next couple of weeks watching the entire documentary, including great interviews with Bob Costas, Yogi Berra, and Rachel Robinson, the widow of Jackie Robinson, among others.
For me, the most memorable part of the series had to be the clip of Bob Costas discussing his first experience at Yankee Stadium with his father. As a young child, he was awed by the sheer size of the stadium and the size of the pitching mound. After the game, fans back then could cross the field to a second exit. As Bob Costas and his father crossed the field, he became very upset. He loved baseball so much that somewhere during his childhood, he got the idea that Yankee greats such as Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig were buried on the field. He didn’t want to disturb what he believed to be their graves. The stories of baseball memories bringing together fathers and sons, as well as fathers and daughters, stayed with me.
Mom, Dad, and I ~ 1983
Dad sporting his lucky #3 hat. Some of my earliest memories are of watching the Detroit Tigers on TV with my dad.
I found myself asking why baseball is so different from football, hockey, or basketball. I’m not sure, but I do know this: there is something about baseball that transcends time. I have memories of watching the Red Wings win the Stanley Cup in 1996 and 1997 with Dad, as well as countless other games, but my most powerful memories all relate to baseball.
Many of my earliest memories of Dad involve baseball. As a very young child, I remember watching the Detroit Tigers with Dad and eating Schwann’s black cherry ice cream. Somehow, Dad ended up attending one of the 1984 World Series games at Tiger Stadium. At that game, he bought a signed baseball that sat on the roll-top desk in his office for years. In fact, it might still be there. I loved that baseball and thought that it was amazing that Dad attended one of the World Series games. I also remember rummaging through the top drawer of Dad’s desk and coming across his father’s Masonic ring. In the eyes of a young girl, the Masonic symbol was a baseball diamond. Above all, there were the games.
My youngest nephew, Owen, sporting lucky #3 and keeping the tradition alive, even if it is his basketball jersey. Dad always seemed to end up as #3.
Throughout my early childhood, Dad, a former high school athlete who played football, basketball, and baseball, played on a men’s softball team. As a preschooler, I loved watching Dad play ball. I liked the entire experience. I was so proud to have Dad out there in his lucky #3 baseball hat with his well-worn glove. I loved watching him bat.
Of course, it wasn’t just about baseball. I also loved playing in the dirt next to the dugout, running around the poker straight pine trees behind the dugout, and playing with the old-fashioned water pump between the dugout and the pines. More than anything, I loved going to the bar with everyone after the games. As Dad and his friends, along with their wives and girlfriends, drank pitchers of beer and talked, I played pinball, foosball, Pac Man, and enjoyed pop and chips. It is no wonder I could relate to adults well as a child. I spent a lot of time around adults and enjoyed every minute of it.
I also loved spending time at my grandparents’ house. A trip to my dad’s parents’ home wouldn’t be complete without spending time with their neighbor’s son, Brian K. We were the same age, and he happened to have something I wanted desperately as a child, a tree house! I vividly remember one afternoon spent playing in his tree house. His dog somehow came off his lead, and I became scared as I really didn’t know his dog. Brian K. told me to hang out in the tree house until he chained up the dog.
That day, his mom invited me to attend one of Brian K.’s Little League game with his family – a big deal in the eyes of a six year-old! I felt honored to be sitting on the sidelines cheering on Brian K. along with his parents. At the time, of course, I wanted to be out there on the field too. While I did play softball for one season at age 11, I am no athlete. Grandpa Reid, who loved to watch me play, insisted he never saw anyone walk more than I did. As I’ve always been exceedingly short, no one ever learned how to pitch to me. Instead, I collected baseball cards.
I’m not exactly sure when and why I started collecting baseball cards, but my favorite will always be the Topps 1987 wood grain cards. They remind me of Grandpa B. My maternal great-grandparents owned a cottage on Sage Lake in northern Michigan. I spent many summer weekends there with my parents, my siblings, my grandparents, and much of my extended family. At the cottage, Grandpa loved to get all of us grandkids, all girls at the time, in his station wagon to take us to the pop shop. He let us pick out whatever we wanted. I picked out baseball cards to add to my collection, mainly ’87 Topps. I still have my baseball card collection and fond memories of Grandpa asking me if I was sure that is what I wanted.
I loved everything about collecting baseball cards: organizing them by team, deciding which packs of cards to purchase, and looking up prices. All fun! It is fitting that I lost interest in collecting cards as I became a teenager. My last full set dates to the strike-shortened 1994 season. Around that time, I lost interest in baseball. Coincidentally, it is also the same year the local IGA, my favorite place to purchase cards, closed.
That same year, Dad took Erica, Garrett, and me to a Tigers game at Tiger Stadium on the corner of Michigan and Trumbull. That day happened to be Little League Day. My Dad knew this, so he had my sister wear her softball shirt, my brother his t-ball shirt and hat, and me my old softball shirt. As a result, we had the opportunity to go out onto the field before the game. I’ll never forget looking back at the stands of old Tiger Stadium from the field. I’m grateful to Dad for ensuring his kids had that experience. There is nothing better than going to a baseball game with your dad. Having the opportunity to get out on the field of a historic stadium made it that much better. Somehow I lost interest in the game, but it is still there, was always there, waiting to be rediscovered.
I’m looking forward to cheering on the two below this spring!
Ernie Harwell ~ The voice of Tigers’ Baseball for decades, narrating many summer road trips, especially with Grandma Reid.
I LOVE all of the items on this list! Check it out if you have a few minutes.
What is it about being 18 that makes it so special? My best guess is that 18 represents a sweet spot. While childhood is largely behind you at 18, you are legally an adult. There are few things that one is not old enough to do at 18 – with the exception of legally drinking, renting a car, or reserving a hotel room. Yet, there are plenty of youthful years left. At the same time, high school is now behind you – or about to be. It is time to look ahead. Many 18 year olds have yet to figure out exactly what they want to do when it comes to a career or post-secondary education. The possibilities are endless.
I distinctly remember 18 and being so excited to move on from high school and my hometown. I could not get to Michigan State fast enough. A lot of time, preparation, and hard work made my years at Michigan State a success. My wish for all 18 year olds and all members of the class of 2024 is for them to experience that sense of wonder and endless possibility for themselves.
The middle of March will always bring memories of long family weekends in Grayling, MI. Every year, we would attend the annual Michigan Recreational Canoeing Association meeting. For my parents, it meant meetings, ordering merchandise for the summer ahead, and sharing ideas with other canoe livery owners. As a child, it meant a long weekend swimming in the hotel pool, interspersed with time in the arcade and ordering pizza at least once. Above all, I counted it as a sure sign of spring and the long summer to come. Throughout my childhood, I considered it the first sign of spring – right up there with the return of the robins,
I loved going to the Holidome for the weekend. My immediate family all attended, of course, but the entire conference took on the atmosphere of a family reunion at times. When my aunt married, she and her then husband Kevin purchased a canoe livery on the AuSable. We spent lots of time with Aunt Amy during RCA weekends. In fact, when Aunt Amy later helped my mom and I place orders for the upcoming summer during the pandemic – an experience I hope to never repeat – it sparked a bit of nostalgia between sisters. As Mom and Aunt Amy said, we were the association before the association. They reminisced about the old meetings and some of the more memorable owners. At one point, my dad even served as president.
Other liveries on the Rifle attended too. One of my dad’s best friends at the time, Phil, owned Cedar Springs. His wife and daughter, both named Connie, attended as well. Both were family favorites. Phil’s daughter taught with my mom for years, while his wife watched us while we were in the pool from time to time. Every time we passed Cedar Springs on our annual overnight canoe trips with our dad, my sister Erica and I were treated to ice cream cones as we headed home on the river.
The White family attended as well. White’s Canoe Livery happened to be the first canoe livery on the Rifle. In fact, there would be no Russell Canoe Livery without White’s. My grandfather got the idea from Don White and then started Russell Rent-a-Canoe out of what is now my home. It all started in 1959 with a Ford pickup and a six haul of canoes. To this day, the only person I know who knows the Rifle River as well as my dad is Ladd White, Don’s son and current owner. I hate to think of the knowledge that will be lost when my dad and Ladd are no longer around.
Canoeing near the park in Omer ~ early 20th century. The site of the former Omer park is just downriver from our main location in Omer.
For some reason, I seem to remember that there would be a March canoe trip as part of the meetings. At one point, it may have been referred to as the Ides of March trip. As a child, that fascinated me. I could not understand why anyone would want to canoe in the winter. In my child’s mind, canoeing and tubing meant one thing and one thing only: swimming. What was the point of canoeing if you couldn’t get wet? That happened to be my biggest gripe about March. March supposedly brings spring, and yet, it would be months before I could swim the river again. It didn’t seem fair.
The Rifle River and Russell Canoe Livery will always be a part of me. My first home happened to be near our main location in Omer. One day, hopefully decades in the future, it will also be my last. March is when it all starts to spring to life once again. Reservations start rolling in, plans are made, and merchandise is ordered. I love it all, especially our customers. Here is to a wonderful summer 2024!
Ramblings of a Misguided Blonde 