I just found out today is National Author’s Day. How appropriate! The creative writing club I started at school met this afternoon at the end of the school day. There is never a dull meeting. They are so passionate about their interests, including but not limited to writing. I’ve watched as members have bonded over music and other media. It is inspiring how they support one another, too.
In the online school environment, there aren’t quite as many opportunities to strike up friendships with classmates as in brick and mortar. Personally, I think that is why school clubs are so vital in an online school environment. Last year, my first year teaching online, I watched as students planned for weeks and even months for the in-person prom held at the Lansing Center. Students attended from all over Michigan. The pictures, conversations, and friendships made that evening were discussed repeatedly as the school year came to a close. I can only hope that that same can be said when I reflect on the creative writing club at the end of the school year.
In my first year as mentor and creator of the club, I sought to find the best possible resources for aspiring high school writers. Luckily, my online classroom set aside for our new club allowed me to do just that. It is now a place where students can collaborate, offer one another and seek encouragement, as well as find resources and inspiration. I can only imagine if I had had such a resource in high school. I admit, I’ve had too much fun setting things up. So far, my entire experience with the creative writing club has underscored the importance of community as a writer.
Face it: Writing can be lonely work. Over the years, I’ve always enjoyed meeting other writers. I can’t imagine where I’d be as a writer without Mid-Michigan Writers. I’ve learned so much from other members over the years, and I would not have discovered Delta College’s general writing certificate program if I hadn’t attended MMW’s Gateway to Writing workshop with other writers who raved about the experience. If my students take away anything from our creative writing club, I do hope that they realize the importance of community for writers. Brainstorming works best with others! At some point, we could all use a second opinion. We all have to learn from someone. I can’t imagine not having my very own community of writers and readers. Happy National Author’s Day!
After watching Reagan (amazing movie, by the way) on Sunday, realizing that we as a nation have argued over the exact same issues for at least 60 years, and the passing of James Earl Jones on Monday, I’m in the mood for nostalgia. When I learned the news that he had passed away, Jones’ speech in Field of Dreams (1989) came to mind immediately. After well over 30 years, it still holds up. It remains one of my favorite movies, and quite possibly the ultimate baseball movie, aside from Ken Burns’ epic documentary Baseball (1994). Enjoy!
I’m always conflicted Labor Day Weekend. On one hand, I am happy for summer and the canoe livery to be over for the time being. Fall is my favorite season. I’m eager to get back to the classroom. On the other hand, I love 10 PM sunsets and the very idea of the endless summers of my childhood. I vividly remember my dad taking my sister and me home to put us to bed while it was still light out, begging him to take the backway home (Jose Rd.), Erica and I exhausted from a full day swimming in the river. We lived the river all summer long. At 10, I distinctly remember walking downtown Omer during Suckerfest in early April, fixated on how unfair it was that it would be close to two months before I could swim in the Rifle again.
As of late, I watch and notice how my niece and nephew enjoy being kids growing up at the canoe livery. Each year brings forth more long-forgotten childhood memories. This weekend, my niece and a friend took tubes to the end of the road and floated around the entire campground back to our dock. My friends and I did this countless times at their age. To be 10 again without a care in the world!
Earlier this summer, I overheard kids discussing what I grew up calling “rocky.” It is a simple game. All one needs is two people, a tube, and a body of water. Two kids sit across from one another on the tube and lock legs, bouncing as hard as possible to knock the other kid off into the river. Our river version required a short walk upstream and had a natural time limit. We would walk the short, sandy straightaway upstream leading to the dock, the object being to knock the other person off before we reached the dock. My sister Erica, our cousin Abby, and I spent countless hours playing various versions of this game, leaving the river waterlogged with suits and hair full of sand. I am grateful that, in spite of all that has changed in the last 30 plus years, I still live in a world where children are still allowed carefree summers.
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’m a fighter not a lover.” Well, that isn’t the case – I’m both, which I will get to in a minute – but there is a story behind this twisted saying that I wanted to share. It’s been on my mind lately. When Grandma Reid passed away in January 2017, an old childhood friend stopped by the funeral home to pay her respects. The two of us grew up together, and she worked with me and Grandma at the canoe livery for a summer or two. As we talked about Grandma, Melanie told me a story about her I’d never heard before. According to Mel, Grandma once said “I’m a fighter not a lover.” It struck Mel as so funny and out of character that she remembered it all those years later and thought to tell me. Knowing Grandma, a slip of the tongue became a memorable line.
What strikes me so funny and makes the entire thing so memorable is that I can easily see it going either way. It wouldn’t surprise me If Grandma intended to say she’s a fighter just to get a rise out of someone. She could tease mercilessly. Anyone who knew her knows she loved everyone. I am heavily biased, of course, but I cannot remember one instance in which she picked a fight. Instead, she loved on kids of all ages. Whether it putt-putt golf, a movie, or a trip to the mall arcade, she included everyone.
But Grandma did fight too. She stuck up for herself when needed and forged her way as a business woman at a time when most women stayed at home. I consider that fighting. Some of her best advice included stick up for yourself. I think that is why this comes to mind now.
In fact, if I think about it for a minute, I can take it one step further: All of us – every one of us – needs to fight for the life we want to live. We need to fight for happiness and what we want out of life. I continue to struggle doing just that, but I am fighting. As much as I would love to give up, I won’t. I am made of sterner stuff – and I am far too stubborn.
If you haven’t checked out the Guest Posts page yet, you are missing out. I finally got around to finding a home for my other writing. In the next few weeks, this page will be growing quickly. As I put it together, I realized that I haven’t done a great job of curating my own work.
When I choose to do a guest post, I choose carefully. I want my writing to be at home with other work on the page. You will see that I have work in a variety of places, everything from a local genealogy newsletter to a website highlighting legends and paranormal activity in Michigan. It is important to find the right home for your work.
One of my favorites is Adela’s Once a Little Girl. So far, I’ve only written one piece for her blog, but I will eventually write others. Her blog focuses on childhood from the point of view of a little girl. When I originally submitted my piece on Christmas and Santa, she had to change it slightly because she has young readers. I love her work.
Other work for the Macbeth Academy blog, the Macbeth Post, is already scheduled, as are other pieces for Spartans Helping Spartans. If you haven’t checked out either site yet, do so. There is plenty of great information on both.
Macbeth Academy continues to inspire me. It is a largely online academy dedicated to student writing. Until I connected with Director Kayla Solinsky, I did not realize such online academies exist. Soon I may share my own thoughts and ideas relating to Macbeth Academy itself here. I will eventually do an informational interview with Kayla.
I love where I am going at the moment. I’ve come across so many great resources and opportunities for writers lately that I can’t wait to share them with everyone. If you can dream it, there is a place for it whether online or in print.
I enjoyed reading Marlena. While it contains components of a YA (young adult) novel, I would classify it as emerging adult. Fair warning: Lots of drugs and sex involved. The good news is that the drugs, and to a lesser extent, sex, drive the plot. They are necessary to the plot, and fortunately, do not glamorize the consequences of either. By the way, when I mention drugs here, I am including alcohol.
I didn’t read Marlena with a set purpose in mind. It wasn’t a book club pick or anything. In fact, I discovered it by browsing a selection of online books available through my library’s website. It just sounded good. It is ultimately a tale of two best friends growing up in a dull northern Michigan town. It took a while for me to get into the book. The protagonist, Cat, isn’t the easiest person to get to know. Also, in the beginning, I didn’t get the fixation on drugs. She clearly understands right from wrong, but she is fixated on her new best friend Marlena and making the worst possible choices for her life. By approximately a quarter of the way through the book, I was hooked and found it difficult to put down.
Cat, at least the older, wiser version in the novel, nails what it is like to grow up, to love and lose. There are so many powerful lines I found myself highlighting them in my Kindle copy, forgetting that it is a library book. Below are a few of what I consider to be the most powerful lines in the novel.
Close enough to being a writer, isn’t it, working at a library? – Page 45
As an aspiring writer, I loved this quote. Ultimately, Cat is a writer, but it took her a while to find her voice. Her empathy for other young women is clearly demonstrated later in the novel in her approach to difficult young library patrons.
For so many women, the process of becoming requires two. It’s not hard to make out the marks the other one left. – Page 96
This passage really made me think. I thought of the friends, male and female, in both high school and college, who helped to shape the woman I became. It made me think of what I wrote about W.M here in particular. There is something to be said for reconnecting with old friends after years apart and seemingly nothing (and everything) has changed.
I think it’s pretty common for teenagers to fantasize about dying young. We knew that time would force us into sacrifices – we wanted to flame out before making the choices that would determine who we became. When you were an adult, all the promise of your life was foreclosed upon, every day just a series of compromises mitigated by little pleasures that distracted you from your former wildness, from your truth. – Pages 129-130
This struck a nerve with me as well. First, I vividly remember being terrified of dying young as a teenager. Both of my parents lost close relatives as teenagers, and those stories stayed with me. Second, the fact that “time would force us into sacrifices” continues to be at the forefront of my mind. I have always tried to find a way to leave as many doors open as possible. There is just too much I want to do in life.
I was always aware, in some buried place, that girls my age had just entered their peak prettiness, and that once my pretty years were spent my value would begin leaking away. I saw it on TV and in magazines, in the faces of my teachers and women in the grocery store, women who were no longer looked at … – Page 143
I so desperately want this not to be true, but it is true. I loathe this fact about our culture. Hopefully I will live long enough to see it change, permanently.
Before that year I was nothing but a soft, formless girl, waiting for someone to come along and tell me who to be. – Page 250
Thinking back to what I was like at ages 15-16, I like to think I was somehow stronger than Cat. Unfortunately, that just isn’t the case; I could closely identify with Cat in the novel. It makes the novel much darker. There is a fine line between the successful teenage Cat and the degenerate.
I would recommend the book, especially if you love to write or like reading about love and loss (or even friendship in general). Is the story sad? Yes, but it is also full of hope. It does seem that Cat is at least trying to deal with her loss, with varying degrees of success.
I know I have talked about this before, but I am convinced the right books find me at exactly the right time. While I certainly wouldn’t call Marlena great literature, it addresses certain topics I would like to cover in my own writing. I will be rereading this novel.
It is no secret that Winston Churchill is one of my favorite historical figures (although one among many). As quotes are a big part of the curriculum where I will be teaching, I decided to start off the school year with this quote. I love it. Students may not fully appreciate it until they are older, but man, is it ever true. There is always the opportunity to start over and to make tomorrow better than today.
This is precisely why I love Churchill. He refused to give up in the worst of circumstances. Period. I want to build upon that idea all year long. In fact, my Spanish classes will definitely be studying Frida Kahlo. She had that same tenacity. In fact, I wish that I could show the movie Frida (one of my favorites). Unfortunately, that isn’t a possibility. Hopefully, sharing some of her artwork and quotes will inspire them anyway.
It is by studying those who came before us and accomplished great things that we can truly become inspired. This is why I love memoir, biographies, and autobiographies. So many times I am left wondering how people persevered in the face of what appeared to be insurmountable obstacles. There is always a way.
If you haven’t checked out the 
Ramblings of a Misguided Blonde 