The planets seemed to align for me on Thursday morning when the steady rain stopped just before I hit “publish” on my last post of unintelligible nothingness, and a Noon appointment I had was changed to 1 PM, thus allowing me to squeeze in a 3-mile hike at Deerfield Park. There was much rejoicing.
After last week’s two-day getaway, I embraced not leaving the house for a few days like a fly to a fresh turd, Wifey promptly left for a quick trip to Pennsylvania to visit her family, and B went to visit friends up north.
While I joked with Wifey that me alone in the house would lead to un-idle hands, bad decisions, solo naked frolicking (probably with food), and deleted search histories, I actually just hung out with the dogs, dranks some beers, listened to music, and watched the Women’s European Championship before dragging my ass to Forest Hill Nature Area for a photo creep late Sunday morning.
This is part two in a nine-part travelogue devoted to a recent two-day trip to Boyne City. I jest, it’s two parts, and you are under no obligation to read a word. Part I is HERE. — Management.
With no job, dogs, or kid to be up for, Wifey and I took our time getting out of bed the next morning. Then it was off to Lake Charlevoix Coffee for, well, coffee.
This is part one in a nine-part travelogue devoted to a recent two-day trip to Boyne City. I jest, it’s two parts, and you are under no obligation to read a word. — Management.
Earlier this week, Wifey and I went on a mid-week “weekend excursion” to the Boyne City, Michigan area to do some hiking, some beaching, and some celebrating of our 25th wedding anniversary. We would also acknowledge my 51st birthday, which would be coming two days later and have me making the turn on to the back nine of life.
The following is a big ol’ dump of photos from the past few days. There are tiny flowers, bugs, birds, birds WITH bugs, dogs, toads, frogs, and a couple of my favorite gingers.
Most of these photos have shown up in my Instagram feed recently, but here you can actually see some details in the photos without selling your soul to Meta or whatever Zuckerberg calls his money-grubbing shit show these days.
Like Al Camus (not that one, the Al Camus that works at Marty’s Bar washing dishes) once said, “sometimes you have to look over your shoulder before you can fail.” And that, my friends, is why I am here today.
The past couple of weeks have been a blur of keeping up with B’s last days as a high school senior and his last weeks of club soccer. Somewhere between all that stuff, I’ve been at the gym 3 to 4 times a week, taking care of the springtime needs of the Cul De Sac Shack and getting out for some creeps around the woods, stalking birds and other critters with my camera.
I feel like I have had too many “lost weeks” lately. And by that, I mean that I know I’ve done stuff; my house, husband, and dad duties, as well as hitting the gym, photo hikes, and Mindbender visits, but in the end, I don’t feel like I have anything to show for it.
It’s been a minute and a half since my last post, but there is a very good reason for that; weather, travel, gym time, and soccer dad duties have conspired to keep me out of the woods with my camera, and no one exactly wants to read this shit anyway, let alone read this shit when it has nothing to do with anything even vaguely outdoor-related and only features photos of my kid playing soccer, a bowl of pasta I made for lunch, or my dogs. Unless, of course, I’ve misjudged my ever-dwindling audience and the blog’s SEO stats (I think I have those).
It’s Friday morning, and I’m writing this to kill some time before going to the gym to lift heavy things for no reason. I am also writing in an attempt to cajole the last shreds of motivation in my mind into doing such an absurd thing. I feel like a sassy $5 hooker talking up my game to any pedestrian walking down my side of the street. And as you might imagine, motivational talk from someone who is blindly confidant yet so clearly undervalues their talents is not great. Of course, I’m also trying to quash the mental snapshot of myself wearing a crop top, booty shorts, pink wig, fishnets, and combat boots as I hustle my side of the cul de sac. “$5, and I’ll show you the time of your life. Where else are you gonna get chlamydia this good? ‘Cmon, baby.” Or something like that.
