JUST DO IT

If you don't try it, you'll never know if you can do it.  I think that was Dolores’ personal motto in life as she encouraged most of the young members of our family to venture into the unknown future.  A favorite t-shirt simply said “JUST DO IT”.  Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

Many years ago we ventured into the world of BOWLING, starting with couples league at church, and progressing to three and five men and ladies leagues.  I lasted many years until a couple of “nozdives” limited motion in my right shoulder.  Dolores, however, continued on in her favorite sport.

Some time ago I came upon three medals Dolores won while participating in the Wisconsin Senior Olympics. At the urging of my son and I, she reluctantly posed for a snapshot, without further explanation. 

While looking through a desk drawer, I recently came upon an envelope which held five gold, one silver and one bronze medal, all won in bowling competition at the Senior Olympics in the 2010 to 2016 period. We were aware that she partook in many such ventures, but she would not publicize such accomplishments.

This reminded us of her idea of a birthday party for the kids… Call and reserve six alleys at the local bowling establishment, fit the gang with balls and shoes, and let them all have at it…IF YOU DON’T TRY, YOU’LL NEVER KNOW IF YOU CAN.  She was a MASTER AT INSPIRATION.

I also found several cards inserted in various handbags and purses containing reminder mottos like:

     A WOMAN IS HELPLESS ONLY WHEN HER NAIL POLISH IS  DRYING

     THE WORLD IS A BOOK AND THOSE WHO DO NOT TRAVEL READ ONLY ONE PAGE

     IF YOU OBEY ALL THE RULES, YOU MISS ALL THE FUN

'Nuff said..........

     

WHAT ELSE IS THERE TO DO? i DON'T SMOKE

WHAT ELSE IS THERE TO DO?  I DON’T SMOKE!

During a recent interview, that was the answer given by a relatively senior lady when asked why she was sleeping more during the day.  My initial reaction was “There is a lady who knows what’s going on.”

I don’t smoke either, but it seems that I haven’t had any problem finding something else to do other than sleep.  Although, I see no problem using that pastime as an alternative. 

Problem is “it doesn’t help reduce the “to do” list.  I have been accused of “overplaying” the existence of the list, but I assure you it does exist, even if in unwritten form.   As time rolls by, the ”to do’s” start to accumulate and are occasionally replaced by items that, at the time, may be considered of higher importance or urgency.  Over long periods of time, such as the life of my “to do” list, the cost of both erasers and erasures would probably prove prohibitive.  Thus the reliance upon a mental (call it personal cloud) list.

The ability to whittle away at your list is often controlled by external factors, weather probably being the primary one.  Thunderstorms (5 months a year) preclude taking friends fishing on the big lake.  They also curtailed even local pleasure flights from and to little airports.  Snow and frigid temps eliminated ventures into our little forest in Wild Rose to tangle with the villainous Buckthorn, a never ender on the list.

Other items on the list are more easily kept in the shadow. Those items require not only the cooperation of the weatherman or lady, but of the mind and body also.  They are fueled by ambition and are often shuttled down the list by replacements more easily undertaken, even if by reason of pure simplicity or enjoyment.  The rule: take the easy ones first, take the fun ones first.   

I must admit that I applied the rule today when I skillfully shuttled the completion of my garden fountain down the list and opened the laptop to convey my thoughts on the lady’s response to that question.  I don’t smoke, but I certainly hope you don’t think that I am just “blowing smoke”……. 

MORE VENISON CHILI

It almost brought our planning meeting for the annual 2020 deer hunting trip to an abrupt conclusion.  I should not have mentioned my preparation of the large kettle of venison chili which constituted a prime component of our group’s traditional cabin menu.  Taken by complete surprise, I was informed that the newest member of the group did not eat “chili”.  I had heard that it was because it may have little “red” and “green” things in it.  I tried to convey my assurance that those elements created the marvelous flavor of my chili and they would probably be “cooked” to an unrecognizable state by the time of consumption.  His unwavering position, however, was that those “red” and “green” things would still be hiding in there somewhere, and he would prefer bacon or hot dogs. 

The 2020 hunting season, falling within the forgettable “covid19” dilemma, precluded our frequent visits to the various fine eating establishments in the area, so another approach to this “unexplainable” diversion from traditional, but rewarding, culinary ventures, would have to be created.

I decided that the best approach would be to corral the young hunter and invite him to participate in the creation of the chili masterpiece exactly as it is created, ingredient by ingredient, having him approve of each one, as it disappears into the final delectable product.   Thus, we could eliminate the mystery of the little red and green “things” hiding within.

Overcoming this next obstacle is now on our agenda.  We managed to avoid major confrontation during the 2020 season, since we did have the assistance of the new hunter's mother, fulfilling the position of camp manager and providing a menu totally satisfying to all.        

However, attempts to rectify foreseeable problems for next season, could prove challenging.  Trying to squeeze culinary efforts into a young man’s spring schedule will require special effort.  Virtual schooling, spring baseball practice and other scheduling parameters may prove barriers, but we will continue, unabashedly, in our efforts to expose this young hunter to the magic of a myriad of food groups and spices which may be introduced into the world of culinary masterpieces such as venison chili, whether they exhibit little red or green “things” or those “things” have disappeared into the mystery of the creation.

 

 

 

GENERATIONAL BLESSINGS

 

November 26, 2020

GENERATIONAL BLESSINGS

I have alluded to BLESSINGS on a few occasions over the years, but this year warrants special attention.  Four generations of our family gathered for the opening of the 2020 Deer Gun Season.

Grandpa (Earl) Hill, son Kevin Hill, Grandson Andrew Krueger and Great Grandson Nate Micech rounded out the four generation milestone, while Granddaughter Erika supervised the Cabin chores.  Although Covid19 obviously has cast a cloud over the Season, the blessings of such an occasion and the promise of many more to come makes everything worthwhile. It seems even the old log cabin and the wood burning stove had smiles on their faces.

THINKING NEW BUT FINDING OLD

While attempting to clean some of my old "dribble" from the laptop, I ran across my Thanksgiving prayer from 2014. It could well be these blessings may give us the strength to weather such storms as we are now experiencing with the Coronavirus.  Just thought I'd share it.

  

Thanksgiving 11/27/14 Table Prayer….

After sitting on my deer stand for a couple of hours, I thought “my toes are getting a little cold” but then I immediately thought “what am I complaining about?  It’s warmer than most years, I’m relatively comfortable, and “JUST HOW LUCKY AM I TO HAVE BEEN ABLE TO SPEND OVER 50 YEARS IN THE WOODS ON OPENING DAY OF DEER HUNTING”.  In fact, JUST WHY, EXCEPT BY THE GRACE OF GOD AND HIS GIFTS, HAVE I HAD THE GIFT OF A WONDERFUL FAMILY TO SPEND THESE MANY YEARS WITH. 

I KNOW I AM NOT WORTHY OR DESERVING OF BEING ABLE TO SIT AT A THANKSGIVING TABLE WITH FOUR GENERATIONS OF BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE AND MANY THAT CAN’T JOIN US TODAY BUT ARE HERE IN OUR HEARTS AND MINDS.  MOST PEOPLE NEVER HAVE AN OPPORTUNITY LIKE THIS, SO I THANK GOD FOR HIS GIFTS AND HIS BLESSINGS THAT HE HAS BESTOWED UPON AN UNDESERVING ME AND A VERY DESERVING FAMILY I HAVE BEEN BLESSED WITH..

THINGS NOT EVERYONE HAS DONE

There are times to work and times to relax and absorb the serenity of the cabin.  The hours spent on the deck were many and captivating.  Particularly, when in total solitude-meaning no one is around to complain about my harmonica talent (of which there is little), I will  retire to the deck and share what melody I can with the quietude of the lake.  Often as not, a soft southwesterly breeze makes its way bringing a soothing accompaniment.

On more than one occasion, I have tarried on the comfort of the deck while watching the full moon come up in the East, ply its way through the branches of pine and oaks, and settle in the West, beckoning the rising sun to bring morning twilight to awaken the new day.  All the while rummaging through my worn bag of harmonicas and remembering melodies of years gone by.  

I recall those couple of occasions as blessings, unplanned and undeserved, but blessings none the less.  I occasionally open the harmonica bag and blow on a few of the instruments and recall some of the old melodies of the past, ranging from old ballads, folk, classical or Irish.  It matters little.  The technique hasn't improved, but the memories never go away.  That's the blessing.  It's a reminder that the beauty of our existence is not regulated by the clock or the calendar.  Life's beauty is there twenty four seven, whenever we choose to turn it on.  We, ourselves, control the switch.

A MOST GRATIFYING HUNT

I seldom hesitate to find a title for a post.  Every little event is rattling in my mind, and I tend to spin them out in short order without a problem.  This hunt, of 2019, however, was different.  Not necessarily the most memorable (check out the hunt of 1963- in a 2013 blog), but very different and fulfilling, thanks in part to the contribution of Grandson Andrew.  Andrew is one of those "Eveready Battery" bunnies.  The kind that just keep on going and don't run out of juice.  He just keeps on going!  I could do that too "a short time ago", but my juice doesn't last that long, especially going up and down certain topography, such as our little woodland.

After standing quietly for a few hours on opening morning, Andrew started a stealthy walk through the forest.  "We call it still hunting". He came upon a fresh blood trail (wounded deer) and followed it for some time before it petered out.  We decided we would let it rest and come back to pick up the trail in the afternoon.

Andrew led me to the start of the trail, which he had marked with an orange scarf.  The trail led us down into a deep ravine which we refer to as the cottonwoods, an area invested with gnarly buckthorn and berry bushes.  After a while, I decided that I was entitled to a rest and chose a comfortable rock, upon which to repose.  Andrew proceeded on, following the quarry's chosen direction, toward an afternoon stand position.  After a short rest, I proceeded to a seldom used stand in  the far corner of the oaks and sat down on a well worn old and welcome lawn chair (left out there for just such a purpose).

Within an hour, Andrew furnished all of the gratification and satisfaction a hunt needs.  He not only recovered the mortally wounded animal, but kicked up a stealthy buck hiding in the oaks, causing it to run past the old hunter reposing in his lawn chair.  

Results, two for two, satisfying and gratifying.  Good hunt guy.

THE LOON- A TUCKED AWAY MEMORY

I was walking out of a swampy Hemlock forest, tripping and stumbling over various obstacles left by a recent bulldozer visit.  It had been clearing a path for loggers coming to harvest the landlocked forty acres that had provided us with a favorite hunting spot for several years.

I noticed a half buried eight foot long red cedar remnant poking its way out of the brush looking like a lost orphan seeking a ride home.  Red Cedar, being one of my favorite ornamental woods, prompted me to pull out my folding saw, cut it in half, and drag it a half mile back to the truck.

The above ground portion soon became coasters turned on my old wood lathe, but the root section sat in the garage, for- would you guess- about twenty five years, contemplating-on occasion-a suitable fate.

One day, my faithful brother looked at the long forgotten piece of cedar root and mumbled something like “it looks like a loon”. 

Lo and behold, prompted by his artistic conception, I embarked upon the transformation of the lowly cedar root into one of my favorite rustic creations, Mrs. Loon and her two chicks. 

She will probably find a spot to sit for years to come, and early on some mornings I think I hear her calling.  A beautiful cry.  A reminder that there is no such thing as an ugly duckling.  If we look hard enough, we can find beauty in everything.

THERE IS A DIFFERENCE

3/31/19

There is a difference between the “growing up” of today and the same “development” of yesteryear.  I am not comparing millenniums or centuries, but merely a few generations.  I am not comparing worlds or portions of our universe, but only those in our own little piece of humanity.  That being the one in which I was born and reside in to this day. 

It was not so many years ago that living in the outskirts of a city often meant the absence of municipal facilities, such as water, sewer and, yes, even electrical service.  Most of our neighbors drew all their household water from drilled wells.  And most of the water was hand pumped outside and carried into the house by the pail full.  Most bathroom facilities consisted of a remote outhouse, strategically located over a deep hole in ground which had been hand dug sometime previously, only to be relocated as found necessary. 

As society and mechanical aptitude progressed, some neighbors converted to electrically driven pumps and brought running water into their homes, but that did not become commonplace until into the nineteen forties, when municipal sewer systems started to appear in the suburban areas of Milwaukee.

Sidewalks were non-existent, as were paved roads.  Most roads were gravel, as were driveways.  Mobility was not a catch phrase and most travel was done, particularly by the younger generation, by foot.  Go to school by foot, to church by foot, to the park by foot.  And, during those travails, one had no device inserted into the ear providing soothing music or the news (or fake news) of the day.

If you have ever tried to convey a thought or voice an opinion to a member of a younger generation and been met with a “blank stare”, you may comprehend what the preceding thoughts were leading up to.  The basic grounding of “reality” was substantially varied, depending upon the “era” to which one’s youth was exposed during development.

 I, admittedly, only recently realized that I had slipped into the cesspool of un-realization as to the childhood exposures and experiences to which each generation is subjected.  My relatively antiquated generation, for example, could well be left with the same “blank stare” when confronted with the wide proliferation of acronyms oft utilized in our cyber world.  AI, IoT, etc. will often result in a sudden scramble for Google (excuse me-search engine), much in the same way our referencing a blackboard and chalk or the back of a shovel and a piece of charcoal results in a blank stare from much later generations.

So, henceforth, let it be known that a “blank stare” from one of the “now” generation, will no longer cause me to wonder if his or her hearing is as questionable as mine, but realize that generational experiences and exposures have merely resulted in a different data base.

THE RIDE HOME

7-16-2016

The Ride Home

The ride home is usually a non-stop ride.  This was an exception.  Tooling down old County M, we were suddenly called upon to brake and stop.  A young doe had been beckoned to nurse two 4 or 5 day old vividly spotted fawns right in the middle of the road.  They were, obviously quite insistent, but mom-noticing our stopped vehicle thirty feet away-rudely interrupted.  She walked into the tall grass alongside the roadway and called to her offspring who promptly pranced into the grass and laid down, heads at periscope height to watch us.

We proceeded another mile or so when forced to slow down again, allowing the crossing of two adult Sandhill Cranes shepherding their twin chicks to the other side of the road. 

After leaving the nursery area, we experienced no further delays.  So what's another five minutes travel time when nature calls.

REFLECTIONS ON RECENT BLOG

REFLECTIONS ON RECENT BLOG

You would have to dig deeply to find any political references in my blogs.  That is because I find it difficult to find anything particularly worthwhile in the current political atmosphere to elaborate upon.  I think it best to focus on trees, cabins and decks, rather than politics.  That is not to say that I am oblivious to the political climate currently enveloping our universe.  It would be more accurate to say that I would prefer to confine my memoirs to issues much more pleasant to contemplate.

I often opened personal discussions about politics or the cyber civilization with the oft cited tale about Abraham Lincoln having accomplished a good deal of his writing and ciphering on the back of a shovel with a piece of charcoal from the cabin cook stove.  Ah, how simple life was back then.

Now, our younger generations turn on the tube, or the cell phone, and hear about impending plans for prosecution, impeachment, Brexit, rioting crowds tearing down cities it took generations to build, bankrupt governments and trade wars.  And, would you believe it?  The messages even come in RAP!  What ever happened to “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” or “Look for the Silver Lining”?

Come to think of it, could it be possible that all of the current political rhetoric  was the reason that one’s “get up and go” “got up and went”?  And could it even be possible that some effectively applied rationalization could help us all find the lost “get up and go”?  Possible, yes!  Probable, no!  Unless some people who call themselves politicians come to their senses and grow up!

 

RUNNING OUT OF ..........?

One could be sitting on the tailgate of the truck, see a pile of logs and imagine what one could create.

Or, one could be sitting on the deck at the cabin and see a pile of logs, get up and create a good stack of split firewood.

That would be twenty years ago, or maybe even ten, or possibly even five.

Then, one would get up and “create” out of nature’s bounty.

Now, one more often sits back to decide whether, or not, to get up at all.

Just seems to be a more frequently mislaid case of “get up and go”. It certainly couldn’t be old age.  As least not yet. 

Well, might as well get up and start looking for it.  It appears that I’ll need it before the wood pile is depleted.

THE PASSING OF SEARS ROEBUCK AND COMPANY

Elements of "time" and the "responsibilities of life" have cut down substantially on the frequency of my blogs, but occasionally an event of weighty importance prompts the quill be dipped into the ink  bottle.  This is one of those events.

Sears has filed for bankruptcy. With it goes the Sear's Catalog, several hundred pages of everything a family would need to survive. Whatever the need, be it socks, shorts, overalls or chicken wire, it could be found in the Sear's Catalog.

A new and current catalog was delivered annually, with prices valid through the entire year. When the new current catalog came, the old one was relegated to the "outhouse", where it served a very necessary purpose, for as long as the several hundred pages would last. Selection of pages used was very important, usually retaining the sporting goods section until last so that one could lust over the JC Higgins shotguns and other sporting equipment one would contemplate for the next Christmas Holiday.

I often thought that my excellent eyesight was partially a product of circumstance, since the lighting in an outhouse left much to be desired. Obviously, there was no electical power out there, so lighting was usually limited to whatever eked in through the partial moon opening grandpa cut in the outhouse door. I am not sure that was a valid assumption , but it will do until a better one comes along.

There have been a multitude of catalogs produced, as you can attest by the content of your mail box and bookshelves, but few would rival the excitement generated by the annual arrival of the "new" Sear's catalog.

It will surely be sorely missed, although, admittedly, Kimberly Clark has stepped in and assumed some of its important duties.

I have been reminded that some readers may have to put on their mid twentieth century thnking caps for this blog.　

Grandpa Hill

　


　

A BLOW DOWN AND A REBOUND

It has been some time since I penned an entry into this log. It seems as if the memories and events that create such thoughts were interrupted by that lousy storm that raised havoc with our Wild Rose retreat. In fact, June 14,2017, transformed the “retreat” into a “restoration project”.

Numerous runs to Waushara County resulted in remedial efforts rather than the more satisfying and relaxing log cabin retreats. I will not go into the gory details, but suffice to say the long escapes into the pines to battle our arch enemy “buckthorn” were replaced by removing fallen trees from places they did not belong. For the most part, that objective has been fairly well accomplished, I might add “with the help and sweat of many”. A few formidable chores remain, such as a submerged oak tree off the lake shore, but that will be tackled when warmer waters prevail. Then, a landscaping “to do” remains to be undertaken. In a few years, all will be forgotten—I think!

But, I am trying to visualize this as an ongoing labor of love rather than a chore. Perhaps, layering periods of restoration between intervals of deck dwelling and bird watching will make the entire undertaking more palatable. And it would support my philosophy that “too much of a bad thing is not good, and too much of a good thing is not bad”.

Regardless, right now the mercury is at zero, so landscaping is not an alternative. I had best go back to planning and waiting for a thaw.

2018 is bound to be better.   

THAT FEELING IN THE PIT OF YOUR STOMACH

 You know the feeling.  The one in the pit of your stomach when you see something you don't want to see or encounter something that you don't feel capable of tackling at the moment.

The last time was many years ago as I was cruising back from Marshfield at 5500 feet altitude, enjoying a scenery full of beautiful cumulus clouds and blue sky when I realized all of the many holes through which I could see the ground  had been replaced with a solid layer of clouds, totally eliminating my view of mother earth.  Weather advisories confirmed a scattered 2500 foot ceiling all the way home, but the escalator was missing.

The feeling in the pit was eliminated when I judiciously made a 180 degree turn and headed back to where the breaks in the clouds made it possible to see hallowed ground again.  A normal descent brought me down to a 2500 foot ceiling and a comfortable trip back home.  What originally was thought to be a challenge was parried with a proper reaction, which resulted in a safe and satisfactory conclusion to the trip.

A similar feeling in the stomach showed up when I originally viewed the mess that a recent catastrophic storm levied on Waushara County and specifically on our Wilson Lake retreat.  But, with the help of many friends and relatives, it appears that a judicious 180 degree turn will restore the break in the clouds and help make an eventual and satisfactory end to this voyage possible also.  We sustained some property loss, though not near as much as others in the area, and we loss some dear old 150 year old Oaks which have provided shade and comfort for ages.  But new generations will replace them, and the view from the deck will be as captivating as ever.  May we all continue to enjoy it in years to come.

WINTER INVASION

This was a recent facebook entry I made.  Someone suggested I enter it into my www.cabin-muse.blogspot.com blog, so here it is.  I'll simply entitle it "Winter Invasion".

The first thing on my mind is thanking everyone for the many birthday wishes received.  I will endeavor to thank each of you individually and hope too many months will not pass before I have the chance to do so.

The next thing on my mind occurred during a recent visit up to the log cabin.  Since we don't have time to run up too often in the extremes of winter, we shoot up occasionally to check on things.  On a recent checkup, my faithful warden and overseer, Dolores, happened to check the old wood burner and reported something unusual was occupying the firebox.  Upon examination I discovered two gray squirrels cozily wrapped around one another in a deep slumber, prompted by the relatively warm cabin air.  When I attempted to evict the trespassers, I can only descrbe their response as "an explosion" as they rocketed up the chimney and out into the brisk winter air.  I closed the draft and within a few minutes the crafty devils had re-entered the chimney and were now reclining atop the draft, having refused to give up the handy heat source.  I will check later to monitor their abode.

GOOD SHAPE, BUT SLIGHTLY USED

One recent evening I sat in the family room and watched the faithful fireplace devour a substantial amount of firewood. As I studied the magical flames, as they curled around the logs, I contemplated on the time and effort it took to convert an oak or ash tree into a cord or two of nicely split firewood. It would depend, I concluded, upon when the project had been undertaken.

Not too long ago, I would look forward to, and even relish the chance to load a chainsaw and other necessary tools onto the old ATV and blast off into the forest to search out a good candidate for the wood pile. I could spend the better part of the day converting a volunteer dead tree into a substantial stack of firewood. And even feel quite chipper when the job was done.

Now, it seems to be more like work than fun. Not really "bad" work, but work non the less. I don't think it's because I'm older, I would prefer to characterize that as "good shape, but slightly used".

The walk out to the deer stand seems a little longer now. Even a stroll through the woods can seem longer, that is if it lasts too long. But, please don't get the idea that I'm complaining. I know how to handle the problem, if it should ever become a problem. Should the "good shape but slighty used" factor present itself, I'll simply take my foot off the gas and slow down. Come to think of it, I have probably been applying that rule for some time now, but the old ATV keeps moving along, though not quite as sprightly.

I noticed, however, that the fireplace and the old wood stove in the cabin consume wood at the same old rate, so I guess I had better get going at replenishing the woodpile, even though at a "slightly used" pace.

DEAR MOM AND THE BALANCE OF POWER

Dear Mom and the Balance of Power

A message for Andrea, Stephanie, Danielle, Aurora and any other young people who may be agonizing over the recent show.

In February of this year, I penned a blog spoofing a letter to Mom, and complaining about the ridiculous "password" procedures with which we are presently challenged.  Although it was intended as pure spoof, except-of course-for the existing "password" debacle, I found that my "letter to Mom" did alight upon the hearts of a few as much more serious than this old guy intended.  I was, in fact, reminded and advised that minds decades-or even generations younger than mine-can and will process the message in codes other than which intended.  To elucidate, you may want to refer to the offending blog penned February, 2016.

Now, for the current subject.  Results of the 2016 Presidential campaign and election.  It is obvious that multitudes are unhappy and disgruntled to say the least with the results of the campaign.  I would like to chip in with some generations old experience and remind everyone that :

        1. All that glitters is not gold

                   and

        2. No matter how great the storm, the world will not come to an end

We all should have faith in our form of government.  The Republic, and its balance of power, will prevail and we all will survive.  The people have spoken, even though through the questionable "electoral college" process, and the people will prevail.

Each one of us, from the youngest to the oldest, is and will be responsible for his own future.  Neither the government, nor any elected individual, will be responsible for our individual future success.

Let us not "agonize" over results of one electoral process.  It is one drop in an ocean of future that each one of us has.  Concentrate on our individual efforts and I believe that the "balance of power" will take care of the rest.

PROMISES, PROMISES AND GLOBAL WARMING

PROMISES, PROMISES and GLOBAL WARMING

My good friend and, incidentally, my long time dentist, Dr. Jim Fritsche, always advised me that he wanted to keep my teeth for as long as I lasted.  He never told me I would still be raking leaves this long.  This year has been a bumper crop as far as leaves go.  And, I think, as far as most things thriving on water and sunshine go.  I did think of having a yard sale on leaves, but someone, smarter than I, suggested the market would be flooded and prices suppressed so I abandoned that idea.

How many leaves are there on a Schwedler or Silver Maple, or perhaps on a Green Ash or Sweetgum?  Perhaps a Million, or even a Billion, or could it be a Trillion?  Oh, well, regardless, could it be possible that all those leaves, performing the miracle of "PHOTOSYNTHESIS" could have produced enough oxygen to partially offset the balance of offensive gases in the atmosphere and curtail the threat of "GLOBAL WARMING"?  If, so, perhaps all the blowing and raking and stuffing could have been worthwhile.

Thanks, Doc, for helping to keep my teeth this long, but you never did warn me about the leaves.  But perhaps the global warming thing will make up for it.  And, of course, this is not to be considered editorializing on Presidential positions.

THE KEYS

We all have heard of the KEYS OF THE KINGDOM movie, the FLORIDA KEYS, or Hemingway’s KEY LARGO and KEY WEST adventures. Well, I have an old story, albeit with a new slant. This one is entitled “THE CAR KEYS”.

Last Saturday was what I describe as a “normal” hectic day.  The day we pull the boat from the big lake and put it away for the season.  It means readying the trailer and trailing down to the the Lake Michigan ramps, retrieving the boat from its slip, loading it and bringing it back for winter storage.  It takes a bit of doing and requires some formidable help.  This time, in the company of son, Kevin, brot in law, Ray, and dependable buddy, Stan.

In the process, I encountered the usual glitches, which required several scamps to the basement, workbench, garage and toolbox.  After an hour or so of preparation, we were ready to depart on our mission.  But, lo and behold, my “CAR KEYS” were nowhere to be found.  The ring not only held the car key, but also various other keys of substantial importance (at least to me, if not the rest of the world).  I did have the keys when I hooked up the trailer, so they had to be somewhere near.

An intense search commenced by all present.  Many items were found in the car, like loose change, candy wrappers, assorted used napkins, pine needles (white, red and scotch), eleven maps (mostly outdated), but no keys.  A search of the house and yard yielded nothing, so we used a spare car key and went on our primary mission.  The boat was retrieved, brought home for a power bath and taken to its spot of seasonal repose.

Then the search for the vanishing keys commenced.  One has no idea how many places keys could hide, until one starts a search.  But all to no avail.

I was about to call “missing persons” or place an “amber alert”, when the door opened and in popped my sweet Granddaughter, Erika.  After vocalizing my dilemma, she “casually” asked “DID YOU CHECK THE GARBAGE BASKET UNDER THE SINK?” She, just as casually, reach into the can and, “VOILA”, pulled out the KEYS.

Now, an entire entourage searched every nook and cranny, and Erika pulls keys from the garbage bag.  If I didn’t know better, I would have thought they were in her sweater pocket.  Nah, she wouldn’t do that to me.  She’s just psychic.  Psychic or not, thank you Honey.