To Thine Own Self, Be Food

--> Here’s one thing I’ve learned fairly quickly here: Everyone speaks in terms of seasons...not years.   As in, Is this your first season?   Meaning, is this your first time/first year working on the island? As it is my “first season”, I can’t help but feel a bit like a plantation debutante or similar.   Feel a bit like I should be wearing a sweeping ball gown in the manner of Scarlett O’Hara.   But anyway... Everything is new to me here...but here’s one thing that’s not: The Weather. Anyone who lives in Iowa (or did for awhile) is familiar with the bipolar nature of Iowa weather.   Eighty degrees and sunny one day, and a light dusting of snow two days later.   Not much surprises us Iowans when it comes to weather (although this long hard winter past would have done it, if anything). You can imagine how amusing, then, it was this morning to shuffle my iPod playlist and what motivational tune should pop up first?   California Dreamin’ by the Mamas and the Pa

My first week of employment on Mackinac Island is complete, and it has been an up and down of a magnitude that I cannot recall since the summer of 1993.  New living arrangements, new jobs, new faces, and new procedures are daunting...and I'm old and set in my ways (Cf. Yesterday's Post).  But, being older and wiser certainly has its benefits.  So, yay, for getting older. The restaurant where I work is about four minutes beyond the cafeteria where I eat breakfast (the brisk 12-minute walk, remember?); thus, enough time to listen to one last song on my iPod before I clock in and start handling my kitchen business.  So, I thought it might be mildly amusing, yet inspirational, if I shuffled my playlist...and let the song that came up be my motivational anthem of the day. Day One (the first day of serving customers and "real" work): Queen's "We Are The Champions".  Pretty damn fitting, I think. Day Two: Enya's "I Will Find You" from the La

...of my 39th year. For the record, I do think I will never have another birthday like this one. Even though I woke up and realized it *was* my birthday, most of the time, I forgot that it was.   Every now and then, like the tides on every beach on earth, that little factoid would return and wash over me...only to ebb away again as I was caught up in some other task of the day (Ugh.   Terrible, terrible effort at an impactful metaphor). I’m used to being greeted, in person, by my family and friends on my birthday...but this year, the wishes came to me via text and Facebook/computer.   However, to be fair to the throng of people I hang with these days, they don’t know it’s my birthday.   So...maybe we can forgive them this once. I did receive a package here on the island on my special day.   Of course, I was expecting it...hell, I ordered it from Amazon.com.   But still. A package!   All fairly practical things: a rainsuit (totally needed here along

Something tells me I will remember this birthday for a long time to come. So, my birthday is tomorrow, and this is probably the first birthday, ever, that I’ve spent away from family and friends.   And I mean that literally.   I have no family members within a 500-mile radius, and I have not made friends here on the island yet. But, don’t cry for me, Argentina.   There is a lot of learning going on here...and that is a very good thing.   I hope everyone can turn nearly-40 and still be like, damn, all I really know is I know nothing. I wish I had not waited so long to do this.   To really, truly get out of my comfort zone. 1. I am a minority here.   I’m not trying to get all racial or condescending or anything, but that fact in and of itself is very eye-opening and it’s impossible to NOT develop some feelings of empathy, if they weren’t already there. 2. The restaurant I work in contains workers who speak four different languages.   There’s noth

I tried, horribly, to stitch together two pop culture references (two movies)...and then insert my own pithy...pithiness. Fail.  Big time.  Next item of business. I am trying very hard not to cram an entire bar of Ghirardelli Intense dark chocolate into my mouth.  It is the only sweet I've had since the 19th (Saturday).  That's nearly three days.  That's how long I've been on the island.  And there's a lot to talk about...so let me sum up. Number of cars on the Island: 0 (utility and city maintenance vehicles not counted, which would bring that number up to, oh, 4). Number of methods of transportation here: 3 (horse, bike, or feet...or in the case of the elderly, motorized scooters) Number of items I've lost and then recovered: 2 (employee ID and chef hat) Number of day/hours worked on new internship: 2 days/8 hours Number of mistakes made in first two days of internship: Like, 5, but feels like more Number of people who already know someone here

  This picture appears to be depicting a smallish, broken-up glacier.  And while it seems like that, it's actually the ice cloggage on Lake Michigan.  Not cool, Robert Frost. Boy howdy, would I give my non-dominant hand to be able drop-kick Mother Nature in the windpipe. She is screwing up all my best-laid plans. I know, I know.   It comes with the territory of taking a job in the Upper Great Lakes Region.   There might be snow.   There might be sleet.   There might be cold temperatures.   And there might be all three of these things.   In mid-April. But, freezing fog?   Now, as a long-time Midwestern myself, that’s something I’ve never experienced.   Until today.   However, some context first.   My internship is on Mackinac Island, just a smidge north of the lower Michigan peninsula (the “mitten”), where the shores are lapped by the Great Lake Huron.   There are no automobiles allowed on the island, so people get around by horse,

What better way to chronicle my wanderings than through dreams? Visions? Fantasies? Yearnings? Heh.  It sounds like I've just been taking hallucinatory drugs...which, alas, is not the case. We are traveling to Mackinac Island, Michigan, by way of Door County, Wisconsin.  Yes, it is quite out of the way.  However, it's a trip for nostalgia's sake, and totally Brent's idea, so I'm just going with it. As we pull into this picturesque, quaint part of northeastern Wisconsin, I am struck by one recurring thought. 1.  People around understand the meaning of service.  True, most of them are in the business of hospitality, but they embody it, they live it.  Clerks asked us where we were from, and then proceeded to talk to us... liked they actually cared and like they genuinely wanted to hear our responses.   It's a far cry from the big-box corporate Svengalis we're used to. So...Dream For Today 4/17: Purchase a Bed and Breakfast and run it with the husband.

Number of states I've visited/driven through: 35 out of 50 Number of states I've lived in: 2 (Iowa and Minnesota) Number of states I'm about to live in: 1 (Michigan) This is it.  This is my last full day as a resident of the State of Iowa for awhile.  And while that is not terribly earth-shaking news, this is my last day in my house and hometown, a place where I know people, I know where I stand.  I know my messes and I know my routines. And now I'm off to a place where I don't know.   Anything.  And that is little daunting. So, I channel my inner Socrates...All I really know is that I know nothing.  I repeat as needed. See, life really is too short; take a look at this breakdown... Years 0-18 don't really count - we're too busy pooping out diapers, playing on the playground, and "finding our identity" (read: giving our parents apoplexy) to really seize the day, you know?  As teenagers, we *think* we're taking risks, but most of

I find in most normally functioning families, the members have a distinguishing role or legacy or skill of some kind. Like, he's the smart one.  Or, he's the religious one.  Or...she's the glue that helps the fam together.  Or, she's the savvy one, so she's the Power of Attorney. In my family, that system went something like this: My dad was The Dad.  Cantankerous, crotchety, and especially tight with daughters' curfew times.  Also, not a fan of driving in Big Cities. My mom was the long-suffering, patient, reserved one. My brother was the baby, the one who got away with murder, the namesake, and also, Frosty Hoarder. Me?  My legacy?  The Ruiner of Remote Controls.  No lie.  Although I've repressed the memories, my parents claim I destroyed at least two remotes in my tenure as Child Under The Roof.  Remote #1: milk spillage; Remote #2: applesauce spillage. So, now you see why my younger brother was the favorite. Anyway, then I went off to col

If I haven't said it before, I'll mention it now: I live in my hometown.  I've been here all my life, except for, like 12 years, when I was off at university, getting Career, and becoming a parent. And while I'm a great proponent of change, I do believe there are some things that are sacred.  For example, the city park in my hometown had one of these dealies: Actually, this is the actual Fun House from the park in my hometown, lifted from a website called www.villageprofile.com. I'm sure most of you can see how this works.  Much like a hamster in a wheel, running inside the fun house gets it moving rather quickly.  Inevitably, somebody trips, falls, gets quite hurt, and hurts several others participants in the process.  Also, risks of getting painful splinters were very high. It was really good, clean family fun. Imagine then, my surprise, nay, my indignant vexation to discover this fun house had been torn down after being deemed unsafe? It was sad,

Wouldn't you like to be a Pepper too? Remember that old David Naughton commercial from the 70s for Dr. Pepper?  Ah.  The 1970s.  From what I can remember of that decade, it was pretty good times.  No car seats.  No buckling in.  AM/FM radio.  Gas rationing.  Hostage crisis. Okay, so I don't remember any of the 70s.  But, my parents don't complain much about that decade...which is a good indicator of happy times (relatively). Supposedly, my 13-year-old daughter likes spicy food.  And by that, she means jalapeños, and the Tabasco and sriracha sauces.  I don't think she means a Scotch Bonnet pepper sauce.  Take a look here. Image courtesy of businessinsider.com This is the Scoville scale for rating the heat of peppers.  The higher the Scoville units, the more likely you'll burn off your taste buds for eternity. So, The Kirbster likes jalapeño pepper, which registers in at 2,500-8,000 Scoville Heat Units (SHU).  And she also likes Tabasco sauce (as do I),

Yesterday marked the beginning of my birth month...this is my 38th April of existence here on Planet Earth (not to be my 39th until later in the month). April is one of those "cusp" months here in America.  Sometimes it's really nice and gorgeous and springy and green, and other times it's cold and rainy/snowy and winter-esque. Usually, by the end of the month, though, Mother Nature has gotten her shit together.  And, usually by the time my birthday rolls around at the end of the month, the temperatures are good (precipitation is iffy, but one out of two ain't bad, right?).  Lots of birthdays I know of are in April, which makes me wonder what the hell was happening in July of the previous year?  Lots of sprightly young couples celebrating America's birthday? Life proceeds to get busier and busier here at Chez Nelson.  Spring sports have begun, and that means soccer for the younger two kids, and high school golf for the older.  Not that I mean to wish awa