As usual, Mark is way ahead of me in creating and publishing our blog. When will I not be driven by deadlines and exterior forces? Maybe never.
Sunday on Beaver Island. We started with Michigan strawberries and blueberries on granola and yogurt. Coffee in my new Beaver Island mug which sports two lines depicting the Michigan mitt and a dot for Beaver Island.
Then we biked up to the northern end of the island and saw the lighthouse and a memorial to all the Beaver Island residents who had lost their lives in the lake. In 1848, six Gallaghers died. A family? Fishing? Or arriving from Ireland?
We came back and stopped in at the fish store, but the proprietor peaked out from his screened-in porch and said, “Only smoked fish today. I’m taking a break. Should be fresh fish tomorrow.” I asked, “At what time?” and he replied, “About one.”
Then we pedaled to the Toy Store. Probably two million, maybe three little objects. Chains, toys, knicknacks, you name it. She had hundreds of everything. Hardly any item over $3. We checked out the picturesque garden in the back with a children’s playhouse complete with toy stove, rocker and cradle. All vintage.
In the book nook, I found a copy of Temple Grandin’s book about Animals reduced to $6.00. I stood in line behind three youngsters and at the counter a woman with a Slavic accent who had a basket with two dozen small items. Most I couldn’t distinquish, but the owner wrapped each one in tissue paper. Then she put some of these small objects in cellophane envelopes and taped them shut. She talked about each object. The minutes went by. I was practicing patience until Mark re-entered the store. With no hesitation, I put the book down on a counter and fled.
Once back at the boat, I decided to go swimming. En route, I put a load of sheets and towels in the machine. Mark agreed to hang them up later.
The beach was busier than ever. I put on cap and goggles and swam twice. In between I watched little children playing in the sand. All the archetypes were present. The big blond bully who threw water into the sand castle and splashed the rest of the children. A lithe young boy who ignored the bully and built the castle. Two little frilly swim-suited girls who decorated the sand castle. Three adults who kept watch. At one point, one women told the bully his language was inappropriate. He agreed by shutting up...for a couple of minutes.
I went back to the Marina and made us peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, inspired for sure by another family who sat farther up the shore at a picnic table and whose mother kept asking, “Do you want another peanut butter and jelly sandwich?” Her son whined, “I want to go back to the cottage.” They stayed.
After the sandwiches, Mark uploaded oodles of photos while I debated how to begin the workshop we plan to give tomorrow. We have had only one email from the school’s on site director telling us “you can give your presentation Monday afternoon.” Well, it is not a presentation. I’m planning a workshop. I want each student to stand up and speak briefly. On what? I’m bewildered. I will use my coaching of Chris last year as my introduction, but I’m anticipating a lack of interest and perhaps resentment. I decide to let my ability to improvise reign and not to worry in advance about this event. We’ve been talking for months about giving a workshop. So we will play it by ear, the way we have to play each entrance into each harbor by ear. Attending to the wind and the current and the width of the slip and if anyone is there to help us and if the sun is in our eyes.
Now it’s 5:30 and the sun is in my eyes. So I will publish this blog and work my way backwards to July first when our wonderful adventure began.