Tuesday, 10/31

It may sound like the grossest thing in the world, but trust me—it was amazing.

First of all, Happy Halloween. Today's blog, despite the fact that I mentioned something gross, has nothing to do with the holiday. But I hope you enjoy the day nonetheless. And seeing as how it's kinda cold out, at least here in Marquette, you may celebrate your Halloween with some nice, warm soup, right?

That's what we're discussing today. Soup.

This past Saturday Loraine and I went out to Republic for our annual soup feast. Loraine's been adopted into an extended family out on the West End; every year around this time we head out there, show the pictures from our latest trip, and eat a lot of soup. Wanda, our hostess, always goes out of her way to make three different kinds of soups, and in the 7 or 8 years we've been doing it I don't think she's come up with a bad one. This year, she wanted to go out on a limb and try something a little different. She wasn't sure if it would work, but she saw a recipe and just had to try it.

And that's how I came to try Dill Pickle Soup.

I know, right? Soup made out of dill pickles is not the first kind of “oh, yum!” soup that pops into your mind. In fact, just about every single person at the soup feast went, “huh?” when first told about it. But just about every single person also went back for seconds (or thirds) after trying it. It's that good. I never thought that the combination of shredded dill pickles, chicken, potatoes, cream, and spices would work as a soup, but it does. It wasn't overly pickle-flavored, but it had enough pickle-ness to it to really make it stand out.

And stood out it did, even moreso than the Cheeseburger and Greek Chicken soups that Wanda also made. Both of those were amazing, and I had multiple bowls of both. But Cheeseburger and Greek Chicken are flavors you'd expect in soups. Dill Pickle certainly isn't.

But it rocks.

(jim@wmqt.com)

(p.s.--Wanda did give me the recipe; shoot me a note if you have the courage!)

Monday, 10/30

MONDAY, 10/30:

Wow. That's all I have to say about that.

Yesterday Loraine and I took advantage of a few relatively nice hours of weather to walk down to Shiras Park and check out some of the damage caused by Tuesday's cyclone. At first, walking down the bike path, things didn't seem so bad; a tree knocked over here and there, and a few branches blown around. But then we got to the park itself, and saw what happened when the ferocious power of Lake Superior was unleashed on that tiny peninsula--

As you can see, the parking lot is in shambles, and in many areas the beach was literally washed away. In fact, how often do you get to see a tree growing out off a beach?

That, of course, is only because the tree actually used to be up away from the shore. Now the shore has moved past the tree line. As an example, here's a picture Loraine took of me three years ago sitting on a bench--

Notice the nice sand beach in front of me? Well, look at the same area now, from a different angle--

No beach exists, nor does all the ground in front of the bench. You have water, and then a bunch off rocks washed up on shore. No beach, no sand, no nothing. In fact, the bench is lucky it's even there any more, as it came within a few inches of being washed away--

The park wasn't the only thing damaged by the storm. Lakeshore Boulevard is closed to vehicular traffic because, well, it's no longer a paved road--

A paved street probably still does exist underneath all that beach sand, washed up & over the tree line by the wave action Tuesday. It'll just take a while for it to all get cleaned up.

If you've ever wondered who would win in a battle between man-made objects and Lake Superior, wonder no more. In fact, it wouldn't even be close.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Friday, 10/27

It's going well, thanks for asking.

I've had a couple of people recently inquire about how the new season of “High School Bowl” is going, and I'm happy to say that the 40^th year of the show is, for the most part, cruising along at warp speed. The students have been a blast, the technical issues minor, and the host has only made a fool of himself on an occasional basis.

That's a good thing.

The one strange thing about the season so far is that we've been shooting it in chunks here and there. Because of a wicked number of scheduling problems we've been shooting part of one show one week and the other part of it a few days (or even weeks) later. For instance, in a few minutes I'll be heading out to shoot the first half of the season's third show. We shot the second half of the show three weeks ago. Yet (hopefully) thanks to the magic of TV you won't notice it when it airs. However, if you're wondering why my hair appears to be three weeks longer in the first half of the show than in the second (shot the day after I got a haircut), you now know our little secret.

Just don't tell anyone.

The other fun aspect of that would be the chart on my wall, the chart telling me what clothing I have to wear on what day. Because I have to be seen wearing the same clothes in both halves of the same show I had to come up with a handy reminder of what I need to wear when in order to make the programs line up. It's funny; I never thought my life would include a wardrobe chart like that, but it just goes to show you--

Life can be strange some times.

And with that, I hate to cut this short, but I do hafta head out in a few to shoot that first half of the show. I have on the black shirt with the purple tie, so I'm all set to go in that regard. As for the hair that's three weeks longer; well, there's nothing I can do about that. But it'll be interesting to see if anyone's actually paying attention enough to notice.

At least those of you who aren't in on the little secret.

Have a great weekend. Stay warm Stay dry. And remember—the new season of the show starts a week from tomorrow!

(jim@wmqt.com)

Thursday, 10/26

I hafta wonder—are the flowers even around after Tuesday's storm?

As you've probably figured out by now, Marquette has had some weird and wacky weather the past few days. And it wasn't just Hurricane Toivo Tuesday or the snow that fell outside the city Wednesday. Nope, the weird weather actually began Saturday when we had a late October day that was sunny and 75 degrees. It's hard to believe we went from sunny & 75 to snow in a space of a few days, but that's the U.P. for you. Anyway, one of the things I noticed while out playing in the sun Saturday was that the warm fall we've had (or at least up until Tuesday) had allowed all kinds of late blooming plants to bloom. In fact, Marquette has become a cornucopia of colors over the past few weeks, and while I don't know if any (or all) of them survived the past few days, I was able to preserve some of that color thanks to my never-ending quest to take every single picture I can ever take.

Just what kind of colors could you have seen if you were out this past Saturday? Well, you could've seen lots of purple--

Lots of orange--

Lots of pink & yellow--

Lots of red & yellow--

Lots of magenta (with a splash of yellow)--

And lots of...well, I'm not quite sure how you'd describe this color (salmon, maybe?), but you could see lots of it everywhere--

You could also see that the city was getting ready for Halloween--

As were people all around town--

In fact, I'm thinking some people were even trying to get into game shape for their Halloween party--

After all, you don't just wanna jump into a Halloween party without warming up, right?  You wanna stretch. You wanna warm up. You wanna make sure you don't pull anything and you're ready to go as you're getting ready to kill several thousand brain cells.

I'm still trying to figure out why the jar of pickles is there, though.

All that was just a few days ago in the warm sun. Now, if you'll excuse me, I hafta go running, in below freezing temperatures for the first time since (I think) the beginning of March. Wish me luck!

(jim@wmqt.com)

Wednesday, 10/25

That was fun. Let's not do it again any time soon.

Hurricane Toivo, as some people have dubbed yesterday's monster wind storm, is in the slow and agonizing process of dying down, leaving damage everywhere, hundreds of people across the U.P. still without power, and two people still missing after apparently being swept off of Black Rocks. You didn't have to go far to see its effects; in fact, I took this picture down the street from where I live--

It's not often you see a tree leaning on a house like a partying college student after six too many drinks, but we had that chance yesterday.

Of course, you had people ignoring warnings and the advice of police to gawk at everything that was going on. In fact, all along Lakeshore Boulevard in Marquette traffic crawled to a standstill not only because of hundreds of people were driving around looking at the waves, but because those very waves were washing over the street and stopping those very vehicles. Police finally had to close the whole street just so crews could try to get the water off the road.

It was so bad that places like Shiras Park (by Picnic Rocks) was underwater.. Not that that stopped people from going out there to take pictures, but the whole park was under water.

Yikes!

The other immediate side-effect of yesterday's cornucopia of yuck?  It seems as if every single leaf still on a tree was blown off. Just about every tree in Marquette now looks very skeleton like, perhaps appropriate for Halloween next week but still a jolt to the system of those of us naively clinging to the hope that winter may bypass us this year.

Once again, yikes.

Hopefully, things will be calmer today. Hopefully, the flooded parks will drain, those without power can turn on their lights, and someone figures out a way to put nice green leaves on those trees stripped bare yesterday. 

Well, to paraphrase a great American philosopher, two out of three wouldn't be bad.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Tuesday, 10/24

Why yes, I knew about that U.P. tie in to another pop culture classic, too. But I'm embarrassed to mention I just found out about it a year or so ago.

Yesterday I mentioned about how you can tie “It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown” and Marquette together via a road sign Snoopy comes across. Well, that prompted an e-mail from daily blog reader Donna in Marquette, who also wondered if I knew about the tie-in between the U.P. and the Beatles' movie “A Hard Day's Night”. Why yes, Donna, I do. But like I said, it took an embarrassingly long time for me to discover it.

First of all, let me say that I LOVE the movie “A Hard Day's Night”. I first saw it in the 80s during its big screen revival, and I've watched the DVD dozens of times since. The music's great, the performances are cheeky (and amazingly funny), and I'm still of the opinion that movie videos (and by extension MTV) would not have existed without the way that Richard Lester directed the flick.

It was the template for everything that came after it.

Anyway, back to the connection between the movie and the U.P. In the film, Ringo is a bit picked upon by the other members of the group, especially because he's always wanting to do thing like (gasp) read a book. Now what I didn't know is that Ringo was always trying to read a specific book, a book that escaped my attention the dozens of times I had watched the movie and knew nothing about until a Facebook thing about it made the rounds a year or so ago.

And just what book was Ringo trying to read?

Yup; Ringo, picked upon in the movie for trying to read a book, was trying to read “Anatomy of a Murder”, written by Ishpeming's John Voelker.

I can't believe I didn't know that; after finding out about it I felt tempted to go stand in a corner and feel shame for a few minutes. But as soon as I found out I whipped out the DVD, threw it in, fast-forwarded to the exact scene (because, at least I knew where THAT was) and stood there with my jaw agape as you could see Ringo, indeed, trying to read “Anatomy”. I have no idea how I missed it the first several dozen times I saw the movie, but I did. And all it took was hundreds (if not thousands) of people pointing it out on Facebook.

See? Social media DOES have something to recommend it, I guess.

So in case you didn't know, there's the story of how a second pop culture classic can be connected to Marquette County. Small world, isn't it?

(jim@wmqt.com)

Monday, 10/23

I know I've written about this before, but this time I have pictures!

It is, after all, that time of the year when many of us will pull out a certain dvd for the annual viewing of a holiday classic. So would you like to know how Marquette is connected, in the strangest way, to “It’s The Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown”?

Yes, you read that right.  Keep reading on.

I love “It’s The Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown” (which is 51 years old this year!), and can recite most of the lines before the characters say them (much, I’m sure, to the amusement of Loraine, who somehow finds the inner strength to sit next to me when I watch it and recite said lines).  However, in the past couple of years we've come to realize that Marquette is indeed connected not only to the cartoon, but to the comic strip, as well.

If you watch the show closely you may remember the scene in the cartoon where Snoopy is a World War I flying ace, and is trying to sneak across France to make it out of enemy territory after being shot down. Well, while doing so, he comes across several road signs, one of which says “Pont-a-Mousson 3km”. Here's almost the same thing, taken from a “Peanuts” comic strip--

Now, if you remember our travels from this year, we actually stopped in Pont-a-Mousson because a certain French missionary and explorer received his education there. Which French missionary and explorer was that, you ask?

That’s right—in both the TV show and the comic strip Snoopy was less than 2 miles away from where Father Jacques Marquette went to school!

Loraine and I discovered this fact about a decade or so ago, and now every time we watch “It's The Great Pumpkin Charlie Brown” we always have to freeze the scene and laugh a little. After all, it's not every day you can make a connection (however tenuous) between the U.P. and one of the most famous and beloved cartoons in history. So when you watch the cartoon this year, by yourself or with your kids, watch for the sign, and realize that you, too, can stop and shake your head in amazement.

After all, Marquette and “It’s The Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown” have something very important in common!

(jim@wmqt.com)

Friday, 10/20

Loraine thinks I sound like her grandmother.

I don't swear an awful lot. I try to keep my language clean, and I try to keep my discourse elevated. That's just the kind of person I am. Plus, having worked in radio all these years, I've learned not to use language that might be problematic should there ever be an open microphone nearby. Yet there are times when something stupid happens or I'm so shocked by an event that I have a reaction that causes certain words to come out of my mouth. And what are those words, at least usually?

Words along the lines of “Jeez 'o Pete”, “Gosh Darn it”, or, if it's really bad, “Crap”.

Shocking language, isn't it? But sometimes you just have to say things you have to say, if only to express your true feelings about a matter. And sometimes the words “Jeez 'o Pete” are the only words that get across those feelings. Even if Loraine does think I sound like her grandmother when I say them.

I don't know why I started using a phrase like “Jeez 'o Pete”; it's certainly not something a normal person my age would use. Maybe Loraine's right. After all, she's right about a lot of things. Maybe I heard my own grandmother (or someone like her) use the phrase so much that it stuck itself into my brain. Or maybe I subconsciously picked it up from one of those old radio shows I listen to.

Or maybe, just maybe, I'm weird. Don't discount that theory.

I've been reading a book about euphemisms (called, imaginatively enough, “Euphemisms”) recently, and it talks all about how we tend to use substitute words when the subject about which we're talking makes us uncomfortable. The writer actually goes through hundreds of euphemisms and discusses how they came about. “Jeez 'o Pete”, however, was not one of them. I'd be curious, though, to know from where it came, and why it's so associated with women of a certain era.

And, apparently, me.

So if you happen to see me doing something stupid, like dropping a can of soup on my bare foot or walking into a cupboard door, both of which actually prompted use of that phrase, be aware that the words “Jeez 'O Pete” will be probably be coming out of my mouth. Sure, I could use a different word or phrase, but that wouldn't be as much fun, would it? And it would also be so much more predictable, too.

And that's something I'd never want to be. So “Jeez 'o Pete” it is. And on that note, have yourself a great weekend, Jeez 'O Pete!

(jim@wmqt.com)

Thursday, 10/19

Nope. I did not pose or stage it in any way, shape, or form. Honest.

Following Phil's statue unveiling yesterday I posted a few pictures on Facebook, including the two I stuck on here yesterday. One of the pictures that got the most reaction was this one--

A picture that engendered this comment from someone--”you did a gorgeous job of setting it up. I just love how you draped the branch across the paper”. It's a nice comment, and I appreciate it when someone has a nice reaction to a picture I shot. There's only one problem—I didn't set it up. I didn't drape the branch across the paper.

All I did was see something and pushed the shutter button.

Allow me to explain. At the unveiling I was very close to Phil, so close that he kept looking over at me and making comments. To get that close I had to scrunch down near a sign in the park and plant myself in the dirt. It was a great vantage point; not only was I not blocking anyone behind me, but I also had a front-row seat to the event. But because I was scrunched down I couldn't hold on to my program. I had to set it on the ground. Since it was slightly breezy out part of a dead flower blew over onto the program sitting in the dirt, and during a break in the action I glanced down and saw what I thought was a nice picture, which I then shot.

And that's the picture I posted.

Like I said, I didn't set it up in any way except for putting something on the ground, and that was only thanks to my lack of three hands. I didn't stage it, I didn't artfully move anything around; heck, I'm not THAT good of a photographer. I just happened to glance down, notice something that looked nice, and took a picture of it.

That's how I take most of my pictures, actually. I'm not a good photographer. I'm just a lucky one, I guess.

Anyway, I'm glad so many people enjoyed seeing that particular shot, along with the rest I posted. As happens so many times in my (photographic) life, I just happened to be in the right place at the right time. And luckily, I usually have a camera to help prove it.

(jim@wmqt.com)

(PS--speaking of the guy who was the center of attention Tuesday, it's his birthday today.  So if you happen to see him around, wish him a happy 88th!)

Wednesday, 10/18

The honor could not have gone to a more deserving individual.

They dedicated Phil's statue yesterday, an event so important that I skipped out of work for a while to attend, and I'm glad I did--

I know Phil's always said that statues are for dead people, but I think I can speak for every single person attending yesterday's ceremony that we were glad that the honoree is still with us. Aside from being an icon of downtown Marquette (and for those of you not from Marquette, Phil's been around forever, washing the windows of downtown businesses and tending the flowers every year in the now renamed Phil Niemisto Pocket Park), Phil's one of those classic characters that you're lucky to know once or twice in your life. From the stories that he shares about growing up in the Marquette Orphanage to the fashion advice we give each other (mostly about colorful ties, something we both tend to favor) to the different private jokes he shares with everyone he passes (for me & Loraine, it's his joke that “it must be Saturday”, because that's the day we usually run into him as a couple), Phil's one unique guy.

And a guy we're all the better for knowing.

As I see the statue now sitting on the bench, ready for selfie taking with anyone who wants, I have to chuckle at the historic irony of where it's placed. This is something Phil & I have discussed; I don't know if he's mentioned it to anyone else, so I'll share it now. But when he was growing up he and a bunch of kids from the Orphanage would often be taken over to the WDMJ studios to sing a few songs. After all, back in the 30s, radio stations needed local talent to fill the hours they were on the air, so they would often have singers, musicians, story tellers, and yes, kids from the Orphanage come in and perform. That was Phil's first exposure to the public eye.

Anyway, back then, WDMJ was owned by the Mining Journal, and the Mining Journal's building (which included the WDMJ studios) was located on a piece of land in downtown Marquette. Specifically, the Mining Journal building and WMDJ studios were located the piece of land that is now the Phil Niemisto Pocket Park. As Phil jokes, he started his public life on that piece of land, and he'll wrap up his public life in that very place, the same piece of land where his statue will now sit for years to come.

And I can't think of a guy who deserves it more.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Tuesday, 10/17

I wonder if I could still do it as well as I did it 15 or 20 years ago.

That thought's been occurring to me while running recently, so let me explain. Like all people who engage in any kind of athletic activity, I've had my share of aches & pains over the years, perhaps more so in the past few years because, as much as I'm loathe to admit it, I'm getting older. But this year, for some reason, I haven't had those aches & pains. My foot feels fine, my hamstring is cooperating, and I (think) I can run like I did 20 years ago.

It's kind of nice, if I have to admit it.

I've never been a competitive athlete. I'm just not that good. I don't care to measure myself against other people; after all, I know how I'll stack up. But for a couple of years I did take part in one organized athletic event, and that was the annual Superior 5K, which used to be held the weekend of the old Seafood Fest. I didn't do it to test myself against every other runner. In all honesty, I did it for the T-shirts and cups they gave out to the runners who crossed the finish line. But I did always use my result in the race to see if I had progressed over the past year, to see if I had gotten better. And by the last time I ran the race (which, I think, was the last time they held it), I wasn't doing too bad. I ran the five K in 22 minutes and 30 seconds, which actually placed me among the top third of the people in the race.

Not that I was measuring myself against the other runners, though.

Since they stopped holding the race I haven't run another, nor would I want to. But the one thing the race did provide me was a benchmark on where I stood as a runner. I have no idea if I became better or worse after I stopped running them, although I'm pretty sure it's the latter. After all, I'm not as young as I was then (insert ironic chuckle here), plus I started accumulating all those little aches & pains that seem to accompany non-natural athletes as they try to push themselves beyond what their bodies would naturally allow. But as I've spent this summer & fall running pain-free, going up & down the hills of Marquette with what feels like youthful abandon, I've been wondering--

How would I do if I ran the old Superior 5K route? Could I run it at the pace I ran it 15 years ago? Would my healthy (albeit older) body allow that? Or would I look at the stopwatch in embarrassment, coming to the realization that even without aches & pains I'm 15 years older than I was the last time I ran it, and that no one (especially someone without any natural athletic ability) should expect to do something they did when they were (gulp) younger?

I don't know. I don't know that I want to try, nor do I know if I even have the courage to try. But if I'm ever gonna have a shot at doing it, it's probably now. After all, despite my best attempts, I ain't getting any younger, and if I'm gonna do it I should do it while my body is in pretty good shape, free of those nagging aches & pains. But do I want to do it?

That's the question I've been asking myself, one that I'll probably keep asking myself every time I run.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Monday, 10/16

Despite the weather I did what I usually do on a weekend, and that was to spent a lot of time outdoors. And you know what? I made an interesting discovery.

I found out you can see over 100 discarded beer bottles and cans lying around the streets while spending an hour walking through Marquette!

Yes, I know I should’ve saved that for a “Jim's Weird Fact of the Day”, but I just thought I’d share it now. And I can’t say I’m surprised by the discovery; after all, the part of the city where I live (especially on the 100 block of West Arch Street and the 100 block of West Ohio Street) has its fair share of, shall we say, people of the partying age, I’ve heard quite a few gatherings where, I’m innocently guessing, beer was consumed. In fact, there’s one house, just around the corner from where we live, where yesterday I saw almost two dozen cans just tossed out on the front yard or into the street. And seeing as how it’s also a house from where quite a racket emanated last night, I’m gonna guess the two are somehow connected.

That brings to mind two things—the first, which I don’t wanna admit, is that I may have started upon the slippery slope toward cranky old man-dom. Pretty soon, I’ll be standing at a window, staring and muttering under my breath, “Kids these days and their loud noise. Someone should do something about that”!

In other words, I’ll be like my dad.

(Sorry, Dad. I couldn’t resist!!)

The second is this—when I was in college (back in the 1800’s) the people with whom I lived, when they had a party, returned the empties, so they could buy more beer to have another party. They just didn’t toss the empties out in the street, to let anyone walk away with the fruits of their drinking. I mean, shouldn’t you get more out of a party than a hangover and an ongoing relationship with the police? Sure, it’s only a couple of dozen cans, but that’s still almost two and a half bucks. You can buy part of a pizza or three pages of a textbook with that.

Kids these days, I tell ya.

8-)

(jim@wmqt.com)

Friday, 10/13

And that's how I ended up seeing more butt cracks than at any other time in recorded history.

.

.

.

(Those spaces you see?  Just a comedic pause for effect)

Okay. I suppose this is one of those stories where I should start at the beginning, right? Well, it actually began when Jen came into the station yesterday morning at 330 and noticed that it faintly smelled of rotten eggs. When I showed up a little after nine it was no longer a faint odor; the whole building smelled like something that was not good. Several hours and several visits from people bearing atmospheric sensors later, it was determined that one of the battery backups in the basement of our building had started a strange chemical reaction, one that was putting out hydrogen sulfide (which is what we were smelling) and carbon monoxide, which we weren't smelling.

Seeing as how we didn't want to die, we kind of evacuated the place for a bit, letting the computers run themselves. Once it was okay to go back in we still left all the doors open to air out both the smell and the carbon monoxide. The smell and the CO was the worst in the back of the station, where my office sits, so in order to be able to have enough functioning brain cells to write this I took up residence at our front desk. It had several advantages—it's close to our air studio, and it had an open door to the street, where fresh, non carbon monoxided air was pouring in. Sure, the open door caused the temperatures inside to fall into the 60s, but at least I was still alive.

I'm guessing that's a good thing.

The other thing that sitting at the front desk gave me was a (literal) window to the world. I could see everything going on outside on Front Street. I could see the cars driving by, the bikes whistling past, the pedestrians scampering up & down the streets, and everything that happens on a busy city street in the middle of a workday. You know what else I could see? I could see the construction workers rebuilding the sidewalk outside of the station. They spent the day pouring concrete, and then bending over to give it a nice, smooth finish.

They did a great job. The sidewalks look nice, and the faux brick that they were putting in should be a nice addition to the aura of downtown. But spending a lot of time sitting at the front desk, occasionally glancing out the window, seeing the construction workers bending over to give the sidewalk a nice, smooth finish gave me the chance to see a whole lot of something you don't usually see while enclosed in a radio studio or a back office.

That's why I started this blog the way I did. And that's all I'm gonna say about that.

Have yourself a great weekend. Hope your sightings of butt cracks are few and far between!!

(jim@wmqt.com)

Thursday, 10/12

I'm having trouble remembering what day of the week it is.

Now, I'm sure those of you well-versed in being a smart aleck are at this moment shouting out something like “Jim, you're getting old. Pretty soon, you'll be forgetting where you put your teeth”, and the sad thing is you may be right. Add to that the fact that I've always had a problem remembering what day it is, and you wouldn't think it's be that big of a deal.

But it is.

Three times so far this week I've had to figure out what day it is, and that's a bit of a surprise. After all, my life is rather regimented; I have to do certain things on certain days, and you think that would be ingrained in my brain. But it doesn't appear to be. Thankfully, I haven't missed being where I'm supposed to be, but the way things are going, you never know.

The strange thing is that I'm wondering if our trip to Europe is, at least partially, to blame. And lest you think I'm weird (okay, weirder than normal), let me explain. During the 11 days we were traveling I didn't need to know what day of the week it was. It was blissful; I didn't know if it was Saturday or Monday or Wednesday. I just went where I was told, and I was able to zone out any thoughts of time or day.

But since getting back and having to zone IN any thoughts or time or day; well, that's when it's been a bit problematic. It's not ongoing, but like I said it's a pain when you have to ask someone what day of the week it is, and have to do that three or four times a week. You'd think I'd be back in the groove by now, but apparently I'm not. Is that the fault of those blissful 11 days on the road? Is it the fault of (gulp) being on the on-ramp of starting to forget where I put my teeth? Or is it just a by-product of having so many things going on?

First, I forget I wrote a 3,000 word article. Now I keep forgetting what day it is. It's been a weird week, hasn't it?

Never fear. I have the feeling that now the problem's been identified and talked through, that it'll slowly disappear. That's usually what happened what something strange occurs in my life. I write about it here, you guys act as my online shrink, and things work out.

So I appreciate it. I'd give you the $150 an hour a real shrink gets, but I have this guy feeling I'd forget to pay you. After all, that's how I roll these days.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Wednesday, 10/11

Remind me never to eat Surströmming.

As I’ve traveled to Europe, and as I’ve come to realize that I am a true American “mutt”, born of many different nationalities, I’ve spent a lot of time exploring the history, culture, and lifestyles of other countries, especially countries from which one of my ancestors came. I’ve done so with the help of a great series of books called “Culture Shock”, which are a great guide to cities and countries around the world. While the books are designed mostly for people who are thinking of moving to another country, they’re also a great resource for those of us just curious about where our roots lie.

I’m currently reading the “Culture Shock” edition on Sweden. I’m one-eighth Swedish; my dad’s grandmother (which would make her my great-grandmother, right?) was born in Sweden, and came to the U.S. as a young girl where she married an Irish guy who was actually born in Canada. She died many years before I was born, and all of her kids (especially my grandmother) were American kids through and through, so I never knew anything about Sweden other than what every other American knows about Sweden—namely, Abba. Oh, and the word “smorgasbord”.

But that was it.

But as Loraine was researching her book on Elwood Norr a few years ago, we spent a lot of time with Elwood’s sister Jeanne, whose grandparents also came from Sweden. Jeanne actually did know a little about the culture—in fact, she spoke a little Swedish—and was able to whet my appetite just enough that I knew I’d like to explore the country from which my great-grandmother came just a little more.

And so when I saw that “Culture Shock” had an edition on a country that gave me one-eighth of my genetic makeup, I pounced.

Being a geography nerd, I actually know a bit about the country and its history and its economic system; however, the book is quite fascinating about the people who call Sweden home. Apparently, they’re not a lot like people from other Scandinavian countries; they’re much more reserved & thoughtful & orderly. In fact, the book has a joke that many Swedish residents themselves tell—two Danes, two Norwegians, two Finns, and two Swedes each land on different islands. By the end of the day, the Danes have set up a commune on their island, the Norwegians have gone fishing, the Finns have cut down all the trees, and the Swedes are still waiting to be introduced to each other.

Ah, Nordic humor. You gotta love it.

I also found the chapter on Swedish food interesting. For instance, did you know that there really is no such thing in Sweden as Swedish meatballs? And that while younger generations of Swedes prefer a much more worldly and sophisticated palette, some of the very old, traditional Swedish dishes are still hauled out for holidays and special occasions. Those, of course, include a lot of fish and root vegetables, including the aforementioned “Surströmming”, which is basically rotten herring that’s been allowed to ferment in its own juices.

Sounds appetizing, doesn’t it?

It’s a dish from the northern part of the country; the herring used to be allowed to ferment because salt was rare and couldn’t be used to preserve a lot of food. It sounds like there were a lot of traditional Swedish dishes like that; Surströmming, however, is one that’s still eaten, if only by a small group of people in the country.

I think I’ll pass, though.

So if you’re ever curious about some of the countries from which your ancestors hailed, I highly recommend books in the “Culture Shock” series. They have volumes on 50 different countries (as well as over 20 large cities), so you’ll probably find handy information on most of your background. Next to actually going to your ancestral lands (something I hope to do one day, at least to Sweden and Finland) the books are a great way to see how some very distant cousins, aunts, and uncles still live their daily lives.

Especially if it involves eating dishes like Surströmming.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Tuesday, 10/10

It looks like History Jim might get to take it a little easier than usual next year.

As I was writing yesterday, I spent a good chunk of this year putting together stuff for the Marquette Regional History Center, so much so that I actually forgot that I had written a 3,000 word article for their newsletter. Well, as it's looking right now, I won't have quite that much work to do for them next year.

In fact, I may not have to do much original work at all in 2018.

Don't worry; I'm still doing stuff for them. But after getting together with all the people who decide what programs get put on when it appears that I'll be doing all old programs during 2018, which means that unless I wanna see if I can come up with something new for the walks (which, rest assured, I will) everything I'm scheduled to do is already put together.

Woo hoo!

There is a reason for this. Next year is the 90^th anniversary of what began as the Marquette County Historical Society, and they've already committed to putting on a bunch of programs that deal, even tangentially, with that. That also means that there are fewer slots available for next year, which means that I get a year off from researching original programs.

So what old stuff am I doing for them next year? Well, the first will be a rerun of a program I've already done twice, the walking tour about the Great Marquette Fire of 1868. The reason I'm doing it is that, if you do a little math in your head, you realize that 2018 is the 150^th anniversary of the fire. Because of that, on the exact sesquicentennial of the blaze that almost destroyed the city—June 11th, 2018—I'll be leading a bunch of people through downtown on what I'm thinking might be a slightly super-sized version of the original tour (assuming, of course, I can dig up any more information on it that I haven't yet found). We've even been talking to the city of Marquette about doing a few other events to commemorate the anniversary.

The other tour I'm doing? It's a reprise of the dock tour I did a couple of months ago, a tour that drew 192 people. Apparently there are a bunch of people who didn't get to go and want to see it, as well as some people who want to see it again. And since I've already discovered a few facts that I didn't know the last time around even those people won't be bored.

So I have that going for me.

I'm thinking that with a schedule that light that I won't be forgetting anything I do, unlike this year. And that's a good thing. After all, there's enough useless crap floating around in my brain as it is. It'll be nice to actually remember what's in there after I get done with it.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Monday, 10/9

You know—I had literally forgotten about it. And when I say “literally”, I actually do mean “literally”. I totally forgot about it.

Those of you who read this on a regular basis know that it was a busy summer for History Jim. I had four different projects I was working on. Because I started research and the like in January, the work on them tended to run together, and except for actual shows themselves all four ended up as a bit of a blur in my mind. So maybe it wasn't too much of a surprise when someone told me last weekend that they really enjoyed my article in “Harlow's Wooden Man”, and my response was “What article”?

Yes, I'm that dumb. One of my four projects this year was to write an overview of the history of alcohol in Marquette, which I did, and I totally forgot about it.

I are an idiot.

In my defense (and there's really not much of a defense to forgetting you wrote a 3,000 word story on people drinking booze) I did it a long time ago. In order to get it out of the way I wrote in in May and early June of this year, sending it to the editor before my tours kicked off for the summer. And since I was still working on putting those tours together after finishing the article it just kind of slipped from my mind until someone told me how much they enjoyed it.

Oops.

I don't know what to say; it's just one of those things. At least I'm glad that someone enjoyed it enough to mention it to me. If they hadn't liked it, I might not have even remembered doing it until, oh, three or four years from now when I might be going through a few computer files and wonder why I had so many pictures of Andy's and Remie's stuck on my hard drive.

Because, you know, that's the way my mind apparently works.

Anyway, I'm glad that everyone who enjoyed it enjoyed it, and I'm glad that at least one person mentioned it to me. Because without that mention; well, let's just say that it might have been quite a while before I even remembered that I wrote it. To quote a famous American philosopher--

Some days, I amaze even myself.

(jim@wmqt.com), who promises more on History Jim tomorrow!

Friday, 10/6

I have to run off and shoot another one of those TV shows again in a few minutes, so I'm gonna leave you with something I wrote three and a half years ago. I suppose, considering what's going on in Marquette yesterday and today, that it's kind of appropriate, even if the names and situations have changed a bit.

But I still feel the same. There's absolutely no doubt about that.

Have a great weekend. And if you get yourself a three day weekend, enjoy every second of it!

(jim@wmqt.com)

*****

(as originally posted 4/2/14):

I have now come to realize who some of the greatest people on this planet are.

They're nurses.

Like I was saying yesterday, both Loraine and I have been incredibly lucky in that until last week we've never had to deal with a hospital situation. So when Loraine was admitted Wednesday and we walked through the doors of Marquette General, we had no idea what to expect. I mean, sure, we've seen a lot of TV shows sets in hospital, and we've visited people who've been in the hospital, but neither of us ever had to be the person who was admitted.

That, of course, all changed thanks to Loraine's gall bladder.

Almost from the first moment we were there, the nursing staff amazed us, not only with their ability to handle several thousand things at once, but also with the way they're able to connect with their patients and make those patients feel at ease despite the fact that they're in one of the most stressful of places. They did everything they could to ease Loraine's pain, they laughed at my nervous attempts at jokes, and they answered every single question thrown at them (and trust me, they had a LOT of questions thrown at them). Just because of that, I'm forever thankful to them, but it was in other ways they earned my amazement and my respect.

As we both joked, for a patient Loraine was very “low maintenance”. Sure, she was in pain and sure, she wanted to get out of there, but she was still quite functional, both mentally and physically. It was when the nurses on the sixth floor had to deal with patients that weren't “functional” that my eyes were opened to just what amazing people they are. For a time on her third night there, Loraine had to share her room with a woman brought in from elsewhere in the U.P., a woman who was suffering from (among other things) dementia. Even though she kept asking the same questions over and over, the nurses would patiently answer them. When she got agitated and wanted to leave, the nurses explained why she couldn't. And when she turned angry and confrontational (as people suffering from dementia often do), they handled her with a care and a sensitivity that, if I had to guess, very few people could muster.

Every time I stopped by to visit Loraine I took note of what the nurses were doing. Some were performing high-end (at least high-end to me) medical functions, while others were just trying to make their patients feel comfortable with clean sheets or a warm wipe. And while I'm sure they do among themselves, I never once heard them complain around a patient about what they had to do, even when those patients, through no fault of their own, have made a mess. They just went about doing what needed to get done to make the people under their care feel as comfortable as possible.

And I don't think a lot of people could manage to do that.

So if anything good has come out of this situation, it's that my eyes have been opened. I didn't realize it before, but I will now never forget. Nurses, among them the ones on the sixth floor at Marquette General, are among the most kind, caring, and special people on the planet, and at every opportunity, they deserve to hear these two words--

Thank you.

Thursday, 10/5

Well. It looks like I got lucky on this one.

I had to make cookies yesterday, and decided that I wanted to cash in on pumpkin mania by making pumpkin chocolate-chip cookies. I mean, think of it this way—it's fall, so pumpkins are in season right now, and it's chocolate, which is, you know, CHOCOLATE, so I figured I couldn't go wrong. And with two small exceptions, I didn't.

The first occurred when I bought the can of pumpkin for the cookies last weekend at a local grocery store (the same trip that led to my finding the $10 in the recycling bin I wrote about yesterday). Because I don't buy pumpkin that often, and because the store at which I was shopping was recently remodeled, I had a bear of a time actually finding the pumpkin. I figured it would be with canned vegetables; I was wrong. I then guessed it would be in with the rest of the canned fruit (pumpkin, of course, being a fruit. Once again, I was wrong.

If you're curious, I finally found it in the baking aisle with the flour and sugar. Go figure. But at least now I know.

I found a recipe that I could (hopefully) adapt to become a pumpkin chocolate-chip cookie, and mixed everything up. When I finished, the dough looked a little...thin, for the lack of a better word. So I kept adding small amounts of flower and oatmeal, hoping that it would work out. And it eventually did. The only problem? Well, as I found out when baking, a recipe that should've made three dozen cookies ended up making four dozen. Although now that I think about it, that really isn't as problem so much as it was a hidden treasure.

I guess not all problems are bad problems!

Someone once told me that I need to post more recipes of my little “experiments” in here, so without further ado...

Mix a cup of butter, 3/4ths of a cup of white sugar, and 3/4ths of a cup of brown sugar. Add a teaspoon of vanilla, a cup of pumpkin, and an egg. In a separate bowl, mix two and a half cups of flour, a cup of oatmeal, a teaspoon of baking soda, a teaspoon of cinnamon, and a teaspoon of nutmeg. Throw it in the wet mixture and, well, mix. When done, add as many chocolate chips as you'd like (I used most of a bag, but that's just me)., Heat your oven to 350, bake for 12 minutes until brown, cool, and eat.

And eat as many as you'd like, because they're really, really good. Just don't forget where you can find your pumpkin at the grocery store!

8-)

(jim@wmqt.com)

Wednesday, 10/4

Even if we don’t realize it, what happened 60 years ago today affected all of us profoundly.

On October 4th, 1957, humanity was changed forever. The then-Soviet Union launched an 80-pound piece of metal into orbit, and that 80-pound piece of metal, Sputnik 1, began the space age. With it came a technological explosion that affects us to this day, and the realization that maybe--just maybe--there’s more to the universe than our little planet.

Being a child of the 60’s, space and space flight has been a part of my life since I can remember. I wanted to be an astronaut when I was growing up, and I still hope to make it into orbit sometime in the next 40 or 50 years. I can name all 8 major planets (and most of the minor planets) without even thinking, and one of the highlights of my life occurred when I went to Florida in 2002 and watched the next to last launch of the space shuttle Columbia. Watching one human-made machine turn a dark sky orange was just awe-inspiring. . .especially when you realize you’re 12 miles away from the pad and, even at that distance, the ground is shaking.

That being said, I realize that most of you don’t care about space and its impact upon you one bit. That’s okay, but on a day like today, take a second and think about what your life would be like if the technological explosion that accompanied the space race never took place. The tablet on which you’re reading this? Probably wouldn’t be around. The cell phone on which you spend most of your day engrossed in texts and Facebook updates? ? Nope. The i-Pod on which you listen to your favorite tunes? Zip. The biodegradable stitches and dozens of other medical devices that save lives on a daily basis? Zilch. The Velcro that allows your kids to run outside and not trip on laces? Nada.

So even if the only times you’ve paid attention to humanity’s reach for the stars was when Neil Armstrong walked on the moon and when Luke Skywalker left Tatooine, realize that that reach has led to the way we live our lives--for better or worse--these days.

And it all began 60 years ago today.

(jim@wmqt.com)

Monday, 10/2

I don't think my routine's routine any more.

I've been back from Europe for three weeks now, and I'm fully back into the groove of things. But for some reason, my old “routine” doesn't seem routine any more, and I'm trying to figure out if it's a good thing or not. I'm sure it's good in that you really should shake things up every so often, just as I'm sure that it's bad that I can't get readjusted to it.

Hmmm...

Let me explain. As those of you who read this on a regular basis may know, the three months (or so) before I head to Europe are rather hectic. I'm trying to work ahead while at the same time trying as much time off during sunny days as I can. So, on a daily basis during the summer, I'm never quite sure what I'm going to be doing or when I'm going to be doing it.

Then there's the rest of the year, like now. I'm not rushing around, I'm not trying to work ahead, and I can settle in to a “routine”, doing not only what needs to get done, but also what's been put off. And you'd think that'd be a good thing, right? I know what I need to do, and I know when I'll have the time to accomplish it. You'd think that'd be a good thing, right?

Well, apparently not.

Nope; instead, now that I'm back to “normal”, nothing feels quite right. Everything feels “off”, like (and this will probably sound strange) I'm 10 or 15 seconds out of phase with reality. It feels like the world's moving at one speed, while I'm moving at another, and I don't know why. Every other time I've returned from Europe and have slid back into a “routine”, it's been a lot easier than this.

But for some reason, not this time.

As far as I can tell, I haven't done anything differently than in years past, nor has the world around me changed that much. Things are pretty much how they have been every fall; nothing's seriously changed. Yet, I still feel like there's something amiss. But maybe that's a good thing. After all, a “routine” can easily turn into a “rut”, and that's something with which I'm not comfortable. Maybe my feeling out of “phase” is just my brain's way of telling me that I need to change something up. Maybe my brain feels more comfortable in the hectic insanity of my summer schedule, as opposed whatever I'm doing now.

That wouldn't surprise me . My brain, after all, does (pardon the pun) have a mind of its own on many occasions. Maybe it's just trying to take the right fork while the rest of me is taking the left fork. Wouldn't be the first time that happened, and it would explain quite a bit.

We'll just have to see...

(jim@wmqt.com)