The last two or three days, I've been consistently failing to capitalize the first letter of words that need it. I don't know if I'm just plain lazy or more seriously deficient. The little finger on each of my hands naps on the A and the :; key, completely ignoring their responsibility to hit the shift key when, out of respect and tradition, I attempt to appoint an upper case letter to lead the word into place. Those uncooperative, bordering on petulant, pinky fingers of mine! Posing as weak and innocent bystanders, they're insidious villains and enemies of my creative endeavors.
On any given day, I'm plagued with various, persistent typo difficulties and I've learned to accept and deal with them. My impatience is definitely a major threat to accuracy when I'm hunkered down in front of my computer. When my thoughts--in all their dazzling brilliance--come fast and furiously, I impulsively throw my hands at the keyboard and start typing wherever they land. Typically they commence typing at least a key to the right or left of the home keys, (the a, s, d, f and the j, k, l, :; keys) where all decipherable typing originates. My fingers bounce up and down without hesitation until I pause to check my work. What's this? I ask. In response, my fingers freeze up and momentarily hover paralyzed over the keys.
What I see on the monitor doesn't match my intentions. 'Oh, for crying out loud,' I scold myself. Fortunately, the resulting combinations of letters are easily demolished and rebuilt. The backspace and delete keys make up my tag team. They stand by faithfully and bail me out time and time again. They muscle at least two or three bailouts in an average length sentence.
I bet you think I'm exaggerating. I wish I was. I know I could have written a lengthy book in the accumulated time I have spent backspacing, deleting and retyping my messes. One of these days, I'll publish a sample of my unedited writing. I guarantee that it will be impressive in revealing the blatant bungling I have spoken of and valid proof of the obstacles I encounter and prevail against as I continue to write.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
She Ain't Heavy, She's My Other Side
This morning at work, I planned my day. From my desk beside the window, I could see the sun was shining and things appeared acceptable for my first outdoor run of the year. I'd packed my bag last night with thoughts of doing my three mile run at the Y. To heck with that I thought as I felt the warmth of the sun coming through the glass.
The clock finally surrendered to noon with both its hands held straight up. The office closes at noon on Tuesdays, so I grabbed my jacket and walked out to my truck. Hmmmm, it's kind of windy out here, I thought to myself. I climbed up in my Avalanche, a workout in itself, and drove to the bank to make a deposit. When I got out of the truck and walked up the sidewalk to the main entrance, I zipped my jacket all the way up to my chin. I couldn't ignore the strength of the wind as I pulled the door open.
Two people were ahead of me in line. While I impatiently waited, shifting my weight back and forth from one foot to the other, I looked out the big plate glass windows at the flag in front of the building. I didn't want to believe that my plans to get some fresh air along with my exercise today weren't plausible. The flag was totally out of control, whipping and snapping every which way. Oh, no. The route I take from my home into the neighboring areas is entirely out in the open, with no significant wind breaks. If the wind is blowing, I can't avoid it.
Dog gone it. Part of me wanted to drive home and just do it anyway. If I wore a headband over my ears, I wouldn't get an earache. I have plenty of running clothes that I could layer and I'd stay warm, I told myself. I was avoiding the main issue. My sensible side reminded me that it's not fun to run at least a mile and a half into the wind. My stubborn side defended her case by arguing that the wind would be behind me for just as long.
I sat in the truck after I left the bank and tried to make the decision whether I should go to the Y or go home to run. My sensible side put it's arm around my stubborn side and spoke quietly to her, "Remember how hard it is to run three miles with no wind whatsoever? Why make it harder when you don't have to? I promise you that one day real soon, we'll have ideal weather conditions. We'll feel the sun on our skin, the pavement under our feet and no wind to slow us down. Let's hit the track. If you stop arguing, I'll carry you on my back when we start mile number three. So what do you say?"
My stubborn side stopped grumbling long enough to agree and to ask, "One more thing. Will you sing 'What a Wonderful World' to me while we run?"
My winning side replied with an imitation of Satchmo's voice, "Oh, yeah."
The clock finally surrendered to noon with both its hands held straight up. The office closes at noon on Tuesdays, so I grabbed my jacket and walked out to my truck. Hmmmm, it's kind of windy out here, I thought to myself. I climbed up in my Avalanche, a workout in itself, and drove to the bank to make a deposit. When I got out of the truck and walked up the sidewalk to the main entrance, I zipped my jacket all the way up to my chin. I couldn't ignore the strength of the wind as I pulled the door open.
Two people were ahead of me in line. While I impatiently waited, shifting my weight back and forth from one foot to the other, I looked out the big plate glass windows at the flag in front of the building. I didn't want to believe that my plans to get some fresh air along with my exercise today weren't plausible. The flag was totally out of control, whipping and snapping every which way. Oh, no. The route I take from my home into the neighboring areas is entirely out in the open, with no significant wind breaks. If the wind is blowing, I can't avoid it.
Dog gone it. Part of me wanted to drive home and just do it anyway. If I wore a headband over my ears, I wouldn't get an earache. I have plenty of running clothes that I could layer and I'd stay warm, I told myself. I was avoiding the main issue. My sensible side reminded me that it's not fun to run at least a mile and a half into the wind. My stubborn side defended her case by arguing that the wind would be behind me for just as long.
I sat in the truck after I left the bank and tried to make the decision whether I should go to the Y or go home to run. My sensible side put it's arm around my stubborn side and spoke quietly to her, "Remember how hard it is to run three miles with no wind whatsoever? Why make it harder when you don't have to? I promise you that one day real soon, we'll have ideal weather conditions. We'll feel the sun on our skin, the pavement under our feet and no wind to slow us down. Let's hit the track. If you stop arguing, I'll carry you on my back when we start mile number three. So what do you say?"
My stubborn side stopped grumbling long enough to agree and to ask, "One more thing. Will you sing 'What a Wonderful World' to me while we run?"
My winning side replied with an imitation of Satchmo's voice, "Oh, yeah."
Monday, April 6, 2009
What a Wonderful World
A friend of mine reminded me of this song today. Have you heard Louis Armstrong sing, What a Wonderful World?
It goes like this:
I see trees of green, red roses too,
I see them bloom, for me and for you,
And I think to myself:
What a wonderful world.
I see skies of blue and clouds of white,
The bright blessed day, the dark sacred night,
And I think to myself:
What a wonderful world.
The colors of the rainbow, so pretty in the sky,
Are also on the faces of people going by,
I see friends shaking hands, sayin,' "How do you do?"
They're really sayin', "I love you."
I hear babies cryin', I watch them grow,
They'll learn much more than I'll ever know,
And I think to myself:
What a wonderful world.
Yes, I think to myself:
What a wonderful world.
Oh yeah.
(When Louis sings it, I believe it.)
It goes like this:
I see trees of green, red roses too,
I see them bloom, for me and for you,
And I think to myself:
What a wonderful world.
I see skies of blue and clouds of white,
The bright blessed day, the dark sacred night,
And I think to myself:
What a wonderful world.
The colors of the rainbow, so pretty in the sky,
Are also on the faces of people going by,
I see friends shaking hands, sayin,' "How do you do?"
They're really sayin', "I love you."
I hear babies cryin', I watch them grow,
They'll learn much more than I'll ever know,
And I think to myself:
What a wonderful world.
Yes, I think to myself:
What a wonderful world.
Oh yeah.
(When Louis sings it, I believe it.)
Sunday, April 5, 2009
For Pete's Sake
This morning, I responded to a writing prompt presented in Ann Linquist's creative writing site. As a follower, I was invited to consider what plans I'd make if I found out I only had six months to live. I normally submit a response to writing prompts quickly and easily. It's unheard of for me to wait three days to put in my two cents. Ann threw me with this one.
When I first read the prompt, I was taken aback. A few minutes later, I jotted down my initial thoughts on the back of an envelope. My plans were simply lovely. Among them were: I'd write letters telling folks how fond I was of them. I'd pray and read scripture more. I'd banish anxious thoughts. I'd smell the roses. I'd say I love you at every opportunity.
I was haunted by my list. I longed to know what my true reaction would be. Hours and then an entire day passed. I gave the possibility of an aborted future more consideration and I doubted that I would respond as I'd first predicted. I became angry and frustrated at my need to submit something. I made a very different list. It was far from lovely. I foretold things like this: I'd write hate letters. I'd break things. I'd cuss. I'd regret the good things I've done. I'd get even.
My second list seemed more realistic, knowing myself as I do. I decided to submit both of my lists to the writing site. After I clicked the submit button, I wept briefly. I seldom cry.
Maybe in a day or two I'll understand why.
[I can't leave my thoughts for a day or two. I'm still sitting here. I'm often puzzled when I experience negative feelings. I constantly try to fathom issues, myself and others and when I can't (99% of the time), I'm unsettled. Maybe I don't deserve six more months when I see myself as I truly am. I personally know many people who have died prematurely or are now facing the real possibility of death in spite of their goodness].
I've had enough of this for now. It's time to click PUBLISH POST and walk away. Bye.
When I first read the prompt, I was taken aback. A few minutes later, I jotted down my initial thoughts on the back of an envelope. My plans were simply lovely. Among them were: I'd write letters telling folks how fond I was of them. I'd pray and read scripture more. I'd banish anxious thoughts. I'd smell the roses. I'd say I love you at every opportunity.
I was haunted by my list. I longed to know what my true reaction would be. Hours and then an entire day passed. I gave the possibility of an aborted future more consideration and I doubted that I would respond as I'd first predicted. I became angry and frustrated at my need to submit something. I made a very different list. It was far from lovely. I foretold things like this: I'd write hate letters. I'd break things. I'd cuss. I'd regret the good things I've done. I'd get even.
My second list seemed more realistic, knowing myself as I do. I decided to submit both of my lists to the writing site. After I clicked the submit button, I wept briefly. I seldom cry.
Maybe in a day or two I'll understand why.
[I can't leave my thoughts for a day or two. I'm still sitting here. I'm often puzzled when I experience negative feelings. I constantly try to fathom issues, myself and others and when I can't (99% of the time), I'm unsettled. Maybe I don't deserve six more months when I see myself as I truly am. I personally know many people who have died prematurely or are now facing the real possibility of death in spite of their goodness].
I've had enough of this for now. It's time to click PUBLISH POST and walk away. Bye.
Saturday, April 4, 2009
Come On In, The Water's Fine
I awaken around 6AM this morning and my mind gropes in search of what day of the week it is. When my mental rebooting is complete, I conclude that it's Saturday. Ahhhhhh. In a split second, I download my initial decision of the day: there's no way I'm getting up yet. An hour passes. I peek at the clock again. It's still too early to start the day. Even though I'm not even sleepy, I refuse to rise. Another hour passes.
Somehow, I manage to extract myself from between the bedsheets at 8AM. I stagger to where April's YMCA pool schedule is posted inside my closet door. I squint at the blue sheet of paper and confirm that if I hurry I can lane swim before the youngsters take over the pool at 9AM. I throw on some clothes, cram swim gear and toiletry items into my vinyl-lined leather tote bag, pour coffee into my favorite mug and slide into the Avalanche.
Five minutes later, I park, grab my bag and enter the Y. Looking down at the pool, I'm relieved to see there's only one swimmer in one of the six lanes. Downstairs, in the locker room, I undress. I slip into my swimsuit, stretch my swim cap over my head, snap on my goggles and step into my shower sandals. I slide my indispensable lap counter onto my first finger, grab my shampoo and body wash and head to the showers and on into the pool area.
The water feels slightly cool as I ease myself over the edge of the pool. I lower myself until only my neck and head are dry. Brrrrr. For about 5 seconds, I feel chilled. The best way to solve that is to get moving. I start my lap counter, push off the end of the pool and begin swimming. When I reach the opposite end of the pool, I press the counter button with my thumb, turn around and head back from whence I came. I swim 36 lengths of the pool before I call it quits. Ahhhhh. Then, and only then, I stop and let myself relax. After two or three minutes of floating and easing my muscles, I pull myself up over the pool edge and head for the locker room. I don't have to get rush anywhere so I reward myself with a nice, long shower. I have all the time in the world to dress and put on a touch of makeup. I'm so used to hurrying to get to the office that it feels odd to take my time.
When I get in my truck, I can smell the hazelwood coffee left in my cup. What the heck. Even though it's cold, I enjoy the last swallows as I drive home. After I unpack my bag, I record several statistics from my lap counter into my exercise log book. My total swim time was 25 minutes, 11 seconds. My average time for swimming each length was 41.99 seconds. My fastest length was length number 36 at 35.27 seconds. My slowest length was number 27 at 47.97 seconds. I love my lap counter. Focusing on stroke mechanics and counting at the same time is more than I want to cope with.
I'm training for a sprint triathlon. The event will take place in July so I'm gearing up for the challenge. I'll run 3 miles on Monday and cycle 12 miles on Wednesday. An upper body workout Thursday or Friday and another swim on Saturday or Sunday will complete another week's training.
I've begun my day on schedule. Who cares about the rest of the day! After all, it's Saturday.
Somehow, I manage to extract myself from between the bedsheets at 8AM. I stagger to where April's YMCA pool schedule is posted inside my closet door. I squint at the blue sheet of paper and confirm that if I hurry I can lane swim before the youngsters take over the pool at 9AM. I throw on some clothes, cram swim gear and toiletry items into my vinyl-lined leather tote bag, pour coffee into my favorite mug and slide into the Avalanche.
Five minutes later, I park, grab my bag and enter the Y. Looking down at the pool, I'm relieved to see there's only one swimmer in one of the six lanes. Downstairs, in the locker room, I undress. I slip into my swimsuit, stretch my swim cap over my head, snap on my goggles and step into my shower sandals. I slide my indispensable lap counter onto my first finger, grab my shampoo and body wash and head to the showers and on into the pool area.
The water feels slightly cool as I ease myself over the edge of the pool. I lower myself until only my neck and head are dry. Brrrrr. For about 5 seconds, I feel chilled. The best way to solve that is to get moving. I start my lap counter, push off the end of the pool and begin swimming. When I reach the opposite end of the pool, I press the counter button with my thumb, turn around and head back from whence I came. I swim 36 lengths of the pool before I call it quits. Ahhhhh. Then, and only then, I stop and let myself relax. After two or three minutes of floating and easing my muscles, I pull myself up over the pool edge and head for the locker room. I don't have to get rush anywhere so I reward myself with a nice, long shower. I have all the time in the world to dress and put on a touch of makeup. I'm so used to hurrying to get to the office that it feels odd to take my time.
When I get in my truck, I can smell the hazelwood coffee left in my cup. What the heck. Even though it's cold, I enjoy the last swallows as I drive home. After I unpack my bag, I record several statistics from my lap counter into my exercise log book. My total swim time was 25 minutes, 11 seconds. My average time for swimming each length was 41.99 seconds. My fastest length was length number 36 at 35.27 seconds. My slowest length was number 27 at 47.97 seconds. I love my lap counter. Focusing on stroke mechanics and counting at the same time is more than I want to cope with.
I'm training for a sprint triathlon. The event will take place in July so I'm gearing up for the challenge. I'll run 3 miles on Monday and cycle 12 miles on Wednesday. An upper body workout Thursday or Friday and another swim on Saturday or Sunday will complete another week's training.
I've begun my day on schedule. Who cares about the rest of the day! After all, it's Saturday.
Friday, April 3, 2009
Eyes Open, But Nobody's Home
That's me today. I crawled out of bed at 7:00AM, showered, dressed and went to work. On Fridays, I work from 8:00 to noon. I drove out of the dental office parking lot at 12:01PM, stopped at the bank to deposit my pay check, bought stamps at Walgreens and rented Slumdog Millionaire from the video store on the corner.
As I write this blog for today, I'm only alert enough to spill a few words out. I don't know why but since I woke this morning, although the sun is brightly shining, I'm definitely living in a mental fog. A nap sounds nice but my husband is outside raking. I'm going to join in the "fun" and hope to have an improved report upon my return.
Two hours of raking have passed and I have to admit that I feel a bit more invigorated, a smidgen motivated and less mentally impaired. I wore a headband outside to prevent an earache, a fleece top over my shirt and a down-filled vest to boot. The sunshine on my back and my physical effort had me shed the vest early on. I tossed the fleece top when I raked out of the wind. Back inside, I find myself thinking positively about the laundry. I'm ready to tackle the pile. Normally, on Tuesday and Friday afternoons, I do a load or two. Doing that seemed out of the question earlier but after the fresh air and change of scenery, I'm up to it.
I'm flaming now. I sorted laundry and chucked a load of towels in the washer. Back upstairs, I emptied my carryall bag of a coffee mug, a water bottle, my deposit and debit receipts, my check stub, the movie video, the stamps, an empty plastic container w/lid (it had raisin bran for breakfast in it), my purse and keys. I entered the deposit and debits in my checking account record, put some items in the dishwasher and watered my poinsettia plant.
My husband is bringing dinner home soon. A restaurant close by does a great job with cod on Wednesday and Fridays. We'll soon be perched on our pub table enjoying wine, beer, cod, American fries, coleslaw, French bread and each other. Later, we'll watch the movie and that'll be it for the day.
The sun is still shining, my mental fog has lifted and it's been a good day after all.
As I write this blog for today, I'm only alert enough to spill a few words out. I don't know why but since I woke this morning, although the sun is brightly shining, I'm definitely living in a mental fog. A nap sounds nice but my husband is outside raking. I'm going to join in the "fun" and hope to have an improved report upon my return.
Two hours of raking have passed and I have to admit that I feel a bit more invigorated, a smidgen motivated and less mentally impaired. I wore a headband outside to prevent an earache, a fleece top over my shirt and a down-filled vest to boot. The sunshine on my back and my physical effort had me shed the vest early on. I tossed the fleece top when I raked out of the wind. Back inside, I find myself thinking positively about the laundry. I'm ready to tackle the pile. Normally, on Tuesday and Friday afternoons, I do a load or two. Doing that seemed out of the question earlier but after the fresh air and change of scenery, I'm up to it.
I'm flaming now. I sorted laundry and chucked a load of towels in the washer. Back upstairs, I emptied my carryall bag of a coffee mug, a water bottle, my deposit and debit receipts, my check stub, the movie video, the stamps, an empty plastic container w/lid (it had raisin bran for breakfast in it), my purse and keys. I entered the deposit and debits in my checking account record, put some items in the dishwasher and watered my poinsettia plant.
My husband is bringing dinner home soon. A restaurant close by does a great job with cod on Wednesday and Fridays. We'll soon be perched on our pub table enjoying wine, beer, cod, American fries, coleslaw, French bread and each other. Later, we'll watch the movie and that'll be it for the day.
The sun is still shining, my mental fog has lifted and it's been a good day after all.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Door County for Dummies
My grandma used to say, “If you place your left hand, palm down with fingers slightly spread, that’s the shape of Wisconsin. Your thumb’s there for a reason—why, it’s Door County.” I found another use for my thumb when, in my teens, I hitchhiked all the way up to the tip of that infamous county and back home again. That was in 1963 and was the dumbest thing I ever did.
Since then, I’ve gotten older and somewhat wiser. Twice a year, I hop in my jade green Jeep Liberty and leave my home in Two Rivers, Wisconsin—which sits south of Door County on Lake Michigan, right where (if you place your hand like grandma said to) the lower joint of your left thumb juts out—to hunt down bargains that beckon to me from the unique shops along the bay side of “The Door.”
I travel up Highway 42 to Sturgeon Bay and head across the thumb to Egg Harbor on Green Bay. Quaint little towns dot the shoreline as I mosey up the peninsula. After Egg Harbor, I reacquaint myself with Fish Creek, Ephraim, Sister, Ellison Bay and finally Gill’s Rock. That needn’t be my final stop if I opt to take the ferry to Washington Island from Northport Pier. Washington Island is like an elusive jewel—just out of reach—yet tempting the thumb and forefinger of Wisconsin to pull it down into the safety of Green Bay.
Six miles across, Washington Island often succeeds in enticing me to cross the waters via the Washington Island Ferry Line which passes three small islands: Pilot, Plum, and Detroit, on its crooked trip.
Shops bearing the names: What’s Next, Blue Willow Shop, The Magic Jacket, Maxwell’s House, and Chelsea Antiques nonchalantly display their wares. During my most recent trip in January, inside the What’s Next shop, I chanced upon and fell in love with a red shoulder bag by Baggalini. I knew it was just what I need for my upcoming trip to Boston in late September; it has a cute pocket—perfect for my Sony Cyber-Shot camera. I pulled plastic from my pocket and plunked it on the counter to make my purchase. “Please put it in a pretty bag,” I pleaded.
The Bluefront Café, Double Delites, Blue Horse Bistro & Espresso, Whistling Swan Restaurant, Chef’s Hat, and Fred & Fuzzy’s Waterfront Bar & Grill casually offer food and drink to those who need to wet their whistles or sample excellent cuisine. At noon, toting my new red bag, I chose to enjoy the water view from a table at the rear of the Blue Horse Bistro & Espresso. I rejuvenated myself with a panini grilled sandwich and a serving of “Fair Trade” organic coffee presented in a miam.miam “whimsical neo surrealistic” mug. I absolutely couldn’t walk out of there without purchasing my own whimsical mug which comes with a promise to inspire and amuse me whenever I need stimulation.
Galleries are plentiful including Popelka Trenchard Glass, Gloria Hardiman’s Maple Grove Gallery, PKJ Designs, and Turtle Ridge Gallery, to name a few. Fine art glass, oil paintings by internationally known artists, handcrafted jewelry by J. Jeffrey Taylor, contemporary art furniture by Michael Beaster, neon sculpture by Jeff Coan, and original leather handbag designs of artist Mary Ellen Sisulak comprise a short list of indulgences displayed by business owners in places both on and off the beaten path.
A voice within me whispers, every time I meander over the winding, hilly roads, lined with my favorite places: it’s time, splurge now and/or regret it later.
I’m still a dummy when I encounter discounts and deals. I’m dumb enough to think that I’m truly saving money, that I’m a wise shopper when I get something at half the regular price. It’s only when I return home and can’t find room for my purchases that I pause and wonder at my frivolousness. By then, I’m in love with all my new stuff and we’re hopelessly inseparable.
The drive from Sturgeon Bay to Northport Pier takes approximately one hour, that is, if you don’t stop to shop, gawk or talk. That piece of trivia came from a ferry brochure, certainly not from my own experiences.
Now that you’re no longer dumb about the county of Door, you’ve still no reason to be smart and conservative with your time and resources. Follow my example, being dumb is a choice you can make, and enter the artsy and relaxed atmosphere that belongs to Door County, Wisconsin.
P.S. The parts about hitchhiking and living in Two Rivers are fiction. I wrote this for a writing class last year so I jazzed it up a bit. Everything else is spot on.
Since then, I’ve gotten older and somewhat wiser. Twice a year, I hop in my jade green Jeep Liberty and leave my home in Two Rivers, Wisconsin—which sits south of Door County on Lake Michigan, right where (if you place your hand like grandma said to) the lower joint of your left thumb juts out—to hunt down bargains that beckon to me from the unique shops along the bay side of “The Door.”
I travel up Highway 42 to Sturgeon Bay and head across the thumb to Egg Harbor on Green Bay. Quaint little towns dot the shoreline as I mosey up the peninsula. After Egg Harbor, I reacquaint myself with Fish Creek, Ephraim, Sister, Ellison Bay and finally Gill’s Rock. That needn’t be my final stop if I opt to take the ferry to Washington Island from Northport Pier. Washington Island is like an elusive jewel—just out of reach—yet tempting the thumb and forefinger of Wisconsin to pull it down into the safety of Green Bay.
Six miles across, Washington Island often succeeds in enticing me to cross the waters via the Washington Island Ferry Line which passes three small islands: Pilot, Plum, and Detroit, on its crooked trip.
Shops bearing the names: What’s Next, Blue Willow Shop, The Magic Jacket, Maxwell’s House, and Chelsea Antiques nonchalantly display their wares. During my most recent trip in January, inside the What’s Next shop, I chanced upon and fell in love with a red shoulder bag by Baggalini. I knew it was just what I need for my upcoming trip to Boston in late September; it has a cute pocket—perfect for my Sony Cyber-Shot camera. I pulled plastic from my pocket and plunked it on the counter to make my purchase. “Please put it in a pretty bag,” I pleaded.
The Bluefront Café, Double Delites, Blue Horse Bistro & Espresso, Whistling Swan Restaurant, Chef’s Hat, and Fred & Fuzzy’s Waterfront Bar & Grill casually offer food and drink to those who need to wet their whistles or sample excellent cuisine. At noon, toting my new red bag, I chose to enjoy the water view from a table at the rear of the Blue Horse Bistro & Espresso. I rejuvenated myself with a panini grilled sandwich and a serving of “Fair Trade” organic coffee presented in a miam.miam “whimsical neo surrealistic” mug. I absolutely couldn’t walk out of there without purchasing my own whimsical mug which comes with a promise to inspire and amuse me whenever I need stimulation.
Galleries are plentiful including Popelka Trenchard Glass, Gloria Hardiman’s Maple Grove Gallery, PKJ Designs, and Turtle Ridge Gallery, to name a few. Fine art glass, oil paintings by internationally known artists, handcrafted jewelry by J. Jeffrey Taylor, contemporary art furniture by Michael Beaster, neon sculpture by Jeff Coan, and original leather handbag designs of artist Mary Ellen Sisulak comprise a short list of indulgences displayed by business owners in places both on and off the beaten path.
A voice within me whispers, every time I meander over the winding, hilly roads, lined with my favorite places: it’s time, splurge now and/or regret it later.
I’m still a dummy when I encounter discounts and deals. I’m dumb enough to think that I’m truly saving money, that I’m a wise shopper when I get something at half the regular price. It’s only when I return home and can’t find room for my purchases that I pause and wonder at my frivolousness. By then, I’m in love with all my new stuff and we’re hopelessly inseparable.
The drive from Sturgeon Bay to Northport Pier takes approximately one hour, that is, if you don’t stop to shop, gawk or talk. That piece of trivia came from a ferry brochure, certainly not from my own experiences.
Now that you’re no longer dumb about the county of Door, you’ve still no reason to be smart and conservative with your time and resources. Follow my example, being dumb is a choice you can make, and enter the artsy and relaxed atmosphere that belongs to Door County, Wisconsin.
P.S. The parts about hitchhiking and living in Two Rivers are fiction. I wrote this for a writing class last year so I jazzed it up a bit. Everything else is spot on.
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