Monday, September 21, 2009


After being greeted with "Hey ya little cretin", there was again a warm delight within the status quo. A quick 15 minutes of yadda-yadda-yadda with my brothers and I was off. Held prisoner in the car with the folks for 4 hours was more than enough time served with good behavior. After all, I hadn't soiled my shorts or thrown up. Not that that should be cause for solitary confinement. But I remember a time somewhere in Ontario I think when the folks and I were trapped in gridlock midway across a bridge during 5 o'clock rush hour with of course absolutely no where to go and I was in pain and could not hold it any longer and crapped my pants. There we were, stranded mid-bridge, creeping forward inch by inch on a hot, sunny afternoon with a sweet, pungent oder wafting throughout. So if there was ever a time my Dad didn't have much use for me, that would've been it.

My island get-away car was a Schwinn Typhoon exactly like the one I had back home so I was pretty well versed in how she'd handle. Headed Northeast around the island for the 7 mile trek always started out strong but I would always come across something new or old to marvel at.
More importantly, I always took any opportunity to retain the swagger of someone who looked non-plussed by a gargantuan rock formation by the side of the road just begging to be climbed. Yeah, I've seen it before cuz, you know, my brothers work here!

Having a few neighborhood families transplanted onto Mackinac Island for the weekend of my brother's wedding was pretty cool...and pretty surreal. I was king of the world, or at the very least, an unpaid, destination savy tour guide.
Sam, the father of my brother's bride to be, worked some sort of security detail at one time for G. Mennen "Soapy" Williams, our state's 41st governor. So he was able to cop a spot at Soapy's Mackinac Island summer home for the rehearseal dinner. Quite a coup I think, especially for my brother AND pretty swanky, a little too swanky maybe. Whats the point of a beautiful, grand home if you can't dink around in it a little. Probably sharp-shooters up in the hills.
Aside from that stiff collared affair and possibly the wedding itself, good times were had. Sneakin puffs off Salems and Viceroys and the neighborhood kid's group ride around the island initiating me to the finer points of Boone's Farm.

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