Fever - Round 110, Day 4

Ugh.

Waiting to hear from the doctor.

Wanting to see this version of John:

Or this:

Or this:

Not this:

Or this:

And now he's huddled on the couch under two blankets.

Greenfield Village

Visit the beautiful state of Michigan and somewhere near the top of your Must See List be sure to pencil in Greenfield Village and The Henry Ford Museum. Having grown up outside Detroit, I've visited these sites many, many times but have never had as nice a trip as we did this July.

Greenfield Village is much like Colonial Williamsburg -- an expansive, authentic outdoor museum full of houses and farms and shops and docents in period costume.

We watched Monuments Men not too far back. I liked it. It's a bit of an odd movie in that it juxtaposes series themes with a tone that almost feels campy. I need to watch it a second time. Anyway, I liked it. After its release, George Clooney made headlines speaking about what historically have been called "the Elgin Marbles." George called them "the Greek Marbles."

As an historian friend of mine used to say, "The winners pick the names."

The marbles are named for a British aristocrat/archaeologist who swiped them from Greece which was then occupied by the Ottomans. Time magazine listed the Elgin Marbles among the greatest plundered artifacts of all time. Mr. Clooney is trying to bring the marbles home to Greece.

John in the machine shop.

(Google "plundered artifacts" for an interesting article on the whole subject. I like the way stolen artifacts are typically described as having been "spirited away." Reminds me of vocab exercises that invariably noted that bank robbers had "absconded with the funds." An English teacher friend of mine used to wonder if one could "abscond" with anything other than "the funds." Clearly she doesn't know my children who routinely "abscond with the remote" or "abscond with the last nutty bar.")

Kolbe in a play about the Wright brothers.

A visit to Greenfield Village and The Henry Ford Museum always makes me mull over the politics and economics of artifacts. If you visit Ford's Theater in Washington D.C., you'll see it pretty much as it was the night of Lincoln's assassination. Except for the President's chair. That's in The Henry Ford Museum. I guess it's appropriate that the world's largest automotive museum houses the limousine President Kennedy was riding in Dallas at the time of his assassination. Mr. Ford managed to buy the limo and ship it to Detroit. And then there's Menlo Park. Menlo Park, Thomas Edison's laboratory, was originally located in, well, Menlo Park. Which happens to be in New Jersey. But Menlo Park is now in Dearborn, Michigan, in Greenfield Village. Then there's the Wright Brothers' artifacts. Ohio and North Carolina, logically, might arm wrestle over rights to these since the brothers did most of their work in Ohio, but took their historic flight in Kitty Hawk. No matter. Nearly everything is in Michigan.

Controversy aside, all of this makes Greenfield Village and The Henry Ford Museum world class museums and a whole lot of fun to boot. (And it makes me wonder if Henry Ford had been British and not American and an archaeologist instead of a car manufacturer, would the Sphinx have supplanted Lord Nelson in Trafalgar Square? Would the entire Great Pyramid have been shipped to Europe? Mr. Ford clearly knew how to get what he wanted.)

One of the things he wanted was to inspire young inventors. All the kids -- from four-year-old Ainsley to twenty-two year-old Steven -- loved the Village.

Called To Be a People of Praise

This is Ainsley just minutes after her birthday party ended. 

But, really, it captures us all at the moment. 

First there's my sweet John who is dealing with fever, vomiting, a strep culture, blood work, more fever, more vomiting. Then there's Tim up to his eyeballs with everything from Ernest Hemingway to The Bill of Rights. Meanwhile Miss Ainsley loves, loves, loves everything about school but scratches her blond little head that it involves getting up and dressed so darn early. Mom is just plain exhausted keeping the domestic ship afloat and John's fevers under 102.

Here in Alleluia we set apart the month of September to sort of regroup spiritually. We choose a theme and meditate on it. Families takes steps to cut back on media to better hear the Lord and to wrest a little order out of loose-knit summer schedules.

This year's theme is taken from a line in the Alleluia covenant:
  We are called to be a people of praise.

So today I praise God for my four children, for medical care, for Tylenol and Motrin and running water, for healing that will come eventually, for time spent alone with my brown-eyed John who is always sweet but manages to throw in an extra dose of cuddliness when he's sick.

And if anyone could lift up a brief prayer for a special intention, I'd be so grateful.

An Update on Dad

We are so very grateful to the many, many friends who have been praying for Dave's dad. Dad has faced significant health issues since last Christmas. The past four months have been especially challenging. On Friday Dad had difficulty breathing and wound up in ICU and on a ventilator.

Our beloved Papa!

The good news is that he successfully came off the vent on Saturday!

Mom, along with the rest of family, would like to share a deep and heartfelt Thank! You! for your intercession and continued prayers.

A Pirate's Life for Me!

Jackknife John and Ahoy Ainsley followed the treasure app, hoisted the Jolly Roger, battled the dread pirate Stinky Pete, and hauled in some booty.

Fun times at Hilton Head.

My Girl Starts School

So she started kindergarten this morning, my girl Ainsley.

All my friends were so sweet. How are you doing? The baby's starting school! Are you going to cry?

You know, I barely kept it together when John started school. The entire  morning was emotional  for me. We made it through assembly. We moved into his classroom. On John's desk we found a sweet little poem about school. That proved to be my undoing. I fell apart. I couldn't read it. Just couldn't rein myself in.

Today I was completely dry-eyed.

She's ready. Cute. Confident. Over-the-top excited. Ready.

I think she was born ready.

That being said, she appeared to be, in her vernacular, "nervousing." In about two-thirds of the photos I took, Ainsley is tugging on one or both earlobes.

But she's going to love it. I think she's going to love nearly all of it. I imagine down the road there will be some girl drama. We've dealt with boy drama, but I hear girl drama takes it up a notch or two. But for now, my girl's going to love it.

I just can't be sad about that. She's been counting down the days, modelling her uniforms, working on her "summer homework" like a pre-med geek.

And, of course, I'd be lying through my teeth if I didn't add a loud and heartfelt Thank You, Good and Gracious God! that summer is coming to a close. We've had a good summer. Really. It ended with a week at the beach that was, hands down, our best family vacation ever. But, seriously, the past few weeks have felt like the last three hours of the drive to Michigan.

I am not a proponent of year-round school. I love the change of pace, and I love a more relaxed schedule that allows time for the type of learning that involves walking through the swamp and reading books on the couch and spending evenings watching documentaries together.

But I also recognize that the lengthy summer vacation is a remnant of agrarian times when children were needed to help in the fields. Believe me, there were moments this summer when I felt someone owed me a plow and a team of horses to keep these children gainfully occupied.

 With or without the horse, we're back in the saddle again.

And away we go.

Pelee Island: A Primer

When I mention Pelee Island in passing, listeners sometimes envision Hilton Head or Maui, Nantucket or Martha's Vineyard. Yes, Pelee is much like Martha's Vineyard minus the shops and restaurants. Minus the potable water and the paved roads. Minus the photographers and the Kennedys.

No matter. I love it still. What Pelee Island lacks in amenities (basic services, even), it makes up for in rustic charm and sheer beauty.

Of course, not every visitor sees it this way. Dad once greeted a potential cottager at the dock and drove him across the island to show him beach front property. Well, seems the wind had shifted and brought with it the dreaded biting flies.

And they are bad. 

Something out of a Michael Crichton novel bad.

Mr. Potential Buyer got out of the car, walked to the beach, met the biting flies, returned to the car, and said, "Take me back to the dock."

No sale.

For the uninitiated Pelee Islander, here I offer a primer, a brief orientation, helpful givens that I've gleaned over forty years of visiting the island.

Given #1 - There is nothing to do.

No putt putt, no movie theater. No golf course, no tennis courts. You can't run to the grocery store, since there really isn't much of a grocery store. Out of mustard? Make do or do without or wander up the beach to borrow some. The upside is that since there's nothing to do, you don't really have to do anything. You could spend two weeks at Pelee and never get in the car, never put on a pair of shoes, even.

Given #2 (And Irony #1) - There's so much to do.


Basic functions -- trash and water, specifically -- take an unusually large amount of time.

A visit to the Waste Transfer Station, AKA The Dump, is practically a field trip and should be filed below under Required Outings. Veteran Pelee Islanders remember the bad old days when "the dump" was exactly that -- a thoroughly nasty pile of refuse you'd approach breathing through your mouth poised to quickly hurl your contributions before speeding away. Today things are much more eco-friendly and much less pungent, but somehow the process of gathering the trash, driving to the far end of the island, and driving home seems to take half a day.

Re-supplying the water is easier than unloading the trash, but requires keeping in mind the variable hours of the Co-op, checking to see who needs water, gathering the empty tanks, and getting to the Co-op before closing time. 

Given #3 (Irony #2) - Relaxation can morph into lethargy.

Now, I would be remiss if I didn't mention that Nothing To Do has a downside and that is that you end up doing nothing. Life on Pelee lends itself to a schedule something like this: Stumble out of bed. Caffeinate. Brush your teeth by noon. In lieu of a shower, jump in Lake Erie. Rustle up some lunch around 2:00. Play a little Scrabble or Euchre. Think about dinner about seven. Consider a shower but opt for another dip in the lake. Feed everyone. Play some more cards. Switch from coffee to wine. Play some more cards.

For reasons I can't fully explain, basic personal hygiene becomes dicey and not just among the kids. For reasons gross, contagious, and undetailed here, I once left Pelee determined that our next visit would involve daily showers (not to be confused with daily swims) and a large supply of Dial soap.

Relaxed is good. Grungy can take on a life of its own.

Given #4 - Required Outings

We have our requisite Field Trips that no one but me seems to want to do. Since I come but once a year, everyone indulges me. 

We usually begin with Lighthouse Point. 

We gather cameras and water bottles. We ignore plaintive cries of children objecting to a forced march. We drive or bike up the road. We let George and assorted cousins run up ahead to search for snakes. We scream and carry on when they show off their finds. We take pictures. We look for sea glass. We head home.

And then there's Fish Point.

We gather water bottles and insect repellent. We ignore plaintive cries of children objecting to yet another forced march. We walk through the woods and note that this year's crop of Poison Ivy is thriving. We walk back along the beach. We stop by Coneheads for ice cream.

And that just about exhausts the list of tourist attractions on Pelee Island.

Of course there's fishing. We supply the men folk with drinks, snacks, and all the children we can possibly pawn off and outfit in life-jackets. Euchre, peace, and tranquility while they're gone! Fish and chaos when they return!

Given # 5 - Getting to the ferry requires a crisis.

We have had crises big (time consuming run-ins with customs' authorities) and crises small (missing shoes, toddlers in need of a bathroom), but there's always something to gum up the works.

Click here for a truly riveting tale. This year's trip provided only slightly less drama, but I'm happy to report, no blocked toilets. 

Long story short: on this visit, my dad and sister ending up leaving the island early due to health issues. I was to follow a few days later with Mom. And it was all good because we had our van on the island and another sizable vehicle parked on the mainland. All we had to do was get across the island to the dock  -- in a seven passenger van, with six Dolins, my mother, her dog, her wheelchair, my nephew, and eighty-three pieces of luggage. 

Since we hadn't yet visited The Waste Transfer Station, we also had a monstrosity of a garbage bag to tote across the island. Those wise folks at the new dump charge by the bag for trash drop off, and my dear father saves a few bucks by buying contractor sized garbage bags we dub body bags. They're about eight feet long.

So as we sped to the dock to catch the boat, we put the body bag in the only place it would fit in that seven passenger van now holding eight people, a dog, a wheelchair, and eighty-three pieces of luggage. That place would be the roof. When Dave took a corner a tad fast, I tapped him on the shoulder and gently reminded him that there was a week's worth of trash car-surfing on the roof. 

"Is it still there," he asked me.

Well, I was perched on about two inches of the middle bench wedged in between John and Ainsley with Cody, the psychotic dog affectionately known as Bitey, very nearly in my lap. Wholly unable to crane my neck far enough to see if the body bag was still with us, I hoped for the best. Dave dropped me at the dock so that I could assure the fine folks at the ferry that we were, in fact, planning to sail, while he, my mom, the kids, and the dog toured The Waste Transfer Station one last time.

The ferry requires a crisis. 

Rustic charm and sheer beauty -- that's Pelee Island.

We'll deal with the water and the dump, the biting flies and the ferry, as long as we can keep the lake and the bike rides, the wheat fields and the sea glass.