For many years, my paternal grandparents resided at the corner of Arctic Street and Red Bud Trail on the north edge of Buchanan. As I mentioned in my preceding post, I was fortunate to often have the opportunity to spend time with them when I was a boy. And during those visits, in addition to the occasional fishing trip, my grandfather would sometimes take me for a summertime walk a mile or so down Red Bud Trail just beyond the city limits to visit the site of an old artesian well. (Artesian wells are those where geological strata, such as rocks and gravel, confine the groundwater. Thus, a spring will flow from such a well under natural pressure without need of a pump.)

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When I was a boy, my paternal grandparents lived in a tiny, 100-year-old house on the outskirts of Buchanan, Michigan. It was here where Grandma and Grandpa would often look after me on those occasions when Mom and Dad had things to do. And one of my favorite summer adventures while spending time with them was a cane pole fishing trip out to Weaver Lake. Now, with the warm days of summer fast approaching, I thought it might be fun to share with you some of my recollections of those trips. So, let’s see how well my memory works here. (That’s a joke, of course; we all know how well my memory works.)

Continue “Cane poles and bluegill”

“I hate it when you offer someone a sincere compliment on their moustache and suddenly she’s not your friend anymore.” (Source: Someone who rarely finds the opportunity to enjoy female companionship.)

Over millennia, the act of men cultivating various forms of facial hair has ranged from being a hobby (for those competing in handlebar moustache contests, for example) to a religious act (such as those associated with the Amish, Sikhism, Islam, certain sects of Judaism and major league baseball, for example).

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My friend and colleague, Lynn Gerlach, recently posted a most enjoyable article in her Speakeasy Blog entitled Has Fiction No Place in Our lives? (you can read it here). She speaks of the wonder and enjoyment those of us who are “of an age” experienced as youngsters watching those great television shows back in the 1950s. Unbeknownst to us, we were, of course, witnessing the birth of an industry. In fact, prior to 1947, U.S. households with television sets could be measured in the thousands. But, by the late 1990’s, 98% of all homes had at least one. Fast forward to the current era and the introduction of cable and satellite and, as she notes, we have programing coming out our ears.

Continue “The vast wasteland”

A couple of nights ago, while biding my time until weeknight baseball comes back around (opening day: April 2), I found myself clicking through my 140 TV channels only to end up back at my usual seven p.m. default – The Wheel of Fortune, or simply “Wheel”, to which it is referred by its more avid followers. This simple game show, which draws heavily on the word-puzzle crowd (myself included – I do at least two crosswords most days, especially when there’s no baseball on TV), is one of the masterful creations of Merv Griffin, who also gave us Jeopardy. The show premiered in 1964 with Chuck Woolery and Susan Stafford as the original hosts and Pat Sajak and Vanna White taking over the controls in 1983.

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