Abandoned Cemetery of Evart

     A driver drives slowly on south River rd. in Evart.  The mighty Muskegon River is just to the right of them.  A car turns left unto a gated overgrown 2-track road and parks in front of the steel gate.  There is a gap on either side of the gate where a person can squeeze on through and walk up the path up a little hill.  The sounds of twigs snapping and leaves rustling adds to the symphony of birds chirping in the distance.  The sun tries to shine its light through the trees casting a myriad of rays to help illuminate the area.  No signs are present to say where you are walking to but you know what lays up ahead.  The old abandoned cemetery in Evart, Mi., otherwise knows as the Holy Cross Cemetery. 

The entrance to the abandoned cemetery.

     I love walking through cemeteries.  There is something peaceful about it.  As I walk past tombstones I look to see who the person is and how long they lived.  Unfortunately I will sometimes walk past a grave of a young child.   I look at the year and see 1918.  I realize a large flu epidemic was sweeping across the nation at that time.  Could this young child have died from this flu?  I ask myself.  I stand at the gravesite and look around.  95 years prior this child's family stood on this same piece of Earth mourning their loss.  I look at the surroundings and take note of the trees.  I try to imagine some of the younger trees gone and the older tall trees to look smaller.  Was there a reason the family chose this particular spot to bury their child?  Is this child still remembered even after all these years or is the grave and name forgotten about?   I will stand and ponder some of these questions.  I will walk around and note some of the other graves that might have a memorial plaque next to them that says they served their country.  I will look at the dates and see if they died after they served or was their life ended early by the horrors of war.  Some headstones will have neat sayings on them, pictures (either carved into the stone or actual photographs) and some I have even seen with their children's names on the back side of the stone.  Our headstone is one of our last tangible item we leave for others to know that we were here in Earth at one point in history and most of the time we pass away leaving that part up to living family members to decide what to put on it.

     It was a few years after we moved to Osceola County that I read a newspaper article about an organization trying to fix the Holy Cross Catholic Cemetery that sadly slipped from many residence's memory and forgot about.  In the article they talked about how many of the stones were so old that the names and dates were hard to read.  I became very curious to where this cemetery was located and I wanted to check it out for myself.  My husband and I asked around a few businesses to see where the cemetery was located.  We got some help from the library and another place of business gave us a good indication of where to look.  We eventually found it and took the children to go see it, as they also have an enjoyment of visiting cemeteries. 

My daughter, Ashton, trying to figure out one of the hard to read headstones.
Pic taken May 2009



Pic taken May 2009.  My son Halvor and Christian in the background.

Pic taken May 2009

     Walking up the hill we soon start to see headstones popping out from the tall weeds as if they were greeting us on our arrival.  We started walking towards a tombstone when we stumbled into a dip in the ground and lost our footing.  We gained our balance and noticed the unnatural rectangular shape to the dip.  We soon realized that the "dip" in the ground was from the decomposed casket and body.  We quickly stepped up on higher ground.  We looked around and realized there was a whole row of rectangular "dips" that were missing the headstones.  These people are now forever nameless and forgot about.  No one can go back through their genealogy and claim them as a past ancestor and visit their final resting place.  It's sad.  No one should be forgotten about.






One of the family plots. Pic taken May 2009





Pic taken May 2009



     It was easy to tell where a family plot was located by bricks that made a huge square around an area.  Some headstones were still erect within the stone square but others were broken or missing.  One area was even loosely fenced in and a military plaque was placed next to one of their headstones.  One headstone was even handmade which made me wonder if the family didn't have enough funds to purchase a proper headstone.  Ironically, the homemade headstone looks better than the proper made ones. 


  

The writing is still there but it is started to look faded.
Pic taken July 2013
Pic credited to L. Morrone

Guardian Angel placed next to an unknown stone
Pic taken July 2013
Pic credited to L. Morrone

Time weathered away the name on this stone.  You can kind of make
out the dip in front of the stone from the pic.
Pic taken July 2013
Pic credited to L. Morrone

Top part of the grave marker vandalized.
Pic taken July 2013
Pic credited to L. Morrone

Unknown stone
Pic taken July 2013
Pic credited to L. Morrone

Another tombstone that weathered away who was laid at rest there.
Pic taken July 2013
Pic credited to L. Morrone 

    

It was odd how the ferns grew up right over where the body would be.
Pic taken July 2013
Pic credit to L. Morrone

Someone has been maintaining this gravesite. 
Pic taken July 2013
Pic credit to L. Morrone

     How was it that this cemetery be forgotten about?  Good question.  Evart was a logging, transient type of town that was organized in 1872.  Different logging companies would come in, cut their wood and eventually move on.  Some bring their families with them and other set forth on their own.  People died.  If the person was working with the logging camps around the late 1800's and a person perished with no family around they cannot send the body back home.  Refrigeration wasn't that good back then and the body would spoil.  That would not be a pleasant thing for a grieving family to have to deal with.  So they would bury the body in a nearby cemetery.  The area was a new area.  If a husband or wife passes on and they don't have outside family around then the living spouse might take the remaining family back to where they came from to get help in raising the children.  So they move away leaving the deceased loved one behind with no one to tend to the grave. 

     The cemetery didn't start at this location on S. River rd.  The church burned down but the cemetery remained.  In the 1950's GM built an auto plant, Ventra, where the catholic church used to be but the cemetery had to be moved for the parking lot to go in.  Loved ones were contacted to help move the bodies.  Many couldn't be contacted.  Some of the names were misplaced with moving of the bodies and no one was there to help name them.  Whether some remained on that spot and was paved over is unknown but it does leave it up to imagination of what if.  The bodies were then moved over to the spot where they rest now on S. River Rd.  ( N 43° 52' 59.99"  W 85° 17' 30.01" (43.88333, -85.29167)) 

     I still am baffled at how a cemetery that was moved in the 1950's could be forgotten about so quickly.  In the article about the abandoned cemetery it mentioned why the catholic church wasn't tending to this since it was the catholic cemetery.  If I remember correctly the catholic church lost or didn't keep the records of this cemetery and they didn't know they were responsible for it. 

     The best time to view this cemetery would be early spring when the grass is still short and the leaves aren't fully on the trees yet so the sun can shine brightly on the ground.  It also makes it easier to see the "dips" with the grass and weeds kept low.  If anyone does venture out in that direction I ask that you please be respectful and not touch the stones as they are fragile with their age.  Thank you. 

50 Year Anniversary of Desegregation in Alabama

     September 10, 1963, twenty black students were able to attend Alabama public schools for the first time.  This is not the Little Rock, Arkansas that we are most familiar with but this is one of the milestones of the civil rights movement. 

     During the time of the 1954 Brown Vs. Board of Education of Topeka, Kansas 17 states were segregated as well as the District of Columbia.  These states were Delaware, Maryland, Missouri, Kentucky, Virginia, West Virginia, Oklahoma, Texas, Florida, Georgia, Alabama, Massachusetts, North Carolina, South Carolina, Indiana, Louisiana, and Arkansas.  The decision overturned the separate but equal ruling and declared that it violated equal protection of the 14th amendment.  In short, blacks and whites should be taught at the same school. 

     As with all government actions things don't happen as quickly as they should.  1963 was the year John F. Kennedy pushed to desegregate the south.  Eleven states and 144 school districts desegregated with out any problems.   Birmingham, Alabama resisted as much as they could.  Even the governor George C. Wallace was fighting to keep the schools segregated.  Kennedy told Wallace that he was willing to use any armed forces necessary to desegregate the schools.  Eventually Wallace backed down.  Four days later on September 15, 1963 the 16th Street Baptist Church was bombed killing 4 young ladies.  The violence in the south would get worse before it would get better.  This was a dark time in America's history. 

     Could you image the feeling of these 20 students must of felt attending school at these institutions for the first time?  They must of felt so alone and scared.  But this needed to be done to help our nation unite.  These children were picked out to lead others into becoming one school.  It wasn't easy for them.  They had to be guarded with our own military to attend class.  Think about that for a moment.  Today we take for granted of students of any race coming in and out of the doorways of the school without a second thought.  But it was paved on the tears and fears of those students 50 years ago. 

     I am reminded of a lesson a teacher taught us back in my early elementary years of segregation.  We had a boys drinking fountain and a girls drinking fountain.  She had the boys line up at the girls fountain and us girls had to line up at the boys drinking fountain for all of us to drink from.  We giggled and jested as we took a drink from the other fountain.  Obviously the water is piped in to the fountains by the same pipe but the only difference was they were a short distance from each other.  None of us liked it.  We preferred our own drinking fountain.  It wasn't easy to do.  After that experiment we still went back to our regular drinking fountain without a second thought.   

     I realize now that our teacher was trying to tell us that it doesn't matter which drinking fountain we drink from.  They are one and the same.  The color of our skin may be different but our pipes, or our inner organs are all the same.  There isn't a difference. 

     There is a part of Martian Luther King jr.'s August 28th, 1963 speech of "I have a Dream"  where he says, "...little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers..."  Have we achieved that dream yet?  Although the schools are now as one but there is still a separation of races within the schools.  Take a look at any major school cafeteria at lunch time or a shopping mall.  Generally you will find colored groups flocked around together whether it be yellow, white, red or black.  Now there may be the occasional black person or two with a group of white people or visa versa but majority stick to their own race.  That is not being as one as Martin Luther King Jr. dreamed of.    

     We have come a long way from 50 short years ago.  It was just a short time in our nation's history that blacks couldn't share our drinking fountain or ride in front of the bus.  Now look around at the change that has taken place.  What will happen in the next 50 years?

Middle School Gulf War Protest

     It was late autumn of 1990.  I was in the eighth grade at White Pine Middle School in Saginaw.  The Persian Gulf War caught the attention of nearly every adult.  News crews from CNN and other news sources were right there on the front lines showing the horrors of the war to everyone back home.  Iraq accused Kuwait of producing too much oil, which didn't bring a large revenue to Iraq, and taking some of Iraq's oil land which wasn't the case at all.  Iraq started to attack Kuwait over the rights of the oil.  We stepped in with our troops to try to control the matter.  Just like with any other war some American's were against it and other's were for it.  Through the music media singing about peace in the middle east and the outcries of the liberal left that rang out in the news I ignorantly followed along.

     One day word passed around quickly that in the early afternoon at a certain time a walk-out demostration was to be held at the flagpole to show our support to bring the soldiers home.  In the middle of class those that oppose the war were to just get up and walk out.  I debated all morning long if I wanted engage in the activity or not.  I wondered if anyone would actually do that.  It would be exciting to participate I would think to myself.  What risks would there be if I did do that?  After all, we have the right to protest.  Word worked its way around the school and eventually to the principal Mr. Cleveland's ears.  An announcement interrupted the classrooms by Mr. Cleveland saying anyone who walk's out of class will get a detention.   A detention?  That would be it.  I didn't think that was so bad.  I convinced myself to do it. 

     The time came near for the "huge" walk-out.  Everyone was quietly staring at the clocks in anticipation.  The teacher, whose name escapes my memory, stopped teaching his lesson for a moment.  He said he knew about the walk-out and told us that he cannot stop us from walking out but he would give a detention to those that did.  He looked up at the clock.  "The choice is yours but if you are going to go then do it now so I can get back to the lesson"  he said plainly.

     The room was deafly silent.  People shifted their eyes to look around the room to see who would be brave enough to walk-out.  Through the window of the door we could see other students walking past making their way out to the flagpole.  One student got up and made his way out the door.  Then another.  It's now or never!  I whispered to myself trying to find the encouragement to go.  NOW OR NEVER!  I felt my muscles move as if they had control all on their own.  My fingers wrapped around my books and gripped them tightly.  I stood up not being able to look at my teacher.  Deep down I kept thinking this is wrong and I shouldn't be doing this.  At the same time I couldn't help myself.  My actions now have spoken.  I tried to hold my head up high as I walked out of the classroom.  It was hard to do.  For some reason I wanted the ground to swallow me up and stop me from what I was about to do. 

     I made my way outside towards the flagpole that stood tall at the end of the long boulevard-style parking lot.  Students were already standing proudly up on the cement riser that helped hold the flag up shouting chants of bringing our soldiers home.  Mr. Cleveland was outside trying to get students back to the classroom to no avail.  There must of been around 50 students standing around chanting.  A thrill of naughty energy surged through me.  This was going to be exciting.  I tossed my book bag in a heap with other book bags off to the side and jumped up onto the cement riser.  I raised my fist up in the air and began chanting my protest for the war. 

     The busses were making their way around the boulevard to start bringing students home.  Trish, a student who took a leadership role in the walk-out and who personally knew someone overseas fighting, informed everyone that this protest will continue the next day.   Everyone walked away agreeing to come back the next day. 

     The next morning as we got off the busses several students made their way back to the flag pole, myself included.  Mr. Cleveland was already there with the superintendent insisting we go back to the classroom.  We denied their request.  On this day we had only about 20 students protest against the war.  That was a far less cry than yesterday.  Around lunch time more students joined in as it wasn't interfering with their class time.  WNEM Channel 5 news even came.  Naturally we were excited to see the news crew with their satellite trucks and camera's.  Trish, our fearless leader, did most of the talking as a bunch of us were in the background shouting our agreements with what she was saying.  We were all giddy that we were going to be on the news that night. 

     The principal was very upset that the news was called in.  He came out and told us that we either get back to class and have an ISS (In School Suspension for 3 days) or receive an OSS (Out of School Suspension).  Several went back to class feeling defeated.  There were still a handful of stubborn students who still didn't want to give in so easily.  We screamed and shouted vulgar words at Mr. Cleveland telling him that he can't do that to us.  He pointed his finger out to Center road and ushered us out to the sidewalk.  He told us that if we don't leave the school grounds that he would call the police.  When a person tells a bunch of 12 year old students to leave school grounds promptly there is only one course of action....LEAVE!

     I am going to pause the story here and reflect on what the principal had done.  He just let about 15 students leave the school during school hours unaided by adults.  WHAT WAS HE THINKING?!?!  He should of called our parents and had them come and get us from the school grounds.  I guess it is a different time era now. 

     We all walked north down center road for a while.  We came to a main crossroads and we debated what to do now.  We were deciding whose parents were home and whose were not.  Obviously we were heading to the house where parents were not going to be there.  The group split up and went several ways.  Several of us decided to go to Adam's house.  Both of his parents worked and wouldn't be home for a while.  The walked seemed to take forever.  We were glad to reach his place.  We all crashed in the cool furnished basement and turned on MTV.  Joy, Amanda, another girl and I plopped ourselves down on the couch not wanting to move again.  We mostly relaxed, smoked a few cigarettes that someone had on them while discussing what music group had the hottest members.  

     Eventually, time was getting close for his mom to be returning from work.  We all left, slowly as a group, then branching off until I was making my own way home alone.  My sister, unhappily greeted me at the door demanding where I had been.  My mom was away to Minnesota for a work conference and had no idea what was going on at the time.  "School called earlier telling me they dismissed you from school and you cannot go back until next Monday!  What do you have to say for yourself young lady?" 

     I gave my sister a blank look, "I had fun?"  I didn't know what to say.  Needless to say she had the authority to ground me. 

     That following Monday my mom, back early from her conference because of my actions, escorted me to the principal's office so I could apologize.  I wanted no such thing and I begged my mom not to have me apologize.  She insisted that I had to.  We sat in the reception area waiting to be called back to see Mr. Cleveland.  It seemed as if the clock crawled slowly until we were called back to see him. 

     I sat in a padded chair across from his desk and next to my mom.  I gazed at the rings of wood on his desk swinging my legs while my mom and Mr. Cleveland discussed the situation.  I really did not want to be in that room.  I felt a sharp pinch in my thigh.  "Don't you have anything to say?"  My mom said as she was pinching my leg trying to get me to talk. 

     I roll my eyes as I finally make eye contact with Mr. Cleveland.  His eyes looked so black and beady behind his glasses.  His comb-over was failing miserable at hiding his receding hairline.  His broadness of his shoulders didn't seem to fit his small head.  He looked like a bug, like a rolie polie bug.  I started to picture antenna's coming out from the top of his head and huge pinchers would come out from his mouth.  I tried to suppress my laughter.  "I'm...(snicker)..I'm....very....sorry...(snickers)...for walking out (full laughter)."  By the time I finished with the sentence I was in a full force laugh attack.  I couldn't help it.  The more I looked at Mr. Cleveland the more in my mind he was transforming into a hideous bug. 

     "Jill!"  My mother gasped out of embarrassment.  "You need to stop that laughing right now!  Apologize!"

      I tried to look away so I didn't have to be reminded of my vivid imagination of Mr. Cleveland as a creepy crawly.  It didn't help.  I tried to say it without laughing but I would only laugh more.  I tried to apologize quickly between my laughter.  He finally had enough of me trying to apologize and ordered me back to class.  My mother stayed behind to talk some more. 

     From my behavior I was grounded for a few more weeks at home.  I tried to tell her that I couldn't help my laughing and that he reminded me of a bug.  At the time she wasn't amused at my imagination as I was. 

     Looking back I realize how nitwitted my actions were.  Did I really think that because a group of middle school students didn't attend class that they would just send the troops home?  Probably not.  I didn't think at all about my actions.  I just acted....acted foolishly that is. 

Lost

     It was late summer or early fall in 1981 when my grandparents, my mom, my sister, my brother and I went to the Fashion Square Mall in Saginaw for shopping.  I was half way through my 4th year of life.  We spilt off into group and I happily went with my grandpa.  Teaming up with my grandpa was always a smart idea when you were a little.  He would often sneak you treats or buy you toys. 

     I remember my grandpa and I walking into the CVS pharmacy.  At that age everything I looked at seemed amazing.  He was checking out.  Behind him was a display of the newest hot wheel cars in a thick plastic case, with neat vertical rows that displayed the shiny, and most colorful design of cars I had ever seen  I was somewhat of a tomboy growing up.  I enjoyed playing with cars and wrestling.  Trying on clothes and wearing jewelry were for girly girls and I was not for it.  I called out to my grandpa to show him all the wonderful cars I wanted.  He turned and agreed they were neat.  That was not the reaction I was hoping for.  I wanted him to buy them for me. 

     "Grandpa, I want this one, " I would point to a particular car, "....and this one....and that one...Ooooh, I would like this one too."  Suddenly it seemed strangely silent for a moment, "Grandpa, are you paying attention to me?"  I turned around.  To my horror my grandpa was gone.  I stood there and looked around.  A bad feeling arose in me.  "Grandpa?"  I called out again.  Nothing. 

     I froze for a moment not knowing what to do.  Could he have went further back into the store for something he needed?  Did he leave the store and go somewhere else?  What do I do?  I looked at all the people entering and leaving the store.  I suddenly realized how big the mall is.  I couldn't just stand there all day. 

     I finally managed to take a step.  I decided to quickly go up and down every aisle to see if I could locate my grandpa.  I ran down each aisle calling out his name.  Nothing.  I made my way to the entrance of the store.  I looked out to the middle area of the mall.  Hundreds of people walked past and none of them looked familiar.  Slowly I made my way out to the middle of the mall.



The layout of the Fashion Square Mall where I was lost at.
In the 1980's Macy's was Hudson's and the food court wasn't there.
I sat in front of one of the box stores debating which store to enter.
 

     I could see the fountain flowing in the middle.  It made a wonderful sound.  I walked towards it.  There was a ledge that surrounded it.  I stood up on it and walked along the ledge being careful to keep my balance.  I sat back down on the ledge and splashed the cool water for a moment.  I was hoping my grandpa or someone would find me.  No one did.  I looked around again and decided I would have to go through every store and see if I can find my grandpa or anyone else from my family. 

The texture of the seats
reminded me of this snack.

     I made my way towards one of the ends of the mall.  In the middle of the aisles sporadically spaced out where brown bumpy circular seats with trees growing out of the middle of them.  The texture reminded me of  the Star Cruncher snack you would buy at the store.  I climbed myself up on the seat, stood up and looked around.  I thought to myself if I do into this store he might come out of the other store and not see me.  If I go into that store he might be in the other store and still not see.  I didn't know which store to enter.  I was lost.  My stomach was all twisted up in knots.  All these people and I didn't know who to ask for help and none of them seemed to be my family.  It seemed as if time stood still.  In front of me was a big box store.  On the left and right side of the entrance of the box store were two other smaller stores.  Neither seemed appealing to go in to.  I tried to imagine which one my grandpa would be in, if he was in any of them at all. 

     "JILL!"  I heard someone yell.  I turn around in time to see my older sister grab my arm.  "WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?!   WE HAVE BEEN LOOKING EVERYWHERE FOR YOU!"  she didn't see pleased.  Behind her was a policeman.  Suddenly I felt as if I had done something wrong. 

     The office talked with me.  I don't remember what he said but I remember feeling scared.  We had to follow him somewhere.  I tried to hid behind my sister so I wouldn't be close to him.  He would walk just a step ahead of my sister.  Occasionally he would walk just to the left of my sister.  I would scurry to the right of her.  He would casually walk to the right of her.  I would quickly move to the left of my sister. His steps seemed hard and quick.   I was starting to think I was better off being lost.

     We finally arrived to the destination to the middle of the mall's information center.  I thought I was going to be arrested and sent to jail.  There my mom, grandparents and brother were waiting for me.  Their looks of concerned quickly turned to anger as they thought I just waltzed off on my own.  My mom thanked the officer and she quickly ushered me off to the bathroom for a prompt spanking.  I probably wished at that moment that the policeman did arrest me and sent me off to jail. 

     I didn't understand why I was getting spanked.  I never moved from where I was at.  It was grandpa who moved away from me!  I was only trying to find them and here it felt as if I was in trouble. 

     It wasn't until years later and talking about this story with my mom that I learned at the time of my disappearance another story of a boy who was lost in the mall was making headlines in the news.  Adam Walsh.  A 6 year old boy who was kidnapped out of a mall in Florida and later on someone found his head in a pond.  At the time the kidnapper was unknown.  The media put fear into the minds of parents all across the country.   Now being a parent myself I could understand the fear my mother could have felt that day, especially since the story of Adam Walsh. 

     From what happened to Adam Walsh came about the "Code Adam" that most stores use today in case a child goes missing.  Their protocol goes as follows: 

1. If a visitor reports a child is missing, a detailed description of the child and what he or she is wearing is obtained. Additionally, all exterior access to the building is locked and monitored; anyone approaching a door is turned away.
2. The employee goes to the nearest in-house telephone and pages Code Adam, describing the child’s physical features and clothing. As designated employees monitor front entrances, other employees begin looking for the child.
3. If the child is not found within 10 minutes, law enforcement is called.
4. If the child is found and appears to have been lost and unharmed, the child is reunited with the searching family member.
5. If the child is found accompanied by someone other than a parent or legal guardian, reasonable efforts to delay their departure will be used without putting the child, staff, or visitors at risk. Law enforcement will be notified and given details about the person accompanying the child.
6. The Code Adam page will be canceled after the child is found or law enforcement arrives

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Code_Adam

 

 

     



Tennis Meditation

     We all have those special things in our lives that we all take pleasure in doing.  I remember the my grandmother (that would be my mom's mom) would have her morning coffee and cigarette she would also play a game of solitaire.  That was her time to sit and ponder about the day that lay ahead.  It was her moment of being tranquil with herself.  My brother would go outside from sun up to what it seemed as sun down and shoot hoops in the driveway with the jambox shouting out the sounds of Beastie Boys or Run DMC.  My sister preferred things a bit quieter by painting ceramics while watching the latest soap opera on TV.  When I was in junior high my serene moment came from playing tennis out in the back yard.

     I couldn't wait until the spring air melted most of the winter snow away.  If the weather was nice enough I would shovel off the back patio to clear away the snow and remove the wet, soggy leaves that nestled in near the back of the garage from the previous autumn.  Our garage was attached to our light yellow house in Saginaw.  Behind the garage laid a sun-faded red and white checked board style patio.   Two wooden black birds were nailed to the siding forever posed in flight.  To me they were targets waiting to be wacked over and over with a tennis ball as I learned to control where I send the ball after I hit it with the racquet.  If my brother didn't take over the jambox for his music then I would sneak it outside for my tunes of Bell Biv Devoe or Milli Vanilli  It didn't matter much to me because my brother and I did have similar taste in music.  If the music was pumped up with loud bass we were happy. 

     Feeling the warm sun upon my face I would slowly unzip the black jacket of my racquet and remove my metal framed Wilson racquet.  My right hand would grip firmly around the handle as I took a few practice swings and felt the wind swish around it.  I would reach down and pick up one of the tennis balls that I brought outside with me.  Standing near the corner of the patio I would bounce the ball off the ground and tap it with my racquet.  The ball would fly up and smack against the side of the garage with a thunking sound.  The ball would bounce back onto the red and white patio squares and I would swing my arm around to hit the ball back to the side.  I would work on my swings of back hand and forward hand.  I  pretended that I was Steffi Graf, effortlessly going after the ball and hitting it back to the other side.   I had to be careful of where I sent the ball because there was a window towards the side of the garage that I didn't want to hit.  Occasionally the ball would tap into the window and I would hold my breath waiting for it to break but it never did. 

     There was something about the rhythm of the ball plunking the racquet, thunking on the siding and plopping on the ground that gave me a calming effect.   PLUNK!  THUNK!  PLOP!  PLUNK!  THUNK!  PLOP!  PLUNK!  THUNK!  PLOP!   Over and over the sounds sent me into deep thought.  My body would carry out the actions while my mind would start to analyze my frustrations, plot out the "what if's" in my life, or plan a story outline of something I wanted to write about.  Even with the music blaring in the background my thoughts came across loud and clear.  At that moment there was clarity in my life.

     My  mom knew how much I enjoyed tennis and set me up for lessons through the township.  I would walk over by Zaul Library to the tennis courts to take my lessons.  I would convince one of my friends, Keisha, to join me over at the courts to play one on one.  One time there were older teenage boys playing and they asked us to join them for playing doubles.  It was her and I against them.  I can't remember who won or lost but I can still recall giving each other a high five when they would miss the ball and we would get the score.  I even signed up on the White Pine Middle School intramural tennis team after school and did quite well with it.  

     Soon my attentions were drawn away from tennis as I got older.  We ended up moving to a new house and I didn't have my patio to practice on anymore.  I have taken my children to the tennis courts we have in town and gave them a chance to play.  They tried it but they didn't have the passion for it like I did.  There are days where I long to hold the racquet and have a good game of volleying the ball back and forth over the net, running up and down the court after the ball and feeling the force of the ball up against the racquet as I swing to hit it.  Maybe it is the carefree moments of swinging the racquet and hitting the ball up against the house that I miss.  Maybe. 

    

When We Learn Things We Don't Want To Know

     It was the early part of 1997.  I was into my second trimester of having my first child.  I worked at Family Dollar in Allegan.  I was a key holder which meant I could open and close the store, do a little bit of book work, and basically act as manager in charge while the head manager is gone.  I loved working there.  The people I worked with were like family.  We all had a wonderful time working together. 

     One evening a few of us were restocking the shelves from a truck delivery that came the day before.  There was a lot to do.  I would fill up a cart full of items that it could be restocked and pull it to the front of the store so that the person running the cash register could put the items away.  I would unbox and put away the items located in the back half of the store.  If the cash register section got busy a bell would ring and I would dash up to the front and open the other register.  We were working fast because we wanted to get as much put out as we could. 

     Pete, a teenage boy who was working that night (and the only boy employed at the time), called me over to him.  He was stocking the shelves over by the ladies feminine products.  "I have a question."  He was busy putting boxes up on the shelf while he talked, "What is a du-shay?" 

     A confused look came across my face.  "A du-shay?"

     "Yea.  This.  I see women buy this all the time."  And he hands me the box.

     I look down at the box and snickered a bit in embarrassment.  "Pete, that is not a 'du-shay', that is a douche." 

     "What is it used for?"  He had a dead serious look to his face. 

     I had to pause for a moment and choose my words carefully.  He was, afterall, a minor and I didn't want to tell him things that were inapprropriate.  I put my hand on his shoulder as he was still croutched down towards the floor putting them in their proper spots.  "I will just tell you, Pete, that you will NEVER EVER need to use these."   I started to walk towards the back to resume my work.

     He followed me with a box still in his hand.  "Come on!  Tell me!  I want to know."

     I looked at him for a moment still debating on whether to tell him.  I figured if he is asking and putting those items away on a shelf he might as well know what they were used for.  I sighed a huge breath of disbelief of what I was about to tell him.  "Women will use this to help clean themselves up and make themselves feel fresher down there."  I glanced my eyes downwards to help tell him, nonverbally, of what area I was referring to. 

     He quickly dropped the box to the floor.  "EEEEWWW!  THAT IS SO GROSS!"  He yelled out while his face twisted into a disgusting look. 

     I shushed him to be quiet as customers were in the store.  I couldn't help but laugh at his reaction.  "Now pick that up and go finish putting them back on the shelf."  He bent over and picked up the package pinching it between his thumb and finger.  He did not want to touch it anymore.  "I told you that you would never need to use this but you HAD to know."  I jested with him.  He glanced at me with another disgusted look on his face before he turned around and went back to restocking the shelves. 

     Later on a rush of customers were ready to check out.  I came to the front of the store to help ease the long line.  Pete and I were on a raised platform back to back surrounded by the registers.  We could see the long line of people waiting to be checked out with their carts full of items.  Pete quietly whispers to me nonchalantly but with fear in his voice, "Oh my gosh!  Look at the person in my row."

     I finish ringing up my customer and I glance up to see how long the lines are but in reality I look to see who Pete was referring to.  Nothing, to me, stood out.  Then I glanced down at some of their carts.  There in one person's cart was 6 boxes of douche among some other smaller items.  I look up at the person who was holding onto the cart and this lady could be the poster person for the People of Walmart internet site.  I probably wouldn't of had a second thought about this person except of how Pete was quietly reacting about it.

     He would reach down to grab a bag and quietly say under his breath so I could hear it.  "I hope she goes to your lane.  I don't think I could ring her up."

     I chuckle, trying not to draw attention to our ackward conversation.  "Just pretend like it is a box of chocolates."  I think I heard him gag a little when I said that.

     This lady finally reached Pete's side of the cash register.  Pete was trying to sound normal as he usually is but I could tell he felt nervous and disgusted at the same time.  My line was empty so I turned to help Pete bag her items.  I remember placing three in each bag so the bag wouldn't rip by the corners of the box.  Pete finished out the transaction as politely as he could.  After she left the store Pete turned to me with his eyes bulging out.  "6 BOXES?  SHE NEEDS 6 BOXES?!?!?!  THERE IS 2 TO A BOX!!!!"  He shudders his body then he thinks deeply about her purchase and shudders again. 

     I pat his shoulder, "You did well ringing her up, Pete.  Sometimes ignorance can be bliss but now you know."  With that I stepped off of register platform and went towards the back of the store and resumed pulling boxes out of the back and filling up the shelves.                   

Deep Fried Mouse, Anyone?

     As a wedding present in 1998 my husband Brian and I received a deep fryer.  I never specifically asked for one on our registry so I was surprised we got one.  I was a new wife who was not very talented with cooking in the kitchen.  I welcomed any gadget that might help create something edible and different to eat at the dinner table.  I was excited to try it out. 

This is exactly what my deep fryer looked like.

     We never had a deep fryer growing up.  My mom would toss french fries or tater tots in the oven instead.  We never complained.  We ate them and enjoyed it.   It was what we knew.   I read the instructions of our deep fryer tried it with french fries.  I was impressed on how crispy and tasty they turned out to be. Even the color was that of a golden hue.  It was a lot better than fries coming out of the oven that is limp and squishy and of pale yellow in color.  I used it quite often instead of the stove and it didn't heat the whole house up which was nice in the summer time.  I had my special metal slotted spoon to help dish out the fries as I placed it in a paper towel lined bowl.  I felt that my cooking skills were really something special with my new deep fryer. 

     In 2004 we moved up to Osceola County from Allegan.  Of course my precious deep fryer came with us.  It has been used much in the 5+ years that I had had it and it started to show.  Part of the flimsy lid melted one time as I set it too close to the hot deep fryer.  The lid still did it's job for the most part when it wasn't in use.  Or so I thought.

     One summer evening Brian and I were fixing hot dogs and tater tots for dinner.  I fired up the deep fryer.  It wasn't long after that a foul smell perfumed the area.  We couldn't pinpoint where it was coming from.  We began to think we picked up a bad batch of hot dogs from the store as we were boiling them.  We would walk over to the store and smell over the boiling pot but the smell wasn't coming from there.  We walked in circles around our kitchen with our noses up in the air trying to locate them foul order but we just couldn't do it.  It seemed like it was from all over.  We tried to grin and bare it the best we could. 

     I put in a handful of tater tots.  In a few minutes I pulled them out and dumped the golden tots into the glass serving bowl.  I tossed another handful of frozen tots into the hot oil.  The hot oil crackled and snapped as it cooked the tater tots.  I grabbed for my silver slotted spoon and fished out a few tots.  I stuck my spoon in again and recovered some more tots that were hiding under the oil.  As I pulled out the spoon I looked down at the tots.  Lying across my metal spoon was a dead mouse.  The little bits of fur on it was soggy from the oil.  I gasped as I stared down at this deceased little mouse trying to think of how it met its demise.  He must of been hiding out in my cupboard and probably ran across the top of my deep fryer and slipped through the side of the lid and eventually drowned in the oil.  It didn't look like it happened that long ago as he wasn't too badly decayed. 

     I walked over to Brian and showed him my mouse discovery.  He wasn't as interested in seeing the deep fried mouse as I was.  Right away he started dry heaving.  Trying not to vomit Brian said nauseated,   "Get....rid....of....that....MOUSE!"

     Looking around the kitchen I had no where put the hot deep fried mouse.  I couldn't toss him into the garbage because the oil on him would melt the bag.  I didn't want to toss him in with the already cooked tater tots.  It just didn't seem right.  I wasn't sure how to dispose of him.   Brian couldn't handle the sight of the mouse on the spoon anymore and he quickly grabbed it out of my hand and tossed it back into the deep fryer.  He unplugged it and wrapped a towel around the deep fryer so he could pick it up without burning himself.  He yelled for the door to be opened.  In a mad dash he ran out of the house holding the deep fryer, complete with mouse, and ran it across our field and tossed the whole deep fryer as far as he could. 

     Window's were quickly opened in the house and dinner was cancelled.  Just looking at the frozen bag of tater tots left an ill feeling in our stomachs.  Even though the tots in the bag were good, mentally we couldn't eat it even if we did put them in the oven.  We tossed everything out.  I knew we would never use our deep fryer again.  The memory of the mouse was too horrible to try to reuse it.  I was crushed because I really liked my deep fryer.  It was hard for us to eat anything deep fried for a long time.  The word deep fried reminded us of that darn mouse. 

     I think maybe a year or two later my husband purchased me another deep fryer.  This one is far better than the old one.  The lid wasn't of flimsy plastic but of a hard lid where a person has to pop a button to open it up.  It was larger and bigger than the old one and it had temperature control along with a timer.  I was eager to put it to use.  It took us a while to deep fry tater tots again but we used it for french fries, egg rolls, corndogs and homemade chicken nuggets.  This one is surely mouse proof.