Erroneous Thinking

I thought that each place we'd be in Upper Michigan would be on Lake Superior but I was wrong. Ironwood wasn't, Houghton/Hancock's on Portage Lake but not Lake Superior, the rest will be. But I was thinking we'd drive along with sweeping views of sky and lake and that ain't happening. We are driving through beautiful forests of colored leaves and dark green pines under blue and sunny skies. Totally good enough. Today we press on to the tippy-top of the Keweenaw Peninsula to spend a night in Copper Harbor. More pasties for lunch. Lake Superior shoreline to walk along. A copper mine to tour perhaps but I'll be happy with a big lake to look at. I have come to realize that I feel calmest when I have water to look at; a creek will do, a river is okay, a lake is good, a Great Lake is better, and an ocean is best. I love the movement of it and the ever-present wind around big water. I wonder if I'm a Water Rabbit? Probably not, probably an Earth Rabbit (nope, that's Durwood) or a Metal Rabbit (yep, I looked it up). Yesterday we toured around Houghton, visiting some of Durwood's old girlfriends at Walmart, eating another lunch pasty (in the lead after 2 lunches), stopped at a fabric/yarn shop where I left a bit of my vacation play money, drove the hilly streets of Hancock, and changed motels to one with 2 beds so neither of us had to sleep on the floor. Ahh. We're having fun with nothing to do.

October 3--Salvador Dali, The Accommodations of Desire. "Ants," she said, her voice rising like a siren. She stood transfixed by the teeming black and red mass. The insects swarmed over the white boulder in a neverending stream, the center of it like a long, many-legged chain with a few scouts and stragglers off to the sides. Rain had turned the ground to a thick brown soup and our tour group had stopped to rest. Angie had leaned on the boulder and been swarmed by the ants. Sal had been scraping caked mud off his boots and used his stick to try and fend them off but only succeeded in smearing chocolaty mud all over himself. Erik, the tour leader, calmly took a plum from his pack, crushed it in his meaty hand and dripped pulp and juice in a trail away from Angie. The ants obediently followed the sweet treat and left her alone to dab antiseptic on all her tiny red bites.

Okay, kids, that's it for today. Behave yourselves and I'll be back with another episode of Durwood and Babbums in the north. (If there's Wi-Fi in Copper Harbor, that is.)
--Barbara