I was sitting in the Grove nursing a cold mug of Bud lamenting the lack of trout I've caught this summer. I'm still reeling from my last visit to my favorite trout stream when I broke my pole, got frustrated and caught zilch. Can't even deep fry zilch. The visit before that a nasty thunderstorm had knocked down a couple large trees that made it very difficult navigating my way around them. Maybe I need a new favorite spot.....

With my almost famous book about Republic nee Trout Falls I hold court in the local saloon when the right crowd is in the right mood. Almost a celebrity. Sure. I'll sign your book you bought in the Summer Place. Sure. I wrote it while recovering from a stroke with a hunt and pecking one finger. Sure. I have a new book coming out soon. Soon to me means in this decade. Har har...

I regaled to eager listeners of the day long gone when Goober came into the Grove when it was raining cats and dogs outside and showed off a creel full of fat brookies. What a sight it was. I'm sure a view of the Grand Canyon is nice but this....I remember asking him where he had caught them and of course he wasn't going to tell me and didn't. I was a rookie yooper back then. My story received a few oohs and ahhs and then everyone went back to what they were doing before I tarted pontificating. Burner pleaded, "Are you done?" I was...

 An old guy sidled up next to me with a glint in his eye and a devilish look on his ruddy 30 years working in the mine kind of face.  "I know where Goober caught those fish that day. I was with him". He tipped his beer up, ginned and took a long tug and set it on the bar with a thud. He leaned into me, I could smell the Copenhagen he chewed, and he asked, "You want to know where it is?" I laughed. Do I want to find a 1909 S VDB penny? Do I want the love of my life to walk through one of the three doors in the Grove? Do I want to win the lotto?

Time for a time out. I can do that when I write. I wrote of 'Boone's Pond' in 'Trout Falls Chronicles' where the trout are the size of Northern Pike and they jump out of the water and into your creel without needing a pole and bait. Old man Boone tells Easy and Pete that he will have to kill them now that he has showed them Boone's pond. Pete asks like only Pete can, "Can we fish it first?"  I dream of such a trout fishing hole. I knew this was a trick but I took the high road, "Sure. Where is it?"

He asked if I knew where Smit's Creek was and I said yes. "Up by the claybanks, eh? "Yup", he said and now I leaned closer to hear the rest of the story. He talked. I nodded. He talked. I smiled. "That's it?", I said and he said like a typical thirsty yooper, "Yup. Can you buy me a drink, Pard?". I did and I did again......

I'm up early this morning when the skies were baked red with a surreal sunrise. I wish I could bottle these for the days I feel a gloomy doom. Now, the skies are grey and overcast and the surface of the water dead calm. I'm sitting at the command post and the Eagles are singing "I'm already gone". The karma is rolling my way again. The words fly off my fingertips. I feel better than good. My thoughts flow easily as Kid Rock sings, "All Summer Long" which talks of Northern Michigan.  The scent of summer smells sweet and the trees are a vibrant shade of green. The breeze off Island Lake fills my lungs with hope. I know what I have to do. I have to go fishing and I have to do it soon. I just can't decide whether to go myself or invite a friend.....

Could this be my pot of gold at the end of the rainbow? It doesn't matter and it probably won't be. It's possible the teller of secrets was just a guy who drank too much in the Grove and saw me as the fish who'd buy him a beer or three. One thing I do know. One day soon I'll pack up my stuff and find that Beaver pond. It's upstream from that big Cedar. Stay to the right of it. About two miles in. Tag elder so treacherous it sucks you into its Velcro web sending you back to the road cursing fishing and the woods. And, of old man stories where mosquito's take numbers waiting to extract some blood and leave red welts that itch for weeks. The ticks piggy back over each other to nest behind your knee. Or, behind your ear. How bad do I want to catch the big trout? How bad do I want to find Boone's Pond? I want it real bad...

I'll let you know how it goes........

Easy....

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I guess I didn't appreciate how much myboomerplace means to me until it went out. It was like waking up in the morning and I could have my coffee but there was no sugar. It was like having my morning eggs but there was no toast. Some fellow boomers were able to talk a bit on Facebook or do a tweet. I refuse to tweet. That's for the birds. I am considering Facebook though. I recieved frantic emails wondering if I knew what was going on. I had no ansers but assured one and all it would be on soon. I guess not soon enough.....

I get many invites to join other sites similiar to boomer and I have stood fast here on boomer. I can't imagine doing blogs on two or three different sites when I have trouble keeping up here on our site. Plus, I need time to write on my new book. I just groan thinking of all that is necessary to get started on another site. Learning the nuances of each and meeting all new people scares me....

I'm not the smartest guy when it comes to understanding computers and how they work. I've seen Poppa Tom's server but hve no idea why one goes out. Maybe low on oil? Maybe needs a new crossslacker? I am especially frustrated with finding a site where I can organize, crop and fix pictures to show you. I envy SavedByGraces picture blogs and Iwould love to do it too. She has tried to help me but I always hit a dead end. Oh well. I'll keep trying but I won't leave boomer....

 I'm thankful we are back on line this morning. I've been a blog in waiting. The coffee tastes great again and the eggs are better and I look out the window and I can't see the Island. Lots of fog this morning. But, the proverbial fog lifted when the server worked this morning. Good morning. It's feels great to be on again, eh?

Easy....

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I finally finished cleaning out the last room of the trailer and I found a bunch of caps and hats. I have them all in one big bag now and stuffed it under the bunk beds. This is how I clean up. I move stuff from one place to another. Anyway, you may have noticed my new profile pic. I bought this floppy hat a couple years ago but after I gave it a test drive I threw it into a corner. It flies like a limp Frisbee. Finding it again has been a blessing. It keeps the mosquito's off my neck and ears, it shields the sun better and gives me that look....well...I'm not sure what it looks like...but I like wearing it.....

Men wear caps or hats for all different types of reasons and seasons. Some men never wear one. They like in New York city. Most women don't wear a cap. Except Hedda Hopper but she wore hats. If I see a nice lady wearing a cap I immediately ask her to marry me. If she is driving a pickup truck I'll do a back flip and my cap won't fall off. They call that gravity. I call my preferences inane....

I mostly wear ball caps. I do have rules for the caps I wear. My cap must make a statement about me or about a team I root for or a state I like. Or, a topic that is topical to me. Before my floppy hat hit my head last week I had three caps vying for my head. My favorite has been my "Born a Yooper" blue cap. My son Kris can't wear this cap. He was born in Detroit. If you were born south of the Mackinac bridge you are a troll. Us Yoopers say this in a slightly endearing tone. My second favorite cap is my blue "Michigan" cap. I bought it while I had Leukemia and I wore it a lot to hide my snow cone bald head. I always took it off in hospitals or Doctor's waiting rooms. I did this to show off my cancer. With a smile. My badge of courage during trying times. My third best cap is my brown "Chicago" cap. I bought this while waiting for Gracie in downtown Chicago shortly after I'd met her. I put it on now and then to remember those great times in Chicago. But, I must move on too....

Some men wear berets. These men are from France or jump out of airplanes. Some hats look like boats and these men were mostly captains of boats and one hand must be hid inside his pants. i always wondered why Bonaparte was always playing with himself. He must have really enjoyed those pictures. In the Marines my hat was called a cover. I had to take it off inside any building. And, I wore a helmet. Anyone who has a helmet on should be looking up. A helmet means danger. I don't wear helmets anymore but I still like being dangerous. The day I got out of the Marines I said I would never wear a cap again. I lied....

My caps have to be comfortable first and foremost. I have a dandy marine Corps vet cap but when I put it on it is like wearing a cardboard box. Cheap hats are like this and so many come from China I think they are trying to give men headaches. No doubt their master plan to take over the world. Or, have they already?....

I find it odd that I almost always wear a cap and if you look on the back cover of my book you will see I am not wearing one. What was up with that? I lose caps all the time. That was probably one of those days. When I lose a cap it always ends up in some thrift store. Here you will find "Fast Eddie's Auto Repair", "Tom's Plumbing and Heating" and "Sh** happens". No one will ever buy these caps and I wonder where they all go to die. Somewhere they are all having fun together telling goofy stories of what it was like on this head or that head....

When Latin ball players hit the major league's many years ago they would snip off the small metal button that held the seams together at the top of the cap. They did this because they thought lightning would hit that metal knob and they would get electrocuted. See. you learned something this morning. Do I get a tip of the hat?...

I'm really liking my floppy hat. I can carry a dozen or more turtle eggs in it. I can drink water from it. I can cover something up I don't want to see. And, if the wind is right and my aim is sound I can flip it like a limp Frisbee and have it land on the hanger by the door. But, most of the time I miss and it lands on the floor next to my other caps. I use my foot to shuffle them together in a pile. Hats like to be in piles. They need friends too. I'm not so orderly but I sure do like my caps.....

Easy....

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A cloudy mist burns off the surface of Island Lake this morning and it will be another picture post card day in Upper Michigan. A family of baby ducks float across the calm waters  and it won't be long before they will learn to fly. I will miss them when they are gone. I've been watching them grow in the last couple of weeks because they've been living in the marsh just down the hill and next to the Leaky Teaky 2. Mom started with eleven babies and now eight are left and I wonder what happened to the other three. I choose to think they flew the coop early...

 On some mornings I can see the gangly Sandhill Crane in knee deep water by the shore pecking for breakfast. Talk about ugly ducklings. They resemble those old  bombers from WW2 as they seem to labor flying with huge Gossomer wings. I find comfort in hearing their distinct chortle as they fly away. But, the best show on earth has to be the two loons who have made Island lake their home for now. The fishing is good lately and that is why they are here. They love fish and I love the call of the loons. When I'm sad it sounds so melancoly and when I'm happy it is so soothing. I don't think most people realize how big loons are. When they flutter their wings atop the water it is a spectacle of the wonder of God's creation.....

Kris will be leaving tomorrow morning and that always makes me sad. His visit has been as hectic as I feared it would be and I am having a hard time getting back into the writing mode now that normal life is settling in again. I know when he leaves I will revert back to my solitary lifestyle taking long walks and sitting long hours thinking and planning; planning and thinking. I'm not really sick but don't feel right. In body and mind. My cousin Sheri's Leukemia is back and she won't talk to me. I pray for her. My good bud Bob had brain surgery yesterday and is in terrible straights. I think of his dog Sancho who must be wondering where Bob is. I think even the dog knows something is wrong. Republic is shaken with the news. So much death and dying lately in Hollywood and a back porch off Quartermain Street. I dwell on it too much but can't help it. I figure if I walk long enough I will find the answers. I sure hope so....

Thanks for all the nice comments and well wishes while I was gone and I will catch up with each of you as I can. Some good blogs have been written and I hope to add to that. At boomer, I am at home and at peace. Kris had 52 comments to a video blog he did on Facebook but he doesn't have the intimacy we have here on boomer. Dang, I'll settle for five comments from five real good friends. More is not necessarily better....

Happy Thursday. A day when the mosquito's are light and the sun is bright....

Easy...

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Lately, I have been walking over to my Uncle Smudge's camp to find some peace and quiet. The yard has knee high grass dotted with white daisies and those pretty, red Indian paint brushes (not sure of their real name). The wire mesh circling his garden has fallen down and the weeds have taken over. No more squash the size of baseball bats. The camp badly needs repair. Alas, Smudge passed on five years ago and I miss him. He was a silent and kind mentor. I sit on his porch and talk to him. That might be weird but that is just me. I feel his presence there. His voice echo's through the pines....  

In the rafters of the wooden overhead porch I saw a nest. I could hear chirping. I pulled a chair over, stood on it and looked in to see four baby robins. They were so cute and so fragile. I took a fuzzy picture and started to walk the trail back home. I was thinking of when I was in grade school and a student brought in a robin's egg. It was carefully passed around so all of us could hold it. When it was my turn I promptly dropped it and it cracked. I felt so bad and was laughed at by my friends and scolded by the teacher. Tough learning lesson for a small boy...

I looked down on the ground and saw a worm crawling by my feet. What were the chances of that? I picked it up and went back to the nest and stood on the chair again and fed the babies pieces of the worm. They gobbled it up and chirped for more. It was a satisfying walk home that night...

I came back two more nights in a row and this time I brought a worm from the ones Kris had bought for fishing. I fed them again and then would sit and smile knowing something good was happening. I felt a warm glow in my heart as a bond formed with these babies and me. I pondered this as I watched a couple robins up in a tree chirping loudly and then it hit me. They were angry at me for bothering the babies. It was time to leave the baby robins alone...

Walking home, I felt good about life again. Such a simple and heart warming experience helped me understand the joy of living. It's like I've had the boogie man in the closet of my mind lately and I realize that all the answers are here in the woods. Another instance where I've bonded with the critters in a unique and interesting way that leaves me smiling and understanding myself. Thinking of that little nervous kid who broke an egg and I'm still a nervous older kid who breaks things but blames it on my eyesight now. Ha. It's good to laugh.....

I'm alone this fourth of July morning and it feels so right. Happy birthday America. Kris and his buds will be back this afternoon to help celebrate the birth of our nation. I try to find a way to tie in those baby robins to this holiday and I know it is a stretch but a poignant one indeed. A long time ago our country was born too. We had no idea what was to come but we knew we were free. Free to speak out. Free to make our own laws. And free to live where we want and how we want. God bless those baby robins. God bless our wondeful country. And God bless us; one and all.... 

I'm back...

Easy...

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I was first up this morning and I sidestepped an air mattress on the floor that filled up half of the penthouse cabin. Kris was in the top bunk, Mike on the mattress and Matt was on the couch. The couch is a futon but two men in a bed....well....yikes...I couldn't find my clothes so grabbed a coat off the rack. My socks are under there somewhere. A whole lot of snoring was going on. Is that just a man thing? I think not. I won't get into combustionable gas. I wrote a letter to Karen first thing with coffee. It's been a long time writing with a pen. My right hand doesn't work much and it is hard to read. She'll understand though. I hope.....

It's dang cold here. A whipping wind off the lake with a London mist and if I hadn't severed the propane gas line I'd have had the heater on. Matt got in at 1 AM from Arizona and he shivered for an hour. He is a Marine. 9 years in Somalia and Bosnia. We semper Fi'd and talked of the Corps while I wondered when I have been up this late at night.?A country mile long ago.....

I sat listening to 3 mid thirties guy talk about girls and the quest for them and the conquests achieved. Men talk. In this case; young men talk. I let the women come to me. I spend a lot of time looking down my driveway. If I could just get them here they would fall in love with it and thus, me. Guaranteed. Yaw. Right. These guys each had their cell phones in their hands either showing pictures or sending text messages or taking or sending calls. Who do they talk to this late? I think boomer could learn something from the way these kids are into showing pics on their cell phone and on facebook. They get lots of comments on just pictures. Boomer X100.....

I finally gave up about three in the morning and hit the ruck sack. I can feel it this morning. I cooked a huge breakfast of eggs, fried potato's/onions, sausage and toast. Now, they are all out in the leaky teaky 2 fishing for pike and perch. In the fridge is a mess of fish they caught before dark last night. Kris pulled in another large pike and it will be dinner tonight. Guess who is cooking? I refuse to clean the fish though.

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My arthritis has forced me to give up metal detecting and I'm not happy. It seems when I find something I really love I lose it. I went out for a couple hours yesterday while Kris was fishing and today my hands and shoulders are hurting again. It's time to give it up. Now, I have to find something to fill the void and those changes I lamented a few blogs ago are rearing it's ugly head again....

I like to delve into people's minds but I have a hard time figuring out my own. I'm on edge with company here but Kris is what keeps me going. I need him to be here now as I dance in and out of happiness striving hard to find it. We talk but we don't like I think all fathers and sons do as well as husbands and wives. It is hard to tell Kris what is really going on in my life. This is something I have to work on. I don't think I am alone in this regard...

Case in point. Kris' mother called to talk to him and I could hear her voice from a few feet away. Karen and I aren't talking and haven't been for a couple of years. I should say she is not talking to me and sometimes i want to grab the phone from Kris and say, hey, lets talk. But, I don't. I miss her. We were married 30 years and it has come to this lousy silence. It's not golden but rusted. She thinks it is my fault we don't talk and I think it is her fault. I'm being brutally honest because I have to tell someone when I should be telling her. This is how messed up I am right now....

I don't have the answers but I will find them. I spend a lot of time in the woods or walking searching for the insight from Above to get my life back on tract. It's not easy and summer is fleeting. I have a house full of company and I have to get back at being the good host. I'll cook up a nice dinner tonight and talk to Kris about the good ol' days when he said I was a great dad. Like when I searched all over Detroit to find him a Michael Jackson jacket. How apropo...

I just needed to blog a bit and relieve some tension. You are my friends and I care for you deeply. I feel better when I talk about my insecurities, doubts and lack of faith. I will be all right. I will find the answers and I will be back soon to tell you all about it. No one said life is going to be easy.....

Gene.... 

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Yesterday, Burner and I picked a lousy day to tear the roof apart on what's left of the rusty, green trailer I once called home. I had to get this mess cleaned up before the 4th and when company arrives. We started early knowing it would be hot and he worked the saws-all and I loaded his pickup truck with anything metal. Four hours later and after two trips to the dump we finished for the day. If papa Allen had been with us it would have finished in two hours. We stacked the beams from the ceiling for sauna and campfire wood. We stacked the old insulation to dispose of and all that is left before it disappears is the floor. Whew. I started wobbling.....

After Burner left I started to feel light headed so I took a quick swim in the lake and then had lunch. Kris will be here tomorrow for three weeks and I want the penthouse cabin and the yard to look nice. I decided to mow the rest of the lawn I didn't get to yesterday. The sun beat down and when I was done I was exhausted. My stomach hurt and I cursed myself for letting this happen. I laid on the bed to rest. One thing about me is when I get something in my head I do it. I don't stop. I just do it until it's done. A character trait and also a flaw....

After a couple tough hours and drinking lots of water I was ok again. I respect the land but I guess not the sun. I'm still groggy this morning but I feel a bit better. I have more chores to do. Kris and two of his buddies will be staying here for a few days and I think I'm going to head to Burner's camp for a couple days. Sigh....

Life as I know it is over for three weeks as Kris and I settle in. I don't do well with changes in my life but they happen all the time and I must adapt. I treasure my privacy more when I lose it. I will miss my quiet times with a soft breeze blowing in the window and the only sound is a woodpecker pounding rat a tat tats. The TV will be on nonstop and I can listen to it in bed if I am up at 3 AM. I'm getting depressed writing of it now so I had better stop. I'll be ok and take it in stride. Sigh. It will be good to see Kris and his buds. And, no matter how much it hurts it will go away in awhile. It works in all aspects of our lives. And then, I can get back to my normal and very abnormal life....

I may not be on boomer much for awhile but I will blog when I can. I am not very good at writing if I have noise and things distracting me. It's even harder on someone else's computer. Hence, when I can't write I'm not as comfortable. I'll just take longer walks in the woods. I'll spend some time at Ticky and Burners camp and expect the unexpeted....

Take care my friend. Enjoy life and watch out for those changes. Some will be obvious and others sneak up on us. We will fear them until we understand them. A bump on the road or life and living...

Easy.....

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A top political pundit says journalism is dead. I disagree. It's not dead but it is has changed forever. No longer do we have to wait until the newspaper hits the front porch to find out what is going on in the world and in our neighborhood. No longer do we have John Boy Walton type writers who start their own newspaper. I think John boy would be a blogger today. A dang good one too....

Bloggers like myself aren't paid. I'd pay Poppatom to write on boomer place. I don't have a degree in journalism but that doesn't say that I can't write as well and be as popular as that beat writer for the NY Times. Come to think of it I have more job security here than any newspaper writer still punching a deadline....

Blogging is like the wild wild west. It has few safeguards or restrictions. Bloggers like Ann Coulter are dangerous with prejudices and slanted opinions. Bloggers back the Republicans and others the Democrats. This is where the blogger can go from fact and fiction and not really tell the reader which is which. This is very dangerous.....

It is up to the reader to decide what is fact and what is fiction. Old school journalism could not make up suppositions or assumptions. They needed as least two verified sources to prove the truth in what they are writing about. Then, the story would go to an editor who would check it again. The journalism that landed on the porch is far different than doing a blog on boomer telling you about a rattlesnake that really wasn't.....

 My blog on the snake was for entertainment and wasn't titled, "Local man fights off five foot (It gets bigger with each telling) rattlesnake". This blog this morning on journalism is probably my best attempt at old school news. To tell you that we must be careful to read between the lines and figure out if a blog is hard true news or is it just one bloggers opinion.....

Sharkfin's blogging style is to blend news stories into fun stories or serious stories that bounce off the lead story and he does it well and often. Emom and Junie's blogs tell a simple story of their lives. I'm seeing more and more of these type of regular bloggers and I think it is great for the reader and boomer. Some blog of where they live. Some blog to vent. And, some blog to make a point....

The beauty of blogging is that any one of us can do it. It takes courage to open up our lives for others and to maybe expose that we didn't pay enough attention in English classes in school. I'm pointing at myself here folks. I've worked hard through the years honing my style and my grammer. Some blog for therapy to speak of a hard time in their life hoping it will make us feel better. Losing a sister or losing a spouse. Talking about it helps the writer and the reader. As we write of our life and it's troubles we strike a vein of familiarity from the reader who understands....

I blog because I like to write and wanted to tell a story of how my life evolved into what it is today. Isolation. Simplicity. Leukemia. And, a love of nature and the land. We have some extremely talented bloggers on boomer and we should be proud of this. We are a family here. Were not just a networking site I thought I joined about three years ago. Yup, journalism is alive and well but with a new face. One that smiles, offers a big hug or an atta boy in a comment. I love those comments......

It's going to be 90 today. Blog that....

Easy.....

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