On the Great Turtle: Mackinac Island 2021

While I have a couple of hours respite and sister spends the day and afternoon with Mom, I thought I’d quickly throw together—ladies and gentlemen, I do mean in reckless haste—many of our best images with a sampling of cell-phone videos I managed during our Family Getaway this past June to Mackinac Island, Michigan. A teaser, if you will.

As you read on, please play this musical accompaniment to better set-the-ambiance of this magnificent island stuck in a most charming bygone time…

Why did I wait six-months to share these pictures and videos? It wasn’t intentional, I assure you. There are some days and nights on Mackinac which in my amateur production expertise (which is none) deserve a brief backstory and context. Along with my perfectionistic cinematic ideas, I have wanted to make this feature presentation as delightful, humorous, eye-popping, and as memorable, for Mom especially, as was possible and even accompanied by Victorian-Edwardian time-period music in the background. It deserves in my mind nothing less. Furthermore, since my high school days I have dreamt onto my Bucket List a trip to the Grand Hotel ever since one of my favorite 1980 romantic films, Somewhere In Time was released. I am and always have been a huge sucker for time-travel stories!

Obviously, six-months later this dramatic award-winning aspiration has proven more problematic for me than I first thought. I imagined I’d have significantly more free-time upon our return to create this Oscar- and Emmy-nominated short motion picture. It hasn’t happened. Grrrrrr, Murphy’s Law-firm: 6, Dwain: fat donut-hole. 😒

Without further ado, here is a quick Teaser of what I hope will arrive here sooner rather than much later…

Day 1 — on the grand veranda at The Grand Hotel after finally checking-in about 3:00am in the morning due to my brain-fart at the Detroit Metropolitan International Airport. More on that in the final production.

Day 3a — exploring the island after relocating to our second accommodations at Harbor View Inn. Our two nights at the Grand Hotel when all said and done ran a measly $1,799.82. Harbor View Inn was a welcomed relief on the pocket-book, hah!

Day 3b — horse-carriage ride into town to Main Street to grab a visitors map, then Astor St. for lunch at the Yankee Rebel Tavern. I had a remarkably good Summer Orchard Salad with Bell’s Amber Ale on draft, a combination I couldn’t get enough of over our stay, followed by a walk on Market St.’s shops and parlors.

Click on image for expansive 2-page map

More themed music for your reading, listening enjoyment…

Day 5 — the family splits up! What? Say it isn’t so Nellie! I want to visit the military fort and museum, Fort Mackinac, and for some unfathomable reason, the ladies had no desire whatsoever to steeply climb the walkway up to the harbor-side gate, watch a celebratory 6-pounder cannon fire over the town, and witness a 19th-century soldier reenactment firing his M1873 .45-70 Springfield rifle. Seriously? What could possibly be more fun than hearing a barrage of Springfield rifles firing in unison? Here is what they did, pffft…

Here’s what I did, furthering my vast historical, military, and cultural knowledge of northern Michigan and the old U.S. frontier:

Please excuse my labored breathing in these two videos

I promised a few of you birding, butterfly, and insect enthusiasts a video of Mackinac Island’s Butterfly House & Insect World and I am delivering! Now, granted I am not a professional videographer, not even with my own Motorola moto e5 Go. In fact, I was sternly criticized by a dear female friend for two production-and-editing screwups: 1) what’s my malfunction with recording horses-asses all the time, and 2)hold the damn phone sideways Steven Spielberg wannabe!” Case and point:

I will have to stop here. I know, I know… many of you are crushed by this. My sincere apologies, but I have run out of free-time. Sister has returned with Mom and she must dart off to her mandatory house-meeting before the Xmas weekend and holidays officially start tomorrow. Until next time when I finagle a bit of solo time, I will endeavor to work hard on the entire final, award-winning feature with full Victorian-Edwardian music accompaniment. It should be something Mom will cherish—at least that’s my hope.

Live Well — Love Much — Laugh Often — Learn Always

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Unplugging Kids

Interstate 45 Dallas to Houston

Interstate 45 Dallas to Houston

Several times a year during a holiday break our family would drive I-45 toward Galveston or I-35 toward Austin to spend time with family.  It was a trip I would always be excited about because of how much fun and mischief was going to be had with my many cousins.  One such game we would all play was bottle-rocket wars.  We would have these wars at night for as long as our money and rockets lasted.

My Uncle Bill was a construction worker and always had scrap metal and various random work site throw-aways out near his barn.  Three or four teams of two would have one cousin holding a 4-5 foot pipe while the other, with a bag of 30-50 bottle-rockets and two or three lighting pumps was the loader.  The loader placed the rocket in the back-end of the pipe like a bazooka, light the fuse and the shooter aimed as best he/she could.  Since most bottle-rockets were not an exact science as far as precision flight, these wars became hours of crazy laughing fun for us.  This is just one reason out of many that made the 5-hour drive so unbearably long for me and my sister because Dad could never drive fast enough.  For my parents it must have sometimes seemed like 12-hours.

This particular trip I’m sure my sister and I slept little the night before due to our growing anticipation; we were ready to come out of our skin.  About two hours into the drive in our four-door light blue Plymouth Gran Fury sedan, zipping along at 55-miles per hour, sitting in back with my sister, she would inevitably say something or do something to provoke me.  It was always her fault!

Several “stop its” and “you shut-up, no you shut-ups” later my Dad gave us our first warning.  Ten minutes would pass.  Again, my sister of course would whisper something mean to me or make a face at me, hence getting our second more firm warning from Dad.  Mom would try to intervene, sometimes successfully other times not.  She would not this go round.

The We’re-About-to-Blow Speech and Vulcan Death-Clamp

homerchokeMaybe 15-minutes later, my father’s voice raised several decibels and gave us one final ultimatum.  Had he not been driving he would have contorted out of the front seat and launched himself backwards to pop both of us on the legs or butts; and they would not have been love-taps.  His pops STUNG for a good ten minutes.  But the scariest part was knowing what was going to happen at the next stop.  Thinking about it was pure torture.  I’m sure Dad knew this too and worked it to the hilt.  One of his most potent we’re-about-to-blow speeches were when it included the Vulcan death-clamp under the collar-bone.  He’d stare at us like a drill sergeant.  It paralyzed us making our eyes seem to pop-out as our little knees quaked!  In my little mind not even God’s wrath scared me more than my Dad’s.

However, Dad explained he was not going to loose-it this time with us.  He had something different planned.  I doubt my idiot sister’s brain was processing as fast as mine trying to guess what “mystery punishment” was going to be thrown down.  I couldn’t imagine it would be anything that delayed our arrival with the family; Dad was a stickler for schedules and planning and no misbehaving kids of his were going to spoil the appointed arrival time.  After all, he was a mechanical engineer.  Precision was his specialty.  So what on earth could it be?  What was going to be the final fate of my sister and me?

Mile-Marker 241

Then the loose gravel on the shoulder of the highway began hitting the under-belly of the car.  Forty-five, forty, thirty, twenty-five miles per hour, then we came to a slow stop.  “Get out” he said sternly.  Mom looked at him puzzled.  Her expression didn’t ease my fear at all.  When I noticed that neither he nor my mother was getting out, I felt my palms get clammy and my pulse raise.  “Get out on the right side, both of you!” he said more firmly.  My sister looked like she had seen a ghost, but she exited the car with me.  He pointed “See that green sign that says 241?”  Then he explained what was about to happen for the next several miles.  We were going to find number 251.  Weird.  Was this a hunting math game?  Meanwhile, the traffic on the highway was whizzing by every few seconds, drivers and passengers all staring at our family moment as they passed.

Forrest Gump

Forrest Gump

Both of you will now run next to the car.  Do not walk, do not stop. Run!”  He slowly began to pull away.  My sister and I stood there in shock.  “Get over in the grass and run!” he yelled, like those were about to be his last words we would ever hear from him.  In the spirit of sheer fear which would have put Forrest Gump to shame, I ran….I ran like the wind!  My sister screamed and quickly found her legs as well.  Dad pulled a bit ahead of us; we sped up.  The long grass didn’t help our stride.  I tried to glance down to see what not to step in or stumble over, but I couldn’t keep my cue-ball sized eyes off the car for fear of being left!  “Come on…run!” he yelled out the windows.

A half-mile gone we are still running next to or just behind the car, but never ahead of it for some reason.  About every third or fourth vehicle passing us would honk.  I have no clue about why; maybe they were cheering us on, maybe they were expressing their hysteria.  I don’t know.  What I do remember was how embarrassing it all was every honk and quarter-mile as onlookers stared at us; some grinned, some laughing, some astonished but all of it humiliating.

Approaching a mile and a half my sister and I are panting.  Will he show us mercy?  Where the hell was the next damn sign?  “Run!” was the answer.  It was always his answer until our little arms and legs were becoming jello.  I believe that was just over two miles later.  I was trying too hard to suck in as much air as my mouth could capture to notice any mile-marker.

Are you two finished fighting?” as he slowed to a stop.  Since we couldn’t utter a word for lack of oxygen, we both managed desperate nods yes.  Once back into our seats still trying to breathe, I laid my head against the door unable to say or think anything coherent about my sister.  I didn’t care.  I just wanted oxygen!  Mission accomplished.

For the next three hours that drive was perhaps the most pleasant drive the four of us had ever had to date and would be for years.

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Live Laugh Love

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